by Ann Charles
“Weren’t you complaining about needing to open The Shaft?” Ronnie hollered out.
“A quick once-over to get the worst of it won’t take long.” Kate leaned down and pointed in at Ronnie. “Especially with you helping me.” She raced up the steps past Chester and disappeared inside the store.
Mac grinned down at Claire. “This pie business is giving me a few ideas for later tonight when we’re alone.” He leaned over and sniffed her neck. “Is that chocolate?”
“Add a little tequila and refried beans and you’d be following in your mother’s footsteps.” Chester said from the porch.
Claire recoiled at that memory.
The screen door slammed open.
“Claire!” her grandfather barked. “What’s this Katie says about all of the pies being ruined?”
“It’s not my fault.”
“The coconut is still edible,” Chester said.
Gramps made a disgusted sound. “I can’t stand coconut pie.” His glower deepened. “Please tell me you at least got the fresh turkey.”
“Oh, we got it all right.” Ronnie finally had climbed out of the Jeep. She rounded the front.
“Where is it?”
“Last I saw it was headed west.” Ronnie aimed a crooked grin at Claire. “But we did pick up Chester like the list said.”
“And managed to stay out of jail,” Claire added.
Chester snorted. “Barely.”
“If there’s no turkey and one lousy pie, how are we going to have Thanksgiving dinner?” Gramps asked.
“I don’t know.” Claire followed Mac up the steps, pausing in front of Gramps’s red face. “But with the way Lady Luck has been mooning me today, I have a feeling food is going to be the least of our problems tonight.”
Chapter Six
Three hours and a shower later …
The Shaft was all set up for a Thanksgiving feast, minus a turkey and four out of five pies. When Grady’s pickup pulled into the parking lot, Ronnie walked out to meet him and his Aunt Millie.
“Sorry we’re a little late,” Grady said, lowering the tailgate. “Aunt Millie insisted on stopping at the senior center before leaving Yuccaville.”
Ronnie opened the passenger door for his aunt, offering to help her down. Aunt Millie took her up on it, whispering in her ear, “I’ve got you covered.”
That caught Ronnie by surprise. She started to ask what Aunt Millie had meant by that remark, but the old lady shushed her.
“Here you go,” Grady said, setting his aunt’s walker in front of her. The red dingle balls hanging from the front of it bounced and swayed.
Aunt Millie winked at Ronnie and made a show of using the walker to get her balance. Recently Ronnie had learned that Millie really didn’t need a walker. She was playing the part because it offered her more opportunities to pull off her shenanigans.
“Mom’s already half-baked,” Ronnie told them both, her tone apologetic. “She started hitting the cognac when my father called an hour ago to wish us a Happy Thanksgiving.”
Aunt Millie grinned wide. “Sounds like it’s gearing up to be an exciting holiday get together.”
Exciting? “More like disastrous.”
With a snort, Aunt Millie squeezed Ronnie’s arm. “Don’t fret, darling. Family dinners without any fireworks are snooze-fests. I took a nap this afternoon so I wouldn’t doze off and miss a single moment tonight.”
Grady grimaced, pulling down the brim of his cowboy hat. “You promised you’d behave, Aunt Millie.”
She jutted her chin at him. “And you promised not to be a spoilsport, boy.” She took off across The Shaft’s parking lot toward the bar, her walker creaking as she made a show of being feeble.
Grady watched his aunt with a pinched brow. “I have a feeling she has something planned for tonight, and I’ll bet it’s going to make feathers fly.”
“It won’t be the first time today.”
His gaze lowered, roving over her face and hair, both of which she’d spent a stupid amount of time trying to make look good for him after the pie covered mess she’d been earlier. “You clean up well, Veronica. Did you leave any pie for me to lick off?”
Her pulse leapt. “It was too sticky.”
“I like you sticky.” He nudged her chin up with his knuckles and gave her a chaste kiss. “And sweet.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “All afternoon I’ve been thinking about what you promised to deliver if I came to your family’s dinner.”
