by Linda Lovely
“Lord Jesus, help us keep these devil worshippers from claiming more souls!” the stranger bellowed.
I was flabbergasted. No other word for it. Then my shock morphed into anger. Who did this woman think she was, calling us devil worshippers? Who invited her to our private workout? How did she even find out about it?
The plump leader held a super-sized wooden cross before her as if she were fending off a clutch of vampires. I figured her for mid-fifties. Gray streaks wound through her mousy brown hair. Light glinting off oversized spectacles lent her the look of an alien with round yellow bug eyes.
Two cross-carrying acolytes hovered about a foot behind her.
Were these people serious? I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. My heartbeat raced. Angry? You betcha.
I almost yelled one of my old-time favorite curses. Years back, I cleaned up my salty language for dear old Mom. As a vegan, processed-meat-and-cheese exclamations had become my exclamatory substitutes. But Cruddy corndogs! didn’t quite express my outrage.
Mollye, closest to the barn door, marched toward the scowling leader. “Susan, what in blazes do you think you’re doing?” she growled. “I got a restraining order to keep you and your looney-tune zealots off my property. Now you’re following me?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” the intruder raged, “though I’m not surprised. Goat yoga! What blasphemy. At church this morning, one of our faithful told me you were planning this abomination. I prayed on it, and decided we had to stop the spread of this evil in Ardon County.”
She waved her cross at us. “In the name of the Father and the Son we demand—”
“You need to leave,” Paint spoke through gritted teeth. “The only evil here is you.”
Susan closed her eyes and rocked back and forth on her heels. “You are Satan’s handmaidens duping people into believing Baphomet goat worship is fun.”
Susan’s diatribe was accompanied by a murmur of “Amen, Sister, Amen” from her backups. The sidekicks still wore church-go-to-meeting dresses, nylons, and heels. They kept sneaking peeks at the ground. Worried their high heels might sink in goat doo-doo during their barnyard sortie?
One of the acolytes looked to be Susan’s age; the other much younger, about my age.
“Knights Templar worshipped Baphomet as a deity.” Susan’s tone changed. Her words flowed in a singsong chant. “These monsters with their snake eyes are his descendants.”
“Are you nuts?” Jayla broke in. “How can you think these adorable babies are evil?”
Susan’s rant hadn’t cowed my friends.
The harpy wasn’t deterred. “Open your eyes. The Satanic goat is a source of evil.” Her yellow bug eyes flashed at each of us in turn. “You worship the Devil. We won’t allow your sickness to infect the pious people of Ardon County.”
Aunt Eva appeared in the barn door carrying two pails of goat milk. “You’re trespassing and you’re scaring the baby goats.”
My aunt’s face flamed red.
“We’ll leave,” Susan said. “But this isn’t over. We will fight to the death for the soul of Ardon County. Goat yoga will not corrupt our world.”
Curly made a break for it. The tiny kid ran pell-mell toward the barn door, which happened to be a few feet beyond where the intruding trio stood. Susan screeched. Did she really believe the Devil inhabited the itty-bitty creature?
The woman raised her leg to kick Curly.
Eva flung both buckets of goat milk, drenching Susan. The white liquid plastered her beehive hairdo to her scalp and her puffy blouse to her chest.
Oh my, was she really wearing a flaming red teddy under her prim white cotton?
A laugh bubbled up. I laughed so hard I doubled over.
Susan shrieked like a storm-warning siren and ran. Though only a few drops of goat’s milk spattered her companions, they caterwauled like they’d been doused with acid as they scurried after their leader.
The entire Udderly Kidding Dairy crew exploded in laughter.
Eva halted her hee-haws long enough to imitate a cackling witch. “You’ve been baptized with the milk of Baaa-Phooey. Your souls belong to us!”
Susan spun when she reached a shiny Chevy van. “You’ll pay for this!” she yelled. “Laugh all you want. You’ll see Hell sooner than you thought.”
I quit laughing as abruptly as I’d started. It was Susan’s tone not her words that gave me the heebie-jeebies. We’d embarrassed the woman. Humiliated her. Perhaps she’d started this protest as some form of ecclesiastical theater, art for show, a way to rally the troops.
