by Linda West
Death
by
Crockpot
By
Linda West
Copyright April 1, 2018
Linda West
Morningmayan.com
Dedicated to my dear friend
Roseanne
CHAPTER 1
Coming home to Kissing Bridge was mostly uneventful, except for the murder of poor Mrs. Olympus. A coyote got her. Dad was devastated.
Other than that sad affair, today was a beautiful typical winter day on the mountain. The sun was shining and a new snow had fallen during the night so it shone all pretty and pure. It sparkled with silver hints that belied the ice blue beneath.
I ambled down the quaint main street that led through the center of the small town of Kissing Bridge with a miserable look on my face. I was right back where I started two months ago when I left. Heartbroken, penniless, and now officially - a cat woman.
Dad had named the old feral cat he’d fed daily in our garden, Mrs. Olympus. He couldn’t bear to part with her kittens, after the wounds from the coyote attack proved fatal. By the time I got home from Paris, Dad was as attached to those five furry felines as any manly-man could be. When I found out he had named them all after the goddesses of Olympus, a fitting ode to their mother, I knew they were staying for good.
That was fine with me. Since my mother had died we were really missing some softness and femininity around the house. We needed some girl energy – even cat ones. I was a tomboy, and Dad was a good old-fashioned pub rat from Dublin. I also was not in the best place of my life – to say the least.
I reached a new low even for me, when I got a misdemeanor last week for doing donuts in an abandoned parking lot during a blizzard. In my defense, I had gotten stuck in a sudden storm when I went down to Six Pines to check out the venue space for the big chili cook-off. Carol, my boss, needed to know our booth position, and how many electrical sockets it had nearby.
The radio announced blizzard warnings, and a no driving ban in effect. That meant, I wasn’t allowed on the road to go backup the mountain road home to Kissing Bridge. What was a not-too-smart, rebellious cat woman supposed to do?
I was stuck in my 1985 Ford pick up truck, marooned in an abandoned parking lot, staring at the base of Eagle’s Peak mountain waiting for the snow to let up so I could go home. I wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Honest.
I pulled off my ski cap, and rustled my long dark hair. I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed. My hair was stuck up oddly at the bottom, and was smooshed at the top from wearing the knit cap too long. Well, lucky me I wasn’t going on any dates with this hairdo. I pushed my bangs down over my prominent forehead. My violet eyes stared back at me in the rearview mirror. I wondered how long I was going to be stuck in this Six Pines parking lot waiting for the darn driving ban to lift?
In retrospect, I should have just ignored the warnings, and hightailed it up the mountain road home. Instead, I obeyed the law, and I turned on a good classic radio channel, and let myself be absorbed in a morose Carpenter song. Recalling the story of her death made me even sadder about the death of my relationship with Lance. I switched the channel to a rock station. Before I knew it, I was the only car left in the parking lot, and one of those beers in the backseat just got unpopped.
.
Okay to be absolutely clear. No one was left in the parking lot but me. Essentially I was stuck – and sad, and pathetic - so I took the opportunity. Anyone in Kissing Bridge would have done the same. These Six Pines Valley people are really uptight let me tell you.
I took a quick check around, to make sure I was alone, then revved up the engine of my truck, and smashed that gas peddle to the floor. After I picked up enough speed on the icy ground, I slammed on the breaks and spun that little Ford pickup in the tightest fastest donut 360 - three times in a row!
I skidded to a stop a few moments later.
It was epic! Truly I wish someone had a camera! Why is it someone always seems to have one when you don’t want one in your face?
I pulled out again, and spun a few more donuts with a huge smile plastered on my face. Doing the donuts made me feel alive, and strong and rebellious. I mentioned the beer right?
I spanned the empty snow laden parking lot, and I was still the only idiot outside in this weather. I figured I might as well do a few more spins, what was the harm? Perfect donut conditions like this was the kind of opportunity that may never come my way again. It was amazing.
Except for Fuzzbottom.
Det. Fuzzbottom, pulled me over just as I finished a wicked spin culminating in a hundred foot skid. I was still hand pumping cheering for myself singing, “We will, we will rock you,” when he knocked on my window to get my attention.
I rolled it down, and smiled. “Did you see that donut man? That was awesome!”
Fuzzbottom didn’t smile back.
The detective from Six Pines took one look at me, and didn’t feel so thrilled about my donut turning abilities. Even after I batted my violet eyes and said,
“I do declare.”
Nothing.
The eye batting was useless. That move always worked for Scarlett O’Hara, it has yet to work for me. According to the officer, officially not driving and drinking in a car is still illegal.
I swear I wasn’t a bit tipsy. Okay - maybe I laughed when I read his name tag and that didn’t help my case. But Det. Fuzzbottom looked like a younger uglier version of Nicolas Cage with a bad attitude. He had a flat nose and his eyes were a weird muddy brown, and his name was Fuzzbottom. Come on! I’d laugh if I hadn’t had a beer. Not to mention the hair.
