Losing Penny

by Kristy Tate

  “I didn’t co-create the Watchdog, I just turned it from being ugly to cute.”

  “Exactly. You took something ho-hum and turned it into every little girl’s must-have. And you do that every time you cook too.” Andrea sat down at the table. “If you can change, I can change.”

  Penny crossed her arms and frowned at Andrea. “What do you want to change? I like you the way you are.”

  Andrea gave her a hard, level stare.

  “Okay, that whole crying over crackers thing was annoying, and your menu at the café is blah, but other than that, what do you want to change?”

  “A new menu, definitely.”

  “And?” Penny urged.

  “A new man?”

  Penny smiled. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “But how can I get him to notice me?”

  Penny thought for a moment. “He likes baked goods.”

  “Seriously? Food?”

  “Don’t underestimate the power of food. It’s going to win us a chili contest, and it’s going to win you Trevor Marx’s heart.”

  Chapter 43

  His mother wept in his arms as his father’s funeral pyre floated out to sea. He tried to comfort her, tried to tell her of the green valleys and blue skies of Ingrid’s homeland, but she remained inconsolable. He let her dampen his shirt with her tears.

  From Hans and the Sunstone

  Drake sat in Blair’s cottage in an overstuffed chair with his feet propped up on an ottoman. While Charlotte had been alive, he had rarely been invited inside her cottage, so sitting in her favorite chair felt like a forbidden pleasure. He turned the page of Blair’s Romantic History of Rose Arbor. He was so engrossed in her story that he didn’t hear the car in the drive.

  Rawlings didn’t bother knocking, and Drake stood as Alec strode in. The history fell next to Drake’s feet, and he picked it up and hid it behind his back.

  Rawlings’s jaw clenched when he saw the kitchen table set for two. Drake glanced quickly at the spaghetti and garlic bread warming in the oven and the large green salad on the table and guessed that Rawlings would misread the situation.

  “What are you doing here?” Drake asked, although he had a pretty good idea. He didn’t like Rawlings, but he did like Blair, and he didn’t want to hurt her anymore than she was already hurting.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Rawlings said through tight lips.

  “Have you seen Blair?” Drake asked.

  “That’s why I came here, to see Blair,” Alec said. He balled his hands into fists and shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

  Drake cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair. “Blair has gone to see you.”

  “To see me?”

  Drake nodded. “She went to wait for you at your house. I take it you haven’t been there.”

  “No, I came straight here.” Alec raised his eyebrows. “And I found you.”

  “I’m reading something for Blair.” He thought about adding “and she’s reading something for me,” but after another glance at Alec’s face, he decided to end his sentence. Maybe if he didn’t begin any more sentences, Rawlings would go away.

  Alec looked like he wanted to beat Drake until all that remained was a bloody pair of Bermuda shorts. Drake, who was confident in his lecturing ability, chose his words carefully.

  “She’s upset. She’s had a really bad day, so I made her dinner.” Drake looked at the kitchen table and then tried to make eye contact with Alec, but his glance slipped away. “I know she wants to talk to you, why don’t you call her?”

  “A bad day, huh?” Alec took a step closer. “How do you know about that?”

  Drake took a long time to answer, and Alec lowered his eyebrows at him. Finally, Drake said, “Because I was there.”

  Alec took another step closer, and Drake backed up against the ottoman. He shuffled for a moment and then dropped the history. The small, leather-bound book fell open, and Alec obviously recognized Blair’s handwriting sprawled across the pages. His eyes narrowed.

  He picked it up. Drake remembered Blair’s lyrical prose, “Summer night, hot with desire, a low sky blanketed in midnight blue and pierced with stars. I rest with my head against his chest and feel his breath that rises and falls in rhythm.”

  “What’s this?” Alec flipped to another page and read about a night on the Sound.

  “It’s not for you,” Drake said.

  “It’s not for me, but it’s for you?”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Drake said.

  A vein in Alec’s neck throbbed and Drake stared at it until Alec wheeled away, still clutching the book.

