“They weren’t suggestions.” Amelia placed another gift box filled with iced gingerbread animals in the window. “That witch came in here lookin’ to pick a fight. She told my mom that her cakes were dry and her icing was crunchy as kitty litter! I’d have liked to pull her white hair out strand by strand when she said that.”
Megan shot a proud look at her daughter, and her tone immediately softened. “Honey, you go on and get to your studying now. I know you’ve got exams tomorrow, and I can handle things for the rest of the day.” She watched her daughter leave. “I can’t believe she’ll be done with college soon. Where does the time go? She’s dying to move to New York, but how could I let her go there if the city is populated by people like Paulette Martine?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t judge all of Manhattan based on her,” James cautioned. “In fact, I hear New Yorkers are pretty friendly. They just seem intimidating because they wear black so much.”
Megan looked unconvinced. “I’ll really miss Amelia’s artistic touch when she leaves me to pursue her fashion design career. I mean, look at this candy house she made for the window.” The baker gestured at an enormous gingerbread house built in the style of a southern plantation.
“It looks like Tara from Gone with the Wind.” James marveled at the immense, two-story structure. It had a roof created from vanilla wafers, two chimneys crafted of colored sugar cubes, graham cracker shutters, icing railings complete with green gumdrop garlands, flowers and shrubs made of marzipan, and a split-rail fence built using chocolate-covered pretzel sticks. It even had wreaths on the double front doors, made of mini red and green M&Ms and a marshmallow snowman with a black licorice hat in front of the veranda.
“Can you help me carry this masterpiece to the window?” Megan asked James. As they lifted the house, which would form the centerpiece of the window display, Megan’s mouth deepened into a frown. “That woman actually had the nerve to tell me that I should run right out and buy the book she wrote about baking cakes. I was so mad I could have shoved her into the oven! She’s mighty lucky it was turned off.”
“For what it’s worth, I love your cakes.” James eyed one of his favorites: Megan’s butterscotch cake.
Dusting off her hands, Megan touched James on the sleeve. “It wasn’t my intention to take my ire out on you, Professor. You know you’re one of my best customers and I’ll never stop being grateful to you for sticking up for Amelia and me when our reputation was on the line.” Looking at her colorful window display, Megan’s frown dissipated. “Enough of my yammering. What can I get for you today?”
“I think I’ll take my employees some hot cross buns. Scott and Francis are still up in arms over our missing library elf.” The bells hanging from the front door tinkled as another customer walked in. James continued speaking without turning around. “I might have to take out an ad in the Star, imploring the thief to bring it back before those two conduct a house-to-house search.”
“It so happens we’re offering a holiday discount to all our advertisers,” a familiar voice said.
James pivoted slowly on his heel, reluctant to meet the hazel eyes of Murphy Alistair, editor of the Star, author of the soon-to-be-released novel about the death that had occurred inches from where he now stood, and his girlfriend of almost half a year.
Ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself, noting how attractive Murphy looked in a black turtleneck, jeans, and a red toggle coat.
Murphy gave James a thin smile. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he answered tersely, and then couldn’t help but add, “I saw the postcard promoting your book.”
“Cool cover, don’t you think?” Her face glowed. “Advance sales are great too. My agent says there are actually two movie studios that want the rights as well. Can you believe it?”
Megan silently placed a white bakery box tied with green-striped string onto the counter. Along with most people in Quincy’s Gap, she knew that James had broken up with Murphy because the good-looking reporter had neglected to tell him that she had written and then sold a novel featuring James and his supper club friends as bumbling amateur sleuths.
“Anything else, Professor?” Megan queried with a false cheerfulness, hoping that her two customers wouldn’t get into a heated argument. Having had a corpse in her bakery a few years ago and her daughter briefly viewed as a murder suspect was more than enough excitement for the single mom.
“No, thank you.” James paid for his buns and then brushed past Murphy. “Have a nice holiday,” he told her with a polite formality he normally reserved for strangers.
