Claws for Alarm

by Karen MacInerney

  "Roosters don't crow at night," Sebastian pointed out.

  I laughed. "I don't think they'll throw you out of the retreat if you have a glass of wine with dinner."

  "I don't know about that," Gage said, raising his eyebrows. "Have you talked with Sequoia?"

  I hadn't—not much anyway. Sequoia was the behind-the-scenes organizer. Most of my contact had been with Willow. "I'll talk with them about flexibility. Think positive. I got them to okay coffee cake, after all."

  "I wish you luck," Gage said earnestly, fixing me with his bright blue eyes. As I finished serving the rest of the drinks, the phone rang. I hurried to the kitchen to pick up.

  "Natalie! Thank God you're there.” It was my best friend, Charlene.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Claudette and Francine just got into a food fight at the store!"

  "What?"

  "Oh my gosh. Claudette just hit her over the head with a gallon of soy milk. Hurry!"

  2

  We were in my van in forty-five seconds flat.

  "Soy milk?" John asked as I gunned the engine and headed up the driveway. As the island deputy, he was frequently called upon to deal with altercations, but this was the first time I could remember anything involving dairy products. Or nondairy products, actually.

  "I guess it was handy," I said.

  "What are they fighting about?"

  "If I had to guess, I suspect Francine took issue with the boat graveyard in front of the Whites' house."

  "I can imagine she wouldn't be a fan," John said.

  "Either that," I hypothesized, "or she decided to take the issue of Muffin and Pudge into her own hands."

  "She wouldn't hurt Claudette's goats, would she?"

  "Have you ever seen two goats chained to a tire gracing the cover of Coastal Living Magazine?"

  "I don't read Coastal Living Magazine."

  I gave him a look.

  "But no, I imagine not," he said hastily.

  I could see the soy milk dripping down the inside of the window when we pulled up outside of the Cranberry Island General Store.

  "Hey, at least the window's not broken.” No sooner had the words left my mouth than a potato exploded through the top pane of the mullioned shop window. We both ducked as it bounced off the top of the van. "You first," I said.

  "You're not going to be my backup?"

  "You're the trained professional," I pointed out. As he reluctantly headed up the stairs to the front porch, I called after him."Don't hurt Claudette!"

  "Don't hurt Claudette? I'm not the one winging potatoes and soy milk!"

  As he opened the door, I could hear Claudette yelling. "Who the hell do you think you are anyway? My family's lived on this island for over a century!"

  "Well, maybe it's time for some fresh blood," Francine's higher voice responded. "Or at least someone with an understanding of basic hygiene."

  "Hygiene? Hygiene?" The second "hygiene" was punctuated, appropriately, by a twelve-pack of toilet paper. John caught it and stepped inside, holding it out like a two-ply shield.

  "Ladies," he announced in his most commanding voice, "what is going on here?"

  There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of dripping soy milk and no further projectiles. I gauged it safe to tiptoe up the steps to where I could get a better view.

  "This... this... outsider thinks our house doesn't fit the island's 'image,'" she said with exaggerated air quotes. Claudette, always solid, reminded me of one of the more stolid Viking goddesses, with gray braids and a frown that, frankly, I was surprised hadn't curdled what was left of the soy milk. "And she wants to imprison my babies."

  "Muffin and Pudge?" I asked.

  "Just because they eat a few flowers from time to time."

  They ate more than a few flowers in my experience, but I felt this wasn't the time to mention it.

  "I didn't threaten to jail your stupid goats," Francine answered in a whiny voice. "All I suggested was that you and your husband keep your derelict boats in the barn, where they belong... along with your hoofed menaces."

  "Derelict boats? Hoofed menaces?” I could see Claudette's eyes leap to the nearest object, which at the moment was a row of pink toilet brushes.

  "Hold on, both of you," John said, holding up his hands. "I understand you have different opinions, but let's not do any more damage to Charlene's store than we already have."

