Chapter Text
“You are being intentionally dismissive of my skills. It speaks volumes when the federal government reaches out to offer me a case before you do, father.”
There was a rumble of a chuckle on the other end of the phone, a boisterous sort of laughter that indicated an upcoming sabotage. “I believe the Bureau of Investigation’s desperate sham to reach out to the black sheep of the Addams family is not a reflection of your abilities, but a mirror of their own lack of competence. It’s also – a fabrication of events.”
Like a ticking timebomb that apparently the best agents in the country couldn’t diffuse, a frustrated hiss through radio waves was cut off, “You couldn’t come up with a more interesting case than a serial poisoning even if -”
“My refusal to grant you another case has nothing to do with the volume we’ve received. It’s more of a matter of knowing how much water my little raincloud can take on before she begins to pour. You need a break, Wednesday. I have plenty of fascinating mysteries to be solved, but until you’ve taken proper time to rest and recharge, I will not divulge the details.”
“I don’t need time off. I will prove that with the fastest completion of a case yet. If I solve this in two weeks, you must release me from the authoritarian parenting you’re employing! I’m twenty-five, father, well beyond the point of you controlling my every move to turn me into one of your spy clones.”
A pause was met in the air, likely – sausage-esque fingers rolling over a salt and pepper colored moustache as consideration was given to a demanding request. “Two weeks, hm? That puts you squarely at December twenty-fourth. Your mother and I would adore seeing you for the holiday, we’ve missed your annual assault on the carolers…” There was a tired sigh and a resounding, “Alright, I’ll meet your challenge. You have this solved by Christmas Eve, come home for the night, and I’ll grant you a new case without forcing you to take an extended break from detective work.”
“That was not what I was implying. I have no desire to return to the place of my childhood tor-”
“Would you like a new case from our esteemed family files, or would you like to continue to receive the plebian requests that any agent could access?”
🎄🍪🍯 ~☠️~ 🍯🍪🎄
“…They’re adorable, honestly. You’ve outdone yourself, Enid. My colleagues will love them!”
The blonde who had gone above and beyond, stood in front of her register next to a near-empty display case, with what she hoped wasn’t a completely exasperated smile. She also wore a rainbow striped sweater, with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and an apron that was an almost obnoxious shade of pink over the top, and a smudge of flour on her cheekbone that popped out when she smiled (even if it didn’t meet the bring blue of her eyes). “I’m so glad to hear the cookies will be a hit. Seventeen thirty-nine is your total…”
“Could I add the last of your candy cane cupcakes, too? Thank goodness you’ve still got three, my girls will put me on the naughty list themselves if I come home with a box from Sunshine and there’s nothing in there for them!”
Nodding, Enid opened another flat, bright pink box from behind her, popping it up properly so her sunshine logo was visible with the holographic sprinkles all around it. Taking the tongs from their holder, she carefully packaged them up. “You are cleaning me out here, thanks, now I can close up a little bit early and focus on the rest of tomorrow’s pre-orders!” A relieved sigh filled the room just under the sound of classic holiday pop music. Passing the cupcakes over, she hit a few more buttons on the screen, announcing with more of a real smile, as it meant her time at the front of the store would be officially over, “And that brings you up to…twenty-two eighty-six. Card? Yep, tap and – wait for the beep and…All set! Have such a happy holiday! I can’t wait to make Posie’s Cakey cake in January! I can’t believe she’ll be five.”
“We’re just excited they’ll all be out of daycare come the fall. We’ll be able to come by here more often for treats once we’re not paying that bill anymore! And I’d love to sign the girls up for more of your Sprinkle Time baking classes, if you’ll be bringing them back?”
Enid cringed, hoping her cheeks didn’t turn as bright pink as the walls of the shop. “Honestly, I’m not so sure what things are going to look like here in the new year – I feel like I’m still really adjusting to being a one-woman bakery.”
“Understood. I can’t imagine losing my work partners so suddenly. I think you’ve done a great job of hanging in there. You wouldn’t even know that you’re down over half the staff. Keep it up, Enid! Bye, Merry Christmas!”
The little bells above the confectionary door tinkled as the customer left, and the deflated sound of a balloon losing air would let anyone know just how untrue the woman’s final statement had been. The head baker, founder, and current-sole-employee of Sprinkle of Sunshine Bakery certainly didn’t appear or feel as though there was single ray of sunlight left in her, nor a shred of Christmas spirit. As she glanced at the door that had slammed shut, in need of a new slow-close stop before a small child lost a finger in it, she realized – she spent yet another day of the busy season without actually seeing the sun herself as the dark came to Vermont so early in the heart of December –
Dingdingdingdingding!
“Shit,” The blonde hissed, running to the chaos-filled kitchen behind the wall that separated the small, rainbow-bright storefront from the nearly dreary place where the actual work happened. Having acquired the property two and a half years prior with the help of friends and fellow bakers, they’d worked slowly at making sure the aesthetics of the part where they interacted with the customers was the priority for decorating, figuring that their personality would keep the back alive. That had proven effective, until there was only one personality left in the space, leaving the kitchen to feel like a hodgepodge of outdated appliances. Disjointed ‘décor’ was really just peel-and-stick colorful vinyl sprinkles on white walls, with strings of Polaroid photos of kids at the former baking classes, and a few playful or disastrous days in the kitchen. The memories of good times from back when those who opened the shop with Enid were still involved were more like ghosts hanging amidst her perpetual state of feigning happiness. (She really needed to take the photos down. Every time her attention wandered and she caught sight of them, it broke her heart just a little bit more until she felt like an overworked pie crust.)
The kitchen looked worse than ever lately – as being the sole baker at the busiest time of year meant loads of unwashed dishes, heaps of packaging she hadn’t had time to properly break down, and evidence that every moment was a nonstop flurry of activity that she just couldn’t keep up with on her own. The floor was in desperate need of a sweep every few hours, and it was clear from the way her feet left damn near footprints in snow, that she hadn’t done so all day long.
Enid opened the oven, using a linen towel – her fingertips well used to the scorching heat of metal underneath, as she never took the time to put on a proper heat glove. Putting her baking tray down, she let out a sigh of relief – her delicate, famous ‘sugar’ cookies were spared from over baking once again. “Okay, you cool,” She said softly, releasing them with a spatula to the little grated racks behind her. “I’ll start on you in…oh come on,” She hissed as the sound of the tinkling bells from the front alerted her to yet another customer. She’d meant to lock the front door until her last pickup order of the day would arrive just after five. She was completely sold out in the storefront and empty display cases often meant very cranky customers.
