by Leslie Meier
“So tell me what they’re like,” said Pam, uncovering the cake and cutting into it with a knife.
“I don’t really know them very well,” said Lucy, producing a plate.
“Didn’t you stop by with cookies when they moved in?”
“No, I didn’t,” grumbled Lucy. “I wish Prudence Path had never been built.”
“But now that it’s there you might as well get on good terms with your new neighbors.” Pam shrugged. “You might need them someday.”
“I got along fine without them before,” said Lucy, filling the cream pitcher and setting it on a tray along with the sugar bowl. “Willie Westwood is okay. Her daughter is a cheerleader, like Sara, and she suggested carpooling.”
“Westwood, Westwood. The name’s familiar…”
“Her husband is that new vet, over by MacDonald’s Farm. She’s very horsey herself. She’s almost always in riding togs.”
“Who’s the lady with those adorable twins? I’ve seen her around town.”
“Bonnie Burkhart. Her husband is the new guidance counselor at the middle school and he also coaches football. Sara babysits for the twins, Belle and Belinda. She says they’re really sweet.”
“They sure look cute in those matching outfits.”
“Who wears matching outfits?” Rachel had let herself in the kitchen door, along with Libby, the Stone family’s Lab. Libby was wiggling ecstatically, which Rachel took as a compliment, but Lucy suspected her enthusiasm was directed at the tray of cookies Rachel was carrying. Lucy grabbed the dog and hauled her outside to the kennel. When she came back, Rachel and Pam were arguing.
“You shouldn’t dress twins alike,” said Rachel. “It stifles their individuality.”
“Lots of twins like dressing alike,” said Pam. “Some even do it as grown-ups.”
“They even go to special twin weekends,” added Lucy. “I saw it on TV. Weird.”
“I agree,” said Rachel. “I don’t think it’s healthy.”
“I was just filling Rachel in on the neighbors,” said Pam. “Who’s the hot lady with the VW convertible?”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s your neighbor? The one who always wears high heels and spandex?”
“I haven’t made her acquaintance,” said Lucy, raising an eyebrow, “but Bill has. He says her name is Frankie LaChance and she’s very friendly.”
“Ooh,” chorused Pam and Rachel.
Lucy shrugged. “Just because she has a fabulous figure and she’s divorced…”
This time the oohs were louder and longer.
“She has a daughter Sara’s age. Renee. She’s 14 and thinks she’s terribly sophisticated.”
“Sounds like a handful,” said Rachel.
“Who’s sophisticated?” Sue had arrived, along with a tray of miniature cream puffs.
“You are,” said Lucy. “These look delicious. Did you make them yourself?”
“I did. I wanted to impress the new neighbors.”
“These certainly ought to,” said Lucy. “Even Pear and Apple’s mom.”
Sue’s eyebrows shot up. “Pear and Apple?”
Lucy nodded. “Sara babysits for them, too. One is three and the other is almost a year old. She says they’re very serious children.”
“No wonder, with names like that,” said Sue.
“Poor things will get teased when they go to school,” said Rachel.
“Don’t worry about them. They’ll be at the head of the class. Chris is one of those supermoms. There’s absolutely no TV in their house, they only have classical music and Sara has to play educational games with them.”
“What kind of educational game can you play with a one-year-old?” asked Pam.
“Beats me,” said Lucy, as the front door bell chimed. “Well, girls, it’s showtime!”
Willie was at the door, dressed tonight in a linen shift with a silver brooch in the shape of a horse’s head pinned to one shoulder, along with Chris, Pear and Apple’s mom. Chris was dressed in a sleeveless top and a pair of tailored slacks; it looked like a business outfit without the jacket.
“Lucy, I don’t know if you’ve met Chris Cashman,” said Willie.
“We haven’t met but I have heard about your babies from my daughter Sara,” said Lucy. “She says they’re remarkably intelligent children.”