  "Thanks so much for coming, John," my friend said from the back of the store, where she was crouched down behind the counter. I spotted the top of her white head first, and then the rest of her as she cautiously stood up. For a moment, I wondered if she'd had an accident at the beautician when she went for her highlight touch-up, but when she stood up, powdered sugar cascaded down her shoulders onto the counter. It looked like there'd been a blizzard. "Is it safe to come out yet?"

  "I don't know," John said slowly, looking at both women. "Is it?"

  Claudette took a deep breath and turned to Charlene. "I'm sorry about your store," she said. "I'll help you clean up."

  "Well," Francine said, wiping the soy milk from her eyes and surveying the front of the store. "At least it means some of those notices are coming down."

  "You know what, Francine?" Charlene said, coming out from around the bar in the back. "I know you mean well, or at least I think on some level you do, but you can't come in here and just change everything so it looks like something out of Better Homes and Gardens. We live here. We like it this way."

  "I live here, too, now," Francine said. "I have a voice in how things are."

  "Yes," Charlene said. "But one voice. There are a lot of other voices, too, and most of them have been here for decades."

  Francine surveyed Charlene, who looked a little like a human beignet, and sniffed. "We'll see about that," she huffed, and headed to the door. "I'll be doing my shopping on the mainland from now on," she announced, and then turned to Claudette before flouncing out. "And if your ridiculous-looking goats come within ten feet of my prize hydrangeas, they'll be pushing up daisies."

  "You wouldn't!" Claudette said, her face flushing. I caught her scanning the shelves for projectiles, and cleared my throat.

  "Don't try me," Francine hissed, and then flounced out of the door John was holding without looking at either of us.

  We watched her as she turned and marched up the lane toward her sprawling compound.

  "It's hard to look regal when you're covered in soy milk," John observed. "But points for effort."

  "Wow. That was worth the price of a cup of coffee."

  We all swiveled, startled. A thirtysomething woman with a mane of brown hair had materialized from behind a shelf; it was Pauline Adams.

  "Pauline!" Charlene said. "I didn't realize you were still here!"

  "I hid behind the dog food when things got dicey," Pauline said. "My money was on you, though, Claudette. You sure read her the riot act."

  Claudette turned an even deeper shade of scarlet.

  "Let's help you get this place cleaned up," I volunteered, hoping to skirt any more embarrassment. "I've got about an hour before I need to head back and think about dinner."

  "No," Claudette said, brushing a bit of sugar off her broomstick skirt. "I'm responsible for this. I should be the one cleaning it all up.” She let out a long breath. "I don't know what came over me. I'm embarrassed... I've never done anything like that before. I'm so sorry!"

  "You were provoked," Charlene said. "And you were doing your best to stick up for me... and everyone else on this island. We'll all help," she said with a smile. "Just lay off the powdered sugar next time, okay? I'm trying to cut back."

  We all burst out laughing.

  "She looked like a wet hen, didn't she?" Charlene said.

  "She did," I said. "Maybe she learned her lesson."

  "I doubt it," Charlene said. "If anything, I'm guessing it galvanized her."

  "Let's hope not," I told her as I headed to the back to find a broom.

  * * *r />
  "Well, that was exciting," John said as we pulled out of the parking lot. We'd papered over the broken window for now, and gotten up most of the soy milk, but Charlene was going to be finding powdered sugar for weeks.

  "I hope Francine doesn't press charges," I fretted as I bumped up the road toward the inn. It was late summer, and the world was beautiful and green. I took a deep breath of pine-scented air, trying to let go of my worries.

  "Francine was the one winging potatoes," John said.

  "Really? That wasn't Claudette?"

  "She put them down in a hurry when I got to the door."

  "Well, at least Claudette wasn't the only aggressor."

  "Francine could claim the potatoes were used in self-defense. But let's hope it doesn't come to that."

  "She should at least offer to fix the window at the store," I said. "After all, she is in to beautification. A giant mullioned window patched with part of a cardboard shipping box isn't exactly picturesque."

