Queen of the Cookbooks

by Ashton Lee

  Suddenly, she put down her sandwich, sounding particularly triumphant. “A queen. We need to crown a queen. Everybody loves to think of themselves as royalty in the Deep South. I think it started with Mardi Gras in New Orleans and the Natchez Pilgrimage, both of which have oodles of kings and queens. So we’ll have a top prize. We’ll call her the Queen of the Cookbooks, and we’ll give her a little tiara, too.”

  Without hesitation, Jeremy looked at her sideways. “And if the winner happens to be a man?”

  Maura Beth thought for a while and then snapped her fingers. “I say we give the winner both a tiara and a trophy to do with as they please. King or Queen—it’ll all be in good fun.”

  “There ya go. Hey, I’m not one of them, but some men love to cook, too.”

  “We could always give the winner a cigar, too,” Maura Beth said, stifling a giggle or two.

  * * *

  On the way back to Cherico with a light drizzle still accompanying them, Maura Beth sat in the passenger seat scribbling on her notepad. She was clearly lost in her scheming, furrowing her brow and biting her upper lip throughout the process. “I need to get some flyers made up right away,” she said at one point. “I’ll get Periwinkle and Mr. Place to spread the word down at The Twinkle to all their customers, and James Hannigan will let me put flyers up on the bulletin board at The Cherico Market, and he’ll make announcements over the PA system in the store like he always does with my projects. Oh, he’s such a sweet, sweet man.” She paused briefly for a breath and a self-satisfied grin.

  “And then I’ll get all the rest of the gang in the book club involved and work even more of the angles. I just know people will come from miles around for everything—Waddell Mack’s concert, the fireworks, and the food tents. It’ll be a regular carnival—just without the crazy rides. Except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  Her voice went all gloomy as she considered the calendar in her head. “I’m still a bit worried about the library completion date. The one thing we can’t change is when the Fourth of July shows up on the calendar. We can’t stop the sun from rising and setting. Honestly, there are times I could swear that construction company is delaying things on purpose.”

  “Now, why would they do that? Some of these construction contracts have incentive clauses to finish early for bonuses. It would cost them money to fool around too much like that.”

  Maura Beth always seemed to end up with the same old talking points when it came to her tenure at the library. “I’m sure you’re right. I guess I’ve become somewhat cynical after dealing with City Hall and Councilman Sparks all these years. I mean, things appear to be much better between the two of us, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something going on behind the scenes. I know that sounds paranoid, but I speak from my long experience.”

  A mile or so of slick, winding road went by in silence, as Jeremy tightened his grip on the wheel and concentrated on keeping the low traction in check. When the road finally straightened out a bit and a big patch of sunlight broke through the overhanging trees as if The Warbler had reached the promised land, he exhaled softly and said, “Well, you could still have all the festivities without the library tours. Or you could have the tours even though everything wouldn’t quite be finished. I don’t think your patrons would mind all that much. You know they’ll love you no matter what. After all, you’re the one who got Cherico buzzing again about something besides yard sales, football, hunting season, and drinking beer. Hey, who knew a librarian could become the real mover and shaker in Cherico—instead of Councilman Sparks?”

  Maura Beth played at being difficult about it all. “Yes, I know all that, Jeremy. But I’d have tours of an unfinished facility only as a last resort. I want everything to be perfect for my patrons. After all these years of living with that dark, tractor warehouse of a library that we’ve been saddled with, I want them to be able to celebrate the state-of-the-art building they’ll finally be getting. I want this to be a bright, shining moment for our little town of Cherico. No matter what else I accomplish here in the years ahead, this will be my proudest legacy.”

  Jeremy briefly took his right hand off the steering wheel and offered her a high five. “That’s my Maurie. Brava!”

