“Brock Nibley,” Debbie Collins repeated. “He called us this morning, saying it wasn’t on the market yet, but would be, and did we want to see it?”
She had known Brock was cutthroat as a real estate agent—he scanned obituaries and attended funerals to get first jump on listings—but this was swift even for him.
“Seems like a nice enough spot,” Roger Collins piped up. “We spotted it last week during a river cruise and thought it had a great view, but that all that potential was wasted. It is so badly looked after, you know. And if our boy is going to be here a lot, we thought we’d have a little nest here, too. ’Sides, Debbie is just longing to work on the place; all this gardening has her inspired.”
“We had better get going, Roger,” Mrs. Collins said, standing and smoothing her skirt down.
Jaymie was going to go back to town with the Collinses, leaving her mom and dad to enjoy the cottage for a week, which was why she had left Hoppy in the house in Queensville. She had been looking forward to returning to being alone at the Queensville house, but the ferry ride was awkward, to say the least. No subject seemed safe, and she and Debbie Collins exchanged glances but did not speak.
Daniel drew her slightly away and said, “Are you angry that they bought the cottage?”
“It’s none of my business, but I am surprised. It seems so casual to buy a house in a place you never before wanted to live!”
“I’ve done that lots of times,” he said.
It was like an unexploded bomb had landed in her lap. “What?” She watched his shadowy profile. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said; I’ve done that lots of times. Besides a house in Bakersfield and one in Phoenix and Stowe House, I own houses in . . . heck, seven states? Maybe more?”
“Eight . . . You bought a house in Alabama two years ago,” Roger Collins, who sat nearby, said.
Didn’t his family have any boundaries? Daniel’s dad had been listening in the whole time. She kept her mouth tightly closed, then said a tepid good-bye to Daniel by the dock, saying she’d talk to him the next day. She returned home to Hoppy, who had been kept in the house in Queensville all day and was wild to get out.
Once he had fussed over her, and Denver slunk out to rub up against her arm, the warmest his affection ever got, she sat on the back step in the darkness while Denver prowled and Hoppy sniffed around and piddled. Daniel owned, what? . . . Eleven houses? Eleven! And she had had no clue. Eleven houses sprinkled over the United States like croutons on a salad. It was ridiculous. What kind of wing nut buys houses on a whim, she wondered. A rich wing nut, she supposed.
It left her feeling kind of tilted over, like something had moved, and she was left off-kilter. Wasn’t that kind of major? And Daniel had said nothing about it. Was Stowe House and Queensville just another temporary stop for an eccentric multimillionaire?
She headed to bed, finally, and tried to read, but there was a knot in her stomach. She supposed it had something to do with all of the fuss with Daniel and his parents, but it was more than that. It was fear, plain and simple. Tomorrow her first “Vintage Eats” column would come out in the Wolverhampton Howler, and she was ready to upchuck over it.
The next morning after a fitful sleep she rose, and went to her computer. The Vintage Eats blog she had started was still moving sluggishly along. She went on and wrote a piece about the excellent potato salad she’d had the day before, and the surprising ingredient, and mused about how sometimes you learn new tricks in the most unexpected places.
She was interrupted twice by phone calls, first from Valetta, congratulating her on the column, and then by Dee Stubbs, with the same message. She wasn’t sure whether she was most nervous or anticipatory over looking at her column, so she delayed going to the Emporium to get a copy until she published that day’s blog column.
But she couldn’t delay any longer. She was afraid it would be sold out, something that occasionally happened, if she didn’t get over there. She walked Hoppy over, put him in the puppy pen with Junk Jr., and took the few steps up to the Emporium with a hop. She went in to the jangle of bells, like her nerves, and grabbed a Howler off the pile, leafing to the Lifestyles section.
There was her “Vintage Eats” column, cute little vintage graphic and very brief bio accompanying, and a black-and-white version of one of her picnic photos, and one of the sandwich loaf. It looked good. Mrs. Klausner looked up from her own Howler, and nodded slowly, majestically, at her in approval. Valetta wasn’t working today, so there was no reason to linger. After a quick look at the basket rental book, and making some notes on what to tell the cook at the Queensville Inn to deliver for the Saturday and Sunday rentals, she headed home past Cynthia’s Cottage Shop, scheduled to open the very next day.
She logged on to check her email, and at the same time checked out her blog. There were . . . wow! There were seventeen comments, and eight new followers! She hopped in her seat and yelped. Hoppy came bounding up the stairs and stood at the office door looking at her.
“Hoppy, people are reading it! They’re reading the column in the paper, and coming to my blog! People are reading my column, my writing!”
He danced around and barked and she laughed out loud. The phone rang and she picked it up on the first ring.
“Congrats, Jaymie! I’m so proud of you,” Daniel said.
She got a warm trickle in her tummy. “Thank you, Daniel. I’m so happy with it!”
“Do you want to go out to Ambrosio tonight, just the two of us, and celebrate?”
“I’d love to! Kevin and Becca are coming over, but they’ll want to spend some time with Mom and Dad today at the cottage.”
“Pick you up at eight.”
