A Scone of Contention

by Lucy Burdette

  “Go ahead,” I said, waving him out. “I’ll unpack and call my mother.”

  She would be more impressed with the ladies sharing their scone recipe than Nathan ever could. I sat on the flowered couch with my supper, the cat draped purring across my lap, and dialed my mom.

  “Hayley! You’re home! We missed you in the worst way. Was it the most amazing trip? Did you see everything you wanted to? And how did you like Nathan’s sister? And did Helen behave herself?”

  I started to laugh. “Are you going to let me get a word in edgewise?” And then I told her the whole story about Joseph Booth falling from the wheel and Miss Gloria’s horrible experience with the virtual reality goggles, followed by her near drowning at the lighthouse.

  “She won’t describe it that way at all. She thinks she would have been fine even if we hadn’t come along to rescue her. And we didn’t want to tell you while we were still in Scotland because I was afraid it would freak you out,” I said.

  “It would have freaked me out—I’m freaked out now,” said my mother. I heard her summarizing what happened to her husband, Sam. “I’m going to put Sam on speakerphone, if that’s okay—he wants to hear this too.”

  “And I forgot to even mention the attempted poisoning,” I added, after assuring both of them that we were all alive and none the worse for wear.

  “Good gravy,” said my mother, “next time we are not letting you go without us.”

  “We did have muscle,” I said. “We had Nathan and Vera’s husband, William, although they got distracted by the golf.”

  “Can you put Gloria on the line? I’d like to hear her voice for myself,” my mother asked.

  I glanced over at her houseboat. The windows were dark except for the lighthouse nightlight she kept in the kitchen. “Her lights are already out, so I suspect she’s sawing logs with the cats. And Nathan’s gone over to the station to find out whether the police department has survived without him.”

  “Is Gloria okay?” asked Sam. “That sounds like a lot of excitement for an old lady.”

  “She seems fine. We all agreed we wouldn’t have traded any of it for something more boring and safe, even if we had the chance. We saw the most amazing places.” I filled them in a bit more about the beauty of Glencoe and how Miss Gloria had experienced her ancestors in both a quiet way and in a bloody battle.

  “I think the thing she’s most upset about still is that all this happened after the Campbells had taken advantage of ten days of hospitality from the McDonalds. That’s what she can’t get over, how those soldiers got friendly with the family and then turned on them. Anyway, I’ll let her tell it. Is there anything new with Ray?”

  “He’s still not talking,” my mother said. “Connie will need your support. I think it’s been hard for her having you away.”

  “I may pop down and see how she is tonight. I’m tired, but if I don’t stay up a while, I’ll regret it later. See you tomorrow for lunch?”

  “Absolutely,” said mom. “What are you craving from our island?”

  “I was thinking about mangoes all week long, but you scratched that itch. And the chicken salad is divine. I would love to have a Caprese sandwich from that southernmost place on the beach.”

  “Done!” she said. “See you there a little before noon.”

  I scraped the last of the chicken salad onto a bite of scone and finished it while sorting through the mail, tossing the junk, and dividing the rest into items for Nathan to look at and things for me. Then I put my dishes into the tiny dishwasher and went outside. It was still a little hot and muggy—this was June, after all. But a tiny breeze had started up so that I could hear the Renharts’ wind chimes on the other side of Miss Gloria’s boat, and the low murmur of conversation and music from up the finger. I headed toward Connie and Ray’s.

  Connie was waiting on her deck and threw her arms around me and squeezed. “That felt like the longest week ever! Did you have an amazing trip? We sure missed you here.”

  “It’s good to be missed, that’s for sure. And really good to be home. But Scotland is the most beautiful, beautiful country, and believe it or not we had so much excitement.”

  “This being you, I do believe it.” She poured us each a glass of prosecco, and I gave her the short version of the events of the trip. “Vera looks exactly like her mother must have looked thirty years ago. Her book is going to be amazing, even though nothing like what her compadres had planned.” I summarized what had happened with Glenda and Miss Gloria’s near-death experience. “I won’t tell you all of the details because she will want to, I’m sure. Tell me about Ray?”