  “Hey!” Drake called out after him. “Seriously, you can’t take that. Blair will kill me.”

  Alec turned and dropped the book onto the table near the front door. A lone piece of paper fell loose. For a second neither man spoke. Alec picked it up, read it, then crumpled the sheet of paper into a wad and shoved it into his pocket before finishing his exit.

  Drake sat down hard on the ottoman and waited for the sound of Alec’s truck to fade away. Then he went to the table that he had so carefully set and thought about removing the knives.

  Blair might have just cause to kill him, but he didn’t have to provide a weapon.

  Chapter 44

  If you can set aside the sometimes embarrassing side effects of eating beans, you’ll find that the health benefits far outweigh that problem. In fact, when cooked the right way, the gaseousness of beans is virtually eliminated.

  From Losing Penny and Pounds

  “The secret is to create buzz,” Penny told Andrea. She pulled the tinfoil off the cookie sheet and revealed the soldier-like rows of tiny cornbread muffins. “It’s a chili cook-off, but the muffins are going to draw the crowd.”

  “It still seems like cheating,” Andrea said. She bit her lip and watched Penny place the bit-size muffins into a basket lined with a red checked cloth.

  “How can you call an itty-bitty muffin a cheat? We’re still in the chili contest and ours kicks serious Tabasco butt! The muffins are just a happy side note.”

  In keeping with the Frontier Day’s theme, Rose Arbor’s town green overflowed with women in long skirts, aprons, and bonnets and men in overalls and straw hats. White tents set up in rows crisscrossed the park. A pavilion rigged with overhead lights and microphones was at one end, and the food stands were at the other. In between there were carnival games including a ring toss, a fishing booth, and face painting. Near the center of the festival Mayor Mayweather sat on a platform above a water tank calling taunts to his constituents, egging them on to try to send him into the water.

  “Now, don’t you two look darling,” Melinda gushed, coming up to their stand with her camera poised. “Let me take a picture of the winners of the chili cook-off!”

  A stir of uneasiness wiggled in Penny’s belly, but she dismissed it. She shouldn’t be suspicious just because Melinda chose to be nice. Penny wrapped her arm around Andrea’s waist and smiled for Melinda’s camera.

  “We haven’t won yet,” Andrea said after Melinda tucked her camera into her bag.

  “Oh, but you will,” Melinda said, her voice sweeter than the pot of honey butter beside the muffins.

  Trevor turned the corner, caught sight of their booth, and headed their way.

  Andrea stood a little taller when she saw Trevor. “Melinda, will you try my apple spice doughnuts? I’m thinking of adding them to my menu, and I want an objective opinion.”

  “Apple spice doughnuts?”

  Penny heard the weakness in Melinda’s voice.

  “I’ll try them. Melinda doesn’t eat,” Trevor said, leaning over his sister’s shoulder.

  Andrea shot Penny a quick glance and Penny gave her a brief nod. Andrea handed him a basket from below the counter. When Trevor unfolded the napkin off the top, a waft of cinnamony, warm air escaped.

  “You made these?” Trevor aske
d.

  “Yes. Tomorrow I’m going to try gingersnaps.” Andrea’s tone grew more confident when an expression of bliss crossed Trevor’s face.

  “Maybe I should come by the café and try the gingersnaps,” Trevor said with a mouth full of doughnut. “You know, to be helpful with my objective opinions.”

  Melinda scowled at her brother. “You are so easy. You can be bought for a doughnut.”

  “Hey, no one has bought me.” Trevor touched a napkin to his lips before continuing. “And these are pimp-worthy doughnuts. Don’t criticize me until you’ve tried one.”

  “Do you want to try our chili?” Andrea asked, nerves creeping into her voice.

  “Maybe you should try some of the other chilies,” Penny suggested.

  Melinda rolled her eyes. “Please, how can you lose?”

  Something in her tone made Penny uneasy. Melinda must have learned Penny’s secret, but there wasn’t much Penny could do about it. Plus if Penny confronted Melinda and she didn’t know, the situation would turn into an awkward mess.

