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    Boxed Set: The Yolanda’s Yummery Series Books 1 to 3
    Boxed Set: The Yolanda’s Yummery Series Books 1 to 3
    Boxed Set: The Yolanda’s Yummery Series Books 1 to 3
    Ebook562 pages8 hours

    Boxed Set: The Yolanda’s Yummery Series Books 1 to 3

    By Lisa Maliga

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    About this ebook

    This collection of sweet romance/cozy mystery eBooks contains 3 full-length novels plus a chapter to the novella that started it all: Sweet Dreams. Best of all, it's value priced!

    THE GREAT BROWNIE TASTE-OFF, Book 1

    Yolanda Carter comes from a family of artisans and lives in her deceased grandparent's cottage in Sherman Oaks, California. She works at a small cat shelter but dreams of owning a bakery. Her friend from high school, Teagan Mishkin, knows that Yolanda needs money and suggests better paying work as a cocktail waitress. The interview takes an unexpected turn and she stumbles across a scheme to close down the cat shelter.

    The plan Yolanda concocts may be the only way to save the shelter. Helped by her parents, coworkers and friends, a rising young blogger also takes an interest in her plight. Will she bake the best brownies of her life?

    BONUS ~ Contains the winning brownie recipe!

    MAGICAL CAKES OF LOVE, Book 2

    With the successful launch of Yolanda’s Yummery in the trendy Los Angeles suburb of Brentwood, Yolanda Carter is on a roll. Her fame is starting to grow as news spreads about all her delicious desserts. An accompanying Beverage Bar will open in three weeks. She’s involved in a budding romance with sophisticated British tea baron, Nigel Garvey. Life is sweet.

    Complications arise when Captain Angus, a regular homeless customer, disappears...and Yolanda becomes a suspect.

    Someone is framing Yolanda for the crime. Lead investigator Detective Churchill is certain that she murdered the captain. Best friend Teagan Mishkin is also a suspect and wants to clear both their names. Will Yolanda’s relationships be derailed by the daily disasters she’s encountering? Can those Magical Cakes of Love save her and the yummery?

    Includes the Lemon Coconut Oats Energy Bar recipe.

    THE AROMA OF LOVE, Book 3

    Yolanda Carter is gearing up for a hectic holiday season at her bakery, Yolanda’s Yummery.

    The adjoining Beverage Bar is thriving due to owner Nigel Garvey’s expertise along with that of shift manager Quinn Hendrickson, a barista and a baker.
    Visiting her grandmother’s gravesite, Yolanda is surprised to see a woman putting pies into an old-fashioned station wagon. Her parents mention an unsolved murder of her grandmother’s best friend who was an amazing pie baker. The story of the 1960s crime touches Yolanda, along with her new friend, Detective Winston Churchill. Her growing sleuthing skills lead her to search for the killer.

    In between investigating and baking batches of pies in time for her latest product launch, Yolanda discovers more about the sweetness of love. And who is heating up the kitchen with Yolanda?

    Includes the recipe for Yolanda’s Chewy Oatmeal Raisin Cookies!

    BONUS Read the first chapter of the novella that started it all: Sweet Dreams

    Brenda Nevins is a successful romance author with a movie deal, a reality TV show, and a forthcoming bakery. Complications arise whenever any communication she sends or receives turns into fragments of a fantasy story. Will she find whoever is responsible for hijacking her career, finances, and even her fiancé?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLisa Maliga
    Release dateFeb 12, 2015
    ISBN9781310847080
    Boxed Set: The Yolanda’s Yummery Series Books 1 to 3
    Author

    Lisa Maliga

    Lisa Maliga is an American author of contemporary fiction, psychological thrillers and cozy mysteries. Her nonfiction titles consist of how to make bath and body products with an emphasis on melt and pour soap crafting. When researching her latest cozy mystery, she discovered the art of baking French macarons. She continues to bake macarons, always trying new flavor combinations. When not writing, Lisa reads, watches movies, and is a huge fan of "The Walking Dead." Links: http://www.lisamaliga.com https://twitter.com/#!/lisamaliga https://twitter.com/#!/everythingshea http://pinterest.com/lisamaliga https://www.youtube.com/user/LisaMaliga

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      Book preview

      Boxed Set - Lisa Maliga

      (The Yolanda's Yummery Series, Book 1)

      By

      Lisa Maliga

      Copyright © 2014, 2015

      http://www.lisamaliga.com

      Subscribe to the Discerning Readers’ Newsletter http://eepurl.com/UZbE9

      All Rights Reserved.

      This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

      Includes the winning brownie recipe!

      Yolanda Carter comes from a family of artisans and lives in her deceased grandparent's cottage in Sherman Oaks, California. She works at a small cat shelter but dreams of owning a bakery. Her friend from high school, Teagan Mishkin, knows that Yolanda needs money and suggests better paying work as a cocktail waitress. The interview takes an unexpected turn and she stumbles across a scheme to close down the cat shelter.

