by Nic Saint
Gran was like a child. Once she had her mind set on some toy she couldn’t stop nagging and making everyone’s life miserable until she got what she wanted.
But weren’t most people like that, though? Kids wanted Playstations or Barbie dolls and grownups wanted the latest iPhone or a Netflix subscription or some Star Wars collectible. The principle was the same, only the price tag increased exponentially.
She rang the bell, and when a voice asked her to state her name and business she clearly spoke her name into the intercom, and said she wanted to ask about the recent Duffer dearth. Immediately the gate buzzed open and she pushed through and onto the drive. She wondered for a moment whether to take the car, but she could already see the house just around the corner, hidden from view if you stood in front of the gate. So she marched on and was soon greeted by a homely-looking woman at the door who invited her in and said she’d get Mr. Duffer for her and would she please wait in the sitting room.
The house was smaller than she’d anticipated, and looked more like an old mansion than a modern McMansion. On the outside it was all red brick and ivy, and the windows still had wooden shutters, which had recently been painted a vivid green. The roof and the gutters looked new, too, and once inside she was surprised by how cozy the house was. Exposed brick, modern stone floors and wood beam ceilings were all nicely done.
She took a seat in the sitting room, where a collection of gate-leg tables laden with knickknacks and comfortable linen sofas lent the room a pleasant atmosphere. A big coffee table supported an impressive coffee-table book that claimed to be the definitive guide on all things sausage through the ages. And she’d just started leafing through it when a large man entered the room. He had a black ring beard and a round belly that protruded past his cable-knit cardigan. He was also smoking a pipe, which seemed odd, given that indoor smoking was probably a thing of the past, or so she’d always thought. Then again, since some salamis are supposed to be made from smoked meat…
“I’m sorry,” said the man, looking a little distracted, “but, um, who are you again?”
“My name is Poole. Odelia Poole. I’m a reporter with the Hampton Cove Gazette, and I was hoping to glean some background information on the Duffer. Your famous salami?” she added when he gave her a curious look.
“Oh, yes, right. Of course. The Duffer. My family’s pride and joy. Well, what do you want to know?” he asked, gesturing to the linen sofa with flower motif and taking a seat in an overstuffed chair himself. As he sat down, it creaked under his considerable bulk. “My name is Colin, by the way,” he said as he put out his pipe and steepled his fingers. “I hope it’s me you wanted and not my brother Chris. We both live here, though occupying separate wings, of course. He’s not home right now, or else he would have…” He frowned. “Chris is more the PR person in our family. I’m the one in charge of the Duffer Store.” He gave her a pained look. “If only you’d made an appointment… Chris has this whole PR spiel down to a science, you see. And I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help to you.”
“Oh, but that’s fine,” she said. “This story more or less landed in my lap when Mayor Turner had a nervous breakdown when he discovered his restaurant was out of Duffers.”
Colin produced a small smile. “Did he now? A nervous breakdown, you say?”
“He threatened to fire the entire staff if they didn’t give him his daily Duffer.”
“Daily Duffer. I like that. Well, he will soon have his daily Duffer again, I can assure you, Miss Poole. We’re merely experiencing some inventory management issues.”
“What is it about the Duffer that makes people so crazy about it?” she asked, taking out her notebook and a pen.
He stared at both items for a moment, then said in a modest tone, “Oh, well, I guess you’d have to ask them—our customers, I mean. They’re best placed to tell you that.”
“No, but what is in it? What makes it so different from every other sausage out there?”
“Have you tasted the Duffer, Miss Poole?”
“Oh, sure. At least I think I have. I’m not a big sausage person myself, actually.”
“Oh, so you think you have. Well, let me begin by telling you that if you merely think you have tasted the Duffer you haven’t sampled a real Duffer. Once eaten, the Duffer is not an experience one lightly forgets.”
“My grandmother likes it, and so does my mom,” she said, hoping she hadn’t insulted Mr. Duffer with her lack of firsthand Duffer knowledge.
