Chapter 4 – The Recipe Someone Stole

Victoria reached for the returned invitation, but Dominic placed his hand over it.

“Leave it.”

She withdrew her fingers.

“Dominic, I can explain.”

“Then explain the handwriting.”

Victoria looked at Caroline.

“I returned the invitation because I believed inviting me separately was a deliberate attempt to cause trouble.”

Caroline stared at her.

“Trouble?”

“You knew things were strained between your father and you. You knew we were preparing for the wedding. You could have waited.”

“I invited you to a bakery opening.”

“With a handwritten note saying you hoped we could all start over.”

Caroline blinked.

“Yes.”

Victoria’s mouth tightened.

“You have no idea how that sounded after the things you said about me.”

“What things?”

“At Thanksgiving. You told your father I was trying to replace your mother.”

Caroline looked away.

I’d forgotten that Thanksgiving had been the last occasion Dominic had invited family to the mansion.

I remembered hearing raised voices behind the dining-room doors.

Caroline’s voice had been one of them.

“I said you were getting rid of Mom’s things,” she replied.

“Because I was trying to make the house livable again.”

“You had her clothes boxed up while Dad was away.”

“They’d been hanging in the same closet for five years.”

Dominic rubbed his forehead.

“Both of you, please.”

Caroline turned toward him.

“Did you know she gave away Mom’s winter coats?”

“I knew we were clearing the closets.”

“Her red coat, Dad. The one she wore every Christmas.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“I didn’t know about that.”

Victoria looked suddenly exhausted.

“I spent two years trying to make this house feel like a home again. Every time I changed something, Caroline accused me of disrespecting Evelyn.”

“Changing things isn’t the problem,” Caroline said. “Pretending she was never here is.”

I watched Dominic look from one woman to the other.

For the first time, he seemed to recognize that he’d allowed them to fight over a home while he avoided making decisions about it.

He pulled Caroline’s invitation toward him.

“When was this sent?”

“Five weeks ago,” she answered.

He studied the postal marking.

“Before the notice about your lease.”

“Three weeks before.”

Victoria looked toward the reception area.

“Dominic, surely we don’t need to examine every piece of mail in front of the guests.”

“There’s a difference between getting something wrong and hiding what you know.”

He held up the envelope.

“You told me you didn’t recognize Sunday Table Bakery.”

“I said the company was listed under its business name. I did not say I’d never heard of it.”

Caroline looked at her sharply.

“That isn’t what you said ten minutes ago.”

Victoria said nothing.

It was a small victory, but it didn’t solve anything.

We still didn’t know why the lease had been canceled.

Dominic asked me to collect the used plates.

I was relieved to have something practical to do.

When I reached the center of the table, I noticed that the elaborate birthday cake had been cut into serving portions by the catering staff.

The expensive sugar flowers were piled neatly beside it.

One guest had left a slice untouched.

Caroline noticed it too.

“Rachel, could I try a little?”

“Of course.”

I brought her a clean fork.

She took a small bite.

Then another.

Her expression changed so abruptly that Dominic leaned forward.

“Carrie?”

She set down the fork.

“What kind of cake is this?”

Victoria looked confused.

“Chocolate. Why?”

“What recipe did the pastry chef use?”

“It was custom-made.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Dominic tasted a small piece.

He chewed slowly.

Then looked at his daughter.

“I know this.”

Caroline nodded.

“The orange.”

The professional cake had a faint orange flavor underneath the chocolate.

Evelyn Moretti had apparently added grated orange peel to the batter.

I’d tasted Caroline’s homemade version earlier when she’d offered me a little frosting.

It had the same flavor.

Caroline took another tiny bite.

“And the sour cream.”

Dominic sat back.

“Your mother always insisted on sour cream.”

“Because it kept the cake soft for three days.”

For the first time, father and daughter were speaking easily.

Then Caroline looked at Victoria.

“Where did the chef get that recipe?”

Victoria answered too quickly.

“It’s a common variation.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Caroline pointed at the slice.

“There’s cinnamon in the frosting. Just a little. Mom added it because Dad liked the spice cookies his grandmother made.”

Dominic stopped eating.

“She never wrote that down for anyone outside the family.”

Caroline nodded.

“Except in her blue notebook.”

Victoria’s face changed.

I noticed because I’d been watching her all evening.

Until then, she’d responded to every accusation with some version of dignity, impatience, or offense.

Now she looked afraid.

“Victoria,” Dominic said, “did you give the chef Evelyn’s notebook?”

She looked at her engagement ring.

“I wanted something meaningful for your birthday.”

Caroline stared at her.

“You used my mother’s recipe?”

“I wanted to honor her.”

“Then why did you try to throw away the cake I made from the same recipe?”

Victoria’s eyes filled.

She didn’t let the tears fall.

“Because I knew exactly what would happen if you brought that cake here.”

“What would happen?”

“Your father would look at it and remember her. And everything else we’d planned would become unimportant.”

Dominic looked at her for a long time.

“That cake wasn’t a threat to you.”

Victoria gave a bitter little smile.

“It’s easy for you to say that.”

Then Caroline asked the question that had been bothering me since she’d mentioned the notebook.

“Where is it?”

Victoria looked confused.

“Where is what?”

“Mom’s blue recipe book. You told me it was lost when you cleaned out her things.”

Nobody spoke.

Caroline took a step toward her.

“Victoria, where is my mother’s notebook?”

And Victoria whispered:

“I never said it was lost.”

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