by Dixie Davis
Lori glanced back. Clint, a pale, balding man, towered over her, his jaw flexing and his eyes drilling into Howard. “Well, isn’t that nice. At least I have this time to take a break from the pressures of running a successful inn and to spend some time away from the city.”
Charleston was only a tiny bit bigger than Wilmington, so Lori doubted that was an insult aimed at the convention’s host city. Her natural curiosity overcame her reluctance. “Where are you staying?” she asked.
“You probably haven’t heard of it.” He dismissed her, turning back to Howard for the rest of his reply. “Cutest little town all up and down the North Carolina coast — place called Dusky Cove.”
If Clint was staying at a B&B, that probably meant he was at one of the two other inns in town. That, or he’d deigned to stay in the town’s motel.
“What a coincidence.” A sly smile snuck onto Howard’s face. “We’re staying in the prettiest B&B in the cutest little town all up and down the North Carolina coast.”
Clint faltered for half a second before Howard delivered the final blow: “Our friend Lori’s.” He nodded toward her.
Clint snatched a boxed lunch off the table and stormed off.
Vera sighed. “That is the most competitive man I’ve ever met,” she murmured as they searched for a place to sit. “As if Charleston wasn’t big enough for two B&Bs.”
Lori and Howard laughed. The city had to have at least a dozen other inns in addition to Howard and Vera’s Brookes House.
“Why does he think you’re his rivals, then?”
Howard shrugged. “We’ve both been there a while, and we seem to be taking turns with things like the prospective innkeeper seminar at InnCon.”
“He’s running that this year?” Vera shook her head. “I thought they’d learned their lesson after last time.”
“What happened last time?” Lori asked.
Howard gave a low whistle. “InnCon nearly got sued because he threatened a lady who lived in Charleston.”
Though that really didn’t narrow down what he might have done wrong, Lori could imagine what he might do to a prospective competitor if that was how he treated a fellow innkeeper.
“He keeps undercutting us on prices,” Vera murmured. “But he doesn’t seem to understand why we get more repeat customers than he does.”
Lori nodded sagely. “Glad I did the seminar when you two were teaching.”
Howard and Vera both beamed at her. “So are we.”
They found a table with three empty seats. It wasn’t until after they sat down that Lori saw they were straight in Clint’s line of sight.
Howard and Vera didn’t notice, or if they did, they chose to ignore him. But Clint stared daggers at the three of them through the meal.
Make that very glad she’d gotten the Bughs instead.
The afternoon held a stimulating-to-the-point-of-overwhelming marketing intensive for Lori. She left half energized with new ideas to keep her place booked all summer and half afraid she’d forget something before she got a chance to try it, even with her notes.
After the last class, Lori found Howard and Vera at one of the linen vendors’ booths. Vera was carefully examining their offerings, feeling a fabric sample with all of her fingers like it was made of fine-spun silk. Howard and Lori stood a few feet away, observing the proceedings.
“Think we’ll avoid a Sheetgate?” Howard murmured toLori.
“For your sake, I hope so.”
Vera turned to them. “Can I have a moment?”
Howard made a surrendering gesture. “We’ll leave you two to get to know one another.” He nodded at the fabric she held, and Vera pursed her lips.
He and Lori backed away, but Howard headed off to see the electronic keypad displays, leaving Lori to look for any other online booking services.
She passed Tom’s table twice before she finally had to give in and stop. Tom regarded her warily, chewing his gum at a furious pace. “Can I help you this time?” he finally asked.
“Are your rates really better than other companies’?”
Tom glanced around — probably looking for Howard — before picking up a brochure and flipping it open. Lori hadn’t studied the other online booking services’ offerings extensively, but the percentages in the brochure did seem to beat his competitors considerably.
“Plus we can save you money on the rest of your credit card processing if you go through us.”
Lori nodded slowly, accepting the brochure to skim it. Surely if whatever Howard hated about Tom was so bad, he would have given Lori a more specific warning, right?
