The Perfect Pastry

Here is Chapter 1 and 2 of The Perfect Pastry
Pan seared sea scallops sautéed in garlic, white wine, and a hint of orange zest, sits on a pile of truffle laced mashed potatoes. Alongside, bacon wrapped asparagus with tiny pieces of red roasted pepper were sprinkled on the plate in front of me. As I sliced into the silky pearl colored circle my mouth started to water. I could feel the warmth of the wine sauce hit my lips, and RING RING went the alarm clock and I almost fell off the bed trying to shut it off.
I moved my tongue over my lips to see if I could taste the wine sauce drops that I dreamt about. All I felt was crusted drool that formed around my open mouth during my tantalizing dream.
Lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling fan, watching the blades twirl I thought, at thirty five I really do not have a bad life. I have a house, own a book store, completed a four year culinary courses and have a cooking Q&A column in a New York newspaper. I was also asked to write a column critiquing restaurants on Long Island, especially the east end where I live.
I got up, showered and as I blew dry my hair I looked in the mirror. Staring into my hazel green eyes and thought, what is it Alyssa? What else do you need? Something was missing from my life. I pinned back a few of my auburn curls to give myself a new look, applied a little make up and got dressed. A halter dress, sandals to match, spray of Obsession, some simple jewelry, and one last check to make sure everything is buttoned and fastened. That is when I realized what I need, a man.
Downstairs, my cat Sophie was sitting next to her food bowl meowing, so I fed her and grabbed a peach off the table for myself. I shoved the rough draft of my column I was working on last night and the new subscription of Publishers and Writers into my briefcase and headed out the door.
Stuck in the screen door handle was an envelope, with Alyssa Drake written in red ink. Maybe an invitation to a ‘buy something’ party from Tara, my friend down the block, she is always selling something.
I locked up and walked to the car as I opened the envelope. My next door neighbor, Martha Harris yelled “Alyssa.” She was walking over the grass carrying her pink and white watering can. “Good morning!”
Putting the case and envelope on the passenger seat I answered, “How are you, Martha?”
“As good as an old lady can be,” she smiled. “Vanessa is coming to visit this weekend. I hope you will come over for dinner on Saturday night?”
“Sure, would love to.” I answered.
“Okay dear, I will call my daughter and tell her you are coming. She will be thrilled. You have a good day now and talk to you soon” she said as she waved good bye and headed back to watering her flowers.
She turned around and put up her hand in a stop motion. I lowered the window and she said “I just wanted to let you know that I noticed a big black car riding up and down our block. I think a man was driving. The car passed by yesterday two times and once this morning.”
I suggested that she write down the license plate number so she can call the police, and to stay close to the house. So she can go in quick if she needs to. I mentioned that maybe he was lost.
With a wave and a tap on the door she said, “Have a good day and sell those books dear.”
Martha was like a grandmother to me. She always brought over homemade baked goods saying she needed a taste tester, and some nights we would sit out on my porch and talk for hours. It was always nice to hear stories about her family. Her husband Daniel passed away about five years ago and she had two daughters, Hailey and Vanessa.
Hailey lived in Texas with her husband and two year old son Seth. They came to visit once a year and Martha usually went there a couple of times.
Vanessa lived an hour away in the city and would come to visit a few times a month. When she would come and visit, Martha would have me over for dinner. We would always talk about food and exchange recipes. Vanessa was a food critic for the city newspaper, Citylights. So we got along really well.
Last summer we both went to critique a restaurant called Hot Tomato, which turned out to be really bad. The sauces were too watery and a square piece of meat called meatloaf was way too dry. Cutting the meatloaf took a bit of effort. The broccoli looked like it would crumble to dust if you blew on it. We heard a couple next to us say the flounder was too greasy and undercooked. The fish was probably still alive when it was plated. We had the chocolate cherry pastry and strawberry tart for dessert and they were the only things that tasted wonderful. How could it be that the food tasted awful and the pastries were so tasty?
The owner and Chef Aaron Dean never came out to introduce himself or talk to us even when we asked to see him. We were told he was too busy baking to come out.
I had to use the restroom and Vanessa waited at the table. When I returned, she said, “I paid. Let’s go, now!” She got up and we quickly walked out.
