by JoAnna Carl
Until Sissy started work, that office housed the whole business department. I definitely couldn’t share it with another person; it would barely hold my desk. So we had adapted a small storage room for Sissy. She and I had to walk through a corner of the shop to reach each other, though we did have an intercom as part of our telephone system. But Sissy was pretty much stuck in a closet—a well-ventilated closet, but a very small space in an inconspicuous part of the business.
Until the parade started, I hadn’t realized this would turn out to be a big advantage. Because beginning Monday morning, we had a small boom in business.
The retail shop is always busy during the summer tourist season, but that morning we weren’t drawing tourists. No, we were invaded by locals.
Barbara, manager of our bank branch, came in to buy a half pound of Amaretto truffles (“milk chocolate filling flavored with almond liqueur, enrobed in milk chocolate, and dusted with chopped almonds”).
“These are my mom’s favorites,” she said, “and tomorrow is her birthday.”
She spoke a little too casually, and she looked all around the office and the shop. It was obvious Barbara was checking out the news that we’d hired Sissy Smith.
“Nice present,” I said. “I’m glad you came in. I want you to meet our new bookkeeper. She’ll be doing some of our banking.”
“Oh! You’ve finally hired some office help?”
“Sure have.”
We both sounded as innocent as lambs.
I took Barbara’s money, then led her back to Sissy’s little office. The two of them shook hands, and we all acted friendly and casual.
It was after Barbara left that Sissy spoke. “The gauntlet begins,” she said. “Everybody’s going to want to get a look at me.”
“Warner Pier is a small town,” I said. “There aren’t that many people to come by for a look. How are you coming with the payroll records?”
“You haven’t asked me to do anything complicated yet.”
“I warned you the job would be routine.”
“Routine sounds great. After the past four months, I love routine.”
Barbara’s visit set the pattern for the day.
At ten thirty, Sarajane, the B and B owner, came in personally to buy five pounds of mint truffles (“dark chocolate mint-flavored filling, covered in dark chocolate, and embellished with pale green stripes”). She buys these all the time to place on her guests’ pillows, but usually she expects me to deliver them.
At eleven o’clock, Jason Foster, who runs the Warner Point Restaurant, bought several pounds of Kahlúa truffles (“milk chocolate centers, flavored with coffee liqueur, covered with milk chocolate and decorated with dark chocolate stripes”). He said he was going to experiment with offering them to accompany after-dinner coffee. Since Jason already offers a fabulous dessert cart, I didn’t really expect him to add TenHuis chocolates to his menu, but I didn’t turn down the money.
After lunch, four Warner Pier teachers came in and indulged in just one bonbon each. One had Asian spice (“milk chocolate center flavored with exotic spices and enrobed in milk chocolate, then embellished with ground ginger”). Two had French vanilla (“milk chocolate center with a milk chocolate coating, decorated with crumbled white chocolate”). The fourth went for nocturne, our darkest chocolate. Both center and coating are dark chocolate, and it’s even decorated with shaved dark chocolate. I could hear them telling the counter girls that they’d skipped the fabulous peach melba at Herrera’s, the town’s most elegant restaurant, so they could each splurge on a TenHuis chocolate.
None of these people got a look at Sissy, however. She was occupied in her office, and I didn’t offer to call her out to put her on display.
About fifteen or twenty other Warner Pier people came in—people I wouldn’t have expected to see, that is. In June, most of our customers are tourists, with a sprinkling of summer people. But that day it seemed that lots of locals had decided they needed expensive chocolate.
In fact, I began to get a bit annoyed at the parade. It was so obvious that they wanted to gawk at Sissy. Then I reminded myself to have a sense of humor. The “new” would wear off soon enough. People would get used to Sissy as a regular part of our downtown scene.
Or that was what I thought until about four forty-five.
That was when Sissy came around to my office, and at the same time a woman I didn’t know walked in the front door.
I immediately knew something was wrong. Sissy took a deep breath, and the tension in the shop grew as thick as my grandma’s mashed-potato soup.
