“And don’t get me started on their idea of ‘helping’ with housework. ‘I helped with the dishes,’ they say, as if washing the plates they ate off of is some kind of generous contribution to society.”
“Oh my goodness, yes!” I’m practically bouncing with recognition. “And they act like babysitting their own children is doing you a favor. It’s called parenting, not volunteer work!”
“Exactly! Though I suppose I should be grateful I never had to deal with that particular brand of masculine logic. I’ve managed to avoid the whole marriage trap by treating men like I treat cake samples—enjoyable in small doses, but not something you want to commit to long-term.”
“That’s brilliant.” I laugh. “Though I have to admit, cake samples are usually more reliable than most men. At least with cake, you know exactly what you’re getting.”
“And cake samples don’t leave their socks on the floor orexpect you to applaud when they remember to take out the trash,” Savvy adds with a grin.
“Or mansplain your own job to you,” I counter. “Clyde once tried to explain theme park management to me while I was literally managing a theme park.” It was last week. “The same man who thought Uncle Sam was a historical figure.”
“The sheer confidence of mediocre men will never stop astounding me,” Savvy says, shaking her head. “They’ll confidently give you directions to places they’ve never been while you’re holding the GPS.”
“What about you? Any romantic disasters worth sharing, or have you been smart enough to avoid the whole mess?”
Savvy’s expression turns mischievous. “Oh honey, I’ve had my share of adventures. There was the banker who thought ‘dinner out’ meant a drive-through, the lawyer who tried to bill me for our dates, and the chef who couldn’t boil water without setting off the smoke alarm.”
“A chef who couldn’t cook? That’s like hiring a lifeguard who can’t swim.”
“Exactly! Though in his defense, he was very good at ordering takeout. I learned more about the local delivery scene in three months than I had in three years.”
“At least he had one useful skill,” I concede. “Clyde’s biggest talent was explaining why everything was everyone else’s fault, especially mine.”
“Oh, a professional victim! I’ve dated a few of those. They’re exhausting. Every conversation turns into a therapy session where you’re both the patient and the unpaid therapist.”
“And somehow it’s always your fault when they’re unhappy, but they get all the credit when things go well.”
“Story of my life,” Savvy agrees. “Though I have to say, watching your ex navigate single life after leaving you for Pretzel Girl is probably going to bebetter than cable.”
“I’m hoping she discovers he leaves toenail clippings on the coffee table,” I admit. “And that his idea of romance is splitting the check at Pizzas R Us.”
“Oh honey, karma has a way of working these things out. Trust me on that one.” Before I can ask what she means, Savvy’s expression turns serious. “Speaking of drama, I imagine you’re trying to figure out who killed poor Dilly.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” I admit. “Did you know her well?”
“Well enough to know she wasn’t exactly beloved in the baking community,” Savvy replies carefully. “That woman could rub people the wrong way faster than sandpaper on silk.”
“Any particular people come to mind?”
Savvy glances around to make sure we’re not being overheard. “Well, there’s Nadine, of course. Those two have been business partners for decades, but lately... let’s just say the Sugar & Sass brand has been causing some tension between them.”
“What kind of tension?”
“The kind that comes when two people have very different ideas about the direction of their business. I heard whispers that there might be some contract issues brewing, but you know how these things go—could be nothing, could be everything.”
“And Delora?”
“Now that’s an interesting case.” Savvy’s tone becomes more guarded. “She and Dilly had history, but it wasn’t exactly professional. Personal stuff that goes back years. The kind of thing that makes people uncomfortable at dinner parties.”
Before I can press for more details, Savvy continues, “As for me, well, Dilly and I had our own little dust-up years ago. She wasn’t exactly kind to my mama’s original bakery in one of her reviews. But that’s ancient history now. Besides, I always figured the best revenge was just making better desserts than the person who tried to tear you down. Anyway, Dilly was touting some big, dumb announcement she was going to make this weekend aboutmy mama and me. I guess I’ll never know what dust she was about to kick up next. Something about exposing secrets from past symposiums. Not that it mattered. Hon, I’ve got nothing to hide.” She gives a nervous glance to the woods as if she had everything to hide and wasn’t above using a rolling pin to do it.
“Still, that must have stung.”
“Oh honey, in this business, you develop thick skin or you don’t survive. Though I’ll admit, seeing her face-first in my coffin cake was a little... ironic.”
Cupcake chooses this moment to prance over, her pom-poms bouncing with each step. She settles beside Savvy with the dignity reserved for those who’ve never met a camera they didn’t love.
This symposium is turning into quite the production,she observes in a voice that sounds exactly like what I’d expect from a Southern belle poodle. Her accent is twice as thick as Savvy’s.Though I must say, the refreshment table could use more variety. Where are the petit fours? The cream puffs? The chocolate-dipped strawberries? This is supposed to be a sophisticated gathering, not a county fair.
