“Patricia, please. Of course.” I removed the plastic wrap from the Grilled Slapshot Salad.
“Well, it doesn’t look the same.” She shoveled a pile of dip onto one chip and popped it into her mouth.
“Aspen Meadow Pastry Shop,” announced Mickey Yuille in the sad, gruff voice I recognized so well.
“Mickey, hi, it’s Goldy Schulz. I’m over at the McCrackens’ place and she’s waiting for her cake. Can I tell her it’s on the way?”
Mickey sighed. “Brandon always insists on helping out with my Saturday deliveries. But now they’ve had some kind of crisis down at his office, and my other guy is sick, so all the Saturday-afternoon deliveries have been delayed.”
I held my breath. Brandon Yuille, head of Human Resources at ACHMO, was already being questioned? By whom? The police? His Minneapolis head
