I led him back to the counter and began to explain when a high-pitched female gasp was followed by a loud guttural groan. Then, a couple of deep, shuddering sighs were followed by silence.
We heard Pete’s voice whispering from behind the drape. “Do you think they heard?”
“Oh, who cares, baby. That was fantastic,” Stacie giggled. “We should try this in some other places outside the house. Maybe in a bar bathroom next time.” Moaning and smacking sounds started up again.
I made the executive decision that my shop wasn’t going to be the setting for the pair’s round two. I walked over to the curtain and called out loudly. “Hello? Is everything alright in there?”
Pete stuck his head out, his eyes glittering and his hair wild, and Stacie peered out from over his shoulder. “Everything is fantastic,” she purred.
“Well, that’s great,” I said. “But we still may be getting some walk-ins and I’d rather you two weren’t the floor show.”
They grinned and disappeared behind the curtain. Roger, Vanessa and I exchanged looks. A moment later the newlyweds re-emerged, clothing a little disheveled, pink-cheeked and grinning at one another.
“All better now?” Vanessa asked, trying to choke down laughter.
Stacie smiled broadly and nodded. “Much.”
“I guess we’ll be going now. Sorry,” Pete said, as he started leading Stacie out the door. She gave him a slight elbow to the ribs and a telling look. “Oh.” He fished out his wallet and put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks. For the cookies and tea. And …” he paused, trying to find the right words.
“Thanks for the memories,” Stacie smiled. She planted a big kiss on her husband’s lips and tugged him out the door. “Come on. Let’s get back to the hotel. Oh, maybe we should try fooling around in the lobby.”
Once they were out of sight, Roger was first to speak. “So what was that?”
“We’re not one hundred percent sure,” I began.
“Well, what are you sure about?”
Vanessa and I brought him up to speed.
After we summed things up, I turned to her. “What kind of tea did you make for them?”
“I forget the name of it,” Vanessa said. She went to the back room and brought a tray of teas out. “You said make something with rose petals in it, so I chose this one.” She pulled out a hot pink container.
“Oh boy, that explains it.”
“Explains what?” Roger asked.
“That was some ‘passion’ tea I mixed up a few weeks back,” I explained, peering into the tin. “I didn’t think it would work that well.”
“What did you want me to give them?” Vanessa asked.
I picked up a rose-pink tin. “I meant this. It’s a true love blend rather than a hot passion one.”
“The one I used has rose petals in it,” Vanessa said. “I saw you mixing it up the other day, so I thought that was the one you meant.”
“No harm done, I suppose. The fighting is clearly done, considering how furiously they were making up back there. I guess I better get a rag and some cleanser. God, I hope they didn’t go too wild with, um, bodily fluids and all.” I began to make my way to the back of the store for cleaning supplies.
“You think this problem began when your cousin came in?” Roger asked.
“It sure seemed that way,” I said, as I made my way to the table and chairs in the corner. I peered carefully inside. “Well, it looks reasonably intact. I guess I’ll take the tablecloth off, then wipe down the chairs to be safe.”
Roger followed me back, pulled off the table cloth and picked up a couple things that had fallen to the floor. Then, when he had finished, he sat down and pulled me onto his lap. Vanessa came over and perched across from us.
“That was the damned-est thing,” she said. She grinned wickedly. “But they sure did sound like they were having fun.”
“It helps make up for what transpired moments before,” I noted as I turned and looked at Roger.
“What?” he said. “You’re giving me a look like I did, or am about to do, something wrong.”
“I was just wondering,” I started.
“Wondering what?” he pressed.
“If other men will respond to Plenty the way that this Pete guy did.”
“Oh God,” Vanessa groused. “Can we go into hiding now? How much longer will she be here?”
“A few more days, unfortunately.”
23
“HOW CAN I help?”
I had just let Roger in. He’d been the first to arrive for the family dinner I was hosting.