Glancing at her other cookies that would hopefully be ready to be packaged for her pickup soon – Enid also desperately hoped that it wasn’t the pre-order customer there early.
She almost recoiled at the sight of a harsh-faced young woman wearing all black leering at the counter in the middle of the floor of the shop. Very unlikely to be the ‘Mrs. Gates’ picking up two dozen apricot jam thumbprint cookies, Enid assumed the woman’s surly attitude was due to the lack of stock on same-day goods. “Howdy!” Enid tried to find her brightest smile, signature of the shop. The woman took a step back, her oversized black jacket drowning her – but a necessity for the Vermont cold. “You’re not Mrs. Gates, right? I feel like I remember seeing photos – she’s…well, not you.”
The woman didn’t speak, merely shook her head just slightly. Her dark hair was braided and pinned up over her head in nearly old-fashioned style, though, so it hadn’t hurt to ask if she followed the stereotype of what Enid assumed would be the older client. Thick-cut bangs were clearly askew from being wind-blown in the cold outside. There was nothing else really visible beneath her dark-attire to give other clues about her personality away, other than that it was like having a dark raincloud suddenly cast over her pink, rainbow-filled storefront. “I need to speak to the manager.”
“Oh, well, that’s me, but you see, I’ve actually – oh! Hold on!” Enid tried not to cringe but was sure she appeared as overwhelmed as she felt when another timer went off in the kitchen.
She scrambled to take the base layer of what was going to become a peppermint bark cake out of the oven, quickly popping off the circular metal pan ring so that it could cool. (Her number one goal for the new year was to somehow make it out of the current one in the black and save up a few thousand dollars for a commercial blast chiller).
Scurrying once more to the front, where the woman hadn’t moved, Enid rounded the empty glass, scuffing her toe. “So, you don’t have an order, currently with us?”
“Hardly.”
“Oh, um, okay! Well, I’m so sorry to say, we’re actually out of counter baked goods today. I’ll have my usual, first-come, first-serve fresh treats out at ten tomorrow morning. Unfortunately, I am completely swamped and had to stop taking holiday orders, so I sadly can’t -”
“I’m not looking to place an order or eat your cavity-inducing confections,” She said without blinking. (Enid wasn’t sure if she had at all).
“Uh…Well, this is a sweet bakery! If you were looking for bread or bagels, up the street there is -”
“I do not require any baked goods,” She clarified, “Your business’ hours online state you are open until five.”
“…Or until the last treat is sold,” Enid said stiffly, gesturing towards the little vinyl decal on the window beneath the pink and white patterned Christmas lights.
“How could any customer be expected to know when that is?” The guest asked with an irritated sort of -tlch at the end. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t come here to talk about sweets. I need to speak with you, the manager about -”
Another timer rang out and Enid closed her eyes, let out a breath and didn’t even bother to excuse herself. She went back behind the counter and with haste, took Italian Anisette Cookies which needed to be frosted right away out of the oven, set them on the counter, and prepared to march back to the front to tell the woman off – not caring if she scared away business in that moment.
Unfortunately, she was the one who was scared as she let out a little, “Eeep!” At the sight of the woman standing, unblinking, unnerving her in the doorway. Enid put a hand over her heart to slow the beating and let her shoulders rise and fall as she tried to keep her breathing normal. Irritated beyond belief that someone would be so pompous and entitled to bring themselves back to her kitchen, she decided that she really didn’t care about losing a potential future client – that was not the type of person she wanted to be dealing with. “Okay, ma’am? I’m closed. I meant to lock the door about five minutes before you came when I sold my last cupcakes – it’s just, these timers, ah!” She nearly screamed when a fourth went off and she had to stop holding her line to keep from losing any of the precious work she’d already done that day.
Feeling the usual teary frustration starting to build up in her, Enid truly felt like the woman’s stormy presence was going to be the thing that made her spill over the edge that evening. She took gingerbread cupcakes from the second-to-last of her five ovens – really needing to switch over the batches of her next products from the fridge that were ready to go in. Just as she made to tell the woman to get lost one final time, the little sound of the bell from the front of the store actually forced her first tear to fall.
“Ms. Sinclair? It’s Mrs. Gates, for the order of apricot cookies?”
Wiping the evidence of her fluster away with a flour-covered sleeve, she called out, “I’ll be right there!” Of course – Mrs. Gates, one of the town’s high-to-do biddies who was always in everyone’s business. (She was in some ways a regular – though Enid had never seen her outside of photos on Instagram. It was always her party planners or others who worked at the house whom she outsourced to host that were placing orders for the huge parties that they’d throw at the house.) Feeling her embarrassed cheeks grow redder, Enid called out, “You’re a little early, Mrs. Gates – can I have about five minutes?”
A heave of a dramatic and somewhat irritated sigh came out – just enough of a noise to let Enid know she was disappointed. “Oh, alright, I’ll be back in ten, then, I just thought you’d have them ready to go by now, for me, you know.”
“I’m so sorry, thank you!”
She turned almost slowly to the doorway, approaching the intruder in her dark jacket with as threatening of an expression as she could muster. “If you can’t tell, I’m really not having a great day. And you are the black cherry on top of it, so please, leave me alone. Get out of my shop before -”
“Your shop has been used to poison fifteen people.”
At that, Enid’s jaw fell open, she blinked franticly, trying to process the news. She sputtered in an attempt to come up with a logical response – her stupor only growing when the woman in the doorway reached into her black jacket. Realizing she was a hitwoman, and that Enid was certainly being accused of a crime that she didn’t commit, her entire body froze – as apparently that was her new stress response, and she blinked, dropping to the ground, covering her head in a whine of cower. “Please, I’m sorry, I don’t know – I have no idea who…or what…please – don’t kill me!”
“I think all the powdered sugar has gone to your head,” The hitwoman said softly. Enid winced one eye open from where she was crouched behind the counter, spotting the woman’s military-style boots stepping through flour on Enid’s neutral, beige tile that didn’t match the front of the store. She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut again. “Would you get a grip?”
“On what? You want me to bite down on the gun and blast it into my mouth?”
“Gun? What chemical fumes are you exposing yourself to in this bakery? Enid, get up.”
