Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre

by Lizz Lund

  I went in the kitchen to find Vinnie standing on his hind legs, swatting his paws at the can of food that Trixie held over her head.

  “I mean it! Shoo!”

  I took the can away from Trixie, and plopped the contents into Vinnie’s bowl.

  “He’s a big cat! He could bite your finger off!”

  I shrugged. “I doubt it. Not unless you’re keeping his Finicky Fare from him.”

  “Hey, maybe you could hire him out as a spokesperson?”

  K. popped in the front door and stomped his feet. “So, what should we order for dinner? How’s the laundry? Are we on the last cycle?”

  “That’s a good question. I better go check or I’ll be paying Mina rent.” Trixie hurried down to the basement.

  “Where are Vito and Miriam?”

  “At Vito’s, arguing over what to make for dinner. It’s their date night.”

  “Oh, jeez.”

  “However, it looks like the Grill Gods have spared us.”

  “Why?”

  “They were completely intent on grilling a ‘special appetizer’ for us. Until they discovered that gas grills do not come equipped with fuel. They have to purchase the tank separately.”

  I shook my head. “That won’t stop them. They’ve got an unguarded kitchen.”

  K. looked aghast. “In that case, we’d better order quickly!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Saturday evening into Sunday

  Bento boxes devoured, we plotzed and half-listened to a made-for-TV Christmas movie.

  K. helped Trixie fold her laundry. “Oh, this is nice! Where’d you get this?”

  Trixie lowered a pillow case and sniffed.

  “Whoops! We almost used the M-word again! Now, now!” he tossed the Liz Claiborne shirt aside.

  Trixie’s cell phone rang. “Hello. Oh. Yes, sort of…” she trailed away into the front hall.

  “Do you think that’s Mike?” I whispered.

  K. peered around the corner, and nodded his head.

  “I wonder if they’ll get back together?”

  K. waved one of Trixie’s socks at me. “Of course they will! It’s Christmas!”

  K.’s phone went off and he answered. He took the call and wandered into the dining room.

  I stared at Trixie’s mountain of laundry, and looked for the remote. Then, my phone rang. I went into the kitchen to answer it, and found myself looking at Trixie and K. talking on their phones. We looked like a telethon.

  “Who?” I asked again, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, which had a very bad connection.

  “Jack!”

  “Chef?”

  “Yes!”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “Sorry – hold on…there, is this better?”

  “Lots.”

  “Sorry, I just walked out of the freezer. Hey, we might be in a jam tomorrow. Are you available?”

  “Sure!”

  “That’s what I was hoping.”

  “What time?”

  “Huh?”

  “What time do you need me?”

  There was a moment of silence on his end. “Dunno. I think Hilda picked up some new orders, and I have to go over them with her. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Great. Thanks for the extra work.”

  “I’m sorry it’s last minute. But I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

  I looked at the phone. Did I just hear that? “Oh, well…”

  Clattering and yelling erupted in the background. “Catch ya later. Gotta roll.” And he hung up.

  Well.

  Trixie and K. had just hung up, too. We stood staring at each other in the middle of the kitchen.

  K. pointed to Trixie. “You first!”

  “Mike said he was sorry. He really cares about me, and he didn’t mean to be so harsh and unsympathetic.”

  “And?”

  “And I told him he was a big dumb jerk.”

  K. rolled his eyes.

  I knew better. “So when are you exchanging Christmas presents?”

  “Christmas Eve. Then we’re driving to his folks for dinner.”

  K. pantomimed clapping motions and did his happy dance.

  “Now you,” he nodded to me.

  “I got another shift. I’m working tomorrow.”

  “What else is new?” they chorused.

  K. shook his head. “You are the most working, non-working person I know.”

  “It’s true,” Trixie agreed.

  I shrugged. “So what’s your news?”

  “I’m going to Lincoln Center! To see the Nutcracker!”

  “Wow! Who’s taking you?”