“Thank you for the flowers,” I said as he handed me a large bouquet of poppies. “As for the food, I have everything fairly well in order.” I set the blooms on the hutch by the dining room table, and surveyed the scene. “I guess you could open the wine when they get here, if you like.”
I had been thinking of ordering carryout and pretending I’d cooked, but when Vanessa offered to stay at my shop until closing time, I opted to leave early and cook something from scratch. I invited her and Ethan, but I knew she’d decline since she didn’t want to spend any more time around Plenty than she had to.
I decided to keep things simple and roast a couple chickens, some potatoes and seasonal vegetables.
“Sure, I’ll do that,” Roger nodded, then got a funny look on his face. I was about to ask him what was wrong when he leaned over and grazed his lips along the side of my neck. It sent a thrill up my spine and had me wishing that it was just the two of us for the night.
While in mid-kiss, a knock at the door broke the spell.
It was Jordan. He’d chosen to leave the Wheelers’ house early and walk to my place. I gave him a quick tour, and he looked at everything in exacting detail, nodding here and there.
“Feeling any urge to rearrange?” I asked in a teasing manner.
“Not much,” he said. “Just one or two things.”
“Go for it,” I urged.
He looked caught for a moment, and then switched a vase with a couple candleholders, and slid a plant several inches away from my picture window. He looked around and continued in that vein for a few more minutes.
“What’s he doing,” Roger asked, as he watched Jordan rearrange.
I shrugged. “He’s just doing his thing.”
Fido and Puck came out to observe. Fido watched with unveiled interest, tilting his fluffy head to and fro, while Puck looked like his huge green eyes were going to bug out of his skinny little head. I was surprised, since Puck tended to be a huge coward, but this was one of the very rare times when the cat was more curious than fearful of an unfamiliar face. Jordan walked by the couch and snapped his fingers and Puck hopped up and sat on his usual spot, giving Jordan’s fingers a sniff. Then the teen patted one arm of the loveseat and up hopped Fido, who settled on his favorite spot. The cat closed its eyes as Jordan gave him a quick scratch behind the ears.
“What on earth?” Roger stood and asked, eyeing Jordan as he moved things and petted the cats.
“He has this gift for putting items where they belong,” I offered. “Jordan! You even know where the cats like to sit, don’t you?”
He nodded, and once he had finished, he had a satisfied smile on his face, and was admiring his handiwork. I looked around and nodded in approval.
Roger did, too, and after a minute he spoke. “It looks good. Like it fits together better, somehow, even though you just moved a few things.”
Jordan went up to him and looked Roger over. “May I?”
Roger looked surprised for a second, then told him yes.
Jordan tweaked his collar and straightened his shirt a bit, and adjusted his belt.
“Hey!” Roger said. “What’s going on?”
Jordan ignored him as he used his fingers to rake a few hairs off Roger’s forehead.
“Done,” Jordan said.
Roger did look more polished.
Wyatt arrived next. He took a look around my house and blandly complimented m
y décor. When his eyes lingered over my cleavage, I pulled my neckline up slightly so as not to give him any more of a show. He obviously was admiring that much more than my sofa and end tables.
The cats came out to examine him. Fido gave him a sniff and walked away, swishing his tail, bored, while Puck opted to vanish. I knew I wouldn’t see the silky black cat for the rest of the night. Fido, however, would be popping out from time to time to beg for table scraps and to inspect my guests.
Not long after seven I heard a car pull up and dogs yelping. I peered out the window saw Mom, Tom, Aunt Lindy and Plenty tumble out, with Beanie and Hooper close on their heels.
“Do the cats like the dogs,” Jordan asked.
“They’re okay with them,” I said. “They’ll like the dogs better than most human company because the beagles will bring in interesting smells.”
Plenty crossed the threshold first. She was dressed in a more subdued outfit than she had been for her arrival or the night at the casino, but the skirt she wore was still quite short, and the lilac-colored sweater was nearly as tiny as it was sparkly.