She felt two fresh tearstains on her cheeks as she shuddered a breath and dared to glance up, spotting…the woman holding some piece of paper instead of a weapon, clearly not understanding the cause for confusion. She didn’t say anything else about Enid’s strange response, simply got right to business. “At first, there appeared to be no connection between the methodology of the ingested poisoning due to no consistent biological delivery source, until I had further tests run on the matter of the stomach contents of each of the victims. There was one commonality between each of them; Chrysin, Pinocembrin, Hydrxymethylfurfural, and Pinobanksin.”
Enid just blinked up at her, completely lost – no idea what she was even talking about. “I…I don’t understand?”
“Honey.” She shrugged, looking down at some sort of lab reports. “After obtaining the stomach contents for myself – you didn’t hear that,” She muttered…shaking her head and giving her first blink since arriving in the space, making Enid tilt her head in further confusion. “I determined that these individuals weren’t simply given a spoonsful of honey. It was reduced more to the chemical properties, shown in the lab results, indicated that it was used as a sweetener in replacement of pure sugar. Yet, none of the victims had the same deserts over the course of time that would place the commonality, as honey is not a very typical sugar replacement in commercial goods due to the temperamental nature of it. Further research led me to discover a single bakery in Vermont which is known for its use of honey in each recipe. The Sprinkle of Sunshine Bakery.”
“I…I…” Enid was processing the news and the woman crossed her arms after stuffing the papers back in her jacket. She glared down.
“Are you going to continue to sit on the floor and cower before me, or are you going to assist me in obtaining a record of your clients?”
Enid stood up, about to try and find any sort of intelligent response for the woman, when a tinkle of the bells in the front forced her to let out another pitiful sound. “Enid? it’s Marilyn Thornhill – I’ve got a large order that you’re filling tomorrow! I know it’s last minute, but you haven’t been answering phones all day and I sent you a message on Instagram around noon about making a few changes…Enid?”
The woman who was accusing Enid of poisoning fifteen people had a small twitch near her left eye, turned around, marched out of the shop, earning a startled, “Oh my goodness! Oh, oh! Unhand me – oh -!”
The bells tinkered again, and then the sound of the door lock turning and the deadbolt hitting the hot pink tile at the bottom of the door and then the secure latch at the top filled the space. Christmas music stopped playing in the background, and the woman in black put her hands on her hips. “I need a list of your clients.”
“Who are you?” Enid finally managed to ask for the most basic information she should’ve gone for ten minutes prior when the storm cloud threatened to rain on her cupcake parade.
“Detective Addams,” She said with a stiff upper lip.
“Detective Addams,” Enid parroted, looking up for a moment before moving to the sink, washing her hands as she remembered that Mrs. Gates would be back for her cookies at any minute. After drying them thoroughly, she felt a spark of knowledge hit her as she declared, “The Jellinsky Case, finally solved by Detective Addams! I remember – that was all over True CrimeTok, OhEmGee, is the guy who solved it your dad?!”
She rolled her eyes. “Detective Gomez Addams is well past his prime for solving mysteries. The case I am working on now is actually outside of his purview, a case directly from the government. I know you’re not capable of poisoning high-end clients in such a targeted way. Therefore, I need the names of the individuals who purchase your goods, Enid.”
“Well, first of all, I take somewhat offense that you’ve only met me and doubt my abilities, but – I also don’t want to implicate myself for murder, so no, I can safely say that I’m not putting anything besides honey that’s unexpected in all of my treats! And secondly, if you get to be on a first name basis with me, I should get to be on a first name basis with you, Detective Addams.” She sassily combated her, carefully arranging the cookies in a different box than usual, one more meant for candied treats, as they were still slightly sticky from her poor time management that day.
“If I tell you, will you cooperate with me?” Detective Addams asked with a look that was losing her already extremely thin patience by the second.
“I might be more likely to,” Enid said stiffly, still not liking the implication that she couldn’t kill somebody if she wanted to. “People are more likely to engage with you when you approach them in a nice, friendly manner, you know.”
“Wednesday.”
“You’ll tell me in a few days? You plan on hanging out that long?”
“It’s my name,” She grumbled, sticking her hands in her pockets. “And I need more, from your records on specific dates. I’m in a hurry. I suspect that the murderer is going to strike at the Christmas foundation banquet that is here in town tomorrow, as it is consistent with other details of the case.”
As Enid put the lid on the box and wrapped it in a pink and white bow with a little snowflake topper, she sighed, “Yeah, that is literally at Mrs. Gates’ mansion! They always host the fancy town stuff at their house…I don’t know why she has to have these tonight, I’ve got like – twenty different treats going out tomorrow that I can only assume are for the party.” Enid paused, then shook her head. “I’m sure it’s not her actually dealing with the orders for the party though. She wouldn’t dare dream to pick up something for such a big-to-do when her help could do that, this is actually the first I’ll be seeing her in person. I usually don’t find out that my orders are for her until I see my little sweets all over social media the next day.” Not that it hurt being, like, the only person in town not invited to such functions…
“I doubt that the woman hosting the party is the one who’d be directly poisoning the guests. She has a solid alibi for most of the dates of the previous poisonings. I suspect that whoever is placing and picking up the orders for the party plans on tampering with them. Mrs. Gates is also not likely a target in this case as the victims of the poisoning have been individuals who are fighting for those of a much lower class than she comes from. Perhaps we can skip the client records if you could tell me–”
There was the sound of a struggle coming from outside the shop and Enid let out yet another big sound of complete and utter dissatisfaction. She took her box and painted on a practiced smile, hurrying to the door, unlocking and passing the cookies out, almost wondering for a moment if she should warn Mrs. Gates about the potential for disaster at her party the following day. She tried to say something, anything – but when the woman snatched the box and didn’t bother to give a thanks (or a tip, and it hadn’t been on her original order, either), Enid just glared and locked the door again. Unplugging the pastel, candy-themed Christmas décor in the window, she also turned off her empty display case, tossed out the festive pink and white snowflake parchment that had lined the trays, and brought them all back to start a load in the dishwasher…then remembered – she’d never even put her next five sets of treats in the ovens!
Hurrying back, she dumped the metal trays on top of the overflowing sink full of dirty dishes from baking that day. Taking a brief look around her kitchen and the complete and utter disaster that it was, Enid could’ve fallen face-first onto the main, stainless steel island counter and just continued to cry.
