Blythe captured the second egg from the swirling waters, let it drain, then set it and the other on the waiting plate and topped them with sauce. “Go ahead and take yours into the dining room. I’ll follow as soon as mine is ready. And don’t wait for me. Eat your breakfast while it’s hot.”
“Okay,” Shelby said, taking her food into the next room. By the time Blythe joined her with her breakfast, Shelby had already devoured her own.
“Did you have enough?”
“Yeah,” Shelby said, smiling. “It was really good.”
Blythe picked up her fork. “I’d already planned my day before you arrived.”
Shelby’s expression darkened, and for a moment she seemed to cower like a frightened dog expecting a blow.
“I’d planned to bake some cookies and make fudge. Would you like to help me with that?”
For a moment, Shelby’s expression was blank, but then she seemed to shake herself. “Fudge?”
“Yes. My favorite is peanut butter. What’s yours?”
“I love peanut butter, too.”
“Then we’re agreed,” Blythe said, and lifted her fork to her mouth to enjoy the first taste of that lovely poached egg.
“What kind of cookies were you planning to make?” Shelby asked.
“I hadn’t made up my mind. I’ve already made cut-outs, and though I like them, they aren’t my favorites.”
“What are?” Shelby asked.
“It’s a tossup. Either chocolate chip or butterscotch oatmeal cookies. How about you?”
Shelby ducked her head, looking sheepish. “I don’t know. I haven’t ever eaten a lot of homemade cookies. Jenny usually buys them by the bags at the grocery store. She likes Oreos.”
“Have you ever had shortbread?” Blythe asked.
Shelby wrinkled her nose. “Small loaves of bread?”
Blythe smiled. “No. Butter cookies.”
“I’ve never had them before.”
“Then that’s what we’ll make, because they are wonderful.”
“Sounds okay to me,” Shelby agreed. “And you’ll let me help make them?”
“Of course. It’ll be much more fun to share the experience. But I will have to do some paperwork today.”
“Even if you’re not open?” Shelby asked.
Blythe nodded. “You’d be surprised how much activity goes on behind the scenes, even when my B&B isn’t open to the public.”
Shelby nodded, as though she understood—but Blythe was pretty sure the kid had no idea what she was talking about.
‘I’ve got some wonderful cookbooks. Maybe you’d like to look through them and pick out another recipe you’d like to make.”
“I could do that?” Shelby asked, as though she’d never been given such a choice.
“Of course.”
“What if you don’t have the ingredients to make them?”
“The local grocery store is open until four this afternoon. If I don’t have it, we could always go and get what we need.”
“Does it have to be an official Christmas cookie recipe?” Shelby asked.
“Not at all. What’s your favorite cookie?”
Shelby’s brow furrowed as she pondered her reply. “Once, at school, one of the kids’ mothers brought in some kind of painted cookie. Lila said they made them and they had to dry and then they painted them.”
Blythe nodded. “I know what you mean. They’re called Springerle, and they’re sort of like a cut out cookie, only they’re made with a wooden mold. I have several of them in different designs.”
Shelby’s shoulders slumped.
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try to make them. I think it would be fun. What do you think?”
Shelby perked up. “I’d like to try.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
A sound emitted from the computer behind the reception desk across the way.
Blythe forked up the last of her eggs and toast, chewed and swallowed. Then she set down her fork. “I need to check that email. I’ve been conversing with a couple who want to book a room for Valentine’s Day. I’d better go check it.”
Shelby nodded disinterestedly, and Blythe got up and headed for her computer at the reception desk. She tapped the keyboard, and the screen came to life. She read the latest e-mail message from Shelby’s aunt and frowned. It was not good news, but in a way it might change the young girl’s life for the better.
With a heavy heart, she typed a response and hit SEND.
It would be a long day, and during the long hours she would have to muster her best acting skills because she had a feeling what was to come might break Shelby’s heart.
