Game of Tarts

by Wendy Meadows

  “He seems to be making a bigger show of his activities,” Zack points out. “That Day Care Center at the other end of town and the Baker’s Dozen didn’t cause anywhere near as much trouble.” He nods towards the new bakery right next door to my candy store.

  “I won’t stand for it,” Mr. Stewart snaps. “If he impedes my customers, I’ll complain about him to the authorities. He can’t do this to me!”

  “Why don’t you try talking to him?” I suggest. “Maybe if he knew he was causing you problems, he would attempt to avoid blocking your place.”

  “I already have talked to him about it!” He whips around to bark at me. “He ought to know by now.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He made some pathetic excuse about it only lasting a short time while he gets the place up and running. He said there won’t be very many more trucks, but as you can see, that was poppycock.”

  I do my best to mollycoddle him into passivity. “Maybe this is the last one. If he’s got the building approved enough to open his doors, he can’t be doing much else to it.”

  “Then what’s all that for?” Mr. Stewart thunders and waves his hand at the truck.

  I cast a glance at Zack. What am I supposed to do—go try to reason with the guy myself? I don’t know what to do. Mr. Stewart is always coming up with something to grouse about.

  I circle the counter to approach him. “Here you go, Mr. Stewart. I know you don’t eat candy, so please take this instead.” I shove a piece of paper into his hand.

  He glances down at it. “What’s this?”

  “It’s an invitation to our monthly Sweet Sale. We’re holding it next Saturday. Maybe you’d like to come by and see if there’s anything…”

  “Why would I want to do that?” he cuts in. “Why would I care about a Sweet Sale if I don’t eat candy?”

  Zack speaks up behind me. “You don’t, but maybe Mrs. Patterson does.”

  A bolt of lightning shoots through Mr. Stewart at the mention of his secret lady friend. His expression changes in an instant. His eyes slide down to the flyer in his hand, and he nods. “Ah, yes. She does. Very well. I’ll see about it.”

  The next minute, he jerks out of his trance and charges for the door. He barrels through it and slams his shoulder into Detective David Graham, who saunters in at the same moment.

  David shoots a glare over his shoulder. “What’s he in such a hurry about?”

  “He’s annoyed about the trucks over at the new coffee shop,” I tell him. “Don’t pay any attention. What can I do for you? Don’t tell me you ate all that taffy you bought last week?”

  He breaks into a smile. “Actually, I haven’t touched it. I’m being especially well-behaved.”

  “Let me guess,” I tease. “You stashed it at that man-cave you call a house and you haven’t been back there since. Is that what you mean by being well-behaved, ‘cuz if it is, I’m not buying it.”

  He laughs and his eyes sparkle. “No, actually, I have been home every night this week, but I haven’t eaten any taffy. I decided to keep it for special occasions.”

  “Do you mean like your retirement?”

  Zack gasps from behind the counter. “Dang, Mom, go easy on a guy.”

  David laughs again. “It’s okay. I came over here for a different kind of sweet. I want to know if you’d care to join me for a cup of coffee at the new place across the street.”

  “Mr. Stewart would probably harbor a grudge against me for the rest of my natural life if he saw me setting foot in the place.”

  “You just told me to ignore him,” David points out. “Which is it, ‘cuz I’m following your lead on this.”

  I shift on my feet. “I suppose we could go to the Happy-Go-Lucky instead.”

  “Why should you?” Zack pipes up. “Mr. Stewart can’t hold this town hostage just because he doesn’t like someone. Freeman has as much right to run a business as anybody else.”

  “Anyway, I want to see what kind of place Freeman’s is,” David adds. “I haven’t even met the guy, so it’s really professional curiosity. I’m supposed to know everybody in this town.”

  I hesitate, but Zack chimes in again. “Go on, Mom. I’ll cover things here until you get back.”

  “All right.” I untie my apron. “I was kinda interested in the new place, too.”

