Fruit Baskets and Holiday Caskets

by Gayle Leeson

  As I pulled into the Down South Café lot, I saw that Scott was already there. He was standing by the door holding his laptop bag, and he waved as I parked.

  Quickly getting out of the car, I said, “I’m sorry, Scott—I thought you had a key!”

  “I do.” He held up his keyring as if I could determine by sight which key of many would unlock the door to the café. “But when I saw you coming, I waited to see if you needed help carrying anything inside.”

  “I appreciate your being so thoughtful, but I brought over everything we’ll need yesterday.” I unlocked the door, stepped inside, and flipped on the lights. “By the way, Jackie is sick and will be out of commission for a few days.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” he said. “Anything serious?”

  “Aunt Bess says it’s the flu, but Jackie told me it was just a cold.” I placed my laptop sleeve on the table. “Of course, Jackie was barely coherent when we spoke. I left a message for Roger. Hopefully, he’ll give me a call back soon and provide all the pertinent details. Either way, I’m afraid we’re going to be shorthanded this week.” I unzipped the sleeve and removed the laptop. “I could call Shelly, but she hasn’t worked much since her mom’s Parkinson’s diagnosis. I don’t want to ask her unless I have to—I wouldn’t want her to feel obligated.”

  “What about Donna?” As he spoke, he sat across from me and booted up his own laptop.

  “I think Donna would be great, but I don’t know if her kids are out of school on winter break yet. If they are, she’ll probably have to decline.”

  “Text Luis,” Scott said. “He’ll know when the break starts if it hasn’t already. If it has, maybe Oscar would be interested in working.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea.” Luis’s younger brother, Oscar, had worked at the café some when we’d hosted the farmers’ market, and he’d managed really well.

  “I’m known for my brilliant mind, almost as much as for my striking looks.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “And here I was thinking you were known for your humility.”

  “Doesn’t that go without saying?” he asked. “So why do we need two laptops at a cake decorating party?”

  I explained how I’d found the fondant sculpting tutorials online. “Anything you can dream up and type into a search engine, you can likely find it made of fondant. The tutorials will hopefully make our work faster and easier.”

  “And with two laptops, we can divide and conquer. How many of each item do you think we’ll need?”

  Before I could answer, Dilly bustled into the café and shrugged out of her jacket. “Walter stayed at his house watching the football game. He says he’s not good at arts and crafts. Have I missed anything?”

  “Not a thing,” I said. “We’re still getting set up and waiting for Michelle, Homer, and Dave Tucker—I called Dave about making our cake board.” I caught a glimpse of a white pickup truck. “I think that’s him now.”

  Dave Tucker walked in wearing khaki carpenter pants and a jean jacket over a white shirt. He had the energy of a man half his age. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Hey there, Amy. Give me an idea of what we’re doing here.”

  While I showed Dave my idea for the cake and Rosemary’s instructions for the cake board, Homer and Michelle arrived. I was guessing he’d gotten there first because Michelle looked as if she still would rather be somewhere else. Oh, well...

  “I’ve got the wood in my shop to get this done,” Dave said. “I’ll go ahead and get started on it. Do you need it back today?”

  “Tomorrow will be fine,” I said. “And if that doesn’t work for you, then Tuesday will do.”

  “I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.” With that, he left.

  Dilly clicked her tongue. “Walter had better be glad I met him before I met Dave Tucker.”

  I hid a smile. Someone should make a reality show about Dilly and Aunt Bess and their adventures in dating. They could call it Dating Dowagers.

  “Who’s your hero today, Homer?” I asked.

  “Cake artist Duff Goldman.” He smiled broadly. “I wanted to choose someone we can all relate to today.”

  “Are we going to get started soon?” Michelle looked at her watch.

  “As soon as we hear a quote from Homer’s hero.” I nodded toward Homer.

  After flicking a disparaging gaze toward Michelle, Homer quoted, “‘The great thing about cake is it doesn't feel like work. You forget about work. Kids, adults, they all get the same look in their eye when they're decorating cakes... That's the magic right there.’”

