“Chicken Cacciatore.” She tapped her tummy. “That George they have in the kitchen is a great cook. I hope you have one of his recipes in the cookbook.”
“I’ll have to check. What’s his last name?”
“George Amaro.”
“It sounds familiar, but I’ll check tomorrow to make sure.” I headed for the door.
“Oh my gosh, wait a minute,” Greer exclaimed. “I forgot about why I asked you to stop by. I’d forget my head if it weren’t attached.”
I turned back.
“Here you go.” She handed me a small tissue-wrapped book.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It was mine when I was small, and I’d like you to have it.”
I folded back the tissue paper and uncovered a cookbook. It said, Mary Frances First Cookbook, and it was in great condition but very old. I opened the front cover and checked the copyright. It said 1912.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “You might want to hang on to something like this.”
“I didn’t get it new. I’m not that old,” she chuckled. “My mother knew I loved cooking and gave it to me because it has recipes and stories in it. I’d apparently packed it away with some of my mysteries and thrillers, and when I was looking through some boxes today I found it. No arguments. I want you to have it.”
“Oh, Greer.” I hugged her. “Thank you so much. What a wonderful gift.”
My eyes misted as I carefully rewrapped the book and tucked it into my bag. Greer was a gift herself, and I was so touched by her thinking of me.
“Say, no rush about this,” Greer began. “But if it’s not too much trouble, I wonder if you could check up in the attic for a pair of cruets I think are in the box that says, ‘Kitchen Items.’”
“Cruets?” I asked.
“Yes, there are two little white ones. There’s a bunch of strawberries on the side. I used to use them for various things but most of all for oil and vinegar salad dressing.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised.
“Thank you, Sugar.” She beamed. “If you don’t find them it’s all right, and whenever you have time. Like I said, there’s no rush.”
“I’ll bet you have plans for the night.” I checked the time.
“I am going to the old folks’ buffet with Bunny and Alma. The food’s not all that good, but I enjoy their company so much that I go anyway. Alma still drives and so I’ve got plenty of time.
Saying good-bye and thanking her again for the gift, I stepped outside and walked toward the parking lot. Greer seemed so happy at The Good Life that I couldn’t imagine her ever wanting to move back home. And yet there was the reluctance to actually sell her house and the ongoing requests for items from the attic. As I reached my car and looked back at the place, I could’ve sworn I saw Disco walking between the buildings. He was hard to miss in his psychedelic colors. What would he be doing at The Good Life? I didn’t know if he had family in town. Maybe he had a grandparent living in the retirement village. I made a mental note to ask Dixie about his family.
* * * *
Pulled out onto the street and heading toward home, I smiled thinking of how perfect Greer’s gift was. I loved the uniqueness of it and the history behind it. Did the lady know me or what? I would have to do some digging on the origins of the charming little book.
But first I had to use my research skills to help my friend find out where her aunt had disappeared to and who might have wanted to kill Elsie Farmer.
Parking in my driveway, I called Dixie’s number. She picked up right away. “What are you doing?”
“Pulling out my hair,” she answered.
“But it’s such beautiful hair,” I laughed.
“Figuratively.” She laughed. “No one seems to know anything at all about Bertie taking off before this.”
“She must have wanted it that way.” Bertie was not flighty by any stretch of the imagination so there had to be a reason.
“What kind of family are we?” The question was, I believed, rhetorical. In any case, Dixie didn’t wait for an answer. “Our unmarried aunt may be in trouble, and no one was interested enough to keep tabs on her.”
“Some would think that was a good thing.” I was thinking of my family back home and how overbearing too much togetherness could be.
“I feel like I’ve failed as a niece.” She let out a big sigh.
“Do you have plans this evening?” I thought Dixie could use a distraction. “If not, why not come on over for dinner at my house.”
“You’re cooking?” The surprise was clear in her voice.
“You don’t have to act so shocked. I’m not totally inept.” Okay, maybe I was. “I thought we’d order pizza.”
“Pizza sounds wonderful.” She sounded sincere.
“Okay. Any preferences?” I had favorites but nothing I dislike so strongly it was a no go.
“None. I’m game for anything.”
“All right, I’ll order.”
I carted my things in, happy my neighbor was busy elsewhere and not conveniently outside. It was hard not to feel that she often laid in wait for me, hoping to catch me in some violation of her code of conduct for living next to her.
Dixie showed up promptly at six. The pizza was not quite as prompt. It hadn’t arrived yet. She carried a grocery bag.
“What’s this?” I motioned her in. “You didn’t need to bring anything.
“I brought the wine.” She handed me the bag.
“Fantastic.” I carried it through to the kitchen, found a corkscrew and handed it to Dixie.