Or maybe not. She probably shouldn’t have come back to talk to him, no matter how tempting his rates were.
Just as she was about to thank Tom, a sharp bark of “No!” rang out from behind her.
Howard had her by the elbow before she could even drop the brochure. Howard snatched it away and slammed it down on the table. “I told you to stay away from her!”
It took Lori a moment to realize Howard was shouting at Tom, not her, but she still felt like a child being scolded.
Tom’s hands flew up like a barrier in front of him. “I wasn’t —”
“Of course you were, you little — !”
“Howard!” Vera’s voice was a whisper as sharp as a razor blade. “You’re embarrassing us all.”
“You want to save him from embarrassment?” Howard snorted, then poked a finger into Tom’s sternum. “Embarrassment is the least of your worries. One click.” He jabbed once more for emphasis. “And you can kiss everything goodbye.”
“You can’t.”
Howard raised both eyebrows in a challenge.
Vera tugged on the sleeve of his Hawaiian print shirt. “Stop this right now.”
Howard glared at her. “Did you pick one?”
“No, you had to go and interrupt.” She gestured at Tom, like it wasn’t obvious what she meant.
“I’m sorry, was I supposed to leave Lori to the wolf?”
Vera glanced around and Lori did likewise. With no classes in session right now, the exhibit hall was full, and they were attracting a lot of attention. A lot.
“Let’s just leave,” Vera said. “Lori has her guests to get ready for.”
Though she didn’t mean to do more than warm up some cookies tonight, Lori thought that perhaps that was best.
“We did want to stop by that bakery you found.” Lori couldn’t remember if Howard had actually succeeded in his search, but she hoped he had. At least it would give them an excuse to leave early.
“Yes,” he said, his tone clipped, a steely gaze still fixed on Tom. “It’s time to go.”
If Lori didn’t know better, she’d think that was a threat. Then again, did she know better? She still had no idea what Tom had done to deserve Howard’s hatred. He didn’t even react that way to Clint.
Just as they reached the doors to the exhibit hall, Lori looked back at the exhibit hall — and then she slammed into something. The next thing she knew she was on her backside on the floor. Lori looked up. Speaking of the devil: she’d run into Clint, who was probably also too busy gawking to look where he was going.
“Seriously?” Vera’s tone grew sharp and shrill as only a mother’s could. “The way you treat us isn’t enough?”
Vera helped Lori to her feet while Clint stammered. “I didn’t — she didn’t — I couldn’t —”
“These games are ridiculous,” Howard said. “I know about all the garbage you’ve pulled in Charleston.”
“What?” The blood drained from Clint’s face. “You don’t have any proof.”
Vera stepped forward, arching an eyebrow in an expression that made her look like a classic villainess. “Try us.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Once again, Howard snorted. “Your funeral. We’ve put up with this long enough.”
Clint gaped after them as Vera and Howard swept Lori through the doors.
“Sorry you had to get mixed up in this,�
�� Vera murmured. “Clint’s been bothering our guests, and we think he might even be trying to post fake reviews of Brookes House.”
Lori broke off rubbing her sore behind. “Really? That’s serious.”
“Not to mention seriously unethical.” Howard shook his head. “I have half a mind to call the InnCon committee chair right now.”
“The timing would look petty,” Vera said, cutting him off. “We’ll get more proof and end this.”
Howard glanced back at the Convention center. “Yes, we will.” Before they reached the car, his phone played a little tune and he pulled it out, frowning at the screen for a minute. “Would you ladies excuse me just for a minute? I need to run inside and meet with someone.”
Vera nodded instantly, and it almost seemed like she knew who he meant, so Lori just waved for him to take his leave.
“What’s that about?” Lori asked.
“Something we’ve been working on for a little while,” was all Vera would share. “I heard the best idea in my pastry class. We should use it for breakfast!”
Lori allowed Vera to change the subject as she pressed ahead with her pastry plans. Hopefully she’d figure out what Howard was up to soon enough.
