by Libby Klein
“I forgot that was there. It’s not mine.”
Gia raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, it is mine, but I bought it by accident. It was supposed to be water.” I could feel my face getting hot. “I’m not old.”
Gia leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and was giving me enough rope to hang myself.
“I mean, I’m not young anymore, but I’m not old-lady-shake old.” I cleared my throat and waited. Outside, Aunt Ginny honked the horn.
Gia laughed. “I think you are just right.” He kissed my forehead. “Now take your nonna shake and call me tomorrow.”
Aunt Ginny honked the horn again.
“If they haven’t killed me by then.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“These Spunks have seen better days.”
Figaro sniffed at my tourniquet of delumping.
“I don’t think they were intended to be washed every night.”
Figaro sat to his full height and blinked at me, which I took to mean, I don’t think they were intended to be stretched to within an inch of their life every day.
I tried to put on my dress pants without the Spunks, but I still couldn’t button them. I considered using rubber bands like a pregnant woman, but the many wardrobe malfunctions I’ve had over the years flew to my memory like a cautionary tale. Another day in the sausage casing it is.
Why isn’t this diet working? I could have been eating pizza and not losing weight. I dressed in a pink, flowery blouse appropriate for afternoon tea and finished my hair and makeup. By the time I’d made it to the kitchen to start the breakfast service, Aunt Ginny had fed Figaro and filled the carafe with French press Guatemalan.
“Did you hear the fracas last night?”
I picked up a coffee mug. “No. What happened?”
“Joey and Val had quite an argument.”
“About what?”
“Apparently, something went wrong at the massage.”
“Oh dear.”
I got out my breakfast ingredients. Today I was serving a breakfast version of peach cobbler with custard sauce and baked eggs in ham cups with crème fraiche and herbs. Aunt Ginny liked to keep an eye on the dining room through the crack in the kitchen door and she finally gave me the “go” command. “Three out of four have landed.”
I took the peach cobbler in to the table, and Aunt Ginny followed me with the custard sauce. Joey was sitting at the table by himself looking a little worse for the wear. “Good morning. Will Val be joining us?”
Joey’s eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “She don’t feel good this morning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Does she need anything?”
“No. She’ll be all right.”
Georgina flounced into the dining room wearing a black leotard, white tights, a one-shouldered pink sweatshirt, and pink leg warmers. She had her hair piled up and held together with a sweatband. I was sure Georgina had never worn a sweatband a day in her life.
Aunt Ginny brought in the baked eggs, took one look at Georgina, and almost knocked over the cranberry juice.
Georgina took her seat at the head of the table. “Good morning, everyone. I need a good breakfast today, Poppy. It’s going to be a grueling practice.”
“Sure. And you’ve got that big shower finish to get through.”
Georgina blinked at me a couple of times with her baked egg on the way to her plate.
“If you want to practice, I can spray you with the hose in the kitchen.”
I saw the tiniest flicker of a grin on Joey’s face.
My cell phone buzzed in my apron pocket and I gave Georgina an innocent smile. I handed Bunny the list I had put together of possible homes to visit. “Here are a few places that would love to give you a tour. Just call them when you’re on your way and they’ll be ready for you.”
“Thank you, Poppy. We can’t wait to get into some of these, can we, Chigsie?”
Chigsie didn’t look up from his newspaper. “Yes, dear.”
On the way back into the kitchen, I noticed Figaro sitting on the top shelf of the curio cabinet next to a statue of a Siamese, frozen in place like he was trying to blend in. His orange vest had turned around backward, and he had one paw sticking out of the neck hole. I hoped none of the guests had noticed him and I made eyes at Aunt Ginny. I rolled my eyes over to Figaro, who didn’t twitch a whisker.
Aunt Ginny walked over, tucked his paw in, spun his vest around, then picked up the empty coffee carafe and went through the kitchen door, leaving him there like a bookend.
That wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind. My cell phone buzzed again. When I got back in the kitchen, I checked my messages. Three missed calls from Tim and a selfie from Sawyer, posing with ten roses and a scented candle. I sure hoped Adrian would be able to fulfill these unspoken promises he was making.