Blythe looked back to her charge. Shelby’s gaze was focused on the twinkling Christmas tree. Was she actually smiling?
Then Blythe knew what her goal for the day had to be. To keep Shelby smiling.
“Hey, kiddo,” she called. “Ready to start looking for cookie recipes?”
4
A Second Visitor
Shelby and Blythe spent the bulk of the day in the manor’s kitchen, cooking and baking. They’d made six batches of cookies, made the basis of their homemade pizza dinner, with Blythe letting Shelby knead the dough—and were at last making the fudge that Blythe had promised many hours before.
It seemed like Blythe had a million recipes stuffed into her brain. Still, for Shelby’s sake, she would pull a book off a shelf so that she could follow along as they made each delicacy.
“I thought you had to cook fudge,” Shelby said as they measured the ingredients into a microwaveable bowl.
“The first time I made fudge, I didn’t have a candy thermometer. I decided to wing it. I figured I had been pretty successful in the kitchen, and what was the big deal about getting the mixture to a certain temperature anyway. Well, I learned my lesson. I didn’t cook the mixture long enough and when it came time to eat the fudge, it tasted like chocolate sand.”
Shelby wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t like that.”
“No, and neither did my family. I tried to bluff my way through it, but I think I only ate two pieces before I had to admit defeat. We threw the rest of it out. But making fudge with confectioners’ sugar solves that problem. I’ve been making fudge in the microwave ever since and have never had a bad batch.”
“Yet?” Shelby teased.
“Yet,” Blythe admitted with a smile.
They set the bowl in the microwave and pushed the start button to melt the chocolate.
“Wow,” Shelby said, looking out the window over the sink. Earlier in the day she could see the ocean, but now the sky was a charcoal gray. “It sure gets dark here early.”
“Yes it does, but now that we’ve passed the winter solstice, it’s already getting brighter by a minute or two every day. By February, I always start to feel hopeful that spring will be right around the corner.”
Looking forward to the future was way too scary to contemplate. Shelby was quite fine with putting off having to think about what she would do in the following days. But she also knew she could not expect the kind woman who owned this bed and breakfast to keep her indefinitely. She understood that the room she’d been given was meant for paying customers … boy oh how she liked that room. It was fit for a princess. She’d never slept on such a comfortable bed. When she ran the hot water, it came out of the tap steaming. The sample-size soap, shampoo, and conditioner all smelled like some kind of beautiful flower. Though she hadn’t worn it, Shelby had found a fluffy, white terrycloth robe in the closet that was as soft as a kitten’s fur. When she’d awoken during the night, the light from that special little Christmas tree had been comforting, making her feel safer than she had for a long, long time.
How soon would that feeling of safety be yanked from her?
Shelby glanced down at the recipe Blythe had provided. “It says here to line the pan with foil.”
“I’ll show you a little trick,” Blythe said, and tore a piece of aluminum from the roll. “You sh
ape it around the outside of the pan first, like so—” Shelby watched with interest. “And then you place it inside the pan. It’s nearly a perfect fit.”
Shelby nodded. Was there nothing Blythe didn’t know about cooking—and maybe life?
The microwave went off, and Blythe handed Shelby a spoon. “Go ahead and stir it, then we’ll give it another two minutes.” She did, and then reset the microwave. She watched as the bowl went around and around in the little oven, while Blythe greased the lined pan with butter. When the microwave went beep, Blythe handed Shelby a couple of potholders and she picked up the pot. They added the confectioners’ sugar and vanilla, stirring until it thickened.
“Now we’ve got to transfer the fudge into the prepared pan,” Blythe instructed.
Shelby did so, then she held the bowl so that Blythe could scrape down the sides with a silicone spatula and spread it evenly in the pan. “Now what?”
“We put it in the fridge to firm up.”
“When can we have a piece?”
“In an hour or so. But something that rich might spoil our pizza dinner.”
Shelby looked over at the big bowl farther down the counter where the dough had been rising.
