Evertaster

by Adam Glendon Sidwell

  Guster felt his heart beating. Why did it seem like everyone in the world was after them?

  Mom took back roads for a few miles, then finally made her way back to the freeway. The sun was rising. Guster leaned against the window again. The daylight made everything feel just a little bit safer. He was so tired.

  He woke a few hours later. Mariah was flipping through the encyclopedias, comparing every portrait she could find with the face on the eggbeater.

  “You find anything?” Guster asked.

  “Not yet,” she said. “It’s not like I can just open up an article, and see the matching picture, since we don’t even have a name. So I have to scan by article. I’ve looked at almost every portrait of famous chefs, kings, or generals I can think of, but nothing matches up. I even looked at actors. I’m almost positive I’ve seen this face before.” She held up the eggbeater. “He looks like his eyes are closed, and he’s smiling, almost like he’s got a secret.”

  “What about the tree?” asked Guster.

  “Can’t find anything about that yet either. I’ve never seen a tree with such big fruit.”

  Guster shrugged. It was like trying to read Egyptian hieroglyphics. “Doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever seen either.”

  The swamps gave way to high-rises and the high-rises gave way to open beach until the Suburban was driving along a bridge that stretched out over the ocean for miles and miles. “Aunt Priscilla’s is just at the end of this bridge,” said Mom. She sounded tired. “I didn’t tell her we’re coming so everyone will need to be on their best behavior.”

  There was nothing but blue water on either side for as far as Guster could see. He felt like a toy car on a track, with nowhere to go but forward.

  He turned around in his seat to see how far they’d come, when his heart gave a start. There behind them, not more than a few hundred yards back was the cream Cadillac. “Mom! They’re back!” he cried. There was no doubt about it. They were being followed.

  “How did they find us?” yelled Zeke. He slammed his hand down on the locks. “What are we going to do? We can’t turn off now!”

  “We’re going to gun it!” said Mom and pounded the accelerator. The engine roared. The big orange needle dipped past 110 mph. Guster could feel the car floating over the bumps in the bridge, they were going so fast.

  The Cadillac was closing the gap anyway. The long bridge was ending; “Hurry Mom! Hurry!” screamed Zeke.

  It took five agonizing seconds to reach the island. Mom cranked the wheel hard at the first side street, slamming Guster into the side of the Suburban, Mariah pressing up against him like they were all lumps of Jell-O.

  The tires squealed as Mom made two more quick turns then slammed on the brakes at a little call box next to a huge wrought iron gate. She reached out and smashed a button next to the speaker.

  It buzzed. “Hello?” said a bored, nasally voice.

  “Priscilla! It’s your sister! Let us in!” screamed Mom.

  “Mabel? What are you doing here? Do you have an appointment?”

  “Priscilla, we’re being followed. We’re in danger!”

  “Oh, very well, come in and we’ll have a late lunch,” said Aunt Priscilla. And then in the background, “Open the gate, they’ve got themselves all worked up about dying or something.”

  The wrought iron gate rolled open. The Cadillac rounded the corner and zoomed down the street. Mom squeezed the Suburban through as soon as the gate was open wide enough.

  The Cadillac hit the driveway as the gate slid closed again, blocking the car. The driver slammed on his brakes, inches away from the gate. Guster could see him — a man with a thick neck and aviator sunglasses staring him down from the other side of the iron beams, his black leather gloves gripping the wheel.

  Chapter 6 — Aunt Priscilla

  Mom sped up the driveway toward Aunt Priscilla’s house. It was about four times as big as anything else they’d passed on the island, with a carved, weathered wooden façade that made it look like an old ship. The best part was the stone walls surrounding the grounds. They were twice as high as Zeke was tall and thicker than a giant stack of Mom’s blueberry pancakes — plenty dry and sturdy enough to keep the man in the Cadillac out.

  Mom stopped the Suburban and they all piled out. The long trip was finally over, and none too soon. Guster glanced back at the gate — the Cadillac was turning around.

  A skinny old man in a dark jacket, gloves and cap came out of a set of wide stained-glass doors. “Let me help you with those,” he said, taking Mariah and Zeke’s backpacks. When he reached for Guster’s, Guster held it back.