Fuzzbottom had more hair on his face and body than any human I had ever seen. He could easily have gone as the wolf man to a Halloween party without any makeup. I was enthralled with how thick the dark hair was that seemed to sprout from his chest and up to the top of his neck like a reverse beard. Oddly his chin and jaw were devoid of any hair, and only his five o’clock shadow foretold he had shaved.
He didn’t like me staring at his hairiness I guess, because he gave me a ticket. It seemed that any amount of drinking and driving was against the law, even if it’s merely spinning donuts in an empty parking lot - go figure.
On top of everything else, now my license was suspended for six months and I had to pay a fine. Now, I could add - no transportation, to my long list of problems.
Luckily for me, the wonderful Landers ladies had decided to expand their cookie empire and open up a new café right next to their famous Landers’ Bakery. They needed a server to work part time. It was right down the street from where I lived, so I could just walk to work.
Plus I got free meals.
CHAPTER 2
I stirred the ground up clove into the depths of the crockpot, and wished that I would have known. Then maybe I could have just heaved the darn thing out the window, or buried it in the backyard. But it was too late for that now.
It was an old crockpot – it was red with bits of gold scrolls worn off on the side from lots of use and from being well loved. In the center of the pot the gold insignia of CL declared to one and all that this was Carol Landers’ personal crockpot. I was honored she was letting me use it to test out my new recipe for the chili contest. I felt a bit like Carol’s crockpot these days, I’d seen years of use and felt a bit worn.
I’m not really over the hill by traditional age standards; I’ve just been through a lot lately.
Yes, I’m over thirty, but thirty is the new twenty, at least that’s what I’ve heard.
I definitely act like I’m in my twenties if I don’t exactly look like it. I’m naturally immature and rebellious. Despite all my hopes to emulate my elegant Parisian born mother, I’m still more like my marathon beer-drinking da
d, thanks to that O’Hara blood.
I went over to the spice shelf to get the next ingredient for the chili recipe. Cinnamon? Who would of thought to add that to chili? Still I wasn’t going to question the cooking skills of the Landers’ sisters. Town gossip swore they had a magical recipe book that was passed down from their wacky mother that had helped them reign as baking queens in Kissing Bridge for over seventy years. Mysteriously, the magic was said to have also come with a curse that had kept them all single - until recently.
A year ago they opened Landers’ Bakery and it became the most popular place in town to eat and hang out. People traveled from all over Vermont to sample their famous blue ribbon winning baked goods.
The bakery was as adorable and quaint as you would imagine on Kissing Bridge Mountain. Its cheery red and white curtains, and windows full of cookies and cakes, were a kiss of sunshine on a sleepy main street dusted with snow. You just couldn’t walk by the Landers’ Bakery without being enveloped in smells that warmed your soul, drifting jauntily from the kitchen and the delicious baked goods.
Once inside the bakery, you were sure to run into a friend or neighbor. The tables were long and rough hewn so groups of people could sit down together and chat without worry. Most everyone in Kissing Bridge was acquainted in some fashion or another anyway so why not just push all the tables together?
Every day the Landers’ Bakery was packed with the town folk of Kissing Bridge. Young and old alike could be found coming in and out of the bakery, tinkling the bell at the door. They clutched brown paper bags filled with sweets, hot drinks, or sandwiches to take backup to the mountain skiing.
Business was so good, the Landers decided to expand. They bought the little shop next door and planned to open a new full menu restaurant, aptly named The Enchanted Cozy Café.
The whole town was talking about the upcoming Grand Opening of the new Landers endeavor. Reservations were piling up, and the guest list was already full for months.
That was until the murder of course.
CHAPTER 3
We had not officially opened the Enchanted Cozy Café yet, but people kept stopping by and peering in the windows with curiosity. They tapped on the door and asked to know when the big grand opening was, and what might be on the new menu.
The Landers’ Bakery was attached to the new restaurant by way of the kitchens. There was a red door that allowed the staff to go back and forth between the kitchens of the two shops easily. Right now I had to go back into the bakery kitchen to use the refrigerator until the café got the last of the big equipment delivered tomorrow. The big opening was almost upon us.
I pushed through the dividing door back into the café, with a bowl full of carrots from the bakery pantry. I spotted Mr. Maritime looking into the front window. He was peering in curiously as if he was looking for someone. The CLOSED sign was up, but he jiggled the door handle anyway
Mr. Maritime was a dressed in a tan suit with matching overcoat, and he looked very stylish but stressed. His usual broad smiling mouth was pulled tight and he kept looking down the street as if he were expecting someone. He waved half-heartedly to me when he saw me, then reached into his pocket quickly, and withdrew his cell phone.
Whoever was on the phone must have really upset him because he started throwing his hands in the air and screaming. I tried not to stare, but he was yelling so loudly I could hear him through the glass.
“Listen to me! I mean it! Over my dead body!”
His face filled with a deep maroon red as if he was on the verge of a heart attack. I wondered if I should see if he was okay.