“You open, I’ll find some wine glasses.” I knew I had some but it took me a few minutes to locate them. Nice crystal glasses my mother had gifted me with on my last birthday. I didn’t think I’d ever used them. The wine was a Chianti which would be great with the pizza flavors. I poured a glass for each of us.
“Nice pick.” I held out a glass.
No sooner had we each taken a sip than the doorbell rang. I hoped it was the pizza.
A teen with a sad attempt at a goatee stood on the front porch. I paid him, added a tip, and took the pizza box from his hands.
“Thanks, lady.” And he was off and running toward his car.
I quickly carried the box to the dining room table. The pizza was still really hot so the delay hadn’t been on his part, more likely a backup in the restaurant’s kitchen.
I’d put out plates and we dug in.
“Any luck with anyone who might know where your aunt is?”
“None whatsoever.” She waved her piece of pizza. “The woman has simply vanished.”
“When I stopped by Greer’s she mentioned that Harriet Hucklebee is often the one that smoothes things out between your aunt and Elsie. Apparently, Harriet and her husband play cards with Kenny Farmer’s sister, Karla, and her husband.”
“I can see Harriet being the peacemaker. It’s Elsie who always has her name on every committee but it’s Harriet who’s usually behind the scenes actually doing the work.”
“That can’t make her too happy.” I wondered how long Harriet had been picking up the pieces. And also, what motivated her to keep doing it. Maybe it was as simple as a strong civic commitment. She’d certainly been the key player on the Founders’ Day Cookbook, and though I’d been working with her on the project for months now, it occurred to me that I didn’t really know her all that well.
“I’ll admit that when I came up with this bright idea to publish community cookbooks, I thought it was going to be simple and straightforward.” Dixie took a sip of wine. “It never occurred to me we’d find ourselves in the middle of this kind of a mess.”
“Of course not.” I laid my hand on her arm. “There will always be some issues to work out but this is extreme.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.” Sh
e refilled her glass and took another piece of pizza.
“We’ll get it figured out. It’s still a great idea, we have a strong business plan, and the right stuff to do this.” I’m often accused of being too much of a look-on-the-bright-side person, but I didn’t think I was being overly optimistic in this case. I really believed we had the right stuff.
She looked at me like she wanted to believe me.
“We just need to get this murder figured out so we can get back to the work at hand.”
“I know.” She set her glass down. “I’m sorry. I’m so worried about Bertie.”
“That’s natural.” I snagged another piece of the pizza. “I’ll call Harriet tomorrow and see if I can find out anything. You keep going through those numbers.”
“All right.”
“We’ll find her and get this straightened out. And you can tell me what’s up with you and our handsome sheriff.” I paused hoping she’d fill in the gap for me.
Dixie gave me a pointed look and shifted gears. “Let’s talk about something else. What did Greer want to give you?”
“It’s the niftiest book.” I got up and retrieved it from my bag. “Take a look.”
She wiped her hands and carefully took the book from me holding it with the tissue paper. “It’s very old.”
“Nineteen-twelve the copyright says.” I had thumbed through the book when I got home and it had wonderful children’s stories about the recipes. “The young girl in the stories wants to cook for her family. Her mother has taken ill but has written instructions for the girl to use in a little cookbook. The cooking utensils come to life, helping the girl who is unsure of herself, and creating a fun story.”
“I love it.” Dixie gently turned the pages. “And what a perfect gift for you. I take back almost all the mean things I said about Greer.”
I smiled at her. “Almost?”
“I still think she takes advantage of you.” She laid the book aside. “Always wanting something from her attic. I noticed a cup by the door. Is that another case of an object she must have?”
“In this case, it wasn’t in the attic but in the garage.” I laughed. “Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you if Disco has family in town. Maybe at The Good Life?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“I saw him there today, or I’m pretty sure it was him, and I realized I couldn’t remember his last name. I was on my way out so I didn’t get a chance to ask Greer.”
“His last name is Fusco.”
“I didn’t remember that.” I polished off the last of my slice of pizza.
“He used to have family here but I don’t think he does anymore.” Dixie stood and began cleaning up. “I think when his folks moved away, he stayed behind.”
Chapter Nine
I’d cleaned up before hitting the sack and gotten coffee ready to go, so all I had to do the next morning was push the button. As I waited for the coffee to brew, I repacked my bag of papers and fed Ernest.
He ate a few bites and then watched me as I went through my morning routine.
“Planning a big day of lying in the sun by the window, are you?” I asked as he followed me back downstairs. “Or maybe you’ll change things up and sleep in your cat bed?”
He meowed as if in answer and jumped to the arm of the couch. I scratched the top of his head and picked up my things. Stopping by the kitchen to pick up the wine bottle from last night, I tucked it under my arm and took it outside with me.