  John reached over and patted my leg. "It'll work itself out. In the meantime, how's the retreat going?"

  "Well enough, except for the fact that half the participants aren't exactly thrilled with the menu."

  "Did you talk to Willow and Sequoia?"

  "Not yet," I said as I crested the hill above the inn. As always, I swooned a little at the sight of the gray-shingled building with blue shutters. I still couldn't believe it was mine. Ours now, I thought, reaching over to squeeze John's hand. "Have you seen Gwen today, by the way?"

  "No," he replied. "She's been on the mainland a lot the last few days." Gwen's fortunes had turned when one of the owners of the Acadia National Park gift shop had seen a watercolor series she'd done of some of the landmarks on Mount Desert Island. She’d invited her to sell prints in the shop, and Gwen had been bustling around trying to get a system in place to have prints made and her work framed ever since.

  "She hasn't been painting much lately, has she?"

  "I'm afraid the business side has kind of eclipsed the art," John said. He knew how that was; although he did amazing sculptures from driftwood he found on the beaches and rocky crags of Cranberry Island, like most islanders, he had multiple streams of income. Not only did he earn an income as the island's deputy, but in the summer, he did very well by crafting toy boats and other simple wooden souvenirs for Island Artists.

  "For you, too, it seems," I said. He'd been spending a lot of time on what he called "production work" lately.

  "It’ll be September before we know it," he said. "It'll slow down, and I'll have time to get back to sculpting."

  "I hope so," I said. "It's good for you."

  "Everything has a season," he said. "And right now, it's the season of toy boats and yogis."

  "And flying potatoes, apparently," I said as I parked the van in the driveway.

  "Who knew? On the plus side, with all this yoga and meditation, at least it should be a peaceful evening," John said.

  It should have been.

  But it wasn't.

  * * *

  John and I were clearing up the last of the smoothie glasses when the sound of raised voices wafted through the open windows of the dining room.

  "Uh-oh," John said.

  "Just as long as they don't start throwing potatoes."

  "Soy milk is more likely with this group," he replied.

  A woman's strident voice rang out. "You told me there was nothing between you. And then I find you two holed up in her room together..."

  "There is nothing between us. I told you, I was teaching her how to release a trigger point."

  "Uh-huh. You couldn't do that with everyone else around?"

  "She needed to lie down for me to show her," the other voice said. There was a wheedling tone to it that struck a false note with me.

  John and I exchanged looks. I tiptoed over to the window and peered out; it was Rainy and her boyfriend, Ravi. Her arms were crossed tightly across her body, and she looked like she was ready to spit bullets. Or soy pellets.

  "You know what? I don't want you staying in the same room with me."

  "What?" Ravi ran a hand through his curly hair and took a step back. "Where will I sleep?"

  "Ask Kellie," she spat. "I'm sure she'd let you share." She whirled around and stormed off, leaving Ravi looking bewildered.

  I stepped back from the window and raised my eyebrows at John.

  "What was that all about?" he asked when we got to the kitchen.

  "Lovers' quarrel between Rainy and Ravi."

  "I thought yoga was supposed to make you feel all Zen, and peaceful, and loving."

  "That doesn't seem to extend to significant others," I observed. "But more importantly, if she kicks Ravi out, where are we going to put him?"

  "On the mainland?" John suggested.

  I sighed. "It might come to that, I'm afraid. I know Gwen's spending most of her time on the mainland or with Adam, but I don't think she's quite ready for me to rent out her room." In fact, Gwen was gone so much, I was thinking I might have to hire more help.

  "Have you seen her room lately? We might need a backhoe to clear it out."

  I winced. "That bad?"

  "She left the door open the other day when she went downstairs for a snack. It looks like a clothing donation truck had a terrible collision with an art supply store."

  "So that's out," I said. "I'll just have to tell him I'm full. I hate to kick anyone out, but there's literally no room at the inn."

  "It's a good problem to have in the bed-and-breakfast business," John pointed out as he finished loading the dishwasher. "Need any help getting dinner together? What are we serving tonight anyway?"

