Confessions of a Red Herring

by Dana Dratch

  “Anybody up for tea?” Nick said, bearing a tray with an elegant china teapot, along with matching cups, saucers, and pastry plates. He even had tiny little silver teaspoons and powder blue cloth napkins.

  Since I didn’t have a single matching mug, didn’t own any saucers—or teapots—and the only silver I had was in my jewelry box, I was more than a little curious. Was I going to be drinking hot tea out of hot china?

  “I hope you don’t mind, I dragged out your good stuff,” Nick said pointedly.

  “That’s what it’s for,” I replied, feeling like an understudy who’d wandered onto the stage without reading the play.

  “Why don’t you pour, while I get the rest of it?”

  Alex in Wonderland, here I come.

  “Your home is lovely,” Ian said in a hushed voice. “Did you have to do much work on it?”

  Finally, a familiar topic.

  “No, I was lucky. The couple who lived here before me did all the heavy lifting. Not that there was much to do. To hear them tell it, the place was in great shape. But they put in a whole new kitchen, and a couple of walk-in closets. I just painted the inside and put a fresh coat of wax on the floors.”

  Nick reappeared with a second tray, this one featuring a multi-tiered cake plate loaded down with baked goods and a silver butter salver with three matching butter knives.

  “Oh, lovely,” Ian said, his face lighting up. “Did you enjoy the scones I sent over?”

  “They sure went fast,” Nick said smoothly. “I had to bake up some more. Along with a few other things.”

  “You bake?”

  “It’s a hobby I picked up living on a ranch out West. We were in kind of a remote area. It was either make your own or do without.”

  After Ian helped himself to a scone, I snagged a chocolate croissant.

  “Good lord, man, this is wonderful! How do you get them so light?”

  Nick grinned.

  I took a bite and warm, melted chocolate filled my mouth.

  “Mmmmm. Nick, this is seriously fantastic.”

  The next few minutes were a sugar-fueled blur. I polished off the croissant and a warm sticky bun with butter. Then Ian and I split something Nick dubbed a lemon tartlet: a flaky pastry crust filled with lemon-flavored custard and topped off with whipped cream and strips of candied lemon rind.

  All the while, Nick played host and kept filling our cups with tea.

  “This is seriously one of the best things I’ve ever eaten,” I told him. “Forget the guest room. From now on, you live in the kitchen.”

  “Hey, I love doing it. And now that I’ve sold the ranch, I’ve got a little more time on my hands.”

  “So you don’t live out West anymore?” Ian asked.

  “No, my fiancée and I are moving back here. We’re just bunking with Alex until we find a house.”

  News to me. But with a mouth full of tartlet, I wasn’t going to object.

  “Might you do this professionally?” Ian said. “I don’t know if your sister has told you, but I’m opening a bed-and-breakfast across the street.”

  Nick looked at me and raised a surprised eyebrow.

  “A big part of the business will be offering a traditional British afternoon tea,” Ian explained. “Not just for our guests, but for locals and community groups, too. I’m a pretty fair cook. But I’m afraid I haven’t quite caught on to the baking end of it quickly enough. So I’ve been looking into purchasing some of the necessities. Frankly, this is far superior to anything I’ve sampled. If you were willing to do it, I could make it worth your while financially.”

  I looked back at Nick. I felt like I was watching a tennis match. Or a slow-motion mugging.

  “Wow. I love doing it, but I never thought of going pro. And it’s not like we need the money.”

  Oh, please.

  “Think about it. You’ve got a gift. The estimates I’ve been getting are quite pricey. And the food is nowhere near this quality.”

  We need the money. We need the money.

  I looked back at Nick.

  “Well, it would be fun. Of course, it would have to be OK with Alex. It is her kitchen.”

  Since when? Lately, everybody in the house is spending more time in my kitchen than I am. Even Lucy.

  “Fine with me,” I said, reaching for another croissant.

