Making Up for Lost Time

by Karin Kallmaker

  Sheila Thintowski appeared next, in a little black dress like something Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She used the back stairs and startled Jamie.

  “What exactly is Val making for dinner?”

  Jamie raised her voice so Val would hear. “I think it’s cold meat and salad with a hot soup to start and hot cobbler after.”

  She saw Val glance toward the kitchen, then head in their direction.

  “Sheila, you changed quick. Didn’t you want a hot shower? My feet were half-frozen.” Val put on an apron and got several spoons out of the drawer.

  “I didn’t want to miss a moment with you,” Sheila said. She lowered her eyelashes, all flirt.

  Oh, puh-leaze, Jamie thought.

  Val went into the prearranged script she and Jamie had created. “Well, I’ve got some arranging to do for dinner and several different things to taste and approve—”

  “Let me taste too. It’ll be fun.”

  Val hesitated, then got out more spoons.

  Since Val didn’t know about the salmon or the dressing, Jamie said, “I’ve got your Island dressing made—the recipe was really easy to follow. And the salmon is poached. Do you want me to put the lemon in a seed bag?” Her eyes telegraphed to Val that the correct answer was yes.

  If Val had no idea what a seed bag was, it didn’t show. “Of course.” She tasted the dressing and then invited Sheila to do the same. Both women approved and Val tossed her spoon in the sink.

  Sheila laughed and tossed hers in as well. Jamie cut a lemon in half and wrapped it in a small square of cheesecloth to catch seeds if Graham squeezed it on his fish. She tied it with a short length of ribbon.

  “You’re learning,” Val said. “And the plates you did look really great.” She went about completing three more dinner plates to match the ones Jamie had done, looking all the while like the mastermind of the entire menu.

  This will work, Jamie thought. And after it did Val would get on her rocket and ride out of town. So be it.

  The kitchen was a little crowded when everyone, including Len, gathered to chat and eyeball the assembling of the meal.

  Graham Chester had both eyes on Len as he talked to Jamie about Mendocino and how long she’d lived there, the local economy and similar topics. He was easy to talk to, and Jamie relaxed. That is, she relaxed until she realized that Graham was not watching Len anymore, he was watching her chop celery without even looking at her hands, her knife beating like castanets on the cutting board.

  Everyone had stopped talking, then Jamie recalled that she was not supposed to have such a refined cutting skill. Her hand faltered and she felt a blush rising.

  Val saved her. “Jamie, you’ve been practicing.”

  “Just like you showed me,” Jamie answered with only the slightest of quivers.

  Graham Chester looked intrigued, then Len moved and his eyes returned to watching the driver.

  “Well, I meant for this to be a little more formal, but heck,” Val said. “It’s Christmas Eve and many hands make light work. Everybody grab a plate. Graham, this is yours, and Jamie will bring the soup.”

  “I feel like I’m at home,” Mark told Val as they all tromped into the dining room. “I’m not much for ceremony.”

  “Tell that to the genuflecting MBAs at the office,” Sheila said.

  “They figure it out sooner or later. You did.”

  “The firelight is wonderful,” Graham said to Jamie. “Is that something Val added?”

  “It was all her idea,” Jamie said honestly.

  “Nice.”

  Val was saying to Mark, “This meal is along the lines of a Regency Era picnic. But we’re having hot soup and dessert to keep the chill away.”

  “Tell me about all the dishes.” Mark’s genuine interest softened the command.

  Val waited until everyone was settled before she began. “Everyone except Graham is having sliced lamb and beef with gravy. The English gravy at the time was more of a glaze than something you’d dunk a biscuit into. The salad is watercress, broccoli and asparagus with some other herbs. Macaroni with Parmigiano Reggiano and butter. The soup is a traditional creamed onion.”

  Jamie ladled soup and then fetched the basket of hot rolls she’d forgotten.

  “After dinner we can join the caroling and get all wet again.”

  “Let’s not,” Sheila said quickly.

  “It’ll be fun,” Mark said. “We used to carol when I was a kid. I haven’t done any singing since I was in college.”

