She had one other problem: in yesterday’s chaos she’d managed to misplace her phone. Charlie had searched everywhere, but it seemed her phone had plain disappeared. She’d been planning to text back and forth with Cass and find out how her sister was faring in L.A., and now was riding a thin edge of panic as she kept pushing worst-case scenarios out of her mind. The bakery’s landline was now the only way to try and connect with her sister, but the phone had been ringing nonstop with holiday orders. Finding time to try and connect with Cass when she wasn’t on set and when Charlie had a free moment had proven impossible.
The bakery was finally closed for the day. Every surface was spotless, and the sourdough was prepped and ready to proof overnight. Charlie wanted nothing more than to drag herself upstairs and sleep for days. Then the bakery’s phone rang.
Charlie jumped, hoping it was Cass. If there was one thing—aside from a good night’s sleep—that would make her feel better, it would be to hear her sister’s voice and to know that everything had gone smoothly with Cass’s first two days on set. Plus, she was sure Cass wanted an update on the bakery. Not only was this the busiest time of year, Woodburn Breads was Cass’s Sweet & Salty. Charlie wanted to make sure Cass knew she would not let her down.
“Hey, Cass,” she said automatically, pressing the handpiece to her ear and stretching the cord so she could bend down to scratch Gateau under the chin. She had found the stash of kibble, but the cat had become accustomed to the bits of ham Charlie had been feeding her, and was back for another morsel.
“Hello?” A female voice—not Cass’s—replied, her tone confused. “Cass, is that you?”
“Oh, sorry. Yes. It’s me. Cass.” Why was she finding it so difficult to remember she was pretending to be her sister? Probably the concussion, but still. She was used to being much more in control of things.
“I know you’re closed, but I had an order to make and thought I’d take a chance. And look at that, there you are.” The woman still hadn’t identified herself, and Charlie realized she should probably recognize the voice.
“Here I am,” Charlie replied, forcing a smile onto her face and hopefully into her voice. “How can I help you?”
“Actually . . . First, I wanted to tell you I hope you didn’t think I was eavesdropping the other night. At the house.” Charlie still had no clue who this was, or what she was referring to. “I didn’t mean to overhear, but I was walking the girls and you were a touch . . . Well, you know how sound can carry around here. That was quite a grand gesture on Brett’s part!” The woman paused and waited for her to respond, but Charlie didn’t know what to say.
“Uh . . . you bet. Can you just spell your name for me so I’m sure I’ve got it right?”
There was a peal of laughter. “It’s Sharon Marston, Cass!”
Charlie frowned. Sharon had been a year ahead of the twins in school and had married some pro hockey player and left town a few years earlier. Charlie had always viewed her as mostly harmless, though she had been known as a gossip in high school.
“Oh. Hi, Sharon. So what can I get for you?” Charlie prepared to write the order on the notepad beside the phone, which operated as the bakery’s main order database. It was ridiculous to still be taking orders this way—on a landline, with a pen and notepad. If the rumor really was true about Makewell’s wanting to move in, Woodburn Breads needed to step things up. She made a mental note to give this more thought later.
“I’d like two loaves of sourdough. And, of course, you’ve put me down for a Starlight loaf on Christmas Eve?”
“Of course,” Charlie said.
Sharon cleared her throat. “Speaking of sourdough . . . Do you have any tips for me on feeding a starter? I’m trying to start my own.”
Charlie felt there was something odd about this phone call, but she had too much to do to try and figure out what it was. “Well—there are tons of food blogs on the Internet. Give it a quick google, okay? And I’ll have your order ready for tomorrow.”
“Okay, thanks,” Sharon said, sounding disappointed.
Charlie hung up with Sharon and immediately called her sister, but it went to voicemail. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d had nothing to eat since the morning rush had ended. Food held no appeal, not when she couldn’t smell or taste it, but she had to eat. She’d grab a date square and take a walk—some fresh air might help clear her head. Charlie put on her coat and hat, remembering her gloves at the last minute when she glanced out the bakery’s window and saw it was snowing gently.