  “What a great quote to kick off our decorating session.” I smiled.

  “Yeah, man!” Scott punched the air with a fist. “We’re gonna make some magic!”

  Michelle rolled her eyes. I felt like telling her she could leave if she had somewhere else to be, but I didn’t want to appear ungrateful for her offer of help. On the other hand, I was glad I had plenty of other volunteers so she didn’t feel as if I had to rely on her.

  “Very quickly, let me show you a mockup I made of our cake. I’m not an artist, but I think you’ll get the idea.” I passed around a sheet of paper on which I’d made a six-tiered cake and set out my ideas for each tier. “The sculpted foods will be placed on the top and the sides of their respective tiers because the people watching the parade go by will be seeing the sides of the cake. A yellow rosette border will separate the tiers and complement the bud vase that will sit on the top tier beside the coffee cup.”

  “I have an awesome idea for the coffee cup,” Scott said. “We can use dry ice to make it appear that it’s steaming.”

  I smiled. “The children will love it!”

  “Speaking of the little ones,” Dilly said, “you need to have someone walking beside the car on either side giving out candy or something.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “But it’s an excellent idea.”

  “But not the same old stuff,” Scott said. “You don’t want to hand out candy canes like everyone else.”

  “What about tiny cookies?” Michelle asked.

  My smile faded. “That sounds like a lot of work. To make and bag all those cookies would take up so much time. Besides, we’re going to be short a person this week.”

  “Who?” Dilly asked.

  “Jackie. She’s got a bad cold.” I didn’t elaborate.

  “That’s too bad. I hope she’s on the mend quickly.” Dilly spread her hands. “But we’ll worry about what to give out at the parade later. We’d better get started on making all these doo-dads to go on the cake.”

  We worked well that afternoon. I made coffee, we played—and sang along with—carols, and we made all the sculpted foods I thought I’d need for the cakes.

  I was exhausted but pleased when I dragged into the house Sunday evening. I fed the pets and sank onto the sofa while I waited for the electric kettle to boil.

  There was a knock on the door, and I half smiled as I rose, expecting it to be Ryan. Alas, he was not the Hall who was at my door—it was Michelle.

  “Michelle—hi.” I stepped back. “Please come in.”

  “I won’t take but a minute because I know you’re tired.” She chuckled. “You’re bound to be. I am, and I didn’t work half as hard as you.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You did a wonderful job. Thank you again for all your help.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “Would you like some tea or hot chocolate? I have the kettle on.”

  “No, thank you. I need to be getting home soon. I keep thinking about those cookies, though, and what excellent publicity they’d be for the bakery. I’d be happy to—” She broke off, looking down at the floor.

  Following her gaze, I saw Rory looking up at her adoringly. From his lips hung the gingerbread man.

  “Oh, goodness!” I pretended this traitorous act was something I’d never seen before. “How did you get that off the tree?” I chased him, trying to get it.

  Naturally, he thought we were playing and ran with it
. The rascal hopped onto the middle of my bed, tail wagging. He dropped the toy onto my bed. I made a grab for it, but he scooped it back up and zoomed under the bed.

  Red-faced, I returned to the living room without the ornament.

  “Maybe hang it higher next time,” Michelle said.

  I nodded.

  “Anyway, if you’d like to bake cookies later this week, I’d be happy to help.”

  “That’d be super,” I said.

  { }

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I

  t's not funny!” I exclaimed to a laughing Ryan on the phone later that evening.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, when he’d caught his breath. “Look, Mom made several of those ornaments, and I’ll snag another one to replace the one Rory has adopted.”

  “Thanks. But that still doesn’t help me with the cookies. Your mom is insisting that she and I make dozens of tiny sugar cookies to individually wrap and hand out at the parade. Do you know how much time that will take?”

  “Aw, come on. It’ll give you a chance to bond with her.” He paused. “I’ll even help—and referee—when I’m not working, if you want.”