“I hope they are,” said Chris. “We’re certainly doing our best to give them every advantage. Of course you have to, these days, with the global economy and all. They’re not going to be competing for jobs with American kids who majored in binge drinking, oh no. They’ll be up against those Indian children who learn computer programming in preschool and Chinese kids who can do calculus and play the violin while figure skating.”
Lucy chuckled appreciatively, hoping Christine was joking, but doubting that she was.
“I know what you mean,” said Sue, proffering her hand and introducing herself. “It’s a different world now and we have to prepare them for it. Are you a full-time mom?”
“I sure am. It’s a full-time job, isn’t it? I mean, I used to think I was busy when I was working but that was nothing compared to motherhood. I’m on call twenty-four/seven now.”
The women smiled and nodded knowingly.
“What did you do before you had the kids?” asked Rachel.
“Investment banking.”
“Wow. That’s a big change. Do you miss working?” asked Pam.
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Chris, a bit too quickly. “Motherhood is my job now, and nothing is more fulfilling, right?”
“I’ve never found it so,” said Willie. “But maybe that’s just me. I prefer horses to people. You always know exactly where you stand with a horse.”
Nobody quite knew how to respond and Lucy was relieved when the doorbell rang announcing a new arrival. Bonnie Burkhart was standing on the stoop with her hands together, wearing a flowered dress with a prim little collar. Her white pumps were spotless.
“Everybody, meet Bonnie Burkhart,” said Lucy. “She’s the mother of those adorable twins we’ve all seen around town.”
While the women clustered around Bonnie, peppering her with questions about what it was like to have twins, Lucy slipped into the kitchen to get the coffee. She was returning with the tray when the doorbell rang once more and Frankie LaChance breezed in. She hadn’t waited for Lucy to open the door; she’d opened it herself.
“Hi! I’m Françoise LaChance but everybody calls me Frankie!” she said, introducing herself.
Conversation stopped as everyone turned to greet Frankie, who was wearing a figure-hugging striped top and a pair of equally tight short-shorts. Her shapely tan legs ended in a pair of espadrilles with long laces that wrapped around her ankles.
“Coffee?” said Lucy, breaking the awkward silence.
As the women took coffee and helped themselves to baked goods they fell into two distinct groups. Lucy’s friends were clustered at one end of the living room sofa while the Prudence Path women had formed a loose circle at the refreshment table. Frankie was out in the cold until Sue noticed and drew her into the conversation. Lucy, taking her role as hostess seriously, joined the Prudence Path group.
“It’s too bad Mimi couldn’t make it,” said Bonnie, biting into a piece of blueberry cake.
“I can’t say I miss her much,” said Willie, who was working her way through four of Sue’s tiny cream puffs. “Gosh, these are good.”
“I heard she complained about your pig,” said Chris.
Lucy saw her opportunity to enter the conversation. “You’ve got a pig?”
“Just a tiny little pot-bellied one. Her name is Lily. She’s awfully cute but Mimi doesn’t seem to appreciate her. She thinks she’s a farm animal instead of a pet and she reported us to the zoning board.”
“She’s after me to cut my lilacs,” confessed Lucy. “I think she’s got a lot of nerve to complain about my bushes, considering what a nuisance her son is with that noisy motorcycle of his. Now that’s what I
call annoying.”
“I think he’s just trying to get away from his father,” said Chris, who was sticking to black coffee. “I hear him yelling all the time, and not just at the boys. Mimi gets her share of abuse, too.”
“He’s a piece of work,” said Willie, polishing off her last cream puff and moving on to the blueberry cake. “I can’t believe the problems we’re having with our house. Half the doors don’t close because they’re hung crooked.”
“My bathroom looked great when we first looked at the house but now I realize I was fooled by the mirror,” said Bonnie, patting her lips with a napkin. “It’s really tiny. You can’t turn around in it unless the door’s closed.”
“I know,” said Chris. “In fact, I’ve got a list a mile long that I’m sending to the state consumer affairs department. The final straw was when I discovered the garbage grinder in the sink was installed backwards.”
“No!” They were all shocked.
