On Borrowed Time

by Jenn McKinlay

  “What is?” Lindsey asked. “A crafterevening?”

  The crafternooners had decided to bump their lunch meeting to a festive evening shindig. It was the first time the room had been used since Juan Veracruz had been murdered, and Lindsey figured it was the best way to dispel the awful memories.

  The fire was roaring in the fireplace; soft holiday music played out of an iPod plugged into some speakers. They had read Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden per Beth’s request, and Lindsey was glad they had. It had been nice to read about springtime in Yorkshire when outside New England was in the frosty grip of winter.

  “Well, yes, but it’s also the first time I’ve made it to crafternoon, er, evening not in a story time costume,” Beth said.

  Lindsey glanced at her friend in her professional blouse and skirt and cute pumps.

  “You’re right,” Lindsey said. “You look like a grown-up.”

  Beth laughed. “See? First time for everything.”

  “Hot meatballs! Hot meatballs!” Violet charged into the room with her Crock-Pot while Charlene arrived right behind her carrying thick paper plates and bowls and plastic dinnerware.

  “Plug it in right here,” Lindsey said. She gestured to the buffet table they had already set up, which was sagging under two punch bowls, one for eggnog and one for a sherbet-lemon soda concoction of Nancy’s, a cheese and cracker platter and a large veggie tray.

  “Oh, this is a party!” Charlene cried. “I’m going to be as big as a house if I eat my share of all of this.”

  “Fritters, get your clam fritters and crab salad,” Mary said as she entered carrying two large bags. “Oh, this is cozy. The weather is just beginning to turn out there, but they’re not predicting much snow on the ground, just flurries.”

  Lindsey glanced out the window at the town park and saw the falling snow illuminated in the streetlamp’s golden light. It was beautiful.

  “Okay, I couldn’t make up my mind what sort of cookie to bring, so I brought a little of everything,” Nancy said. She had a large tray of cookies piled six deep, and she plopped it onto the edge of the table with a thump.

  The ladies gathered around the table and finished arranging their dishes. When they were done, they all stepped back to admire it.

  “It’s lovely,” Violet said.

  “Too pretty to eat,” Charlene agreed.

  “Nah!” Beth said. “Let’s dig in!”

  With a chorus of agreement, they all began to fill their plates. Beth reached for cookies and Nancy gave her a look.

  “Life is uncertain,” Beth said. “It is best to eat dessert first.”

  They all chuckled, and when their plates were fully loaded, they turned to take their seats, except their seats were full of men.

  “Ian Murphy!” Mary cried. “What are you doing here?”

  Ian glanced up from the copy of The Secret Garden that he clutched in his big square hands.

  “My friends and I are enjoying our crafterevening,” he said. His expression was bland as he added, “If you’ll excuse me. Now, gentlemen, where were we?”

  “I was sharing my information that the book’s working title was Mistress Mary in reference to the nursery rhyme Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary,” Sully said.

  He gave his sister a pointed look, and Mary stomped her foot and said, “Quit looking at me. I am not contrary . . . much.”

  “Wasn’t it published in serial form first?” Martin, Charlene’s husband, asked.

  “It was,” Robbie confirmed. “And given that Hodgson Burnett moved to America when she was sixteen, she did a bang-up job capturing the broad Yorkshire accents.”

  “I find the character that I most enjoyed was Dickon,” Jack said. “I admired his adventuring spirit.”

  “We do get to eat, too, right?” Charlie asked as he strode into the room with Heathcliff, who bounded at Lindsey as if he hadn’t seen her in weeks instead of hours.

  “What are you all doing here?” Nancy asked. “This is for crafternooners. You know, you read the book—”

  “Done,” the men all said together.

  “You do a craft,” Mary said.

  Suddenly, tote bags stuffed with yarn and crochet hooks appeared. Robbie fished out some sort of lengthy rope he was working on.