Now it was personal. Susan had been scorned.
FOUR
“Hope you got that?” Eva pointed at Paint’s camera.
“Sure did.” He chuckled. “Even caught Susan’s heaving tatas. They were giving that red corset of hers a heavy-duty stress test.”
Eva rolled her eyes. “Let’s try to forget Susan’s undergarment surprise. Help me round up Curly, Moe, and Larry. Need to get these energetic babies back in their pen.”
I grabbed Curly, who was so wound up her squirming limbs seemed to fly in every direction. As I carried her toward the pen, I glanced over my shoulder at the departing Chevy. A black cloud trailed the oil-burning van. Maybe Susan thought catalytic converters were evil, too.
Once all three kids were happily scampering in their grassed enclosure, Paint locked the gate. “Well, ladies,” he began, “it’s not quite four o’clock but I’m tempted to pass around some of the moonshine stashed in my truck. What the heck just happened?”
“A little early for ’shine,” Eva said. “The sun’s not over the yardarm. But I bet none of you ladies want to do more handstands so refreshments seem in order. Brie baked a cake, and we have cold apple cider and goat-milk smoothies in the fridge.”
Jayla chuckled. “I’m all in for cake. Right now, my main breathing exercise is a sigh of relief that the whackos have split.”
Inside our cabin, I took beverage orders while Eva dished out my pumpkin-walnut cake. Once everyone was served, I collapsed in the last empty seat and took a long swallow of cold cider. “Okay, who is this Susan?”
Mollye let out a long sigh. “Three years ago Susan Young belonged to my church, First Baptist of Ardon, which helps support a local homeless shelter. Susan got her hackles up when the shelter held a bingo night to raise funds. Since Susan categorizes bingo as a deadly sin, she demanded First Baptist quit supporting the shelter. When she was voted down, she led a splinter group to join the Temple of True Believers.
“Then, last year she picketed Starry Skies because I sell wands and do palm and Tarot card readings,” Mollye added. “I assured her it was all in fun. Susan predicted I’d have fun roasting in hell for eternity.”
Jayla shook her head. “Another True Believer visited my yoga studio. Said I’d abandoned Christianity for yoga and it was her mission to bring me back to God. I told her practicing Hatha yoga and being a Christian weren’t mutually exclusive. When I added that I taught Sunday school, my visitor went bonkers. She couldn’t believe any church would let a yoga-corrupted instructor teach the Bible to innocent children.”
I glanced over at Mimi and Fara. “Have you two had any run-ins?”
Mimi smiled as she picked up Cashew, my teensie Teacup Morkie, who’d been scouting the kitchen floor for cake crumbs acting as if she hadn’t eaten in days.
“I’ve been on the True Believers’ suspect list since we moved here,” Mimi said as she petted my Oscar-worthy pup. “We were still unpacking when a man who described himself as a deacon dropped by to ask us to church. I told him we were Catholic. He frowned and said, ‘Oh, I thought you were Christians.’ I had no clue how to respond to his level of ignorance.”
Fara hid her face in her hands then peeked between her fingers. I figured she was looking at me though it was hard to tell. Her left eye had a tendency
to wander, and I wasn’t always sure where her split vision was focused.
“Afraid I’m responsible for today’s visit,” Fara confessed. “One of our cleaning ladies belongs to the True Believers’ congregation. When she dusted my office yesterday, I was on the phone prattling on about goat yoga with Mollye.”
Eva got up from the table. “Susan Young and her friends are nut jobs. But I’m afraid I may have tipped her further into crazy by dousing her in goat milk. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let her hurt Curly.”
My aunt frowned. “Think they’ll be back? Still want to go ahead with these goat yoga classes?”
Jayla laughed. “I’m game. There’s more to yoga than meditation. What the goats provide is important—closeness to nature and unbridled joy. All part of being present in the moment.”
Her students nodded their agreement.
“Guess it’s decided,” I said. “We won’t let a few ignoramuses spoil the fun. By the way, who were the other members of Susan’s raiding party?”