      The plan Yolanda concocts may be the only way to save the shelter. Helped by her parents, coworkers and friends, a rising young blogger also takes an interest in her plight. Will she bake the best brownies of her life?

      The Great Brownie Taste-off is also available in a paperback edition!

      Introduction

      It all began with An Author's Nightmare. I merged two genres, chick lit and horror, but my story was too dark and it was removed from all online bookstores.

      When I rethought my story, I did far more than rename it Sweet Dreams. I found myself drawn further into the world of bakeries, sweets, suspense, and romance. Best of all, the far lighter tale had nicer characters and I had a blast writing and researching the story! On the cover, you'll see two stacks of brightly colored macarons. After they were photographed, guess who had to eat them?

      I didn't plan to write a series of romantic tales. In fact, if it hadn't been for Jennifer Donoghue, a book reviewer at the wonderful A Life Bound by Books blog, I probably wouldn't have. Upon reviewing my novella, she wrote, "Brenda Nevins is the renowned best selling author of the 'Yolanda’s Yummery' series. I would love to read more about Yolanda’s Yummery. After reading about it in Sweet Dreams I would love to read more and I wonder if the author has considered making it a series of its own."

      I was pleased with Jennifer's review and especially with her interest in the yummery books. When writing Sweet Dreams, I had a vague idea about what the story behind each of the yummery titles entailed.

      Which brings me to The Great Brownie Taste-off. It's one thing to want to own a bakery, but quite another to actually open one up, especially considering all the time and costs that are involved. Owning and operating a successful bakery, especially for someone so young, is a very daunting task. How did Yolanda Carter ever manage to get the yummery she has dreamed about for so long? Read on and find out!

      CHAPTER 1

      Yolanda Carter took a bite of the Red Velvet cupcake. The sweet swirl of cream cheese frosting dissolved first in her mouth, followed by the rich chocolaty goodness of the cupcake. Yes, this batch was just fine, but a smattering of red or blue sugar pearl sprinkles would help the cupcakes stand out even more. Sprinkles were always good to have when bringing in cupcakes for Fun Food Friday. Employees and volunteers loved the tradition of sharing different types of food every week. It had been going on at the Crown Street Cat Shelter for years, and Yolanda was always happy to bring in her freshly baked cupcakes, layer cakes, or brownies.

      Since it was February, but an appropriately gorgeous sunny day with temperatures promising to soar into the mid-80s, she thought that cool turquoise sprinkles would be a nice touch. She reached up into the wooden spice rack that sat on her counter and found the sprinkles, which she gently shook on top of each swirled cupcake top. She loved that the triple level rack contained only decorations and her most used and loved vanilla extracts, rather than the twenty-four herbs and spices that came with the housewarming present from her parents. Yolanda baked far more than she cooked and while she still had the standard spices, they were kept in a cupboard next to the stove.

      For a second she admired the array of cupcakes sporting their perky blue buttons of sugar. A glance at the chalet-style cuckoo clock above the back door indicated that she was running late. She gulped down the rest of the cupcake and carefully placed the decorated cupcakes in the plastic carrier. Shouldn't have this much sugar in the morning, she thought, knowing she'd have to be careful with what she ate the rest of the day. Picking up the carrier, she held it in front of her as she left the kitchen and hurried through the small living room and over to the front hall table.

      Yolanda was of average height and had an extra ten pounds on her hips that wouldn't go away, even if she went for daylong canyon hikes or rode her bike countless miles along the beachside bike trails. She had warm hazel eyes and long straight chestnut brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She wore old baggy jeans she'd bought at the Buffalo Exchange resale shop, pairing it up with an oversized purple batik shirt made by her artsy mother. Dressing casually and comfortably was her daily working attire.

      She thought about her upcoming day. Missy Wakefield, her boss, would be there, as would Sid, the new college student along with a couple of volunteers. Tomorrow would be another Cat Adoption Day so there was more work than usual. She had to make sure there were plenty of adoption forms and copies of the kitten and cat tips booklet. Yolanda was proud of the fact that she had helped her boss write and take cute photos of some cats and kittens to enhance the booklet. After all, she had grown up with adopted cats and dogs and last year had adopted Miss Chef her classic tuxedo cat with the white stripe down her face and a perpetually curved white smile. Her dainty white paws were always kept clean and the white stripe along the front of her body was groomed several times a day. Her official name was Miss Pastry Chef, due to Yolanda's dream occupation, but sometimes her name was shortened to Mischief. Once, Yolanda had left a cupcake on the coffee table in the living room as she was going to have a snack while she watched Cupcake Wars. The cat jumped up and devoured the vanilla buttercream cupcake. She learned never to leave any cupcake or cake or anything edible unattended after that.