  I had no response to that. I didn’t want to make cookies with Michelle Hall as if we were June Cleaver and Wally’s girlfriend. June would have been far more gracious. I imagined Michelle in a 1950s-style dress—maybe Amanda Tucker could make her one—pearls, and heels; but even with that visual, I couldn’t erase the disapproving expression from the woman’s face.

  “What’s tomorrow’s special?” Ryan asked, breaking into my reverie.

  “Um...it’s pot roast. Be sure and let Sheriff Billings know—it’s one of his favorite dishes.”

  “All right. And about Mom—”

  Before he could finish that thought, Roger called.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Ryan. “I have to answer this other call. It’s Roger, and I’ve been waiting all day to ask him about how Jackie’s doing.”

  “Okay. I love you, everything will be all right, and I’ll talk with you tomorrow.”

  “I love you.” As I switched over to Roger’s call, I smiled at Ryan’s words. Hearing him say he loved me would never get old. “Hi, Roger. How’s Jackie?”

  “She’s resting right now. I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I was at my parents’ house when I got your message. I left, drove to Jackie’s apartment, and then took her straight to the emergency room.”

  “Oh, no! I didn’t realize she was that sick!” I felt like dirt. “I should’ve gone to check on her after leaving the big house.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, Flowerpot. She was diagnosed with a sinus infection. After getting her settled back in at home, I went and picked up her prescriptions and some sports drinks and soups. She’s sleeping now.”

  “I am such a selfish jerk! I went straight to the café to work on the float instead of checking in on my cousin,” I said. “When I called, she told me it was just a cold and—”

  “Hush,” he interrupted. “You two are cut from the same cloth, you know that? She was telling me she was sorry she had to let you down this coming week by not being able to work. I told her you’d probably have Shelly fill in.”

  “Her shifts are taken care of.” I didn’t tell him it was Oscar who’d be working in Jackie’s place. That was likely to worry her even more. But since the county school system had already dismissed for the holiday break and Oscar was delighted for the opportunity to earn some money, it had worked out well. “May I ask you something about Devon?”

  “Sure. But if it’s ‘did I cut the brake lines on his vehicle,’ I hope you already know I didn’t.”

  “It’s not that. Chris and Adam seem really interested in whether Devon spoke much about his life in Florida—whether he missed it. I believe Adam wants Belinda to return to Florida.”

  “That might be the best thing for her since she has no family and very few friends here,” he said.

  “Did Devon seem to miss his old life?”

  “He didn’t like talking about Florida at all—wouldn’t even discuss the Buccaneers’ football game a few weeks ago. But I got the impression Belinda missed her old life. She’d mentioned it on a couple of occasions.” He blew out a breath. “It struck me that she seemed bitter about being forced to uproot her life and move to some little nowhere town—her words, not mine. So, yeah, I think it would be good for her to move back.”

  Rory wandered into the living room, dropped his gingerbread man onto the floor, and leapt onto my lap. He licked my chin before settling in. I caressed his silky ears.

  “What was the name of Devon’s company?” I asked.

  “I don’t remember. I know it was a boat charter, but that’s all.”

  “Let me know if you or Jackie need anything, all right? I can bring food for you guys to the big house tomorrow if you’re still working on the roof.”

  “I should be finishing up tomorrow,” he said. “But some food would be nice. Call me before you leave the café, and I’ll let you know where I am. I appreciate your looking out for us.”

  “Hey, you’re the one looking out for us! That roof nearly killed Aunt Bess, you know.”

  He chuckled. “She’s gonna outlive us all. Saint Peter will have to knock her on the head with a hammer on Judgment Day.”

  AFTER TALKING WITH Roger, I tried to snuggle up with Rory and watch TV, but I couldn’t concentrate on the program. I went to the fancy room, got my laptop, and brought it back to the living room. By the time I’d booted up the computer, Rory was snoring softly at my side.