  “Hey! That’s a great idea!” Penny said.

  “What is?” Trevor and Andrea both asked at the same time.

  “Someone needs to check out the competition,” Penny said.

  “That won’t be me,” Melinda sniffed.

  “Andrea and Trevor, you have to do it!” Penny said, pushing Andrea out of the booth.

  Andrea tripped in the sawdust.

  Penny caught Andrea’s arm and handed it to Trevor. “We need two opinions.”

  A tall blonde with honey-colored curls watched from across the green. Andrea caught her smile and waved. “Blair,” Andrea said to Penny.

  Penny stopped. Of course she wanted to meet Blair, if only to satisfy curiosity…or compare notes on Drake. They had both once loved—no, that wasn’t right. She didn’t love Drake. Well, maybe not yet, but if her feelings had enough time to simmer, maybe with just the right seasoning…she was thinking in food again.

  “Hey, Blair, let me introduce you to Maggie,” Andrea said.

  “I can introduce myself.” Penny pushed Andrea in Trevor’s direction. “I need you to check out our competition.”

  Andrea gave Blair and Penny a bright smile before she turned and took Trevor’s arm.

  Blair was Greek goddess beautiful—perfect nose, strong jaw line, bee-stung lips. She was the sort of girl who never indulged in brownies or Snivel Drivel. Maybe Penny didn’t want to meet Blair after all. Melinda leaned against the booth and folded her arms, her eyes narrowed like a cat as she watched Blair.

  Penny tried to return Blair’s smile, but her lips felt stiff. “Would you like a muffin?” Penny asked, as if food solved every socially awkward situation.

  “Thanks,” Blair said. She smiled and reached into the basket. She hummed with pleasure. “I’ve heard the most amazing things about your cooking, and now I know that no one exaggerates.”

  “I’ve heard nice things about you too.”

  “Really?”

  No, not really, but it had to be assumed. She was Andrea’s best friend, Charlotte Rhyme’s niece, and Drake’s old girlfriend, so there had to be amazing things to say and hear.

  “I read your Viking story,” Blair began.

  “You read my story?” It hurt that Drake gave the story to his old girlfriend.

  Blair nodded.

  “I thought you were writing a cookbook?” Melinda turned to her.

  Penny shot her a quick, questioning look. “I am.”

  A smile hovered on Blair’s lips. “Will it be as good as the one about Hans and Ingrid?”

  “That’s mostly Drake’s story,” Penny said.

  “Wait— what do you mean mostly Drake’s story? Drake wrote a story about Vikings? When?” Melinda leaned away from the booth, indignation quickly replacing her haughty expression. “This summer when he was supposed to be writing my dad’s book?”

  “He did that too,” Penny said.

  “When did he finish this Viking book?” Melinda pressed.

  Blair stared at Melinda as if she’d grown horns. “Does it matter?”

  Melinda put her hands on her hips. “I paid him a lot of money to write my dad’s biography! I booked his stay at the cottage for the entire summer!”

  “And I’m sure he appreciates it,” Penny said, trying to sound soothing.

  “And all the time he was writing about Vikings?” Melinda rose to the balls of her feet, towering over Penny.

  Blair looked genuinely confused. “I don’t understand. Did Drake finish your dad’s book? You can legitimately tag a whole lot of negative adjectives beside Drake’s name, but irresponsibility isn’t one of them. He’s very dependable. I’m positive that if he said he’d write your dad’s book that he will do it.”

  “Oh, he’s done it, all right!” Melinda balled her hand into fists and huffed away.

  “What was that about?” Blair asked, her gaze following Melinda’s retreat.

  “I think she wanted more of a romance than a biography,” Penny said, sitting on a stool and patting the one next to her. “Please sit down. I want to hear what you really thought about Hans and the Sunstone.”

  Blair smiled. “Okay, but I really want to hear how you ended up with Drake.”

