The Secret's in the Sauce

by Linda Evans Shepherd

  There was something about Esther calling Michelle “sweetheart” that rubbed me the wrong way. And I felt something even darker about her being able to sign so fluently. I hated the feeling, but there it was.

  Michelle signed to me, “Are you okay?”

  And I nodded, yes. “I’m fine,” I said and signed. “I guess I’m just a little tired.”

  Over the next hour we were treated to tea and petit fours, finger sandwiches, and easy listening music from an overhead system. Adam shared with us his work on securing the details of their honeymoon (they’d decided on an Alaskan cruise) and—no surprise to me—a find on their starter home, which would be in Breckenridge, close to their work.

  “Apparently,” I quickly signed to Michelle, hoping the others weren’t quite as fast at interpreting sign language, “I need to send Adam out with Tim; Adam was so quick to find a house.”

  Michelle laughed, then shared with the others what I had said. I had not meant for her to do that, but what was done was done.

  We talked about the upcoming shower that the club would be catering and in which I would be an honorary guest; the bridesmaid shower; another shower that had just been scheduled by a few of the ladies at Grace Church; and a final dinner that was to be given in the bridal couple’s honor by their fellow employees. All the while, Esther and Michelle kept giving each other knowing glances, as though they were in on some secret I wasn’t yet privy to. It reminded me too much of Lisa Leann’s expression earlier.

  I was beginning to smell a rat. “What’s going on?”

  It was then that Michelle became her most animated. “Mom,” she signed. “I know you and I talked about going to Denver to look in the bridal shops, but I showed Mrs. Peterson a few of the gowns you and I were looking at—”

  Esther jumped in. “Now, Lizzie,” she began as tactfully as anyone could in this situation. “I know you and Michelle were looking at a more straight-lined gown, strapless, and that sort of thing. But what I have suggested to Michelle is this: because of her princess-like beauty”—she paused to beam at Michelle—“my suggestion is that she goes with a more princess-like dress. Think of your Michelle as Cinderella and my handsome son as her Prince Charming.”

  “Ah—”

  The next thing I knew, Esther was whipping out pages of bridal gown designs in clear protective sleeves, each one more elaborate and . . . princess-like . . . than the next. Adam excused himself from the table. “I’ll get a breath of fresh air,” he said, pointing toward the door. We women watched him leave, then turned back to one another.

  “Now,” Esther said, sliding one of the pages toward me. “This is our favorite.”

  Our favorite?

  “Right, Michelle?” Esther said.

  “I like it, Mom,” Michelle said.

  I looked down at the glossy picture before me. It was, indeed, an exquisite gown. Sleeveless. Alençon lace. Hand-sewn pearls and authentic crystals on a tulle overlay. The hem was detailed and the skirt was full. Most importantly, it sported a black satin sash that trailed from the tied bow at the base of the spine to halfway down the back of the skirt. This would tie in with her bridesmaids’ dresses.

  “But do you love it?” I asked my daughter.

  “I do,” she signed. The look on her face confirmed it. She must have read my face because she reached over and touched my hand. “Don’t be mad, Mom,” she spoke.

  “Oh no. I’m not—”

  Esther prickled a bit. “Oh, Lizzie. I’m so sorry if I’ve stepped on toes. After all, Britney will be marrying Clay next year, and then it will be my turn to be the mother of the bride. But I just couldn’t help myself. After all, this is a first wedding for us . . . but for you . . . well, this is old hat for you by now, no doubt.”

  Old hat? How could picking out a wedding dress with your baby girl ever be old hat? But I said nothing. Right now, I needed only to smile and look pleased.

  “That’s fine.”

  And then the blade fell. “Here’s the best part,” Esther said. “Lisa Leann Lambert, who you know well, of course, has ordered this gown and two or three others for us to swing by and look at as soon as we’re done here.” She clapped her hands together. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Aha. The smell of a rat had led to the rat.

  At this news, I decided, I didn’t need to smile and look pleased. This was the sweet icing on the wedding cake as far as my day had gone. For this news, I needed a drink.