Colin Duffer picked up a small silver bell from the coffee table and jangled it. Instantly the same lady who’d opened the door for her came hurrying in. “Maria, could you please bring us a few slices of the Duffer XXXL?” he said.
“Of course, sir,” said Maria, then hurried off again.
“The Duffer’s ingredients are not all that different from any other saucisse out there,” said Colin. “The word salami originates from sale, Italian for salt, which is an important ingredient. Basically salami is salted and spiced meat, dried and fermented. The traditional salami is made from beef or pork, while some contain poultry, mainly turkey. Typical seasonings include garlic, minced fat, white pepper, herbs, vinegar, wine… The fermented mixture isn’t cooked but cured and dried. The only difference between other salamis and the Duffer is in the secret ingredient that my grandfather discovered and which adds to the very particular flavor which, once tasted, you’ll never forget.”
“Secret ingredient, huh? Like Coca Cola, you mean?”
He smiled indulgently. “Yes. Like Coca Cola, my family uses a secret recipe that’s kept in a safe, and that only family members are ever allowed to become knowledgeable with.”
Maria had returned with a small salver on which a few slices of the famous saucisse had been placed.
“I thought you were all out of Duffers?” she said.
“This is the XXXL. It is not for sale. Please,” he said, gesturing to the salver.
Odelia speared a slice with the provided toothpick and put it in her mouth. Immediately a strong flavor spread along her palate and her throat, and as she chewed and then swallowed she was struck by the very peculiar taste of the delicacy. Salty with a hint of spice, like a regular salami, and something more. A pleasant aftertaste that was sweet. She frowned as she tried to define it. “Um, vanilla?” she asked. “Or no. Nutmeg?”
Colin smiled. “Well, obviously I can’t disclose the exact ingredients, but you are not too far off, Miss Poole. You would make an excellent saucisse taster.”
“So how come you ran out of Duffers? Is demand higher than usual?”
“No, we’re simply experiencing some production issues. As you might expect, we place the highest demands on the quality of our products, and are currently going through a complete overhaul of our production process. We’re building a new plant,” he explained when she gave him a curious look. “Demand has increased to such an extent that the old production line simply couldn’t keep up. A big part of the process was still done by hand, and unfortunately that wasn’t feasible anymore.”
“Automation,” she said, nodding.
“Indeed. And as our new manufacturing plant goes online, we’ll multiply our output. We’re selling a lot of sausages through our online store, and hope to expand this. We’re also looking into opening stores in other parts of the state, and perhaps even beyond state lines or even internationally. We think we have a fine product, and we’re confident the Duffer can compete with any salami out there, whether in the States or in Europe.”
“Ambitious plans, Mr. Duffer.”
“Well, standing still is the fastest way of moving backward in a rapidly changing world, Miss Poole.”
“President Roosevelt?”
“Lauren Bacall. Miss Bacall loved a good sausage.”
Chapter 19
At the office, Gran was idly leafing through a magazine. She’d been playing Solitaire for a while, then had picked up her phone, only for the darn thing to crash each time she tried to watch one o
f her favorite shows. So now she had resorted to reading through a copy of Cosmo that Tex supplied for his waiting patients, but was quickly bored with the numerous articles about the perfect nails, or how Jennifer Aniston managed to keep looking so young. And just when she was ready to chuck it all and tell Tex she was going home and he could play receptionist himself, the door to the office opened and Scarlett Canyon strode in. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” muttered Gran. As if she wasn’t dealing with enough problems already, Scarlett had to come in and add some more to the pile.
“What do you want?” she asked, none too friendly.
Two more patients sat in the waiting room, and both straightened up with a look of happy anticipation. The whole town knew about the animosity that existed between Scarlett and Vesta, an animosity that spanned decades, and went right back to that one time Vesta had discovered Scarlett, her best friend back then, in the conjugal bed with Vesta’s husband Jack, doing the kind of things only married couples are supposed to be doing there. It had been the end of her marriage, and her friendship with Scarlett.
