“Thread count is important. Towel thickness is just as important, for absorbency. Didn’t your mother teach you that? Boring! I’m a hell of an interesting guy.”
“I guess I missed that lesson. Okay, so you made me, now what?”
“Stop following me.”
“You sure you want me to stop? If I keep following you, then I can keep tabs on Bill Donovan. Would that dog really have bitten my ass?” Yee asked anxiously.
“Yeah, and loved every minute of it. Stop following me. I’ll deal with Donovan on my own. Go on, get out of here.”
“Hollister, hold on a minute. Listen, it’s not just Donovan. I saw someone else out at your grandmother’s farm yesterday. No clue who he was, but he was snooping around. Mud on his license plate, so I couldn’t run the number. I have a soft spot for old people, and I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to your grandmother and the people who come and go. I have to admit, they have me wondering what’s going on there, and don’t try to tell me they’re playing bingo or some such shit.”
“What did the guy you saw look like? And, they are bingo addicts. They live for bingo. They eat, sleep, and drink bingo.”
Mickey Yee looked disgusted. “Hey, the guy’s probably a dick, okay? What he looked like yesterday doesn’t mean he’s going to look the same today. And while he was driving a beat-to-shit Honda yesterday, today he might look like a movie star and be driving a high-end car. Old people are prey. I just gave you a heads-up. So, you want me off this or on it? Or are you still going to go this alone? Makes me no never mind.”
Gus realized everything the detective said was true. “No, okay, stay on it. But . . . I don’t want you to tell anyone I made you. Will you agree to that?”
“Hell yes, man.”
Gus swung the Louisville Slugger. “You go back on your word, you’re going to find out what a bite on the ass will feel like.”
“You got it. Can I go now?”
“Yeah. I’m going to the farm. If you see anyone at the farm watching my grandmother, call me, okay?” Gus rattled off his cell-phone number, and Yee punched the numbers into his own cell phone.
Wilson whined all the way to the farm. “Get over it, big guy. One of these days you’re going to get the chance to bite some bad guy’s ass, trust me on that.”
Wilson dropped his head onto his paws as if to say, promises, promises, promises. Gus reached over to scratch the dog behind the ears. He grinned. God, how he loved this dog.
The kitchen at the farmhouse smelled wonderful. Chili, if his nose was on the money. He also smelled the sweet scent of vanilla, and something baking. While the kitchen was huge, with two double ovens and two stove tops, every burner seemed to have something cooking and bubbling on it. He could see the trays of something baking in the double ovens.
Iris appeared out of nowhere and said, “Chili and rice pudding for dessert. We can send you home with some of each. We’re baking the fortune cookies. With all our new staff’s meals to prepare, this kitchen is getting a workout, and we’re stumbling over each other. The summer kitchen looks the same as this one does. We simply do not have enough room, Augustus. Something has to give.”
“I see that. Tell me how the cookie operation works,” Gus said as he headed for the steps that would take him down one level to the old summer kitchen. It didn’t look old now—everything was new and modern. In the old days, before air conditioning, the summer kitchen was used for all the cooking so the rest of the house didn’t get too hot.
The contents of pots were simmering, and the same vanilla-sugar-cinnamon scent was present. On the long counter, he saw trays and trays of baked fortune cookies ready to be packaged.
“We can bake two trays of cookies every twenty-five minutes. Each tray holds thirty-six cookies. We have two double ovens, so that means we’re baking one hundred and forty-four cookies in these two ovens every twenty-five minutes. We need an extra five minutes to slide the cookies off the trays and get the next batch ready, so actually it’s thirty to thirty-five minutes. The same goes for the two double ovens upstairs, for a total of two hundred and eighty-eight cookies. We bake from seven in the morning until eight at night. We are not meeting our goal of eighteen thousand cookies for the Chinese restaurants we service, although we did meet it last month. Prep time includes mixing and inserting the fortune into each cookie. Two hours to do all this as we try to mix enough dough to carry us through the whole day. Out of every nine hours the ovens are going, we’re only utilizing six of those hours for actual baking. That’s a total of 3,456 cookies a day. Having said that, it’s not actually 3,456 sellable cookies. Some break, some burn, and we have a lot of throwaways, making the count more like thirty-two hundred on a good day. Sometimes even less than that. Last week, our actual count of cookies that were delivered was fifteen thousand. Having said that, there are seven days in a week and with each restaurant giving out an average of two hundred fifteen cookies a day for lunch and dinner, we’re short. We’ve had to cut back on the number of restaurants we service.”