“I had the plumber fix it and sent Fred the bill, but so far I haven’t gotten a check.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” advised Willie, who had refreshed her plate and was starting on a new batch of cream puffs.
Lucy was so absorbed in getting all the details on Fred’s shoddy construction so she could give Bill a full report that she was disappointed when Pam tapped her cup with a spoon and invited everyone to sit down.
“I’m so glad you all came,” she began, smiling warmly. “I know Lucy has been eager to meet her new neighbors and we’re always happy to welcome newcomers to Tinker’s Cove, which a lot of us think is a little bit of heaven right here on earth. We have abundant natural beauty with the ocean right at our door, and our Main Street has been named one of the ten most beautiful in New England. We’re blessed to live in such a gorgeous area, but, unfortunately, for a number of residents, beauty doesn’t pay the bills.”
A few of the women nodded knowingly.
“That’s why a group of us started the Hat and Mitten Fund a number of years ago,” she continued. “The purpose of the fund is to provide warm clothing for the town’s less fortunate children, and it’s here that I’m going to give you a shocking statistic. Fully fifty percent of the children in the Tinker’s Cove public schools are eligible for the government lunch program.”
“I had no idea,” said Frankie. “I thought everybody in Tinker’s Cove was well off. I mean, the price of an average house is well over three hundred thousand now.”
“It’s a common misconception,” said Pam. “People see all these big second homes lining the shore but, believe me, if you follow some of the back roads into the woods you’ll find families living in extreme poverty. And that’s why, in addition to providing coats and mittens and hats, this year we’d like to be able to help our families buy school supplies for their kids.”
“How do you operate?” asked Chris. “Do you collect cast-off clothes?”
“That’s how we started, but the fund has grown through the years. Now the children’s store at the outlet mall gives us all their unsold coats at the end of the year. The women’s groups at local churches supply the hats and mittens and we also get cash donations from local businesses to fill in any gaps. But I estimate we’ll need to raise about two hundred fifty dollars in seed money for the Pencil Box project. Once I have that I can ask our sponsors for matching donations.”
“I know,” exclaimed Frankie, giving a little bounce. “Let’s do one of those nude calendars, like in that movie.”
Bonnie gasped. “You mean, pose nude for photos?”
“Well, yeah, but they screen off the naughty bits with a plant or something.”
“We were thinking of something different,” said Pam, to relieved sighs from the group. “We’re planning on holding a bake sale on Saturday. Sue, would you like to take it from here?”
“Thanks,” said Sue, getting to her feet. “We decided on a bake sale because it’s a proven method of raising money fast. In the past, we’ve been able to raise at least two, sometimes three hundred dollars. So we’ve scheduled the sale for Saturday morning at the IGA downtown. I hope you’ll all bake your favorite recipes, ask your friends for donations, and volunteer to work at the table for an hour or two.” She was just sitting down when Chris began peppering her with questions.
“Why not hold the sale Labor Day weekend? The holiday will bring a lot of people to town, no? And why at the IGA? I’m sure there’s a lot more traffic at the outlet mall.”
“But we always…” protested Sue.
“Well, maybe it’s time to change. Time to think big. Maybe you can raise five hundred, or even a thousand dollars.”
“That would take an awful lot of baked goods,” said Sue. “We just don’t have that many bakers.”
“We could concentrate on stuff that’s easy to make,” suggested Pam. “Like Rice Krispie bars. I can turn out an awful lot of them, and people like them. They’re sort of retro and remind them of their childhoods.”
“With all due respect, Pam, I think we ought to offer something more wholesome than Rice Krispie bars,” protested Rachel. “Now I have a recipe for Carob Oaties that’s very fast and simple…”
“I agree that we need to choose items that are easily made,” said Chris, producing a pad and pencil and jotting down a few notes. “And I think we can take our cue from Henry Ford.”
“Henry Ford?” Lucy was puzzled.
“Right. He introduced standardization, and that’s what we should do, too. We’ll pick a limited number of items with high customer appeal and everybody will follow the same recipes. That way we can increase production significantly with just a few volunteer bakers.”