“That’s strictly between me and Tex,” said Scarlett haughtily. In spite of the fact that she was the exact same age as Vesta, she looked easily two decades younger, and it had cost her a lot of work to make it that way. From her bleached blond hair to her botox-injected forehead to the filler-filled lips and enhanced décolletage, Scarlett still dressed as if she was the blond bombshell that had launched a thousand ships, or at least made a thousand hearts beat faster, and raised the blood pressure of a thousand more.
“As his assistant, it’s my duty to ask you to state your business,” said Vesta as she brought up Scarlett’s file. “So tell me and let’s get this over with, shall we?”
“I’m not going to tell you my most intimate, personal secrets,” said Scarlett, pressing a shocked hand to her chest. “God knows my complete medical history will be the talk of the town by the time I walk out of Tex’s office.”
“Are you calling me a gossip?” asked Vesta, narrowing her eyes at the woman.
“I’m calling you a nosy parker. You’re not my doctor and I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re not going in there until you’ve stated your business.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together. “Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that.”
Vesta noticed how Scarlett was dressed to impress again. Most patients looked exactly like what they were: sick people, eager to see the medical man and hoping he could make them feel better again. They didn’t care what they looked like, and some even showed up dressed in their nightgown, straight out of bed. But not Scarlett, who looked like she was ready to go clubbing, with her deeply cut dress and her shapely legs and her impossibly high heels. Her lips forming a thin line, Vesta moved over to the door that connected the waiting room with Tex’s office and positioned herself in front of it.
“You’re not going in there until you tell me what you’re here for,” she snapped.
Scarlett laughed a light laugh that sounded entirely fake. “Oh, Vesta. You’re still a hoot, aren’t you? Well, all right. If you insist. Now please type all this down in that silly little computer of yours, and don’t miss a single word I say. I’m here to see your son-in-law for a new prescription for the pill.”
Vesta glowered at her. “The pill my ass. You’re too old for the pill.”
“You mean you’re too old for the pill. I’m not. And since I’m sexually very active, I don’t want to run the risk of getting pregnant. So that’s what I’m here for. Satisfied?”
“You’re the exact same age as me,” Gran growled.
“I doubt it.”
“You’re well past the point of hormonal return and you know it. So why don’t you tell me what you’re really here for and stop jerking me around, will you?”
“I’ve told you why I’m here. If you can’t accept that, for whatever reason, that’s not my problem.”
“Bullshit,” spat Gran, but returned to her desk and started typing anyway. She knew very well that the only thing Scarlett wanted was to get a rise out of her, and she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. She was going to handle herself like a true professional.
She took a sausage out of her drawer and took a big bite.
A small gasp had her look up. Scarlett had risen from her seat and was standing at the desk.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m typing, I’m typing,” said Gran. “See?” She turned the screen so Scarlett could follow. “’Here to get a prescription filled for the contraceptive pill, even though she’s obviously way too old.’” She noticed Scarlett wasn’t listening but intently staring at her sausage. “What?” she asked, annoyed by the woman’s weird behavior.
“Is that… a Duffer you got there?” asked Scarlett.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” said Gran distractedly. “How do you spell biatch?”
“Lemme have a bite,” said Scarlett, licking her lips.
“No, you can’t have a bite. That’s my damn sausage and you’re not coming anywhere near it with that filthy mouth of yours. Who knows where those blowfish lips have been. So is it B-Y-A-T-C-H or B-I-A-T-C-H? Lemme check The Google. The Google knows.”
“They’re all out of Duffers.”
“Who is?”
“Everyone! There are no more Duffers, and they’re not coming in until next week.”
“So? Wait a week or buy a different brand. Plenty of sausages in the sea. And you should know. You’re something of a sausage connoisseur, aren’t you? At least that’s what you say.”