The woman was slightly familiar, in the way that nearly everybody in a town this small is familiar. I’d probably seen her at the grocery store or the post office. But I didn’t know her.
I guessed her age at mid-fifties. Her most distinctive feature was that she layered her makeup on with a trowel, and her second most distinctive feature was phony blond hair.
Okay, I admit that as a natural blonde, I’m critical of other people’s dye jobs. I have a rather smug feeling that they’re going to work hard and spend a lot of money, but the light blond hair I got from my Dutch ancestors is still going to look better than their expensive dos. But this hair was really awful. The color was harsh and the texture dry. Why anyone would want to have hair like that was beyond me.
The other thing I didn’t understand was the stillness that fell over Sissy and the woman.
Then Sissy spoke, and the stillness went away. “Hello, Helen,” she said. “Still busy spreading joy everywhere?”
Chocolate Chat
Since its earliest days, chocolate has been assigned medicinal or health functions.
Chocolate was cultivated by the Olmec Indians in South America as early as 1500 BC. By the time Europeans entered the picture in the 1500s, it was grown, processed, and used by many tribes in South and Central America and by the Aztecs in Mexico. At that time, chocolate was a bitter drink, and it was too expensive for ordinary people. Only the wealthiest and most important could afford it.
Those ancient chocoholics believed chocolate brought wisdom, knowledge, vitality, strength, and other qualities associated with good health.
The Aztec emperor Montezuma reportedly drank chocolate before visiting his harem. Was this the first link of chocolate with romance?
Over the years, chocolate was credited with relieving diarrhea and even improving an upset stomach caused by a hangover. Chocolate makers said their product encouraged sleep, cured the common cold, brought quick energy, and eased mental stress. Plus, they claimed it even reduced belching.
Chapter 5
“I try, Sissy!” The woman’s voice dripped sugar sweeter than anything TenHuis Chocolade sells. She hadn’t seemed to notice the sarcastic edge to Sissy’s voice. “You’re looking as pretty as ever!”
“Thanks, Helen.”
Sissy turned toward me, but the new customer kept talking. “And how’s that darling little boy of yours?”
“He’s fine.”
“His grandpa would sure love to see him.”
Sissy’s only answer was a smile—a rather strained smile. Then she turned away from the woman and spoke to me. “I have a question, Lee.”
“Sure,” I said.
Sissy closed the door and stepped closer to my desk. Since the door to my office is just a sheet of glass, that didn’t accomplish much, but at least it gave the illusion of privacy.
“If you’re going to tell secrets,” I said, speaking in a low voice, “I’d better warn you this office is not soundproof.”
“No secrets. I just had a question about Tracy’s hours.”
She handed me Tracy’s time sheet, and we both looked at it, with our heads close together.
I spoke in a whisper. “Who’s the old bag with the slut makeup?”
Sissy broke up. Rarely have I had such a reaction to a remark, at least one I have made to be deliberately funny. Because of my habit—maybe I’d better call it an affliction—of getting my tongue
tangled, I frequently get unsought laughs, but I’m not exactly witty.
My little funny broke the tension, and Sissy whooped with laughter. “I’ll tell you later,” she said.
We settled Tracy’s time card quickly, and Sissy left. She nodded to Helen and walked rapidly toward her cubbyhole. But the woman with the homemade blond hair called out before Sissy escaped.
“Oh, Sissy! How is your grandmother?”
Sissy slowed, but she kept walking. “Fine,” she said. Then she disappeared into the back.
“Helen,” whoever she was, stuck around until nearly five o’clock, asking the counter girls questions about every item in the showcase. She finally selected a four-piece box of blackberry truffles (“dark chocolate filling flavored with real Michigan blackberries, covered with dark chocolate and embellished with a swirl of purple”).
As soon as she was out the door, I headed back to Sissy’s office and sat down in the one extra chair. “Now, who the heck is Helen?”
