Case of the Great Cranberry Caper

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Mom and Dad aren’t going to make it back in time for Thanksgiving,” Jillian was telling me, as we stopped at a small bakery stand selling fresh apple turnovers. They smelled so appetizing that I bought two of them. “I suggested we could get together once they’re back, or else wait to celebrate at Christmas.”

  “How’s Josh doing?” I asked.

  Joshua Stanton Cooper just so happens to be Jillian’s one and only sibling. I still haven’t been able to meet the guy, seeing how he’s currently an active duty Marine. The last time the poor guy had any time to himself was a few months before I became a resident of Oregon state, which we already know was a few years ago. Needless to say, our schedules still haven’t been able to sync up.

  “He always sounds so tired. This time, he was given two days. Only two days, Zachary. That poor man needs a solid two weeks of rest and relaxation.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that he’s currently on his fourth tour?”

  “Yes. I know what you’re thinking. He brings this on himself. I’m just worried about him.”

  “Well, you’re a good sister. I take it your parents are spending the day with him?”

  “They were already in Virginia,” Jillian told me, as she took a bite of her pastry. “This is good! Don’t you think so? Anyway, Manassas isn’t too far from Joshua’s house, and he has RV parking on the side, so they’ll spend the day there.”

  “Are you okay with that?” I asked.

  One thing I knew about my fiancée was how close she was with her family. Holidays were all about coming together and spending time with one another. It had to be hard on her, since the only living members of her family were now on the opposite side of the country.

  “I would have liked to have seen them,” Jillian admitted, as she finished off her turnover, “but I understand their decision to stay put. After all, that’s a long drive back home, and I would rather have my parents take their time driving such a long way.”

  “Understood.”

  “We were invited, you know.”

  “I know. If you’d like to join them, then you’re more than welcome to go. I just wish I could go with you. I just don’t feel right leaving the winery unprotected.”

  “Do you still think Abigail’s family is going to try some type of retaliation?”

  I sighed and nodded. “I wish I didn’t, but I do. If ever there was a group who flat-out hated me, it’d be that one. No offense to my late wife, but that side of the family tree is just … well, it’s …”

  “ …bat-crap crazy?” Jillian slyly suggested. “No excuses needed. You’re just trying to protect what you’ve created, and that particular family seems bent on trying to take it from you.”

  “They unarguably have it out for me. You know the history we have. I can only imagine what names I’m being called by the rest of the members of that whackjob bunch.”

  “As I told you before,” Jillian told me, as she took my hands in hers, “if you are staying put, then I am staying put. We can just have our own get-together.”

  “Just the two of us?” I asked, perking up.

  “Absolutely. Well …”

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, after Jillian had trailed off.

  “I just realized something. I don’t think we’re going to be the only ones who are spending Thanksgiving without our families.”

  “Oh? Is there someone else you’re thinking of inviting?”

  “There’s Hannah and Colin, for a start. Provided she hasn’t already made plans.”

  Hannah Bloom owned and operated the local florist shop in town, The Apple Blossom. She is newly single and, thanks to the ex-husband’s messy divorce proceedings, not ready to mingle, if you catch my drift. She and her son, Colin, a bright, well-behaved boy of twelve, usually spend most waking hours in her shop. That is, unless Colin was in school.

  Colin, I might add, was a big fan of the dogs, and had puppy sat for me a few times. I had no problem whatsoever in inviting those two over to our place for the holidays. One look at my face had Jillian beaming her million-dollar smile at me and reaching for her phone.

  “Well, dinner for four it is,” I announced. “That shouldn’t be too bad.”

  “I’ll see if she is going to be home this Thanksgiving,” my fiancée said, as she pulled out her phone.

  Busy tapping out a message on her smartphone, Jillian paused and looked up at me. Just like that, her smile was back as I saw her repeatedly tap her screen, as though she was now deleting her message. I groaned, flashed her my own smile, and then leaned back on the closest counter I could find.