  Sheila glanced down at her attire and sighed.

  “I have several slickers and sets of rainboots that are available to be borrowed,” Jamie said without thinking. She recovered with, “I’m always wearing them here and then not wearing them home.” Drat—she should have said that Val had the emergency supply on the wet porch.

  This was getting tedious.

  As Val dished up the cobbler, Mark complimented her on the meal. “I never realized that cold meat could be so moist. That glaze really adds something.”

  “I’m sure it’s full of fat, just what your arteries need,” Sheila said.

  “The gravy broth was thoroughly skimmed of fat,” Jamie said, again without thinking. Val looked at her wild-eyed. “I watched Val do it myself.”

  “The salmon was superb. I pity you meat-eaters.” Graham leaned over to look at the steaming cobbler. “Now, what makes a cobbler a cobbler?”

  Val said quickly, “I need a different spoon,” and headed for the kitchen.

  Jamie filled in. “Val told me that a cobbler is a very old dish in many cultures. It’s fruit in season or canned covered with sweetened topping. In this case, Val used coconut, brown sugar cut with flour, and a whole lot of butter. I’m pretty sure that it is not fat free.”

  Mark said, “This holiday I am not worrying about fat.”

  Val returned with a different spoon and a bowl of whipped cream and resumed serving. “The trick to a good cobbler is how you masturbate the fruit with sugar.”

  There was a stunned silence, then Graham said very drolly, “I beg your pardon?”

  Mark guffawed. “Is that a Freudian slip?”

  Val crimsoned. “I was thinking about too many things at once. Of course I meant macerate.”

  Sheila leaned forward with a coy look. “Of course you were. Very Freudian.”

  “Stop that nonsense right away,” Val said with mock severity. “Stop or I shall have to summon a policeman.”

  “Let’s just hope you don’t Freudian slip on camera,” Mark said.

  Val’s eyes widened. “Implying that—”

  “Let’s not talk business,” Mark said. “Let’s save it all for the day after Christmas. We’ll have a lot to iron out.”

  Val’s eyes glowed and Jamie knew then that she had lost her. Val was going to be famous and that was that.

  When there was a knock at the door she was just as pleased. The cobbler tasted of sawdust to her. “I’ll get it.” She wondered who would be knocking at this hour on Christmas Eve. The Closed sign was very much in evidence.

  She nodded in surprise to the county sheriff, Norm Peterson. He’d been a regular of Aunt Em’s and had recently begun eating at the Waterview again.

  “Real sorry about this, Jamie. I’ve got a court order for you to stop all business, and show cause why the inn should not be considered a part of Em’s estate belonging to her daughter.”

  Kathy stepped out of the dark. “Thanks for the renovation. But now it’s mine.”

  Jamie stared at them both. She blinked and shook her head, but they were still there.

  Chapter 12

  Norm grunted. “Don’t be so hasty. It’s not yours yet. Jamie, all I need from you is your business license and your agreement to stop operating the business until you can appear in court. Date’s set for next Tuesday.”

  “I’m entertaining friends for the next couple of days, not running the dining room. And I’ve got no boarders,” Jamie said. She was livid, but
a rigid calm held it in check. She simply could not believe this was happening. “She had a will, Norm. She left it all to me.”

  “I believe you—”

  “Now wait a minute,” Kathy said. “You’re supposed to enforce that order.”

  “I am, ma’am.”

  Norm was plenty angry himself, Jamie could tell. He never called anyone ma’am.

  “Jamie, what’s going on?” Val peered over Jamie’s shoulder, stiffening at the sight of a policeman. “Good lord, I was just kidding.”

  “Kathy’s trying to take the inn away from me.”

  “Val, is there some sort of problem?” Mark Warnell hadn’t gotten up from the table, but Jamie knew he would in a moment or two.

  “No, nothing at all. Just a little local business,” Val said.

  Kathy suddenly stepped forward, craning her neck to see who was in the dining room.

  Jamie stepped in her way. “You’re not setting foot in here. I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone.”

