Poison at the Bake Sale

by Hollis Shiloh

  "Not many warts, if we're being honest," said Abe.

  "Well, no. I am almost perfect," teased Gregory, poking him gently in the ribs.

  Abe giggled, then covered his mouth. He still had the odd moment when he felt that he should be a great deal more butch than he was. It was a difficult thing to attain, if you were Abe. Even after he'd thought he'd given up completely on that as a life goal or something to strive for, there were moments when the old impulse reared its head: that he should be tougher, stronger, most masculine.

  Gregory drew him closer. "Don't be like that. I like it when you laugh."

  After that, they didn't talk about anything serious, or, in fact, much at all. And later, they were too tired to want to talk. It was a peaceful way to fall asleep: together, and worn out in all the right ways.

  Chapter five

  Abe woke up early and refreshed, peaceful and untroubled, until he remembered it was the day of the auction, contest, and bake sale.

  But nothing looked as dark as it had last night to him, and not just because the sun was starting to peek up. He stood on the front step and breathed a few deep lungfuls of fresh air; it really did smell cleaner and fresher this early—invigorating. He wanted to savor the moment and practice being in the present instead of worrying all the time.

  Perhaps he could have his coffee outside this morning. It sounded both decadent and industrious. As long as no one glimpsed him lounging around in his bathrobe and mint-green pajamas.

  Then he glanced down at the papers at his feet, which was the reason he'd stepped outside in the first place. Abe subscribed to several because he liked to support the press, even though he was often appalled by the pun-laden headlines the local rags seemed to prefer.

  "What's for breakfast, or should I make something?" said Gregory, walking up behind him, yawning and scratching at his stubbly chin.

  "I thought we'd have toast and coffee outdoors," said Abe. "There's no time for anything fancy if we want to be at the sale early." And he did, partly for superstitious reasons: if he was there, he could somehow keep an eye on things, keep something bad from happening. "Besides, we'll probably be eating baked goods."

  "Ah, right, that's today," said Gregory. (Could he really have forgotten so easily? It had been weighing on Abe's mind for ages.) He leaned in and kissed Abe's neck, which made Abe feel deliciously pampered. "Well, we'd better get busy, then. I think I agreed to help run a stand or something."

  "What? When?"

  Gregory scratched at his stubble. "Yesterday? No, the day before. I was talking with Henrietta, and she was going on about how they needed more help with taking the money for the baked goods—you know, being the public face. I was thinking about fig trees at the time, and I may have been a bit distracted. I think I agreed to help, or she assumed I did, because the conversation ended with, 'That's great, see you then!' and I think I said, 'Glad to help,' or something. Kind of a reflex." He smiled apologetically. "I forgot to mention it, I guess."

  Abe swallowed. "No, that's great. Better you than me!" Gregory's salesmanship gifts meant he would never lie awake worrying about dealing with the public. He could probably charm people into spending twice as much as they'd planned, if he wanted to. But he'd rather think about fig trees and focus on Abe. And those were good things in Abe's book.

  "Are you going to plant a fig tree?" he asked, curious now. He bent to pick up the papers. "I thought they only grew in the south."

  "Well, I think we could grow a Chicago Hardy, if I can find room for it. They're supposed to survive here. Do you like figs? I'm not sure if I do."

  Which probably meant he didn't; he just wanted an excuse to grow a cool new fruit tree. Abe smiled at Gregory. "Are you hoping I'm secretly a huge fan of figs? I can't say I feel one way or another about them. But I'll try them if you grow them. I'll try them fresh, and I'll find some recipes to test. Come on, let's eat and get going!"

  As they read the papers over breakfast, he noticed that his suggestion to Henrietta had been taken, and one of the papers had inserted a small notice about the bake sale and auction, mentioning the necklace specifically. That, or Hannibal had thought ahead and already gotten the article in, and then they'd just added that last bit at the end. It mentioned the donation was anonymous, so perhaps it really was.

  He didn't bother pointing it out to Gregory, who was checking his email as he crunched through a great deal of toast. Gregory was part of several online groups about growing things, although he tried to limit his time participating in each one so he didn't end up spending all his gardening time arguing about it instead of doing it.