  “It’s a deal then. Drop by tomorrow and we can talk menus and prices. By the by, I’m having an event Sunday afternoon. A garden party with tea and sandwiches. I’d love to have a selection of pastries to offer. But I understand if that is too little notice.”

  “I’ll pull out the books. I think I have a couple of go-to recipes that I could put together fairly quickly.”

  “Fantastic! This is beautiful.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, I’ve got to dash. I’ve got the landscaping crew coming in just a few minutes.”

  Nick started to clear the dishes, and I walked Ian to the door.

  “Please feel free to pop over again,” he said quietly. “I’d love to show you the new herb garden. And I’ll let you have some clippings, if you want to give it a go.”

  I looked up into his blue-gray eyes. My mind went momentarily blank.

  “Uh, that would be great, thanks. And thank you for the gardenia. I can’t wait to put it in the yard.”

  When the door closed, I turned and followed Nick to the kitchen. “Mascara? I can’t believe you were pimping me out to sell pastries!”

  “A bit of crumpet to move a bit of crumpet,” he replied in a bad British accent.

  I punched him in the arm. “You could have at least warned me. And where did the tea service come from?”

  “I got it at Macy’s yesterday,” he said. “And it wasn’t cheap, lemme tell you. The pot and cups cost more than I ever made in a week.”

  “You can’t take them back,” I said.

  “I’ll never use them again!”

  “You’ve already used them,” I said. “Think of it as an investment in your new business. If you ever need to give another demo tea, you’re all set.”

  “Yeah, that did go well,” Nick said.

  “And come to think of it, where’s Gabby? How come she wasn’t part of your little drama? You could have had her dressed as a French maid.”

  “She’s sleeping in. Forget playing a maid, she was the real deal last night. She was cleaning, while I was baking. We were damned near up ’til dawn.”

  “Yeah, I noticed the box pile is gone,” I said.

  “Not gone, just relocated.”

  “I can dream, can’t I? Hey, how long has Baba been out?”

  “She took Lucy a few hours before you got up,” Nick said. “Said something about ‘good long walk.’”

  “Good God, hours?” I said. “Shouldn’t she be back by now?”

  “It’s Baba. Nobody’s gonna mess with her. Besides, it’s broad daylight, and this is a safe neighborhood.”

  I watched as he prepped a tray complete with tea, two croissants, a fresh blue napkin, and the lifestyle section of the paper. For Gabby, I assumed.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just that she’s new here. She came to take care of me, and I feel responsible for her.”

  “Well, cut it out,” Nick said. “She’s an adult. She can take care of herself. If she’s not back after lunch, we’ll mount a search party.”

  Gabby strolled into the kitchen in a short, black silk robe, looking none the worse for her nighttime travails. “How’d it go, sugar?”

  “He wants to buy my stuff,” he said. “I’m supposed to go over tomorrow to finalize the details.”

  “Stick to your guns,” she said. “You’ve got something he wants. You deserve to get top dollar.”

  While Lord and Lady Macbeth honed their closing skills, I decided to take a long walk of my own. And if I just happened to run into Baba, so much the better.

  But when I walked into the living room, she was standing by the front door. She had Lucy’s leash in one hand and a brown paper grocery ba
g cradled in her other arm.

  “Baba!” I grabbed the bag and gave her a squeeze. “Where were you?”

  “Store. We need food.”

  Last I checked, we had a kitchen full of food. “What about the groceries Nick bought?”

  “Not that food. Real food. Food to cook. I go this morning,” she said, freeing Lucy from her leash and giving her a little pat on the rump.

  I put the bag on the sofa and glanced inside. Ten pounds of potatoes. Five pounds of carrots. And something large wrapped in butcher’s paper.

  “Did you carry this the whole way?” The nearest grocery store was at least three miles from here.

  “No. I get cart,” she said, reappearing from the porch with another large bag.

  “You bought a cart at the store?”

  “Not bought. I use cart they give for food.”

  “A grocery cart? You stole a grocery cart?”