  “A client, but it should be fun. Someone in her party fell ill, so she has an extra ticket.”

  “Sweet!”

  “Thank you.”

  My phone rang again. “So when do you want me?” I asked, figuring it was Chef calling back.

  “Really, Kitchen, you are a bit odd at times. I shall now spend the rest of my evening contemplating that very question.”

  It was not Chef. I blushed down to my toes.

  “Who is it?” K. mouthed.

  “James!”

  K. hopped lightly up and down on his toes, and grabbed Trixie, who had just pulled up a stool to watch. “C’mon missy, a-folding we will go…”

  “Rats. Just when her love life’s getting a love life.”

  I shushed her away, and tried to put the conversation with James back on an even keel.

  “Sorry. Thought you were someone else.”

  “My. Now I’m hurt.”

  “A client.”

  “In that case, I’m jealous. I thought I was your only client?”

  “Catering client. The other clients I work for.”

  “I see. Actually I don’t, but it doesn’t matter. What are you doing Tuesday evening?”

  “This Tuesday? Wow, that’s pretty short notice for a party menu…”

  “No, no, don’t fret. It’s to discuss future massage parties.”

  “A business meeting?”

  “If you like. Can you meet me at the Barn Door, say five o’clock?”

  We made our arrangements, and hung up.

  “Is it a date? Where’s he taking you?” K. asked.

  Trixie shook her head. “It’s more work, isn’t it?”

  I shrugged. “Sounded like it. But then it didn’t sound like it.”

  K. rolled his eyes. “Are you going out?”

  “Yes. I’m meeting him Tuesday night. The Barn Door.”

  “Ew! Yech! The Darn Boor! Oh, that’s too bad.”

  I looked at him. “I guess you’ve been there?”

  “Once! And that was enough!”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Take it from me,” Trixie said, “when you order a beverage, make sure it comes in its own bottle. Don’t order anything that comes in a glass.”

  K. nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt to bring your own utensils, either.”

  Swell.

  A little while later, we loaded up K. and Trixie’s cars. I waved, holding a covered plate of non-pecan pie thrust upon me by Miriam, after she saw us on the front porch. “We didn’t have any pecans. So we used crushed candy canes instead. Clever, right?”

  I went inside and took a peak at the pie. It sparkled back at me, winking with a gleam only a dentist could love. I tossed it in the garbage and covered the evidence with some newspaper, in case Vito stopped by to Swiffer again.

  I poured some wine, flipped the remote, and settled for the last of the news.

  “Keep those tracking numbers, folks,” the news anchor warned. “The United States Postal Service is investigating a flurry of missing packages.”

  “At this time of year, that’s a real worry.” His co-anchor smiled broadly.

  He nodded. “It could be a Grinchy Christmas for many of you out there. So if you’re mailing presents, keep track of those tracking numbers.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to let th
e recipient know to expect a package, either.”

  “Good point. You don’t have to give away its contents; but you sure would want to know if it doesn’t arrive.”

  I clicked off the remote, dimly thankful my presents went direct via Mom-mobile to my sister. I wondered when I would catch up with them. Then I thought about the Barn Door non-date. It made me a little uneasy. So I decided to whip up a lasagna, to take the edge off.

  Later, I padded upstairs to hop in my jammies, and put on the night light for Marie, as Vinnie cat-chirped behind me about early to bed, early to rise, and please don’t forget to make his breakfast a top priority in the morning.

  Outside the wind swooshed; hail battered against the window pane. I heard it all as I woke up to the phone ringing, trying not to roll on top of Vinnie to answer it.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hello?”

  “Mwa-gwuph!” said Vinnie.

  “Huh?”

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s Jack. Did I wake you?”

  “Uh-huh.” I looked at the time. Of course he woke me. It wasn’t even dawn.

  “We need you here at seven. Can you make it?”

  I yawned. “Sure.”

  “Great. Hey, I’m glad I woke you.” He sounded exceedingly pleased with himself.