“Just Chinese restaurants?” Gus asked.
“In the beginning, it was just Chinese, then some of the Japanese takeout places wanted to place orders. We also have four Vietnamese locations who want our cookies. Most of the restaurants have takeout orders, so you have to factor that in the numbering, too. People sometimes ask for two cookies; children want them. We don’t have a good bead on that end of things. I remember Rose saying that last month when she was doing the final tally for the month.”
“How much do you make on, say, fifteen hundred cookies?”
“Rose has all those numbers. We are making a profit, but according to Rose, not enough to justify the work that’s entailed. We pay two Asian students at the university to come up with the fortunes. They send them via a download from the Internet. We print them out, cut them to fit the cookie; then there’s the cost of the ingredients, the cost of the wrappers, the labor to wrap them, and, of course, to mix the dough and do the actually baking. Then there’s the cleanup and getting them ready for delivery on each restaurant’s delivery day. Even though our staff does not take a salary per se, our expenses are quite high.”
Gus could feel his head start to spin at what he was hearing. “Correct me if I’m wrong here, Aunt Iris. Right now, you can meet demand, but it’s taking too much time for the amount of money you’re making. Is that what you’re saying? You need to ask yourself, is the money worth all the aggravation of trying to make more? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you guys are not youngsters anymore, and stress and pressure is not good for anyone, especially the elderly. I give all of you kudos for going at it full bore, but there have to be limits to what you all can do. That’s why I made up a work schedule and insisted that each of you and your staff learn each other’s jobs, so it doesn’t come down to a few pulling the whole wagon. Are you following me here, Aunt Iris?”
Gus watched as Iris’s shoulders drooped. “I am, Augustus, and I think you need to speak with your grandmother. We all love the fortune cookie operation, especially the fortune part. We stress to our two Asian students who make them up that they be upbeat and positive fortunes.”
“Can you blow that whistle for Granny and Aunt Vi?”
“I can do better than that. They’re up in the voodoo and witchcraft room. Seems we have a client who lives in the vicinity and is one of our best customers. Her testimonials will blow off your socks. It’s all about cleansing the mind and believing. Vi told me about an hour ago that an e-mail came in from that client relaying a more than positive outcome to a special ritual that was performed today. When we get those, we post them. And then we get a real spike in orders.”
All Gus could do was shake his head. Voodoo and witchcraft! Who knew?
Even though he was a CPA, Gus couldn’t compute the numbers in his head.
Chapter 19
ELAINE HOLLISTER REMOVED THE SMALL JAR OF VINEGAR FROM her bag and looked around to see if anyone was watching her. As far as she co
uld tell, the few people lakeside were packing up their blankets and picnic baskets to go home. She palmed the little jar, drew her arm back, and pitched it with such force that she would have been the envy of an all-star baseball pitcher had one been watching. She chanted under her breath, then took a long, deep breath, holding it for a count of ten before she expelled it. She felt so light-headed, she thought for a moment that she was going to black out, but she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the wave of dizziness to pass.
Elaine smiled as she turned and walked back to the picnic area where she’d parked her car. She looked at her watch. Three minutes to four. She’d made her offering to the depths of the lake right on time. Now all she had to do was wait to see what happened to Isaac Diamond. There was no doubt in her mind that something would happen to the lawyer. She just wasn’t sure what it would be.
Elaine slid into the little yellow car, settled herself, turned over the engine, flipped in a CD, and drove out of a lot that was now almost deserted.