  “I’ve almost got the hang of it,” he said. His bright green eyes were sparkling with mirth.

  “And food,” Charlene said. “You’re supposed to bring food.”

  “On it!” Martin jumped up and exited the room. He came back carrying five large pizza boxes.

  “Well, it looks like they’ve covered it, ladies,” Beth said. “Shall we take a vote on it?”

  “Seems only reasonable,” Lindsey said.

  “All right, those is favor of letting the men stay—” Violet began but was interrupted by Mary, who added, “This time only.”

  “Say ‘Aye,’” Violet said.

  The women all glanced at one another and then at the men and then back. As one, they all said, “Aye.”

  “Any nays?” Violet asked. When no one responded, she turned to the men and said, “Okay, but just this one time.”

  From there the crafterevening turned into the most rockin’ gathering the crafternooners had ever had. Beth helped Robbie with his crochet while he coached her for her upcoming audition in the next community theater production. Charlie and Heathcliff circled the buffet five or six times, snacking all the way. Martin and Jack talked about world economics, which no one else understood except Charlene, but they all smiled and nodded as if they did.

  Ian and Mary debated putting a brick oven into their restaurant, thinking that as they got old, owning a pizza joint with a set menu might be easier to manage than a full-scale restaurant.

  Violet and Nancy talked about the next self-defense class they were going to take. Someone had recommended they sign up for tai chi, but they had gotten it confused and signed up for tae kwon do instead, so instead of calm soothing meditation, they were learning to kick ass. Somehow, that seemed about right.

  The party was half over when Lindsey realized she’d left the cheesecake she’d brought in the refrigerator in the staff break room. She excused herself from the party saying she’d be right back with cake.

  She was halfway down the hall to the main library when Sully caught up to her.

  “Need a hand?” he asked.

  She stopped and turned to look at him. “It’s cake. I think I’ve got it but thank you.”

  Sully lifted a hand and smoothed back one of her long blond curls. The gesture was so familiar it made Lindsey’s throat tight.

  “I haven’t had a chance to tell you that I’m glad you’re all right,” he said. “The other night when Antonia and her crew grabbed you, I . . .”

  As if he’d run out of steam or words, Sully stopped talking and looked at her as if he could never express how truly awful that moment had been.

  “I know,” Lindsey said. “Even with a plan in place, it was scary on my end, too.”

  They glanced at each other, and Lindsey knew that this was Sully trying to open himself up and let her in. She grinned. He was doing pretty well, too. She felt a bubble of hope float up inside her.

  She looped her hand through his arm, and they walked down the hall together.

  “Oh, hey, look here,” he said. He stopped walking and pointed up at a holly bough hanging in the doorway. “Is that—why, I do believe it is. Mistletoe.”

  Lindsey raised one eyebrow and looked at him suspiciously. “Funny, I don’t remember that being a part of the garland when I put it there.”

  “Must be fate,” Sully said.

  “Oh, no, I’ll tell you what it is,” she said. “It’s disgusting.”

  Sully’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Every year I field reference calls about what exactly mis
tletoe is,” Lindsey said. “It’s nasty, that’s what it is. It’s a parasitic plant that chokes the life out of its host by taking its water and nutrients, oh, and if that isn’t enough, guess how it moves around?”

  “No idea,” Sully said drily.

  “Bird feces,” Lindsey said and wrinkled her nose. “Mistletoe moves from host to host by having birds poop the seeds out after they’ve eaten the berries. Gross.”

  Sully glanced from the plant overhead to Lindsey and smiled.

  “Funny, you would think that would be more off-putting than it is,” he said.

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her, and Lindsey forgot all about reference questions and cheesecake and kissed him back with every bit of longing she’d felt over the past few months. The bubble of hope inside her swelled to bursting.

  When Sully leaned back, he looked at her with a heat that warmed her all the way down to her toes.

  “I’d say it’s shaping up to be a happy new year after all,” he said. Then he grinned.