  “Huh?”

  There was an odd little silence. Maybe his cell phone quit?

  “Otherwise you’d be late, right?”

  I rubbed my eyes and ended our chat quickly. I needed coffee. Vinnie sat on the threshold, switching his tail, anxious for his first cup o’cookies, too. Marie peeped in agreement as I shuffled past her door.

  I revved up our morning routine, then peered outside. It was dark and wet and dreary. But at least I didn’t have to worry about shoveling myself up or down the driveway. This was evidenced by the dark green Crown Victoria sliding out of my driveway with ease. It had been parked just behind my van. Now it peeled into the road and screeched out of sight. Odd. Lost newspaper delivery person? Don’t they use GPS now?

  I tossed on my service wear and winter gear, and headed out the door. Vito stood on his front porch, waiting for me.

  “Kinda early, huh, Toots?”

  “You’re telling me.”

  “You headed to the mall? This early?”

  “Squirrel Run. Last minute.” I yawned.

  “Geez, I hope they don’t want you to use your van for deliveries.”

  “Does it still smell bad?”

  “I guess. I was going to take a look at it for you, remember?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  He shrugged. “You gotta do what you gotta do. But I’d leave the windows open, if you know what I mean.”

  I opened the door and immediately understood.

  I rolled down the front windows and sang loudly to a chorus of “Jingle Bells”, hoping I could make up in volume what I was losing in warmth. At the first traffic light I pulled my scarf over my head, tying it under my chin. I caught my image in the rearview mirror. I looked ready to peddle apples.

  I parked in the lot and launched myself into the kitchen in record time, more than glad for the warmth of the bubbling kettles and ovens. My glasses fogged up. Several stockpots went clattering to the floor as I bumped into them.

  “Hey, what gives?”

  “Sorry!” I took the glasses off and gave them a wiping.

  “Keep your coat on. You’ve gotta go,” Hilda hollered, fussing over a large tray.

  “Where are the orders?”

  “There,” she tilted her chin toward the board.

  “They aren’t taped to the trays?”

  Hilda shook her head. “Not taking any chances. We need you back this morning.”

  I removed the orders and read them. “There’s just two deliveries?”

  She nodded. “Chef will fill you in.”

  “I need your help in the kitchen, after the deliveries, okay?” he asked.

  My help in the kitchen? Oh boy!

  “Sure! That’d be great!”

  “Thanks. Arnie’s out sick. I’m short a dishwasher.”

  Okay, maybe not so great. My pride suffered some instant deflation. But in comparison to the other part time job, it was a definite boost.

  I pulled out of the parking lot, and sat waiting at a traffic light, waiting to make the left turn onto Stoney Battery Road. The car waiting on the opposite side of the traffic light put on his right blinker, and made a right on red. The light turned green. I turned and noticed a dark green sedan idling on the side of the road. Odd.

  My first delivery was downtown, to what appeared to be some kind of social club. I thought this because the sign read, “Gusto’s Club.” Because of the hour I got curbside parking. I hopped out with their fruit and muffin trays.

  I quickly found out that actually it was Gusto’s Boxing Club – they forgot a small detail in their sign. I placed the tray on a reception desk and looked around. There were lots of folks working out, male and female, young and old, mostly beating a bag. “Hello?” I called out.

  A buff black guy walked toward the counter. “Hi. Are you interested in a membership?”

  “Nope. Just interested in delivering your breakfast.”

  He looked me up and down. “That’s too bad. You look too young to be so out of shape.”

  “Oh, well. Ha, ha.” Thank you? At least I got credit for looking young, right?

  “Here’s our flyer. You should read it. New members get the first month free.”

  “Wow. That’s great. But everyone here just boxes, right?”

  He looked at me funny. “It’s a boxing club.”

  “Oh.”

  “You interested?”

  “Could you teach me how to protect my shins?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You fighting midgets?”

