by Libby Klein
My heart sped up from being in the Snickers bar hot zone. I forced myself to turn my attention to the belly roll flopped over my yoga pants. It was a couple of dress sizes bigger now than when I first woke up this morning. I put the car in reverse and left the parking lot for the safe haven of home and lack of tasty choices.
The maroon Mercury was still parked across from us at the edge of Mr. Winston’s yard. And everyone knows you aren’t being a nosy neighbor if you take a gift. I reached in the back seat for the bag of linzer hearts and took them with me to Mr. Winston’s door.
“Ho, Poppy, what’s doin’?”
I held out the bag. “I brought you some cookies for Valentine’s Day.”
Mr. Winston’s bushy, black eyebrows shot up to his snow-capped hairline. “Cookies, eh.” He took the bag. “What information are you angling for?”
I felt the roots of my red hair blush. “What, no—I—okay, is your daughter here?”
“No, I haven’t seen Judy since New Year’s. She’s bringing me some homemade TV dinners this weekend, though. Do you need me to give her a message?”
“No, I was just wondering if that was Judy’s car. It’s been parked there for a week.” I pointed to the car and used big hand gestures. Mr. Winston was very hard of hearing and there tended to be a lot of misunderstandings.
He nodded. “I noticed that. I was going to bring you an Entenmann’s raspberry Danish tomorrow and ask you if it was one of yours.”
“No, it’s no one at our house. Have you seen anyone come or go by it?”
His busy eyebrows wiggled down on his forehead. “No, I don’t think it’s for sale. At least, no one has looked at it that I’ve noticed.”
I was pulling the plug before I got in too deep. “Okay, thank you. Enjoy the cookies.”
Mr. Winston lifted the bag and gave me a grin. “Tell Ginny I said hello.”
I walked over to the car and peered in through the windows. The floor was littered with coffee cups and fast-food wrappers. There was a device on the dashboard that was plugged into the lighter. It looked like a giant, black eyeball. If that’s a speaker, it’s going to run the car battery dead before the owner comes back. I took a closer look at the device and saw what looked like a high-tech camera lens. Oh my God. It’s a security camera and it’s facing my house. The lens blinked, and I noticed a green light was on.
Someone was watching me. I turned and fled into the house, flung the latch on the door, and locked it as if the camera could sprout legs and run in after me. I felt like there were spiders crawling up my arms and I had to swat them off. I told myself I was being ridiculous. The driver probably broke down and left a security camera plugged in to be sure no one stole the car before they could come back to retrieve it. I paced around the foyer for a couple of minutes until an idea came to me. I ran to the laundry room and found an old blanket Aunt Ginny used on the beach for the Fourth of July. It was a hundred years old, butt ugly, and miserably scratchy. You’d rather sit on hot rocks. No one in their right mind would have it. I grabbed the blanket and took it outside to the abandoned Mercury. I skirted the edge of the yard to try to sneak up behind it—I didn’t want to show up on camera—and threw the blanket over the car, covering the windows. There. Now at least they weren’t spying on my house, and if someone came to steal the car, they’d be caught on camera when they removed the blanket.
I was proud of myself for my quick thinking and bravery. I went back inside much relieved. I still threw the latch and set the alarm. Then I scooped up my companion cat and ran up the stairs with him to hide under the covers.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The brilliant sunrise of a Cape May winter is a lie. The peachy-pink glow is a bouquet of empty promises of warmth and comfort mocked by the frigid wind blowing off the Atlantic Ocean. Even the seagulls sit with their wings wrapped around themselves, too disgruntled by the cold to dive-bomb passersby for potential smackerals.
This morning in particular, the cold was cutting through my fleece like tiny ice daggers, while the roar of the waves brought little comfort to the ache in my bones or the unsettled gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Someone was watching my house. Maybe. Probably. What were the odds that the abandoned Mercury with dashboard security camera was a fluke? Maybe the owner ran out of gas and had no idea of the agitation they were causing me. What were the odds that Amber would run the plates for me? Yeah. About the same as the odds that I’d be a size five by this summer.