  She looked immediately bereft. “Our lawyer says that unless he can come up with some new information, the prosecution has a pretty good case against him.”

  “But what does Ray think?”

  Connie shrugged. “He’s known everyone in the gallery for ages. He actually went to art school with Jag, and they were the two stars of their graduating class. And the woman who owns the gallery attended the same school two years earlier. So they have history together and a lot of loyalty.”

  “Do you know them both?” I asked.

  She nodded slowly. “Carly is very talented. She does collage and modern abstract stuff. But I think she figured out that business is really her strongest suit.”

  “Hence, the gallery,” I said, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion from the jet lag and the trip as a whole. “I’ll run by tomorrow and chat with him, but right now if I don’t go to bed, I might end up sleeping on your deck.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Life, it turns out, is hard. Restaurants shouldn’t be.

  —Frank Bruni, “The Best Restaurant if you’re Over 50?” The New York Times, March 31, 2019

  I woke up from a deep sleep feeling sluggish and disoriented. It took a few minutes of absorbing the sounds of Houseboat Row—Miss Gloria describing her trip to someone on the dock, Ziggy woofing at a seagull, and a motorboat starting up nearby—for me to figure out where I was and where I’d been. I remembered waking up from a dream about Miss Gloria’s ancestors around three in the morning—bloody envy was the theme. After being startled awake, I tossed and turned, wondering if the people of Glencoe had felt any inklings of danger from the soldiers staying with them. Was it a complete surprise? Or perhaps they’d had twinges of worry that they’d suppressed until it was too late. Wide awake and a little spooked, I’d gotten out of bed and worked on my pieces for the next edition of Key Zest for an hour and a half before falling back into a hard sleep.

  I rolled out of bed and poured myself a cup of the coffee that Nathan must have made several hours earlier, which reminded me of the stale coffee I’d served to the policeman in Vera’s kitchen. I took the coffee and a plate of Cole’s Peace mango toast and sliced fresh mango out on the small back deck and read over the paragraphs I’d written in the night and during the plane trip home. The hardest part to get right was always the opening salvo—how to sum up Scottish food in a way that might be interesting for both local Key Westers and tourists.

  My mind kept returning to the mystery of Glenda’s motive for pushing Joseph Booth off the Falkirk Wheel and attempting a similar stunt with Miss Gloria. How had she gone from friend to dangerous enemy? I thought of her husband’s history of relationships with Ainsley and other students, and her learning that he’d made a pass at Grace the cook and who knew how many others. She might have felt that hanging onto his affections and his success was like sand running through her fingers. Or even rushing water.

  The truth was, Glenda’s envy made her sick from the inside out.

  My mind shifted over to the problem with Ray—a trio of old friends in a wickedly competitive business. One woman, two men—three artists, all operating in a tiny gallery in a pricey tourist district.

  On a hunch, I googled Ray. A page about his occasional showings in Key West loaded, followed by some older mentions from art school. Ray had come in second and third in several events, and first fo
r the Tallahassee International Juried Competition organized by the Florida State University Museum of Fine Arts and juried by faculty from the College of Fine Arts. I also found a notice of his engagement to Carly, the owner of his gallery on Duval Street. Good gravy, did Connie know this? Then I went back to the notices of each of the competitions Ray had placed in and combed through them more carefully. Jag had placed in several, but always behind Ray.

  I dialed his cell. After a bit of chitchat about my trip and his baby, I cut to the chase. “How’s the weapons charge case going?”

  He was silent for a few moments. “Not well.”

  “Did you ever tell Connie you were engaged to Carly?”

  “I didn’t see the point.” His voice was pleading. “It was a mistake and we were both young and foolish and fortunately figured it out before we’d actually gotten married and ruined our friendship in the process. And it would have made things totally awkward at the gallery if Connie knew.”

  “Tell me about Jag,” I said.