Once in the car I asked her what was wrong. She said, “I have a bad feeling sitting there while you were in the bathroom. I was looking around the restaurant and when I looked towards the kitchen doors I saw a man peeking through the window. I could not make out his whole face but his eyes looked angry and dark. When he notice I was looking he disappeared. Maybe because we sent our food back half eaten? I still see his eyes when I close mine.
“I heard that a few critics gave Hot Tomato bad reviews. Even Richard Wallace who travels to different restaurants all over the world, giving everyone a high rating but this time he gave a one star and in his critique he wrote “The food was not worth five cents.”
“I heard that name before, Richard Wallace? He’s the food critic for the Montréal newspaper in Canada, right?” What is he doing here?” I asked.
“I heard he was on vacation and wrote a critique about the restaurant when he got back home in the travel section.” She replied.
Vanessa and I gave Hot Tomato a two star rating, on a scale of five and wrote a small review on the tasty pastries, but did mention to skip the meatloaf and have a salad.
Within the next few months we heard that the food got worse and Aaron did not pass the state health inspection. Mysteriously the restaurant went up in flames. Aaron was not charged with the fire but there was no explanation as to how it was started. Rumor had it, that it was a grease fire but the store burned right after midnight, and the restaurant always closed at ten.
A year later, Aaron opened a bakery shop and was well known for his filled pastries. No one could find out what that special taste was in the filling. Most of the restaurants in town ordered their baked goods from him. People asked how he made them and tried to get the recipe, but he never talked to his customers. The front manager Brian handled all the shops needs and Aaron stayed in the back and baked all day.
While sitting at a red light I pulled out the letter in the envelope and got a horrible sick feeling in my stomach as I read the torn out letters pasted to the paper. CRITICS MUST DIE.
As I drove to the book store shaking I kept repeating what I’d read, CRITICS MUST DIE, CRITICS MUST DIE.
I parked on the side of the book store and looked around before getting out of my car to see if I saw anyone looking in my direction. I could feel my stomach rise up in my throat and my knees were shaking and weak, as I walked up to the store. I saw Justin, one of my assistants, sitting on the step by the front door. I tried to look calm as I said, “Good Morning.”
Justin stood up and said “Good Morning.” He looked at me and asked “Alyssa, are you alright? You’re white as a ghost.”
I said, “I’m fine, just don’t feel very well today.”
I unlocked the door to The Book Mark and looked up and down the street before going in. Once inside I went to the bathroom and almost threw up. I blotted my face with a cold cloth and looked in the mirror. Justin was right, I look like I saw a ghost.
CRITICS MUST DIE. Why me? I asked myself. I thought of all the people I knew and could not think of any of them that would send a note like that. Is this a joke? I thought of everything I did in the past few months, did I upset anyone?
Hearing my friend Bailey’s voice through the bathroom door snapped me out of the conversation I was having with myself. I came out of the bathroom and grabbed books off the shelf in the back, before heading to the front, making believe they were special orders.
Bailey came in and put the box of donuts on the counter and yelled, “Donuts!” as Justin ran over and opened the box. Bailey said, “Leave the apple crumb for Alyssa and the chocolate cream for me.”
Bailey and I have been best friends since college. When she lost her job due to budget cuts at Corewell High School she came to my store and hung out to keep me company when business was slow. When I had to let two of my staff go because of financial problems, and thought I would have to close The Book Mark, Bailey said she would come and help me and I didn’t have to pay her as she received a nice sized severance package from the district. We worked out a small salary because I could not have her work for me for free. Bailey has been with me now for four years.
“Feel any better Alyssa?” Justin asked, as I walked to the front counter.
“I’m fine Justin, thank you for asking.” I answered.
As Justin walked away eating a coconut cream donut, Bailey asked “What’s wrong? You look pale.”
“I don’t feel so well this morning. Maybe not enough sleep.” I said.
“Ah, a hot date last night?” she said with a smile.
I replied, “I wish.”
Justin carried a box over to me and said “I think these are the special orders you placed a week ago. I’ll leave them here for you to go over and I am going to get the mail.” He took the key for the mail box and headed out the front door.
A few minutes later I heard the low chime on the door as it was opening and looked up to see a man walk in. He looked straight at me and I started to shake and swallowed hard. Did he send me the torn out letter message? As he came closer I moved over to the panic button under the counter top and laid my finger on it. I tried to be calm as I said, “Welcome to The Book Mark. Can I help you find something?” I could tell my voice was very shaky.