  2

  Out of the Woodwork

  The Queen of the Cookbooks contest flyers that Maura Beth quickly produced began getting sensational results over the next few weeks and well into June. Not a day passed that someone didn’t appear at her outmoded, soon-to-be-discarded library on Shadow Alley asking for more details about the competition. Perhaps they were hoping to get some tips for an inside edge from the enterprising library director herself. Maura Beth knew or recognized almost all of them, diplomatically prodding them to return and use the library even after the contest was over; but a couple of interesting new faces turned up, much to her delight, causing her to think that Queen of the Cookbooks might turn out to be as much of a game changer for Cherico as the creation of The Cherry Cola Book Club had been nearly two years earlier.

  Of course, many of the club members were doing their part to advertise Maura Beth’s brainstorm as the Fourth of July Grand Opening grew ever closer. Periwinkle and her waitresses at The Twinkle included a flyer and a bright smile at the end of every meal. “If you like to putter around the kitchen—not ours, but yours, I mean—be sure and check this out. You might even win you some mad money,” Lalie Bevins would tell them all as she handed her customers their tabs.

  Elsewhere, the retired Connie and Douglas McShay made the rounds door-to-door soliciting their neighbors out at the lake where they had also footed the bill for temporary bleachers for the Waddell Mack concert taking place next to the new library; Cherico’s most famous “married pushing seventy” couple, Locke and Voncille Linwood, got their daily exercise walking up and down Painter Street handing out flyers to passersby and people working diligently out in their yards despite the midsummer heat; Jeremy got permission to tack up a few flyers on Cherico High School’s bulletin boards even though he wasn’t teaching summer school; Justin “Stout Fella” Brachle had nailed flyers to telephone poles on every piece of real estate he was currently peddling both inside and outside the city limits; James Hannigan had displayed them on the big message board at The Cherico Market; and downtown merchants like Audra Neely had managed to integrate flyers into their window displays. The buzz for the culinary competition was building exponentially, and people seemed to be coming out of the woodwork to announce their participation.

  Was it all too good to be true?

  “I’m Ana Estrella,” a slim, young, dark-haired woman with smooth olive skin explained, shaking Maura Beth’s hand at her office door one morning just after the library had opened. After the two women had taken their seats and Maura Beth had graciously welcomed her, Ana continued with a great deal of poise and confidence—her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was even a definite sense of being carefully rehearsed about her tone. Not robotic, but rehearsed nonetheless.

  “You’re probably wondering why you’ve never seen me around before, Mrs. McShay. I’m brand-new to Cherico. I’ve moved down here ahead of the construction of the Spurs ’R’ Us cowboy boot plant. I’ll be doing public relations for the company once it opens, but the owners wanted me to get the feel of the community well in advance. Mr. Waddell Mack in particular said he thought it would be a great move, and I decided to take his advice.”

  “Oh, we adore Waddell. He single-handedly saved our economy by getting the plant to locate here after everyone thought it was backing out. And we have more than a few of our citizens who swear by his country music now.” Maura Beth paused, wondering if she should say more, but soon relented. “If I may say so, I don’t quite understand the popularity of some of his songs—and I have listened intently to his current CD. More than once, as a matter of fact. I’m more the classical music type and so is my husband, Jeremy. But Waddell’s a charmer and a true gentleman, so who am I to judge his talent? After all, I’m a lib
rarian, and we’re just about the most inclusive people you’ll ever meet.”

  Ana nodded and quickly flashed a smile. “Yes, I certainly believe that. You came highly recommended from a couple of sources as a good place to start in getting to know Cherico. First, there was Councilman Sparks at City Hall. My, what a looker he is with that touch of gray at the temples and that smile. Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but he almost reminded me of one of those game-show hosts the way he gestured all the time and put me right at ease.”

  “Aptly put. Did he say, ‘Come on down’?”

  Ana enjoyed a good laugh, and said, “Oh, I can see we’re going to work well together.”

  Maura Beth was tempted to say something more about her favorite politician, revealing a bit of her often-tempestuous relationship with the man who ran the town with an iron first and had never really understood what a library’s mission was; in the end she opted for discretion. “I would definitely say that meeting with our esteemed head honcho would be your first order of business here in Cherico. I can’t wait to hear how it all went.”