“Okay, okay,” She spoke to herself, shaking her hands out and making a plan. “Ovens. Dishes. Prep batches. Decorate. Ovens, dishes, prep batches decorate…Eeek!” She squeaked and stamped a foot when Wednesday was in front of her again. “You aren’t on my agenda! Go away. Mrs. Gates is a miserable old woman, go follow her – ask her who picks up her orders!”
“I’ve already been to the property and done my detective work there. You are the very last step before tomorrow’s event. I. Need. Your. Names.”
“Well, I need you to stop asking me questions for like, ten minutes so I can get the next batch of sweets into their ovens and set timers, otherwise there isn’t going to be an order to get picked up to be taken to the Gates mansion tomorrow!”
She pushed past her, watching how Wednesday’s jaw visibly tightened. She clearly wasn’t used to being told no when it came to working with leads. As Enid put her next set of cupcakes in the first oven, she adjusted the temperature and set the timer on the side of the appliance, she muttered, “Your snarky attitude might work elsewhere, but not here.”
“I’m starting to wonder what actually works here because this is a disaster. If I made a call to the health department, I’m sure they’d find no less than sixteen violations in this kitchen right now.”
Enid felt her eyes grow wide, then turned to glare after putting her bread pudding in the next oven and clicking the up button on the arrows for more time, always trying to give herself at least five minutes between items. “I actually have an A rating! Things just – blew up in my face this holiday season, it’s the busiest time of year and I’m trying to stay on top of it. Having such a Negative Nancy come into my business and try to tell me what to do certainly isn’t helping!”
“You’re drowning,” Wednesday said without much emotion. “You’ve clearly bitten off more than you can chew. Why would one person ever take on this much work?”
“I was pretty much above water until a last-minute change of circumstance before the busiest time of year started. But it doesn’t matter! I’m filling this bakery with as much sunshine and happiness as I can, so – and sticking with the food analogy, you can choke on it.”
“Cute murder metaphor.”
Enid put the fourth new raw item in the oven, and before she could even process the fifth – the smell of burning hit her nose and she gasped, opening the fifth oven – realizing the timer never went off – and –
“No, no, no!” She cried, pulling out a completely blackened batch of her viral honey cookies. “No!”
Wednesday approached with her arms crossed in her jacket, examining as Enid let out a little cry and dumped the too-crisp cookies into the trash. “What a shame; that’s the first thing I’ve seen in here that was tolerable to look at.”
Giving a full growl, Enid pointed to the door. “Get out! Or I’m calling the cops!”
“You’ll lose a lot more time that way. Put your next batch in. What is… that?”
Enid picked up her next tray. “Award-winning Pecan Pie Bars,” She muttered, sliding what looked like a jumbled up toss of nuts into the oven, pressing the buttons with as little despondency as she could, but the overbearing weight of all her failure that season was being witnessed by a total stranger – and she was pretty sure she still hadn’t processed the fact that her treats, meant to bring so much happiness to people, had been used to kill them instead. “Wednesday, please. I’m sorry that my bakery is caught up in some sort of scandal. I can’t…I can’t risk – would you go to the news if I…? If I lose clients…Wednesday, this is – embarrassing…”
“Enid, I haven’t even mentioned the name of your bakery to anyone. I work in a silo, and I don’t cooperate with authorities until I have all the information for the case airtight. I don’t trust the justice department to do its job; that’s why I got into this field independently, why my entire family has for generations. If you can simply give me your records, and the order you assume to be for the Gates party tomorrow to compare, I’ll be out of your kitchen.”
At that, she could’ve cried again as the detective finally changed her tone to at least be tolerable. “Um…unfortunately, I can’t give you names…I can’t give you names, because – my record keeping system is offline. I was able to make the payment this morning, but – the company said it probably wouldn’t be restored until noon tomorrow. The only reason that I’m able to do these orders is because I’m so inefficient that I have my orders and my billing separate on my website, so…It’s just – the orders go away once they’re filled. If you give me enough time to do the dishes and get the next batches ready when these come out of the ovens, I-I’ll pull up the website and give you today’s order info. Other than that, I really can’t help you until noon tomorrow.”
Wednesday dropped her shoulders slightly. She glanced around, taking in some sort of information. She glanced at the sink full of dishes, the industrial dishwasher, then started to unbutton her coat. “Um…what…um, I – sort of figured that would get you out of here. Why are you making some move like you’re staying?”
“I’ll do the dishes. You start your next set of killer sweets. Four hands – twice the pace of work.”
“Why…why would…”
“I want the information that I can only get through you. Unless I employ violence, which would not help you complete the orders that are required for the pickup, then I lose. I’m on a tight deadline. I’ll do what it takes, including a subservient task such as the dishes, to meet it.”
Enid watched as she took her jacket out to the shop, likely resting it on the glass countertop, before returning. She wore a tight pair of black pants and turtleneck, with a black and white striped sweater vest on top. She was…kind of cute – in a demented sort of way. Enid was always attracted to girls who were just a little bit smaller than her, which was kind of a challenge – as she barely cleared five foot three, but the little detective in front of her was just a bit tinier than her (in size – in attitude it seemed like they were likely evenly matched, even if she was prone to cry and the other was likely prone to destroy).
Wednesday rolled up her sleeves and quickly assessed the how-to without asking, taking the first of the sliding, industrial plastic rack that was on the other side of the dishwasher and bringing it over, placing it beside the sink. She started rinsing everything off, stacking things up by size order, which was almost funny to Enid, who just dumped whatever would fit in at a time.
Needing desperately to focus, she knew there was a missing piece to it all and went to the other room briefly, turning her Christmas music back on. There was something about the corporate, upbeat seasonal hits that made her work faster – like a subliminal message –
“Turn that off.”
“Uh, no. My shop, my rules. Mariah Carey stays.”
Wednesday shifted her bottom jaw and tried to intimidate her – looking far less scary without her trench coat full of secrets on. “This is your final warning.”
Enid playfully made a scratching claw. “Don’t mess with me. This cupcake-kitty’s got claws, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
Rolling her eyes, Wednesday drew her wet hands together in front of her, apparently never able to back down from any sort of verbal spar, even something as innocuous as the banter. “Confectionary cats are decidedly nonthreatening.”