“That makes sense,” said Pam, getting a dark look from Sue.
“But everybody’s on diets these days,” said Bonnie. “Who’s going to buy baked goods?”
“We need items like low-carb snacks, maybe home-baked dog treats, even bottled beverages. Stuff that appeals to men, too. Remember, they’ll be at loose ends while their wives shop.”
“I think Chris is onto something here,” said Lucy, remembering her futile phone calls. “I think we have to admit times have changed and we have to adapt if the sale is going to be successful.”
“I heartily agree,” said Rachel.
“But we’ve always….” protested Sue.
“I agree with Sue,” said Pam. “I think we’re taking a big risk. Why fix something that’s not broken?”
“But it is broken,” said Lucy. “I had absolutely no luck getting our old volunteers to participate. And a lot of people are on those low-carbohydrate diets these days.”
Rachel clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“Okay, to summarize,” said Chris, consulting her notes. “I propose we hold the sale Labor Day weekend, at the outlet mall. Is everyone agreed?”
Sue sat stony-faced, but the others all nodded.
“Next, we have to decide what to sell. Any suggestions?”
“Low-carb seems to be a good idea,” said Bonnie.
“I definitely think we should have cold bottled beverages. The men will snap them up,” said Frankie. “And people are always looking for coffee.”
“I have a great recipe for home-made dog biscuits,” said Willie. “My husband gives them out at his office and he says people have started asking if they can buy them.”
Chris looked up from her notes. “You know, all the best craft shows are juried—that is, a panel of judges selects the very best crafts. Maybe we should try something like that with our baked goods, especially since low-carb can be tricky.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Bonnie. “We’ll bake up a bunch of recipes and have a taste-testing to choose the best ones. Then we can all use those recipes that we know really work. And we can wholeheartedly recommend them to the customers.”
In her corner, Sue seemed to be choking. Lucy got a glass of water for her and patted her back while she drank it, but Sue didn’t say thank you.
“Okay, all in f
avor of a taste-testing?” asked Chris.
Receiving a chorus of ayes she continued, “Let’s say a week from tonight. Same time, same place, if that’s okay with you, Lucy.”
“It’s okay,” said Lucy, uncomfortably aware of the daggers Sue was shooting her way.
“Let’s say everybody brings at least two different recipes, that will give us sixteen choices,” said Chris.
“I just remembered,” said Willie. “I won’t have time to make the dog biscuits. I’ve got a horse show coming up. But I’ll make a couple of the heart-healthy cookies my mom makes for my father.”
“Anybody for the dog biscuits?” asked Chris.
Nobody volunteered.
“I’m telling you, they’re not hard to do and they’ll be a big seller,” said Willie.
“Okay,” said Lucy. “I’ll do the dog biscuits.”
“Great.” Chris closed her notebook. “I think this was a very successful meeting.”
“She would,” hissed Sue, following Lucy into the kitchen, where she had gone to get a fresh pot of coffee. “Little Miss Bossy. She’s taken over the whole thing.”
“Well, that’s what we wanted, wasn’t it?” said Lucy, grabbing the pot and heading back to the living room.
“I don’t like it one bit,” said Sue.
“You mean you don’t like Chris,” said Lucy, pausing at the kitchen door.
“No, I don’t.” Sue furrowed her perfectly shaped brows and stuck out her Bobbi Brown lips in a pout. “And I’m going to show her. I’m going to come up with a killer recipe that everybody loves, just you wait and see.”
Chapter 4
As soon as the dinner dishes were done on Tuesday night, Lucy decided to dig out the food processor so she could experiment with the dog treat recipe. She’d wasted no time in getting the recipe from Willie; with the next meeting scheduled in less than a week she had no time to lose. She knew it was ridiculous to feel pressured about making dog biscuits for a bake sale but somehow she did. Chris had that effect. Maybe it was her corporate attitude, so different from the relaxed approach of Lucy’s friends. Until now she’d thought Sue was high-powered, but she was a slacker compared to Chris.