  “Well, our meeting was quite productive. I didn’t know what to expect, but he gave me the key to the city and couldn’t have been more gracious to me. You could tell that he’s very excited about Spurs ’R’ Us coming to Cherico.”

  Maura Beth could picture Councilman Sparks putting on a show for Ana. He was excellent at creating first impressions, particularly where one of his hidden agendas was concerned. At the moment, however, she was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. “He should be excited. We’ve desperately needed the jobs to get us really going again. Cherico has had a run of bad luck recently, and there’s not much of a margin for error in a town as small as this one is.”

  “So I understand. Well, the same day I met with Councilman Sparks, I was given one of your Queen of the Cookbooks flyers when I ate dinner at The Twinkle that evening—which also came highly recommended by Mr. Mack. I believe he and the band stopped there on one of their tours last fall. I remember all his tweets quite well. He was burning up his account, and he trended quite nicely. Sometimes all this technology makes my head spin.”

  “They certainly did have themselves a grand feast at The Twinkle. They left fat and happy, as the saying goes, and they swore by Periwinkle’s fried catfish, cole slaw, and her husband Parker’s crème brûlée. I was witness to the whole thing, doing a bit of indulging myself with my own husband.”

  Both women laughed, and Ana said, “Well, what can I say? I love to eat, and I love to cook, too. I thought I’d even have one of those tasting booths for your library opening out at the lake on the Fourth of July. My specialty is Hispanic food, since my family is originally from Puerto Rico. We’re from the San Juan area, actually.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard so many wonderful things about San Juan. My family grew up in New Orleans, so charming, historic architecture is certainly something I can appreciate. I must put San Juan on my bucket list.”

  Ana leaned in, her dark eyes sparkling and her tone suddenly more confidential. “You won’t be disappointed if you do. Of course, I’m very proud of my Hispanic heritage, but I always say that history can only get us so far. What really counts is what we do with ourselves in the present, and that’s the big reason I’ve come to Cherico. I want to be sure that Spurs ’R’ Us is a good citizen once it’s up and running, and to do that, I need to understand what makes this town click. Many people have assured me that you can give me the low-down. So here I am—more than happy to get your take on everything and everyone.”

  Maura Beth was unable to contain her amusement. Once again she debated how much she should reveal. If only she could tell this newcomer everything there was to know, all that lurked beneath the surface of what appeared to be a quiet, conventional community. But now was the time to be welcoming and avoid any sort of controversy. Perhaps the best thing would be for Ana to discover certain things for herself and then take it from there.

  “Well, you’ve come to the right person. I’ll be happy to put down some names and identify the movers and shakers for you. Sort of a ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’—which incidentally is also the name of our well-established genealogical society here. It meets every month right here in the library under the direction of Voncille Nettles Linwood. We used to call her Miss Voncille until she got married last year. Anyway, I can do some mini-sketches for you if you’d like.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Ana said, waving her hand about. “I’ve come here from Nashville where the Spurs ’R’ Us headquarters is, you know. The big city. Well, at least it’s big for the Deep South. I imagine that a small town like this will be a lot easier to figure out.”

  This time, Maura did not restrain herself, sitting up straighter in her chair. “You’d be surprised. But I’m going to do you a huge favor by suggesting you join our Cherry Cola Book Club, which meets right here in the library. Our next meeting is in a couple of weeks at the end of June. You’ll meet everyone who’s anyone in Cherico. Most of our members bring potluck dishes, so you could whip up one of your Hispanic recipes to introduce yourself. I always say that most everybody can be won over and impressed with some good food. We’re breaking with tradition this time out, though. Usually, we review one classic work of Southern fiction at a time, but we’re doing what I call a free-for-all. Everyone will comment on their favorite, outside-the-box novel of whatever genre. We don’t quite know what to expect—in fact, we’ve come to expect the unexpected in our little group, but it should still be fun.”

  “You’ve convinced me. Unless something comes up, I’ll be there. And I think I know just what I’ll fix.”

