“Stella. I haven’t seen you in ages.” Abby gave the girl a quick hug and dipped down to meet her eye to eye. “You have to stop growing so fast or you’re going to be taller than your big sister.”
“Mama says I’m Calliope’s mini me.”
“Let’s hope in that Mama is wrong.” Calliope relinquished whatever effect she had over the butterflies and strode to Jason’s side. “I’m glad you like the garden.”
“I’d take you back with me to New York if I thought you’d go.” Jason felt a pang in his chest. He’d gotten so caught up working with Abby these last few days, he’d barely thought of the city and the possibility of returning home. “I tried to start a rooftop garden at the restaurant after my brother died, like a memorial? All I managed were weeds.”
“Your heart has to be in something to make things flourish.” Calliope cast him an eerie, knowing look. “You’d be surprised what the right attitude will bring you.”
“Any time you’d like to leave my head alone would be great.” As unnerving as her statements were, he couldn’t find any anger toward her.
“I say what I see. No filter, my mama says. I’m hoping Stella will have a bit more tact when it comes to interacting with people. Careful, Stell,” she told her sister over her shoulder without looking. “Don’t bruise the leaves too much.”
“I know, I know.” Stella rolled her eyes.
“Ten-year-olds think they know everything,” Calliope said.
“Who’s to say they don’t?”
“Well, now.” She nodded slowly and tucked a thick red curl behind her ear. “I’ll have to take that into consideration for the future. Let me get you a basket.” She ducked inside a whitewashed shed and retrieved a large woven basket that she pushed into his hands. “You and Abby fill it to your hearts’ content. A welcome gift. You should fix that girl a special meal. Maybe pick up one of those knives yourself and remember what made you fall in love in the first place.”
“With cooking?”
Calliope smiled and twirled away, a tiny daisy clasped in her fingers. “With whatever.”
* * *
ABBY STEPPED OFF the elevator on the third floor of Southern Memorial Hospital the next day, the small potted African violet she’d bought at Calliope’s farm in one hand, a small container of chocolate chip cookies she’d triumphed over in the other.
She and Jason had spent the rest of yesterday afternoon and most of the evening in the kitchen, getting her up to speed on properly cooking chicken and fish, which resulted in something resembling dinner. She’d done pretty well with the chicken, but when it came to cleaning and gutting the fish, she’d almost reverted to her first lesson with her head in the sink.
With the excitement about the festival picking up steam around town, she’d been inundated with calls of encouragement and offers of support and more than a few orders for her to show them what Butterfly Harbor’s best could do. Since she’d talked herself into this crazy plan she was finally beginning to think she had a decent shot at winning.
Room 316 had been cordoned off by privacy curtains. She opened her mouth to call out to Mr. Vartebetium, but stopped when the elderly man’s voice sounded first.
“Gil, I told you, I’m not ready to talk about selling the Flutterby yet.”
Abby froze. Selling the Flutterby?
“Mr. V, surely you have to see the practical points of selling.” The familiar, condescending voice of Gil Hamilton told her the mayor wasn’t thrilled with Mr. V’s response. “I’ve spoken to the bank holding the mortgage.”
“My business isn’t any of yours!” Mr. V blasted with such vehemence Abby considered intervening, but she resisted. “I don’t care that your daddy owned that bank or not. You’ve got no right.”
“Your privacy issues aside, I need to be kept informed when one of this town’s landmarks is in danger of closing. They’re considering foreclosure proceedings and we both know those property taxes you owe aren’t going to disappear anytime soon. Besides, shouldn’t you be retiring?”
“The Flutterby isn’t some willy-nilly job, young man,” Mr. V said, and the spark of life in his voice gave Abby a bit of hope. “The Flutterby Inn’s been part of my life since long before you were born. I’m not about to walk away from it on your say-so. Besides, Abby is aware of everything, and from what I hear, she’s got plans.”
Abby’s face flushed. Word really had gotten around town if Mr. V had heard about it even while he was in the cardiac ward.