I turned the final corner back to the house and stopped short. The blanket was missing. I fast-walked across the street to come behind the car to see if maybe it had slid off the back and was lying on the ground. The blanket was gone. And the green light was still on.
I crossed the street to my house and stomped up the porch steps. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was going to ask Officer Birkwell to look into the owner of the car for me. I did have his number memorized, even though I wouldn’t admit it to the insufferable Amber.
I opened the front door and was hit in the face with a backdraft of heat that felt like an inferno after the hour I’d spent walking the boardwalk at daybreak. Figaro was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, his head stuck through the armhole of his orange companion vest. I pulled his head out and shifted the vest back around. “Don’t look at me like that. This wasn’t my idea.”
I shed my layers on the way up the backstairs to shower and change before making today’s crabs Benedict and citrus salad. An hour later, I was buzzing around the kitchen with Aunt Ginny making coffee and peeling tangerines.
Aunt Ginny handed me two mugs and I filled them with steaming Ethiopia Guji. Figaro hobbled his way into the kitchen. He had worked his front paw through the neck hole of his vest and Aunt Ginny had to right him and twist it back into place again. He celebrated by biting at the neck strap while spinning in a circle, which caused Aunt Ginny to choke out a cackle.
“Ahem.”
Aunt Ginny and I shot up straight and Figaro paused his spinning when we heard the formidable Mrs. Galbraith.
I gave the older woman what I hoped was a pleasant smile. “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”
Mrs. Galbraith critically eyed Figaro, who was critically eyeing her back while scratching at his vest with his back leg. “No, thank you. I had my tea and toast before I came to work.”
Aunt Ginny muttered under her breath, “Well, don’t get carried away.”
Mrs. Galbraith ignored Aunt Ginny. “I’m going to get the laundry done so I can change the linens while the guests are away. In the meantime, I felt I should share my concerns with you.”
I stirred coconut creamer into my coffee. “What concerns are those?”
“I think the couple in the Swallowtail suite may be stealing from you.”
“Joey and Val? Why would you think that?”
“When I made their beds yesterday something in the room looked different. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is missing.”
“Maybe they moved something. People sometimes rearrange things when they stay to make room for their own stuff.”
“I can’t see how that’s possible, seeing as how their personal belongings are strewn about without care.”
Aunt Ginny gave me a look over her coffee and took an English muffin out of the toaster.
“Not to mention,” she went on, “they keep asking me what things are worth.”
“I think they’re just curious.”
“Then they are curious about the china, the silver, the painting in the hall, and the crystal vase in the library.”
I grinned at Mrs. Galbraith. Joey and Val had definitely gotten under her skin. “They’re young and just starting their life together. I think they’re just excited to be here and experience something outside their normal routine.”
“Perhaps that’s it. But I thought you should know that something feels off about them. I am much more comfortable with the couple in the Purple Emperor suite.”
“The Ainsworths,” I
offered.
She nodded. “They’re a delight. I met the missus in the hall and she asked for a corkscrew. You can tell they know how to conduct themselves in fine surroundings.”
Aunt Ginny let out the tiniest of snorts.
“And the gentleman gave me a sizable tip yesterday when they requested tea service in their room. Only people of quality do that anymore.”
Figaro ran around the island with his ears pinned to his head and skidded through the kitchen.
Aunt Ginny was pouring chocolate syrup on her English muffin. “Well, we are all about quality and breeding here.”
I turned my attention back to Mrs. Galbraith, who was now frowning at Aunt Ginny. “I’m glad you’re getting some decent tips with so few guests in the house. I’m hoping we fill up for the summer. I already have a few reservations for March and April.”
“Yes, well . . . tipping isn’t like it used to be. At least the Ainsworths are making up for the lack of tips from the other two suites.”