Murphy’s enthusiasm was instantly quelled. “You too,” she replied, and then, as James opened the door, she called out, “You’re going to need to face the fact that this book is coming out! Try to consider that it might do some good for the town. Tourism will increase if people come here to see where the novel’s events took place. Especially if it gets made into a movie.” She glanced at Megan. “Your business might triple! Same with Dolly’s Diner! Couldn’t everybody use a bit more money in the bank?”
“So that’s why you wrote it?” James asked in a dangerously soft voice. “Out of altruism?”
Squirming, Murphy focused on an arrangement of custard-filled donuts covered with white icing and red and green sprinkles. “No. I wrote it because it was a good story. But it could also be a boon for Quincy’s Gap.”
“Maybe,” James opened the door and the silver bells jingled with a tinny, merry sound completely incongruent to what he was feeling. “But I can think of five of your neighbors who are seeing this book as a bane, not a boon.”
Megan broke the tension by laughing. “If y’all use words like that, there isn’t a soul in this town who’s going to be able to understand that book!”
Murphy’s mouth curved into an amused grin and James suddenly felt petty. After all, he hadn’t even read the novel yet. Perhaps he and his friends had been portrayed as wise and generous servants of their community, though in truth, he doubted Murphy’s book would appeal to Hollywood unless it was riddled with colorful content. He knew that part of his anger stemmed from the fear that he might be humiliated in print by someone he had trusted with his most intimate thoughts.
“Have a Merry Christmas, Murphy,” he said with as much sincerity as he could muster and left the bakery. As the door closed, he thought he heard her whisper, “It won’t be merry without you.”
Murphy then turned to Megan Flowers and declared, “I’m going to take every single one of your donuts. A girl’s gotta have something sweet in her life, and if it isn’t going to be a man, then it may as well be a donut.”
“Amen, sister,” Megan agreed as she began to fill Murphy’s order.
“I love this. Our havin’ breakfast for supper!” Lindy exclaimed as she settled on the floor in front of Bennett’s leather couch and kicked off her fleece-lined boots. She wiggled her toes, which were encased in black socks stitched with poinsettias, and issued a contented sigh. “I feel like I’m gettin’ ready for a sleepover party.”
Bennett gestured at his red cotton sweatpants. “I feel like I’m nearly wearin’ pajamas. You can go on home and change into a flannel nightgown if you want.”
Lindy pretended to be insulted. “Now why are you assumin’ that I wear some kind of grandma gown? I happen to sleep in pink satin pajamas from Victoria’s Secret, thank you very much.”
“I bet those look lovely with your skin tone and black hair,” Gillian complimented her friend. “No satin for me, of course. I wear an organic cotton/bamboo blend nightgown. It’s a planet-friendly fabric. As you might expect, there are no dyes, so the gown’s natural beige. Still, I feel much closer to Mother Earth during sleep.” She took a spoonful of apples from a Pyrex baking dish. “Are these baked, Lucy?”
Following Lindy’s example, Lucy had removed her boots and was warming her feet in front of the fire, her dinner plate balanced on her lap. “No, they’re raw Gala apples, but I soaked them overnight in a marinade of orange juice and
cinnamon. I figured they’d offset the salty taste of Bennett’s breakfast casserole.”
“And my cucumber and red onion vinegar salad,” James added. “I’m relieved to discover that it’s actually possible to have a healthy meal that doesn’t taste like cardboard. I’ve got a full plate here containing less than five hundred calories. Amazing.” He took a bite of Bennett’s casserole. “Hmm,” he said, toasting his friend with his empty fork. “Well done.”
“Thank you, my man. And now, before we watch Dr. Ruth and the Diva of Dough go at it, let’s get the Jeopardy! board game fired up. I’ve only got a few weeks before the real show tapes, folks, and I wanna be one of the few African American men to win a big ole pile of money from those rich TV folks.”
Bennett placed the game board on the floor and the supper club members gathered around it, enjoying the crackling fire, the delicious food, and one another’s company. As usual, Bennett answered question after question correctly.