  “I know that smile. You’ve thought of someone else who might be left alone on Turkey Day. All right. Hit me with your best. Who else are you thinking about inviting? Oh, wait. I can probably guess this one. Taylor?”

  Taylor Adams, owner of Farmhouse Bakery, also lived alone. She, like Hannah, was also divorced. Unlike Hannah, she didn’t have any kids. She had admitted to Jillian, who had told me later, that she and her ex, Scott, married way too young, and Scott was more interested in making friends. Female friends. In less than two weeks after Taylor and Scott had been married, he had been caught cheating on her.

  Now, thanks to getting severely burned, Taylor had no desire to seek any romantic entanglement, either. I can say that I’ve spent time with Taylor, too, only I didn’t know her as well as I did Hannah. Taylor is hard-working, dedicated, and therefore, put in some mighty long hours at her bakery.

  Jillian nodded. “Yes. She only has Bentley to keep her company, and if you ask me, that isn’t healthy.”

  Bentley, in case you’re wondering, is a large, fluffy, black and grey tabby cat. Having met this cat a few times, I can tell you that he is one of the friendliest cats I have ever encountered. His purr, I kid you not, sounds like an idling diesel engine. Including his fur, he was almost as big as the corgis.

  “Okey dokey. It could now be a party of five. That still isn’t too bad.”

  “Umm, maybe plan for a party of eight?”

  “Eight?” I repeated, as I turned to her. “Did I hear you right? Who else do you have in mind?”

  “Well, we can’t leave out Dottie.”

  Darla ‘Dottie’ Hanson was the only daughter of the recently deceased bookshop owner Clara Hanson. She was fairly new in town and was still getting used to owning and operating a business. Jillian has received her fair share of panicked phone calls from our new friend over the last two months, asking about inventory, how to properly receive a shipment of books, and so on. Dottie didn’t have any family, either, and what’s more, I knew that. I should have been the one to invite her over, seeing how I’m pretty sure she looked to the two of us as though we were her foster parents.

  I shrugged. “I figured she was a given. And, I’m sorry to say, I kinda forgot about her. Just don’t tell her that.”

  “It’s a deal, Zachary.”

  “And that brings the count potentially to six. You said eight. Who else do you have in mind?”

  “Lisa, and her girlfriend, Kimmi.”

  Ah, Lisa. I had forgotten about her, too. For those who don’t know, Lisa Martinez is the person Jillian hired to run her bed and breakfast establishment, Highland House. In fact, I’m pretty sure Jillian bought that historic house with the sole intention of giving her friend a job. Maybe Lisa had mentioned, in passing, that she always wanted to run a bed and breakfast? Whatever. As for Kimmi, well, she was a reserved, quiet woman in her mid-twenties, who moved to PV from her home state of Hawaii late last year to be with her significant other. Truth be told, I do not know what type of work Kimmi does, seeing how I don’t know much about her. As for Lisa, she was born and raised here, which explained how Jillian knew her. Kimmi, however, hails from Honolulu, and prior to their arrival, had never stepped foot in Oregon before.

  Lisa is 29, Hispanic, and the world’s biggest dog lover. You think you love dogs? Think I do? We have nothing on this woman. She will actually get down on the ground and roll around
with Sherlock and Watson, who then do their damnedest to climb her, as though they were goats, and as if she was a mound of rocks. Kimmi likes dogs, too, but will typically keep her emotions in check.

  “All right. Let me get this straight. There could be you, me, Hannah, Colin, Taylor, Dottie, Lisa, and Kimmi? Did I miss anyone?”

  “No, that’s it. I have no idea if all of them will show up, but there’s always that chance. You did say you were okay with this, didn’t you?”

  “Sure, I don’t have a problem with it. Hmm, we’re gonna need a big bird.”

  “I think you’d be surprised, Zachary. It’s a common mistake, getting a bird that’s simply too big. Oooo, this is going to be so much fun! We have so much to do before Thanksgiving arrives. We need to go shopping!”