I saw Bailey looking at me as if I had two heads. She made a face to say, what is wrong with you?
The man said he was installing a sink and needed the how to fix it section. I told him that there is a nice selection he can look through against the back wall.
I took a breath as he walked away.
Bailey came over and said “What is wrong Alyssa? You’re acting very strange this morning. You didn’t eat the donut and apple crumb is your favorite. You haven’t said more than a few words to me this morning and when the door opens you jump out of your skin.”
The door opened again and the chimes, now much louder in my ears made me jump and look straight toward the door. Relieved, I saw, it was Justin.
“Like now, you look like you’re a mile away and scared!” she said.
I looked back at her and said, “I am fine, Bailey, maybe too much coffee this morning. Come on, let’s get these books I ordered put out.”
Bailey just watched me for a few moments and then she took some books from me.
A woman and her baby came in and went to the children’s section. Those chimes are so loud in my ears. They make me jump when someone walks in. I have to get rid of them today.
The newspaper boy walked in with his Mets cap turned backwards, his pants so low you could see his underwear, and an attitude of I do not give a dam if you get your paper or not, he said, “Yo, paper is here,” then left.
He plopped the newspaper on the counter where I was going through the mail and I looked down at the cover. I felt my heart skip a few beats and couldn’t move a muscle. The front cover said, ‘Well known food critic Harris murdered!’ I scanned down the article and saw a photo taken of a letter, like the one I got, saying CRITIC MUST DIE in torn out letters. I searched for the photo, hoping it was another critic named Harris, but my eyes filled with tears as I saw the face that I used to look at while eating at Martha’s.
I did not even hear the phone ring as Bailey said, “Alyssa…Alyssa, its Martha”.


Chapter 2
There were a few messages on my answering machine when I got home Saturday night. One from my mother saying, “Did you forget my number? I haven’t talked to you in a week. Are you okay? Call me. I love you.” Another from Bailey saying “Don’t forget about dinner at my place tomorrow night and a cheesecake would be nice.” The last one was from a detective. “This is Detective Jetter from the Third Precinct Homicide Department. Martha Harris gave me your number. I’d like to ask you a few questions. I’m very sorry about your loss. Please call me, anytime.”
I wrote down his number and even though it was late I called and left a message on his phone telling him I would be in Monday morning.
I locked up, closed the lights and headed upstairs when the phone rang. I looked at the clock saw it was almost midnight.
“Hello,” I said.
“Is this Alyssa Drake?” a man’s voice said.
“Who is this?”
“This is Detective Jetter.”
“I told an officer all I know when I was outside Vanessa’s apartment with Martha.”
“Yes, I have your statement. But there are a few questions I have for you, if you don’t mind? I am working tomorrow, can you come in?”
“Hum, around ten?”
“That’ll be fine. Thank you for helping, and once again sorry for calling so late.”
“It‘s okay. See you tomorrow.”
I got undressed and put an oversize tee on and went to bed. Sophie curled up at the bottom of the bed and we both fell asleep.
The rain was hitting the window when I woke up. It was only five in the morning. ‘Crap. Only five hours of sleep,’ I thought. I tried to go back to sleep but the rain and thunder sounded like a drummer playing a solo masterpiece on the roof of my house. Sophie was now under my bed and would not come out when I called for her. I went downstairs and laid on the couch. After a few minutes I clicked on the TV and watched reruns of Three’s Company. Sophie finally came down and sat on the coffee table and watched TV with me. I stared at her and wondered what she saw. Was it the movement, sound or light? ‘Something to research on Google, I thought. Why do cats watch T.V.? Just put it on your list of things to do Alyssa,’ I chuckled to myself.
I finally rolled off the couch at seven and showered. I put two slices of bread in the toaster, made coffee and fed Sophie. While I ate, I glanced through the fall cookbook catalog to place an order for The Book Mark, before the holiday rush. At nine thirty, I ran upstairs, got dressed and headed to the police station.
Inside the blue walls of the police station the smell of stale coffee was in the air. The desks were cluttered, phones were ringing like crazy and officers walking back and forth with either files in their hands or a person in handcuffs. I walked up to the front desk and asked for Detective Jetter.
“What’s your name?”
“Alyssa Drake.”
“Oh, yes. He is expecting you. Please follow me. His office is right down the hall.”