  Penny’s smile faded. “I didn’t end up with Drake.”

  Blair pulled up the stool and sat down. “Don’t worry, you will.”

  Penny shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ve known Drake for a really long time. Believe me, you’re under his skin.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How do you know that nutmeg will be great in a pumpkin pie?” Blair asked. “The flavors work well together and complement each other. That’s you and Drake.”

  Penny tried to smile, but her lips wavered. She wanted to be with Drake, but she didn’t want to be the pumpkin in this scenario. She wished Blair had chosen a different metaphor.

  ***

  The next morning Penny stumbled down the stairs to find Drake sitting at the kitchen table and frowning at his laptop.

  “I thought you left,” she said, running a tongue over her fuzzy teeth.

  A scowl creased between Drake’s eyebrows. He turned his computer screen so that it faced her: TRAVELING COOKING GODDESS WINS LOCAL CHILI COOK-OFF.

  Penny had always heard of the term screaming headlines, but until that moment she’d never really heard a headline actually scream. She wanted to scream too, but instead she whispered, “Oh no.”

  The headline was accompanied by two pictures: one of a chubby, strawberry blond Penny smiling in front of the Taj Mahal, the other of Penny and Andrea dressed in Bluebird Café aprons and beaming over the steaming pot of chili.

  “What are you going to do?” Drake asked.

  “Do? What can I do? The whole world knows I’m not in India.” Penny sat down heavily on the sofa. “But the whole world doesn’t matter, only the Lurk matters.”

  She considered Drake. He sat across the table, staring at her. She wanted to ask why was he there, but she was too happy to see him to risk controversial questions. Maybe Blair was right. Maybe she had gotten under his skin and maybe he was under hers too.

  “What are we going to do?” Drake asked again.

  The plural pronoun warmed her toes.

  “Eat French toast?” Penny’s thoughts went to other toe-warming things.

  Drake stood. “I’ll make breakfast while you take a shower. We’ll think of something.”

  ***

  Chapter 45

  “I will avenge my father!” Han’s told his mother.

  “No my son, you must not,” she pled, tears filling her eyes. “I could not bear to lose you both. Please, let us leave this place of death and destruction, for as long as we stay, we will find the enemy at our door.”

  From Hans and the Sunstone

  Drake leaned away from his masterpiece, pleased. “How’s this?” he asked when Penny came down the stairs, toweling her wet hair. He t
urned his attention away from her cutoff jeans and T-shirt and back to his computer screen.

  “Penny Lee, recently returned from the Far East—”

  Penny shook her head. “I need to tell the truth. I have to maintain credibility. My followers feel like they know me, and now I’ve lied to them. I can’t lie to cover a lie.”

  Drake held up his finger. “I thought you’d probably say that. So here’s another one, “Penny Lee, after a severe injury—” he pointed to her foot.

  “How is that not a lie?” Penny laughed.

  “You did hurt your foot. Just listen, no more interrupting.” He cleared his throat and resumed his anchorman imitation. “After being waylaid by an unfortunate accident, Penny decided to spend the summer in her family’s beach house recuperating. In order to fulfill her contractual agreement—”

  “There’s no contract—”

  “Hush, no one knows that!” The anchorman voice returned. “For a summer of international foods and flavors.” He paused. “I particularly like that last bit—international foods and flavors.” He looked up when she didn’t respond.

  Her face had lost its color and her eyes were wide.

  “Penny?” He followed her gaze out the window. A big black car pulled down the drive. “Who is it?” he asked, standing. “Is it the Lurk?”

  She shook her head. “My brother.”

  Drake had imagined that the Watchdog creator would be small, thin, and belong to the pocket protector crowd. He assumed a football player or a shot-putter wouldn’t need to rely on electronics to protect his sister.

  He had assumed wrong.

  Richard stood in the doorway, his breathing heavy. His gaze ran over Drake and their eyes locked. Drake felt like a matador being sized up by a bloodthirsty bull, and he instinctively pulled himself up to his full height.