  One hour later, after dropping the dogs off at home, we stopped by the grocery store. One look at the practically full parking lot had me groaning. Apparently, everyone else in the town was preparing for the big day, too, even though it was still more than ten days out. But, I could only assume it would get worse before it would get any better. So, it was time to suck it up.

  Stepping inside the store, both Jillian and I gasped with surprise. It was one panicked shopper away from an all-out stampede. As I had surmised, the place was already packed with people pushing fully laden carts every which way. Everyone seemed anxious to get to the other side of the store, regardless of where they were presently standing. Each person I saw had a look of grim determination on their face, as if they knew the success of their family’s get-together depended on their ability to find a simple bag of mini-marshmallows. Stuffing mix, vegetables (canned, fresh, and frozen), whipped cream, eggs, flour, and the like, were piled so high that I briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much the carts could carry.

  “Gary’s Grocery sure is busy, isn’t it?” Jillian observed. She pointed at a row of empty carts. “Would you?”

  “You bet. Where do you want to start?”

  “I always start at produce and work my way across. Zachary? Would you answer something for me? Truthfully, that is.”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  “Do you like Thanksgiving as much as I do?”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “That has to be one of my favorite holidays of the year.”

  “Why?” Jillian wanted to know, as we stepped up to a large display of ears of corn. “What makes it your favorite?”

  “The food, obviously. Think about it. Calories don’t count on Turkey Day, so you can splurge as much as …”

  “Oh, yes they do,” Jillian argued.

  I waggled a finger and tried to look stern. “Oh, no they don’t. Don’t ruin it for me, lady. Repeat after me. Calories don’t count on Thanksgiving.”

  Jillian giggled. “Very well. Calories don’t count on Thanksgiving.”

  “What about you? What are your favorite parts of Thanksgiving?”

  “Carrying out old traditions and starting new ones,” Jillian said, with a sigh.

  “You answered that awfully fast,” I observed.

  “It was an easy question. I love old family traditions. Speaking of which, does your family have any favorite recipes?”

  “By that, I take it you’d like to know if I have any favorite recipes I look forward to each Thanksgiving?”

  My fiancée’s smile could have illuminated a darkened auditorium.

  “Yes, exactly! What are some of your favorites? I’d like to make a few for you.”

  “Well, that’s awful sweet of you. Let me think. Oooo, I know. Apple-cranberry crisp. My grandmother made it every year we got together. It was a thing, I guess. I loved it. Scarfed down every morsel I could get my hands on. Remember the crack about calories not counting? That’s where it started.”

  “Do you have the recipe?” Jillian asked.

  I shook my head. “No. I mean, I don’t. But, I’m pretty sure my mom does.”

  “Good to know. Anything else?”

  “Let’s see. Samantha had a recipe for some seriously killer pumpkin bars with cream cheese frosting.”

  “That one has my vote,” Jillian decided, as she selected some sweet potatoes and placed them in a bag. “I’ll tell you now, if you can get that recipe to me, I’ll make them for you.”

  “Deal! I should warn you, though. My family has been known to break out in bare-knuckle boxing to see who gets to take those leftovers home.”

  Jillian let out a delighted laugh. “They did no such thing.”

  “You’re right. I’m pretty sure they settled it in a wrestling match. Hey, are you seriously going to make sweet potatoes?”

  “It’s a Thanksgiving tradition in my family,” Jillian informed me. “I always have them. Why? Do you like sweet potatoes?”

  “Umm, not really.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. They have really good flavor and the topping? I have a recipe that … Zachary? What is that face for?”

  “Sorry. I’m just not a fan.”

  “Mm-hmm. If I were to ask you how long it’s been since you last tried sweet potatoes, what would your answer be?”

  Uh, oh. I’m really going to have to work on keeping my emotions in check when conversing with my future wife. Somehow, and I wasn’t sure how, she was able to look right through me and determine whether or not my objections to certain things were founded in fact or were pure BS.

  “Umm, it might have been a while.”