We passed an officer questioning a woman that seemed to look like she has been to the police station more than once. She was leaning back on the chair, arm over the top, swinging back and forth saying to the officer, “I didn’t do anything! We were just sitting on the park bench talking. I was bending down picking up my pocketbook when you walked by.” Her gold sequined tube top just covering her chest, tight silk skirt and bright red stilettos, told me she was not doing any talking. Plus there was no pocketbook in sight. Another desk in the far back had a man trying to keep his balance yelling, “The beer help me, you know it’s help me. You people don’t understand. Where’s my beer.”
The stocky officer knocked on the Detective’s door and opened it.
“Alyssa Drake is here to see you.” He opened the door wider as he stepped aside and held out his hand to motion me in, then closed the door behind me as I said “Thank you.”
“I am Detective Blaine Jetter and thank you for coming in Miss Drake. Please have a seat.”
Walking over to the chair in front of his desk and sitting down I said “I have told everything to the office that was at Vanessa’s apartment when he questioned Martha and I.”
As he was about to answer me his phone rang and he said “Excuse me, my phone has not stopped ringing all morning, Detective Jetter speaking.”
While he took his call I looked around his office and I was shocked to see it pretty clean compared to the main office. Everything had a place but his desk was a mess with files and what looked like reports. There was a shelf unit behind his desk with different sports items that looked like they were collectables from a hockey puck to a football glove. As I passed a file cabinet I saw an oversized bulletin board with photos of wanted people, ranging in age from teenagers to seniors. I scanned the pictures hanging on the wall opposite the ‘Wanted’ collection. They were pictures of a hockey player and a baseball player shaking hands with Detective Jetter.
I looked back at him and he was looking at me. He smiled and put a hand over the mouth piece of the receiver and whispered, “I am sorry for keeping you waiting.” I just waved my hand in an, it’s okay way and smiled. Detective Jetter was tall, with brown curly hair, blue eyes, a goatee, an average build, and tattoos on his arms. He had a look in his eyes of a person of mischief.
“Yes, that will be fine and fax me that medical report. Thanks Billy and talk soon.” He hung up and looked around his desk for something, then pulled Vanessa’s file from a desk drawer. He sat back in his chair and looked at me.
I felt like I was the one in trouble, so I broke the silence and said, “I see you’ve been fortunate enough to have met some sports figures?” as I pointed to the pictures.
He replied, “Yes, my brother is a physical therapist and he travels with a few different teams. He gets me in whenever I can get out of this office. You like sports?”
“Yes, I like baseball and hockey. Football is nice but to stand out in the cold is not my cup of tea. What kinds of questions do you want to ask me?”
“The officer you spoke to was a rookie and only asked you your name and where you live. Tell me on the night of June twenty first, at six pm, where were you?”
“June twenty first?
“Yes, Miss Drake. That was a Friday night.
“I was at The Book Mark.”
“Can anyone verify you were there at six o’clock?
“I own The Book Mark and yes, my coworkers. Wait, do you think I had something to do with Vanessa murder? I can’t believe you think I did it? Vanessa was my best friend.”
“I just want to rule you out and need to ask you these questions. Did Vanessa have any enemies?”
“No, she never mentioned to me about anyone that would have been mad at her. There was a boy friend that she had. He would call her in the early morning and go to her place and bang on the door if she did not answer. She tried to break up with him but he kept calling and telling her he loved her.”
“Do you know his name?”
“They eventually did break up about two months before she died. His name was Clint Adams.”
“Do you have an address or know where he works?”
“No, I don’t know where he lives but he sometimes bounces for a club named Cleo’s.”
“Cleo’s on Danberry Lane?”
“Yes.”
All of a sudden there was the sound of a gun being shot outside the office door. Detective Jetter got up, told me to get behind his desk and stay there. He was already by the door with his gun in his hand. I immediately ran and got behind his desk. Did someone get shot? I asked myself. I was shaking but stayed still. After a few minutes of hearing muffled voice behind the closed door and no more shooting, I stood up and saw a file labeled ‘Harris’ on his desk.
My heart was already beating fast and now it was pounding in my chest and felt the hair on my skin stand up. I just stared at the file for a minute then the temptation took over me and opened it. I wished I hadn’t!
