by Ellery Adams
Maggie cocked her head, thinking. “Yes, he did mention that he’s fond of my soft ginger molasses cookies too. I sent him home with a plateful.”
“That’s all he wanted?”
“Like I said, we had a chat. Mostly about Mindy and you and the inn, though I really couldn’t help much. I’ve only been to the inn once or twice, and I’ve never met Loretta Atwood. Still, it was a very nice chat.”
Very nice. The man was flattering her mother, pumping her for information, and taking advantage of the Lee hospitality. The whole thing galled her.
“Mrs. Lee, I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this,” Jon said. “Mindy asked me to invite you and Mr. Lee to the inn for dinner soon.”
“Oh, it might take more than asking to convince Mr. Lee to get out of the house once he’s home.”
“Perhaps I can make dinner here.” Jon glanced around the small but tidy kitchen.
“In my little kitchen? Could you? I’ll admit, I’d love to see a real chef in action.”
“This kitchen is perfect,” he said. “Tell you what? You talk to Mr. Lee, and we’ll figure out a date for your dinner.”
“It must be Christmas, with all these presents, Chef Eason.” Maggie clapped her hands together. “I’m delighted.”
“Now, I have a question for you,” Jon said. “I’ve been trying to replicate your chocolate spice ball recipe, but I keep failing.” He paused. “I’ll admit that I’ve had more than my share of chocolate spice balls available at Atwood Inn. I’m enjoying them, but I can’t pinpoint all the flavors.”
Maggie smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary. “Tell me what spices you’re adding.”
Jon began to list everything in his recipe in detail. He stopped and looked expectantly at Cooper’s mama.
Maggie giggled like a schoolgirl. “You forgot two.”
“I did?”
“Orange juice and black pepper.”
“Pepper?” He frowned. “And orange juice?”
“They’re my secret ingredients. That recipe is now four generations old. You can’t tell anyone.”
“Never!” Jon mimicked zipping his lips.
“I’ll print you off a copy of the recipe.” She smiled. “I’m honored anyone would even try to replicate my cookies.”
“No, ma’am, I’m the one who’s honored.”
Cooper stared between her mother and Jon, surprised at the instant camaraderie. They kept talking as though she wasn’t in the room, and Cooper wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, though it was nice to see her mother in her element, chatting with another baker. She couldn’t help but notice how right at home Jon looked in her family kitchen, leaning against the refrigerator and smiling as her mother explained how she had tweaked the family chocolate spice ball recipe. The whole situation had Cooper speechless.
“Sweetie, weren’t you going to show Chef Eason your greenhouse?” Mama asked.
“What?” Cooper blinked.
“The greenhouse?”
“Oh, yes. Yes.”
“By the time you’re done, I’ll have a batch of warm scones ready, and we can have a snack.”
“Thank you, Mama.” She turned to Jon. “This way.”
“I like your parents’ home,” he said as he followed her back along the path to the yard.
“You do?”
“Yeah, it reminds me of my folks.”
“It does?”
“Why do you sound so surprised? My folks are down-home people like yours.”
“I am surprised. My sister tells me that your brother is an attorney.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she led the way. “And you’re a chef.”
“That’s because they taught us to go after our dreams, and we did. My parents always made us feel like we could do anything.” He paused. “I suspect your parents are the same.”
Cooper thought about his words. Both her mama and her daddy supported her, no matter what her dreams were. Even when she made mistakes, they never judged her. The thing was, she didn’t have any idea what her dreams were.
She frowned as she gnawed on that realization. Surely she wouldn’t spend her entire life at Make It Work! That was Mr. Farmer’s dream, not hers. She’d found that job through the temp agency. Their business kept the office equipment for hundreds of different companies in the area operating smoothly. Cooper was proud of the work she did, but it wasn’t a dream or even a career. It was simply a job. A job she did well, though it wasn’t even challenging anymore. Sure, she loved her coworkers, but did she want to spend the next thirty years fixing copiers or managing others who did?
When she stopped suddenly, Jon nearly ran into her.
“Oh, sorry. I should have signaled.” She pointed across the green lawn. “Back along that fence that separates our property from the woods, we have honeysuckle and sunflowers growing. By the end of summer, the sunflowers will be taller than me.”
“What’s beyond those woods?” Jon asked.
“Gum Creek.”
Jon nodded with appreciation. “What are those stakes for?” he asked.
“That’s for the tent. We’re going to have a wedding here in a few weeks. My friend Angela from work.” She sighed. “But I’ve got work to do in this yard first. It’s on my schedule for the three-day Fourth of July weekend.”
“This yard looks great. What do you need to do?”
“Oh, I’ll put a fresh coat of paint on the trellis that leads to the flower garden, and I’m going to tidy up the flagstone path. Plant more flowers. A few upgrades to make Angela’s day perfect.”
“Where is the flower garden?” Jon asked.
Cooper pointed to the back of the house. “It starts by that cherry tree. And that bed of coneflowers separates the flower garden from Daddy’s vegetable garden. Mama’s herb garden is to the left.”