She gave me a warm hug as she made her way inside and then hopped over to greet Roger and give Wyatt an all-encompassing embrace. He picked her up as he squeezed her back and set her down and tilted her back as he gave her a dramatic kiss. Her eyes were shiny and she looked thrilled at the attention.
Aunt Lindy followed, and I gave her a hug and made her twirl for me and show off the deep violet dress she wore. It made her pale complexion look all the brighter and made her flaxen hair look even blonder.
Mom, in part because she is Mom, but also because she has that competitive streak, was wearing a red sparkly sweater and her beloved sparkly red heels along with a black skirt with a high slit on the side.
“Is there wine?” were the first words to emerge from her mouth.
Roger nodded and uncorked a bottle of rosé and poured a glass for her.
“A bit more, dear. No, keep going. Yes, that’s good. May as well uncork a second bottle. We’ll be seeing the bottom of this one quickly since I’m sure at least four of us – maybe five – will be drinking.”
“Is that more of that good wine,” Jordan whispered to me as he watched Roger pour. “Oh, wait, that’s kind of pink. Is it sweeter?”
“Not as sweet as the second one you tried, but probably not as dry as the first variety.” I said as Jordan looked at me, then hopefully at the glass Roger was filling.
“Can I have some?” he asked.
“If you can get Roger to let you have some, sure,” I replied.
“I think we know how he’s going to react.”
I shrugged. “He’s manning the bar. I’m not going to overrule him.”
Jordan frowned. “Didn’t you ever drink when you were underage?”
“Oh, indeed I did. I can guarantee you that everyone here did, including Roger, though he’s not drinking any more. But you’ll have to do what we all did at your age.”
“And what was that?”
“Consider it an exercise in problem-solving,” I offered.
The chicken turned out perfect, and no, I’m not bragging. It’s not hard to roast a bird. Just stuff it with onions, garlic and rosemary or thyme, rub its skin with butter and seasonings, and roast it for the right amount of time. Everyone will think you’re a culinary whiz.
My one regret was that I hadn’t added a bit of lavender to the herbs. Not so much for flavor, but it is a calming herb, and I quickly realized that my mother was annoyed with our guests. Her marathon drinking made it obvious. In turn I could see Aunt Lindy was also tense, judging by the looks she kept aiming in Mom’s direction.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t moderate your pace a bit, my little cactus flower?” Tom asked, as she drained another glass. He speared a pickle and a couple cubes of cheese and tumbled them onto her plate. “Have a bite, hon.”
She ignored the pickle and handed each beagle a cube of cheese. “I’m not driving, so I see no reason to put a cork in the festivities. Or the wine, for that matter,” Mom replied, presenting her goblet to me for a refill. I did as commanded. “Poppy, bring back some more wine the next time you go into the kitchen.”
“Will do.”
By the time I returned with an uncorked bottle, my mother had again emptied her glass. She held it up for me to fill again, but I acted like I didn’t see. Aunt Lindy and Plenty’s goblets were getting low, so I topped them off – generously – and gave myself and Wyatt more before pouring the remainder into my mother’s glass.
“That’s all?”
“I didn’t realize you’d finished yours. Sorry, Mom.”
“You could hardly fault her for thinking you still had wine, considering how fast you’re drinking,” Aunt Lindy tsked.
“You’re not exactly pacing yourself either, my darling older sister,” Mom murmured into her glass. “For all I know, I learned it from you.”
“No worries. I’ve got plenty,” I cut in.
“Huh?” My cousin looked at me when she heard her name. She’d been canoodling with Wyatt for a moment, giggling over something.
“Nothing. Just used your name in vain,” I commented.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Plenty replied.
“Drink more wine,” I prodded.
“That won’t make it make any more sense,” she replied.
“No,” I agreed, “but it’ll make me sound a lot funnier.”
She shrugged and took another sip and returned her attentions to Wyatt.
I went to the counter to put the chickens and vegetables on serving plates, and Tom sidled up to me.
“Distract your mother for a moment when you bring those birds to the table,” he said as he plucked a bit of crispy skin off one chicken and popped it in his mouth.