The file had pictures of Vanessa’s body and it looked like she was cut all over, tied up and gagged. I almost threw up. I turned the page and saw what was written in the report. It stated she was definitely murdered. Both hands and ankles were tied up and broken. Skin was missing on her thighs, stomach, and backside. I felt the tears well up in my eyes. ‘Skin Missing’ I thought as I blinked a few times to try to clear them as I read on. The deltoid muscles in her shoulder were stretched which indicated that her arms were pulled with force. There were a few bruises on her face and a swollen left eye along with a two inch cut above the eyebrow. The corner of her lips was torn from the material that was shoved in her mouth. It was also stated that she was not raped. I felt a slight sigh of relief leave my body.
There was a folder attached to Vanessa’s that was labeled Dale Monro. I was hoping he was not murdered like Vanessa but he was. The slashes were in the same spot as Vanessa’s and his skin was missing also.
Who would do this? Was there a crazy person out there killing people? I took a piece of paper out of the copier machine and quickly wrote down Dale’s name, home phone and date he died, which was two months ago.
I closed the files and sat down back in the chair across the desk. I shoved the paper into my pocketbook and tried to calm myself. The door opened and I almost jumped out of my seat.
“Are you alright Miss Drake?” He said as he walked in.
“I… I am fine. Did someone get shot?”
“No, the drunken man pulled out a gun from his pocket and pointed it at the floor and demanded beer then pulled the trigger. He was taken away from the main office.”
“He will get charged right, for having a gun and shooting it?”
“He will have a few charges against him when he sobers up. Can I get you a coffee or water?”
“No, no thank you. What other questions do you have for me?” I just wanted to leave and breathe fresh air to rid the sick feeling in my stomach.
“How did, you and Vanessa meet, and when did you started to work together?”
I answered all his questions, the how, what, where and who about Vanessa. He asked me about my business, my column and the restaurants I critiqued. Is this what it is like to get fully interrogated? I thought.
Blaine got up and walked over to the front of his desk and sat on the edge. “If there is anything you remember, the slightest piece of information will be helpful.”
He reminded me to keep doors and windows locked and to be aware of everything.
As I stood up, I remembered the black car.
“I remember Martha telling me about a black car driving up and down our street a few times, going very slowly. She said she saw a man driving. I told her to try and get the plate number and call the police with it. She never did say if she got the number or not. I also told her to stay close to the house in case she needed to go in quickly.”
“Good thinking Alyssa. See you’re a detective already. I will send a patrol car around to keep an eye on the neighborhood.”
He handed me his business card and said “Please call me for anything, day or night.” We left his office and he walked me to the main door.
“I am really sorry that your friend died. I will make this case top priority.”
I looked at him, smiled and said “Thank you.”
His smile was warm in return as we said good bye.
On the way home I stopped at The Book Mark. Justin and Paige came up to me and gave me a hug and both said “Sorry.”
Bailey said “What are you doing here? I thought you were taking some time off?”
“I know but I have to get back to business and keep my mind off of Vanessa. I will just stay a little while catching up on some paperwork and orders then I’ll go.”
When Justin and Paige walked away I told Bailey all about the visit to the police station and that I told Blaine about the black car Martha saw and that he is sending a patrol car over to keep an eye. I shared with her everything I saw in Vanessa’s file and the attached file of Dale Monro.
She sat back on the stool and covered her mouth with her hand when I told her what I read. “He let you look in their files?” she asked.
“No. He was called out for a few minutes and left it on his desk. I wasn’t going to look but I did. I wish I hadn’t.”
“I am sorry you saw what you did. So what happens now?”
“I guess Detective Jetter will ask more questions to family members, friends and people at her job. All the items they collected at her apartment are at the lab I guess. Hopefully they will find something to catch the murderer. It has been over a week and no clue yet as to who did this. Maybe they missed something at her place. I know they use a kit for fingerprints and things like that. I know Vanessa’s apartment is taped off and the police are not patrolling it anymore. There has to be something there.”
I looked at Bailey and she said, “I know you long enough to see the curiosity in your eyes. What are you thinking, Alyssa?”
I just smiled and she said, “Oh no, you’re not going there are you?”
I replied, “No, we are.”


I will post more chapters after I get some feedback as to what people think. Thank you.


I am still creating the story and have a few more chapters done. I am looking for feedback on what you think. So please email me back and let me know. We can interact on here or another email address and talk about each others stories. Thank you.
























Copyright 2011 C. Kopf The Perfect Pastry