      While she loved her job, especially being around a cast of approximately 170 cats and kittens every weekday, she knew that earning just over nine dollars an hour wasn’t going to get her the bakery that she envisioned. Not even if she scrimped and saved every dollar she earned. Start up fees for a tiny bakery in Los Angeles County were very high—even if she opted for a location in Whittier or somewhere less expensive than Sherman Oaks.

      She picked up her bright pink and purple batik tote bag that was always filled with cat toys and packets of healthy homemade cat treats. The four-legged residents staying at the shelter enjoyed eating her signature tuna or chicken treats.

      Inside the detached garage, she unlocked her car and put the cupcake carrier in the back seat of her old silver Ford Focus hatchback. It was good for hauling things and occasionally visiting the gas station. It was also a source of embarrassment for her boyfriend, Zac Field, who called himself a ragtop man as he favored convertibles.

      The cottage was painted pastel yellow and had white gingerbread trim. A low white picket fence was set off from the sidewalk. Her yard boasted a variety of vegetation, much of it native to the area like cactus, chaparral, yucca, and sage. A trio of spiny leaved aloe vera plants bloomed beneath the back windows. The tall orange tree was in full bloom. At the corner of the property loomed some royal palm trees and shade from the fifteen-foot high wall of bamboo. Such was the view that Yolanda saw when she went into her backyard of the house on the corner of Dove Drive and Willowbrook Street.

      There wasn't a stoplight on the intersection of Willowbrook that fed into Ventura Boulevard, a fact she usually appreciated as it invited less traffic in the neighborhood. Backing out of the driveway, she made a turn down a side street and took an alley a block away until she was at the main east-west artery of Ventura that ran eighteen miles through the San Fernando Valley. She rolled down her window, as the temperature wasn't scorching enough for her to switch on the temperamental air conditioning. Catching the green light, Yolanda switched on her left turn signal and joined the steady stream of traffic until she opted for another side street to save time.

      Within ten minutes, she was approaching the small gray prefabricated building with a pot-holed parking lot behind it. She could tell who was there by the show of vehicles: her boss's Toyota SUV and the Harley favored by part timer Sid, along with Tatiana's ancient white BMW and Julio's newish red minivan. A vintage sky blue Schwinn bicycle with shiny chrome fenders was locked in the small bike rack, Laura's ride.

      On the other side of Crown Street, she noticed a pair of men in dark shirts and slacks talking to each other. The man with a wispy fringe of hair was peering through a late model camcorder as he focused on filming something behind her. The other man with gray hair and a matching beard was clutching a minuscule point and shoot digital camera. He stood on the sidewalk taking photos of what looked like the shelter or the small warehouse next to it. He happened to notice her and quickly turned and headed further down the block.

      As she reached into her car to grab her stuff, she saw them scurry over to a white four-door sedan and get inside. It took off in the opposite direction and turned down Warren Street, disappearing from view. That's odd, she thought.

      She balanced her tote bag in one hand and the cupcake carrier in the other, and opened the back door of the cat shelter. The smell hit the instant she stepped inside, the ripe stench of dozens of cats invaded her delicate nostrils. She wasn’t able to wear her favorite perfume, as some of the cats were allergic to what was considered a harsh aroma, even though it smelled like freshly baked sugar cookies. So she had to close her nose and concentrate on her adored little charges. The meow-chorus greeted her as a group of cats made it evident that they knew she was there and had special treats for them. Even as she walked up to the back entrance, she could hear the kitty cat glee club as some of her diehard fans called out.

      Resembling the Pied Piper of cats, Yolanda rushed to the closed door with the NO CATS/EMPLOYEES ONLY sign prominently displayed. On cue, it opened for her. She gratefully stepped inside, the size twelve track shoe of Sid gently nudging the large calico leader aside.

      So sorry I'm late, she said as Sid shut the door behind her. In the hallway, the meowers redoubled their efforts, underscoring the ruckus with their frantic claws scratching the door.

      Gangly young Sid, who wore his usual black jeans and T-shirt, looked in the direction of the noise and laughed. Reminds me of zombies, he said.

      I know what you mean! she laughed as she placed the cupcake carrier on the scratched former dining room table in the center of the room. In the shelter, the break room also served as a conference room. She plunked her tote bag next to it. The cinder block walled room painted in gaudy neons like a sunset on steroids always made her eyes hurt for a few seconds. I have Red Velvet cupcakes.

      Missy walked in and kept the strident cats at bay with her fast entrance. The older woman had hip-length black hair with reddish brown roots. Baggy cargo pants sported bulges of telltale cat treats in the multitude of pockets, and a bulky navy sweatshirt attempted to hide her girth. Hey Yolanda, she said, observing the younger woman removing the lid from the carrier. You brought my favorite cupcakes!

      You always say that, Missy.