“When will we start the pizza?”
“In a little while. First we have to decide what to have on the pizza. I’m a veggie girl, myself, but I do have some pepperoni we could slice.”
“Vegetables on pizza?” Shelby asked. She’d never had anything other than slices of cheese and pepperoni pizzas—it was all Jenny ever ordered.
“Sure. I like onions, peppers, and broccoli can be really good.”
“Broccoli?” Shelby repeated in horror. “That sounds disgusting.”
Blythe laughed. “It’s not—honestly. But, like clam chowder, it might be an acquired taste.”
“When will we start making it?”
“You’re not really hungry right now, are you?”
Shelby thought about the four cookies she’d had not an hour before. And the big lunch of chicken salad on a flaky croissant. While the croissants had been thawed, and Blythe had poached the chicken—not unlike the eggs earlier that day—to make the salad, adding nuts, raisins, and an apple. It had tasted wonderful.
“I guess I could wait a while,” Shelby said. At home, she’d never known when a meal was likely to happen—if it ever did. There’d been days when there was nothing to eat in the apartment—usually on weekends. She got a free breakfast and lunch at school during the week. Weekends could be pretty bleak and she’d gotten used to going to bed hungry.
The sound of the wind picked up and Blythe moved from the kitchen to the big picture window in the dining area. She turned on the outside light and the snow swirled around it blowing every which way.
“Not a fit night out for man nor beast,” Blythe said, clasping her arms as though cold, and yet it was comfortably warm in the big house.
Blythe switched out the light. “What do you want to do; watch part of a movie, take a break to put the pizza in the oven, and then watch the rest of it?”
“That sounds okay to me,” Shelby said. She turned toward the living room, and heard the sound of a car engine outside the inn. “Are you expecting company tonight?”
Blythe’s expression darkened. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Who?”
The engine died and a few seconds later someone rapped on the front door. Blythe left the kitchen and crossed the dining and living rooms, heading for the front door. Curious, Shelby followed.
Blythe grasped the door handle to answer it. “Won’t you come in?” she invited, letting in a blast of cold air.
Shelby blinked, unable to believe her eyes. “Aunt Alicia?”
Bundled up in a parka, knit cap, and a scarf, the woman bounded forward, practically running to greet her niece, pulling her into a fierce hug.
“Oh, baby—you don’t know how worried I’ve been.”
Shelby stood stiffly in her aunt’s embrace, her gaze shifting to Blythe, standing by the now-closed door, a hot flush of betrayal rushing through her.
“How did you find me?”
Aunt Alicia removed her hat and unwound her scarf. “I didn’t find you; Blythe found me.”
Shelby battled the growing hurt within her. But then, this wasn’t the first time she’d been turned in—and it might not be the last. She looked around, but Blythe seemed to have disappeared. She looked toward the kitchen, but didn’t see her there either.
Aunt Alicia unzipped her coat. She grabbed Shelby’s arm, pulling her over to the big leather couch. They both sat down, and Aunt Alicia shrugged off her coat, laying it over the arm of the of sofa.
“I think you owe me an explanation. Why did you run away—and why here?”
Shelby couldn’t look her aunt in the eye.
“What was wrong at home?” Aunt Alicia asked, her voice soft.
Shelby took in a long shuddering breath, sure she was about to cry.
“It’s okay, honey. You know you can tell me anything.”
“Rick,” Shelby managed, her voice shaking.
Aunt Alicia let out a breath, almost as though she’d expected the answer. “Did he do something bad to you?”
Shelby focused her gaze on the hardwood floor. “Well … no. Well, maybe. He … he grabbed me and … he touched me where he shouldn’t—and more than once.”
Aunt Alicia patted her hand, but Shelby pulled it back, wrapping her arms around herself.
“Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you come to me?” Aunt Alicia asked gently.
It took long moments before Shelby trusted her voice to stay steady enough to speak. “It didn’t seem fair. I’m almost an adult. I should be able to take care of myself.”