I blinked a couple of times. “Have you been servicing the Adonis suite?”
“Well, I should hope so. She has the sign out requesting housekeeping.”
Figaro flopped over and was wiggling across the floor on his back.
Aunt Ginny and I stared at each other, speechless. Georgina was in the Adonis suite and she wasn’t a paying guest. She was—dare I say—family since she was my former mother-in-law, and she had a ten percent investment in the Butterfly Wings B&B. Since she’d become enamored with my handyman a few months ago, her drop-in visits had become a lot more frequent. I should have fired Smitty when I had the chance.
Aunt Ginny laughed. “Where are you going to put her when we have no vacancy?”
Mrs. Galbraith narrowed her eyes at Figaro. “I’m not sure how you are going to keep that animal in residence with a full house.”
“I’m advertising us as cat friendly.”
Mrs. Galbraith looked like she was choking on a peach pit. “Well, we shall see how that pans out. And I want to remind you that I will require my overtime rate this week from all the extra hours spent covering for your absence.”
“Yes, of course.”
Figaro skidded in front of Mrs. Galbraith and flopped over to attack the underneath of his lopsided service vest.
Mrs. Galbraith picked up her laundry basket. “And I may need hazard pay.” She left the kitchen with her head high and her nose skyward.
Aunt Ginny gave me a wry look. “What she needs is for somebody to remove that stick from her butt.”
I sputtered on my coffee and had to wipe some off my T-shirt. Figaro rolled his eyes up to mine and I said the magic word. “Eat?”
He sprang to all fours like he’d been vaulted out of a jack-in-the-box. I adjusted his vest and filled his bowl with some of the crab for the morning’s Benedicts. He and Aunt Ginny were both smacking their mouths around their breakfasts when I heard Sawyer come in the front door and call down the hall. “Hellooo.”
I was getting a coffee mug down for her when she came around the corner. “I got nine roses today! And you’ll never believe what else came.”
Aunt Ginny crossed the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee. “A pony?”
Sawyer giggled. “A freezer chest full of gourmet ice cream.”
“Adrian made you ice cream?”
“That’s what I thought at first too.” She took a Mason jar out of the cabinet and filled it with water. “But they were shipped from an artisanal ice cream company in New York.”
“That’s weird. You would think a chef would make his own ice cream if it was a gift.” I sprinkled chopped mint over the medley of citrus segments and topped the salad with a dusting of pink sugar.
Aunt Ginny is always one who believes in poking the bear. “It sounds like Mr. Vartabedian has been busy.”
Sawyer looked from Aunt Ginny to me and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Adrian doesn’t want to give himself away. I think he’s playing it cool. He keeps denying everything, but I know it’s him.”
Aunt Ginny took the citrus salad out to the dining room and came back with her report. “The eagles have landed, and guess which crow will be joining them?”
My jaw dropped. I peeked through the door to the dining room and Georgina had poured herself a cup of coffee and was having a little tête-à-tête at the table with Bunny. “She wants me to wait on her now?”
Sawyer split open an English muffin for the toaster. “I’ll help you.”
I started spinning the water with a touch of vinegar for poaching the eggs and gave my hollandaise a little whisk so it wouldn’t split. “Are you sure Adrian isn’t denying everything because he really isn’t behind it?”
Sawyer shook her head “I don’t think so. I think he’s trying to make up for all our missed dates and rain checks.”
“Why are you missing dates?”
Sawyer sighed. “It’s not been easy dating a chef. He’s never available to go to dinner. He works nights and weekends and every holiday. Most of our dates have been at his restaurant when he takes a break, or we’ll meet at the twenty-four-hour diner at midnight when he gets off. It’s only been getting worse since Restaurant Week made him more successful. I think he’s being extra-romantic to make up for it.”
Aunt Ginny grunted. “You’re scaring her off, girl.”
Sawyer must have seen the distress on my face because she added, “Oh, but I’m sure it will work for you. You and Tim have such history. Plus, you’ll be working with him, so you can sneak off whenever business is slow.”