      It's always true. Good news! This time we have plates and napkins. Missy went over to the small table that held a Mr. Coffee maker with a fresh pot that was almost full. Discount store sale so we got the pretty ones!

      She walked over to the table and was pleased to see a stack of pink and brown patterned cupcake-motif plates. Excellent – great design!

      Sid ambled over, poured himself a cup of coffee, and plated a cupcake. In one bite, he managed to remove all the frosting. A second large bite and the cupcake was gone. I'm a frosting first kinda guy.

      Yolanda laughed. Just like my dad! She touched her nose, seeing a smidge of frosting on the tip of his nose. Sid smiled and wiped it away. I love any cupcake with cream cheese frosting. Or chocolate. But yours are always the best.

      She beamed. Thanks, Sid.

      Another clamor of cats trying to catch their attention as the door opened a crack. A flash of wavy golden-brown hair and an angular face of the morning volunteer, Laura, was seen as she peeked in and waved. Missy, you have a call on line two.

      Hey Laura, have a cupcake, Yolanda said.

      I'm doing gluten-free, she replied and closed the door as she left. There was a yelp from a cat that almost got their tail caught in the door.

      Yolanda took a cupcake for herself, foregoing the coffee in favor of a bottle of water from the mini fridge. This'll be my last cupcake today, she thought. Opening the bottle and taking a sip, she closed it and quickly finished her cupcake. A longing glance at the remaining cupcakes tempted her to stay longer and indulge her sugar craving. Her next job was anything but sweet. She mentally braced herself for the dreaded duty of litter box cleanup. Putting her tote bag in her locker, she removed a packet of the tuna treats and put them in her back pocket. Then it was time to face the feline hordes in the sunroom where they roamed free.

      She tentatively pulled the door open a crack to see if there were any nearby cats. Fortunately, there weren’t any and she was able to leave the break room without having to fend any off. Sometimes she had to resort to throwing spare treats in the hallway about ten yards to the right so she could leave unscathed and not have to chase any strays around the room.

      The large sunroom was where dozens of cats hung out on a daily basis. All sorts of carpeted climbing and sleeping towers kept them off the floor. Secondhand couches and chairs served as beds for several of them, as did donated and cheaply bought cushions. The wooden floor was also home to lounging cats and small carpets and rugs were occupied. Three strategically placed litter boxes were in dire need of waste disposal and Yolanda stopped off at the supply closet to don a pair of latex gloves, grab a clean plastic scoop, and take a wheeled garbage can with her. Just as she approached the first litter box, a young tabby leapt out of it, leaving behind an uncovered mess. Worse than that was the diarrhea deposit about a yard away from the box. Sid walked in carrying a young tiger cat and noticed the situation. I guess Doc couldn’t make it to the box in time.

      Yolanda shook her head. At least two or three times a day he goes there. I think someone was being sarcastic when they named him Doc.

      After she finished cleaning out the plastic boxes and refilling them with generic brand cat litter, she sprinkled in some baking soda. That gesture wasn't appreciated as she was almost shoved aside by a couple of eager cats. Returning her cleaning supplies, she walked down the hallway and saw Laura putting a large calico cat into their cage. This is the fourth time Buffy's been passed over for adoption, she said, stroking the cat.

      Petting the cat, Yolanda saw the animal's sadness, reached into her back pocket, and pulled out a couple of squares of the cat treat. Buffy eagerly ate them and purred. Don’t worry Buffy, you'll find a good home.

      Looking at the other cages, she made sure all the occupants got a couple of the homemade tuna bits. Cage number 23 was now home to a muscular shorthaired black cat with a single white whisker amidst his black whiskers. Upon seeing Yolanda, he rubbed up against the bars. She handed him a few of the treats and he gobbled them loudly. He stuck his paw between the bars and she stroked it. When did he get here?

      Mr. Whisker got here this morning. He was sitting on the back doorstep looking like he was waiting to be let inside.

      Another drop off, Yolanda said. Seems like it's every day now.

      Laura nodded. It does.

      She sighed and handed out treats to every cat behind bars. She felt like they were little prisoners in the cages. They always had enough food and water. They were taken out for exercise, but all of them were in need of a real home, what most people involved with the shelter called a forever home.

      Missy stopped by as Laura returned to the reception desk in the front of the shelter. I think you should be selling those cat treats.

      Well, uh, I don’t add preservatives to them and I don't have a commercial kitchen. I just like to bake cat treats on the side.

      While she enjoyed baking cat treats, they weren't nearly as fun and exciting as coming up with a new cake or cupcake recipe. It wasn’t like determining if a chocolate caramel pecan cookie needed to be crisp or soft. Cats and dogs couldn’t consume chocolate and for Yolanda that was an ingredient she used most of the time. A cat couldn’t walk into a bakery café and order a cuppa java and a Mocha Latte cupcake. But humans could, and she envisioned her bakery was something more than a bakery café – it was called Yolanda's Yummery and it would star only the finest personal sized cakes and cupcakes and cookies she would bake. She'd have a commercial kitchen with all the best appliances and she would bake everything herself from scratch. Walking down the hall to fill the food bowls, a brown and gray Siamese mix ran out of the reception area followed closely by Julio.