“So you came here—to Martha’s Vineyard? What was your plan?”
“To hide out. To get a job. To take care of myself.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Aunt Alicia began, “but … you’re not almost a grownup. Sweetheart, according to the law you are a child. You’ll legally remain a child for another five years.” Again, she touched Shelby, this time resting her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I know it doesn’t seem fair, but those are the rules. They were made to protect kids like you from people like Rick. Do you understand?”
Shelby shrugged, still unwilling to face her aunt.
“If it’s any consolation, you won’t have to worry about Rick ever again.”
At that piece of news, Shelby twisted to face her aunt. “Did he leave Jenny?”
Aunt Alicia looked distinctly unhappy. “In a manner of speaking.” Shelby studied her aunt’s face. She seemed to be wrestling with a decision.
“You’d better tell me,” Shelby said with dread.
Aunt Alicia nodded. “I’m afraid I have some unhappy news for you.”
Shelby looked into her aunt’s eyes, saw the anguish in her expression, and knew what was coming. She swallowed, determined to be brave. “Jenny’s dead, isn’t she?”
Aunt Alicia nodded.
“Overdose?”
Her aunt nodded.
“Rick, too?”
Again Aunt Alicia nodded. “The police said the heroin might have been cut with poison. Several other people have died, too.”
Tears suddenly filled Shelby’s eyes. “Why would somebody do that? How could anyone be so cruel?”
“I don’t know,” Aunt Alicia admitted.
And then a terrible thought crossed Shelby’s mind. Were Jenny and Rick already dead when she’d crept into the bedroom early that morning? If she’d known about the bad smack could she have called the paramedics? Had she let her mother die?
Shelby’s throat tightened with guilt until she thought she might choke. “I wasn’t there for her.”
“Honey, you were always there for Jenny. The sad thing is, these last few years, she wasn’t there for you.”
A tear cascaded down Shelby’s cheek, and she wiped it away. “When …?” Shelby hiccupped. “When did this
happen?”
“The police think sometime late last night?”
“Did you see them? Did you see Jenny?”
“Yes,” Aunt Alicia said and swallowed. It seemed like she might be about to cry, too. “They asked me to identify her.”
“What will happen to her now?”
“She was taken to the morgue. We don’t have to figure out everything today,” Aunt Alicia said gently.
“What about Rick?”
“It’s up to his family to…to claim his body.”
“And Dog?”
“The police said he’d probably be euthanized.”
Shelby looked up sharply. She’d never liked Dog, but it wasn’t his fault he’d been mistreated.
“Before I left to come here, I called a pit bull rescue. They were supposed to come and take him away. They’ll try to rehabilitate him and find him a good home.”
“That would be nice. He never had a good home with Rick,” Shelby said sourly. She took in another shuddering breath. “What happens next?”
“You come home with me and stay—for as long as you want.”
Sure, because there was nobody else who would take her in.
Shelby looked into her Aunt’s eyes once again and saw something she’d seen many times before, but hadn’t allowed herself to believe: love.
Shelby’s lower lip trembled. “I … I think I need a hug.”
“Darlin’ they’re always free, and I’ve got a lifetime supply,” Aunt Alicia said, and drew Shelby into a gentle embrace.
That’s when the tears really began. A torrent of tears. A lifetime’s worth of tears. Alicia patted her back, gently rocking her until the sobs quieted.
“You know,” Shelby began when she could finally speak again, “even though I never had a happy day with Jenny, I still loved her. Does that make me stupid?”
Aunt Alicia held her tighter. “Not at all. Love is the most powerful emotion of all. And nobody can really explain how and why we love the people we love…even when they may not deserve it. I’m so sorry you never had the opportunity to know Jenny before she got hooked on drugs. She was a wonderful, sweet person. She really loved you and your dad. But it was only weeks after he died that she got hurt.”
An Unexpected Visitor Page 4