“It’s been an… interesting vacation.”
Terry chuckled. He scratched K9’s ears. “What was your favorite part?”
“I don’t know. Seeing the puffins. Or cooking with Chef Kirschoff.”
He nodded. “You’ll be glad to get back to your own kitchen.”
“Will I ever. I wouldn’t have guessed when I left Bald Eagle Falls that I would be this eager to get back to work. But now I’m just looking forward to getting back into the old routines and being able to bake my recipes and see my customers. I want to be back in my bakery again.”
“And I’ll be glad for you to be there. I’ve been so worried about you here. In spite of everything that has happened in Bald Eagles Falls, I’ll feel a lot better when you’re off this ship.”
There was a movement in the distance, and at first Erin thought she was looking at the disturbance caused by a small boat, then realized that it wasn’t.
“Terry, look at that!” He followed her pointing finger. “Is that a whale?”
He squinted at it. Erin regretted that she hadn’t brought the binoculars out with her.
“I don’t know,” Terry said, “It could be; it looks like there is something big in the water, but…”
A column of water shot into the air, fanning out and falling back into the water. Terry grinned, the dimple appearing in his cheek.
“Well, I guess that’s your answer. It’s a whale!”
Erin watched, enthralled by the dark form and the others that appeared and disappeared around it. She started to shiver. Terry hugged her.
“We’d better get you inside. It’s getting cold. And Chef Kirschoff said something about a special treat tonight.”
“This is our last dinner on the ship,” Chef Kirschoff declared after the general applause that greeted his appearance. “I have enjoyed cooking for you on this tour, as I have for others. But this tour is special.”
Another light smattering of applause.
“This tour is special because we have been graced with the presence of an expert in gluten-free baking. Erin Price, would you stand up?”
Her face burning, Erin stood, gave an awkward wave and bow to the diners, and sat back down.
“Miss Price and I have been putting our heads together to create a specialty dish for your enjoyment. For Alaskan tours, I like to end the tour with Baked Alaska, which I’m sure you know is not a dish that is normally vegan! I have tweaked and adjusted recipes for vegan meringue and ice cream. I also have myriad vegan cake recipes. Up until now, I have not had a good vegan and gluten-free recipe for cake that would work well with this recipe. But with the assistance of Miss Price, I can now present you with… Auntie Clem’s Baked Alaska.”
With a flourish, he pulled the cover off of a dish to display the fluffy white swirls of the Baked Alaska. Before the audience had the chance to react, the lights dimmed, and Chef Kirschoff poured a beaker of brandy over the Baked Alaska and lit it. Everyone oohed at the blue flame.
Waiters streamed out the doors to the kitchen, pushing Baked Alaskas to each of the tables and setting the desserts alight.
“This is what you were working on?” Vic asked Erin.
After the flames subsided, the waiter cut open the Baked Alaska, showing off the beautiful deep red ice cream concocted of local raspberries, lingonberries, blueberries, and cloudberries over a thick rich layer of chocolate sponge cake.
“Ooh, that looks delicious!” Vic crooned.
“You might not want any,” Erin teased. “It is pretty cold.”
But Vic wasn’t going to be dissuaded. “First bowl over here,” she told the waiter firmly, tapping the table in front of her.
Erin smiled and watched as everyone was served and sampled the layers of the dessert.
“With food like this, I could be vegan all day long,” Vic declared.
“It’s pretty good,” Terry agreed, around a mouthful.
Willie gave Erin a thumbs up, not bothering with speech. Erin dug into her own just desserts.
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Preview of What the Cat Knew
Reg Rawlins climbed out of the car and stretched, her muscles cramped after being in the car all day. According to the dashboard readout, it was a few degrees warmer than it had been in Tennessee. Added to that, it was humid and the air felt muggy. She could smell the ocean. She’d heard that all points in Florida were within sixty miles of the ocean as the crow flies. She was looking forward to spending some time swimming and looking for seashells. She’d always wanted to live near a real beach. A warm, sandy beach.
“Witch!” accused a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign. He had long, scraggly hair and a beard, streaked with gray, and he was missing several teeth. His clothes were ragged, and even though he was a few feet away, Reg could smell his unwashed body.
