“Hello, Miss Kelly.”
He turned to Fred. “Roll over,” he said, and then Tommy did another roll.
Deep furrows creased the forehead of the perplexed hound.
“What are you up to?”
“I’m teaching Fred how to roll over.” Tommy repeated his earlier performance.
I suppressed a laugh. Tommy was the one becoming adept at rolling over.
“Are you having any luck?”
“I haven’t really started yet. I got instructions from the Internet, and I have a bag of treats. I thought it might help if I showed him what I wanted.”
Fred had had enough of sitting still and decided to get in on the game. He jumped up and did a belly flop on Tommy in mid-roll. They began to wrestle, Fred’s wagging tail in overdrive. The entertainment from these two never stopped.
I figured the lesson was over for the day. “Good luck.” I went back into the inn.
A few minutes later, a knock heralded the arrival of Peter. Maybe I’d have a chance to ask him a few questions.
I opened the door. “Come on in.”
“I brought some mushrooms for Elise.” He strode in with a basket over his arm.
Elise took the container. “Peter, that was so thoughtful of you.”
“I found a whole batch of porcinis. I thought you might enjoy having them. They can be hard to find. They’ll make a nice addition for one of your meals at home.”
Elise bestowed on him the biggest grin I’d seen from her to date. “Absolutely.” The smile disappeared. “But I know they’re worth a lot of money, and I can’t pay you anything for them.”
“No, no. I didn’t expect you to. Thank you for inviting me to be part of your class. Your lunch was the best I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks. That’s very sweet of you to say that.”
Are they sweet on each other?
Elise began removing the fungi. “Thank you for giving Joey some work. We both appreciate it.”
“He’s a nice kid, and I need the help.”
Elise handed him the empty basket.
“I’m looking forward to dinner tonight,” he said.
“I hope you enjoy it as much as you did the lunch.”
“With you cooking it, I’m sure I will.”
A slight blush crept up Elise’s face.
“See you in a bit.” Peter headed for the door.
I walked out with him. “With Ned gone, your mushrooms can be safe now…unless he already found your areas and posted them on his website.”
Peter tossed the basket into the back of his pickup. “I checked his website and blog. My places weren’t there, but a lot of others were. I hope that deputy sheriff does something about it.”
“But Ned said the property they were on was public land.”
He unlocked his vehicle. “Taking the information off the Internet is the right thing to do.”
How to segue into sinker logs? Nothing brilliant came to mind.
“I understand. Say, Roger Simmons showed me some of his collection made of sinker wood. I’d like to learn more about it. He said you have some. Can I see it?”
Peter turned to me. “It’s not for viewing. Besides, it doesn’t look like much until it’s polished.”
“Do you know anyone else who has some?”
His eyes narrowed. With his light hair and pointed face, the word weasel came to mind. If he lifted his lip, would I see sharp, pointed teeth?
Peter’s gaze was anything but friendly. “Since you’ve been learning about them, I’m guessing you found out they’re illegal to harvest. All that’s left is whatever some people stashed away a long time ago.”
“I did hear something about it being against the law to remove them from the water.”
“You’re asking a lot of the same questions Blaine did, you know—the reporter who got murdered.” Peter got in his truck. “It wasn’t a good idea for him and it might not be a good idea for you either.”
Chapter 14
I gulped.
That sounded and felt like a threat.
Peter slammed the truck’s door. He started it, revved the engine, and backed out, his spinning tires pelting me with gravel.
Were his words enough for me to call Deputy Sheriff Stanton? Peter hadn’t said he would hurt me. He could claim he was doing me a favor by reminding me about what had happened to Ned. I decided I’d mention the incident to the deputy when I next talked to him. What Peter had said wasn’t specific enough for me to call Stanton.
I went back into the inn. More guests had arrived. Elise flitted between people and the kitchen, juggling conversation with cooking. I’d talk with her another time about Ned’s blackmailing.
Back in my quarters, I began to get ready to see Scott. I felt anxious one moment and happy the next. My emotions waged a tug-of-war, pulling me one way and then another.
The emotional wounds of my divorce were now scars. They were barriers I needed to jump over if I was ever to have another relationship. Was that something I wanted? I’d been busy spending my time seeking my place in life, my own personal niche. I felt like I had achieved that here at Redwood Cove. Now another life question presented itself.
This wasn’t a decision I was prepared to make now. I willed myself to clear those thoughts out of my head and get ready for the evening. Casual was the Redwood Cove dress code, except on very rare occasions. I chose new black jeans, a black scoop-neck top, and a sweater with a pattern reminiscent of a Navajo rug, with its repeated geometrical designs. I freshened my makeup, brushed my hair, and took my down jacket from the closet.
The evening event was in full swing when I entered the work area. Elise had set out numerous appetizers on the dining room table and was finishing the final touches on dinner as people nibbled and chatted. Her son, Joey, was helping to move pans into the sink and taking food from the refrigerator. Peter had returned. He looked at me as I entered, then his gaze slid away and he turned his back to me. I was surprised to see Roger Simmons among the guests, talking with a young man. I walked over to him.
