Jam, Jelly and Just Desserts

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Amanda shook her head. “No clue.”

  “Have you opened them yet?"

  Amanda stretched across the marble slab with supreme effort and grabbed the small stack of sealed envelopes in the center. "Just the first one, but it didn’t have anyone's name or information in it. It was just a bid for putting in a tin ceiling. I called the phone number for the contractor, but it went straight to voicemail and I never heard back, so I figured it was just a fluke." She ran her fingernail under the flap of one of the envelopes. "Think I should open another one?" she asked.

  Jennifer looked over at her as she dumped the flour into a yellow pottery mixing bowl. "Well, I would if I were you," she said. "How else are you going to know if they're for the Ravenwood Inn? Maybe they’re part of some weird mix-up, or maybe they belong to someone else.? My vote is open them and see what's going on. Besides," she said with a grin as she pulled a pound of butter out of the fridge, "we've had enough mysteries around here lately. We could use one that’s actually simple to solve." She set the butter on the counter and crossed her arms, waiting. "Go ahead, open one."

  With Jennifer's words as persuasion, Amanda picked up a nearby table knife and slit the envelope open. Pulling out the folded paper inside, she quickly scanned the contents and gave a small gasp of surprise.

  "It's another contractor bid, and it's for Buster Radcliffe," she said. "This one's for restoring the antique tile around a brick fireplace.”

  Jennifer looked confused. "Who?"

  “Radcliffe. Buster Radcliffe.” Amanda kept reading. "He was in town today and Mrs. Granger about had a hissy fit when she saw him walking by on the sidewalk." She grinned at the memory of her feisty friend’s unexpected reaction. "I guess he's the owner of Sweet-n-Tastee Jams and Jellies, but he might have sold the company off recently. Anyway, she can’t stand him. Called him a butthead. To his face."

  Jennifer burst out laughing. “She called him what? Are you kidding?"

  Amanda tucked the letter back into the envelope. "Nope, not kidding. I got the feeling she couldn’t stand him because of something he's done in the past, maybe having to do with his company or the land he used. I asked her about it, but after a bit she wouldn’t talk about it anymore.”

  “Wow,” Jennifer said, her eyes wide. “That’s a first.”

  “Mrs. Granger seemed to think that the whole town hates him, too, or will hate him as soon as they know more about him. I've never seen her like that. I think she was a hair's breadth away from spitting on him."

  "Hmph," Jennifer said as she unwrapped the block of butter. "That's definitely unusual but knowing Mrs. Granger I would imagine she has her reasons for how she feels. She’s a smart cookie and she’s seen a lot of things happen here in Ravenwood Cove." She started unwrapping the butter. "What are you going to do with the mail?"

  Amanda thought about it for a second. "I guess I'll have to find out if he's actually in town to stay or not. Maybe I can ask George if he knows anything about where Radcliffe could be staying. If he’s in the area, I suppose I can deliver it to him." Her voice was deceptively innocent, but Jennifer was her friend and immediately knew what Amanda was thinking about, and she cocked an eyebrow.

  "If anyone would know where he was it would probably be the police chief, “Jennifer said. So, if George gives you an address you go over to Radcliffe’s and then what? You get a chance to talk to him you might find out more about why Mrs. Granger thinks his backside is on his shoulders, right?"

  “Right.” Amanda grinned, knowing she was busted. "No one messes with Mrs. Granger, and I'm here to make sure of that."

  Chapter 3

  Later that afternoon Amanda stood in the front room of her new house with her yellow lab, Benson, sitting beside her, both of them watching the workmen finish installing hardwood floors. She gave a happy sigh. The soft, warm color of the wood was perfect in the room, and she couldn't wait to see what James thought of the new improvement. It had been months since they'd started planning the house and now they were within a week of it being completed, much to her delight. The last finishing touches were happening, and she'd already scheduled a walk-through with Roy Greeley, her general contractor. Most of the last things that needed to be done were bid out to specialists and subcontractors, which she had expected, but between her work schedule at the Inn and Roy's suddenly packed list of jobs, she hadn’t seen her contractor as often as she would've liked. He'd been adamant that he was stopping by the house and following up with the workers every day someone was there, and she could see daily progress on the house, but it still felt odd not to have him there more often.