  “I’ll carry it,” Guster said. The eggbeater was inside, and he didn’t want to let anyone besides himself or Mariah get near it.

  “I understand an unwelcome fella has followed you home,” said the old man in the cap to Mom. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that now. We keep a tight watch on the grounds. You’ll be safe inside these walls.”

  “We’re grateful,” said Mom.

  “Woah! This place must cost a billion dollars!” said Zeke as they entered the house. The entryway was decorated with silver candlesticks, and the spiral stair at the far end had a shiny gold railing. Mom shot Zeke a stern look.

  “I should warn you though,” the old man in the cap said, setting the backpacks down inside the entryway, “Ms. Priscilla has had some special ‘circumstances’ develop lately.” He pointed to his nose and winked. “She got one of them upgrades, if you know what I mean. Best not to mention it.”

  “No way! She got a nose job?” Zeke said. He smiled mischievously.

  “Mabel, darling sister? Is that you?” came a bored voice from a spacious living room next to the entry. A tall, slender woman with shiny black hair who looked like a skinnier, more elegant version of Mom was draped across a red leather couch, her left hand resting on a ship’s wooden steering wheel. She sounded like she was holding her nose when she talked. “Mabel dear, I’m in here,” she said without getting up. “I’m resting. Doctors say I’m to relax for a few days — well, for certain reasons.” She touched the cast on her nose when her face suddenly grew grim. “But never mind that!”

  Guster followed Mom across the hardwood floor into the living room where Aunt Priscilla sat up and put her arms gingerly around Mom in a weak hug. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful, Priscilla,” said Mom, hugging her sister back.

  “Glad to hear it. My don’t you look —” Aunt Priscilla forced a grin, “lovely?” she said, smoothing out Mom’s baby blue apron. “Braxton? What are you still doing here? Get those bags stored in the upstairs rooms. This is family time.”

  Braxton tipped his black cap and hauled the backpacks up the spiral staircase.

  Aunt Priscilla leaned over to give Zeke a hug. He reached his arms out to wrap around her back when he bumped her cast with his shoulder. It did not seem like an accident.

  “Aaaa!” howled Aunt Priscilla in a nasally voice. She held her hands up to her face and tried to straighten the cast. “It hasn’t set yet! You’ll ruin it!”

  “Ruin what?” asked Zeke innocently.

  Aunt Priscilla stood up straight. “Hmmph! Nothing. Never mind,” she said, waving her hand toward the rooms upstairs. “Why don’t you go have a rest?”

  “Nose problem!” said Zeke, following Braxton up the staircase and laughing to himself the whole way.

  Instead of hugging Mariah, Aunt Priscilla carefully patted her head from a distance then shook Guster’s hand.

  Mariah went up the stairs after Zeke. Guster followed. At the top, thick red carpet covered a hall that led to dozens of rooms. “Here’re your quarters, little lady,” called out Braxton from down the hall. “It’s got a nice fluffy bed and your own bathroom.” Guster and Mariah went inside.

  “A computer too!” said Mariah. “Is it connected to the web?” she asked.

  Braxton nodded. Mariah smiled at Guster. He knew what she was thinking. She’d be able to look up whatever imag
e she wanted now.

  Braxton showed Guster to the room across the hall. It had a window that overlooked the backyard, where a sleek, silvery jet was parked on a runway that pointed out to the sea. “This room’s yours,” he said. “Your brother will be down the hall.”

  “My own room! Finally, I’ll be stink-free!” said Zeke. He made a face at Guster, then ducked out of sight. Guster ignored him. The further away Zeke was, the easier it would be for him and Mariah to do research.

  He waited until Braxton was gone then tiptoed into Mariah’s room. She’d already booted up the computer.

  “Here,” he said, laying the eggbeater down on the table next to her. “I’m going to go check on Henry Junior.”

  He went down the staircase. Checking on Henry Junior was only half the reason to go downstairs. He wanted to see if the cream colored Cadillac had really gone, so he opened the giant front doors just a crack and slipped outside. Down at the far end of the driveway the iron gate was still shut fast. The street beyond was empty. Whoever it was with the thick neck and aviator glasses had given up — at least for now.