      After the cat was captured and returned to the smaller room, she looked at her watch and saw she still had another hour until her shift ended. It was time to report to front office duty and deal with Ozzie the office manager. Inside the small office, she went to the desk where the elderly computer was housed, decorated with colorful Post-Its along the monitor's edges. The screensaver showed a fluffy white Persian cat. The chair featured a huge marmalade tabby that was curled up and snoring/purring. Ozzie the office manager weighed nearly thirty pounds and his general duties consisted of eating, sleeping, shuffling over to his private litter box in the corner, and returning to slumberland in his favorite chair. Working with Ozzie meant that he had to sit in the employee's lap while they used the computer. For the next twenty minutes, Yolanda helped compose the email newsletter and add more names to the contact list. Ozzie noticed her once, sniffed her hand, and resumed his extended sleeping schedule.

      Finally, quitting time rolled around. She would have to work on Saturday, but she was very much looked forward to having Sunday off.

      CHAPTER 2

      Miss Chef jumped on Yolanda's bed just after sunrise and began purring loudly. Through the crack in the curtains, she saw the pale light of dawn and groaned, wanting to return to sleep. The chubby cat saw there wasn’t any movement so she jumped on top of Yolanda and continued to purr and started kneading the light wool blanket. Grumbling, she sat up and the cat meowed and rubbed against her.

      Okay, I'm awake. She pushed the bedding aside and swung her legs over the bedside. Standing up, she plunged her feet into her slippers and shuffled past the distressed moss green and white wooden dresser and almost tripped over the rose patterned tasseled carpet which covered the original pine floors of what was once her grandparent's bedroom. Although she remembered her grandfather who died when she was in fifth grade, her grandmother was very close to her until her death four years ago. Grandmother Ingrid had kindly remembered her in the will and left her the two-bedroom one bathroom bungalow that was built in 1932. Yolanda thought of it as a cottage and was doing her best to furnish it in her favorite shabby chic décor.

      Almost hugging her ankles as she walked down the carpeted hallway, Miss Chef jumped over her feet just as they entered the kitchen. The cat ran towards the empty lapis blue glass food bowl handcrafted by Yolanda's father, Frederick Carter. It was a one of a kind hand blown glass creation. Formerly a top selling realtor, he now supported himself and her mother with his artistry. The swirled pattern of primary colors of each glass knob on her white cabinets looked elegant, thanks to his craftsmanship. The disappointed cat looked at the empty dish, not caring that it was created just for her; it was empty and that caused her to meow loudly and repeatedly.

      I'm getting your breakfast, Yolanda said as she went to the farthest cabinet from the stove and opened it. Pulling out a bag of healthy mix dry cat food in the preferred chicken and cheese flavors, she poured some into the bowl. She knew her cat was hungry by the way she gobbled it down and soon there was a look that said I want seconds. Later, Miss Chef, Yolanda said to the cat who cleaned her paws as though that display might elicit more food.

      The sun was shining into her favorite room of the house highlighting the stainless steel appliances. A small kitchen island topped with white and green granite that resembled marble held her precious chrome KitchenAid stand mixer. Two of the wooden sides of the island contained much of her baking ware and the other two had shelves containing her cookbook collection. Padded kitchen matting had been added to the area in front of the stove and oven: appliances that were used frequently. Since it was Sunday, why not give Miss Chef a special treat? She opened a drawer where she had samples of cat food and found a new product that wasn’t on the market yet but thought her cat would like it as it contained chunks of various types of poultry. As the cat was scraping the floor with her front paw, it was a great way to get a few minutes of peace and quiet or else let the cat outside. She tore open the packet and poured the gloppy looking beige and brown stuff into the bowl. Miss Chef tentatively sniffed it before giving it a taste. It must have passed muster because the devouring began.

      Breakfast consisted of cream of wheat topped with pure maple syrup, a slice of cinnamon raisin toast, and a small glass of freshly squeezed orange juice right from the tree in her backyard. She was reading an old cookies recipe book and decided to make one of the recipes for Brazilian Coffee Cookies. Adding enough cinnamon would make them even warmer. She made a note to change the white flour to rice flour, altering them to gluten free cookies for her mother who swore off most glutenish products and maintained her size four jeans' size. That's why they were often mistaken for sisters plus the fact that Abby Carter practiced and taught yoga as well as made batik and tie-dye bags and clothing. Yolanda had a collection of customized batik-print aprons in all her favorite colors.