  He signed for the tray and carried it away toward a table set up around the corner with coffee, teas and juices.

  “Hey, what do you have there, Cal?”

  “Your official member appreciation breakfast.”

  “Breakfast? Where’s the eggs? And the donuts?” another guy joshed.

  I exited the door on a wave of good-natured laughter. I started the van, and leaned out the open window to check traffic.

  A couple walking their boxer passed by. “Pew! Did you close up the bag?”

  “Yes!”

  My last option was to breathe through my mouth. I checked the directions on the clipboard and signaled to pull out onto the one-way street.

  A car pulled behind me and signaled for my spot. I waved “thank you” in the rear view. A man with a ski cap and large scarf over his face waved back. He was driving a dark green Crown Vic.

  What a coincidence. How many dark green Crown Victoria’s could there be in Lancaster? That said, it is a Grandpa kind of car. And this certainly is the land of the Grandpas. They probably have a union.

  I made my way toward Leola, and an outfit located somewhere off of New Holland Pike.

  As I pulled up to a crossroad, I read the directions again. “This can’t be right.” The only buildings around me were a farmhouse, a barn, and some kind of warehouse distribution center.

  I pulled up the long driveway to the farmhouse, hopeful to find someone home and ask for directions. A Mennonite family looked like they were getting ready to leave for market.

  “You delivering manure?” the man asked.

  “No.”

  I asked for directions. He gave them.

  “Happy to help,” the man waved me off. I noticed he kept waving his hand in front of his face after I drove off.

  It looked like I was going to the warehouse, after all. I got ready to make a left back onto the road, and had to wait for a green Crown Vic to pass.

  WTH? Was there a sale?

  I pulled into the warehouse parking lot, up close to the front entrance. A plump, middle-aged woman poked her head out the door. “They’re here!” she hollered back inside the front door.


  I pulled out the sandwich trays pronto, and stacked the brownie and cookie tray on top. I wanted to make sure I got clear of the van’s aroma with food ASAP, for the customer’s sake.

  “Oh! You need a hand!” the lady grabbed the cookie tray, while a tall, older man helped with the other. We went into a makeshift lobby area, complete with a card table, chips, punch and a mini fiber optic Christmas tree.

  I looked around while the woman put down the tray. There wasn’t a logo or piece of marketing material to be seen.

  “So, umm… what do you do here?”

  “We rent space.”

  “For what?”

  “For just about anything. You name it. So long as it fits through those doors, we can store it.”

  I looked to where she pointed at a large window that looked out onto a huge, aircraft-style warehouse, complete with a huge sliding door. A herd of elephants could have strolled through, no problem.

  “But we’re not self-storage. Let’s not confuse folks,” the older man chided.

  I glanced at the warehouse. “Sure would be a lot of boxes.”

  He chuckled. “You got that right. No, what we do is mostly commercial storage. Extra equipment, merchandise, forklifts and such. Sometimes containers of retail product.”

  “But not if they’re perishable! Remember that?”

  “Sure was a stinker of a problem.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what perished, so I grabbed a signature for the delivery sheet and boogied.

  Outside it was drizzling freezing rain. Driving with the window wide open wasn’t going to be a warm and fuzzy experience. I stopped at a traffic signal, and glanced at the rearview mirror. Behind me sat a Crown Vic with the same bundled driver I’d seen downtown. I wasn’t sure I liked the coincidence, especially after being recently kidnapped for tape. After the light turned green, I pulled over and pretended to look for something in the glove compartment. The car sped past me, sending a shower of dirty, slushy water through the open window. Really?

  I wove my way back to Squirrel Run. Back in the kitchen, it was a cozy 98 degrees and trolleys and people and bus pans careened across the floor. Life was good.

  “Here, next to me!” Hilda shouted across the kitchen.

  I dashed to hang up my coat, and quickly stood by her, scrubbing pots and pans like nobody’s business.

  She looked at my wet hair. “What happened to you?”

  “A puddle.”