  Guster slipped back through the door. He heard dishes clanging, so he passed through a dining room by a long varnished table with clawed feet, and peeked inside a set of swinging double saloon doors. Aunt Priscilla had pried herself off the couch, and she and Mom were in the kitchen. Henry Junior was sleeping in his car seat on the counter. Mom was doing dishes.

  “Honestly Mabel,” said Aunt Priscilla, “The help will take care of this. I just hired a new chef today — a top chef. He’ll be here to cook us our late lunch. We can have him or Braxton do this. There’s no reason for you to be your usual obsessive self over this sort of thing.”

  “It’s habit,” said Mom.

  “Hmmph,” Aunt Priscilla said under her breath, and leaned lazily against the kitchen counter. “I’ve got to tell you Mabel, the press has been absolutely hounding me ever since Billions magazine named me top businesswomen of the year. I had to come out here to Key West to get away from it all; though sometimes I think this ship-décor is just awful rubbish. I assure you though, it was designed by someone very expensive,” Aunt Priscilla yawned and scanned Mom’s baby blue apron, then glanced at Henry Junior. “You know, it’s quite a shame that you never did anything with that history degree of yours,” she said.

  Mom blinked at her. “I met Henry,” she said. “And marriage — and then the children — well, it sort of took over.” She rinsed another dish and put it in the dishwasher.

  “Ah. Of course. Don’t know if you can do much with a history degree anyway,” said Aunt Priscilla. She laughed. It sounded more like a bark. “Too bad though. There would have been so many ways for you to use that sharp mind of yours.”

  Mom turned off the sink. “What do you mean?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Mabel!” said Aunt Priscilla sitting up and putting out her perfectly manicured hands. “You had the children!”

  Mom didn’t flinch.

  “And such precious little ones they are!” cried Aunt Priscilla. “It’s just that I wonder what could have been, had you moved to the coast when I did, years ago. Would it be different? Would you have achieved great things?”

  “But I live on the farm. With them,” said Mom motioning toward the upstairs.

  “Yes, of course! Of course! But do you want to stay there forever? Have you ever even left the United States of America?” asked Aunt Priscilla.

  Mom shrugged her shoulders and started wiping the counter. She pressed the countertop so furiously, it looked more like she was sanding than washing it.

  “It might be good for you to go abroad, Mabel. To have an adventure. Someday I ought to take you off to Paris in my private jet. It’s parked out back on my own personal airstrip,” she boasted, “You could see the world. Then you could do something with your life.”

  Mom threw the rag in the sink. “I may just take you up on that,” she said. There was a shortness to her voice, something wholly different than she used when scolding Guster.

  The kitchen doors swung open and Mom charged through them, past Guster, and up the stairs, stomping all the way.

  Guster waited a moment, then followed her. He veered off at Mariah’s room. “Mom seems mad,” said Mariah, her eyes glued to the computer.

  “How can you tell?” Guster asked.

  Mariah turned to look at Guster. “It’s just something we women know about.”

  Guster figured he could worry about that later. For now he had bigger thing on his mind. “Is the net helping?”

  “It is, but it’s still difficult. It’s not like I can just scan the image and get a result. I have to search by trial and error. Believe me, I’ve already tried the words ‘the One Recipe.’”

  Guster sat on the bed and watched. He wished he could be more help, but he couldn’t think of anything to search that Mariah hadn’t already tried. It wasn’t long before his eyelids grew heavy again.

  His dozing stopped when Zeke jumped on the bed. “Aunt Priscilla says lunch is ready. Even you’ll love this one, Guster. She says she’s got some new fancy chef.” Guster rubbed his eyes. Mariah was still on the computer, clicking furiously. The backpack was zipped up next to her, and the eggbeater was nowhere in sight. She must’ve hidden it before Zeke came in the room.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Guster trudged downstairs, working the blood back into his legs and arms, trying to wake himself up. He entered the dining room and was jolted alert by the most delicious smells.