  "Baked haddock with a choice of real mashed potatoes or cauliflower mashed potatoes, and a green salad," I said. "For dessert, I'll serve fresh berries for the die-hards and ice cream or sorbet for everyone else."

  "I thought I heard you talking about chocolate cake," he said, looking disappointed.

  "That's on this afternoon's agenda. It takes a day to chill."

  "How did you get them to okay that?"

  "It's got sugar but no gluten, so it was an acceptable compromise."

  John glanced at his watch; dinner was less than two hours away. "We'd better get cooking."

  "If you could take care of the cauliflower and the potatoes, I'll get started on the cake," I said.

  "You get the chocolate, and I get the cruciferous vegetables? I see how this works."

  I laughed. "Watch out, or I'll start pelting you with produce."

  He grimaced. "Speaking of that, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of Francine."

  I measured salt, sugar, and water into a saucepan and turned the heat to medium. While the water heated, I pulled down a few packets of baking chocolate and opened them, counting out squares and putting them into the top of a double boiler. "If she touches those goats..."

  "I've heard you threaten Muffin and Pudge a few times yourself," John pointed out as he poured a bag of Yukon Gold potatoes into a colander.

  I gave the sugar water a stir. "You know I would never hurt them. But I'm not so sure about Francine. I don't trust her as far as I can throw her."

  "Where in Florida was she from?" he asked as he dumped the potatoes into a big pot on the back of the stove. His arm brushed mine, and I smiled; just touching him still sent a zing through me.

  "Fort Lauderdale, I think, but I don't remember. I'll have to ask Charlene.” While the chocolate melted and the water heated, I measured out the butter and prepared two cake pans.

  "She really is a force of nature," John said. "I was talking to Ingrid Sorenson the other day; you know how big she is on appearances, but she wasn't a fan of Francine either."

  "Good," I said. "Francine could use a little pushback. She's trying to get the town council to outlaw lobstermen stacking traps in their yards."

  "She'll have better luck with that than she will getting rid of the bait smell around the pier," he said.

  "How does s
he propose to do that?" I asked.

  "A second pier for the lobstermen, on the other side of the island."

  "What? That'll never pass."

  "Probably not," he said. "She's got the entire lobster co-op up in arms."

  "Who doesn't she have up in arms?" I stirred the now-melted chocolate and poured it into a mixer, then started beating in the butter.

  "Her husband seems mild-mannered." John rinsed the cauliflower and put it into a pot, then opened the window, thankfully. I liked cauliflower, but I didn't like the way it made the kitchen smell.

  "Gus, right? I haven't met him, but I've seen him around.

  "I met him down at Island Artists the other day. He seemed genuinely interested in the history of the island; he asked about the inn."

  "I guess they couldn't both be pistols," I said as I finished beating in the butter and slowly poured in the sugar water. "They'd kill each other."

  "Maybe she'll calm down," John said. "Run out of steam or something."

  "I hope so," I said as I added the eggs one by one to the batter.

  "That smells amazing," John said, staring at the bowl of fudgy goodness.

  "I know," I said. "Maybe I should have made a triple batch."

  "There's always tomorrow," he said as I filled the pans and slid them into the oven, hoping the smell of chocolate cake baking would drown out the cruciferous tang of cauliflower.

  * * *

  The dining room was about as peaceful as a demilitarized zone when I brought in dinner that night; Ravi and Rainy were seated at different tables, and there seemed to have been some kind of falling-out among the Texas trio. At least Gage and Sebastian seemed to be getting along... as did Virginia and Andrew, who had become friendly rather quickly. James, too, looked normal, at least for him. I was hoping the problem with the others was carbohydrate deprivation, and that a good helping of mashed potatoes would help put everyone back into a Zen mood.

  I had just finished clearing the dinner dishes and John was dishing up the sorbet when there was a knock at the door.

  "I'll get it," I told John, and headed to the front door of the inn, leaving him to shuttle bowls to the retreat participants.