“Get,” he said, shooing me away.
“Well, alright. Yell if you need me.”
With deliberate steps onto the porch and past the column where the bees were coming out of their stupor and investigating their cut-apart hive, I turned the doorknob and rushed in the house.
To a cloud of smoke.
At first I thought I’d tripped over the bee smoker and brought a hazy smog inside with me, but I quickly realized my sister was trying to set my kitchen on fire.
“Monica?” I darted down the hall into the kitchen. Monica was sobbing. The fire detector started blaring, and the dogs began barking like their tails were ablaze. “Out!” I shouted, opening the back door. “Gus! Isobel! Liam!” I chased them outside while the burly twins chased each other around the dining room having a competition of who could howl the loudest. “Wally! Beaver! Let’s go! Outside!” I really needed to find names for these two hooligans and stick to them.
I left the door open, ran to the window over the sink, and pushed it up as high as it would go. “It’s okay,” I told Monica, my eye catching the charred dog biscuits sitting on top of the stove. “I’ll help you get as many as you need baked before Friday.”
“Why did I ever think I could do this?” she wailed, swiping her hands across her wet cheeks.
“Because you can. Tell me one time you’ve failed at anything.” I crossed the kitchen and stood in front of her. “You were popular in high school, college was a breeze for you, and you’ve been a successful businesswoman since the day you got your first job. This is new. It’s challenging you, but I see the glimmer in your eyes whenever you talk about Dog Diggity. It’s worth the struggle.”
“Cam, my store isn’t anywhere near ready to open this weekend as planned, there’s no way I’m going to be able to bake forty dozen treats as planned, and—”
“And sometimes life doesn’t go as planned. Change your plan. You can do this, Mon. I have no doubt in my mind.”
She sniffed and gave me a shaky smile, looping her wavy hair back behind her ears. “Okay. I’ll take those charcoal lumps out to the trash and we can get started on a new batch.”
“That sounds like a plan.”
∞
I was up to my ears in dog biscuit dough when the phone rang. I glanced over at the caller ID and cringed. Irene.
After wiping my pinkie finger on my apron, I jabbed the speaker button on the phone. “Hello, Irene.”
“Where, pray tell, are you?”
Pray tell? This sounded serious. “In my kitchen helping Monica make forty dozen dog treats for this weekend. Where, pray tell, are you? Did Mia find a dress?”
“She did. And she’s here. As is your mother. You, however, are not.”
I took a moment and tracked back through my mind, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then it hit me. “The Daughters meeting! What time is it?”
“Three seventeen. You’re late.”
“Oh, good gravy. I’m sorry Irene. I’ve got Old Dan playing with a beehive in my front yard, a hysterical sister in my kitchen, and—”
“And the Daughters are a priority for its members,” she said. “If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then I’ve made a grave mistake asking you to join.”
“No, I just—I’m sorry, Irene, this week has gotten away from me. There’s a million things to do. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be there.”
“Fine, but know that we don’t always give second chances.”
“Noted. See you soon.” I hung up with my pinkie and turned to the sink to wash the goop from my hands. “I have to go,” I told Monica. “I forgot about my first Daughters meeting.”
“I heard.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can to help you knock these out.”
“You didn’t sign up for Dog Diggity,” she said. “I did. Now I have to find a way to make it happen. Go to your meeting, and don’t worry about me.”
Her declaration made me worry even more. “I’m abandoning you in a time of need,” I said. “What kind of sister does that?”
“A sister who’s a Daughter,” she said then laughed. “That sounds so strange.”
“The Daughters of Metamora isn’t something I ever wanted. I’m going to decline Irene’s invitation to join.”
Monica’s eyebrows shot up. “She’ll make you regret it.”
“She makes me regret everything. Oh, I forgot to tell you, dogs aren’t the only ones who love your treats. It seems ducks take quite a liking to them, too.” I told her the story of Mike following me around town as I cleaned my hands. Then I grabbed my bag and took off for my first—and hopefully last—Daughters of Historical Metamora meeting.
∞
The Daughters were all waiting in Irene’s living room. Fiona was pacing back and forth like she was wound up and ready to pounce. Elaina was telling knock-knock jokes that made no sense. Cass was playing a game on her cell phone. Her eyes were still puffy and she looked like she’d lost weight in the few days since Andy’s arrest. Mia and Stephanie were whispering in the corner, and Betty was nodding off in one of Irene’s antique wingback chairs. Poor Betty had a million cookies to make and took time out of her busy schedule to be here. Was it because she truly wanted to, or because everyone was afraid of Irene?
“Let’s bring this meeting to order,” Fiona said, as the Sergeant At Arms.
Irene and my mother breezed in from the kitchen. Mom came over and tugged me down beside her on the loveseat. “I raised you to be on time. Are you using a planner?” she whispered.
A planner? If I had one, it was buried in my handbag or a kitchen drawer. I definitely wasn’t using one.
“You need to get organized,” she said. “You’re running around this town like a chicken with its head cut off. That’s not the Cripps’ way. Or the Haymans’.”
Oh Lordy, Irene got her hooks into Mom’s brain. I was doomed.