I gently cracked an egg into the spinning, simmering water and watched the white wrap around the yolk. I set my timer for three minutes and cracked another egg into the identical pot next to it.
Sawyer and Aunt Ginny practically pushed me out of the way to see into the pans. “Where’d you learn to do that?” Sawyer asked me, her eyes excited.
“Julia Child.”
They were both so impressed, I felt like a celebrity for a minute. Then Georgina burst in through the kitchen door. “How much longer, Poppy? I have to get to the theater early to practice my number. I’ve been given a starring role in Mamma Mia! now that the cast is shorthanded.”
Aunt Ginny cocked an eyebrow. “You’re starring in the play now? As what?”
The timer went off and I removed the eggs with a slotted spoon, trimmed the sides, and placed them on piles of buttery crab meat nestled on the toasted English muffins. I topped each Benedict with a cloak of hollandaise before starting on two more eggs.
Georgina rolled her shoulders back and stood taller. “I’m Greek villager number six, but I lead off the “Dancing Queen” number through the audience, so it’s an important role.”
Aunt Ginny picked up the plates and handed them to Georgina. “Well then, by all means, you should do the honors with the first two eggs.”
Georgina took the plates and tried to balance them carefully to not drop the strawberry fans and mess up the presentation. “There was talk that I might have my own dressing room.”
“I heard that too.” Aunt Ginny gave her a gentle push toward the door. “It says janitor’s closet right now, but don’t let that deter you. Just push the mop out of the way and pull on that spandex.” Aunt Ginny gave us an evil grin. “Now to spill something at the right time.”
Sawyer laughed. “You’re so naughty.”
“Don’t tell her that. It just makes it more fun for her.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aunt Ginny had gone to meet the other biddies for coffee and Sawyer and I were cleaning up from the morning’s breakfast service when there was a tap on the kitchen door from the dining room. It was Bunny Ainsworth.
“Sorry to disturb you, but I wanted to let you know that breakfast was delicious.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
“Chigsie said he had never had a better eggs Benedict anywhere.”
“Well, I take that as a huge compliment.”
�
�We were also wondering if you could set something up for us. We’d love to see inside some of these beautiful Victorian houses. Do you think you could arrange a couple of tours for us?”
“I can make some calls. I know both Angel of the Sea and the Physick estate offer tours for a small fee. Where else did you have in mind?”
“We were thinking the Queen Victoria and maybe a couple of the smaller ones. Could you arrange that? Money is no object; we can pay for their time.”
“Let me see what I can do and I’ll let you know tonight.”
Bunny grabbed my hand. “Wonderful. Thank you so much, dear.”
Sawyer was pouring herself another cup of coffee. “You want me to call a couple for you? I know the manager of the Queen Victoria.”
“No, I’ll do it. I have to establish a relationship with the other B&B owners sometime. You know what you can do for me? Look up Bennet and Darcy in New York and see if it’s an advertising firm.”
While Sawyer was searching on her phone, I called and left a message for Officer Birkwell about the Mercury across the street that was plaguing my sanity. Then I pulled out my laptop and started calling around to see who would let the Ainsworths have a private tour of their B&B. Most places were happy to oblige, especially those who charged a fee. My last call was to the manager of the Queen Victoria. It was one of the most beautiful Victorian homes on the tour circuit with its Edwardian porch, Italianate Ville turret windows, and red-cedar-sloped mansard roof. It sat on one of the most picturesque corners of the historic district. I got a young lady named Carol on the phone and introduced myself as the owner of the Butterfly Wings Bed and Breakfast.
“Right. Virginia Frankowski’s place. How’s it going?”
“It’s going well. We won’t have our big grand opening until the season starts, but we have a few guests.”
“Sure. Business will really pick up after Easter if we have good weather.”
“I have a couple right now who would love to have a tour. Do you think that could be arranged?”