  “Yes, yes, it is,” she agreed and gave him a saucy wink.

  The Briar Creek Library Guide to Crafternoons

  Book talk, food and crafting—is there a better way to spend a lunch hour than this? The Briar Creek crafternooners think not. Lindsey and her friends always look forward to their time together even if the talk is sometimes more personal than just about the book they’ve read that week. Here are some ideas from the ladies to kick-start your own crafternoon to share a book, a craft and good food with good friends.

  Readers Guide for The Woman in White

  by Wilkie Collins

  The Woman in White is considered one of the first true mystery novels ever written. Do you agree with this and why?

  There are multiple mysteries entwined in this novel, such as switched identities, falsified records and secret societies. Which one is your favorite and why?

  Because there are several mysteries, there are also a couple of amateur sleuths. Which do you believe is the better detective: Marian Halcombe, the heroine’s half sister and companion, or Walter Hartright, the heroine’s art teacher and love interest?

  The author, Wilkie Collins, was a close personal friend of Charles Dickens. Do you see any similarities in their work, and if so, in what way?

  Critics suggest that the theme of the novel is an examination of the unfair position of a married woman at the time. Do you agree with this, or do you see a different theme?

  Craft: Recycling Candles

  It does not get much easier than this. Even if you’re like Lindsey, who is not very good at crafts, melting wax is pretty simple and can be a lot of fun.

  Supplies:

  Cotton string

  Pencils

  Clean canning jars (or any substantial glass container)

  Old half-used candles

  Small pot

  Electric warming plate

  Cut the string a few inches longer than needed to reach the bottom of the jar. Tie the string to a pencil, and balance the pencil on the top of a canning jar. The string should touch the bottom. Melt the old bits of candle wax in the pot on the warming plate until the wax can be poured easily. Carefully pour the wax into the jar. If using different-colored candles, consider melting the wax in alternating colors, and when one layer is cool, pour a new layer on top. When the candle is as high as you want, trim the string, leaving just enough to be a wick for the candle.

  Recipes

  BETH’S SPINACH DIP

  1 (10-ounce) package frozen chopped spinach

  1 (16-ounce) container sour cream

  1 (8-ounce) can sliced water chestnuts, drained and chopped

  1 cup mayonnaise

  1 package Knorr vegetable soup mix

  3 green onions chopped (optional)

  Mix all the ingredients in a large bowl and let chill for 2 hours. Serve in the bowl with dipping options such as bread cubes, crackers or fresh veggies on the side. You can also hollow out a large round loaf of sourdough bread and put the dip inside. Tear up the removed inside of the bread for dipping. Yum.

  VIOLET AND CHARLENE’S MEATBALLS

  2 (16-ounce) cans tomato sauce

  2 (16-ounce) cans diced tomatoes in water

  2½ tablespoons oregano

  1½ tablespoons rosemary

  1½ tablespoons basil

  1 tablespoon onion powder

  Several pinches thyme

  1⁄3 cup extra virgin olive oil

  6 cloves pressed garlic

  ½ tablespoon ground black pepper

  1 bag frozen Italian meatballs, fully cooked

  Mix all the ingredients except the meatballs in a large pot and heat to a boil. Reduce the heat and let simmer for three and a half hours, stirring occasionally. Add the meatballs and cook at medium heat for another half hour until the meatballs are hot.

  NANCY’S FRUIT CAKE COOKIES

  1¾ cups flour

  ½ teaspoon baking soda

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  1 cup packed light brown sugar

  6 tablespoons butter, softened

  2 tablespoons shortening

  1 large egg

  1 cup pitted prunes, chopped

  1 cup golden raisins

  ½ cup red candied cherries, chopped

  ½ cup sweetened shredded coconut

  3 ounces white chocolate

  Preheat oven to 375°F. Grease a large cookie sheet. In a large bowl, combine flour, baking soda, salt, and set aside. In another large bowl, with mixer on low, beat brown sugar, butter, and shortening until blended. Add egg and mix until creamy. Add flour mixture, prunes, raisins, cherries and coconut until just blended. Drop dough by rounded teaspoonfuls onto cookie sheet two inches apart. Bake 10-12 minutes until golden around edges. Allow to cool. Arrange cookies in one layer on a large sheet of wax paper. In a small saucepan, melt the white chocolate over low heat until smooth. Using a fork, drizzle white chocolate on top of all of the cookies and allow to set. Store in a tightly sealed container. Makes about 3 dozen.