  Long pause. “He’s a wonderful artist. And an old friend.”

  “Maybe not quite at your level? And maybe hasn’t been all along? And one more question, does he tend to hold a grudge?”

  At this point, the walls of Ray’s silence broke down. “You’d think friends only want the best for each other, right? But in the creative arts, we scrap so hard to make a living and get acknowledgment from the outside world. When someone close to you is getting that feedback and you aren’t, it’s a bitter pill.”

  “And maybe Jag wasn’t satisfied with your rivalry all along?” I asked. “I don’t think he’s quite as talented as you.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Ray said. “Maybe I’ve had more luck. But I could sense that he’d grown sour lately, even though he didn’t show it on the surface.” He was quiet for a moment. “When I won the Anne McKee grant and he didn’t, and then the big commission for the artwork at City Hall, he kind of lost it. He’s always had an edge, but over the past few months, he’s done some things that scared me. I’ve been afraid to confront him for fear he would hurt my family. And that would kill me,” he ended.

  “You can’t go on like this. I’m going to ask Nathan and a couple of the guys to stop over and ask some questions at the gallery,” I said. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  * * *

  Halfway through my grilled caprese sandwich from the food truck overlooking the water at the Southernmost House, three police SUVs parked at the curb, with blue lights flashing. Nathan strode down to the small beach with Officer Steve Torrence and Chief Sean Brandenburg in tow, all three of them in polyester blue.

  I nearly choked on my sandwich, set it on the plate in front of me, and held up my hands. “Wow, you brought out the big guns.”

  My mother let out a peal of laughter. “I’d tell them anything if they showed up looking like that.”

  “We just wanted to say welcome home,” said Steve, leaning in for a hug.

  The chief hugged me too and kissed my mother on the cheek. “Stay out of trouble, you two.” They walked back to their squad cars as Nathan explained that Jag had confessed after ten minutes of grilling. “He set Ray up so the gallery owner thought he was stealing things. And then one of Jag’s paintings was destroyed, and it looked like Ray had done that. Ray grew more and more on edge. He finally pulled his gun when Jag hired a few kids to set off cap guns outside the gallery. I suspect he’ll still be charged, but hopefully something lessor now that we know he was being provoked.”

  “How in the world did you figure this out?” my mother asked me.

  “I talked to Ray this morning. His situation felt so similar to what happened in Scotland. Take envy, ambition, competition, and throw in a couple of powerful relationships from the past. All hell breaks loose.”

  Sam said to Nathan, “Sounds like your wife was in the thick of this as usual.”

  Nathan rolled his eyes. “Try as I might, I can’t seem to talk her into staying out of police business. One might be tempted to say that I’ve lost control of the situation. If I had any to begin with.”

  “It’s got to be a strong love for a detective to be married to a slightly unconventional person who has a knack for getting into dangerous situations,” my mother said.

  Nathan threw his head back and laughed. “You hit the nail on that head.”

  “Can you stay for lunch?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m way behind on everything.”

  “I’ll walk you out then,” I said. “Be right back,” I told Mom and Sam.

  At his car, Nathan folded me into his arms, and for a moment I felt tucked away in the warmth and safety of his bulk, my personal human shield. It was unreasonable to count on him for every whisper of protection in every dangerous situation. I had to rely on myself too. But still, being in his arms felt so good.

  “I’ll never doubt your instincts again,” he said, resting his chin on the top of my head. “And I was wrong to hide my family from you. I’ve already heard from my sister and my mother. They adore you. You won them all over. They love Miss Gloria too.”

  I pulled away so I could look at him in the eye. “Haven’t met your father yet.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll put that on the list. With one more item.”

  “That is?”

  “A honeymoon from that honeymoon.”

  Recipes

  Susan Hamrick’s Cock-a-Leekie Soup

  Grace the chef serves this soup at Ainsley and Dougal’s dinner. One of our Scotland trip mates, Susan, gave me permission to share her recipe, which I imagine to be similar to Grace’s soup. Although the addition of prunes may sound odd, Susan tells me that traditional cock-a-leekie soup does contain diced prunes.