  Norm said, “I really don’t want any trouble. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  Val whispered intently, “We’re entertaining friends. Could we perhaps discuss this further in the kitchen? Could you meet us round the back, please?”

  “Sure,” Norm said. He gestured firmly at Kathy to precede him.

  Val was pale. “I knew everything was going too well.”

  “Coffee and pie isn’t going to fix this,” Jamie said. She felt numb and enraged at the same time.

  “We’ll be right back,” Val said to the others. “Just a little discussion to complete.” She pulled Jamie toward the kitchen.

  Norm came in, shaking off rain. Kathy followed, looking sullen and satisfied at the same time.

  “All I need is your license, Jamie, and I’ll be heading home to my family.” He glared meaningfully at Kathy.

  “Make her stop serving now,” Kathy said. “I’m sure she’s getting paid for this.”

  “I am not. They’re my guests.”

  “In the inn that should have been mine,” Kathy retorted. “I don’t know how you convinced my mother to leave you all her money.”

  “I didn’t convince her of anything, you…you…brat!”

  Val said, “Bravo, Jamie.”

  “Shut up, Val,” Jamie snapped.

  “Is this your new girlfriend,” Kathy asked with a sneer. “She even looks a little bit like mother.”

  Jamie gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Kathy adopted an all-knowing attitude. She addressed herself to Norm, who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. “The only reason she tried to seduce me was because she couldn’t seduce my mother.”

  “That’s not true,” Jamie hissed.

  “Oh, get over it,” Kathy said. “You were in love with her.”

  Jamie was glad there were no kitchen knives in reach.

  “We all loved Em,” Norm said. “A fine woman.” When Kathy would have interrupted him, he added, “This doesn’t serve any point. It’s best we leave now.”

  Kathy burbled an incoherent protest, drowned out by Jamie’s “Good God, Kathy. Are you so down on yourself that you couldn’t believe I loved you for you?”

  “Val, what exactly is going on?” They all turned to see Sheila entering the kitchen. Sheila assessed the situation and turned to Val. “Want to take it from the top?”

  Jamie fumbled to get her framed business license from the drawer where they’d stashed it for the Warnell visit. She wanted Kathy out of her inn. She’d fight Kathy to the bitter end, too.

  “This deal going through means a lot to you, right?” Val put her mouth close to Sheila’s ear to avoid being overheard.

  “Yes,” Sheila answered.

  “Then don’t ask questions. The birdwoman over there is trying to shut us down. She and Jamie had a thing once upon a time and now that she’s decided she’s straight she’s out to make sure Jamie gets run out of town.”

  “If she’s straight then I’m Greta Garbo,” Sheila said.

  “If we don’t get her out of here, I’m not kidding, everything is going to fall apart. Mark Warnell is going to find out that Jamie owns this place, not me.”

  Sheila gaped. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Do what? Warnell loves the place and the cooking. The deal’s in the bag—but that woman has got to go, now.”

  “You don’t understand. If he finds out, I’ll never get a chance to do another project. I presented him with a complete background check, and missed this entire mess. Daddy hates sloppy work.”

  “Daddy?”

  Sheila whispered vehemently, “Fuck you, Val. You might have warned me.” Her anger then seemed to melt away. “But you’re right, the deal’s in the bag. Business is business, even if you have lied to me, big time. I can’t do anything about that. Besides, I’m going to love proving to this creature that she can’t pass for straight. I hate that. Do you think I can do it?”

  “Sheila, I think you could get Anita Bryant into bed.”

  Sheila actually smiled. “Everybody loves me, baby—what’s the matter with you?”

  Val decided that honesty was finally the best policy. “Spoken for.”

  “I had a feeling.” Sheila turned her most sympathetic smile onto Kathy as she stepped away from Val. “I don’t come from around here so I don’t know what the problem is—”

  “The problem is that this nobody used her perverted influence to get my mother to leave her all her money.”

  “How awful,” Sheila said. She put her arm around Kathy. “How terribly awful for you. Do you have a headache? You look like I do when I’m having a migraine.”

  Kathy was eating up Sheila’s sympathy with a spoon. “I do have a dreadful headache.”