“The young one is Karen Vincent,” Fara answered. “She was a couple years behind me in school. Karen was clerking at a convenience store until she snagged a job as church secretary for the True Believers. Maybe she figures these little excursions are required to keep the gig. The older lady is the mother of another classmate. Why can’t I remember her name? The daughter writes that popular food blog.”
I swallowed hard. Uh, oh.
Paint laughed. “Forget their names. Don’t need ’em to plaster their faces on YouTube. I can make a great promo showing how exciting goat yoga classes can be.”
Eva wagged her finger at Paint. “Don’t you dare go poking a hornet’s nest. This might blow over if we ignore them. Next week Susan will likely uncover some other blasphemy to elevate her blood pressure. If not, we’ll follow Mollye’s example and get a restraining order.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Guess the next step is putting together a marketing plan—with no mention of gate crashers. When can we all get together again?”
Everyone whipped out their smart phones to coordinate. The consensus: four p.m. Wednesday. Since it would be a planning session, there’d be no invite for Moe, Curly, and Larry. I fervently hoped the True Believers wouldn’t invite themselves.
FIVE
Once Jayla, Mimi, and Fara vacated the property, Moll asked if I’d had any feedback on the website I’d created for Summer Place. I hoped to turn the dilapidated Southern mansion into a B&B and had built the website to create a little early buzz.
I shook my head. “Not on the website. But I did receive two ominous ‘beware of Harriett’ warnings.”
“Warnings?” Paint jumped in. “Beware of who?”
“Someone thinks I should rescind the invitation Harriett Quinn’s already accepted to attend my luncheon tasting. If only I could. I almost lost it when Fara ID’d one of our religious protestors as the mother of some food blogger. Had to be Harriett’s mother.”
Aunt Eva looked puzzled. “Harriett’s that farm-to-table blogger with the big following, right? Weren’t you hoping she’d spread the word about Summer Place catering?”
I shrugged. “That’s why I invited her. I should have read more of the woman’s blogs. She knows how to pen some scathing personal attacks.”
Mollye nodded. “Harriett can be a real snake-in-the-grass to anyone who rubs her the wrong way.”
I sighed. “I saw her glowing review of a new Greenville restaurant and fired off an invite.” I winked at Mollye. “Should have consulted with my local know-it-alls first.”
“I’d have warned you off,” my friend agreed. “But you can’t rescind your invitation. Harriett would really have fun with that.”
“So what did these online warnings say about Harriett?” Paint asked. “Were they signed? It might help to know who sent them.”
“My new online friend set up a fake digital ID in order to call her out as a scum-sucking blackmailer,” I replied. “Went to a lot of trouble to warn me that Harriett’s extorted several businesses and savaged the reputation of ones that failed to pony up. I imagine my online buddy didn’t pay tribute, and Harriett ruined him.”
Paint nodded. “Bad publicity can doom a start-up. Might be easy to figure out the sender’s identity. Just backtrack through Harriett’s blogs and see which businesses went down the tubes after bad reviews.”
“If I had the time, I’d do some sleuthing,” I answered. “But I don’t. Anyway, not sure it matters who tried to warn me. The good news is Harriett won’t be alone at my tasting. I’m hoping any bad review she might dish up will be countered by at least two good ones.”
My stomach churned. Despite my brave words, I was scared to death. I was about to turn thirty-three. I had an MBA and several years of banking experience. But I’d chucked a promising financial career to become a chef—and, to make my decision riskier, my dream was to be a chef who catered to a minority clientele, vegans and vegetarians.
My career gyrations baffled my parents. Mom and Dad knew exactly what they wanted to do from the day they set foot on a college campus.
What if I couldn’t make it as a chef? Please, please this tasting had to be a success. I was really afraid my time was running out.
Paint lingered after Mollye left.
“I’m headed to Charleston,” he said. “Things are looking good to expand Magic Moonshine in the Lowcountry. I’m meeting potential investors tonight. Why not postpone your tasting? Make some excuse and come with me? I mean it is my boyfriend week, and Charleston is one romantic city.”