She gave him a scowl, but didn’t turn away. His reaction interested her. She was dressed for the part she intended to play—headscarf, heavy jewelry and hoop earrings, a long, flowing peasant dress—so it was not unexpected that he would notice her and comment on her getup. But he had gone with witch rather than a fortune-teller or medium, which she thought was an odd choice. She wasn’t we
aring a pointed hat or black robe.
“What makes you think I’m a witch?” she demanded.
“All redheads are witches!” he informed her.
“Ah.” Reg’s red hair was all done in cornrow braids, which hung free around her face rather than being wound up under her headscarf. She liked the effect. And she liked the way the braids felt when she turned her head and they all swished back and forth. She ignored the homeless man and looked up and down the boardwalk.
She liked the atmosphere of Florida. Laid back and relaxed, not like in Tennessee where she had visited Erin. There had certainly been some uptight ladies there. She didn’t regret leaving, though she was sad things hadn’t worked out with Erin. Erin had been a lot more fun when they were kids. She’d grown up too much and become a stuffy old woman instead of the lost child she’d been when they had lived with the Harrises and then again when they had both aged out of foster care and had run a few cons together. Now she was grown up and mature and responsible, no longer interested in Reg’s ideas.
“You don’t know what you’re missing, Erin,” Reg murmured, looking around at the blue sky and the green vegetation, the tang of salt hanging in the air. Swimming in Florida was going to be nothing like a dip in the ocean in Maine. Miles of sandy beaches, warm water, and not a care in the world.
She gathered up her braids with both hands and pulled them back behind her shoulders, letting them fall again.
“There somewhere good to eat around here?” she asked the bum.
People looked at her oddly as they passed, and Reg didn’t know if it was because of her outfit or the fact that she was talking to a non-person.
“Only if you like seafood!” the man cackled.
Luckily, Reg did.
“You should go to The Crystal Bowl,” he told her. “That’s where the witches gather.”
Reg pursed her lips, considering him. “The Crystal Ball?”
“The Crystal Bowl. Get it?”
“Where is The Crystal Bowl?”
He gestured down the boardwalk. “Yonder about two blocks. Big sign. Can’t miss it.”
Reg had been told that Florida, and Black Sands in particular, was the place for psychics and mediums but she hadn’t expected there to actually be enough of a community to warrant a restaurant of their own. She was glad she’d picked Florida over Massachusetts; she’d had enough of New England to last her a lifetime.
The Crystal Bowl had satisfyingly dramatic decor and furnishings. Blacks, reds, and golds combined into a rich tapestry of mysticism, lit by flickering candles which were actually tiny electric lights. East met West in a sort of a cross between an opium den and a carnival fortune-teller set. They worked together in harmony rather than clashing.
The patrons of the restaurant, however, were disappointingly normal. Shorts with t-shirts or light blouses, sunglasses propped on foreheads, everybody looking at their phones or calling across the room to greet each other. No sense of mystical decorum.
The sign said ‘please wait to be seated,’ but Reg walked across to the bar counter and selected a stool.
The bartender was spare, his skin too pale for a Floridian. He obviously spent too much time in the restaurant out of the sun. Either that or he was a vampire.
“Afternoon,” he greeted, adjusting the spacing between the various bottles on the counter and turning their labels out.
“Hi.”
“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“No, just flew in on my broomstick.”
He eyed her. “Wrong costume.”
Reg grinned. “Good. The old bum down the street said that I was a witch, and I was afraid I’d gotten it wrong.”
“It’s the red hair.”
“So I hear. Mediums can’t have red hair?”
“Mediums can have whatever they want. So what will it be?” He gestured to the neat rows of bottles behind the bar and the chalkboard on the wall behind them.
Reg looked over the options. Should she establish herself as someone with exacting and eclectic tastes? A connoisseur? Someone who was obviously unique and memorable?
But she wanted the bar to be somewhere she could let her hair down, not where she had to always be playing a part.
“Just a draft,” she sighed. “Whatever is on tap.”
He nodded and grabbed a beer stein. He filled it and placed it neatly on a coaster in front of her, pushing a bowl of pretzels closer to her. Something nice and salty to encourage thirst.
“So, Miss Medium, your name is…?”
“Reg Rawlins.” She figured she was okay using the name, even though that was what she had used in Bald Eagle Falls. She didn’t think any charges would follow her all the way to Florida. It wasn’t like she was going to be filing taxes under the name.
He gave a nod. “Bill Johnson.”