“We both know Abby doesn’t have a prayer of winning that competition,” Gil said.
Abby’s heart stuttered. So much for having the mayor’s support.
“At least two of her competitors have won other contests,” Gil continued. “Abby’s barely got boiling water down.”
Abby’s confidence took a nosedive. Which cooks? Which contests? She wanted to ask but thought of Jason and his insistence such knowledge would be cheating.
“I realize how much the Flutterby Inn means to both you and the town,” Gil said. “But I wanted you to be aware of your options. I’ve been in touch with a friend of mine at Clover Hotels and they’re seriously considering making an offer. A substantial offer, Mr. V, one that could set you up for the rest of your life.”
“And how long might that be?” Mr. V snapped. The curtain shifted and Abby saw Gil’s feet move in her direction. She darted to the side. “I’m eighty-two years old and on my third heart attack. What do you think I’m going to use the money for? Skydiving lessons?”
“Mr. V, this is a serious conversation,” Gil said and she heard the rustling of papers. “I’ve got some information here for you to look at...”
“I’m not selling out to some big chain that doesn’t understand the concept of personal service,” Mr. V told him. Abby smiled, relief sinking through her. “And you best not be taking any kickbacks from these businesses you’ve been pushing on Butterfly Harbor, or else we’ll be holding another special election to rid ourselves of the Hamiltons once and for all.”
Pride swelled in Abby’s chest. Good old Mr. V. He was on her side. He was willing to fight for the Flutterby after all.
“At least look at what they’ve done with other businesses throughout the state.” The resignation in Gil’s voice told her he wasn’t completely immune to criticism. “There’s no harm in getting an idea.”
“There’s harm in giving up, and I’m not doing that. Not yet. Now you get your big ideas and your big head out of my room, Mr. Mayor. Before I sic my nurses on you and have them poke you with one of their needles.”
There was a long moment of silence. “I’ll just leave these here.”
Abby dashed to the doorway and made as if she were entering as Gil stepped out from behind the curtain.
“Oh, hi, Gil.” She kept her voice as sweet as possible and nearly gave herself a cavity. “Nice of you to visit Mr. V. All ready for the festival?”
“Nine a.m. next Thursday,” Gil said, looking a little green around the edges. “Good luck with the contest. We’re all pulling for you.”
“So I hear. Sounds like my competition is going to be pretty stiff. Hope I can get that water-boiling technique locked down.” She didn’t regret her words as comprehension slid over his face. “Your voice carries, Mr. Mayor. You should work on that. Mr. V, I brought you some presents.”
She stepped around Gil, part of her bidding a silent farewell to the boy she’d known growing up. All these years she’d given him the benefit of the doubt because they’d been his father’s misdeeds, but there was a time to outgrow your circumstances. Something it seemed Butterfly Harbor’s mayor didn’t have any intention of doing.
Abby poked her head into the room and tried not to gasp when she saw Mr. V reach for the manila folder beside his bed.
Mr. V made to look as if he were trying to sit u
p straighter, but with the way he avoided her gaze, they both knew the truth.
“Wasn’t expecting you today, missy.” Mr. V patted the significant space beside him on the bed. He didn’t take up much room these days, but despite his frail appearance, there was still steel in those gray eyes of his. His hair might have thinned in the nearly thirty years she’d known him, his body might be stooped, but he’d always be the kind innkeeper who used to sneak her lollipops when Gran wasn’t looking.
“Gran’s in physical therapy.” She lowered herself onto the thin mattress. She’d been grateful for the day off and she thought Jason was, as well, as he’d headed out for Monterey before breakfast this morning. “I thought I’d make the best use of my waiting time. This is for you.”
“Isn’t that pretty.” He held out his hand for the flowers as she passed the pot to him. “This must have come from Calliope Jones. No one grows blooms like that woman.” He flicked a crooked finger against the delicate petals. “And what’s that?” He angled a look at the plastic container in her other hand.