  Abe folded the paper distractedly to leave the article on the front, his good mood fading as he mentally prepared for the event. He needed to find something suitable to wear and put the chilled pies on ice in a cooler. That, and try to stifle his stupid nerves. There was really no reason to be nervous about the event. It was just a local thing, and he needed to get over his silly, superstitious nature. Being convinced something bad was going to happen at the library event was ridiculous.

  He changed clothes twice, finally settling on a powder blue short-sleeved collared shirt, subtly argyle-patterned board shorts, and boaters without socks. Gregory looked gorgeous as always in a simple t-shirt he'd thrown on and some jeans that had seen plenty of wear and tear. Even so, he'd be one of the best-looking guys at the event, guaranteed, even if in some imaginary world celebrities showed up.

  Sometimes, it was hard not to be jealous of his many gifts and his easiness within himself—but it never lasted long. He was amazing, and Abe was lucky to be in his life. As well, Gregory had let him glimpse some of the insecurities he kept well-hidden from everyone else. Despite the confidence he exuded, Gregory was not actually impervious to self-doubt and worry.

  "Ready?" asked Gregory, grabbing the cooler of pies. He smiled at Abe affectionately. "Come on, it won't be that bad. You're not still worrying about a murder, are you?"

  Abe sighed and shrugged. Best to be honest; Gregory would know if he wasn't. "I'm worried about something. Perhaps that's become my natural state." He hoped not.

  Gregory gave him a searching look but didn't argue with him. "I'll be there, and you know you can leave early if you want."

  That was a get out of jail free card he didn't deserve. "If you're sure."

  They drove the short distance to the fire hall. It had room to spread out all the foods, auction goods, and contest baked goods without bringing food into the rather small, cramped library. The library had a 'meeting room' where the book club met, and the sewing club, and the occasional other small group, but these groups never seemed to top twenty members (and often had less than ten) in their small, occasional get-togethers. It wasn't really big enough for anything that required a lot of people milling around.

  The fire hall was large and echoey with cement floors and high industrial ceilings. Abe was glad Gregory was walking beside him as they entered; it felt like the sort of place a fellow like himself would not be welcome. But everywhere felt safer with Gregory by his side.

  He and Gregory moved the baked goods donations, many of them Abe's work, from the kitchen onto large tables set up with red-and-white checkered plastic tablecloths, which looked rather nice, classy in a simple way. The whole place was much less creepy this morning, a bright day with other people here. No firefighters loomed to scowl at the gay man. The fire engines had been strategically moved so there was room for lots of tables, but they still lurked in the background, waiting to be needed, looking impressively technical to Abe's admittedly untrained eye.

  "Did you ever want to be a fireman?" asked Abe as they worked. It seemed a common fantasy for young boys who were athletic and heroic. Abe's fantasies had been a bit different, even at that age. It had taken him a little while to realize he was supposed to hide how he really felt about things—and then he'd been really poor at it. Abe wasn't really the sort of fellow who fit neatly into the closet, and it had been a challenge, to say the least.


  "Me?" said Gregory. "Yeah, when I was little. I had a red plastic fireman's hat and some toy fire trucks. I think it was the red as much as anything." He grinned. "Kids like bright colors. But I think I switched career goals pretty soon and wanted to be an astronaut most of my childhood."

  "That explains the bees," said Abe, thinking of that white suit he had to wear.

  "What?" For a moment, he looked startled, as if he couldn't have heard correctly.

  Abe gave him a tart little smile. "Nothing, dear."

  Gregory laughed at him. "I hope you'll explain that later."

  The folding tables spread out heavy with baked goods and auction items, and soon people began delivering their entries for the baked goods contest. As they finished helping set up the bake sale area, Abe and Gregory exchanged pleasantries with friends and neighbors participating in the ordeal—that is, the event. It actually didn't seem as much of an ordeal as Abe had feared so far.

  The new neighbor arrived with a woman in tow. She was tiny and gray-haired where he was large and imposing and gray-haired. Something about his attitude or stance made him seem to take up a lot of room, while she looked timid and meek and seemed to barely take up any room at all.