And then I noticed her shoes. Sensible flats. “What are those?” I pointed to her foot.
“Irene picked them out. Aren’t they cute? I’m getting too old for those heels I wear, and these are so comfortable and stylish.”
Yep, I was completely doomed.
Irene stood in the front of the room. “Thank you all for your attendance this afternoon, Daughters. This isn’t our regular meeting, so we won’t be having roll call, old business, or new business. Today is a special day for me, as I present—for the first time ever—a non-legacy candidate for initiation. You all know I have one son. He’s always been the light of my life, as is my granddaughter, Mia. Mia will carry on our family bloodline in the Daughters of Historical Metamora, but it pleases me to present to you today a second candidate for membership from our family. Cameron, my daughter-in-law.
Irene beamed. I’d never seen her so happy. In a million years I wouldn’t have guessed that making me a Daughter would give her so much joy.
Mom patted my leg excitedly. She glowed with pride. These two women were putting a whole lot of stock behind this girls club. I wished I had half of their enthusiasm for it. No way could I back down now.
“Cameron,” Irene said, “please stand and take the initiate’s oath of membership.”
I stood. My legs wobbled. Judy Platt, Cass’s mom, walked to the front of the room. “Please raise your right hand,” she said, “and repeat after me.”
I wiped my sweaty hand on my pants before raising it.
“I, Cameron Hayman, an ancestor-by-marriage of Elijah Levins-worth Ellsworth—”
“I …” The word came out a squeak. My breath became shallow. My head got dizzy. “I … I can’t do this.” I dropped my hand. “I’m sorry, Irene, everybody.” I looked around the room to all of the stunned faces. “I’m honored to be asked, I really am. Right now I have so much going on. With Canal Days and the Metamora Action Agency, with Ben, with my sister and Dog Di
ggity, with my dogs and keeping up Ellsworth house. I barely have time to think. I won’t be able to commit the time and attention to the Daughters like I should.”
Irene had a very familiar expression on her face. It was one she shared with her son. The creased brow and thunderous eyes when Ben was ready to throttle me. “I’m sorry, Irene,” I said. “I should’ve thought this through more before accepting your invitation. I’m honored, really honored. Maybe next year?”
Her stormy eyes grew wider. If she could shoot lightning from them and strike me down, she would’ve. “This will be your one opportunity to join us,” she said, cooly. “Think carefully.”
It sounded like a threat, and I was certain it was. The Daughters ruled this town. Irene had already bullied her way into fining me for painting Ellsworth house a color she didn’t like, and then there was demanding a pageant for Canal Days. Those examples were only about one-fiftieth of her power on display. I had no doubt that she would make me regret this decision.
“I was late today for my own initiation,” I said. “It’s not fair to any of you to make me a member when I can’t promise to be one hundred percent involved, is it?”
“So promise to be one hundred percent involved,” Fiona said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Irene and glaring at me.
“I can’t. There are too many other people and projects I have committed to right now. If it can’t be later, like next year, then I guess it’s going to have to be never. I’m sorry.”
My eyes met Cass’s. You will be, she silently mouthed from across the room. She knew as well as I did that Irene wouldn’t take this rejection gracefully. I was in for it.
In the corner, Mia stood smirking. This was like her very own episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. The Hayman version, with less lipstick but all the drama.
Irene nodded to Fiona, who cleared her throat and stepped forward. “This meeting is now adjourned.”
“I’m so embarrassed!” Mom hissed. “How could you humiliate Irene like that?”
“What about being honest?” I asked.
“What about being nice?” Mom sat up straight, looking all huffy and put out.
“It was the right thing to do, Mom. I can’t take an oath that I know I can’t keep.”
My phone chimed with a text. I dug it out of my bag and saw the text was from Mia.
That was hysterical.
I replied, I’m leaving. Are you coming with me?
And make G’ma Irene mad at me? No way. C U L8R.
See you later. Great. Now Mia was embarrassed to be seen with me. We’d made such progress with our relationship since she’d moved in with me, too. Irene even said I was a good stepmom. Bet she’d take that compliment back now.
I stood up and swung my handbag over my shoulder. Cass hurried over to me. “I’ll walk out with you.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You’ll probably be fined.”
“Let them fine me,” she said, hooking her arm through mine and walking with me to the door. “You’re more of a sister to me than any of the Daughters have been. Oh, and you’re taking me home. We need to talk.”
We left the house and got into my car—well, Monica’s car. I still hadn’t replaced mine since Mia totaled it. “What’s going on?” I asked, putting the car into reverse.
“I did some digging and have some dirt on Arnie Rutherford.”
“Interesting. He showed up at my door this morning saying he has clients who want to buy my house.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope.”
“Well, a quick Internet search shows he used to work for Collins Realty in Cincinnati. I drove over yesterday and talked with Mr. Collins himself. Turns out Rutherford was caught inflating property prices without telling the sellers. The sellers thought they got the asking price, and Rutherford was pocketing the overage. He got busted and spent a couple years in prison for it. Not a nice guy.”
“No. Doesn’t sound like it.”