I called Tim while I had a minute, before the next carafe of coffee was ready.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Good morning.”
“First of all, I’m crazy about you.”
I giggled. “O-kay. I think you’re pretty neat too.”
“Second, I know Valentine’s Day is Saturday.”
“Yeees.” I hope he isn’t about to ask me out for the same time I’m supposed to go to dinner with Gia. See, this is why I didn’t want to get involved with both of them. I’m not made out to be a player . . .
“I’m sorry I won’t be able to take you to dinner or anything.”
Oh.
“This one’s a double whammy, being a holiday and a Saturday.”
“Oh right. I guess you’ll be pretty busy.”
“We’ve been booked solid for it for a month. We can’t even take a walk-in. But you can come hang out with me if you want. I might not be able to really pay attention to you because we’ll probably be in the weeds all night, but I’d love to have you here.”
“You know, that’s okay.” If I was a jerk, I’d tell him I have plans with Gia. “Don’t worry about me. We can do something after the holiday.”
“I knew you’d understand. You get what it’s like to be a chef.”
I swelled with pride. If he was trying to butter me up, he was on the right track.
“There is one thing I need to talk to you about.”
“What’s that?”
“You know those bad reviews you’ve been getting?”
“The ones that’re keeping me awake at night? Haven’t seen them.”
“Well, they’ve kind of jumped over to Maxine’s now.”
The bottom fell out of my good mood. “Are you kidding me?” I put him on Speaker and started scrolling through the review sites.
“We’ve had three in the past week and they’re all blaming the desserts as the problem.”
“Do you see what I mean? This isn’t a fluke, Tim. This has to be personal. Every place I’ve made food for is getting bad reviews all of a sudden. Someone is out to destroy me. Do you think it’s a rival bed-and-breakfast?”
“Well, let’s not get carried away yet. I’m not worried about the reviews because I think they’re pure garbage. All we get in-house is praise for your stuff. I’ve had to put the kibosh on the staff from eating the desserts because we’re running low as it is. Chuck can’t stay out of that mousse.”
In the background, I heard Chuck. “It’s like peanut butter crack.”
I would have giggled had I not been so miserable. CWKlinger left Maxine’s Bistro one star saying, “This was the worst cheesecake I’ve ever had. Whose idea was it to put chocolate and Grand Marnier together?” Then why did you order Grand Marnier chocolate cheesecake, CWKlinger, you idiot! It wasn’t exactly a surprise.
Tim purred comforting words. “I don’t want you to be upset by this, Mack. I just wanted you to hear it from me first. We’re going to figure this out together.”
Aunt Ginny put a cup of coffee down in front of me and I gave her a grateful smile.
“Thanks, Tim.”
“On another note
, do you think I could put in a big order with you for the weekend?”
I laughed to myself. “Are you sure you want to use me in light of the reviews?”
“Hey, if people didn’t love your desserts so much I wouldn’t have to keep begging for the goods.”
I smiled. “Okay, lay it on me.”
“So how about four cheesecakes—two chocolate orange and two white chocolate raspberry—two trays of crème brûlée, three peanut butter mousses, and I need a big-finish dessert. What do you think?”
“I’d go with Strawberries Romanoff Shortcake. I’ve already got the orange liqueur, so I can macerate the berries for you. I can make a sheet pan of vanilla bean pound cake, and you can have Carlos—the sommelier—flambé them before spooning over ice cream if you really want to up the wow factor.”
“Oh my God, Mack, that’s genius. I’ll have Chuck deliver the ingredients this morning, plus it’ll get him out of my hair for a while—and don’t worry about the reviews, I’m on it.”
We hung up. Now he’s on it.
Chapter Forty
The morning had gotten away from me, and I called Tim and told him that he would have to have Chuck swing back to pick up the desserts. I was so far behind schedule that I almost sent Aunt Ginny to Fiona’s by herself until Mrs. Galbraith kindly offered to take the cheesecakes out of the oven when they were done.