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to hide a couple bottles of wine. If she sees them she’ll finish them.”
“Okay,” I said. “Is the visit going that badly?”
“Not for me, no,” Tom replied, “but there’s a lot of comparing going on. Who’s thinner. Who’s more successful. Who looks younger. You know, all that fun stuff.”
“Some things never change, I guess,” I sighed. When I was a teen I was about ten pounds heavier and for all the grief I got over it from Plenty, you’d have thought it was a hundred pounds. I made my way to the table and set the plate in front of my mother. “Mom, does this look done enough to you?” I asked.
“Why ask me?” she slurred. “You’re a better cook than I am.”
“With a few things, I suppose, but I did learn from you, after all.”
That was true, but she also was feeling grouchy, so I figured an extra compliment wouldn’t hurt. She preened a bit as she looked over the chickens. “They look good. The skin seems nice and crispy. You used butter under the skin?”
“But of course.”
“It smells fantastic,” Wyatt enthused. He turned to Plenty. “Do you like to cook?”
“Um, well, I have a couple things I’m good at,” she started.
My Aunt Lindy gave a derisive snort into her wine goblet. Clearly she didn’t agree.
“What?” Plenty said, shooting a dark look in her mother’s direction.
“Shouting into a clown’s mouth doesn’t count as cooking.”
I was surprised to hear my aunt talk that way to Plenty. She was usually so even-tempered, especially when she was around people she didn’t know very well.
My mother’s sour expression brightened. To see her sister sniping like that proved satisfying. I didn’t want to see my mother get hammered, but I was curious about what would unfold with more wine. I fetched another bottle and topped off everyone’s glasses.
Roger gave me a telling look. “Are you sure about that,” he whispered behind the glass of soda pop he held in his hand.
“Who doesn’t love a good fireworks show?” I shrugged.
“So, what are you good at cooking,” Wyatt pressed, his attentions
fixed on Plenty. He gave her a dazzling smile and she leaned in toward him and giggled.
“Well, I like to make hamburgers and tacos,” she started.
“Hamburgers are good,” Tom nodded, as he put a platter of vegetables on the table. I motioned for everyone to hand me their plates in turn so I could serve them.
Tom grabbed a knife and fork and began carving the chickens. “Who wants breast meat?”
“I do,” Wyatt winked. I saw him gazing in my direction. I peered down and saw I had a fair amount of cleavage showing as I bent over my task. I adjusted my top – again. Roger shot his brother a dirty look, as did Plenty.
“Ha, ha,” my mother laughed into her glass. “Sis, your daughter’s date doesn’t have enough meat on her bones to keep his interest.”
“Mom!” I hissed.
“What? You gave a good show there when you bent over. How big are they, Poppy? You were a C cup when you were in eighth grade, but they grew after that. You’re no Vanessa, but you fill your sweater quite nicely.”
“Fiona!” Tom snapped. “You don’t need to be talking about your daughter’s – and my step-daughter’s – breasts in front of everybody.”
“Here, here,” Roger agreed. He set a meaty hand on my hip that felt more territorial than affectionate.
“Oh, look how sweet he is,” my mother cooed at Roger. “He’s feeling a bit caveman over his lady.”
“Plenty used to make good tacos when we were growing up,” I said, hoping to change the subject to something other than breast meat. “We’d all chop up some tomatoes and lettuce, and she’d season and cook the meat. It was always pretty good.”
“Her secret ingredient was a packet of taco seasoning,” my mother snorted.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Aunt Lindy snapped, now coming to her daughter’s defense “You’re not exactly an everything-from-scratch girl yourself.”
“Yes, but when I dump a ninety-nine-cent spice packet into some ground beef,” my mother said, miming a stirring action, “I don’t act like I’ve actually made something from nothing.”
My mother could cook from scratch, but she had no problem utilizing shortcuts when they proved handy. Neither did I.
Plenty of Trouble Page 16