Overhead, dark clouds were gathering. It would rain shortly, she thought. Just another late afternoon April shower. She hoped it wasn’t as ferocious as the one a day or so ago: she’d cowered in the bathroom while Mother Nature had wreaked havoc on the state of Virginia. She hated storms. She didn’t like rain, either, when it came right down to it. Who cared if the grass needed watering? Who cared if the leaves on the trees and bushes were wilted? She had more important things to worry about. Gus used to fret about the water bill and about Wilson when it thundered. She had been thinking too much about Gus over the past several days, and that was not a good thing. Gus was out of her life, and she was moving forward. She did think it a tad strange, though, that he hadn’t come whining and crying about how much he loved her and he hadn’t come to ask her to give him another chance. Why hadn’t he done that? Even though she’d put a restraining order in place, he could have called or sent her a text, but he hadn’t done either of those things.
Maybe she was slipping, and she’d miscalculated his feelings for her. No, she’d had him, as the saying goes, wrapped around her little finger. His lawyer probably told him the same thing hers had told her—no communication.
Elaine rolled down the window to look upward. The clouds were moving faster, and they looked darker than they had just minutes ago. She stopped for a red light and let her eyes wander to the side of the highway. The Jade Pagoda. She could get takeout. And right next to the Jade Pagoda was the Fine Wine and Spirits Shop. She could pick up a few bottles of wine and have a party all by herself to celebrate what she hoped would be the demise of Isaac Diamond. Ooops, she had to stop thinking like that. She didn’t want Isaac Diamond’s demise; she just wanted him out of her life and her retainer paid back and maybe something for that obscene performance she’d had the night before. Blackmail was such a sweet thing when you held all the cards. Maybe the right word should be restitution. Blackmail was an ugly word, but sweet at the same time.
The light changed. Elaine turned on her blinker and made a left turn. She parked in the Jade Pagoda’s parking lot and was not surprised to see it nearly empty. Too late for lunch, too early for the dinner crowd. That had to mean she’d be in and out in record time. She could go next door, pick up the wine she wanted while they prepared her food, and, if she was lucky, she’d be home before the rain came.
The wind was brisk—the temperature had been falling steadily since she’d started out around three-thirty. Fireplace weather. No sense in turning on the heat for just a few hours.
Elaine loved it when things worked in her favor. She did indeed make it home just as the first raindrops fell on the back deck. The drops were big and splattered in all directions, which told her it would be a brief shower at best, but it was more than chilly.
Safely inside with the door locked and bolted, and the alarm set, Elaine first made a fire, then carried a small folding table into the den. She liked to eat watching television and with a fire at the same time. The truth was, she loved her own company and her own thoughts. She only had one rule in her life—not to get attached to anything but money. Money could buy whatever she needed. Attachments were baggage, and, more often than not, she moved on in the middle of the night. It was so much easier to leave with just a bankbook and an overnight bag, which she kept in the trunk of her car, than to carry cumbersome items she wouldn’t need in her new life. A new life meant new things. Always new things, new people, new surroundings, new everything.
Elaine devoured the food until there wasn’t a crumb left. She was on her third glass of wine when she pulled out the four fortune cookies she’d insisted the manager at the restaurant give her. Today, four was her magic number. All compliments of Initial B Enterprises.
She read the first one. You are almost there.
Fortune cookie number two: Success is right around the corner.
Fortune cookie number three: Your lucky number is four.
Elaine danced with excitement when she read the third fortune. She bounced up and off her chair as she twirled and whirled, her fists shooting in the air. She was trembling so much she could barely open the last one.
Fortune cookie number four: A windfall is about to drop in your lap.
Elaine slumped back in her chair, her thoughts all over the map as she stared blankly at the television screen. This was when she had to be patient. Sit and wait for whatever was going to happen. She stared into the flickering flames as they danced in the fireplace until her eyes closed, and she fell asleep.