  We leave the store. I shut the door behind me, and when I turn around, I see the big truck and the crane pulling out of Main Street. They leave a clear view of Mr. Stewart’s and Freeman’s Coffee Canteen.

  The new building represents the latest, greatest design. Spotless floor-to-ceiling windows twinkle in the morning sun. Umbrellas, tables, and chairs sit outside in tasteful arrangements to invite anybody to come sit down and have a nice cup of coffee. The warm, roasted smell of espresso wafts on the breeze.

  David steps off the sidewalk, and we cross toward the new café. I steal a glance at the dog grooming shop. I see Mr. Stewart through the windows, but he’s got his back to me. Is this what I’m reduced to—sneaking around, so no one sees what I’m doing?

  We press on toward the new place. I catch sight of pallets of white sacks lined up against the side of the building. Through the plastic wrapping, I read the label, Potting Mix. So that’s what the truck delivered. Now everything makes sense. Freeman completed the building. Now he’s doing some landscaping.

  My shoulders slump when I realize Mr. Stewart probably won’t have anything more to complain about. I dodged a bullet with that one.

  A short, broad-shouldered man in an immaculate chocolate-brown suit meets us on the path leading to the door. A garish Rolex watch winks under his jacket cuff when he shakes hands with both of us. The toes of his gator-skin boots curve up to a point like something out of an Arab harem.

  His wide face radiates goodwill and happiness, and he presses slips of paper into our hands, one after the other. “Good morning! Welcome one and all. I’m Scott Freeman. I’m so pleased you could make it. Here’s a coupon for a free cup of coffee. I’m sure you’ll love our exclusive house blend. Go right on in.”

  He walks around us like he’s in a hurry to greet other customers, even though there’s no one behind us. I take a few more steps before I notice David raising his eyebrows at me. I murmur under my breath. “Is it just me, or did we just meet the Ringmaster welcoming us to the circus?”

  4

  David holds the door open and I reenter the candy store. Zack looks up from handing a paper bag to Stacy Koontz, the owner of the Happy-Go-Lucky café next door to Nichols’ Candy Store.

  “Hey, Stacy,” I greet her. “Don’t tell me you ran out of strawberry shortcake taffy already after I sold you a ten-pound box.”

  Stacy beams at me. “You are so funny! You should use your talent. You could get famous.”

  Zack rolls his eyes. “Dear God, don’t encourage her!”

  Stacy cackles with laughter. “No, darling, I’m not buying any strawberry shortcake taffy. I’m switching to SweetTarts.”

  “What?” My eyes pop out of my head. “What are you going to do with all that taffy? You can’t think of letting it go to waste.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry. It won’t go to waste. I’m just changing things up now and then. I figure I’ll keep my customers guessing so they never know what they will get on the plate with their check. That way, they’ll keep coming back to find out.”

  “Good plan,” David adds.

  Stacy leans close and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Did I just see you coming from Freeman’s Coffee Canteen?”

  “Yeah, we just tried it out,” I tell her, “but he’s no threat to you, Stacy. He’s not offering full meals like you are. He’s got some biscotti and cookies and a few cakes. I’m sure you will lose no business with him in town.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about me.” Stacy waves her hand at me. “I always say a community is like a family. We should welcome new people into the fold and treat each other well.”

  “It’s too ba
d not everybody sees it that way.” I cast a glance over my shoulder toward Mr. Stewart’s.

  “You can say that again,” Stacy remarks. “You should have heard Alan Harris, the owner of the new Baker’s Dozen, when I said the same thing to him. He said a family keeps to themselves. He said it’s not open for just any outsider to walk in and make themselves at home. Can you believe the nerve of him?”

  I shake my head in disbelief. “That’s outrageous coming from a man who’s been in business in this town only a few weeks. What does he want us to do—drive out every new business owner that comes along after him?”

  Stacy gives me a curt nod. “A tiger can’t change his stripes. It goes to show the content of a person’s character. You know what I mean?”

  She sails out of the shop without waiting for an answer. David touches my arm to get my attention. “I better get back to work. You two keep out of trouble.”

