Chapter 2
My mind was racing when I reached my bestest friend and my Joel-alternative beau. A mixture of emotions flooded me. Anger. Resentment. Elation. I’d have to do some self-reflecting later to figure that last one out, but meanwhile, the melting pot of sentiments churning within me left my tongue tied in knots.
"Man, I got a bone to pick with you," Joel bellowed behind me. It seemed he wasn’t struggling with the same lack of mental clarity. "I’ve got half a mind to kick your butt all the way up and down this lawn."
I knew he was addressing Brad. No way would he speak to Zoey that way. And given that Joel was 6'5”, built like a linebacker and, oh yeah, actually had been a linebacker on a pro football team, I was a little concerned for Brad's future wellbeing.
In contrast, Brad didn't seem a bit concerned. His grin was smug, and his crossed-arm stance telegraphed his defiance for all to see.
"Joel," I said, reaching out to catch his forearm with my hand. He halted his focused approach to look at me instead of his intended victim. "Remember to only hit the fleshy parts so you don't hurt your hands."
Joel's eyes flew wide with surprise, then his entire face softened in a grin.
Mission accomplished. Joel no longer looked like he was out for blood. I refrained from patting myself on my back.
"I'll just make it clear that if he ever manages to talk you into going away with him, you’ll be going with a very devoted chaperone. Right there. Every minute."
I laughed. "You're evil."
"Mmm, but you like me anyway." He planted a quick kiss on my cheek then strode ahead on his long legs. He reached Brad and Zoey before me and had dragged Brad away by the time I reached the tent and Zoey.
I stood next to Zoey and watched the pair pensively. From their body language, the two were in an obviously heated discussion, but they kept their voices low.
"So, you and Brad," I said without looking at Zoey, even though it was hard not to. Her Asian-blessed honey-toned skin glowed in the early afternoon sunlight. She was dressed in a killer outfit: a loose-fitting skirt with attached halter straps stretching over top of a white midriff shirt. She even managed to wear what looked like five-inch wedge sandals while standing on the smooth, grassy lawn without sinking into the soft sod.
I was in sneakers. I liked my sneakers... my simple bright red Dollar Store sneakers.
Glancing down at Zoey’s sandals again and back at mine, I supposed I could have bedazzled my shoes. Added some glitter.
I frowned. Shoe envy did not become me, at least not anymore. My high-fashion days of being successful, married, and living in Chicago were behind me, replaced with kitchen fires, burned brownies, and the occasional accusation of murder.
"Zoey, I won't say it's not good to see you, but what are you doing here?" I asked, my gaze back on my two fellas. No swings thrown yet.
I caught Zoey's shoulder shrug from the corner of my eye.
"It was either this or watch Brad pop a vein in his temple," she said.
"What are you talking about? He was fine when Joel and I left." I edged out of the way to let a couple of skinny, nerdy-looking fellows dressed all in black pass by on their way into the dark shadows of the tent. Their arms were piled high with electronic equipment and electrical cords dangling behind. I eyeballed them. They eyeballed Zoey—and blushed.
"Brad tried to arrest someone for sneezing into their hands instead of their elbow. Yep. He managed to stay sane a full ten seconds after you left.” She paused. “Which impressed me, really. I thought he’d fall apart sooner.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “Handcuffs?” Did I mention Brad was a cop?
“Mmhmm. Had one of your customers in handcuffs and halfway out the café’s door before Jack talked Brad down from career suicide."
I refocused on Brad and Joel. Their argument seemed to be heating up. Truth was, even though Brad's stature was much smaller than Joel's, I wasn't convinced Joel would be able to take him in a fight. Brad was built. Oh God, was he built. We're talking underwear-model-on-a-Times-Square-billboard built. That coupled with his skill at, you know, staying alive during confrontations with irrational and sometimes deadly people, made me think he'd do okay against Joel. In fact, I suspected a scuffle between them might turn out like David and Goliath.
"That still doesn't tell me what you're doing here," I said.
"Brad was a mess. You like Brad. I wanted him to still be the same guy you left behind when you finally came home."