The landline on the table next to the sofa rang at seven-thirty, waking her from a sound sleep. She managed a garbled “Yes” to the person on the other end of the line.
“Mrs. Hollister, this is Wendy Manning, from Isaac Diamond’s office. I’m sorry to be calling you at this hour of the day, but the partners asked me to call all of Isaac’s clients to inform them that he suffered a serious accident late this afternoon. I saw in his appointment book that he had a meeting scheduled for tomorrow with you. Nick or Lee can see you, or you can wait till we have more news on Isaac’s condition.”
It wasn’t often that Elaine was at a loss for words, but this time she was, as she tried to figure out what to say. The best she could come up with was, “How terrible. Can you tell me what happened and the time it happened?”
“The time?”
“Well, yes, the time, because, you see, I was speaking with him earlier,” Elaine lied.
“All I know is that Nick said they, and by they I mean EMS, transported him to the hospital at four-thirty this afternoon. They did say it wasn’t life-threatening, but that it was serious. Isaac isn’t a youngster, as you know. I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to say any more. What do you want me to tell Nick and Lee?”
Elaine had her wits about her now. She hoped her elation wasn’t showing. “Just tell them I’ll get back to them, and, of course, cancel my appointment for tomorrow. I’d like to send flowers if that’s okay.”
“Let me get back to you on that,” Wendy said.
“That’s fine. Thank you for giving me the courtesy of a call.” Elaine replaced the phone in its cradle and let out a sigh so loud she startled herself. Talk about instant gratification.
Elaine was so giddy with the news she’d just heard, she picked up the wine bottle and brought it to her lips. She gulped until the bottle was empty. In a wild, crazy moment, she threw the bottle at the fireplace and watched it shatter. She fell back into the chair and closed her eyes. Overcome by the wine, she once again fell into a deep sleep.
As Elaine was drifting off to sleep, Gus Hollister was firing up his new grill on the deck. The rain, what there was of it, had come and gone, but it was too cool to eat outdoors. Wilson was panting at the scent of the marinating meat sitting on the counter.
“You’re doing the dishes, Wilson. I’m cooking, so that means you do the cleanup. We really should talk about the division of chores.” Gus had always talked to Wilson like this and hadn’t the slightest reason why. Wilson listened, then
ignored him. Maybe it had something to do with living alone, or maybe it had something to do with Wilson’s being his best friend and a stand-in for Barney. He tried to remember if he’d talked to the dog like this when he lived with Elaine. Scratch that thought. He didn’t want to think about Elaine now or ever again.
Gus let his thoughts go to his grandmother and the aunts and the massive project they were involved in. He had to do something, come up with a working plan, before things collapsed on top of them. He was convinced in his own mind that it was just a matter of time before that happened. What was going on now was temporary and could not be sustained for any length of time. His thoughts were coming lightning fast as idea after idea popped into his head, only to be rejected. He wished Barney were here, with his analytical mind.
Gus checked his baking potatoes. Not done yet. Wilson wouldn’t care, but Gus cared; he liked his potatoes mushy and soft. Wilson just scarfed his down, along with the imitation bacon bits Gus sprinkled on his. He set the table and got Wilson’s plate ready. Man and dog. For now, he loved it.
The scent of the sizzling steak on the grill had Wilson dancing in circles. Steak night, his favorite night of the week.
Gus talked to the shepherd nonstop as he poured himself a beer, mixed his salad dressing, and checked the potatoes again. He was always chatty with his dog, but today he rather thought he was going overboard. Wilson must have thought so, too, because he kept looking up at him, wondering what was going on.
Gus knew what was bothering him even if he wouldn’t give voice to his thoughts—and it wasn’t his grandmother, his aunts, or Initial B Enterprises. He had to call Jill Jackson and invite her out to dinner. He had to make amends, and he had to do it as soon as possible, preferably before Barney returned tomorrow night. “It is what it is. You know that, Wilson.” Wilson barked to show he was in the game even though he didn’t understand what game, as he waited for his dinner.
The Blossom Sisters Page 18