  Rongst looked around the place with something of a satisfied air.

  Abe touched Gregory's arm. "That's the new neighbor, Rufus Rongst. I spoke to him the other day. An art lover."

  "I gathered," said Gregory, sounding amused. "Though I'm hardly one to cast the first stone when it comes to unusual backyards."

  "No, me neither. Oh, dear, he's heading this way. I suppose that's his wife?"

  "Maybe we'll find out. Mr. Rongst!" He waved and called. "Hi! I'm your neighbor, just past Abe." He made a walking motion with his fingers, and added, in case there was any doubt, "The garden fiend."

  Abe cringed a little, both at attracting unnecessary attention and being referred to as Gregory's neighbor. Did that have some deeper meaning?

  "We're also the neighborhood gays," Gregory added, putting an arm companionably around Abe. His grin showed he was teasing, joking around in a hearty we're-all-fellows-here manner, but Abe thought it was a test.

  Maybe Gregory didn't want to be saddled with homophobic neighbors either. It would be nice to know up front if they were, but still, Abe wouldn't have done it that way. Or, to be honest, at all.

  "You're bi, honey," muttered Abe, unable to help himself.

  "Well, we're dating, that's what I meant." He gave Abe a sideways hug and smiled at the two neighbors, looking inquiring.

  Rufus cleared his throat and looked not quite pleased. "This is my wife," he said, emphasizing the word. "Cecilia." He put a big, meaty hand on her shoulder. She looked way too tiny next to him; they were built on such different size lines. She looked as if she wished she weren't here, too. Abe didn't know if she was embarrassed or just didn't like the subject of gay people. Or possibly didn't like meeting neighbors. Abe certainly had a fellow feeling about that.

  "Well, I hope you enjoy the sale and auction," said Gregory heartily. "Abe baked quite a lot of that." He nodded to the bake sale spot. "All excellent, of course."

  "The little woman donated several items to the sale," said Rufus, puffing himself up to somehow look even bigger. "All very classy, of course."

  "Of course." They showed their teeth in smiles at each other.

  How barbaric! thought Abe. They're comparing...something or other. He had the sinking feeling the art lovers would not become friends. He tried to look friendly and inoffensive anyway.

  "Excuse us," said Rufus, shepherding his wife, who still hadn't spoken, away. They headed over to the contest baked goods section, skirting the bake sale area that Abe had contributed to.

  "Oh, dear," said Abe. "Perhaps you shouldn't have told them we're dating?" He looked nervously at Gregory.

  Gregory shrugged, seemingly unshaken by the exchange. "At least this way we won't waste any time trying to be their friends."

  "I suppose..." He felt odd about the whole situation and tried to put it out of his head.

  What must it be like, to be Gregory? He could go back and hide in the closet anytime he wanted to. He could easily pull it off. But he very much doesn't want to. And for that, Abe was glad. He loved having a boyfriend who chose to live his truth. He was really so very brave.

  They went back to what they'd been doing before, adjusting the layout of the baked goods, making sure the prices were clearly visible, and generally setting the whole thing up to look as neat and down-home as possible. Abe rather liked the effect of a bunch of tasty-looking baked goods all lined up. Truthfully, his donations were among the best-looking. Of course they couldn't compete with some of the fine cherry pies that Mary had donated—these could have graced the cover of a cookbook without looking out of place—but they held up very nicely against all other comers.

  Not that it's a contest. I deliberately didn't enter the contest, Abe reminded himself.

  They greeted a few more people they knew, but nobody stopped to chat, and fortunately nobody else seemed hostile.

  Abe began to wonder if there wasn't a bit too much food at this event after all—especially when he caught the telltale scent of barbecue coals.

  "Don't tell me they're doing chicken as well? I thought that wasn't till September," said Abe, referring to the usual fire hall fundraiser of barbecued chicken. It seemed to be a cornerstone of suburban society: firefighter barbequing fundraisers.