Lori and Howard waited in the car outside the bakery he’d found while Vera went in alone. A few minutes later, she returned, triumphant and secretive. Lori tried to fill the ride home talking about what she’d learned in her classes that day, although Howard and Vera probably knew everything she’d learned today better than the instructors, even. But Howard and Vera didn’t have much to say the whole trip.
They arrived back at the Mayweather House with plenty of time to double-check the incoming guests’ room — still fine — and thaw the homemade chocolate chip cookie dough for the Johnstons’ arrival later.
Lori tried to push away the lingering feeling of turmoil. The day had mostly gone well, Lori reminded herself as she sat on the porch with Vera, rocking and watching the river slowly flow past. So there had been a few personal conflicts. They’d taken up less than ten minutes total. She shouldn’t let it overshadow the whole day — or this moment of peace.
“Did you enjoy your classes today?” Lori asked after a few minutes.
“The first presenter was nervous,” Vera said. “And I wish he’d had a bit more depth to his information.”
“I bet with your experience you could say that about every class.”
Vera laughed softly. “There’s always something new to learn.” Her voice dropped to a soft murmur. “If you’ve got the right teacher, anyway.” Vera sighed. “What a day.”
Lori braced herself to talk about the arguments they’d encountered — or started — today in the exhibit hall.
Oliver, the teenage delivery boy for the Salty Dog, jogged around the corner of the house. “Delivery, Miss Lori?” he called.
“Thank you, Oliver.” She fished a few bills from her pocket for his tip and accepted the bag: her favorite, Brunswick stew and hush puppies.
Vera and Howard joined her in the dining room, praising the thick tomato-based stew, even though they surely had this in Charleston, just like they did throughout the South.
After dinner, Lori went to clean up and bake the cookies for the Johnstons, and of course a couple for herself and the Bughs. She reached the kitchen and was surprised to find a tray of raw, flat dough sitting on her counter. Was this Vera’s surprise? Hadn’t she said something about a deep fryer?
Vera rushed in, saw Lori staring at the dough and sighed. “There goes the surprise.”
“What are we making?”
“Well, last summer we went to this restaurant up in Massachusetts called Sweet, and they take croissant dough and fry it like donuts. They call them ‘dosants.’”
“Dosants,” Lori tested the word. It sounded . . . well, it sounded delicious, but the word itself was a bit odd. How would those crisp, delicate layers fry up? “Are we making them tonight?”
“I think we have to let them thaw overnight. If you can show me your fryer tonight, I can get it going in the morning. I’m excited to finally try them!”
“Me too.” Lori grinned. Butterier and flakier croissants? How could they go wrong?
“Do you mind if I use the leftover whipped cream and strawberries from this morning?”
Lori had assumed they’d use them when Vera told her about the idea from her pastry class this morning. “Be my guest.” Too late, she saw the pun, since Vera literally was her guest.
Lori pulled out her deep fryer, which happened to be the same brand Vera had at home. They left the dough to thaw for the night.
The Johnstons would be arriving soon, so Howard and Vera picked out a movie from the inn’s library, which she was still transitioning out of VHS. They headed to their room to give Lori plenty of space to be the hostess when her guests arrived. Lori showed the Johnstons around the place and got them settled after their long flight in. Once they were settled, Lori finished her crossword and headed to bed herself. They’d have an early morning.
Despite getting up at the crack of dawn, however, Lori was not the first one up. She was glad she’d gotten dressed when she heard low voices coming from the kitchen. As she drew closer, she recognized Vera’s and Howard’s voices, but not the strained, clipped tones they used.
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Vera spat. “Do you have any idea what that could cost us?”
“How about what it’s already cost us?” Howard barked. “There is too much riding on this to —”
“We don’t have to say —”
“We’d lose everything. We’re lucky we got out when we did, but if word gets out we knew, we’ll be finished.”
Lori glanced around, but she was alone in the dark hallway. Should she leave?