  Maura Beth reached across and patted her hand. “Good move.” Then she picked up her pen, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps I should get busy on those mini-sketches I promised you.”

  Ana clasped her hands together dramatically and smiled. “Almost like one of those programs you read when you go to the theater. Are you the critic of Cherico?”

  Maura Beth could not help but laugh heartily. “I have to keep a low profile on that, but you have no idea what you’ve just said. Cherico is nothing if not home to some of the biggest drama queens—and a few kings, I might add—in the annals of the history of the Deep South.”

  She began writing down all the pertinent information for Ana and then cheerfully handed over the sheet of paper. “My handwriting is perfectly awful. I think I must have been out sick the entire year they taught penmanship in grade school. So I printed everything for you. Legibly, I trust.”

  Ana glanced down quickly and began reading out loud. “Justin . . . how do you pronounce this last name spelled B-R-A-C-H-L-E?”

  “Rhymes with broccoli.”

  “Ah. And it says here he’s a real estate tycoon. I guess all these small towns have one.”

  “Trust me on this one. The man could sell air conditioners to scientists at the South Pole.”

  Ana continued, her tone full of amusement. “Becca Brachle—retired radio cooking show celebrity. And it also says here she turned her difficult married name into a clever and unforgettable ratings success.”

  “Yes, Becca is Justin’s wife. For years she was the star of the local Becca Broccoli Show—spelled like the vegetable, you understand—and she even has a cookbook of her best dishes coming out in time for the library’s Grand Opening. She’ll be doing a signing inside that very morning, and we’re counting on her drawing a crowd. But what’s even more important, she’s the mother of my godson, Mark Grantham Brachle. Markie is six months old now and so adorable I could just eat him with a spoon.”

  “How nice for you, and I know just what you mean. I have a few little nieces and nephews of my own whom I just love to spoil whenever I can.” Ana returned to her list. “Connie McShay—retired ICU nurse. Douglas McShay—retired trial lawyer. Quite a few retirees living here, I see.”

  “Oh, more than a few. Many of them are out at the lake where the new library is located. In fact, Connie and Douglas donated the
land next to their lodge for the library. They went above and beyond the call of their civic duty in saving us a ton of money with that gesture. They’re originally from Nashville. But I guess you never met them up there, huh?”

  “Afraid not. Nashville’s a big city and getting bigger by the minute. But they sound like wonderful, generous people. You can’t beat that.” Ana ran her finger down the list and continued. “And next we have Voncille Nettles Linwood—retired schoolteacher and town genealogist of note . . . yes, you mentioned her before. And then Locke Linwood—the most gentlemanly of Southern gentlemen, you say here. He sounds absolutely charming.”

  “That he is. His recent marriage to Voncille is his second. His first wife, Pamela, died of breast cancer a few years ago. They were both regulars at the ‘Who’s Who in Cherico?’ meetings.”

  “How sad. But I’m happy to hear he’s remarried.”

  “Yes, Locke and Voncille are an inspiration to everyone looking for love in all the right places.”

  After a respectful pause, Ana resumed. “Periwinkle Place, owner of The Twinkle, Twinkle Café, the town’s premier restaurant. But I don’t believe I met her while I was eating there.” Ana looked up with a curious expression on her face. “Periwinkle. Is that her nickname?”

  “Nope, that’s her real given name. Well, part of it anyway. She’s actually Periwinkle Violet. Her mother was fond of flowers. Hey, what can I say? This is the Deep South, you know.”

  “So it is. Now, let’s see here . . . Mr. Parker Place—The Twinkle’s accomplished pastry chef. I didn’t see him, either, but the slice of caramel pie I had was downright sinful. My figure isn’t going to thank me for indulging, I’m afraid. I did have a very nice waitress, though. She had an unusual name, too.”

  “That was probably Lalie Bevins. She’s been with Periwinkle since The Twinkle opened, and her son, Barry, delivers all the takeout orders in their van. They’ve done quite well with that, and I’ve called them up many a time when I was just too tired to cook.”