She smiled in spite of what was sure to be a huge Thanksgiving calamity with her mother already firmly on the road to soused-ville. If she could just keep Grady from nosing too deep into the Morgan family secrets tonight, maybe Claire wouldn’t follow through on her threat to lock a skunk in their grandpa’s R.V. while Ronnie was sleeping.
“You look very handsome today, Sheriff Hardass,” she flirted, running her nails down his dark brown shirt. She liked the way the seams emphasized his broad shoulders. His jeans made his legs look long and strong. The cowboy boots and hat gave him a rugged edge that made her feel like a teenage Elvis fan, squealing in her poodle skirt as the King gyrated his hips.
“Handsome enough to wrap you around my pinkie and seduce all of your secrets from those lovely lips?”
She grinned. “Well, you’re no god of thunder and lightning.”
“What’s Thor have that I don’t?”
“A very big hammer.”
“Have you seen the size of my hammer?”
That made her laugh aloud.
Taking her arm, he tucked it in the crook of his elbow and led her to where his Aunt Millie waited outside The Shaft’s door. “This is my first Thanksgiving dinner in over five years.”
“Don’t worry. It’s sure to end in an arrest, so you’ll feel right at home.”
He chuckled. “Does your mother know about us yet?”
“No.” She felt his gaze on her. “And there’s a very good reason why.”
“Let me guess.” He stepped ahead to get the door for his aunt. “You’re protecting me.”
“What’s Grady need protection from?” Aunt Millie asked as her nephew opened the door.
“Not what, whom. You’ll understand after you meet my mother.” Ronnie grimaced at one and then the other. “Just don’t look into her eyes.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll turn into a pillar of salt, of course.” Ronnie led the way inside.
Kate couldn’t stop thinking about Joe’s message.
X marks the spot.
What did that mean? Claire had said it wasn’t about a treasure, because Joe never made things as easy as that, but what was easy about that simple and very vague message?
X marks the spot.
What X did he mean? What spot? Was there a map somewhere?
Someone knocked on the door to Butch’s office, where Kate had gone to escape their mother’s complaining about the lack of turkey on her first Thanksgiving away from home. Claire had tried to convince their mom that it was good to try new things. After all, she was newly married and living in a different state. This mind trick had almost worked until their father had called to wish them all a Happy Thanksgiving and talked about plans for him to come down to Arizona for Christmas.
As good as it was to hear the happiness in his voice after a decade of sourness and angry rants while married to their mom, his coming to Arizona had Claire cursing and Kate chewing on her knuckles.
“Come in,” Kate said, bracing for her mother.
Ronnie opened the door. “Grady and his aunt are here.”
That meant it was show time. “Did the old bully bring her temper?”
“Don’t start, Katie.” Ronnie walked over and placed the derringer on Butch’s desk. “Grady brought this back. He asked if we’d keep it tucked away in here until everyone is gone.”
Kate picked up the palm pistol. “I’ll bury it in one of Butch’s drawers.”
“Butch told me to tell you that Mom’s meatloaf surprise is alm
ost done baking.”
Unlike their mother, Butch had taken the news about the lack of turkey and pies with a huge grin.
One of the things Kate liked most about the father of her child was his ease dealing with change. Although her announcement about the baby last month had taken a little bit longer for him to swallow after years of planning to never have kids.
Never say never, as the saying goes.
Now he not only accepted his upcoming paternal role, he was building one hell of a nest. Most days, while Kate was just trying to keep her hormones under control, he was either online starting a college fund, trying to decide where to put the swing set, or planning how to incorporate a crib and play area in this very office.
“We’ve got the tables all pushed together out on the back patio and the places set.” Ronnie’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Grady’s Aunt Millie brought some food, too.”
“Why did she do that?”
“A little birdie told her we had some trouble with the pies.”
“You mean a six-foot-four rooster who pulled us over and threatened to throw us in jail.”
“Grady never actually said jail.”
“You say tomato,” Kate started.
Ronnie interrupted, “And I say get your ass out front and help me keep your mother under control.” She left Kate with, “Now, Katie!”