As she kept moving in the direction of the greenhouse, a butterfly fluttered in a circle around her head and then behind her to flirt with Jon. Cooper laughed. “Pretty little thing, isn’t it? I used to be able to name them all, but I’m out of practice.”
“I’m familiar with the monarch and the eastern tiger swallowtail.”
“Very good. The swallowtail is the state insect,” Cooper said.
He nodded. “And your honeysuckle is their favorite.”
“I’m impressed,” Cooper admitted. “I took a class on how to attract butterflies over at the Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden. We’ve planted salvia and zinnia on the side of the house to keep them happy.”
Jon ducked as he entered the greenhouse. He was easily six feet tall and barely missed hitting his head on the doorframe on the way in.
The loamy scent of soil and plantings greeted them as they entered the humid space. Across the length of the left side the potting table was covered with stacks of terra-cotta planters. They would hold seeds when the winter garden was planted in August. The center table held mature plantings that were further along, including peppers, eggplant, and tomatoes, all very happy in the moist environment of the greenhouse.
“I’ve moved most of the vegetables outside now,” she said.
“I’m really jealous of this space,” Jon said. He stopped to examine a stack of gardening books.
“These are my birdhouses,” she announced as they reached the back of the greenhouse.
Strung across the wall were Cooper’s collection of birdhouses, all of them in various stages of completion. Several had already been painted with milk washes in rustic shades of blue, yellow, and red. “It’s pretty warm in the greenhouse during the day now, so I don’t work on them much in the summer unless I have a problem weighing on my mind. Then I might move one of my daddy’s worktables outside and work out here.
“These are amazing. So rustic.”
“Thank you,” she said, trying to see the birdhouses from his eyes. “They’re made with reclaimed lumber and thrift shop finds.”
“They’re unique, one of a kind. Have you sold many?”
“Oh, I
mostly give them away. Every year I donate one to the Hope Street Winter Bazaar. They raise money for different youth mission trips.”
“That’s great, but you could be doing so much more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cooper, you’re a talented artisan.” He shook his head. “Sometime I’ll take you down to the crafters festival. You should be attending a few and consigning these in local shops.”
“My birdhouses?”
“Sure. I’ve been telling Mindy forever that she should open a little gift shop at Atwood Inn. Those with the repurposed spoons and forks for perches would be perfect for the clientele she’s going to attract.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes. Guests eat that stuff up.” He paused. “Your friend Savannah. She said she’s a folk artist. I bet she attends the craft shows and festivals in the area. Ask her.”
“Okay, I will.” She stared at the birdhouses. One of her favorites was a church birdhouse with a little cross on the steeple made from costume jewelry. “But I’m having a hard time believing that my birdhouses are good enough to sell in Atwood Inn.”
“Cooper, they are. You’re underestimating your talent. You’re an artist.”
“Me? I just play around with leftover stuff.”
“You repurpose. Not only are you a talented artist, but repurposing is very popular now.”
She stared at him for a moment, contemplating his words. There was a time when she thought maybe she’d try to sell her birdhouses. It didn’t take long for her to dismiss the idea as preposterous. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
The idea burgeoned in her mind. Imagine making a little extra money from her birdhouses. Maybe she could even afford to pay off the rest of her credit card debt and start paying her parents rent for the apartment above the garage. That might mean that Daddy could finally stop putting off retirement. It would certainly go a long way toward their cruise or even helping Mama launch her business. Once Detective Olson crossed Magnolia’s Marvels off the suspect list, that is.
“Will you at least think about it?” he asked.
She nodded. “I will.”
In the distance, Columbus made his presence known. The hawk didn’t take kindly to being ignored when there was family out in the yard.
“What was that? It sounded close by.”
“That’s because it is close by. It’s Columbus, my grandmother’s hawk. He was rescued after someone shot him.”
“A hawk? Really? May I see him?”
“Sure. Follow me.”
Cooper led Jon to the aviary, where the red-tailed hawk was perched, his talons curled around the branch that stretched across his space. He gazed at them with his piercing yellow eyes.
“This is amazing,” Jon said. “Does he stay in the cage all the time?”
“Oh, no. Columbus takes short flights, but his wing is permanently damaged, so he’s happy to return home. Grammy or I let him out for a spin once or twice a day.” Cooper stuck her finger into the cage and stroked the feathers on top of Columbus’s head.
“We better head back to the house, Mama’s scones will be done by now,” Cooper said. At least she hoped they would be, because she wasn’t sure how she felt about spending so much time with Jon.
“Thank you for the tour of your yard and your greenhouse,” Jon said as he fell in step beside her on the flagstone path.
“And thank you for being so nice to my mama.”
“I wasn’t being nice. I like your mother.” He paused. “I like you too.”
Cooper inhaled sharply, willing herself not to blush. “I should tell you right up front, I’ve got a history of bad relationships.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“My first beau left me for another. The second left me for California.”
“That only means you haven’t met the right man. Besides, you’re getting ahead of yourself. I’m only suggesting we combine our love of gardening. You have an excellent history with dirt and plants. I trust that the rest will work itself out.”
Work itself out. She liked that idea. No stress, no pressure. Cooper couldn’t help but smile.
“One last thing, Cooper.”
“Yes?”
