Midsummer’s Mayhem

“Why don’t you get a good book on baking? I can recommend a few I love,” I said.

“Perhaps.” She leaned toward me again. “You seem to know an awful lot. Could you perchance assist us with our plot?”

“But I’m not-”

“Oh, that would be so lovely. You’re a dear. I’ll go speak with the owner. Just wait here.” She started toward the counter.

“But-”

She looked back at me pathetically. “Please tell me that you’ll help us. ‘Twould be awesome!”

I sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Peaseblossom.” She dipped a small curtsy. What kind of parents saddled their kid with that name?

I held out my hand. “I’m Mimi. I don’t know if I can help, but I’ll try.”

Peaseblossom took my hand and kissed it. She hurried to the back of the store while I rubbed my skin in confusion.

A few minutes later Peaseblossom reappeared and led me into a small office at the back of the café. I found myself standing before a beautiful young woman with a river of dark hair. She turned the pages of a book while seated on a velvet chair behind a worn wooden desk. A bowl of pink roses sat on the desk and filled the small space with a heady, sweet scent.

“And, in the spiced Indian air, by night, full often hath she gossip’d by my side,” the woman said in a low, melodious voice like a perfectly played oboe.

“Excuse me? Um-Peaseblossom said you wanted to talk to me.”

The woman closed the book gently and looked at me with bright green eyes that matched the flowing dress she was wearing. “I’m Mrs. T, the owner of the While Away. I hear you’re quite the baking master.” She sat very straight and still.

I shrugged. “I like to bake for my friends and family.” Not that any of them noticed. Except for Mom and Dad, and they didn’t count.

“Please, my dear, do take a seat.” She motioned to a stool- more like a tree stump, I realized as I sat. “I don’t doubt you’re better than this sorry lot.” She waved at what I assumed must be the door to the kitchen, where I could hear pots and pans being banged around, followed by a loud screech. Peaseblossom squeaked, then looked at the ground.

There was an awkward silence.

“It’s hard to bake if you don’t know what you’re doing,” I said, and Mrs. T narrowed her eyes. Well, that sounded obnoxious. “I mean, my dad always says that baking requires precision.”

“Your father is a baker of renown?”

“No, he’s a food writer. He works for Culinary Adventures, the online magazine. He also sometimes writes features for the Comity Journal.”

Mrs. T looked at me blankly. She was clearly very new in town.

“Anyway, he’s a great taste tester. He helps me improve my recipes.”

Mrs. T arched an eyebrow. Her moss-colored eyes bored into me like she could read my mind. “And what, pray tell, is your name, my young friend?”

“Mimi Mackson.” I shifted in my seat so I didn’t have to look her straight in the eyes.

“Well, Mimi Mackson, tell me what you like to bake.”

“Lots of things-brownies, cookies, pies, tarts, scones. But cupcakes are my favorite. I like to flavor them with unusual spices and herbs.”

“I see. And what’s the last thing that you made?”

“Double-chocolate brownies with cinnamon and cayenne, to welcome someone home.”

“And prior to that?”

“Cheddar-chive biscuits.”

She waved her hand in front of her face like she smelled something bad. “No, no, my word, that will not do at all. Just sweet things, please.” She stood and paced behind the desk. “Ha! Cheese and chives! I wouldn’t dream of baking, eating, or even serving those, not to win the world.”

Well, that was strange. Sweet isn’t sweet without savory. One isn’t good without the other – I thought everyone knew that. Even the most sugary dessert needs a dash of salt.