Some things never change, especially bossy older sisters.
Kate picked up the derringer. She opened Butch’s bottom drawer to put it in and then paused. The shine on the double barrels caught her eye. She turned on Butch’s desk lamp and slowly turned the palm pistol underneath it. There were swirling lines going this way and that up the barrels on each side, which she’d noticed earlier waiting outside of Dirty Gerties. But what she hadn’t noticed before was how several of them intersected and made little Xs throughout the pattern. Or were those fancy Vs? She pulled the hammer back and noticed that an X had been carved into the metal over the top of what looked like a cursive P and V.
Did gun owners normally carve letters into their guns? Upon closer inspection, even the P and V appeared to have been added.
X marks the spot.
She carefully set the hammer back in place even though she was positive the pistol was empty. What in the hell did all this mean?
Chapter Seven
“I knew I should’ve taken that left at Albuquerque,” Claire told Mac as she handed him a Tupperware bowl with shredded carrots imprisoned in green gelatin.
“You and Bugs Bunny, Slugger,” he said, frowning down at the green disaster. “Those poor carrots deserved better.” He handed the bowl to Kate, who sat on his left.
Without a word, she put a spoonful of the green gelatin-covered carrots on her plate and then passed the dish on to Butch.
Kate had been quiet since sitting down at the table. Chester’s ribbing about the lack of turkey didn’t even light her fuse. Something was up with her, but Claire wasn’t in the mood to dig right now. Her main focus was making it through dinner in one piece.
A loud titter from her mother made her wince. A peek her way found Deborah sloshing her cognac while whispering in her husband’s ear. While Claire watched, Manny took the glass out of her mom’s hand and set it on the table, then put a roll on each of their plates before passing the basket down the line to Gramps.
“Pass the meatloaf,” Gramps said to Chester, who held down the seat at the head of the table. Grady was at the opposite end with Ronnie on his left and his aunt on his right.
Chester passed the plate heavy with meat to Claire’s grandfather.
In lieu of a real turkey, her mother had made do by shaping ten pounds of hamburger mixed with bread crumbs and seasoning into the profile of a turkey. It was a fun idea, but unfortunately her culinary masterpiece had been conjured after she’d opened her bottle of cognac. Never having been a great sculptor, Deborah’s turkey-shaped meatloaf looked more like the eagle on Mexico’s flag, especially after Manny added a line of celery sticks end-to-end coming from the bird’s beak. The population south of the border would have been proud of the representation of their eagle and serpent; Deborah on the other hand, added more cognac to her glass and cried in her drink about this year’s Thanksgiving tragedy.
Besides the meatloaf turkey, side dishes had been supplied from one and all.
Chester brought a saucepan full of chili con carne with cheese melted over the top and was currently drowning his meatloaf in the gut-bomb mixture.
Ruby and Gramps made homemade pumpkin rolls, dressing, and mashed potatoes, all of which would make a bellyful of heaven.
Manny and her mother brought a bowl of Manny’s famous homemade refried beans with real lard to make them drool-worthy. His corn chips and homemade salsa went great with Butch’s beer on tap.
Along with drinks from behind the bar, Butch lined the center of the joined tables with whatever other condiments anyone might want. While Kate stayed put at the table, Butch crisscrossed between the patio and the bar as patrons straggled in for the free meal he offered to those without family or friends to share the holiday.
Before settling in for the meal, Aunt Millie had surprised them all—including her nephew—with covered dishes and Tupperware bowls she’d pulled from her walker’s cavernous basket. According to Ronnie, whom the older woman had confided in when the Sheriff had been in the restroom washing his hands, she’d sneaked the food from the senior center on the way to The Shaft. When Ronnie worried aloud about the folks at the center going hungry, Aunt Millie insisted nobody would miss the food because half were too old to eat more than a couple of bites, and the rest would fall asleep before they made it halfway through their pre-dinner salad.