  He leaves, and I shut the door behind him. When I turn around, I find Zack regarding me with his head on one side. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He breaks into activity. He sprays glass cleaner on the counter and rubs it off.

  I slink closer. “You’re thinking something. What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He glances up at me. “He’s a nice guy.”

  I halt dead in my tracks. “Do you mean David?”

  “No, Mom,” he drawls. “I mean the other guy across town. Of course I mean David. What other nice guy is there that I could be referring to?”

  “I thought you were against…you know….”

  He shrugs. “I guess I was originally wary about you seeing somebody. You know I only want to protect you from getting hurt again, but now that I see you two together, I’m warming up to the idea.”

  “You might be,” I counter. “I don’t know if I am.”

  “Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with him,” I reply. “It’s me I’m worried about.”

  “You! What’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m forty-five,” I tell him. “I’m getting too old for this nonsense. Okay, so he’s a nice guy. I won’t argue with that. We have a lot of fun together and we share a lot of laughs, but that’s about it. I’ve got my own stuff to deal with. I’m running a business. That’s about all I can handle at the moment.”

  He stares at me in shock. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? You said yourself I’m pushing myself too hard. I can barely get up on time in the morning to keep this place open. Now you want to throw a man into the mix? I don’t have time for it.”

  He smacks his lips and shakes his head. “You’re not doing a very good job of pulling my leg, Mom.”

  “Who’s pulling your leg? All that romance and stuff is for young people. I’m too busy and too old and too….”

  He waits for me to finish. “Too what? Too grey? Is that the problem?”

  I blush and turn away. “I am not having this conversation with my son.”

  He follows me toward the stockroom. Don’t ask me what I plan to do in there as long as I don’t have to discuss my love life with a twenty-year-old boy. “You’re lonely, Mom. You’ve been hiding it ever since you left Dad. You’re trying to protect yourself from getting hurt again, but I think we both know Detective Graham would never do that to you.”

  I wheel around to confront him, but when I do, I can’t think of one good thing to say to argue with him. The pathetic truth is that he’s right. I just didn’t want to admit it. He hit the nail on the head, and it’s the same sob story David has been living for the last fifteen years. We both turned our backs on love to protect ourselves from any further pain.

  Zack wilts under my gaze. He pulls his head down between his shoulders. “I won’t push you, Mom. I only want you to be happy. If you can get that with David Graham, you won’t get any argument from me.”

  He returns to the counter and leaves me alone with my thoughts. I already finished the inventory, so hiding in the stockroom is just a cheap way for me to avoid him until I calm down enough to face the world.

  What’s wrong with me? Why should I come up with these excuses to get out of feeling anything for David? The truth is, I do feel something for him. I feel a lot for him. I feel hopeful and youthful and excitable. Why should I fight it?

  Now that Zack is offering to shoulder some responsibility for running the store, the “I don’t have time” argument doesn’t hold any water, either.

  When I return to the front room, I discover Zack handing a bag of Lemon Drops to one of our Navy neighbors, Greg. He shoots me a grin. “There you are, Margaret. I thought you’d be kicking back at home on your off-day.”

  “Her?” Zack guffaws with mockery. “She doesn’t take off-days. She’s a workaholic.”

  Greg blinks. “Really? Is that true, Margaret? I always thought you were the laid back type.”

  “Don’t listen to Zack, Greg,” I reply. “He’s trying to arm-wrestle me into taking him on as a business partner.”

  Greg frowns. “I thought you already were.”

  “That’s what he’d like to think.” I jerk my thumb at Zack.

  “We already are,” Zack tells him. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  We all laugh, and Greg takes his bag. When he puts out his hand for the doorknob, all three of us stop dead at the sight of another truck rumbling into Main Street. It parks right in front of Freeman’s Coffee Canteen.

  “Oh, no!” I whisper.

  Zack comes to Greg’s side. “What is that guy doing—mining for gold in the backyard?”

  “He certainly isn’t making many friends in this town,” I remark.