“I really appreciate your flexibility this week, Mrs. Galbraith.”
The older woman flicked her frown up to a straight line, which from her was as good as a smile. “At time and a half, it’s no trouble at all.”
Oh, right. “Well, you’re in charge until Connie can get here tonight to take over.”
Aunt Ginny came down the hall dressed in a tea-length, pink satin gown and white opera gloves. She pointed at Fig. “Figaro, you’re in charge.”
Figaro stretched and attempted to scratch the wicker umbrella basket by the front door. Mrs. Galbraith snapped her fingers. “Stop it!”
Figaro shot up the stairs with his ears flattened and we heard him gallop down the hall in protest as we left for the tea party.
* * *
Fiona lived in a little cottage a few blocks off the beach. It was robin’s-egg blue with white trim, and there were giant hydrangeas planted on either side of the front porch that would be gorgeous come springtime. She had a pink Valentine’s flag hanging next to the front door with two bunnies hugging each other surrounded by hearts. There were statues of bunnies all through the yard. Bunnies on swings, bunnies in wheelbarrows, bunnies under mushrooms, bunnies selling carrots at a farmstand.
Aunt Ginny gave me a wry look. “Someone likes rabbits.”
“I would say so.”
Fiona answered the door. “We were wondering what was keeping you.”
I handed her a plate of chocolate-dipped shortbread. “I’m sorry, I had a rather large order to fill for my friend’s restaurant.”
“That’s okay, I was just about to pour the tea.” Fiona led us through a maze of Longaberger baskets and Marie Osmond dolls to a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling curio cabinets overflowing with Precious Moments’ figurines, bright Murano glass clowns, and vintage perfume bottles. My eyes had trouble taking in the cornucopia of colors and shapes.
Aunt Ginny whispered, “Holy Mother of God.”
There were a few places where I could just make out the blue wallpaper with yellow butterflies peeking out behind massive paintings of Harlequins. There wasn’t a bare surface in the room. Every table, shelf, and box window was covered with some kind of collectible, down to the stuffed white Persian in a wicker basket sitting on the faded mauve wall-to-wall carpet.
The other biddies were lined up in a row on a rose chintz sofa, raptly watching our faces with a tenuous hold on their glee, waiting to see which of us would crack first.
Royce stood to hug Aunt Ginny and then hugged me before taking his seat on a folding chair next to Fiona.
I spun in a slow circle, taking it all in. “Wow, Fiona. You have quite the collection of... everything.”
Fiona produced a brass bell from her voluminous dress pocket and gave it a jingle. “My late husband, Edgar, was very generous. He indulged me in whatever I wanted.”
Iggy appeared much like Lurch from The Addams Family. Wearing black jeans, a short-sleeved, buttoned-up plaid shirt, and a mustard-colored bow tie. He was clearly not on board with this plan.
“Iggy, bring the sandwiches now, dear.”
Iggy trundled back out of the living room in a snit.
Fiona sat on a pink chair shaped like a giant clamshell. “Well, make yourselves at home.”
I looked around and decided to move the stack of Fingerhut catalogs off the edge of the love seat so I could sit next to Aunt Ginny.
Iggy returned with a tower of tea sandwiches that would put the Ritz to shame. Cucumber cream cheese, egg salad, cheese with chutney, and little roast beef with horseradish cream on minibaguette rounds. I hadn’t expected to be tempted this afternoon and I died a little inside when they passed around the plates. Aunt Ginny was too busy snuggling up to Royce on the other side to feel my pain.
Mrs. Dodson was shifting her eyes back and forth in the direction of the hallway.
What? I mouthed to her.
She made eyes at Mother Gibson, who then touched the statue on the table next to her of twin dolphins jumping over a manatee. “Fiona, is that Capodimonte?”
“Why yes, it is. I just love the detail on the manatee’s face, don’t you?”
Mother Gibson was looking at the statue like it was a vampire squid. “Yes, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Mrs. Dodson leaned in to me and through gritted teeth said, “Go check Iggy’s room.”