“I think this one might actually stump you.” Lucy held up a card with a triumphant flourish. “Here it is: after June, this month is the most popular for wedding ceremonies.”
“Pffah! Easy!” Bennett snorted. “What is August. And Las Vegas is the top destination for weddings, followed by Hawaii and then the Bahamas. The average honeymoon lasts for one week. Wanna hear some more?”
“Have you memorized all these questions?” Lucy accused playfully.
“Not yet,” Bennett replied. “But I got all the answers from the DVD version in the ole noggin, as well as a bunch from the Trivial Pursuit games. Personally, I think they exaggerated the title of that Genius edition.” He looked at James. “I could tell you a whole mess of weddin’ statistics in case you wanna pass them on to your daddy.”
“Sure. Maybe it’ll make him feel better to know that weddings make all women go completely crazy,” James answered, and he received scowls from the three females in the room.
“The average wedding ring costs around two grand,” Bennett said hurriedly to deflect attention from James’s comment. “Most couples invite about one hundred and seventy-five people to their wedding.”
“I don’t even know that many people, and half my family is Catholic!” Lindy joked.
“Well, we’ve all messed up the averages for the ages of your run-of-the-mill bride and groom. According to the facts, I should’ve been married at least twice by now,” Lucy remarked sourly.
“Statistics can be misleading. I believe that it’s never too late to find your soul mate. The yin to your yang. Our kindred spirit, finally guided home,” Gillian gushed. “Look at Jackson and Milla.” She reached over the game board and gave Bennett’s hand a warm squeeze. “Perhaps you and Jade are meant to entwine your lives together like two vines of climbing roses stretching toward the sun.” Reaching her arms into the air above her head, Gillian exhaled loudly as Bennett cocked his head to one side in bewilderment.
“Speakin’ of roses.” He cleared his throat and continued to watch Gillian out of the corner of his eye. “I can tell you the names of a dozen climbing roses from Baltimore Belle to Dublin Bay to Silver Moon, but if I don’t get a handle on more pop-culture facts, I’ll be toast. Without a doubt, it’s my Achilles’ heel.” His expression turned grim. “How am I supposed to know the name of Paris Hilton’s dog for cryin’ out loud? I think it’s already pretty damned impressive that I know she lugs around a Chihuahua like it was a handbag.”
“She’s got two, actually,” Lindy answered hastily. “The first one, Tinkerbell, got too large to be a fashion accessory. I believe Paris’s latest Chihuahua is named Bambi.”
“How do you know this stuff, woman?” Bennett looked impressed. “Are you some kind of Entertainment Tonight junkie? ’Cause I do not have time for that.”
“No, Mr. Mailman. I read People. If you wanna be up on all that’s goin’ on in the world of celebrity gossip, pick one up at the gym and start studyin’ up. You need to know who’s goin’ out with who, who’s pregnant, who’s lost twenty pounds on the leek soup diet, who’s won an Oscar, an Emmy, a Grammy.”
“You could come to the library if you need a copy,” James suggested. “Though you can’t get near it when Mrs. Turner and her Mom’s Morning Out girlfriends are in the building. And come to think of it, once school lets out, the junior high and high school girls hog all those kinds of magazines.” He frowned. “If only my patrons got that excited about literature.” He picked up a question card and turned to Gillian. “This environmental group was founded in Vancouver in 1971 and was originally known as the Don’t Make a Wave Committee.”
“That’s an easy one.” Gillian fluffed her cloud of red and blonde-streaked hair. “What is Greenpeace.”
Bennett clapped her on the shoulder. “Well done, woman.”
As they played on, James told his friends about his visit to Dr. Ruth. “She is the epitome of kindness. Even though it’s a hassle keeping this food log, I already feel more optimistic about getting fit since I saw her on Monday.” He pointed at the television. “I just hope she got a word in edgewise on Good Morning Virginia since she had to share the spotlight with Paulette.”
“The Diva’s been quite busy making enemies since she got to town, hasn’t she?” Lindy said, packing up the game pieces. “I hear she raised quite a ruckus at Food Lion because they don’t carry super-fine sugar.”