Smiling almost evilly as she considered just how far her torture could go, Enid opened a drawer and pulled out a sample of one of her most popular orders for children’s birthday parties, holding up a picture of her most popular cake order, a jovial white cat that was shaped like a gigantic cupcake. (It had taken her a few attempts, but she’d finally gotten the mold right to whip it up quickly – and even have a rainbow sprinkle surprise inside when it was cut into.) “You’re so right, the holiday music is overplayed. And Wednesday, I think that you could use a little sprinkle of sunshine yourself!” She took her phone from her pocket, changing the music from the Bluetooth system to play a song from a popular children’s program that she hoped wouldn’t lose popularity over the next year, or her revenue was really going to suffer from making fewer cake Cakey Cats.
A jolly tune began to play, a child’s high-pitched voice getting to the chorus, which Enid sang directly behind Wednesday as she began making the frosting for her Italian cookie first. “Every day is a sprinkle party! Treat yourself to that sweet sunshine! Come on in it’s a sprinkle party – help yourself to anything you find! Eeek!”
Wednesday had found a large knife at the bottom of the sink and was holding it up like Michael Meyers, stoically beside her as she turned around to sing in her face. “Ugh, are you a serial killer investigating serial killers? Wasn’t that a whole-ass show? So unoriginal. Look,” She paused the very irritating children’s song. “That’s just a sample of what I could be torturing you with. I used to do kids baking parties and you have no idea the depth of irritation that I can whip out on a moment’s notice. I can put on K-Pop, Kidz Bop – anything to drive you crazy if you fuss about my Christmas music. It’s so…overplayed that it actually motivates me to finish as fast as I can to escape it.”
“You’re a sadist. Interesting, I wouldn’t have guessed,” Wednesday said as she lifted the dishwasher up when it let off a buzz and Enid poured her frosting onto the cookies, then turned on Christmas music once again. She hastily left them to get right to work on a cake batter next. Steam all around Wednesday from the dishwasher made her bangs flutter up, little wispy pieces curled near her sides, increasing her more innocent look than Enid was sure Wednesday wanted to project. Saying nothing about it, she appreciated the way that the detective didn’t wait for the dishes to cool, merely loaded the next tray inside the machine and started to put the hot metal away, deducing like items together in the open-shelf storage system that Enid employed, taking her mixing bowl and stirring spoons from the frosting and adding it to the third load, having it all ready to go as Enid made her first of five new batches to be prepared – hoping to move even faster, she had more decorating to do behind her as well.
She managed to get a round of gingerbread sandwich cookie dough ready and was cutting out the shapes into circles to put on a tray when Wednesday finished the last of the dishes, hovering uncomfortably. “How much more do you have to go?” She asked with an impatient tone.
“Well, look up at the list,” She said, gesturing towards the white board which was numbered. “I’m on…well, I could say eight – but I have to go back to five, so – like, seven out of twenty-one orders complete? It’s going to be a minute. I told you – I’ll go find you your darn papers when I get this round of doughs and batters complete, okay? I just – I can’t risk losing momentum.” She put the last of the circles on the tray, sliding it into the rack next to the oven. “Here – I know. Do you want to bake?”
“Want to bake?” Wednesday repeated, staring at her like she’d spoken a foreign language.
“Yeah,” Enid spoke sardonically, giving her a look, wiping floury hands on her hot-pink apron. “You know – the act of chemical change that occurs upon the mixing of wet and dry ingredients and applying heat?” She could’ve sworn, Wednesday gave a little growl. “Come on, it’s easy. I’d say fun, and…you know, it used to be for me, but lately – this is nothing but work. I need a break, but I certainly can’t afford to take one, so – it is what it is.” She sighed. “Anyway! Come on, we’ll do it together. I need two batches of my cookies – and honestly, with using honey, it’s easier to make them separate than a big double batch because honey is cray-cray and so am I for making it my shtick, like you mentioned, it is so temperamental!”
Wednesday’s look intensified – and her eyes were a little wide, like she’d never heard so many words used at one time.
“Okay, mixy, mixy…two bowls, measuring cups – and our ingredients are on the back wall! So – start with the dry - two and a half cups flour…” She took her scoop, measuring with ease from the huge tub of flour she stored it in. “Then – Wednesday, ah, flour! Yikes, what a ‘fit for the bakery…you’re totally going to be covered, here –” She put her bowl down, heading to the small cupboard that used to house the team’s matching aprons, shrugging as she took out a red one that belonged to the former baker who had just a touch of a dark side to her, thinking Wednesday would appreciate it. As she held it out, Wednesday took an instinctive step back. “What, can’t be seen in color?”
“I’m allergic,” She said dryly. “I’ll chance looking like a I was hit with a snowball.” She stepped forward, apparently accepting Enid’s baking challenge. She tried not to squeal, delighted that the strange, possibly deranged detective would even play along in such a way. “Where is your recipe?”
Enid tapped the side of her head and winked. “It’s all up here! I’m going to tell you!”
“That’s…decidedly a horrific way to pass along instructions. You truly don’t have your own work compiled on index cards, in the least?”
“Uh…no? It’s…also the twenty-first century, so I’d probably have it all in a digital format somewhere, but – um…long story short, I actually used to have a baking blog and it was…you know – not a hit until it was, and eventually, I private-d all that digital content when I opened a physical shop. I didn’t need people copying my stuff when I was trying to get paid for the baking instead of desperately hoping that visitors to my site would hit the ads!” Wednesday stared her down again. Enid sighed. “Ugh, it’s like talking to a wall. Why ask if you don’t care? Will you just listen to me? Measure out two and a half cups of flour!”
Wednesday gestured to Enid’s silver bowl. “You didn’t.”
“Yes I did! Did you miss that?”
“Well, you put flour in the bowl, but you didn’t measure out two and a half cups.”
“Well, I’m a baker, Wednesday, I measure with my heart.”
At that, she earned her second blink in the kitchen from the dreary detective. “You what?”
“OhEmGee, have you never stepped foot in a kitchen before?” Enid knit her brows together. “Never baked a cake with your granny or anything like that?”
“My granny tends to make potions, not confections.”