      While the cookies were baking, she decided to check her voicemail. She pulled her cell phone and iPad from a kitchen drawer and set them down on the counter. Playing her messages, she got one from Zac Field, her boyfriend of ten months. He wanted to stop by. He must have known she would be home baking and on cue the cuckoo clock chirped twelve times. Unable to hear the rest of the hourly cuckoo show because it was drowned out by the noise of an amplified supercharged turbo deluxe engine in a certain muscle car made by Chevrolet. She glanced out the window and saw the black Camaro convertible stop just outside her garage, the engine idling, as he wanted to hear the last electric guitar riff from some 1980s heavy metal song. The noise abated and his engine was switched off, filling the area with silence. When he emerged, she saw he wore his usual white golfing shirt with the oval Green Palms Mini Golf Course logo on his chest. On the back in prominent black letters it read GOLF PROFESSIONAL. He wore a golf cap and khakis along with new black Nikes. He slid his chrome and black Oakley sunglasses onto his hat. She opened the door for him and he smiled and kissed her quickly.

      He sniffed the air. Hey Yolanda, whatcha been baking?

      Yolanda glanced at the clock above them and rushed back to the oven, switching on the light and looking through the glass window at the baking cookies. She grabbed her oven mitts, put them on, opened the door, and felt the rush of heat and the aroma of buttery sweet coffee. The two dozen cookies were at that golden stage and she removed the sheet and placed it on top of a waiting towel. She smelled them once more, shut the oven door with her foot, and took a thin pancake turner and moved them one by one to a wire rack. Zac stood near the other side of the island and watched intently. After the last cookie was transferred, he reached over to grab one but she gently slapped his hand.

      They need to cool off for about five minutes before you can…

      He picked up a soft cookie and put it in his mouth, cringing. This is hot.

      That's why I said you need to wait.

      But it's good. What kind is it?

      These are Brazilian Coffee Cookies.

      Nice. He was about to reach for another one but she moved the rack. So, you think about working at a bakery?

      I'm thinking about owning my own bakery, you know. But I've decided not to call it a bakery; it'll be known as Yolanda's Yummery.

      He shook his head. Yolanda's whatery?

      Yolanda's Yummery. Because I'm going to bake everything there myself and it'll be yummy. Cookies, cakes, cupcakes and brownies to start with.

      I've never heard of a yummery before. He noticed her iPad sitting on the counter near the oven and went over and picked it up. Let me see about a yummery in… he typed in the word and waited. Scrolling down the screen with his eyes following his fingers, he shook his head. Nothing. No yummery. Yum. Yummy…but not yummery. People won't know what it is. They'll walk in and go are we supposed to say yum?

      She giggled as she went over to him and he handed her the tablet. See? Nothing listed.

      That's good. I'll be creating my own brand.

      If you want to bake so badly why don't you work at Costco or Ralphs? They have good bakeries.

      Have you tasted their cookies? They use margarine or canola oil. They add preservatives. The cookies are still good past their expiration date.

      What's wrong with that?

      Cookies shouldn’t last that long. You wouldn't drink sour milk would you?

      He shook his head. Starting your own business takes lots of money and time. There's no job security or benefits. Most businesses fail within the first year. Work at a big bakery and you get salary and benefits. I know Jay who manages the Ralphs over on Woodman because he takes his sons golfing … I can put in a good word for you and you can get hired.

      She felt a cold shiver race down her spine at the suggestion. Zac, you know how creative I am and how I care about the quality of everything I bake. I care about every ingredient that goes into my desserts—you know that. She reached over, took a cookie off the rack, and bit into it. This is how I want to serve them to people – warm and freshly made.

      They won't stay that way. He reached for another one and she gently pushed his hand away.

      I'll sell them as fast as I make them. And these are for my parents. My Mom wants to stay away from wheat and dairy products.

      That sucks. I like my pizza to have extra cheese.

      I know—so do I.

      I'm working till seven tonight so if you want to meet me at the Burbank AMC we can see a movie tonight.

      Okay, I'll let you know when I leave my parents' place but I should be able to make it by then.

      He glanced at the cuckoo clock above the door, kissed her, and quickly left. She watched as he got into his car and an instant later the engine rumbled to life and was gunned twice. The car raced down the short driveway and onto the street. Yolanda cringed at the thought of someone on the sidewalk or a hapless bicyclist in the area as they would've been flattened by his careless driving. Fortunately, she didn't hear any discordant noises and Miss Chef was in the living room so the cat was safe.

      She pulled out another handcrafted piece of glasswork by her dad: a blue and yellow striped cookie jar and saw there were only a few double chocolate chip cookies left. Adding a few of the coffee cookies, she put the rest of them in a new plastic container that she would take with her that afternoon and give to her parents. The phone rang and she answered it, surprised to see Teagan Mishkin's name on the screen. She answered after the second ring. Hey Teagan, how's it going?

      Yo, I'm doing great! You home?

