her crown, and, in honor of the somber occasion, a modest cocoa jersey duster covered her pumpkin-and-saffron print ankle-length dress.
“I can’t believe my Crystal is burying yet another classmate,” Deena clucked. A frown tugged at her lush caramel-tinted lips, as she studied her daughter, Crystal Tompkins, across the crowd. Crystal stood beneath a live oak, wrapped in the arms of a slightly pudgy, baby-faced young man with a blond crew cut and round, wire-rimmed glasses. “It’s been less than a year since Brittanie Brinkman’s murder, and now this.”
“Were Crystal and Bryan close?” I asked.
Deena shook her head. “No. Bryan was a couple years older than Crystal, a year ahead of Jason.” I guessed that Jason was the scholarly blond boy, Crystal’s fiancé and a law student at Texas Tech. “But they were all on the debate team together at Dalliance High. Bryan was the team captain the year they won the state championship.”
“He must have been brilliant.”
“Meh,” Deena replied, waggling her hand in a sort of “wishy-washy” gesture.
“Come on,” I insisted. “Leading little Dalliance High School to the state championship in debate, working on a Ph.D. . . . he had to have something going on upstairs.”
“He was smart enough,” Deena conceded, “but he never struck me as brilliant. Maybe it was just because he worked so hard to act smart that I assumed he wasn’t. He talked a big game about going to an Ivy League school and writing the great American novel, then selling the story to Hollywood. But he never seemed to find his way out of Dalliance. Crystal said he could have done whatever he wanted, but that he enjoyed being the big fish in a small pond. But I figured he was all sizzle, no steak. Know what I mean?”
I certainly did. In my experience, the people who talked the biggest game were rarely the real players.
“Speaking of steak,” Deena continued, “I know this isn’t the most appropriate time, but I have a favor to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“Crystal’s been having fits over the groom’s cake. She and Jason have been to a dozen weddings this year, and each bride has outdone the last with a creative twist on the groom’s cake. One had a cake shaped like a beer cooler, complete with real beer cans and sugar ice cubes.”
“Wow.”
“I know. I saw the pictures, and I was quite impressed. But this has really put a lot of pressure on Crystal to surprise Jason with something different, something clever and new. And that’s where you come in.”
“Whoa,” I said. “I don’t bake. I mean, I bake for my family, but I don’t do fancy cakes and stuff.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Deena said. “Actual cake isn’t necessary anymore. Crystal says she’s seen so-called groom’s cakes made of cheesecake, pancakes, and the last wedding they went to actually had a groom’s steak . . . a huge slab of beef that the bride presented to her new husband grill-side.”
“Really?”
Deena smiled. “Pretty clever, huh? So we were wondering if you could blend up a ‘groom’s shake.’ A signature concoction just for Jason.”
Intriguing.
“We’re having the wedding at the ranch.” Deena’s husband, Tom Silver, bred quarter horses on a thriving ranch, the Silver Jack. “We were planning to serve cocktails between the wedding and the reception, while the wedding party is doing pictures. But now we’re thinking of serving the groom’s shakes then, maybe even in champagne flutes. What do you think?”
I didn’t really relish the idea of taking on another commitment for the summer, but Deena had proven a good friend, and it was about time I paid her back for her support.
“I think we can work something out,” I said. “Have Crystal give me a call, and she can tell me all about Jason. That way I can pull together a flavor that is both tasty and meaningful.”
Deena and I were culinary kin. We both understood the deep emotional connection people have with food, how it can do more than satisfy our physical hunger. She nodded and gave me a discreet high five.
At that moment, Alice approached us, an awkward young man in a rumpled navy suit trailing behind her. I guessed that if he stood up straight he’d be a good head taller than Alice, maybe six one. A shock of ginger curls haloed a long face with soft, expressive features. The straight slash of his eyebrows and rectangular tortoiseshell glasses framed heavy-lidded blue eyes.
“Hey, Miz Silver,” Alice said. “Aunt Tally, this is Reggie Hawking. He’ll be teaching that class I