  "Just hot dogs and burgers. It was a last-minute decision," said Hannibal grandly as he approached. He was in his element today, with lots of people to coordinate. Abe had been speaking with Gregory, but Hannibal had heard him and took the comment as an invitation to expound. "They'll put the money towards the library, and set up a donation box if anyone wants to give directly to the firemen's fund. Very generous of them."

  "Um, yes," agreed Abe, not sure what to say. He really didn't want to get stuck talking with Hannibal. The man was all right in small doses, but he could be very full of himself. As Gregory turned to him and began to chat, Abe took the craven opportunity to slip away.

  He used this chance to walk over to the auction area and look around. There was the anonymous necklace, looking sparkly and grand. And is it really anonymous, or is this another one of Hannibal's ideas for making the whole thing seem more important? Well, he certainly wasn't going to ask the man.

  They probably didn't have it appraised, so if it is worth a lot, nobody will know. What a waste! He barely glanced at it before checking out the rest of the tables' contents. He was certainly no jewelry expert, so why waste his time?

  Maybe it was fake, and the hurried, anonymous donation was all a spin, a way to get at least some money for it. Maybe Hannibal had planned the whole thing.

  No, why would he? Hannibal might get on his nerves sometimes, but the man wasn't some kind of con artist, and besides, why would he need to be so sneaky to raise funds for the library? It was unlikely to go for that much, and it would be a silly thing to plot about. I'm just looking for mysteries everywhere again, aren't I? He moved on.

  Some rather kitschy items, such as a collection of empty chocolate boxes and cookie tins, sat next to a probably valuable signed Jack London book (The Cruise of the Dazzler, a battered hardcover that was apparently a "Boy Scout Edition"), and past that were a gift basket with soaps and shampoos (filled with things like organic lavender soap and pumpkin spice body wash), a certificate from a car wash (Swiftly Kleen), and various other knickknacks.

  Value varied, but he was pleased to see that, whatever Henrietta thought, the potted herbs looked right at home with the more high-quality items on display. Shining, healthy leaves, plants much bigger than you'd get from a nursery, and nice clay pots, not cheap plastic containers. They looked of value, nothing to be ashamed of, even in the context of a necklace and a signed book. He looked over the rest of the items without a great deal of interest, trying to decide if he should bid on anything.

  He finally chose an
item to bid on in the silent auction, sealed his envelope carefully and deposited it in the box. Nothing he particularly had to have, but an item he would enjoy if he did win: an old-fashioned wind-up clock for a mantelpiece. Even if it didn't work, it would look nice. He could put it on his bookshelf. He didn't bother bidding on the book because he knew it would go for more than he wanted to pay, and besides, he'd never cared for Jack London. All that outdoorsiness and violence.

  He wandered back to the baked goods area to see that Hannibal had moved on and the sale had started without him. Gregory was chatting with a customer as he took her money for a couple of pies. Gregory looked wholesome, handsome, and winsome with that friendly smile on his face.

  There appeared to already be a dent in the cherry pies Abe had made, and he was pleased. The crust had come out particularly picturesque on those, golden brown and photograph-worthy. He waited till she was gone.

  "Do you like Jack London?"

  "Not particularly. Why?"

  "A signed edition to bid on." He nodded towards the table.

  "Don't think I'll bother. Are you going to vote in the baking contest?"

  "Gracious, no." Abe put a hand to his chest. He realized he still subconsciously expected someone to get poisoned. Goodness. Why couldn't he get past these stupid nervous premonitions?

  Gregory shot him a perceptive, understanding look. "It'll be okay. You've worked hard already; just enjoy this. And when you're ready, I really don't mind if you leave without me."

  What had Abe ever done to deserve a man like this? "Thanks," he said humbly. He'd try to stick this out and fight off his silly nerves, but he knew very well he'd probably end up taking Gregory up on his offer.

  All of his work was technically done; the planning, supply-buying, recipe investigation, experimenting and baking had resulted in quite the donation. His work, all behind the scenes, was over, and now it was up to Gregory and the buyers what happened to it. It had been enjoyable. He only wished he felt a little more accomplished. It was almost a letdown to walk away from his contributions and not know if people ended up enjoying them or not.