He trailed a finger down my cheek and brushed his lips against mine. “I’m sure Eva could spare you for a couple of days. Claim a nationwide shortage of fruits and nuts has forced a cancellation. Later you could quietly set up a new tasting and leave Harriett off the guest list.”
Looking into his mischievous mocha eyes, I was sorely tempted. “Wish I could, but I can’t. Ursula Billings, Mom’s best friend from law school, arrives tomorrow. She’s coming to Tuesday’s tasting. I’m convinced she’s the only reason some of my luncheon guests accepted. Everyone’s seen Judge Ursula presiding over her television courtroom. Folks want to meet her in the flesh. I need to shop tonight, cook up a storm tomorrow.”
Paint’s hot breath tickled my ears as he whispered. “We’d have much more fun cooking something up together in Charleston.”
“Could be.” I eased back to put a smidgeon more space between our lips and give my overwrought hormones a breather.
“I can’t blow this chance to prove I have more than a snowball’s chance in Hades of operating a profitable vegan-vegetarian B&B. While my family’s been super, I sense they’re just on stand-by to pick up the pieces when I fail.”
“I believe in you.” Paint’s eyes locked on mine. “I get how you feel. My folks weren’t amused when I told ’em I was going to follow in Grandad’s moonshiner footsteps. Even promising the business would be legal didn’t improve their attitude. I stuck to my guns, and it worked for me. It’ll work for you.”
I snuggled into Paint’s arms and gave him a well-deserved goodbye kiss. “I needed that vote of confidence. Thanks. I’ll have some influential gourmands at my tasting. Maybe they’re only coming to dine with TV’s Judge Ursula. Doesn’t mean I can’t dazzle them with vegan fare.”
“You do have a magic touch,” Paint whispered.
“What I need is magic cash. Fingers crossed I get some catering gigs and private dinner parties to boost my cash flow. It’ll be another year before I can open Summer Place as a B&B.”
Paint cocked his head. “Fried green tomatoes still top my list of gussied-up vegetables, and you’re not likely to meet a more dedicated meat-eater. But your cooking’s begun to win me over. You’ll do great. Impress Judge Ursula and you’ll have it made. Her fans say she’s never blown a verdict. But she can sound pretty mean when she thinks the defend
ant’s an idiot.”
I nodded. “Mom says Ursula’s much nicer than the judge she portrays on TV. Mom and Ursula were the only women in their law school class, and they became really close friends. But I sense Mom was a bit disappointed that Ursula left ‘real’ law for TV land.”
Paint arched an eyebrow. “Plenty of men tune in just to lay eyes on Ursula. She could make a young fella seriously consider pursuing an older babe. When that tabloid published photos of her in a bikini, I was among the happy gawkers.”
I punched Paint’s arm. “Maybe I shouldn’t introduce you. After the paparazzi snapped those bikini shots, a men’s magazine offered the judge a pile of dough to shed her black robes and pose nude. I’m no prude, but I’m glad she didn’t cash in.”
Paint grinned. “Glad to know you’re not philosophically opposed to nudity.”
I gave his arm another gentle punch. “Go on. Get out of here. You have moonshine to sell, and I need to put on my chef’s hat.”
He glanced at his watch. “Wow. I do have to run. Have orders to fill, and weekend traffic’s always heavy coming or going from the coast.”
His arms tightened around me, pulling me close for a lingering kiss. My lips tingled as did all other parts of my anatomy that came in touch with his bod.
“Be back Thursday. Since I’m not on your boyfriend schedule for Valentine’s Day, maybe we should plan an early celebration.”
Paint wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I couldn’t help but laugh.
SIX
Once Paint left, I logged on to Udderly’s online store, printed new cheese orders, and created shipping labels. I startled when Eva tapped my shoulder. With the printer whirring, I didn’t hear her come up behind me. She grinned. “Just wanted to say goodbye.”
It was one of the days my aunt served as counselor at a domestic abuse shelter. Having been a victim herself, she was passionate about helping frightened, battered women.