  I did a search for boat charter companies in Florida. As you might imagine, the results were staggering. I added “Devon Carpenter” to the search. This time, the number of matches weren’t as imposing, and they were more interesting.

  One link was to a story in a South Florida newspaper about a smuggling boat. The article, dated May of last year, said in part:

  A group of people from Haiti, Sierra Leone, China, and Jamaica paid thousands of U.S. dollars to reach South Florida. All the migrants were detained, as was the captain of the boat, Richard D’Angelo. D’Angelo was held on the charge of alien smuggling. The other boat captain, D’Angelo’s partner Devon Murphy, leapt from the bow of the boat as Coast Guard boarded. Murphy was able to escape custody.

  Devon Murphy. Devon Murphy. Devon Murphy. The name thumped in my head as if it were being played on some sort of internal drum. Devon Murphy couldn’t possibly be Devon Carpenter, right? What fugitive on the run comes to Winter Garden, Virginia?

  I did an image search for Devon Murphy Florida boat charter. And there he was—the man I knew as Devon Carpenter. He and his partner had appeared in a newspaper photo touting the business. A chill snaked down my spine.

  I had to call someone. But who? Ryan? Roger?

  Ryan. I’d start with Ryan.

  My heart raced, as I waited for Ryan to answer.

  “Couldn’t wait until tomorrow to talk with me again, could you?” he asked, teasingly.

  “Um...I have to ask you something.”

  “Amy, what’s wrong?” His voice sounded stern and serious.

  “It’s about Devon Carpenter. Did you know he was using an alias?”

  “I’ll be right over,” he said. “Have you spoken with anyone else about this?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Don’t.” He ended the call.

  While I waited for Ryan, I paced in front of the Christmas tree. Rory had woken up and was regarding me curiously, his little head turning this way and that.

  “It’s okay, baby,” I assured him. “Everything’s all right.” Was I trying to comfort the dog or myself?

  Princess Eloise didn’t get off her perch until Ryan arrived—not because she was concerned about anything but because she loved him. She wound around his ankles before he sat with me on the sofa, and then she hopped onto the coffee table so she could observe him adoringly.

  “Start at the beginning and tell me what you k
now and how you know it,” Ryan prompted.

  “All right. I was talking with Roger about Jackie, and then I asked Roger if Devon had spoken much about his life in Florida. Roger said he refused to talk about it at all but that he thought Devon’s wife missed it.”

  “Why did you want to know about Florida?”

  “Because Belinda’s brother, Adam, keeps asking if Devon talked much about Florida and whether or not he missed it.” I told Ryan Adam had asked me when he saw Sarah and me at the restaurant on Friday night, and then he came into the café on Saturday and was asking Homer about Devon.

  “I saw him there on Saturday, but I didn’t know what he was talking with Homer about.” He frowned. “Why Homer?”

  “I suppose he thought that as a regular, Homer knows most of the people who come in.” I spread my hands. “He’s right. And Devon had told Homer he should visit the Bahamas sometime.”

  “Okay. So, all this interest in Florida made you want to check out Devon’s life there?” Ryan asked.

  “Yeah. I wanted to see if I could find his former business. Was it successful? Why had he left? I mean, I figured it was unsuccessful if he was so willing to leave it and bring his wife here to live in Winter Garden simply because he inherited a piece of property.”

  “True.” Ryan sat back against the cushions, and Princess Eloise elegantly pounced onto his lap and gazed up at him with her beautiful blue eyes. He reached out, and she raised her head to meet his hand.

  To be honest, I was a little jealous. She seldom ever paid me any attention other than at mealtimes.

  “So, you knew?” I asked.

  He nodded. “When we did a background check on Devon Carpenter, nothing came up. We found out then that his Social Security Number was fake. Devon Murphy was able to use the forged document to establish a new identity in Virginia.”

  “Did Roger know?” I held my breath.

  “I don’t think so. Upon learning that Devon Carpenter didn’t exist, we did the same thing you did—searched online for a Devon who owned a boat charter service. We found Devon Murphy and contacted the Coast Guard.”