  Ingredients

  4 lb chicken thighs, bone in and skin removed

  10 c. water

  1 onion, chopped

  ⅓ c. barley (or substitute 1 lb peeled, cubed potatoes)

  1 10-oz can condensed chicken broth

  7 leeks, cleaned and sliced

  2 stalks celery, thinly sliced

  1 sprig fresh thyme, chopped

  1 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped

  1 tsp salt

  ½ T. ground black pepper

  6 pitted prunes, chopped (optional)

  To prepare the leeks, trim off roots and coarse dark green tops. Cut in half lengthwise, and wash under running water thoroughly, to remove any grit or soil. Then slice. Slice the celery. Chop the thyme, parsley, and prunes.

  In a large stock pot, combine chicken, water, leeks, onion, and barley or potatoes. Bring to a boil, and reduce heat to simmer for an hour.

  Remove chicken, discard bones. Chop meat into bite-size pieces and return to the pot. (You could refrigerate the stock overnight at this point, and skim the congealed fat off the top the next day before reheating.)

  Add rest of ingredients, including the chicken broth, celery, thyme, parsley, prunes, salt, and ground black pepper. Simmer for another 30 minutes or until vegetables are tender.

  Leftovers can be frozen.

  Shepherd’s Pie

  Hayley’s stepdad, Sam, makes this dish to send them off on the journey. This is a little bit fancy—fancy enough for company, but not a lot of trouble. Especially if you’re not fussy about the size of the dice and use your food processor to slice everything up, as I did.

  Ingredients

  1 T. olive oil

  1 lb ground beef

  1½ medium white or red onion, peeled and diced

  2 medium carrots, diced

  2 stalks celery, diced

  2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced

  ¼ cup all-purpose flour

  ¼ cup dry red wine

  2 c. beef stock

  2 T. tomato paste

  2 T. Worcestershire sauce

  1 bay leaf

  2 T. chopped fresh parsley

  1 c. green beans cut into 1-inch lengths

  Optional:

  2 sprigs fresh rosema
ry

  ½ c. frozen peas or corn

  For the Topping

  Potatoes, about 5, peeled and chopped

  2 turnips, peeled and chopped

  Butter

  Milk or cream

  Salt and pepper

  Brown the beef. Set this aside on paper towels to drain. Sauté the onions, carrots, celery, and garlic in a little olive oil until soft. Add the flour and let this cook for a few minutes with the vegetables. Mix the tomato paste into a little of the beef stock so it doesn’t get lumpy. Add that along, with the Worcestershire sauce, the remaining stock, and a bay leaf. Simmer this until bubbly and beginning to thicken.

  In a 9” × 13” pan, layer the browned beef, followed by the vegetables and sauce, followed by the green beans and parsley. Set this aside while you finish the crust.

  In a separate pan, simmer the turnips and potatoes in water until soft. (My turnips always need a little more time than potatoes, so I start them simmering 5 or 10 minutes ahead.) Drain and mash with a tablespoon or two of both butter and milk. And salt and pepper to taste. Spread the mashed potatoes over the top of the beef and vegetables.

  Bake in a 350º oven for 30 minutes or until browning and bubbly.

  Cheese Scones from Grace’s Kitchen

  It’s easy to eat your weight in scones while in Scotland, as Hayley and I both found out. We’ve both been trying out recipes ever since returning from our trips. None of them have turned out badly, but this may be our favorite. It’s adapted from the King Arthur Flour recipe and definitely earned a spot here.

  Ingredients

  2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour

  1 T. baking powder (I use low sodium if possible)

  1 c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese, plus ¼ c. more for the tops

  heaping ¼ teaspoon salt

  2–3 chopped scallions (or leeks or chives if you prefer)

  6 T. cold butter, cut in pieces (I used Irish Kerrygold)

  2 large eggs (1 separated, white reserved for glaze)