      I'm here but I'm going down to visit my parents soon.

      That's okay, I just wanted to tell you about my new job and thought you might be interested in earning $900 a night.

      Nine hundred a night? Is it legal?

      Of course it's legal. I'll tell you about it in person. I'll be there around one or one thirty.

      Sure, okay, Yolanda tentatively said as the phone went dead. She set it on the counter and walked back into her bedroom. Miss Chef approached from behind and rushed into her room, jumping atop the bed. Yolanda sat down next to the cat and stroked her back. I wonder what kind of job pays that much money? Something tells me it's not in a bakery baking cookies. The cat rubbed against her knee. Well, time to clean up and get dressed and hear what mischief Teagan's up to! She kissed the cat on top of her head.

      She went over to her closet and pulled open the accordion door and after flipping hangers past her, she settled on a purple batik blouse that was given to her by her mother last Christmas. The lavender capri pants came from a discount store and she opted for black ballet flats. After showering and getting dressed, she returned to the kitchen to wait for her friend.

      A shiny red Mercedes convertible drove up to the garage door, almost hitting it. In the early afternoon sunlight, the new car sparkled and shone like a precious ruby. Yolanda opened up her door and stepped outside to see the vehicle. Who was driving such a luxurious car? The car door opened and a model thin young woman with a mass of bleached blonde curls piled on top of her head stepped out. A tight black strapless minidress clung to her frame leaving little to the imagination. She wore designer heels covered with rhinestones and carried a matching handbag that twinkled as ostentatiously as her car and shoes. Hey girlfriend! Teagan waved her hand and the obvious orange talons had tiny rhinestones affixed to the tips.

      Teagan scurried over across the concrete driveway, her heels clicking with each step. You like my new car? It's safe here I don't have to lock it do I?

      No Teagan, you know this is a very quiet and safe neighborhood. My grandparents moved here back in the fifties.

      That's so way last century!

      I know and everything's changed so much since then. But there's a good neighborhood watch program and …

      Listen, I have some awesome news for you. She was jumping from one sparkly stiletto to the other.

      Come on in, Teagan, she said, gesturing for her friend to follow her into the kitchen. I have some Brazilian Coffee Cookies and I made some fresh iced tea.

      Teagan patted her flat stomach, sucking it in even more to emphasize the washboard abs. I have to watch my weight, but thanks.

      You're really skinny, she said to the young woman she'd known since they'd sat next to each other in tenth grade English class.

      Well, I'm rich now too! And now you can be. I know you don't want to work at that cat place and want to have your own bakery. If you work where I do then you can earn as much as me – maybe even more!

      How do you earn $900 a night? I'm almost afraid to ask…

      I'm just a cocktail waitress. As long as I show some cleavage and smile a lot, I get tips. Of course, I have to serve the drinks, don't spill 'em and not mix up the orders. I have to work really fast and wear a sexy outfit like this. She did a spin, holding up her hands and giggling. Oh, and sometimes I dance. I don’t have any downtime at work, and the clientele are men, professional men. Working men but some of them are super loaded. And really rich men. The best of all the men are the rich men that are really hot.

      Where is this place? Yolanda was warming up to the concept of earning three digits a night even if she would have to wear little clothing and hustle drinks.

      Near the edge of Beverly Hills in West L.A. She pulled out her iPhone in a bedazzling magenta case and pressed a button. A single push of a button meant that person was highly ranked in Teagan's cell phone world. Rocky, I have my friend Yolanda Carter here and if you can…what? She paused. Yeah. I know. I've known her since high school. She's the same age as me. She nodded, looking down at the floor. Right, I'll tell her. She disconnected and put her phone back into her bag. Rocky says he can see you anytime before five.

      What do I wear for the interview?

      You're fine. You don't even need to bring a resume. Just go to 11236 Marina del Mar Street. It's still too new to have a Google presence but it's near the 405. If you don't find any street parking there's a valet out back. Tell him you're there for an interview and you can park for free.

      Yolanda keyed in the address on her iPad. She looked at her friend and smiled. I want my bakery and if this will get it…

      An hour later Yolanda was circling the block looking for a parking space, finding one in front of a martial arts school next door to the Wicked Fun Gentlemen's Club. When she got out of the car she saw the meter still had forty minutes on it, but the sight of a gentlemen's club was perplexing. At first, she thought it was something from the Victorian era but she didn’t think Teagan was interested in history as she had barely passed the class in their junior year. The two-story building was an innocuous shade of beige. A white awning with the address printed on it corresponded with the one her friend had given her.

      Reluctantly she headed up the sidewalk and into the building. Inside she walked down a long and dark hallway. To her left she heard the muffled sound of heavy bass. At the end of the hall was a box office like in a movie theatre. Prominently displayed were NO SMOKING and MUST BE OVER 21 signs. A cashier wearing oblong red glasses pointed to the sign that showed the prices. I know you're a chick but admission's still not free.