“Mindy wants to make it up to the group too. You didn’t get to finish your weekend at the inn. She has extended an open invitation for all of you to return to the inn. Maybe for an overnight stay or for lunch after church sometime.”
Cooper looked at him, daring to ask the question. “Do you go to church, Jon?”
“My mama would be appalled that you had to ask. Of course I do.” His eyes rounded in faux outrage.
Once again, he made her smile. “I’ll talk to the group, but as I recall, Atwood Inn doesn’t do lunch service.”
“This is a special circumstance, and I understand that famous chef Jon Eason will be preparing the meal.”
As they reached the back door, Cooper stopped and turned to Jon.
“I’m glad you came today.”
“Why, Cooper Lee, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He reached around her for the door handle and held open the screen. “Now, let’s go eat scones. I’m so excited to have Magnolia’s Marvels fresh from the oven that I can hardly stand it.
Cooper chuckled as she led the way.
Chapter Nine
“I’ve been thinking about this salad all week,” Trish said.
Cooper looked at the green goddess salad that Trish had nearly finished, and then down at her bowl of macaroni and cheese. Healthy would have been a better choice, but it was too late now. Chasing the last noodle around her bowl before popping it into her mouth, Cooper did the math. She’d have to run an extra two times around the high school track to make up for all the cheese and butter in her lunch.
When Savannah sat down with a snickerdoodle cookie, Cooper noticed her paint-stained fingers. Then she remembered Jon’s comment.
“Savannah, do you attend many arts and craft events in the area?”
She turned to Cooper. “I sure do. As many as I can get to. Are you interested in attending?”
“I actually do a little crafting of my own, on the side. I thought I’d maybe check a few events out.”
Savannah’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Cooper, that’s wonderful. I had no idea you were a crafter, but I’m not surprised. You’re a detail person. What’s your area of specialty?”
“Um, well, I make birdhouses from reclaimed materials.”
“I’d like to see them sometime,” Savannah said.
Trish leaned close. “Me too. Maybe you can bring one to Bible study.”
“I guess maybe I could.” Was she ready for the group to see her birdhouses? When she donated them, she just dropped off the box and walked away.
“In the meantime, I’ll get you a list of local events. Most are juried, but that’s easy enough.”
“Juried?” Cooper asked.
“They ask you to send in a photo of your craft to determine if your product aligns with the craft event and to make sure there’s a variety of products.”
“That makes sense,” Cooper said.
“Everyone ready to get started?” Quinton asked as he wiped his mouth.
“Yes, let’s,” Savannah said. She looked around the circle of friends as she pulled a notebook out of her bag and placed in on the table they occupied in the corner of Panera. “Jake and I found some interesting information.”
“What’s that?” Trish asked.
“Dax Wilson was married to Alice Mayberry.”
“What?” Cooper looked up at Savannah’s words and then turned to Quinton. “They found out without any calories.”
“I’m okay with that,” Quinton said. “Because I’m still savoring that crème brulée with Madagascar vanilla beans.”
“What are you two talking about?” Bryant asked. He smacked his lips with satisfaction and pushed aside his empty soup bowl.
“Friday nigh
t, Cooper and I had dinner at the Richmond French Bistro, where Alice is now working. She goes by Wilson at her new kitchen. Alice admitted to us that Dax was her ex.”
“Crème brulée.” Bryant turned to Cooper with his brows raised. “Is that what you had too?”
“I had a vanilla-raspberry soufflé. Quinton had to roll me out of there at the end of the night.”
“So how did you two dig up that information on Alice and Dax?” Quinton asked.
“Mindy gave us the name of Dax’s last employer from his employment application,” Jake said. “That part was easy.”
“Wait, I’m confused. How did that connect you to Alice?” Cooper asked.
“It didn’t at first. We went to his address on file first. Nothing. The landlord said he took off with a woman two weeks ago, but he couldn’t describe her. Cleared out all of his stuff, as well,” Jake said. “Then we paid a visit to Dax’s old boss. He wasn’t very helpful until we mentioned we wanted to chat with Dax about a painting.”
Cooper’s mouth dropped open. “You mentioned the painting?”
“I thought it would stir the pot,” Jake explained.
“And it did.” Savannah leaned forward. “All of a sudden he was eager to talk and asked if we had reached out to his ex-wife, Alice. He also mentioned that Dax has a penchant for poker. Unfortunately, he’s not very good at poker, so we’re not the only ones looking for him.”
“A gambling debt. Now that’s interesting. It certainly provides motive. Any luck tracking him down?” Quinton asked.
“No. That’s where the trail ends,” Savannah said.
“Do you think Dax left town?” Trish asked. “Detective Olson was adamant that we should not leave the area.”
Savannah’s expression was thoughtful. “I’m guessing that wouldn’t stand in Dax’s way if he’s involved in Loretta’s murder or stealing the painting.”
Cooper frowned. “Out of curiosity, what was his last place of employment?”
“A pawn shop,” Jake said.
“The perfect place to fence a painting,” Cooper said.
“A Deveraux?” Bryant frowned. “Probably too high-brow for a pawn shop. But then again, I haven’t fenced any paintings lately, so what would I know?”