“Do you think John and Paul knew about it?”
I glanced over at her and detected a gleam of hopefulness in her eyes. I knew she didn’t wish ill of John and Paul, she only wanted Andy released from jail. “I don’t know, Cass. I’m going to call Arnie and see if he can meet with me tomorrow. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Well, at least his offer gives you leverage over Irene.”
“What do you mean? She knows Ben and I would never sell Ellsworth house.”
“Does she?” Cass grinned “I bet, if you needed to, you could scare her into being nice to you for at least a day or two.”
“That’s mean,” I said, grinning back at her.
“She’s mean. And now she’ll be looking to get back at you.”
It was true, adding one more item to this week’s to do list: Avoid the wrath of Irene.
• Ten •
After dropping Cass off at her bed-and-breakfast, Fiddle Dee Doo Inn, I got home to find Old Dan smoking a pipe and sitting in a lawn chair beside my nice new bee box. And who was settled in on the soft grass next to him? Metamora Mike. Just what I needed. My house was already overrun with animals.
Old Dan was humming, low and deep, and tapping his foot. The tune was familiar, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
“What’s that you’re humming?” I asked.
“‘Swanee,’” he said.
“Al Jolson, right?”
He nodded and puffed on his pipe. “Honey bees have old souls.”
“Do they like it when you hum along with them?”
“Gotta sing to ’em. Get more honey that way.”
“Sing? I don’t sing. Nobody wants me singing outside—in public.”
“Then hum,” he said, and started humming again.
I left him to it and went inside, where I was greeted by my tail waggers plus one. “Hello, Conan.” Quinn Kelly’s dog was reserved and polite as he greeted me, unlike my monsters of drooling, jumping, barking insanity. “Shake?” I said, testing him out. He immediately lifted a paw. “Good boy,” I said, taking it.
Of course a dog trained for search and rescue would know how to shake. He tilted his head, appraising me with intelligent dark eyes. He could probably get me to do a few tricks.
I waded through the fur and scampering legs into the kitchen. Monica and Quinn both stood behind the counter, aprons on, elbow deep in dog biscuit dough. “I found a helper,” Monica said, beaming.
“I guess you did. Hi, Quinn. How’d you get roped into this?” I kicked off my shoes and plopped my purse down on a kitchen chair.
“I volunteered as long as Conan gets to sample a few.”
“He can sample as many as he wants,” she said, grinning like a high school girl. I was glad to see her spirits were back up after burning the batch of biscuits earlier.
The oven timer beeped, and she grabbed her pot holders. “The first batch of Dogs Dig Italian Biscuits are done!”
“What’s in those?” I asked, sniffing the aroma. “Cass’s fresh basil, for sure.”
“Basil and ricotta cheese. Basil is a good antioxidant, antiviral, and can help with arthritis. Isn’t that right, Isobel?”
The old girl lifted her furry head where she lay beside the fridge, wagged her tail once, and then took up ignoring all of us again.
Monica whipped the oven door open and slid the baking sheet out. “Perfect!”
The little bones with green specks made my mouth water. “Shake some parmesan on there and give me one.”
“Let’s dip them in marinara,” Quinn said, inhaling the heavenly scent.
“Something tells me you two are hungry,” Monica said, laughing.
“Starving,” I said. “The Daughters really take it out of you.”
“So it’s official?” she asked. “You’re a member?”
“No. L
ong story. I’ll tell you over dinner. Let’s see if Judy has a table at the Briar Bird Inn. I could go for her chicken paprikash and dumplings.”
“Should we wait for Mia and Mom?” Monica asked.
“We probably should.” Although I didn’t want any lip from either of them about the meeting.
“Hello?” Ben called, opening the front door.
“We’re in here,” I said, waving to him down the hallway.
“You’ve managed to do it again, haven’t you?” he asked, sauntering toward me through the sea of fur crashing against his legs.
“What? What did I do this time?” There was no way he had any idea that the Action Agency was snooping into the Landow case.
“My mother called me.”
“Oh. That.” I twisted my lips.
“Hey Quinn, Monica,” he said, giving them a smile and a nod.
“We’re getting the story at dinner,” Monica said. “You want to join us? We’re just waiting for Mom and Mia to get home.”
“Sure. The story might go down easier with food. Your mom’s out front harassing Old Dan. She mentioned having plans tonight, and Mia’s with friends. She better get home at a decent hour even if there’s no school tomorrow.”
My mother had plans? Probably with Carl. This was getting out of hand. She was in town for one week and spending more time with him than visiting me.
“Why isn’t there school tomorrow?” I asked.
“Teacher in-service day. I thought you knew. They’re off Thursday and Friday for Canal Days, too.”
“No, I didn’t know. They’re really making a week of it.” I thought I was getting the hang of this stepmom thing, but I guess not. I didn’t even know Mia was off school the rest of the week.
“That’s a nice bee box out there,” he said. “Are you going to leave it in the front yard?”
“I’m not touching it! It stays wherever Old Dan leaves it.”
He tucked his hands in his pockets and looked down at his shoes.
Canal Days Calamity Page 9