He turned to me. “Hi, Kelly. Did you have a fun day today?”
Let’s see. A murder investigation under way. Daniel a suspect. Clarence with a diabetic low.
“You bet. I enjoyed the activities and learned a lot I can share with my guests.”
“Good to hear.”
I was surprised to see Clarence and Timothy enter, along with Max in his vest. People immediately clustered around them. I could hear them pelting Clarence with questions.
Roger leaned toward me. “Do you know what’s up with the dog?”
I explained the incident, not going into Clarence’s discomfort about revealing his condition. I was glad to see him being more open about his disease.
“Interesting. I’ve read about diabetic alert dogs but haven’t encountered one.”
I looked at my watch. “I need to excuse myself. I’m meeting with a friend.”
“I have to leave in a few minutes, too. I just wanted to make a brief appearance, be neighborly and all.”
I walked through the kitchen on my way out. Salad plates were being prepared and the dinner dishes lined the counter next to them. I saw two separated from the rest. One had Clarence’s name and a sticky note attached saying diabetic with the salad dressing in a separate container, and the other one indicated another guest was vegan. Clarence was being true to his promise of changing.
Off to Scott’s.
The drive to the community center took about ten minutes. I parked in front of the building, got out, and was greeted by the sweet smell of freshly cut grass. I took a deep breath and looked out at the pasture next to the building. The resident herd of llamas grazed a short distance away. I walked over and leaned on the fence. A llama head shot up in the air on a slender, long, ramrod-straight neck. Th
e animal gazed at me. I recognized Annie by her brown and white spots. She began trotting toward me.
The Silver Sentinels and I had been given an opportunity to name the llamas, and she was the one I had been assigned. Annie arrived, and I stroked her soft hair, reaching down into the fine, downy undercoat. I’d picked that name because the short, tight, reddish-brown curls reminded me of Orphan Annie. I gave her a last pat and went to the front door. Scott had said to just walk in. It was a community center and open to the public.
I entered the oversize living area with its inviting chairs, couches, and colorful throws. I heard whistling in the kitchen and went in. Scott had his back to me. He was wearing an apron with a neatly tied bow in the back, blue jeans, and a white shirt with the cuffs rolled up.
“Hi,” I said.
He turned, and I burst out laughing. A herd of embroidered llamas ran from the top of the apron across his chest and down to the bottom corner.
His blue eyes twinkled. “How do you like the newest addition to my apron collection?”
I smiled. “Cute. Very cute. I think I even see Annie in there.”
“You do indeed. Mary made it to thank me for letting you and the Sentinels name them. They come out regularly with treats for their particular llama.” He wiped his hands on the dish towel hanging from the band of his apron. “What would you like to drink?”
“Do you have any sparkling water?”
“I do indeed.” He went to the refrigerator. “Would you like ice? A slice of orange?”
“No ice, but the orange would be nice.”
He poured me a glass, added a piece of orange, and handed it to me. “Thanks for being brave enough to try my new experiment.”
“I doubt I need to fear any of your cooking.”
“I didn’t use any extreme ingredients and there’s no raw fish or steak tartar. We’ve never really talked about what you like to eat. The couple of deli-style meals we’ve shared didn’t lead us to talk about haute cuisine.”
Haute cuisine? Seriously? I grew up on a ranch. We ate chow. I could be in trouble here.
Scott stirred the contents of a pan on the stove. “Tonight I made arancini for a starter followed by chicken maltaise.” He talked faster than usual, excitement spurring his voice on.
I knew what chicken was, but beyond that, it was a foreign language. First wine and now cooking. Two new languages in one day felt a little overwhelming. My mind drifted, and I felt my eyes glazing.
Scott put the spoon on the counter and turned to me. “I was going to make a verrine—” He stopped talking and stared at me. “Why don’t you tell me what you like to cook while I finish putting the meal together?”
“Well…on the ranch, you know, my mom cooked for the family and crew…and other than preparing vegetables, I never really did much in the kitchen.”
“Ah,” Scott said with a lopsided grin. “So you were a sous chef.”
I chuckled. “A fancy title for free family help.”
“What about after you moved out?”
“There was college and dorm food.”
Scott knew about my divorce, but we’d never really talked about my marriage.
I took a deep breath and dived in. “Then I got married. My ex liked eating out or grabbing food to go on the way home. We had different hours. He taught a lot of evening classes at the university, while I worked during the day. I cooked very little, and I do mean little.”
“What’s one of your favorite recipes to prepare?”
I cocked my head. “I make a killer turkey burger.”
This time Scott had the laugh. “Got it. I’d love to try it sometime.” He sprinkled some herbs into the pot. “Would you like to learn more about cooking?”
I thought for a moment. I was creating a new life for myself in Redwood Cove. This was an opportunity to explore something I knew very little about.
“Sure. I think that would be fun.”
“I’ll start with some simple recipes.”
“Simple sounds good.”