      I'm here to see Rocky about a job, she explained to the young cashier who was reading a current issue of Cosmopolitan magazine. The cashier nodded, picked up the phone, and punched in a speed dial number. What's your name? she asked.

      My name's Yolanda.

      Good name. Rocky, a Yolanda's here to see you.

      The cashier pushed her eyeglasses on the bridge of her narrow nose, and resumed reading the magazine. He'll be right down.

      Um, thanks, Yolanda said as she moved to the entrance between the hallway and the club. The music was a little louder.

      A short Hispanic man opened the door and stepped into the hallway, as the door slammed shut behind him. He gave her a smile as he appraised Yolanda from her natural brunette hair pulled into a ponytail down to her simple black leather flats. In between his scouting expedition, he'd lingered on her salable assets noting her average cleavage and the hips she was self-conscious about. His narrow eyes brightened and his flushed round face grew redder beneath the overhead chandelier.

      You're Yolanda … Teagan's friend? he asked, reaching out to shake her hand, the blue sharkskin jacket's sleeve showing too much patterned cuff. He pronounced it as TEE-gan when in actuality it was always pronounced TAY-gan. She nodded and shook his hand, feeling the sweaty heat as she longed to wipe her hand on her pants, but he was intently observing her so she did nothing other than stand there at the edge of the Wicked Fun Gentlemen's Club.

      Teagan's really good, Rocky said, as he continued staring at Yolanda. Follow me, he said, opening the door for her, and watched as she walked into the club. He noted the lack of an engagement ring or a wedding ring. He grinned. Teagan will do anything to keep our customers happy. She keeps them happy, she keeps the employees happy and most of all she keeps me happy. He winked and licked his already wet lips. You and Teagan are good friends?

      Um yeah, we've known each other since high school, so about ten years. She looked around at the club. It wasn’t as tacky as she'd initially thought when she first drove up and saw the place. There were many tiny round tables with black tablecloths, plush looking burgundy booths along the outer walls, and a soft gray-carpeted floor. Plenty of spotlights shone above the horseshoe shaped stage. Techno music pulsated and her ears began aching at the noise level. Did she really want to work in a place like this? A few men and couples gawked at the onstage entertainment. Wrapping herself around the pole like a doughnut was a petite Asian woman with long hair that touched the stage floor. She arched her back and scissored her legs in various positions. All she wore was a tiny spangled black bikini bottom and an equally skimpy top.

      Yolanda spotted a scowling suited gorilla-looking bouncer with an ear mic. Come Yolanda, Rocky said. I audition you now. He hurried over to a door beneath a stairwell. Here, I get you a costume. He opened up the door and reached into a closet, pulling out something black and shiny. Here it is, he extended a tiny piece of spangled fabric to her and she accepted it. Now, you go to the dressing room and put it on and meet me at the stage. Go upstairs, last door on the left.

      He scurried away before she had a chance to say anything. She looked at the flimsy bikini bottom and wondered if it would fit her. There was no bikini top. She went upstairs and walked down a burgundy-carpeted hallway with closed wooden doors on both sides. All were numbered like in a hotel. Passing the first door, she overheard loud thumping disco music but it didn’t mask the sounds of shouts and moans. She scurried along, not wanting to hear anything else. Think about the yummery, she said softly, think about being my own boss and baking…

      Outside of the last closed door, she knocked hesitantly. Was she supposed to go in there? No music emanated from the room. Putting her hand on the doorknob, the door suddenly opened and a tall raven-haired young woman in a short sundress stood there. Yes?

      My name's Yolanda and Rocky told me to change into this… She held out the tiny bit of fabric and the woman laughed.

      My name's Cherie and I don't think that would fit you. I don't think that would fit my three-year-old. She held it up and pulled at one of the straps, which broke. There, now you don't have to wear it. She tossed it back to Yolanda and shut the door, her laughter even louder than before.

      Yolanda stood there for a few seconds before turning around and hurrying down the hallway. She headed downstairs to the stage. She held the bikini in one hand and her purse in the other and she thought she'd leave the costume with the cashier and just go to her parent's house. But Rocky strode over to her. Where is your costume?

      She held out the torn bikini bottom. The strap on it broke before I could even try it on.

      Rocky sighed and glanced at his flashy gold watch. Okay, okay, you go up there and dance and take off your clothes. That's good.

      Nine hundred dollars a night, Yolanda. She suddenly smiled at the man, keeping that thought floating through her mind. This wasn't a forever job. It wasn't a long-term job. It was a temporary job that would have huge benefits. Approaching the stage, she was puzzled as to how she'd get up there until she saw a small staircase at the side. Tentatively she walked up the steps and stood near the side of the stage. Rocky stood near the DJ, a tall black man wearing sunglasses and a tank top that showed

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