“Practice cookies,” she said. “I’ve been taking cooking lessons. But I’m guessing you heard about that.”
“Been hearing a lot of things lately, despite my bad hearing,” Mr. V attempted to joke, but as he pulled off the lid, he cringed. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know Mayor Hamilton probably won’t be leading my cheering section.” She couldn’t resist temptation. She picked up the envelope. “May I?”
“I don’t want you frettin’ just yet,” Mr. V said as he chose a cookie and examined it. “You make these?”
“I did.” It had taken three tries to get them right. She’d kept getting distracted, first by the news the NCN crew would be arriving sooner than expected, then by an overflowing toilet in room 105. Fortunately she’d already blocked off that room because of the faulty air that made a ruckus whenever it was switched on, but Matt was waiting on parts for the final fix. “Feeling dangerous?” she teased her boss.
“A bit. It’s not on my approved food list.” He peered around Abby before nibbling on the edge of the cookie. “Abby.” He took a bigger bite. “My goodness. These taste like my Maisy’s. Hard to believe she’s been gone eight years.” Tears flooded his eyes. “What a gift. Thank you.” He closed the container but held the solitary cookie in his hand as if it were gold.
“I found her recipe in one of Matilda’s cookbooks. I looked at the accounts,” she added before she lost her nerve. “I understand how bad things are.”
“I can only imagine how disappointed you are in me.” He seemed to shrink into himself. “You and I both know the Flutterby was Maisy’s dream. When she died, my heart went with her. I’ve lost any fight I had for the place.”
Just like Jason losing his brother. Like Gran without Gramps. Each of them had lost their rudder. “I wish you’d told me sooner. I might have been able to do something.” That’s what bothered her most. The lost time, the lost potential. Maybe it was her fault. She should have been paying closer attention.
“Abby, to be honest, you and your grandmother are the only reason why I’ve kept things going this long. I owed it to both of you and your grandfather. I promised him you two would always have a home at the inn, but I’ve been thinking about selling for a while.”
“But you told Gil—”
“You think I’d let that son of a reprobate dictate who I’d sell to? I’m not about to put any more money into the pockets of those Hamiltons, and mark my words, there are a lot of others in town who feel the same. No.” He patted Abby’s hand and tugged the envelope out of her fingers. “Whatever this offer is, it wouldn’t be good enough for me to accept.”
“But it could give you bargaining power for whoever does offer to buy the Flutterby.” He might be old, but he was still as cagey as ever. In his position, she might do the same thing. Except she wasn’t in his position. Hers was even more impossible. “Has an offer been made?”
“It has. I haven’t accepted. But the time’s coming. They want an answer by the first of the month.”
“Not yet.” She breathed a sigh of relief. Three weeks, though. She wasn’t sure what she hated more, the tears that clogged her throat or the calendar for moving so fast. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“When the time was right. Abby, I’ve handled this badly and I owe you and your grandmother so much, but the time has come.”
“No. No, it hasn’t, Mr. V. Not yet. Despite what Gil said, I really do think I can win this competition. And the money would be enough to get the tax people off your back. Would that be enough to change your mind?”
Mr. V shook his head. “There’s so much more to it than that. You’re a smart girl. You must see that.”
“I do.” And it was keeping her up nights. “But it’s Gran’s only home. It’s been my only home and it’s Butterfly Harbor’s crowning glory. You have to see selling it to some big corporation, or even a small one, would change it forever. Please let me try.”
“You always have been its biggest cheerleader.” Mr. V patted her hand again. “I can’t promise anything, Abby. Not with my health the way it is and no heirs to speak of. Anything happens to me, the state’s going to get its hands on it, and that would be a real tragedy.”
“Can you give me those three weeks?” Maybe she’d missed something. If she didn’t win the competition, maybe she could take out a loan...except she had no collateral. All she had was the Flutterby Inn, and even that wasn’t hers. This first step had to be enough to kick things in the right direction. “Please let me see what I can do. At least until the festival plays out. Who knows? I might just win after all.”