  “Not steal,” she said indignantly, pulling herself up to her full height of almost five feet. “Cart for food. I use for food. When I go back to store, I bring.” She stomped into the kitchen with her bag and mine.

  I walked out to the porch to find a Giant Food cart with two more bags. I hoisted them up, balancing one on each hip, slammed the front door shut with my foot, and headed for the kitchen.

  Baba was safe. My house smelled like a bakery. And, despite the fact that half my relatives were living here, the place had never looked better. I had a writing job, and Nick was launching a new endeavor of his own.

  OK, so we were having a small problem in the sticky fingers department. All in all, life was good.

  Chapter 33

  I’d lied to Baba.

  Since I hadn’t gotten my hands on the digital recorder yesterday, it looked like I’d be spending quite a few more nights cleaning. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever get to quit.

  Worst of all, Gravois seemed to have Elia and me on permanent latrine duty. Silly me, I thought maybe once he saw my skills with a duster, I’d at least get to spend a few nights outside the stalls. No such luck.

  The Tuesday session was particularly rough. One of the engineering firms had hosted some kind of booze bash with hors d’oeuvres. Deviled eggs and Vienna sausages. I’ll never touch either one again.

  Wednesday the weather turned foul. Cold, wet, and gray. Typical D.C. spring.

  Icy rain pelted my windshield as I drove home. Luckily, there weren’t many cars on the road after midnight. I was relieved to finally make the turn onto my street. But when I pulled into the driveway, the house was dark.

  Odd.

  Nick opened the door with a flashlight in his hand. “Come on, don’t you have to go out?” he asked Lucy.

  She didn’t budge.

  “Hey, is this what they mean by ‘a night not fit for man nor beast’?” he asked me.

  “I don’t blame her,” I said. “I wouldn’t be out voluntarily. It’s pretty nasty.”

  “Yeah, well, your floor’s not so hot, either. So far tonight, she’s left three puddles and a pile of poop by the front door. But when I try to get her to go out, she looks at me like I’m nuts.”

  “Smart dog.”

  “P.U.! Let me guess, toilets again.”

  “No, it’s my new cologne. It’s called ‘Desperation.’ Yes, toilets again. Toilets yesterday. Toilets tomorrow. And always toilets today. But enough about me. Why’s the house so dark? Did you guys turn in early?”

  Even in the muted glow of the flashlight, I could see Nick was giving me a weird look.

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Tell you what?”

  We stepped into the house. It was warm and toasty, but dark. And quiet. No TV. No rumbling heater in the background. A couple of flashlights, up-ended on tables, served as makeshift lamps. A fire crackled in the fireplace.

  Gabby was clicking away on her laptop. Baba was dozing in a chair near the fire, and Lucy ambled over and curled up at her feet.

  “What the hell? How long has the power been out?”

  “It went out right after you left. When the temperature dropped, Baba and I got a fire going. Why didn’t you tell us things were this tight? I mean, we knew it was bad, but we didn’t know it was this bad. Gabby and I can spot you some cash.”

  “I paid the bill.”

  “Not according to the power company.”

  “That’s impossible. I paid it two weeks ago, right before I got canned. The check’s already cleared. You called? What did they say?”

  “Not much. I didn’t know your Social Security number, so they just kept saying, ‘The owner of the account is apprised of all the developments pertaining to this account.’ I figured that was drone-speak for ‘no money, no honey.’”

  Most of the houses in the area were gas and electric. Mine was the rare, all-electric exception. It was one of the many things I loved about my cozy little home. But tonight, it meant I’d be taking a long, cold shower since I wouldn’t have any hot water, either.

  “No, it sounds like my friends at C&W have been at it again.”

  “Again?”

  “They’ve made an all-out assault on my finances. Talking to my bank. Canceling my credit cards. And my health insurance. Margaret’s the one who did the health insurance. I found the paperwork earlier this week, when I was cleaning her office.”

  “Cleaning?” Nick asked.

  “Cleaning. Snooping. Rifling through her desk drawers.”