That still didn’t explain how they were both here in this place, at this time, and with this gigantic tent.
I turned and looked her square in the face as a sinking feeling filled the pit of my stomach. "Zoey, what did you do?"
Zoey tried to contain her smile, but one corner of her lips pulled free and stretched upward before she regained control and her runaway smile fell flat. "I didn't start the cholera outbreak."
"Oh God." I doubled over, hands on my knees to steady myself, and focused on my breathing.
"I said I didn't start it,” Zoey said.
I stood back up. Sweat was beading my upper lip. "Is my café still standing? Is everyone okay?"
"No! Not there. In San Diego."
"Cholera in San Diego."
"Yes, now you've got it," Zoey said cheerfully.
"Zoey, I haven't got anything! Please, tell me. What did you do?"
She looked at me for a heartbeat without breathing or blinking, then she hooked her thumb over her shoulder. "This is the Citizens Justice League. They host an annual competition for," she paused as if debating a lie, but then said, “amateur sleuths. When there was an outbreak of cholera at their usual venue, I pulled some strings. Got things moved to here."
“You got their entire event relocated here since this morning? From the West Coast to the East Coast? Got all the members here? Got this entire thing set up before Joel and I even arrived? An amateur sleuth organization. All because of a cholera outbreak…”
Zoey offered a casual shrug.
All I could do was stare. Speechless. I was best friends with a fantastic, magnificent, terrifying creature. She was either an earthbound angel or a surface-dwelling demon. I hadn’t figured out which.
"I did not cause the cholera outbreak!" Zoey said. I still stared, and Zoey frowned. "I swear."
I shook my head, going back over it all in my mind. "Amateur sleuths, huh? Brad's a professional."
"Not here. He's out of his jurisdiction here. Technically an amateur. Besides, he doesn't know tech crimes.”
I coughed from choking on my own air. "Tech crimes? You're not an amateur, Zoey, and you have no jurisdiction!"
Zoey smiled. "Yeah, we're gonna win."
No shame whatsoever. I wished—not for the first time—that I could experience life with the same freedom and abandon as her.
"And the two of you, you're working together?" I asked. This was the hardest part of the whole situation to believe. Brad distrusted Zoey with a pathological dedication usually reserved for zealots. He was hardcore about it—and possibly a tad unhinged.
"Mmhmm," Zoey said, raising her brows. "That’s how much he’s into you."
I turned my attention back to the guys, and the mood between them seemed to have improved, at least to the point where a fistfight wouldn’t break out at any moment. They appeared to reach some sort of understanding.
"How did you beat us here?" I asked. I wasn’t even going to ask how she got everyone from the West Coast here. That would have required a wormhole, and I wasn’t ready to know that such technology existed.
"A sheik owed me a favor. He sent a private jet." She paused then asked, "You mad we're here?"
I thought about it. I thought about her, Brad, Joel, and the romantic getaway weekend I wasn't fully ready to have. Then I threw my arms around her in a hug I knew she'd hate. "I wouldn't want it any other way."
Chapter 3
"Oh! You almost had 'em," I said after Joel's horseshoe swirled around the go
al post and then flew off.
"I don't mind as long as I have you," he said, returning to my side and planting a kiss on my cheek before settling in next to me on the picnic bench.
Who knew that playing a simple game of horseshoes could be so fun? But I guessed it was more about the company than the game itself. The Red Apple Maple's homemade hard apple cider didn't hurt either. That plus the bacon-wrapped apple slices dotted with maple syrup crystals had me in heaven. I couldn't quit eating them! Never mind that there were cucumber wraps with dipping sauce that were a complete salad in every bite, garden fresh carrots, and a mouth-popping assortment of nuts, berries, and granola. All I wanted were those yummy, decadent, and addictive apple-bacon-syrup wraps.
John—one-half of the newlywed couple—stepped up to make his horseshoe throw. His wife, Monica, stood on the sidelines holding her breath with her hands clasped against her chest. When John made the throw and nailed it, she erupted in a squeal of delight that left my ears ringing. Running to her husband, she threw herself into his arms, and he swung her around in a circle.