  “You can say that again,” Greg adds. “You should have heard Simone Peretti from the antiques shop the other day. I went in there to see if she could get a replacement lens for an old Navy storm lantern. It’s a collectible, so if Simone can’t get it, no one can. She was all down in the mouth about slow sales and all the trucks and noise from the construction sites. She’s not the only one, either.”

  “I know. Mr. Stewart was in here whingeing about it earlier.”

  “Not just him,” Greg returns. “I went into the Baker’s Dozen to try their new donuts and….”

  I nod. “Alan Harris.”

  “You never heard such venom,” Greg whispers. “I mean, God!”

  “What’s the matter with him?” I ask. “You would think someone who moved into a new town would be more interested in getting on good terms with the locals than making a buck.”

  “He’s hardly even a local,” Greg points out. “He hasn’t even been here as long as you, Margaret, and I feel like I’ve known you and Zack for years. You guys are locals, even if you have only been here a few months. He just moved in, and he’s already looking for enemies. Not a good plan, I’d say.”

  I have to smile. “You’re right, Greg.”

  He jumps for the door. “I better get out of here before my ears start burning.”

  He rushes out of the shop, and the door bangs shut behind him. Zack and I stand still and watch another behemoth truck park right in front of Mr. Stewart’s shop. I can just imagine the street war that’s going to break out over this latest affront.

  Am I the only one who believes, like Stacy, that we should all be family? At least the long-time residents of Rockshield think of me that way. I wouldn’t want to move into a new town and soil my own bed the way these people are.

  5

  My keys rattle in the lock opening the shop door. I let myself in and lock the door behind me. I’m not ready to open yet. I have too much to do to get ready for our Sweet Sale.

  I set three alarms each night nowadays. I don’t let myself sleep in. Zack complains about the noise first thing in the morning, but I accepted his suggestion. He comes into the store every day now. Sometimes he doesn’t come in until eleven o’clock in the morning or sometimes later, but at least he comes to give me a break.

  When he does come, I can sit down in my closet of an
office and think. I can concentrate on the books and my cost analysis in peace while he tends the customers. I’ll be the first to admit it makes a world of difference. I’m not as tired and the business is thriving.

  The next step is to train him on the management. I hesitate to take that step. I don’t want to let go of the reins just yet, but he’s right. This is his legacy, and I won’t be around to run the place forever. If he wants to get involved and take over, who am I to stop him? He’ll inherit the store from me. He might as well get involved in making it a success while he’s young and enthusiastic.

  I count off the remaining flyers and check the trays of chocolates in the fridge. I draw a map of the town. I mark off the shops and houses where I want to knock on doors and give out free samples along with the flyers promoting the Sweet Sale.

  Once that’s done, I pause to get a bearing on my overall project. When I gaze out the window, I see the lights on over at the Coffee Canteen. So Scott Freeman is an early bird just like me. I could use a cup of coffee right now.

  I put everything away and lock the door behind me. I dart across the street and up the walk to the Coffee Canteen, but when I get there, I see the Closed sign still on the door. In a fit of spite, I grab the door and give it a yank. To my surprise, it swings open in my grasp.

  I hang back. I don’t want to enter a closed café, but if it’s closed, why is the door open and the light on? I don’t see anybody, either. Scott isn’t out front to greet his new customers. The young girl that served David and me yesterday isn’t behind the counter. The place echoes with an ominous silence.

  I look back over my shoulder. The candy store is still locked, and I’m not due to open for another twenty minutes. Something weird is going on. Should I go inside? Should I walk away?

  Maybe Scott’s around here somewhere. He might be in his office working out the last details before he opens, but that only begs the question. Why would he leave the front door standing open? Did he forget to flip the Closed sign around? That doesn’t seem like a mistake he would make.

  No. One casual glance around the café tells me he’s a stickler for every detail. He wouldn’t unlock the door without turning the sign. I put my foot over the threshold and call out as loudly as I can. “Scott! Mr. Freeman! Is anyone here?”