Sissy hesitated, so I spoke again. “I’m sure you’ve already discovered that I’m a deeply nosy person. If it’s none of my business, just tell me to get lost.”
“Oh, there’s no secret. Helen Ferguson works for Ace Smith, my father-in-law. She calls herself his housekeeper. Which is a fancy term for cleaning woman.”
“Housekeeper sounds as if she heads a staff.”
“Unless things have changed for Ace, he doesn’t have a staff. Buzz’s mom died twelve years ago, and Ace batches it. The few times I was at his house, the house looked as if some old bachelor lived there. I think Helen comes once a week and shovels it out.”
Sissy clenched her hands together and stared at her interlocked fingers. “Helen and I never liked each other. I’m sure that was obvious.”
“How come she dyes her hair that odd color?”
“I’m afraid that was my fault. After Ace became a full-time resident of Warner Pier three years ago, Helen began to play up to him. It became a sort of joke to Buzz and me, but Ace seemed oblivious to what was going on.
“I began to feel sorry for her. I decided she needed to be discouraged in her pursuit. Finally, I made a remark something like, ‘If Ace fell for anyone, it would probably be some ditsy blonde.’ The next time I saw Helen…” She shook her head.
“She’d become a ditsy blonde.”
“Right.” Sissy looked up. “I guess I feel guilty about it. I’m sure Ace has no interest in Helen. He treats her like part of the furniture. Then there was another complication—Helen’s daughter, Fran. Helen used to push her at Buzz.”
“So both Helen and Fran may have seen you as a rival of sorts.”
“Actually, I don’t think Fran ever had any interest in Buzz. Buzz certainly never had any interest in her. But Helen is one of these women who think it’s good to be chased by lots of men. She was always telling people how popular her daughter was and pushed her to wear sexy clothes and act in ways—well, ways my grandmother didn’t encourage. In high school, Fran’s popularity wasn’t always the kind everyone envies.”
“The class slut?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. More the class tease. Fran is married now, and I think she lives in Grand Rapids.”
Sissy and I both sighed. I couldn’t think of any remark to make about the situation with Helen, so I changed the subject. “Any comments after your first day at TenHuis?”
“I’m glad you put a limit on how much chocolate the employees can eat. I could gain a lot of weight.”
“Two pieces a day. And I eat both of mine every day. Is your grandmother shocked at your working for people whose livelihood is based on refined sugar?”
“Not at all. She thinks each of us should follow his own conscience. Her diet ideas are preferences, not moral choices.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
Sissy laughed. “She’s a character!”
We discussed a few more things, and it was time to close up. The workroom and the business office close at five. The retail shop stays open until nine during the tourist season.
I went back to my office to get my purse. I felt that Sissy had made a good start on her job, and the ladies in the shop had seemed to accept her without drama.
Which showed what I knew, because at that moment the next act of the play began.
Enter: a good-looking guy with a lot of star power.
He didn’t leap in like a swashbuckler or fall in like a comedian. He simply opened the street door and walked in. But he gave the effect of being announced by a fanfare of trumpets and illuminated by a spotlight.
The newcomer had handsome features, true, but it wasn’t just his looks that brought attention. Personality oozed from every pore. He was tall, with sandy blond hair, broad shoulders, and a grin that was just slightly crooked.
Behind the counter, Tracy caught her breath, and the second counter girl, Mary Ann, dropped a bonbon on the floor. My jaw began to fall; I barely caught it before it hit the desk. Time seemed to stand still. All three of us simply stared at him.
The guy walked over to the counter, grinned his crooked grin, and spoke. “Is Sissy Smith still here?”
Time began moving again when we heard his voice. Not that there was anything wrong with his voice, which was a pleasant baritone. But he didn’t issue a call to arms or break into song. He simply spoke in an ordinary tone.
Tracy answered in a breathy whisper. “Sissy’s in the back.”
The newcomer was still smiling. “I wanted to give her these,” he said. And he held up a bouquet. I’d been so fascinated by the guy that I hadn’t noticed he was carrying it.