  Donna

  20

  Poached Boyfriends

  I pulled out of the parking lot to start my evening shift, hoping for the kind of slow night that would give me time to reflect on my socalled life. Despite the drama of recent days, my phone had barely a chance to perform the new Newsboys tune I’d programmed into my ring tones. The only calls I’d received had come from Dad or one of the Potluckers. The boys, it seemed, were only interested in me when they were in the mood to compete.

  I flipped on my blinker and sighed as I pulled onto the highway. My life was pathetic, but not as pathetic as what was happening to the Horn family. I’d been able to keep up with the latest from Dad, who was keeping a sharp eye on the situation. I’d learned that since last Monday, when Pete was released from the hospital, social services had awarded Wade temporary custody of the boy while Wade’s sister, Kat Cage Martin, took Pete’s two younger siblings, Molly and Jeffrey. At least, that was the plan as long as Pete’s dad sat in jail for child abuse and Pete’s mom stayed missing. Though I’d heard through the grapevine that Thelma had left town a week back to “visit relatives.” Personally, I hoped I wouldn’t find her buried somewhere in the backyard.

  I shivered at that thought. That kind of thing didn’t usually happen up here in the high country, especially not when the ground was still frozen.

  That was really all I knew, as Wade had apparently been too busy to call me and as I’d steered clear of “the Kat,” as I called her.

  I jumped as my cell phone performed “Wherever We Go” as it tattled Wade’s name across its screen. Well, speak of the devil. I picked up. “Deputy Donna, here.”

  Wade sounded hesitant. “Donna, Pete and I wanted to know if you could drop by for a bowl of my homemade mean bean chili, just the three of us.”

  I laughed. “Wade, don’t tell me you’re using children to lure women to your trailer?”

  “Whatever works. Can you make it?”

  “I’m on duty, but it’s almost dinnertime. I guess I could drop over for a . . . ah . . . dinner and a wellness check.”

  “Wellness check?”

  “Yeah, I’d like to see how well you two are getting along, you know, in case I get called to testify for any reason.”

  “Well, the chili’s on the stove, and we’ll keep it hot till you get here.”

  “Don’t worry, you don’t have to call this girl to dinner twice.”

  Within minutes I’d pulled my Bronco to a stop in front of Wade’s trailer and hurried up his steps. I knocked as I stepped through his front door, impressed to find the living room tidied and the table set for three. Pete, with his arm in a sling, was putting some paper napkins at each place setting while Wade stirred a pot on the stove, a few steps away in the kitchen.

  “Make yourself at home,” Wade called as I folded my leather jacket over the top of his rust-colored recliner. As I did, I noted the absence of his longneck bottle collection that had bouqueted his coffee table for years. Yep, things were looking up around here.

  I ruffled a hand through Pete’s red hair. “How’s your arm?”

  Pete adjusted the navy sling that cradled his cast next to his red flannel shirt.

  He shrugged. “It itches a lot.”

  “Ugh, I hate that. Let’s see, got any famous autographs on that cast?”

  “Saw you on Hollywood Nightly awhile back, so you’re the most famous person I know. I was kinda hoping you’d sign it.” He handed me a red marker from the string-entwined soup can on a small writing table next to a wall. If I
didn’t know better, I’d say the can was a leftover craft from Wade’s grade school days, especially as I had one just like it on my desk.

  I scrawled “Deputy Donna” across the white plaster in my angular print. “Wade treating you okay?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been hanging out.”

  Wade rounded the corner, holding two steaming bowls of chili. “Sit down, Pete, Donna,” he said. He turned to me with a sly grin. “I know it’s not my mother’s chicken parmesan, Officer, but I promise it’s edible.”

  He turned back to the kitchen to grab a third bowl. When he returned, he sat down at the table with us. “I’ll say grace.” We bowed our heads and Wade prayed, “Father, please bless our little family.”