“Who’s going to tell?” Vera asked. “Clint? He’s the only one who’d want to hurt us.”
“Think about how people would look at us if they knew. How people like Lori would look at us.”
“You’re a fool, Howard. You’re the one risking everything. And for what?”
Howard scoffed. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’d act this way, treat me this way and then bring up Towelgate for fifteen years.”
Footsteps stalked toward where Lori stood and she hurried to duck out of the private hallway, back into the parlor.
Guilt needled at her heart. She shouldn’t have eavesdropped. She should’ve left as soon as she heard them arguing. More than that, she shouldn’t have heard them arguing. That was private, and a side of the relationship she really hadn’t wanted to see.
Howard strode out of the door marked Private and Lori jumped. “Morning,” he said with a quick nod.
“Good early morning to you.” Lori’s usual chirpy greeting sounded forced to her, but Howard didn’t seem to notice, heading past her to the porch, bathed in the gray light of early dawn.
Lori watched him for a moment. Should she sit with him and see if he needed to talk, or should she help Vera — and see if she needed a listening ear, too?
Loyalty to gender won out: she should go to Vera first. Lori headed through the hall to the kitchen again. She grabbed a blue-checked apron from the hook by the door. Her other apron was missing from its hook.
She found it on Vera, who was hard at work, and had been for quite a while, it seemed. The flat sheet of dough had been transformed into donut shapes with the edges puffed and pulling apart in layers already. Had she come down in the middle of the night to cut them out? Dozens of traditional donuts also sat waiting, raw and pale. When had she made dough for those? Or had she gotten that dough at the bakery yesterday, too?
Vera stood with her back to Lori, beating at a bowl vigorously. Lori sucked in a breath. If she was attacking the leftover whipped cream like that, she’d likely already turned it into sweetened butter.
“Morning,” Lori called. “Someone’s been busy all night by the looks of it.”
Vera’s laugh was high and thin. “Yeast can be decei
ving. I think the oil’s just about ready.” She pulled the whisk up out of the bowl she was mixing and a thin yellow glaze drizzled back down. “I did raid your lemons. Sorry about that.”
Lori waved a hand. “I’d actually forgotten to use them, so it’s good that you did.” Her mouth watered. A sweet, tart lemon glaze just barely crisped over a warm, fluffy fried donut — or dosant — sounded like the perfect way to start her morning.
And, possibly, the perfect reason to start a diet.
“Would you mind blending up the strawberries and folding them into the whipped cream while I get the first batch in the fryer?”
“Of course.” Lori complied, the strawberry puree turning the snowy whipped cream a cheerful pink. The smell of oil and dough carried through the kitchen. A perfect way to start the morning indeed.
Lori carried her bowl over to the counter where Vera worked, fishing the first batch out of the fryer. The donuts were golden brown, while the dosants had puffed up into a wide cylinder.
Vera pointed at the pastries on the wire rack. “When they’re cool enough, crack the dosants open and spoon some of your whipped cream inside. Or do you have a piping bag?”
“Somewhere, maybe. The spoon will work for now.”
Vera nodded, already adding more raw donuts and dosants to the oil.
The crackling bubbles of the oil smelled and sounded like a real home-cooked breakfast.
“Is everything okay with Howard? I thought I saw him out on the porch when I came out.”
Vera scoffed. “He’s fine. Pigheaded is all.”
Lori raised an eyebrow, trying to seem innocent and ignorant. People stopped her at least once a month to bare their souls, from their triumphs to their greatest trials, without a single question from Lori, just sympathetic nods and noises. Surely she could tap into that superpower and maybe help out a friend or two.
But Vera remained focused on her frying. Granted, you didn’t really want to look away from hot oil that might pop you any second or overcook your pastries, but still . . .
“I’m starting to think he’ll never learn,” Vera muttered. “That we’ll still be going through this argument in a nursing home, day in and day out.” She looked up, her eyes focusing on the middle distance. “Not much of a future to look forward to.”