The next call was from her mother. “Honey, it looks so good! I’ve had half the island reading it already. Congratulations on your column. We’re going to take a copy up to your grandma next week.”
She hopped in her chair, and said, “Thanks, Mom, that means a lot!”
“So, now that you’re writing, you’ll be able to stop running around doing all kinds of jobs, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve got a real job now.”
“It’s only every other week, Mom, and they’re not paying me for it.” Oops.
“They’re not paying you for it? Why not?”
It was about to go rapidly downhill, but she was not going to let her mother burst her happy bubble. “I gotta go, Mom. I’ve got to . . . to, uh, go next door.”
“Oh, yes, please check in on poor Pam and make sure she’s doing all right. I can come back if she needs me.”
Jaymie hung up. It took a moment, but she got her happy mood back, went over, helped Pam out of a jam, and returned home. Twenty-six comments, fifteen followers, and mounting!
The phone rang, and she picked it up.
“So what are you doing for your next piece?” It was Nan Goodenough.
This time Jaymie was ready. “Well, since Garnet and Ruby Redmond were cleared in the murder on Heartbreak Island, I’m going to go ahead with the piece on them, and the icehouse tools, and making ice cream, just in time for Labor Day!”
“Great. Have it ready in a week.” And she was gone, a dial tone replacing her brisk voice.
Jaymie sat back in her chair as another comment popped up on her blog on cooking from vintage recipes. She could do this. It was going to work. She’d get a few cooking articles under her belt, keep blogging, and then begin to work on some other exposure to build her resume as a cooking authority. She’d write more pieces for the cookbook, and eventually, she would be taken seriously by a New York publishing firm, either Adelaide Publishing or someone else.
In the meantime, she’d try to figure out her relationship with Daniel. She liked him. A lot! And she was not willing to let his mother destroy it; nor was she going to let a few quirks of personality—col
lecting houses was surely an eccentricity, at the very least—turn her away from someone she liked so much.
“C’mon, Hoppy. Let’s go for a walk to see if Cynthia needs any help before the Cottage Shoppe opens. I’ve decided I’m going to give her the rest of that enamelware for her cottagey kitchen after all. Maybe she even has some old cookbooks for me!”
FROM JAYMIE’S VINTAGE KITCHEN
Hello from Heartbreak Island! As everyone knows by now, I love cookbooks and recipes from bygone eras. Oftentimes the recipes aren’t very practical or require too much work for my liking, though. They can be time-consuming, but if you have to bring something to a bridal shower potluck or summer party, you don’t mind the extra effort for something truly worth it. This is my take on one that keeps popping up in cookbooks from the middle of the last century.
Frosted Layered Sandwich Loaf
This is a standard from the 1950s, and I’m thinking about making it for the bridal shower someone will have to throw for Heidi Lockland, since she’s marrying my former BF Joel. She’s really into midcentury modern, so this would be perfect. The recipe is something you kind of have to experiment with and add your own twist to, but I’m providing basic instructions.
One loaf of unsliced bread and three of your favorite fillings. I used ham salad, egg salad, and a layer of cream cheese with chopped olives for the middle, but you can use any combination: egg, chicken, roast beef, turkey, tuna, salmon or ham salad; your preference. These salad ingredients need to work together. You could get adventurous here, though, or make a vegetarian version: if you enjoy some particular kind of filling, like hummus, diced cucumber or tomato in mayo, then go ahead . . . This recipe is all about fun.
Slice all the crust from the bread, then lay the loaf on its side and cut it into 4 even slices. Lay three of the slices down on the counter and spread your filling choices on each. You can use butter first, if you like; I would advise that you do, if you are using a fairly wet filling like the diced cucumber or tomato, as the butter will seal the bread and keep it from getting soggy. Then carefully stack the slices, topping with the last naked slice of bread.
FROSTING
One or two 8 oz. packages of cream cheese, room temperature or it won’t cream.
¼ cup mayo
2 Tbsp. cream
Note: you can flavor the cream cheese if you like, but the fillings are the star, so don’t go too crazy. You can also add some food coloring if this is for a party that has a color scheme, but I’m not sure anyone would eat a green sandwich, so be careful! Plain, yellow or pink would be best.
Cream the ingredients together. You’ll have to use your discretion when it comes to the amounts, because it depends on how thick you want the frosting, how high the loaf is, etcetera. You want to thin the cream cheese until it spreads smoothly, and frost the loaf as you would a layer cake. Then comes the fun part: decorating! I used sliced olives to make flowers, but you could go wild here, with carrot curls, radish roses or grated carrot as a garnish.
Serve in pretty slices! This is a versatile recipe, and I know I’ll make it again for a tea party or bridal shower. Next time I may try a dessert version, using a store-bought loaf cake, with diced fruits as the filling and sweetened cream cheese as the frosting!
Hope you enjoy it!
Jaymie Leighton
PS—Hoppy says he enjoyed the leftovers a lot! Also, if you’d like to see some photos of these made by great cooks, just do an Internet search using the words “vintage recipe—sandwich loaf.” You’ll get lots of interesting hits!
Freezer I'll Shoot (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery) Page 28