  “Po-tay-to. Po-tah-to,” he said. “So you think this is her, too?”

  “Could be,” I said. “Or it could just be that the feeding frenzy has begun.”

  “How’s that work?”

  “Sort of one-upsmanship, corporate style,” I said. “Everybody takes a swing at the designated piñata.”

  “And you’re the piñata?” Nick asked.

  “Si, señor,” I said. “What did you guys do for dinner?”

  “Pizza. Gabby suggested firing up the grill, but the weather was lousy. Baba wanted to cook in the fireplace. Of course, I pointed out that we needed to keep all the cold air inside the fridge, so we should order out.”

  “Quick thinking.”

  “I’m at my best under pressure,” he said. “Besides, I was jonesing for a pie. Oh, and your phone’s out, too. I had to use my cell to call the power company and the pizza place. On the bright side, at least the bill collectors stopped calling.”

  I pulled the cell from my pocket. It had been strangely silent all night. Now I knew why. It was on the same plan as my home phone. I hit the power button and got the “no signal” message.

  Tired as I felt, I was racing the clock to save the rapidly warming food in my fridge.

  “I need your cell,” I said to Nick.

  He wrinkled his nose and took a step back.

  “That bad?” I asked.

  “Kinda.”

  I grabbed a flashlight from the table and headed to my desk, where I rooted around and finally found my utility bills. “C’mon, I really need your phone.”

  “You’ll get stank on it,” Nick said.

  “You want heat and light and a working oven? I need your cell.”

  “Fine,” he said.

  Remembering the melting fridge full of food, I called the power company first. After almost a full minute, I got an actual human.

  “Powhatan Power and Light. What’s your emergency?”

  “My power’s off.” I gave the guy my account number, name and address, along with the last four digits of my social. Then there was dead silence for almost two minutes.

  “You had the service disconnected. Says here you moved from that address yesterday.”

  “There must be a mistake. I never called.”

  “Yup. Called Monday. Would have had to verify your identity, too.”

  “Look, someone’s gotten hold of my personal information. And they’ve been playing hacky sack with my life. I didn’t cancel my service. And I’m living in the same house I’ve been in for two years. If you look
at my records, you’ll see that my account is current, and that the last payment, which I made two weeks ago, was for $110.74. Check number 1284. What it won’t show you is that I have a house full of very cold relatives and a refrigerator full of very warm food. Is there anything you can do?”

  “Well, I can switch the power back on. But it can take up to two hours before it’s restored at your location.”

  “That would be great. Can you put a rush on it?”

  “That is a rush. In the meantime, you might want to add a security code to your account.”

  “What will that do?”

  “It’s a special four-digit number. You make it up and register it with us. But it won’t be listed on your bill. Anyone wants to make changes to your account, they have to know the code.”

  “Perfect.”

  My call to the phone company was pretty much a slow-mo instant replay. I now had two new “security codes” and a sneaking suspicion that I was going to have to start playing a better game of defense if I didn’t want to end up cold, hungry, and living on the street.

  After forty minutes in an icy shower, I was curled up in my flannel nightgown, robe, and a sweater, with a towel wrapped around my head and a hot slice of pizza in my hand. Nick had ordered another pie while I was in the shower. And this one was piping hot.

  “Had to get soda,” he said. “They don’t do hot coffee.”

  “I don’t care. This is great.” I tried to ignore Lucy, who was giving me her sad, hungry puppy look.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Nick said. “She’s already had two pieces of the first one.”

  “She’s a growing dog,” I said.

  “The olives looked exactly the same coming out as they did going in,” he reported. “It was freaky.”

  “I’m guessing that was the pile in the front hall?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Gabby held the flashlight, while I cleaned it up.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  Baba was snoring softly. When the lights suddenly popped on, she sat straight up and blinked.

  “Power’s back,” I said.

  “Bah, I go to bed.” She looked at Nick. “You put out fire?”

  He nodded, kissed her on the forehead, and gave a mock salute. “Aye-aye, captain.”