Mr. V ducked his head and looked at the cookie still in his hand. “You’ve always done whatever you set your mind to doing. Ever since you were little. And you’ve never once wavered in your loyalty to me or the inn. I’ll give you your three weeks.”
Abby let out a sharp breath and nodded. “Thank you.”
“But that’s all. The old girl doesn’t have much fight left in her. Neither do I.”
“That’s okay.” Abby got to her feet and hefted her purse over her shoulder. “I have enough for all of us.”
* * *
“IT’LL BE NICE to have a full house again,” Alice said as Abby helped her up the porch stairs of the Flutterby. “All those people. All those stories.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around for you very much.” She held onto Alice’s hand tighter than normal. “I hope you don’t think I’m ignoring you.”
“You’ve been in the kitchen with that good-looking chef of yours.” Alice grabbed hold of the porch post and pulled herself up the final step. “There are worse ways to spend your days.”
“Gran.” Abby chuckled. “Don’t get any ideas in your head.”
“Too late. Handsome son of a gun. Not nearly as good-looking as your grandfather was, but to each her own.”
“He’s a friend, that’s all.”
“Friends make the best lovers.”
Abby’s face went hot. If Jason wondered where she came up with stuff, exhibit A wobbled her way inside the Flutterby.
“Don’t you go worrying about me, Abby girl. Eloise and I are meeting with the Cocoon Club this afternoon—”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Abby pushed open the door and let Alice in ahead of her. “You’re usually tired after physical therapy.”
“Nothing a nap won’t fix. And make up your mind, young lady. Either you want me to get out more or you don’t. Don’t go changing your mind on me. I get confused enough these days.”
“Yes, ma’am. I did fix you some lunch before we left. It’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“I was wondering when I’d see evidence of these so-called cooking lessons of yours,” Alice teased. “Wasn’t sure if it was that or if you
were up to some hanky-panky.”
“Gran, you know me better than that.” As if she had any time for hanky-panky. Then again, Jason did manage to turn her thoughts to...
Alice smiled. “Yes, I do. And I believe some hanky-panky would do you and that chef of yours some good. At least give me some peace of mind and tell me he’s a good kisser.”
“Gran, enough.”
“Ha! I knew it.” Alice patted her cheek and gave her a look of such tenderness, Abby’s heart twisted. “That’s my girl. It’s time you broke a heart or two. Life’s not meant to be lived working, Abby. It’s meant to be lived, period.”
Who needed the little green guy when she had Gran around?
As Gran tottered slowly toward the kitchen, the screech of brakes and car doors slamming had Abby turning to the window. “Lori, you ready? Looks like the NCN crew is here even earlier than they said.”
“Their rooms are good to go.” Lori stood up behind the desk and smoothed the front of her striped dress. “Bonnie and Judy got everything in order and Matt did a quick run-through to check all the pipes, fixtures and air units.”
While Lori had overseen a thorough cleaning of the halls and floors. What would she do without them?
“Remember, whatever the guests want, they get. We need them happy.”
“Understood.”
Apprehension pinged in Abby’s stomach. They didn’t know it, but their new arrivals had become make-or-break guests. Her conversation with Mr. V had lit a fire under her renewed determination to save the Flutterby. Independence was vital to her grandmother’s well-being. Take that away and she’d decline at warp speed.
That meant grabbing hold of every opportunity that came flying at her in the next three weeks. She’d save the Flutterby if it was the last thing she did.
She pushed open both doors and welcomed her guests with a professional smile. “Hello and welcome to the Flutterby Inn.”
“Miss Manning?” The middle-aged man with bright white teeth strode up the stairs and held out his hand. Was that a smile or a sneer on his wrinkle-free face? “Roger Evans. Assistant VP of programming with the National Cooking Channel. Pleasure to meet our first contestant.” His handshake felt like a floppy fish, limp and cold. She really needed to stop hanging out in the kitchen so much. Everything was becoming about food.
Recipe for Redemption Page 12