My shoulders sagged. "Is it just me, or do those two make you feel old?"
I hadn't been that gleefully in love in a very, very long time. I'd married my nine-years-my-senior boyfriend straight out of high school. Back then, I was that happy. And that hadn’t ended well.
Now, all I felt for people was a heartwarming glow. Sure, there was the occasional crackling breakout flame with all the accompanying snaps and pops. But mostly, my heart radiated with the warm, steady glow of embers. I kind of liked the embers. They were much more manageable.
Joel chuckled. "It's just you, babe," he said but kissed my hair to soften his words.
Mama Hendrix appeared at the banister of the wrap-around porch. A folded ivory bandana pulled back her salt and pepper gray hair, leaving her face haloed in flyaway wisps. Her plump cheeks were flushed bright red, and there was a smear of flour at her temple. "Dinner'll be at the long table outside tonight. It's in the yard on the other side of the house. You kids get yourself put together because we'll be eating soon."
She didn't wait for a reply before turning around and hustling back inside.
"Dinner?" I stared at the snacks I'd been chowing down on. "Is it really that late?"
After Joel had stashed our luggage in our room, we'd walked five miles of winding, crossing mulch trails. Joel, Rita, and John had played a game of pickup basketball. I'd caught Zoey giving the Citizen's Justice League a lecture on the weak points to target when toppling governments via their own system-managed infrastructures. And I'd overheard Brad arguing with the FBI over his phone. He wanted them to infiltrate the Citizen's Justice League with an undercover operative.
He then volunteered to be that undercover operative.
I don't think the call ended well.
Joel's stomach growled, letting me know it really was that late. "Think she'll have more hard apple cider at dinner?" He picked up an almost empty bottle and looked at it wistfully.
It was my turn to laugh at him. "Don't know, but I can find out." I stood. "I'm gonna head to the kitchen, check it out. Mama Hendrix looked ready to topple over. I don't know how she manages to do so much on her own!" Made me feel like a real slouch for not being able to handle one single solitary café all on my own. Here she was managing the entire orchard and all the needs of the B&B with a modest staff of only four or five people.
I headed inside. We’d taken a small tour of the B&B's downstairs common areas earlier in the day. The woods were rich walnut, and the walls were soft creams with crown molding throughout. I wandered around letting my nose lead the way until I passed an unassuming portal into the most glorious room of the house: the kitchen. My eyes nearly popped out of my head. The place was so much more than anything I’d imagined.
"My God, this is huge!" I exclaimed.
Mama Hendrix turned around with a beautifully golden-brown lattice-topped pie in each hand, and a helper at the sink gave me a glance over her shoulder. "Oh hun, you startled me," Mama Hendrix wheezed.
I hurried over and took the pies out of her hands, and she shuffled over to a table pushed up against the far wall. She sat with a heavy groan. "Oh, feels good to get off these ol' feet."
I sat the pies down on the table and pulled out a scalloped-back chair and sat down with her. "Your kitchen is amazing," I said in awe.
"Well, don't you know it's the heart and blood of every home? And this place... We do everything in here. Start the maple mead. Start the apple cider. Boil the maple syrup. Can the apples. Make the sellables." Her cheeks grew full and round as she smiled indulgently. "Not to mention put on a spread that will have customers dreaming of coming back even five years after they've visited." She tapped the tabletop. "It all happens right here in this room.”
She waved a hand and blew out a breath. “And I know I call this place a B&B, but who goes home and only stays to eat breakfast? I make sure folks have something to eat every meal of the day. People come a long way to get here. I don’t want them feelin’ like they gotta run off somewhere else just to have a nice time. If they want to be here to eat what I put out, that’s fine. If they don’t, that’s fine too. I’ll leave ‘em plenty of leftovers for midnight fridge raids.”
Her eyes were twinkling, and her smile was infectious. So was her joy. She loved this place. Really loved it.
I sat back and took it all in. There were hanging pots of every nature and design. There was enough floor space to rollerblade. There was a decent amount of counter space, but I spotted drop-down counters hinged to the wall that could provide extra workstations for apple peeling, I supposed.