“Uh, I won’t ask for clarification. But yeah, you just kinda – do what feels right. Plus, I’ve been making this non-sugar sugar cookie recipe for about…mm…I started when I was thirteen, so…eleven years now? I’ve got it down to motor mechanics. If you really feel the need, the formal measuring cups are in a container beneath the ingredients, but you really…oh…my…”
Wednesday located the more accurate devices for confirming volume – then proceeded to use the most deranged, precise measurement of flour that Enid had ever witnessed. She took a slow, careful scoop of flour from the big container, patted the sides of the plastic cup to make sure it went all the way to the bottom, then repeated the gesture. Glancing around, she reached for a folding spatula, and then bent down so she was eye-level with the container. With almost an agonizing slowness, she made sure that the flour was even across the measuring cup, scraping the excess away. She dumped it into the mixing bowl, then repeated the gesture with the one cup again, and then the half. Enid let out a slow breath that was nearly a whistle as she glanced into the bowl. “Um, honestly…that might be too much flour. I’ve never done it like that before.”
Wednesday turned and glared at her. “Accuracy is one of the most important aspects of my line of work, and I think it says a lot about your business that it’s not important to you. I’ll stick with the tools that man created to employ perfect measurement, thank you.”
“Well, alright then. We’re actually going to set these bowls aside and do the wet ingredients next.”
“Why would you start with the flour if you don’t even need it?” Wednesday asked in a grumble, and Enid wasn’t even sure if she really meant to say it out loud or think it in her head. Letting her get away with the complaint, she gave her another bowl, asking Wednesday to fetch two eggs from the walk-in fridge while she took out some butter from the drawer that she always loaded up each morning so that it was at room temperature and easy to work with.
She went for the honey next, muttering to herself as Wednesday returned with two eggs cradled in her hand. “Good thing the honey guy comes tomorrow…”
“You have a personal honey distributer?” Wednesday asked in disbelief.
Smiling at her, Enid rolled her eyes, showing off the label, a BitMoji of a curly haired man in glasses wearing a crown with a bee on it. “Hummers’ Hive Code, local honey. I honestly think it’s why I sell out of everything – honey was always my secret ingredient, but his stuff is honestly so unbelievably good – Eugene has this whole sustainability thing that is more than just GreenWashing – he’s real into it. I just have to suffer through him asking me on a date every time he makes a delivery,” She said with a small groan. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell him I’m not into guys for him to believe it.”
Wednesday didn’t blink at that, merely looked at the label. “I’ve always found beekeeping to be a fascinating practice. In my next novel, I’m considering using bees as weapons. If Eugene arrives prior to your server coming back online, I’d like to ask him some questions.”
Enid found that curious, as she couldn’t picture the miserable girl hunched over a laptop typing up a work of fiction when it seemed like she took life so seriously. “You write detective mysteries?”
Looking caught, like she hadn’t meant to reveal that information about herself, Wednesday just shrugged. Enid smiled. “Well, I’ll look you up for sure. If I ever have time to read again -”
“You won’t find me. I write under an alias.”
“Well, I’ll just a wait a year or so then, and search for a book about a bee killer.” She wiggled her head a little, earning Wednesday’s tilting down in staunch irritation. “Okay, time to start mixing! If I knew I had a partner baker, I would have pulled out the other stand mixer, but it’s just been in the way so I tucked it into storage. We’ll take turns. We’re going to do a cup of butter and half a cup of honey together first –”
“A cup of butter? Maybe you are trying to kill people.”
“Relax,” Enid spoke with half-lidded eyes as she dumped the first stick in, then the second, turning the KitchenAid mixer on low. “This makes five dozen cookies. Do the math.”
Wednesday rolled her eyes as Enid measured out honey with her heart, biting her lip as she watched. “How could you possibly know that’s half a cup?!”
She stuck her tongue out at her, then paused the mixer to scrape the bowl, keep mixing, scrape, then keep mixing. “Next, we’re going to add our egg…” She cracked it in her hand, which Wednesday observed with a very grumpy expression. Enid hid her amusement, putting the contents in, then tossing the shell into the little compost bin for just that below her. “Then a teaspoon of vanilla,” She again, used no tool, simply poured directly from the bottle and Wednesday had clearly had enough of her antics as she let out a stressed-sounding grunt when Enid explained, “Finally, a half teaspoon of salt,” And she just used two pinches of her fingers to put it in while the mixer kept going. “We slowly add the flour…here we go…” She hummed along with the Christmas song that was playing, scraping the sides of the bowl, adding flour and mixing until it was all together in her usual, perfect dough. “And just like that!” She winked and detached the mixing bowl, putting a new one down for Wednesday. “Think you want to give it a try? If not, that’s fine. You could roll this out and start cutting shapes if you want, I’ve got to look at what this customer wants, though…”
Wednesday didn’t reply with words, but the way she stepped up to the bowl with the butter made it clear she was willing to take on the baking process. Giving her a beam of encouragement, Enid decided not to say much as she turned to find the notes she’d made to herself about the honey cookie order…a dozen candy canes, a dozen trees, a dozen snowmen, a dozen angels and a dozen gingerbread – all in her signature rainbow and pastel colors with white nonpareils on top.
Pulling out the correct shapes and washing her hands, she floured the surface of her counter island on the opposite end of Wednesday before looking up – watching as the detective had taken out the measuring cups, and was crouched down to be eye-level with the glass container, measuring the honey out down to the last microgram.
Enid blinked, watching the entire production before letting out a laugh that came straight from her gut – the kind of bubbly, feel-good giggle that she’d needed to produce for so long; the type of sound that fired at each neurotransmitter in her brain that had been turned off for the last month. She doubled over, holding her knees over the rainbow ruffle at the edge of her apron, even letting herself snort for good measure as she stood up, wiping the corners of her eyes to relieve them of the tears from humor that she could barely stop shedding.
Wednesday scoffed, clearly irritated that her baking skills didn’t come nearly as natural as detective work. She tried to hit below the apron strings as she made an attempt to insult Enid, “I’m not so sure someone with such obvious mental illness should be allowed to work in a place with so many sharp objects and industrial ovens. You are a clear and present danger to yourself and others, to have your personality shift in such a beat like that.”
“Hey, are you the Grinch?” Enid put her hands on her hips, looking at Wednesday with the most playful smirk she could manage as she mixed in the honey, then started to level off vanilla with the precision of a chemist as well. “I bet the reason you can’t measure with your heart is because you don’t even have one!”
“Burn.” Wednesday sniffed. “Probably like that batch of pâte à choux you’ve left in for too long.”