  She was deep in her own thoughts, and between her pondering and the hammering noise made by the workers, she didn't hear James come through the front door, but from Benson's happy bounding away from her side, she knew who she'd see when she turned around. The yellow lab loved her, too, but he was definitely James' dog. From the very first day her husband had brought the sweet dog home from the Humane Society, Benson had followed James around every chance he could.

  "Wow! The pine looks amazing in here," James said, with a low whistle of appreciation. "You were right, the walnut would’ve been too dark. Good call."

  Amanda stretched up on her tiptoes for a quick kiss, then slipped her arm through his. "I'm so glad you're here, honey. I've been dying to show you how much got done, and I was thinking about when we want to schedule our moving day. Any ideas about that? You know, half the town has said they want to help us move in, and I think we should take them up on it. Let's make it a big party."

  James laughed and kissed the top of her head. "My brothers have already said they're going to bring any of my stuff that was stored at the ranch, and Dad's got a panel van he says we can use. Moving days can be pretty tiring for everyone. Are you sure you want the extra stress of having a party?"

  "Absolutely," she said firmly. "I can make the food ahead of time, pick up a bunch of soda and drinks, and put it all out on the kitchen counters. It'd be easy, and it seems like the least we could do for them for helping us get our stuff in here. Lots of people will get the whole thing done really fast, so no one has to be exhausted."

  James chuckled. "You've never moved my sleeper sofa before,” he said, shaking his head. "That thing must weigh a metric ton."

  He walked into the kitchen and Amanda trailed behind him, still instantly happy when she saw how big and bright the room was. White cabinets with their old-fashioned pulls contrasted with the darker granite countertops, and a farm-style double sink was set in front of a huge picture window.

  "You know, at the rate they’re going I’m pretty sure we'll be ready by next weekend. What do you think?" James asked, and Amanda gave a little yelp and a quick dance of excitement.

  "Yes, yes, yes! Let's start letting people know now," she said, grinning.

  James put his hands on his hips and laughed out loud at her reaction. "Well, okay, then," he said. "Next weekend it is. I’m going to be playing fiddle Friday night with the band for the VFW dance, but I'll invite our families for Saturday morning and get the word out to friends. So, you're getting tired of always sleeping at the Ravenwood Inn every night, I guess?" he asked, and Amanda laughed.

  "Well, I like the master suite, but I have to admit it isn't easy to share our home with different guests every night," she admitted. "I’d rather have my bed and breakfast at my own home.” She leaned her head against his arm. “At our own home."

  James leaned over and gave her a soft kiss. "Lady, I know just how you feel."

  ***

  It wasn't until she'd walked back to the Inn to put together the nightly wine tasting that Amanda realized James had used the word 'families'.

  Plural.

  She had gotten used to his big, rollicking family, and their sense of humor and how they communicated. His brothers and his sister all seemed to love Amanda, and his parents had done their best to make sure she felt included and important. She still had times she felt a bit awkward and out of place,
especially when old jokes or stories were bandied about that she didn’t know, but her husband’s family had really tried to make her feel at ease, and she appreciated that.

  The problem was he'd used a word that meant more than one family, and that could only mean one thing.

  Amanda's family, too.

  She was happy she and James had made the decision to set a firm date for moving into their newly constructed house, but the thought of her father, Wendell Smith, coming to their moving day party made her grit her teeth. She'd only started to get to know him again, after he'd showed up in Ravenwood Cove out of the blue. He’d explained he'd left her because his alcoholism was out of control, and he'd been worried he was going to hurt Amanda or her mother. He had also told her that after a stint in jail for fraud he had done his best to find her, but since they'd moved away he hadn't had any luck at all. A few months back, an Oregon-wide newspaper had run an article about Ravenwood Cove, praising its beauty and off-the-beaten-path coastal charm. It highlighted the Ravenwood Inn with a nice photo and a small profile of the new, innovative owner, and when Wendell had seen that, he'd mustered his courage and headed her direction, unsure of what his reception might be.