“I’ve seen it a hundred times,” Aunt Millie had told them as she took her place at the table. “Those geezers won’t wake from their naps until the workers have cleaned up everything and dumped the leftovers in the trash.”
As another casserole dish passed under Claire’s nose—this time a colorful mix of orange-colored pudding with purple cabbage in it … no wait, that looked more like eggplant—Claire was debating on faking a mealtime nap, too. She was about to pass the orange concoction along when Ronnie took the spoon from the bowl and slopped a dollop on Claire’s plate. She dumped it right next to the chunk of the meatloaf turkey’s right leg that Claire had taken.
At Claire’s glare, her sister whispered, “Be nice. Aunt Millie brought it.”
“More like stole it,” she whispered back, which earned her a pinch on the thigh.
Claire spooned a glob of the orange eggplant pudding onto Mac’s plate. When he grimaced down at it, she said, “If it kills me, Romeo, you’re drinking the poison, too.”
Kate wimped out, claiming she was dealing with some baby-related nausea and passed the dish over Butch’s plate, which sat waiting for him to return from another check on his patrons.
Chester took it from her, sniffed the orange pudding, shrugged, and plopped several spoons’ worth on his plate next to his mound of chili con carne. Claire needed to remind him and Manny not to light up cigars within twenty feet of the old Winnebago Brave. That poor camper would probably have the wallpaper peeling off when Chester started off-gassing.
Aunt Millie’s other stolen food donations included a bowl of watery tapioca pudding ruined with a mixture of raisins and prunes floating among the white tapioca pearls; a dish of stale fruitcake slices that Claire suspected was left over from last Christmas after Manny almost chipped a tooth on his first nibble; and a plate stacked high with soft and delicious rice crispy squares. Millie claimed those were her own. If all else failed on the food front, Claire planned on slipping away to the bathroom with the plate of marshmallow goodies.
Mac had brought her favorite cranberry relish from a Tucson deli close to his house along with a six-pack of his cousin’s favorite grape soda. Jessica had squealed in delight at the sugar filled soda, and that was before gulping down a can of it.
Grady had begged tw
o more pies from his sister. He swore to Ronnie that he hadn’t said a word to her about the wild turkey situation and claimed his sister had generously given up a cherry and an apple pie that she’d made for the rest of Grady’s family when he’d mentioned they needed a few more for The Shaft.
While Ronnie had worried her lip about the extra pies, Claire had elbowed her and mouthed, Let it go! Claire wanted to eat some cherry pie that had not come from Chester’s lap.
When Ronnie had thanked Grady for his thoughtfulness, he’d winked at her and pulled four cans of whipped cream topping out of a grocery bag, claiming they were for the pies. However, Claire hadn’t missed the heated look he’d shot her sister. Nor had she missed Ronnie’s instantly flushed cheeks, or that one can of whipped cream mysteriously disappeared by the time the dessert table had been set up over on the side of the patio.
Claire prayed that she didn’t walk in on that whipped cream rendezvous like she had with her mother. A lifetime worth of therapy wouldn’t even dent the tanker-sized sordid memory now beached in her brain for all eternity.
After filling the rest of her plate with Ruby’s mashed potatoes, rolls, and dressing, along with a large portion of cranberry relish to coat her mom’s meatloaf, Claire dug in. She started with Ruby’s food and had made it halfway through her plate when Kate started coughing in the midst of eating some green Jell-O.
Covering her mouth with her napkin, Kate spit something into it. When she peeked into the cloth, her face turned ashen. “I think I just choked on a toenail.”
“Kathryn Lynette.” Deborah set down her glass of cognac. “Stop being so melodramatic and eat.”
Oh, she was one to talk after all of those tears in her meatloaf.
“I’m serious.” Kate held her napkin out for all to see. “Look.”
Sure enough, a crescent moon of a toenail lay amidst a green stained background on the napkin.
“Son of a gun,” Aunt Millie said. “I must have grabbed one of Esther’s dishes. That old gal gets mixed up sometimes.”
“And puts her toenails in Jell-O?” Mac asked in disbelief, a grimace lining his face.