James nodded. “You can add Megan and Amelia Flowers to the growing list of folks who will be happy to see her go back to New York. And I can’t say that I’m one of her fans either. I’ll be quite relieved to drop her off at the curb at Dulles after the wedding.”
“Okay, folks, it’s time for the news.” Bennett clapped his hands, returned his playing piece to the game box, and turned on his small television set with the rather grainy screen. “We’ve got sugar-free caramel pudding and Cool Whip for dessert. So grab a spoon and eat up. By the time you’ve heard Dr. Ruth speak, you’ll all want to become her clients.”
The image on the television screen morphed from an orange tabby cat gulping down a bowl of Meow Mix to an image of a somber-faced anchorman. The news anchor, who had shellacked hair and a subtle tan, related the details of a convenience store robbery that had occurred shortly after dark that same day in the outskirts of Charlottesville.
“Tony Kim, the clerk on duty this evening,” the anchorman intoned, “did not possess keys to the safe and could only offer the assailant the cash from his register. Apparently, two hundred dollars was not enough to appease the armed robber, and he demanded wallets and jewelry from each one of the store’s customers.”
The camera switched from the anchorman’s face to a scene of police cars with flashing lights parked helter-skelter around the perimeter of the small gas station. Members of Charlottesville’s police force gesticulated and conversed with deputies from the local Sheriff’s Department. James felt that their behavior seemed a bit theatrical due to the presence of the television crews and decided to ask Lucy if she agreed, but when he glanced over at her and noted the rapt attention she was giving to the broadcast, he decided to keep quiet.
After providing a teaser on the weekend weather as well as the outcome of the men’s basketball game between rivals Virginia and Virginia Tech, the camera zoomed out in order to show a wide-angle view of the entire news desk. At this point, the anchorwoman arched her eyebrows and said, “And things heated up in the town of New Market today. The life of a well-known chef, television star, and author was threatened after she appeared on our own CBS morning show. Stay tuned for the surprising events that were captured on film by one of our crew members.”
As James and his friends sat in stunned silence, the Aflac duck flew on screen and jumped in the driver’s seat of a taxi cab, planning to take over the injured driver’s fares and save his family from certain starvation.
“I can’t stand it!” Lucy grabbed James’s arm, causing him to overturn his spoonful of caramel pudding onto the front of his sweater. “What happened this morning? Don’t leav
e us hanging like this!”
James shook his head dumbly. “Honestly, I have no idea.” He protested. “No one called me at work and the house was empty when I got done with lifting weights, so I’m as mystified as you are.” He flexed his arm and poked his sore bicep, hoping Lucy would be impressed, but she had already returned her attention to the TV.
The Aflac commercial was followed by a lengthy ad expounding the myriad virtues of Chrysler’s new minivan. A pair of shiny-haired, white-toothed children sat in the back seat, laughing as they watched the Cartoon Network on their Sirius satellite television system while an unusually happy-looking teenage boy played video games using the screen above the third row of seats. In the front, the smug, slim, and casually dressed parents gazed proudly at their progeny in the rearview mirror and exchanged deeply contented grins. At the end of the ad, the family disembarked from their cool car and prepared to share a picnic lunch on a scenic overlook near the ocean.
“Those parents are gonna shove all three kids off that cliff,” Lindy declared. “That’s why they’re smiling.”
“I thought it was because all of their cup holders were filled with little bottles of whiskey,” Bennett remarked, and then groaned as a weight loss commercial featuring Special K cereal droned on and on. “If that woman in the red dress pivots in front of that mirror one more time, I’m gonna bludgeon her with the cereal box. I’m tired of all these damn ads!”
“Me too,” Gillian agreed. “Our culture is simply barraged with capitalistic messages. That’s why I prefer to record all of my favorite shows from the National Geographic Channel and fast forward the steady stream of ‘buy-me’s’! It’s very empowering.”
The Battered Body Page 7