“I’ll choose some that freeze easily so you can put the leftovers away for another meal.” He turned the stove off. “The market’s deli is above average, but preparing your own food is always better. You can track calories and salt content.”
“I’m game.”
“Good. We’ll find a date to start later.” He heaped steaming broccoli into a bowl. “What are you bringing to the party?”
“The Professor didn’t want me to bring anything for a number of reasons. We made a compromise, and I’m contributing ice cream tonight and a pie in the future for one of the meetings.”
“Maybe that could be your first cooking lesson.”
“Good idea, since others will be eating it. I certainly want them to enjoy it.”
“Dinner’s ready. I set the table in the dining room.”
I helped him move the food. A cheerful bouquet of deep pink snapdragons with yellow centers in a large, clear vase decorated the table. Yellow napkins in crystal napkin rings added to the festive spirit.
The arancini appetizer consisted of fried golden rice balls filled with melted mozzarella, mushrooms, and spinach. Scott explained the chicken was a Mediterranean dish with origins in Malta. The chicken literally melted in my mouth, and the fresh vegetables popped with flavor. The quinoa complemented the sauce that added a bit of spiciness.
“Everything is delicious, just as I thought it would be.”
Scott smiled. “Glad you like it.”
“You mentioned something else you were going to make.”
“A verrine. That’s a French appetizer with the components layered in a glass container. I chose the arancini instead.”
Two llamas observed us through the enormous plate glass window. A white one, the largest of the herd of five females, I knew to be Natasha. Ivan and Rudy named her after a Russian snow queen in tales they’d heard as children. A black one, with a white stripe on her face, the Professor had named Louisa May after Louisa May Alcott, to give a literary touch to the ladies.
A small group of four men and two women with dogs at their sides walked in the field. They went one direction, then turned all at the same time like a drill team. Each time they stopped, the dogs sat. My guess was I was watching a heeling lesson.
I nodded toward the pasture. “How are plans for helping veterans and training PTSD dogs going?”
“Fantastic. There are now six veterans living here and working with the dogs. Two of them have post-traumatic stress disorder, and the dogs will become theirs when they’re trained. The others will be given to people in need. They’re all rescue dogs. It’s a win-win system.”
Michael Corrigan knew there was a significant homeless population in the area, many of them veterans. A number of private cottages had been built for the men and women to transition back into society.
“Have any of the vets found jobs?”
“Four of them have part-time jobs and are learning new skills. Two of the men are working on obtaining commercial B drivers’ licenses. That way they can drive the vans we’ll be getting to shuttle people to and from town, and take the men who don’t have vehicles to their jobs.”
I was so proud to be part of an organization that supported the community. Michael Corrigan always kept the welfare of others in mind.
Scott continued, “Michael’s going to have his meeting of movers and shakers once we’re a little further along and encourage them to do something similar.”
He looked at his watch, then stood and picked up dishes. “We need to be at the Silver Sentinels’ pie party shortly.”
“How are you liking it here?” I asked as I helped clear the table. “I know it’s very different from what you’re used to.”
“I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would. It’s been fun having time to relax, read, and try new recipes, ins
tead of being on one plane after another.”
“I certainly benefited, considering the great meal you made tonight.”
“Thanks.” He put a pot in the sink. “I’ve been on the go so much of my life I’ve never really stopped to think about a lot of things. I’d have to say working with this project is the most meaningful work I’ve ever done. Seeing these veterans change and the excitement of the townspeople over the classes and services we’re going to be offering has been very fulfilling. Michael nailed it when he decided on what to create.”
As I put the last plate in the dishwasher, Scott pulled out a pie from the refrigerator—but it deserved a more royal name than pie. The chocolate-covered top had thin, clear pieces of candy embedded around the sides. Miniature silver stars had been scattered over the top. I knew they’d be edible after seeing Helen’s supplies.
“I need to put a few finishing touches on this.” He opened a packet and pulled out an almost-translucent piece of gold paper. “It’s edible gold to decorate the pie.”
I leaned in to get a better look at his creation.
Scott cut thin strips and placed the delicate pieces on top of the pie. “With the last case solved and no murderers to chase after, what are you and the Silver Sentinels doing with your time?”
The instant, intense heat in my face told me I’d turned scarlet. I knew the investigating we did concerned him.
Scott glanced at me, his eyes widened, and he put his scissors down. “Kelly, what are you and the group of seniors up to now?”
My face flamed even hotter. Could I get any redder?
Chapter 15
Scott didn’t know about Ned Blaine. He wasn’t a local, so the infamous smoking telephone lines wouldn’t have included him. The newspaper only came out once a week on Tuesday, and that was before Ned was murdered.
“Kelly?”
“Someone shot and killed a reporter by the name of Ned Blaine. Daniel Stevens is a suspect. The man was found dead on sacred tribal land and notes he made indicate Daniel threatened him.”
Scott stared. “Did Daniel do that?”
“He did, but he didn’t threaten to kill him. The reporter questioned Allie and frightened her when he grabbed her arm. Daniel told him to never talk to her or touch her again.”
Murder at the Mushroom Festival Page 10