Enid rolled her eyes, walking away with another giggle as she did go to check her ovens. Honestly, Wednesday’s quip was actually useful – if she’d let the pastry dough go to the timer, it might’ve been over-done and useless. Trying to play it off and whistle like she’d known that all along, Enid actually did turn her attention away from Wednesday’s meticulous methods, realizing she hadn’t moved anything off her cooling racks because she’d yet to start decorating. Biting her lip, she reminded herself to just breathe; it all worked out, every night…it just…tended not to be until around midnight or so.
Rearranging a few things, she slid gingerbread cupcakes in to start cooking, adjusting the oven and timer before returning to roll out her dough, not allowing herself to comment on Wednesday’s madness.
She rolled and rolled until everything was smooth the way she liked it, grateful for the baking sheets that Wednesday had cleaned, getting all her little shapes lined up and even. There was just a little bit of extra dough at the end, which usually she’d make into a ‘bonus’ cookie for the order, but as she glanced at Wednesday still working on the dough that had taken Enid all of five minutes to make, she decided to create her something special in case she wanted to try her recipe. Creating a knife-shape by free forming the cookie, she giggled, adjusted the oven to three hundred fifty degrees and set the timer for only thirteen minutes.
Re-flouring the workspace, she thanked Wednesday with as bright of a smile as she could when she brought over the dough. It looked a lot more pale than usual – likely, too much flour. Deciding she really didn’t have the time to make any adjustments, Enid just thanked her kindly and watched as Wednesday hastily moved, cleaning the workspace to perfection, putting everything right into the dishwasher. That was an impressive feat, honestly.
“Want to try your hand at cutting them out while I move on to the next thing?”
Wednesday shrugged – the order was for all stars – easy enough. Enid put down the silicone mat that she used when teaching five-year-old children to bake with her themed classes, showing Wednesday how to line them up with the little circles on the tray so that they wouldn’t touch one another when they spread. “I gathered that,” She said a little snootily. “While I am sure that I could deduce the mystery in mere minutes, you seem to love to talk – so go. What happened with your previous partners that are featured in photographs around the room and have left you from a three-person operation down to one?”
Enid instantly deflated as she started to mix her batter for her cranberry cake. She tried not to let the lump that immediately sprang into her throat that had been weighing down on her heart be obvious as she spoke. “So…um, long story short – I went viral, a few years ago, during the pandemic, for my aesthetic, pastel honey-based sugar cookies. I was contacted by an agent, who wanted me to do some at-home baking how-to’s for their YouTube channel. It worked! I made enough money – more money than I’d ever made in my life, and really wanted to open up my own storefront, but knew I’d never survive the market in San Fran where I grew up and was living at the time. I knew I didn’t have like, the business knowledge to go in on my own, either. I started talking to people online and found two girls who were literally looking for a third, not like that, you know – but, they had similar dreams and ambitions and just needed one more partner to make their business dreams come to life.” Enid paused what she was doing, reaching up for one of the Polaroid photos, pointing to the girl with long black hair. “This is Yoko, and,” She paused and gestured to the shorter-haired one with very shiny eyeshadow on, “This is Divina. They’d gone to school together out here and had been super close for a long time. We chatted for a while, like – I wasn’t just going to come move across the country to be with a couple of people I’d never met. That’s crazy.”
Wednesday glanced up in disbelief, as if that was far from the least crazy statement she’d made during her storytelling. “Everything went awesome. I moved out here and we worked together at a bigger bakery in Burlington, for a while – they had been there for years, it was a whole like, teaching-learning thing and it was a blast. When we felt like we were ready about two and a half years ago, I used the money I’d saved to get this place. Yoko, Divina and I moved into a cute little duplex down the street. Business was booming, thanks to my viral influence, we had tons of customers. Too many, actually. I was able to do so much fun stuff, really lean into the viral moment…capture more by figuring out what the kids want. I do mean kids – a lot of our industry is based on children’s entertainment, hence – that Cakey Cat thing and the kids’ baking classes. But um…” She sighed. “We had a really good balance, until – Yoko and Divina started dating about six months into our move here. And that…really threw off the balance.”
There was another glance from Wednesday. The story was either repulsing or intriguing her, it was hard to say. Either way, she was actively listening. Perhaps that was just her detective training, though. “I, um…just – I didn’t deal with it well. I didn’t make…I don’t know. I think, part of me was jealous. I kind of had a little crush on Yoko – she…you can probably tell, she’s got this whole like – slightly darker vibe that surprisingly worked in our bakery themed with sunshine and rainbows. It was a good thing, to have someone who was more…even keel and not so hyped up and excited about everything all the time. And we are still friends, I’ll say that – we really are, but – they did um, get an amazing opportunity to grow as bakers – and they accepted it, basically, right before Halloween, and they left on November first. I would never hold anyone back. But – it felt really last minute, and right before the holiday season, just – it was sucky timing. I haven’t had a moment to even think about hiring anyone, and there’s not exactly any pastry chefs in this town to hire anyway. I literally haven’t taken a day off – I have been baking like, all day, every day since they left. The only day I took off was to move out of the duplex that I couldn’t afford to rent on my own.” Enid sighed.
“What was their opportunity?”
“There’s this like, ultra-exclusive baking program in NYC. Yoko and Divina both come from very well-to-do families, and I know they can afford to pay for it – it’s like, over a hundred grand a semester, and you have to be accepted. It’s super, super hard to get into and you have to have a ton of notoriety to get into it. And, basically, come from a rich family,” Enid sighed.
Wednesday gave a little leer. “So…let me get this straight. Those girls rode your coattails of viral success, took baking positions in your somewhat-famous bakery without contributing to the cost of running this place, despite being from wealthy backgrounds, and then when they got the chance to get more notoriety, they just left?”
“Wednesday, it’s not like that,” Enid sighed, looking down into her batter…though sometimes…sometimes, she wondered if it was. If she had more time to dwell on it – Enid might start to feel that way, honestly. But without Yoko and Divina, as they’d gone off to their stupid, exclusive club without…without inviting her, Enid simply had to take on all their work in the bakery, without thinking twice about it – or she was going to lose the dream she’d worked so hard to build for herself.
“Those don’t sound like friends to me, Enid.”
“Well, something tells me, you don’t have a lot of experience with friends, Wednesday, so – maybe stop talking about something you know nothing about.” Enid blinked fast, making sure her tears disappeared. She snatched the photo and stuffed it into a drawer full of sharps, shaking her head. “I’m going to find that order form for you, so you can get out of here. Please take the cookies out of the oven when the timer goes off.”