  Is he including me in this “family” business? My eyes burned at the thought of Wade and me having a family-like moment with a child who was just a little younger than the one we’d lost when we were mere teenagers. Wade continued, “And guide us, Father. Guide our steps. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

  The food warmed my spirits. Not only was Wade’s chili good, but dinner with the boys was actually pleasant as we carefully avoided the elephant topic of how Pete had come to be with Wade.

  Near the end of the meal, Pete asked me, “Catch any jewel thieves lately?”

  I exchanged amused glances with Wade. “Jewel thieves?”

  “Yeah, Wade says you’ve been looking for a diamond.”

  I gave Wade a sideways glance. “I hadn’t heard of anyone losing a diamond,” I said.

  “Well, Wade says you’ve been talking to David Harris about a ring.”

  I stared Wade down. “Is that so? What else did your cousin say?”

  Wade jumped up, his face a bit red. “Nothing. Pete, let’s get these dirty bowls to the sink.”

  I followed the boys to the kitchen with the glasses.

  Wade turned to Pete. “I’ll start the dishes and you get started on your homework.”

  Pete looked disappointed but walked back toward the kitchen table, where he sat with his history book. Though the book appeared to be more of a prop to help him eavesdrop on the adults. My suspicion was confirmed when I said, “Wade, I’ve never seen you in an apron before, it’s so you,” and I noted Pete’s shoulders bounced in silent laughter.

  When Wade said, “I don’t look nearly as good as you do, with those yellow rubber gloves on,” and I said, “You can’t expect a deputy to have dishpan hands,” I heard the boy’s chuckle.

  Soon, rubber gloves in the dish rack, I found myself waving goodbye to the boys as I hurried back into the night and back on duty.

  I glanced into my rearview mirror to see Wade and Pete still standing on their stoop, looking sad to see me go. Their melancholy settled on me as I drove through the darkness that had enveloped the town.

  A nighttime later, I yawned as I watched the evening stars fade and the sun’s pale rays stretch over the white mountains and into the void of dark turquoise.

  Good one, God, I prayed, glad to be reminded that his love was new every morning. I smiled. Soon I would be in my toasty warm bed.

  My cell rang and I saw it was Dad. I flipped open the phone. He said, “Hate to tell you, but Clarence called in with the flu.”

  “So? Make him work sick.”

  “He has a temp of 104 and can’t stray too far from his bathroom, if you know what I mean.”

  I groaned.

  “So, ah, if you’d be willing to pull another few hours, I’ll work the first half of your night shift.”

  I sighed. “Do I have a choice?”

  Dad laughed. “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Hope springs eternal.”

  “See you at the office around one.”

  Late morning found me still aimlessly driving the streets of Summit View, sipping a fresh cup of Sally’s coffee and trying to stay focused. So far, except for a little fender bender on the highway into Breckenridge, it had been a pretty slow morning. Mainly, I’d just made long, slow circles through town, crisscrossing the path of the shuttle bus that carted tourists to the ski resort and other stops.

  Despite my fatigue, it was easy to take the pulse of the community as I swept past the church and restaurant parking lots. The cars themselves told me the stories of both the faithful and the hungry on this sunny but cold morning.

  Earlier, I’d spied Clay’s Jeep down at the paper, meaning he was hot on some deadline. That was fine, as long as he wasn’t writing about me. I’d noticed David’s car had finally left Higher Grounds Café to be found again at the church parking lot along with the vehicles of the entire Potluck gang. I saw Wade’s truck there too, though I didn’t have to peek through the double doors to know that at least this morning he wasn’t sitting alone. He had his little cousin Pete Horn by his side.

  I’d continued patrolling my route through town, and now hours later, I squinted into the bright light of the midday and tried to think about the matters at hand. For instance, where was Vonnie’s car? It wasn’t at church anymore. I knew it wasn’t parked at her house, though David’s black Mazda sat next to Fred’s truck on their snow-packed driveway. Don’t tell me David’s alone with Grandma, I thought as I passed by for the third time that hour.