Just then, a brown UPS truck pulled up outside and parked. I put the bowl of carrots on the counter and went to unlock the door. We’d been waiting for this delivery for two weeks. I couldn’t wait to tell the Landers.
As I unlocked the door for the deliveryman, I noticed that Mr. Maritime was sweating now, despite the cold weather, and he kept wiping his face with a handkerchief. He finally turned away in a huff, and started across the street. I opened the door, just in time to hear him yell, “I’ll kill you for this, I swear it!”
I gasped and pulled back from the front door in case he turned and caught me so close, and within earshot. But he didn’t look back, he continued across the road and got into his black BMW and sped away, too fast for the main street of Kissing Bridge. I poked my head through the cracked door and looked after him, baffled by his odd behavior.
I heard a loud. “Humph!” Come from a few feet away.
I looked over, and smiled at Maxine. She was lounging in the front door of her shop next door, as usual, and she shook her head at the speedy departure of Mr. Maritime.
Maxine White was the owner of Scrapbook Heaven, a scrapbooking shop that was just across the little alley next to the cafe, and one of my favorite people.
Max was a female version of Liberace. She always had on some fantastical outfit and a look of disdain. I didn’t know what color her natural hair was because she always wore different colored wigs. Today she had on a bright green wig, with a matching long slinky sequined dress. She took a sip from her teacup, and gestured to a family just walking into the Travel and Realty store across the street.
“Kids around here. He shouldn’t be driving like that.”
I agreed. “Totally. I wonder what’s up with him?”
I had no idea what had gotten into nice Mr. Maritime. I knew his family and his daughter Diana; we had gone to school together. I had been to their house many times for birthday swim parties. The Maritimes had all girls, triplets - Diana, Delia and Deidra. The girls had summer birthdays, and the Maritimes had one of the only in ground pools in the town of Kissing Bridge. Mr. Maritime had always been polite, easygoing, and mild mannered, if not busy and distracted. Maybe I just didn’t know him as well as I thought. Still Diana and I had been extra close, and she never mentioned her father having a bad temper.
I shook the thought out of my head as I spotted the deliveryman get out of the UPS truck. He was a stocky bald guy wearing a brown uniform, and his arms were laden down with a pile of boxes. I swung the door open wide, and smiled from ear to ear.
“Thanks,” I said. “Just put them over there.”
He went inside and piled the five matching boxes on the floor by the counter. I was so excited I clapped my hands together in glee.
“Got the packages finally I see.” Maxine cooed lounging from her doorframe.
I nodded happily. “Thank goodness! I was so afraid they weren’t going to get here in time. Ethel’s special order held the delivery up for over a month. You know how she is about her colors.”
Maxine’s laughter tinkled out like sunshine on the cold day. “Oh yes I certainly do. Well how fabulous then that they came just in time for the big contest!”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “No kidding!”
I waved goodbye to Maxine and closed the door. I had to get things ready for the big cook off!
CHAPTER 4
There were five boxes in all. Each had a crockpot in it, and each of those crockpots was a different color. There would be five of us representing the new Enchanted Cozy Café at the big Chili Cook-Off in Six Pines next week. We were each responsible for our own colored crockpot. Keep it warm, keep it filled, and keep serving.
Dodie Anderson, was the manager next door at the Landers’ Bakery, her crockpot was white. Summer Landers, Ethel’s daughter, was assigned the yellow one. Ethel Landers would be wielding her signature Tiffany blue crockpot, made especially for her (that’s why it took so long for them to get delivered). I was delegated the black one, by default, nothing to do with my person, and of course, Carol Landers would be using her signature lucky red crockpot. We had ordered her an additional red crockpot especially for the contest, so she didn’t have to use her own personal crockpot. Except if we needed backups.
Officially we were going to have the grand opening event of the Enchanted Cozy Cafe the week after the big Six Pines Chili Cook-Off. Our plan was to win t
he Cook-Off on Saturday, and then pass out coupons for the grand opening the following week. We hoped to fill the place to the brim on opening night!
Kissing bridge was a twenty-minute drive up the mountain, but after a taste of the goods at the Cook-Off - coupled with a 50% coupon, we felt certain we could stir the crowd to make the drive up to Kissing Bridge Mountain. Plus as winners we would be all over the TV allowing us even more free press.
I looked around the new café. The sundry and bookshelves had just been installed on Monday, and painted. The counter, grills, and bar chairs put in the day before. We were almost ready. Tomorrow night I would bring in some of the books the library had donated and stack them in the bookshelves.
I had always loved the Landers’ Bakery. But, there was something extra special about the Enchanted Cozy Cafe. It was warm and enveloping. The walls were made of wood logs in a traditional cabin style that arched to a high ceiling with a skylight that let in the sunlight during the day and the starlight at night – when it wasn’t covered with snow of course.
There was a stone rimmed cheery fireplace, and roughhewn tables where soon people would gather to chat and eat in droves. Big picture windows let in the last of the days light showing a great view of the mountain peaks of Kissing Bridge Mountain. I could just make out people coming down the snowboard trails on Eagle’s peak.