  To be honest, Amanda still didn't know what to think of Wendell. Ever since James had set him up with a small rental cottage down by the cannery, he'd kept pretty much to himself. He'd texted her exactly twice, and she'd done a lot of thinking before she'd replied noncommittally to his messages. A lifetime of neglect and abandonment took a long time to process and heal. The one day she'd seen him on the street she had nodded stiffly at him as she walked past, and then ducked into Madeline Wu's fish store to avoid talking with him. She wasn't proud of it, but it was all she could cope with emotionally right now.

  Families. She gave a troubled sigh as she thought about seeing her father on Saturday and walked toward the parlor, but carefully fixed her best smile in place before her waiting guests could see her.

  Chapter 4

  Mrs. Granger looked around the empty lobby of the town's old library and sighed. "Are you going to the town council meeting this week, dear?" she asked Amanda as she shuffled some papers in front of her on the long table. "We're trying to get as many people as we can to be there. We need support for the historical society, and so far, it's been really slim pickings. We could use all the warm bodies at the meeting we could get."

  “Well, I’m not sure of my schedule yet,” Amanda admitted. The Inn’s guests and their needs kept her busy, but she did her best to support local causes. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Mrs. Granger didn’t look happy at her answer. "Please do. We've had this table set up here every morning this week and only four people have signed a petition to get funding for a museum for Ravenwood Cove. Four.” She paused, obviously frustrated. “It’s like no one has any civic pride anymore. Can you believe it?"

  Actually, Amanda could believe it. The little coastal town was just starting to get enough business and tourists coming in that incomes were starting to pick up. To many people, a museum was a luxury, and an expensive one at that. The little group of older ladies who tirelessly campaigned for preserving the town's history and eventually building a museum weren't dissuaded though, and kept trying to raise support every year.

  Amanda chose her answer carefully, worried about offending Mrs. Granger or her cheerful friend sitting beside her, Mrs. Bitterman. "I'm sorry you're not getting the response you wanted, Gram," she said, her voice sympathetic. "I'm sure people love Ravenwood as much as you do, but maybe they're just worried about the money part of it. The town’s just getting back on its feet again, you know.”

  "Well, that’s certainly true," Mrs. Bitterman piped up helpfully. She was over twenty years younger than Mrs. Granger, but sometimes it was very apparent that Mrs. Bitterman was a bit less forceful. She was happy to have her ninety-year-old friend be the leader in most situations. Amanda had grown to love her perpetual optimism and fierce dedication to Mrs. Granger. "There aren't many billionaires here in town, are there?" she said, a playful twinkle in her eye, and Amanda chuckled in agreement.

  "None that I know of," she said.

  Mrs. Granger watched a tall red-haired woman in a knit dress walk by, arms full of books, obviously doing her best to ignore the three ladies sitting at the long table.

  "See what I mean?" Mrs. Granger asked, sounding exasperated. "No one even stops by to say hello. That was Maisie Steele. I’ve known her since she was in diapers. I tell ya, where are people's manners these days?"

  Amanda could see the old lady getting frustrated, so she tried to change the subject.

  "So, you never did tell me all about your history with Buster Radcliffe, Gram. After you talked a bit about how he got his farm, you kind of clammed up about him."

  “I was busy eating pizza,” the old lady said defensively, but the words were barely out of her mouth before Mrs. Bitterman perked up with excitement.

  “Oh, I just heard some news about him! You won't believe what that guy is doing to the old Grayson house,” she said, obviously happy to have news to share. “It sounds like he's hired every contractor for miles around. He’s completely remodeling the place, making it look just like it was when it was first built."

  "He is?" Amanda said, thinking back to the mail she'd opened, with a contractor bid inside.

  Mrs. Granger glared at her oldest living friend, and Amanda had to wonder if even the mention of Radcliffe’s business was making her angry.