  My trained eyes helped me put the story together. It was apparent Vonnie and Fred were at the café having lunch with my dad and Evie. (So Dad and his Mrs. had lunch plans with the Westbrooks. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to relieve me until one.) That meant David was grand-sitting Mrs. Swenson. I grinned and wondered how that was going.

  As I passed Vonnie’s house and headed toward the nearby bus stop, my cell phone began its up-tempo song.

  Without checking caller ID, I picked up. “Hello.”

  “Donna,” David’s voice said with enough enthusiasm to make me check the house in the rearview mirror. “Is that you still on patrol?”

  “Yeah, Clarence has the flu. Dad’ll relieve me in an hour or two.”

  His voice teased, “Well, as a private citizen, I certainly appreciate you taking the time to check on our neighborhood. I was wondering if you had a minute to stop by the house and check on our situation personally?”

  I chuckled as I began to make the block again. “I might. You in there alone with Mrs. Swenson?”

  “’Fraid so, and I think I could use a hand.”

  I felt a grin glide across my face. “She’s being difficult, is she?”

  “She responds well to you, and, well, she’s hobbling around the kitchen trying to clean up our lunch before Vonnie and Fred get back.”

  That caught my attention. “Lunch?”

  “Yeah, Vonnie made her pot roast again. There’s plenty if you’d like a plate.”

  “I’m on the job.” I pulled into the driveway, parking behind David’s car. I hopped out and continued the conversation, “Can’t say no to Vonnie’s roast beef, can I?”

  David opened the door for me as we both closed our cell phones. “Come in.”

  I pulled the radio off my belt and called dispatch. “I’m on lunch break, at the Westbrook house.”

  “Ten-four,” Betty crackled back.

  I bypassed David and walked into Vonnie’s kitchen, where I found Mrs. Swenson drying dishes. There was something funny about her. Her eyes were too wide, and she had what appeared to be a grin on her face, something I honestly had never seen before. I put my hands on my hips. “You go sit down, young lady; I’ll take over from here.”

  She turned and looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. “Wouldn’t want you to arrest me.” She hobbled to the kitchen table and sat down.

  I had to stare at her for a moment. I’ve been in law enforcement my entire career, and I’d have to say Mrs. Swenson’s performance of surrender seemed a bit too staged. I mean, the old woman was almost as giddy as her grandson, who come to think of it, was leaning on the kitchen cabinet, arms folded across his pects, looking a little too amused. Then it hit me. Had these two jokers seen me drive by and decided to . . . to what? Bring me in from the cold so they coul
d have me all to themselves?

  I felt my eyes narrow as I looked at David. He was so cute; not that I usually noticed things like that. He was dressed in his black chinos and turtleneck, and that expression on his face could make a girl’s heart race.

  Trying to be cool, I studied the back of Mrs. Swenson’s white curls. She was dressed in her hot pink jogging suit, and she turned and gave me a quick smile. I was right! These two are conspirators. Mrs. Swenson was trying to set me up with her grandson. I had to consider the implications of that. I mean, I knew her history. I knew how she’d tried to keep Vonnie away from her first husband because he was part Hispanic. I knew how she’d been the force behind having baby David adopted out, probably for the same reason. So now why was I detecting this conspiracy? Was her new attitude because she was older and wiser, and perhaps a little kinder, or was she trying to dump David on me in an effort to get him out of her life? That was a question I couldn’t answer. Still, she looked kinda sweet playing matchmaker. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch. I guess there was no harm in playing along if it meant I got to eat one of Vonnie’s home-cooked meals, right?

  David helped me put the last of the dishes away before dishing up a plate of food for me. A few minutes later, I sat down at the kitchen table, under their intense stares.

  “Working today?” Mrs. Swenson asked.

  I put a big creamy bite of gravy-covered mashed potatoes into my mouth. “Mmm-hmm.”

  David smiled at me. “It’s a pleasure to see you eat,” he said. “Not like those Hollywood girls who only pretend.”

  So help me, I broke the magic of the moment, but not before devouring another mouthwatering bite of Vonnie’s roast. “Speaking of girls, David, how’s your girlfriend?”