  The table was covered with summer salads, simmering meats, rice with fish in a succulent-smelling sauce, and pork chops smothered in applesauce. Mom was already seated with Henry Junior next to her at the table. Guster’s poor starving beanpole stomach nearly shoved him down into the chair across from the kitchen doors all by itself. He could hardly wait. He reached for a pork chop.

  “Not until your brother and sister get here,” said Mom. Her words were like a jail door slamming shut between him and the food. He wanted to scream.

  Zeke pulled up a chair across the table from Guster. Mariah wasn’t there yet. What could be taking so long? Guster needed this meal. It looked so delicious, and it felt like he hadn’t eaten in years. A minute later she came rushing down the stairs, Guster’s backpack in her hand. “I found something,” she whispered to Guster.

  “You did?” Guster exclaimed. Mom glanced over at them.

  “Not now,” mouthed Mariah silently. Guster nodded. They’d talk about it when Mom wasn’t around.

  “It looks lovely Priscilla,” said Mom.

  “Just wait until you see the main dish,” Aunt Priscilla said.

  The double doors to the kitchen swung open and Guster nearly choked. Standing there, with a silver platter in hand, was a chef dressed as red as the devil himself.

  Everyone froze — except Aunt Priscilla, who didn’t seem to notice anything strange about her new employee. Guster dropped his fork. It clattered on the china.

  “Oh, wonderful. Meet Sophagus. I know the name’s a bit odd, but he’s foreign. That’s why he’s such a good cook.” He was clothed exactly the same as the chef from the Patisserie, just shorter, and with more muscle.

  “You! It’s one of them,” stammered Zeke under his breath. The chef snapped his head around and stared at Zeke. A sudden fire of comprehension blazed in his eyes.

  He set the silver platter on the table — it held a juicy goose — and whisked back into the kitchen.

  “Let’s remain calm, kids. We don’t have anything he wants. Just don’t eat anything,” said Mom as she set down her fork. Guster thought of the eggbeater hidden in his backpack next to Mariah. Only the sound of Zeke’s breathing broke the silence, then Henry Junior started to whimper.

  “What do you mean, don’t eat? These are fine dishes of the highest quality prepared by a top-rate chef!” exclaimed Aunt Priscilla.

  “Priscilla, your chef —
he’s the reason we had to leave New Orleans. It’s not safe.”

  “Nonsense!” she said. “Look at all this deliciousness! I can’t eat it all myself.”

  Guster knew it was dangerous, but oh how badly he wanted to try just a bite!

  The chef came back a moment later, placed a steaming pie on the table, and whispered something in Aunt Priscilla’s ear. She laughed. “Wonderful!” she said. “Sophagus has prepared something extra special, just for you! It’s a pie, a raisin-rhubarb Bubalatti!” she exclaimed.

  “A what?” Guster asked. It smelled amazing, like the raisins were sweetened with fire.

  “My boy! You’ve never heard of a Bubalatti?!” Aunt Priscilla cried. “It’s not the swill you’re used to eating.” She glanced at Mom. “Bubalatti’s is the finest pie maker in all of New York City! There’s only one of these little shops, down in lower Manhattan. You have to be on the waiting list for a year to get one. Sophagus here got a hold of the recipe. Maybe you’ll finally get some real delicacy in you for a change!”

  Sophagus cut the pie into pieces and served Guster a slice, then disappeared into the kitchen. How delicious and spicy-sweet it smelled!

  Guster picked up his fork. This, now this had to be worth the risk.

  “Guster, don’t,” hissed Mom.

  Aunt Priscilla’s lined eyebrows bent like daggers. “Don’t deny my hospitality, Mabel! Eat the pie, boy!”

  Guster couldn’t help it. Mom was going to kill him, but he had to. He opened his mouth and put a forkful to his lips — when he tasted something strange. A raging cinnamon fire burned across his mouth before he even had a chance to close it. He dropped the fork and spat. “Something tastes funny.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” cried Aunt Priscilla. “It’s a Bubalatti! You cannot be so presumptuous!”

  “Priscilla, I’m telling you, this meal is not to be trusted!” shouted Mom, rising from her seat and picking up Henry Junior.