  Mrs. Bitterman seemed to be oblivious and kept on talking. "Rumor has it he's redoing the original hardwood floors and tiled bathrooms, and even replacing the tin ceilings through the whole house. I talked to one of the workmen, a man named Sumpter. He was in Petrie’s Soda Fountain and he told me about it while he ate his chicken salad sandwich. He said there are tons of people working on that house, and Radcliffe is making it so it looks exactly like it would've when it was first built. I hear he even hid away the fridge and any modern appliances behind cabinet panels, so it's just like stepping right back into the past."

  She was practically fidgeting with excitement. "He may have been one of the richest men to ever live here, and I know he left under... difficult circumstances, but you have to admire someone who's doing such a good job of preserving the heritage of Ravenwood Cove.” She looked at Mrs. Granger for approval and, when she didn’t see any on the old lady’s face, she kept on talking. “I think we should appreciate anyone who’s working so hard to restore a great, old house like that, especially since it’s been so rundown over the years. Did you know his wife’s grandfather had it built from custom plans, drawn up by some fancy architect in Chicago?"

  Mrs. Granger was looking at her friend as if she'd suddenly sprouted two heads, both of them ugly.

  "Are you kidding me? You sound like you admire him," she said with a loud harrumph of disapproval. "Didn’t that contractor also say he had a housekeeper that he didn’t treat well, that she did all the cooking and cleaning for him and he just ignores her? Don't you remember how he treated Doris Radcliffe? They were married all those years and he still acted like she was his possession. How many times did we see her go to some city council meeting with him, taking all sorts of notes and not talking to anybody?" Her lips pressed together in a thin line of disdain. "You remember he only went to those meetings when it would profit him, too, right? Anytime he needed to get something passed or get some sort of favor from the assessor or whatever, there he'd be, with meek little Doris trailing right behind him, ready to push people to get his way."

  Amanda watched the exchange between the two friends with surprise, but she didn’t interfere.

  Mrs. Granger shook a gnarled finger at Mrs. Bitterman, emphasizing her point. "And after they moved away to California it was just as bad. When Doris died of cancer he was in Europe somewhere, I read in the paper. Wasn't even on the same continent as his sick wife when she passed. How horrible a person do you have to be, to ignore a dying wife?"

  Mrs.
Bitterman seemed to shrink back a bit. "Well, I do remember that..." she admitted slowly, but Mrs. Granger went on.

  "Don't be fooled, Ruth. That old boy's a cad, through and through." She cleared her throat. "If I could somehow expunge all the history about Sweet-n-Tastee out of our historical society, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

  The sour-faced librarian, whose name escaped Amanda’s memory, walked by with a disapproving glare, obviously thinking they were talking too loudly, but Mrs. Granger pointedly ignored her. She turned to Amanda, her eyes bright with anticipation.

  “And, my dear, I have to admit I’ve been waiting all day to ask you what Gable said yesterday when he stopped by. How did James take it? Did they patch everything up?”

  “Gable?” Amanda asked, and Mrs. Granger looked at her like she was a simpleton.

  “Yes, Gable,” she said. “I saw him down at the market when I was buying Velveeta. Did he and James get everything worked out between them?”

  Amanda glanced at Mrs. Bitterman, who was listening intently to whatever Amanda was going to say about her black sheep brother-in-law. She’d only met him once, when he’d shown up unexpectedly to her and James’ wedding, then had left as quickly as he’d appeared. She hadn’t seen him since, and James hadn’t mentioned anything about an encounter with his older brother at all.

  “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I wasn’t part of any conversation with him.”

  Mrs. Bitterman leaned over her elderly friend and smiled brightly at Amanda. “I’m so glad he’s back around. I always felt really bad about what happened in the Landon family, what with Gable being on the outs and all. I mean, I know they’re a great group of people,” she hurriedly corrected herself, as if worried Amanda would think she was criticizing her in-laws, “but they do have a well-earned reputation for being stubborn. It’s been years since Gable’s been seen in Ravenwood. You know, he left very suddenly. It was all so mysterious…” Mrs. Bitterman said, her voice trailing off. She peered expectantly at Amanda, apparently hoping she would fill in the blanks and explain why Gable hadn’t been welcomed back into the family when he’d shown up.