  Turn the page for a preview of Jenn McKinlay’s next Hat Shop Mystery . . .

  AT THE DROP OF A HAT

  Coming February 2015 from Berkley Prime Crime!

  I stood at the counter of Mim’s Whims, the hat shop I inherited from my grandmother, Mim, along with my cousin Vivian Tremont, and I gazed out the window. All I could see was gray.

  Gray clouds, gray sheets of rain, gray fog filling the streets and alleyways, gray, gray, gray. Or, as the Brits like to spell it, grey.

  Our shop is nestled in the midst of Portobello Road and takes up the bottom floor of the three-story white building that our grandmother bought over forty years ago. I’ve always loved it and found the bright blue and white striped awning and matching blue shutters on the windows above to be cheerful, but even they couldn’t defeat the never-ending gloom that seemed to descend upon our section of London.

  As I was raised in the States and hailed most recently from Florida, this weather was pushing me just to the right of crazy.

  Three solid weeks of rain will do that to a girl. Besides, I was quite sure I was going to sprout mold if I didn’t get some sunshine and soon.

  “It’s the last one,” Fee said. “You should have it.”

  “No, no, I insist you take it,” Viv said. She tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder as if the gesture added weight to her argument.

  Fee is Fiona Felton, my cousin Viv’s apprentice. She’s a very nice girl with a tall willowy build, a dark complexion courtesy of her West Indies heritage and a bob of corkscrew curls that she liked to dye new and different colors. Currently, she was rocking green streaks, which I thought was pretty cool but would look hideous in my own auburn shoulder-length hair.

  Viv is my cousin Vivian Tremont. She’s the mad hatter of
our little trio. Growing up down the street, she trained to be a milliner beside Mim. My own attempts at millinery were encouraged, but it became readily apparent that I did not have the family gift for twining ribbons into flowers or shaping brims or anything artistic or even crafty.

  Viv and Fee were standing on the other side of the counter, taking a break from their current creations in the workroom. They were pushing a plate back and forth between them which contained one rogue piece of Walker’s Toffee, which was the last of the package we had been nibbling on all day.

  “After such a large tea this afternoon, I couldn’t eat another bite,” Fee said.

  “Fee, honestly, I insist you take the last piece of toffee,” Viv said. She sounded very bossy about it.

  “No, you absolutely must have it,” Fee said. She blew a green curl out of her eyes.

  “Oh, for goodness sakes,” I said. “I’ll eat it just to end this.”

  I scooped up the last piece of toffee and popped it into my mouth. Viv and Fee both turned to look at me with wide eyes.

  “What?” I asked while chewing.

  “Nothing,” Fee said and glanced away.

  “It’s fine,” Viv agreed.

  I stopped chewing. I knew the stone-sinking sensation of committing a social gaffe when I felt it.

  “Aw, man,” I said. “I messed that up, didn’t I?”

  “It’s fine, honestly,” Viv said.

  Which is how I knew it really wasn’t.

  “What did I do?” I asked. “Did I not force it on you two enough?”

  “You’re making fun of us,” Viv said.

  I swallowed the last of the toffee. “No, my American brain is just trying to figure out how pushing something that you apparently really want onto others makes sense? If you want it, take it.”

  “That’s not our way,” Fee said. “There are just certain things we do out of politeness, like saying ‘Cheers’ when you step off the bus.”