“Oh, you stupid old bat,” said Scarlett. “Don’t you know the Duffer is the king of saucisse? The tip of the top—top of the heap? There’s no saucisse like it. And I have to have a bite. Right now!” And then she grabbed Gran’s sausage and put it to her lips!
“Hey, you crazy woman!” Gran yelled, and tried to pry the sausage from Scarlett’s lips. It was like pulling a candy cane from a kid.
“One bite!” Scarlett yelled. “I haven’t had a Duffer for days!”
“Gimme back my sausage!”
And then Scarlett actually took the sausage and whacked Gran across the head with it. “Never! Call! The! Duffer! A! Sausage!” she screamed. “It’s a saucisse!”
“My saucisse!” Gran yelled, and then lunged across the desk for Scarlett.
When Tex stepped out of his office moments later, attracted by the sounds of a scuffle, he found Scarlett and Vesta on the floor of his waiting room, grappling like a couple of aged wrestlers, and Scarlett beating Vesta with what looked like a sausage.
Shaking his head, he took possession of the object of contention, his gesture drawing howls of rage from both women.
He then took a tentative bite and nodded appreciatively. “Great little sausage.”
The next moment something was biting him in the ankle. When he looked down, he saw that it was Scarlett, and then she was screaming. “It’s not a sausage! It’s a saucisse!”
Chapter 20
“We have to get out of here,” said Harriet.
“No shit, Sherlock,” said Clarice.
“You don’t think this is the pound?” asked Dooley.
“No, this is not the pound, Dooley,” said Clarice. “And I should know. I’ve been a frequent resident of that place more times than I care to remember. This is a prison.”
“Yeah, this doesn’t look like the pound at all,” I agreed.
“More like one of those creepy dungeons where serial killers like to collect their victims before they go off and fillet them alive,” said Brutus, glancing around.
Harriet shot him a censorious glance. “Nice,” she said.
“What?”
“Can’t you see that Dooley is terrified?”
We all looked at Dooley, but far from looking terrified he actually seemed excited. He was standing near the far wall, listening intently. We all joined him.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Listen here
, Max,” said Dooley, and pointed to a small crack in the wall, where the cement between two bricks had fallen out. So I put my ear to the crack and listened.
“Hey, that sounds a lot like… Uncle Alec!” I said, glancing up at Dooley in surprise.
“I was checking out this wall when suddenly I thought I heard his voice. He must have found this place and come here to get us out. So you see, Max? You were right. Everything is going to be all right after all.”
I smiled at Dooley, listening in the meantime, and then my smile disappeared.
“We have to get out of here,” Uncle Alec was saying, echoing Harriet’s words exactly. “I don’t care how, but I have a feeling if we don’t escape now, it’s going to be too late.”
And then another male voice piped up, “You’re right, Alec. They’re going to kill us if we don’t escape.”
I abruptly removed my ear from the crack and stared at the others. “Uncle Alec isn’t here to save us,” I said after a moment. “He’s also a prisoner, and is talking about getting killed if he can’t escape!”
My statement was met with wails of dismay, and then Harriet was next to press her ear to the wall and listen. After a moment, she nodded. “Max is right. Uncle Alec is a prisoner here, along with a couple of other people whose voices I don’t recognize.”
“Looks like you were right,” Harriet told Clarice. “This is some kind of prison.”
“Of course I’m right,” Clarice growled. “I’ve seen enough prisons to know I’m in one, princess.”
Harriet frowned, for she hates to be called a princess, except by Brutus. She bit back a sharp retort. This wasn’t the time to bicker and fight amongst ourselves. We needed to figure out how to escape this place, or else we might perish, just like Uncle Alec!
So we moved back to the entrance through which we’d dropped down, but as no light came in through there, it was obvious it had been sealed shut by now. And there was still that dog to contend with. There were no windows or other entrances except the one door, but that wasn’t a potential avenue of escape either, as it looked very sturdy. I directed my gaze upwards. That red-brick arched ceiling was high and out of reach, although there was a small opening… And that’s when an idea struck me.