  “I’ve done my job here,” Norm said. He gestured with Jamie’s business license. “Hope I can give this back to you soon.”

  “Me too, Norm. Merry Christmas to Marge and the kids.”

  “I’ve got a wonderful prescription for headaches upstairs,” Sheila was saying. Val could tell Sheila was unleashing her high-voltage pheromones. “Why don’t you come upstairs and take a tablet? I’m pretty good at massage too. I’ll have you feeling like a million bucks.”

  Val wasn’t surprised when Kathy went along with Sheila, pouring her tale of woe in Sheila’s willing ear. She was certain that Sheila’s hand gliding across Kathy’s back had something to do with it. Sheila obviously liked a challenge.

  “Everything settled?” Mark Warnell was busy packing a pipe when Val returned.

  “Yes,” Val said. “Sheila offered to help someone who stopped in. She might be back down later.”

  “She didn’t want to go caroling anyway,” Mark sad. “She’s not that kind of girl.”

  “Neither am I,” Graham said.

  Mark snorted.

  “You know what I mean. I’m going to be perfectly content to sit here and be warm by the fire.”

  Val heard a refrain of “Jingle Bells” from down the street. “Jamie will clear up, so why don’t we go? What about you, Len?”

  “I think I’ll stay by the fire myself,” Len said. Of course he would, Val thought.

  Val offered Mark a slicker and boots and draped herself in them as well. Jamie was nowhere in sight. Feeling as if she were in a Dali painting, Val let Mark Warnell tuck her hand under his arm, and they stepped out into the rain to sing “Jingle Bells.”

  This was a nightmare. Jamie sat in one of the empty guest rooms holding the court order in her numb hands. She heard the carolers but couldn’t join them—her head was spinning.

  After a while she heard footsteps leading to the third floor. She had no idea who was where. It sounded like whoever it was had Kathy’s old room.

  She shut the footsteps out of her mind, so it was a while before she realized the bed overhead was squeaking rhythmically. Good God.

  She heard a woman’s voice rising—Sheila’s. Sheila was with somebody, and the only other woman in the pla
ce was Val.

  Damn it all.

  Jamie stormed down to the kitchen and just barely kept herself from throwing all the preparations for tomorrow’s dinner down the drain. She did the dishes in a foul mood, raging at Kathy for her selfishness, Val for her round heels, and Sheila Thintowski for being the one Val turned to after Jamie. Everyone got to have fun and she was up to her elbows in suds. Her mood was so foul she hoped she didn’t ruin Liesel’s gathering later.

  She finished the dishes in record time, started the dishwasher and stalked out of the inn. She hoped the slamming door startled the lovebirds.

  Val had set her alarm clock early, but Jamie was still in the kitchen ahead of her. Christmas morning breakfast was Belgian waffles with freshly stewed apples and lots of melted butter. Jamie looked tired, which surprised Val. She’d already left by the time she and Mark returned from caroling, and that hadn’t been late.

  If anyone should have bags under her eyes, it was her. Just as Graham and Len shut up, Sheila and Kathy had revved up. It had been a noisy night. She should have packed the walls with insulation.

  She put a small wrapped package in front of Jamie. “Merry Christmas.”

  Jamie continued coring apples. “You’re up early.”

  “Lots to do.”

  “Sorry I bugged out last night. I had a lot on my mind. Oh, and I want to go over for the church service later.”

  “Of course. Aren’t you going to open your present?”

  Val got the impression that Jamie wanted to refuse, then she put down the apple and knife and rinsed her hands.

  “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “That’s okay,” Val said. “I saw this in a boutique window when I went to the grocery store on Tuesday. It was an impulse.”

  Tuesday, Val thought. Before they’d slept together.

  Jamie smiled wanly as she wound up the music box that emerged from the tissue paper. It played “The Christmas Song” in delicate chiming notes. “We don’t have any chestnuts.”

  “Maybe next year,” Val said.

  Jamie picked up the apple and knife again. “Thank you very much.”

  “My pleasure.” This sucked, Val thought. How do you say what you want to say? “Jamie, I—I wanted to say that—”