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“I should’ve known you’d recognize a genoise,” Gavin remarked. “That one you’re nibbling on is yours, by the way.”
Lucien had made a fresh pot of coffee but took Brogan’s lead and pinched off another corner. “This tastes like that cake we had in Vernazza, Italy.”
Brogan nodded. “See? Very European.”
“My recipe uses only five ingredients: eggs, sugar, vanilla, flour, and butter,” Gavin boasted.
Licking her fingers, Brogan mumbled, “I’d say you made the best use of all of them.”
When the doorbell rang, she shooed the dogs back to their corner before darting out into the entryway bringing the smell of sugar and vanilla along for the ride.
“It smells like Christmas morning in here,” Kelly drooled as Brogan led the way into the family room.
“That’s sponge cake prepared by a pastry chef.”
“Wow. You have your own pastry chef? Do you hear that, Beckett? No wonder you didn’t eat at the restaurant.”
Beckett Callahan—a lanky former Navy SEAL with dark brown hair and huge green eyes—sent her a dubious look. “Why do we need a pastry chef when you claim to love my homemade brownies that come from a box? That hurts. Big time.”
Brogan sputtered with laughter. “Guys, I don’t have a pastry chef. Gavin is up from Santa Barbara. He just happened to be here and volunteered to make dessert tonight. I don’t argue with anyone who wants to cook. Wait until you taste his fresh-out-of-the-oven chiffon cake.”
“Topped with fresh strawberries and homemade whipped cream,” Lucien touted, joining them from the kitchen. He carried a coffee decanter in his left hand, leaving his right free to shake hands with Kelly and Beckett. “Thanks for coming. This means a lot to us.”
“No problem,” Beckett returned. “That’s what we do. This case is one of those bewildering mysteries that defy logic—a double homicide, missing kids—one who doesn’t even belong at the crime scene. Do you really believe the kids might be buried near that barn?”
“Brogan and I took photos of the place,” Lucien offered with a nod, handing off his phone to Kelly. “If Trey saw Elliott in danger, he might’ve dropped his bicycle, ran up the driveway to help, then grabbed the toddler and took off for the woods, heading to the only place he knew he could hide.”
“But the killer ran after them. If you see this place in person, it makes sense,” Brogan added. “Otherwise, we’re not sure what scenario would’ve resulted in both kids disappearing. We don’t think Trey was the killer. At least, that’s our hypothesis until we discover incriminating evidence that suggests otherwise.”
“I think you’re onto something,” Beckett agreed, looking over Kelly’s shoulder to peruse the photos. “I don’t see any cement or recently poured concrete lying around that barn, though. That’s a good thing. That entire patch of woods near the barn is perfect terrain for using the ground penetrating radar.”
Lucien nodded. “That’s what we thought.”
“For now, let’s sit down and enjoy Gavin’s dessert,” Brogan suggested. “Eating strawberry shortcake kicks your brain into overdrive and makes you think better. Or so I’ve heard.”
The couple followed Brogan and Lucien back into the kitchen and gathered around the table.
Stella and Poppy raised their heads once to check out the new people. Not seeing an imminent threat, the pups resumed their naps.
Gavin had already transferred the individual sponge cakes onto plates. He dished up a spoonful of the fruit on top, then slathered that with whipped cream. “Spoon or fork?” he asked.
“Oh, I think spoons will get the job done better,” Brogan noted as she handed off the finished product to Kelly. “Tell me that’s not the best shortcake you’ve ever eaten.”
“No pressure,” Gavin mumbled, standing at the island, grinning. He dished up another three plates and carried them over to the table.
Kelly used her spoon to cut into her cake, bringing the bite to her mouth. That first taste had her closing her eyes to enjoy every sugary nuance. “Oh, man, this tastes so light and fluffy, like a strawberry cloud. Beckett, you will love this.”
Beckett sampled his. The look on his face said it all. “I hope there’s enough for seconds. This is better than my mom’s. But don’t tell her I said that.”
Gavin beamed with pride and looked over at Brogan, who gave him a thumbs up. “If you truly want another one, I made plenty.”
“He’s not kidding,” Kelly assured Gavin. “This tastes like we’re all sitting in a strawberry patch at the end of summer, picking ripe fruit straight from the vine. It’s that good. If you’re available at the end of September, could you make this for our book club?”
Brogan giggled. “Gavin doesn’t live here. How would he get it to you fresh out of the oven like this?”
“Maybe he should talk to one of the restaurants in town and get them to put it on their menu,” Kelly suggested as she scraped her plate. “It’s better than anything I’ve had at The Pointe.”
Kelly took the time to study Gavin. “You realize the fruit doesn’t need to be strawberries all the time. Blueberries would work. Or peaches, even pineapple.”