The bouquet was centered with tiny white flowers, almost like wildflowers. These were surrounded by broad green leaves. It was very different from the usual florist’s offering.
Tracy moved to the door to the shop and called out. “Sissy!” This time her voice squeaked.
Sissy walked around the corner with her head down. She was digging in her purse and held two TenHuis T-shirts (optional wear for business office employees) under her arm. “I’m coming,” she said. “Or, rather, I’m going. I’ve got to pick up the kid. Did I forget something?”
Tracy squeaked again. “Someone’s here to see you.”
Sissy looked up then. Her face was as blank as everyone else’s face for a moment. Then she spoke. “Chip!”
She had stopped in the doorway to the shop, but the handsome guy moved around the end of the counter to meet her.
“It’s sure good to see you,” he said, then leaned way over and tried to kiss her. I think he aimed for her mouth, but Sissy stepped backward, and he missed. All she got was an air kiss.
“What in the world are you doing here?”
“I brought you flowers.”
“Oh. Well, thanks. But what are you doing in Warner Pier?”
“I have a month’s leave.”
“Are you staying with Ace?”
“Yes.”
“Better not let him find out you came to see me, or you’ll be going to a hotel.”
“I told him I was going to see you, and he didn’t warn me off. How about a quick drink?”
Sissy shook her head. “No thanks, Chip. I have to pick up Johnny.”
“Later? Tomorrow?”
“Thanks, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I suddenly realized I was staring, watching the whole scene as if it were any of my business. Wake up, I told myself firmly. Mind your own business for once.
I slammed my desk drawer and moved toward my office door. Of course, to get to my parking space behind the shop I had to pass Sissy and the big handsome guy. I turned sideways and tried to edge past them.
“Lee.” Sissy stopped me. “This is Chip Smith. He’s Buzz’s cousin, and he was also his best friend.”
We shook hands and made polite noises.
“I overheard you say you’re on leave, Chip,” I said. “Are you serving in the military?”
“No, I work for a defense contractor. I’ve
been posted abroad for two years.”
“That sounds like hard duty.”
“Not so bad.”
All this time we’d had the door between the shop and the workroom blocked, and I became aware that Sissy was trying to edge toward the front of the shop. I moved aside, trying to open a path for her. “Did you say you need to pick up your little boy, Sissy?”
“Yes, I do. Chip, it’s great to see you.”
“I want to see Johnny, too. He was brand-new the last time I was home.”
“That would be nice. Call me and we’ll arrange a playdate for you. But be sure you feel up to a strenuous piggyback session.”
She and Chip both laughed, and he also turned toward the outside door. “At least I can walk you to your car.”
All of us in the shop—Tracy, Mary Ann, and I—were concentrating on Sissy and Chip, and Sissy and Chip were concentrating on each other. I guess that was why the loud banging noise made all five of us jump about a foot off the floor.
We all whirled toward the sound, each of us gasping or even, in Tracy’s case, giving a tiny scream.
The noise, I realized, had merely been someone rapping on the window.
And that someone was Ace Smith, Sissy’s father-in-law.
He was standing outside, peering inside, a hand raised as a shield against the sun.
Sissy stopped short. “Chip, you go on without me,” she said.
“Sissy…”
“I don’t want to see Ace today. I’m sure you understand.”
Chip’s big friendly face took on a miserable expression, but he nodded and left without further questions.
“Come on, Sissy,” I said. “We’ll go out the back, and I’ll give you a ride over to the parking lot.”
“Thanks, Lee. I didn’t mean to insert my family problems into the workplace. I’ll try not to do it again.”
So Sissy and I talked about other things as I drove the two blocks to Warner Pier’s downtown parking lot, where one section is reserved for local employees. I resisted asking her about Chip, and she told me about Johnny, who was fourteen months old. He was, she reported proudly, a beautiful, intelligent, and lively little boy. We parted with a cheerful good-bye.