“Check it for what?”
“Anything incriminating.”
I drained my teacup and went in search of whatever would placate the biddies and keep them from making a scene later. I crept down the hallway toward the sounds of gunfire and explosions coming through the crack of a door. The glow of a huge television illuminated Iggy slumped in a beanbag with a video game controller in his hands. The only other furniture in the room was a low table and the corner piece of an old sectional. Iggy hadn’t noticed me, what with the busty alien on screen diverting his attention, so I slinked further down the hall.
Next was a purple bedroom that matched the living room in style and substance. This was obviously Fiona’s. There was so much to look at. My eyes darted from porcelain dolls to Beanie Babies to wooden angels to Winnie the Pooh china. There were even a few packages that hadn’t been opened yet sitting next to the bed. I felt a migraine coming on. Also, I kind of wanted a grape Nehi.
I forced myself to shut the door and keep going until I found a neat and tidy bedroom with one queen bed, a matching dresser and nightstand with a model of the Starship Enterprise, and in the corner, a little desk. I glanced back down the hallway to make sure that Iggy was still occupied in his space battle and crept into the room and over to the desk.
Iggy had been in the process of balancing Fiona’s checkbook and doing the bills. The checking account was in the negative by a couple of hundred dollars. It was easy to see where the problem was. The credit card statements read like the inventory of an Amazon warehouse. Line after line of small purchases to the Home Shopping Network, Figi’s, Harry & David, Seventh Avenue, and the Franklin Mint. You name it, Fiona bought it.
I leafed through the stack of bills sitting next to the checkbook and saw that the mortgage was past due. I gently placed it back on the desk and my eyes caught the edge of something familiar peeking out from under a Roaman’s Plus Size Clothing catalog. I slid the women’s catalog to the side and revealed an insurance policy with MetLife. I unfolded it to the declarations page and read. The insured was Royce Hansen in the amount of $250,000, and the beneficiary was listed as Fiona Sharpe.
“Who said you could come into my room?”
I jumped and fumbled the policy. I tucked it, unfolded and slo
ppy, under the stack of bills and grabbed a bobblehead doll from the top of the desk and spun around. “Is this your room? I’m so sorry. I got lost looking for the bathroom and my eye caught your fabulous little . . .” What the heck is this? A baseball player? “Bobblehead. I collect these too. Is this one Derek Jeter?” I hope Derek Jeter is a baseball player. Or at least a real person. I had no idea where that name came from.
Iggy snatched the bobblehead from my hands. “It’s Luke Skywalker. Why are you touching my things? Were you going through my bills?”
“No. Not on purpose.”
“Then why are they all messed up? I had them perfectly lined up with the grain of wood.” He patted them back into a perfect stack.
Psycho. “You see, what had happened was, I came in to look at your Luke Skywalker guy and accidentally knocked your papers off your desk.” I ran my hand down my hip and tried to look seductive and not desperate. “Sometimes these things have a mind of their own.”
Iggy’s eyes narrowed to slits that would give Fig a run for his tuna.
Seduction fail. “I picked them up and thought I’d put them back the way you had them. I’m so sorry if I got them out of order.”
Iggy leaned in close to my face to try to see the back of my retina. My ophthalmologist stood further away when she was checking for glaucoma. I felt a trickle of sweat run down the center of my Spunks. I reached out and flicked the bobblehead and said in my most awkward Darth Vader wheeze. “Luke . . . I am your father.”
Iggy was not amused. He spun like a revolving door and pointed to the hall. “Get out. If I find you in here again, I’ll call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.”
I made it to the hall and turned around. “I don’t think you can be arrested for trespassing in one room when you’re an invited guest.”
Iggy slammed the door in my face.
I took a step back. Whoa. That was all kinds of weird.
Then a little bell rang, and Iggy’s door flew open again. He grabbed my arm and marched me down the hall to the living room.
Fiona didn’t see anything unusual about her precious baby boy manhandling a guest, even though manhandling is definitely not proper afternoon tea party etiquette. “Please bring in the scones, Ignatius.”