Reg took a pull on her beer. It had been a long drive and she was glad to be able to relax and recharge her batteries. Thinking of figurative batteries, she decided she’d better check her actual battery. Reg pulled out her phone and checked the charge. Not too bad. It would last her a couple more hours, and maybe by that time, she would have settled somewhere. She launched her browser and tapped in a search for lodgings. There were plenty of hits for short-term rentals. Lots of vacationers. Finding somewhere permanent might take a bit longer, but at least she’d have a place to hang her hat. Or her headscarf. And plug in her phone.
“You need a place to stay?” Bill asked, obviously recognizing the website.
“Looks like there are lots of options.”
“Sarah Bishop is looking for a tenant. She’s easy to get along with. You two would probably hit it off.”
“Oh?”
Bill looked around the room. “She’s not here yet. She often shows up for supper. If she doesn’t, I can give her a call and let her know you’re interested.”
Reg raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know me from Adam. What makes you think I would hit it off with Sarah Bishop or that you can recommend me to her?”
“Let’s just say… I’m good at reading people. And I would know you from Adam, given that Adam was of the male persuasion.”
Reg considered pointing out that there were plenty of men who could pass as women or had transitioned from one to the other, but decided that antagonizing him wouldn’t be the wisest thing for her to do. So she took a sip of her beer and didn’t challenge him.
“Okay. Well, I’d appreciate that. Being able to move in somewhere long-term right away would be a real plus. Thanks.”
“No problem.” He moved away to help another patron.
Reg continued to browse through the lodging listings to get a sense of what costs to expect for rent and what her options were if she didn’t like Sarah Bishop’s place. It could be a dump. Sarah Bishop could be Bill’s sister or ex and he just wanted her off of his back. He had been pretty quick to offer his help and judge Reg worthy as a tenant for his friend.
Someone took the stool next to Reg’s, and she looked up to see who it was. A strikingly handsome man. Thirty-something, short hair slicked back from his face to show off a widow’s peak, a stubbly beard that at first glance made it look like he had forgotten to shave for a couple of days, but on a more careful examination was painstakingly trimmed. His eyes were dark but glowed almost red in the dim lighting of the restaurant, reflecting the red furnishings and wall coverings. Add a cape, and he’d be perfect to cast as a vampire.
He gave her an enigmatic look. Almost smiling, but not quite. A smirk. She thought he was going to greet her as Bill had, recognizing her as a stranger and asking who she was. But he merely inclined his head slightly and waited for his drink, which Bill brought over without being asked. Obviously his ‘usual.’
“Reg Rawlins, Uriel Hawthorne,” Bill said, making a gesture from one to the other by way of introduction.
Great choice of name. Reg was impressed. Still, Uriel said nothing, just threw back his shot and watched her.
“Nice to meet
you,” Reg said, thrusting her hand out to shake his, forcing him to acknowledge her presence.
He left her hanging for a moment, not moving to take her hand, and then finally responded, taking her hand in his in a soft, caressing gesture that made her immediately want to pull back. But she set her teeth and gave him a warm smile. She gave him one more squeeze before letting go and pulling back again.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Uriel returned. “Are you thinking of joining our little community?”
“Well, we’ll see how it goes,” Reg said with a shrug. “I’m new in town and I’ve never been part of… this kind of community before. I’ve always just been on my own.”
“There is something to be said for that.”
Reg raised her eyebrows in query.
“Setting your own rules, doing your own thing,” Uriel said. “No one with preconceptions as to how things should be done.”
“Right.” Reg nodded. Rules, in her opinion, were made to be broken. She wasn’t about to buy into a social construct that tried to control her activities.
“Ah, here’s Sarah,” Bill said, hovering near Reg.
It took her a moment to remember who Sarah was and why she should care. Sarah was the landlord looking for a tenant.
Reg turned, following Bill’s gaze. She was looking for a woman of around her age, since Bill had said that he thought she and Sarah would hit it off. But she didn’t see anyone who fit her preconception.
Bill gave a little wave, and a woman nodded to him and corrected her course to join him at the bar.
She was an older woman, at least in her sixties, with a round face, bottle blond hair that curved around her face, and wire frame glasses. She looked like a friendly grandmother, lips pink with freshly-applied lipstick, a flowered shirt, pink slacks, and flat white sandals. She smiled at Bill.
Vegan Baked Alaska (Auntie Clem's Bakery Book 9) Page 22