Moving through the vinyl flaps in the walkway that led to her crowded, disorganized storeroom, Enid opened the door that went to the hallway with a staircase that housed just stairs the second floor of her shop. What used to be a fun office and hangout slash break spot for herself, Divina and Yoko had turned into her apartment. It was in shambles – she had absolutely nothing together – there simply wasn’t time. She was still living out of moving boxes in the loft-like living room that used to be office space, with a galley kitchen off to the side. The cutesy desk housed collaged pictures of the three of them lacquered to the surface under the glass top made her heart squeeze each time she sat down at it. She tried not to think about what Wednesday had said about her friends. She was sure – they were her friends…but…wouldn’t real friends have invited her, the one who’d brought them success in the first place, to the ultra-exclusive club they were joining?
Sorting through papers, it took her a minute to locate the order for the Gates’ party the following day – at least, she was assuming that’s what the most massive order of the night was. The contact information was for an M. Thornhill. Enid groaned – that had been who Wednesday had aggressively kicked out of the place an hour earlier.
Explaining as such when she walked into the kitchen, Enid couldn’t hide her genuine smile at the sight of Wednesday carefully taking the finished cookies off their trays, putting them on the cooling wire. Once again – it was…well, Enid was a mess in the kitchen because she moved to fast and didn’t clean up as she went. Wednesday was her own kind of mess – because Enid could never run a successful business with her level of precision. Still, even if it hadn’t been for long, and despite her surly vibe, Enid had appreciated having a second set of hands in the kitchen, if only for a short while.
“Bad news – this is the order that I’m pretty sure is for the party, though it doesn’t say – it matches up with the time and day of it, I know that because like, everyone in town is going,” Enid sighed – not her, she hadn’t been invited. She probably wasn’t considered exclusive enough. Not that it mattered – she’d be up until midnight the following day, baking as well; there was certainly no time for enjoying the holiday season that year. (Or, either of the two that she’d lived there previously…though, Yoko and Divina had both gone home for the week…)
Wednesday took the order form with eager, floury hands.
“Um, that Thornhill person – I think she was here earlier? Honestly, I do not recall interacting with anyone with that name previously. You’ll probably have to look her up, the contact info is there.”
There was a look of near relief on Wednesday’s features that she was clearly trying not to let stretch into one that was actually anything close to positive. She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and folded one hand on top of the other as she lowered the paper. “I appreciate you contributing to my investigation.”
Enid held up a finger, heading into the fridge for a white piping bag. “I’d usually make something more pastel, but I don’t think you’d be into that, and I doubt you want to stick around for me to mix colors to make it realistic, too. But, um…” She took the little knife cookie that Wednesday had put on the cooling rack, adding a layer of frosting, even if it wouldn’t have the usual twelve hours to set. “Here,” She said, holding it out with a little shrug. “This frosting is supposed to be hard and crispy over the cookie – but it’s just good as is since we don’t have the time -"
Wednesday shook her head, looking slightly repulsed as she took a step back. “I don’t eat sweets.”
Enid felt herself just…sag. “For real? No…no, I should not at all be surprised by that. You probably like things tart and bitter.”
Wednesday just stared, not saying anything. “I’m going to follow the lead. If nothing comes of this, I’ll be back, at noon tomorrow, when your system is back online to examine previous orders that coincide with the dates of the murders. With any luck, you won’t see me again.”
Steeling her spine up and nodding, Enid just put the sad cookie on the counter. Wednesday washed her hands, then entered the shop side and returned, pulling on her jacket, then moved to the vinyl flaps that separated the next space – making it clear she wanted out the back door. Enid nodded, following her, unlocking the delivery door and observing as Wednesday actually turned around, making surprising eye contact as she said, “Thank you.”
Enid just let out a sigh and reached forward to embrace the gloomy girl, who had wide eyes and took a huge step back. “Of course. Not a hugger. Got it. But um, thank you, actually – I…you saved me a fair bit of time, washing dishes, putting things away…even your slow process of getting another batch made, I really did appreciate that. I’ve…missed not being alone.’
Wednesday was almost joking as she said, “It was an exercise of my social abilities and I like to think I passed.”
Enid waved her hand playfully. “Well, I’m not so sure it was like, a completely normal or healthy interaction, but an interaction it was, nonetheless. Bye, Detective Addams,” She said with a wink, closing the door when the slightly shorter girl turned around.
Not sure why she felt so miserably alone, when the most miserable person she’d possibly ever met just left her usually sunny space, Enid swallowed her emotion and prepared for another six hours of baking that night, wishing…that perhaps she’d just lied altogether, and gotten Wednesday to stay until midnight before returning the next day for clues. She moved robotically, starting to decorate cookies and cakes and make specialty holiday items, the music pushing her to keep going – the sooner she baked the Christmas cookies, the sooner the season would finally end.
For some reason, Enid couldn’t bring herself to throw away the silly knife cookie she’d haphazardly made, even as she finally finished cleaning up at quarter to eleven, with all her treats either on racks or in the fridge, ready to be boxed up the next day. Realizing she’d never taken a break for dinner, she shrugged, stuffing the cookie down, considering herself filled. After triple-checking that her ovens were off, she yawned and headed upstairs, to the full-size mattress on the floor of the single room down the hall past her moving boxes and office supplies. Barely managing to get herself out of her apron and flour-crusted clothes, she tugged on an oversized, bright pink t-shirt with her own branding on it. Brushing her teeth, she stared at the exhausted form of herself in the mirror, thinking about how she had to wake up to do it all again in just four hours. Pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail on top of her head, she shuffled into her room, which outside of the mattress and box spring on the ground, was nothing more than stacks of clothes, washed and unwashed, unused skincare (she didn’t have time to care about her skin) and a box of personal items from her old home that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to put up.
Honestly – most of it wouldn’t even feel personal anymore. As she collapsed into bed, Enid felt the burden of all that the conversations in her kitchen had entailed…the fact that her treats, meant to fill people with sunshine and happiness - were used to actually kill people, and the fact that…maybe the people she thought were her friends were never even partners to her…Enid swallowed hard. She rolled over, letting herself cry silently into her pillow…honestly – hoping that Wednesday’s lead didn’t pan out. She hoped that the grumpy detective needed her – even if just for one more clue, so that Enid could spend a few more hours not feeling so alone during the holiday rush.