"Do you cook?" Mama Hendrix asked.
"Oh," I laughed, unsure of how to answer even though the answer should have been simple enough. I cooked burned grill cheese, soggy pasta, and cracked and watery pudding quite well. I decided to go with the misleading truth. "I run my own little café in Southeastern Kentucky. The Berry Home."
Mama Hendrix's eyes lit up. "What a treat! Maybe we can swap some recipes."
"I'd love that," I said. It was a near sigh of relief that she hadn’t asked me to whip something up. I could swap recipes—just as long as I didn't have to make them!
I helped her carry everything out of the kitchen to the long table set up in the yard. It was actually seven picnic tables lined up end-to-end but decked out as pretty as any five-star restaurant. When done, the table was loaded with maple-glazed BBQ ribs, buttered mashed potatoes, a pumpkin-poblano pepper casserole that was savory rather than sweet, two enormous bowls of mixed salad, fresh yeast rolls, maple butter, and an assortment of other delights. And as Joel had hoped, there was plenty more hard apple cider as well.
People materialized as if by magic. With eyes fixated on the feast before them, everyone migrated over and took a seat. Mama Hendrix took her rightful spot at the head of the table. Joel and I sat across from Brad and Zoey. The newlyweds snuggled together near the head of the table. Michael sat across from the newlyweds, and the rest of the table was taken up by the dressed-all-in-black geek squad from the tent. It seemed as though they’d multiplied. There were at least nine. They each took turns staring longingly at the food and gazing adoringly at their new queen bee, Zoey.
I leaned in, eyes on Zoey. "You've got a fan club," I said just loud enough to span the space between us.
Zoey took in her men in black with a glance, then allowed herself the tiniest of grins. Her lips barely moved, yet the pseudo-smile somehow managed to reach her eyes—which looked amazing. She had a James Bond girl look going with smoky eyes, tarantula-leg eyelashes, and cat’s-eye eyeliner. She looked killer, literally. I suspected none of the men here would mind overly much dying by her hand, depending on the mode of dispatch.
"They're fun," was all she said, but the corners of her mouth did quirk up a little more.
It was good to see her happy. Really good. Life had thrown her some cruel twists, but the girl was as resilient as I imagined a rhinoceros to
be. She was what I aspired to when it came to inner strength.
Mama Hendrix stood. "Everyone, raise a glass with me to my George."
We all lifted the glasses in front of us. One of the geek squad had a stolen BBQ rib and had it halfway to his mouth, but he froze and then followed suit with the rest of us.
"Even though he's been gone for over six years now," Mama Hendrix said, her voice wavering, "he lives on in every part of this place." There were a few ‘hear, hears’ from the group. Mama Hendrix smiled. "Every time I get the chance to tell new friends—like you—about him, I feel him with me again. You're a blessing from your hearth to my home. Welcome."
Tinkling of glasses followed, then everyone drank. It wasn't long before a soft murmur of conversation filled the table from one end to the other. Almost unnoticed, a shiny-faced Rita slipped into the spot next to her dad. She was smiling ear-to-ear and seemed almost giddy. It took only a quick glance around to spot the reason why, and I was taken again at the spontaneity of young love. Mama Hendrix's handyman, Lucas, was doing a slow step up the stairs to the wide porch, but his attention was on Rita.
I wondered what her dad, Michael, would think about his daughter hooking up with a man she'd just met. I'd heard of insta-love, but only in the movies or feel-good romances that bore no resemblance to real life. At least not my life.
I was tempted to say something to Rita or her dad—a cautious word of warning to be careful. Lucas looked roughed up by life to me. Actually, he looked like he’d done some roughing up of his own right back. But one glance at Zoey reminded me I should mind my own business. Zoey and Rita looked to be about the same age, and it would be a blistering cold day in hell before I ever tried to tell Zoey Jin how to manage her love life.
I silently vowed it was best to respect Rita’s privacy.
Dishes clattered as they got passed from one pair of hands to the next. My plate was brimming over before I knew it, but I didn't let that stop me from adding a small scoop of yellow squash and wild mushrooms.
A Berry Horrible Holiday Page 2