I glanced outside; Conrad was chatting with a passerby, apparently unaffected by the cupcake. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances.
“Jamie,” I said, “what brings you here?”
“Renee heard about the troubles facing your fiancé, and sends these as a peace offering. She says she guesses her invitation to the wedding must’ve got lost in the mail. Mine, too, for that matter.”
“We’re good here,” I said, physically holding Oscar back from the cupcakes. “Thanks, anyway.”
Patience, who had been taking in the scene, stepped in. “You have something to do with what’s going on, you little pissant?”
Jamie cringed. “Jeez, lady. A guy brings a dozen cupcakes . . . I mean, I don’t expect a parade, but a simple thank-you seems in order.” He shook his head. “I really don’t get what’s up with folks these days. There used to be a time when people valued simple politeness. . . .”
Jamie didn’t look like he was much older than I was, but there was no denying he had a timeless sort of way about him.
He reached out and picked up a flyer for the Magical Match event.
“Hey, is this like speed dating? I might just give that a try. I tried the online-dating thing, but it’s a bit of a slog. Also, you never know who’s gonna show up—the photos don’t always reflect current reality, if you catch my drift. Something like this here might be right up my alley.”
“It’s not a ‘match’ in that sense,” I said. “It’s a tea, a fund-raiser for the Haight Street women’s shelter. The ‘match’ refers to matching dresses.”
“Or outfits, for that matter,” said Bronwyn. “You’re very welcome; it’s a gender-inclusive event.”
Jamie looked disappointed and shoved the flyer back in its stand. “Sorry. Doesn’t seem like my type of deal after all. Good cause, though—am I right?” He dug into a pants pocket and extracted a wrinkled five-dollar bill. Handing it to Bronwyn, he winked and said, “A contribution to the cause.”
“Well, now,” said Bronwyn, “aren’t you kind? Thank you. I’m Bronwyn, by the way.”
“Nice ta meetcha,” he said. “I’m Jamie. I—”
“Why are you here, Jamie?” I interrupted him.
“What? Like I said, I’m on a mission of mercy. Renee heard your fiancé was in the slammer, and that you were feeling under the weather, so she sent you a little something. That’s all. Cupcakes are like her version of chicken soup.”
“What makes her think I’m under the weather?”
“The little guy want one?” Jamie asked, holding out to Oscar a yellow cupcake piled high with purple frosting.
“No,” I intervened. “He’s on a diet.”
“Whoever heard of a pig bein’ on a diet?”
“It’s a Bay Area thing,” I said. “He’s vegan.”
“Well, ain’t that a kick in the pants? Just so’s happens these cupcakes are vegan.”
“Gluten-free, rather.” I ignored the indignant squeals emanating from the area near my feet.
“Anyway, you should take these,” Jamie said, shoving the pink box in my direction again.
“I want one!” said Selena.
“Maybe after lunch,” I insisted, taking the box from Jamie. Selena glared at me, as did Oscar.
“Seriously, Lily,” said Jamie. “Renee wouldn’t pull anything funny with these here cupcakes, if you catch my drift. These came straight off the shelves at the bakery. You’ve eaten there before.”
I had. But that was before I realized what Renee was all about.
“Please let Renee know I’ll pay her a visit soon.”
Jamie looked at me sideways. “Why’s that?”
“Just to thank her, and to check in.” I sneezed. “It’s been a while.”
“Uh-huh. ’Kay. Look, Lily.” He dropped his voice and leaned in, as though sharing a confidence. “You mind if I give you a little advice?”
“Yes, she does,” Patience answered for me. “And here’s some advice for you: I suggest you leave while you still have all your man parts, if you catch my drift.”
And with that, Patience ducked into a changing room carrying a 1930s green-and-purple dragonfly-bead cocktail dress, and flung the curtain closed with a flourish.
“Well, here’s my advice, anyway,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s not the cupcakes you should be worried about.”
“By which you mean . . . ?”
“Not for nothin’, but Tristan Dupree was an associate of Renee’s.”
“Is that right? In what way?”
“‘Friend’ is what I meant to say. He came to town to work with her.”
“I didn’t realize Tristan was a baker.”
“Heh.” Jamie snorted. “Good one.”
I sneezed again.
“My mom always swore by hot toddies for colds. A little ginger, dash of cayenne pepper, and a healthy jigger of whiskey. That’ll cure what ails ya, and you know what? If it don’t, ya don’t care!” Jamie let out a phlegmy laugh.
“Thanks, but it’s probably just allergies. I don’t catch colds.”
“Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that.”
“So, why are you saying all this to me?” I asked. “I thought you worked for Renee.”
“Are you still here?” Patience interrupted as she emerged from the changing room. The slinky cocktail dress hugged her voluptuous form like a kid glove, and she looked spectacular. Like some sort of exotic plumed bird. Of course.
Jamie let out a low whistle, his eyes raking over her, up and down.
“You had better not be making that noise at me, creep,” threatened Patience. “You don’t know uncomfortable until you’re suffering under a Gypsy curse.”
“Youse two both got a little attitude problem—you know that?” said Jamie. “I’m not gonna hang around where I’m not wanted. Anyway, I’ll be the bigger man and wish you ladies a good rest of the day. Enjoy the cupcakes, courtesy of the Renee Baker bakery.”
Jamie waved his hand over his head as he walked out the door.
“Who the hell was that?” asked Patience.
“Patience, seriously, would you please watch your mouth around—” I started to say “little pitchers,” but caught myself in time. “I mean, in the shop.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who’s the creep? And what’s with the cupcakes?”
“It’s probably nothing. Just feeling a little cautious lately.”
I changed out of the wedding dress and went outside to check on Conrad, hoping the cupcake he’d eaten hadn’t made him feel sick or strange in any way. He responded with his typical “Duuuude!” and didn’t demonstrate any obvious symptoms, though with Conrad it might be hard to tell.
Back inside Aunt Cora’s Closet, I held the pink bakery box and tried to feel any untoward vibrations from the cupcakes. Nothing. I opened the lid and breathed deeply, but I was stuffed up and had a hard time smelling. I touched one after another, but still didn’t sense anything untoward. Still, I wasn’t about to run the risk. Shaking my head, I carried the big pink box into the back alley and tossed it in the dented Dumpster I shared with my Haight Street neighbors.
I turned to go back into the shop, only to find Oscar and Selena standing at the back door, gaping at me in outrage.
“Listen, you two, they’re just cupcakes. I promise to bring you both something special later. But we do not eat gifts from strangers—do I make myself understood?”
“But you knew that man,” Selena pointed out. “You called him Jamie.”
“I know his name, but he’s still a stranger. By which I mean he isn’t one of our friends. Our people. Our circle.”
Oscar and Selena trailed me back into the workroom, but neither looked convinced. Patience had changed back into her usual Gypsy getup and was leaning against the kitchenette counter, arms crossed over her chest, a smarmy smile on her wide mouth.
I tried again.
“Just . . . for a while, until I figure things out, promise me only to eat things from family, or people like Bronwyn and Maya, our adopted family. Promise?”