  “What is a ‘while’?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “Umm …”

  Jillian turned to face me and put her hands on her hips. “Well? Be honest, Zachary.”

  “Fine. It might’ve been, say, oh, uh, 35 years or so ago.”

  “Zachary Michael! You cannot base your likes and dislikes from a simple taste test that happened decades ago! You were only a child back then. Do your siblings like them?”

  I know I don’t mention them too often, but I do have a younger brother and a younger sister. They’re both still living in the Phoenix area, back in Arizona. Barry, who is five years younger than me, has three kids, and lives in Gilbert. He pretty much keeps to himself most of the time. Again, if I am to be honest with myself, I haven’t really spoken with him much since Samantha passed. There’s an uncomfortable silence between the two of us that neither of us know how to breach. My sister, Kira, lives in northern Phoenix and has a little boy. My mom tells me she’s trying to adopt, seeing how she wants her son to have a brother. Whether or not that will happen, time will tell.

  “Barry can’t stand them, but I’m pretty sure Kira does. She never did have good taste, if you ask me.”

  Jillian harrumphed. “No one asked, Zachary. I’m making my mother’s world-famous brown sugar pecan-topped sweet potatoes. It’s always a hit.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You’ll try some for me, won’t you?”

  “Umm …”

  “Thank you, Zachary.”

  “Hey, wait a minute! I never agreed to try those things!”

  “But you will. Thank you.”

  How was it possible to lose an argument without really having the argument in the first place?

  “Well, if you’re gonna make me try that, then I have something I’d like you to try.”

  Intrigued, Jillian hesitated at a stand displaying golden potatoes. “I’m listening.”

  “Sausage and apple dressing.”

  “You’re talking about stuffing?”

  “No, this doesn’t go inside the bird, but is baked in a separate dish in the oven, instead.”

  Her eyes shot open. “You know the difference between stuffing and dressing? Zachary, I’m so impressed!”

  “Samantha explained the difference to me years ago. For whatever reason, it stuck with me.”

  “Get me the recipe, and I’ll make you a batch.”

  “Deal. I tell you, Thanksgiving cannot get here fast enough. To be able to smell … what’s the matter? You’re frowning.”

  Jillian pointed at a large, empty cardboard tray,
situated between the bagged carrots and bundles of herbs.

  “They’re out of cranberries. That can’t be right. They’re never out of cranberries.”

  “They probably just need to be restocked. I’ll see if I can find someone.”

  “Thank you, Zachary.”

  It took only a few minutes to find a young produce clerk. Even though I could tell, with a single glance, he looked fairly harassed, as if he was having one of the worst days of his life, I had to ask.

  “You’re out of cranberries,” I told the clerk. “I’m hoping you have some more in the back room?”

  The clerk shrugged and helplessly shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. What we had, we put out. I can tell you it didn’t last long.”

  “Oh. Do you know when you’ll get some more in?”

  “We’re expecting a shipment in a few more days. I think I heard Gary say that he was going to try and push up the schedule, considering how busy we’ve been, but whether or not that happens, I don’t know.”

  “All right. Thanks, kid.”

  “Any luck?” Jillian asked, moments later.

  “They’re out. He says their next shipment isn’t due to arrive for a few more days.”

  “Well, I guess we have a little more time. I don’t like waiting until the last minute to get the supplies I need.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe I should suggest to Caden that we should grow some cranberries at the winery?”

  Caden Burne was the one-man show responsible for keeping my private winery, Lentari Cellars, running like a charm. He crafted the recipes, he oversaw the complex machinery, and he fielded all the decisions about when to plant, harvest, and so on. Essentially, he does it all. As for me? I’m the head of finance, which means all I’m responsible for is writing checks.

  Jillian shook her head. “While it would be so very nice to have fresh cranberries, especially at this time of year, you’d be hard-pressed to grow them at your winery.”

  “Oh? How bad could it be? They’re grown on bushes, aren’t they? We have all kinds of berry bushes at the winery and have plenty of room. What’s one more?”