Heading out to my Jeep, I opened the recycling container by the side of the house to add the wine bottle. When I turned I was startled to see Mrs. Pickett swaddled in a fuzzy pink bathrobe and standing between me and my car.
“Oh, my word.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “You scared me.”
“Had quite a party last night, didn’t you?” She raised a silver brow.
“What?” I had no idea was she was talking about. “What do you mean party?”
“Apparently a pizza party from the looks of the pizza flyers littered all over my yard.”
I looked over at her front yard and sure enough, not just her yard but the one the other side of hers, had Pizza House flyers scattered around. They must have blown out of Goatee Boy’s car and he hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t cared.
Way to get me in trouble, kid.
“I did have a pizza delivered but it certainly wasn’t a party.” I wondered why I felt the need to correct her misconception about my having a party. It wasn’t really any of her business, but she’d made me feel defensive. I wanted to be a good neighbor. “Though it wasn’t me that littered, I’ll see that those are picked up.”
I took my bag to the car and proceeded to gather up the two-dollars-off-a-large-pizza coupons that were still being tossed in the breeze.
Mrs. Pickett went back to her house and disappeared inside shutting the door with a click. But I’d be willing to bet she still watched from her window to make sure I didn’t miss any flyers.
Once I’d collected all the papers and disposed of them, I called Dixie explaining why I was late.
“I don’t know how you put up with that woman, Sugar.” She had no patience for difficult people. “I’d have told her off by now.”
“I needed to go to the post office so I’ll just do that on my way.” I had to pick up some paper samples that had been shipped to us by one of our paper suppliers. The mail person had tried to delivery it yesterday, but we’d been closed when she came so she’d left a notice.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ve got some notes for you on the first section.”
I went back in for a second cup of coffee and then headed to the post office which was only a block from the square. I could have parked at the office and walked. But this would be easier with everything I had to carry.
Dot Carson, the postmistress, was behind the counter, her short dark hair curved around her angular face.
“Good morning, Sugar,” she greeted me. “Here to get that package from The Paper Mill?”
“I am.” I dug in my bag for the notice. “We weren’t at the office when Pat tried to deliver it, and I’m sure it wouldn’t fit in the mail slot.”
“I guess you were probably out investigating.” She raised a drawn-on eyebrow. “I hear you and Dixie have been asking questions all around town.”
“Dixie is understandably concerned about her aunt,” I defended my partner.
“Oh, everyone knows Bertie didn’t kill Elsie.” Dot scoffed. “I mean, why would she? Over scones?”
“Right.” I wondered if Sheriff Griffin counted in that ‘everyone’ she referenced.
“Plenty of other people with reason to do the deed, though.” She blinked a couple of times.
Before I could ask her what she meant, the door opened to a young mother with a baby in a stroller. She held the hand of a toddler and attempted to wrestle the stroller through the door.
“Here let me help.” I held the door while she lifted the wheels and got the stroller inside.
“Stay right there,” she directed the toddler. “Hello, Dot. I’ve got some more packages to mail.”
“Be right with you, Jan.” Dot shifted paper on the counter. “First I’ve got to get Sugar’s package for her.” She disappeared into the back.
“How old are you?” I leaned down to speak to the little girl.
“I’m three, but my brother is only one.” She pointed at the baby. “I’m the big sister.”
“Wow, you are,” I exclaimed. “I’ll bet you’re a good one too.”
“You’ve got a great little helper here,” I said to the woman and straightened.
“That’s right.” She shifted the box of envelopes from her hip and slid them onto the counter.
Dot returned from the back with my package. It definitely would not have fit through the mail slot. I order almost
everything online, but with paper I’ve got to be able to feel the texture and the weight when making decisions so I really needed these samples.
“Thank you.” I picked up the package and turned to go. “You take care of that little brother now.” I smiled at the girl.
“I brought you a sample of that perfume you like,” I heard the mom say to Dot as I went out.
I’d parked in the post office parking lot. As I headed to the Jeep, I nearly ran down Jimmie LeBlanc.
“Here let me help you with that.” He took the box from me. “Is that your car?”
“Yes, the dark blue Jeep.” I pointed it out. “Thanks for your help.” I was thankful for the help but I knew what was coming next.
“Have you had a chance to read through the St. Ignatius history that I supplied for the cookbook?”
“I have.” I opened the back, and he set the package inside. “It’s very good, but—”
“Thank you.” He brightened. “I worked very hard on it.”
Oh, man, I hated to disappoint the guy. But we really couldn’t afford any more than three pages of history. I had to find a way to tell him.
“Here’s the thing—”
“Sugar, come quick!” Just as I was about to break the bad news, I was interrupted by Disco who ran up, his yellow bell bottoms topped with an orange turtleneck and a heavy gold chain. He looked like an ad for citrus fruits.
“Spice and the Sheriff are going at it,” he paused as he tried to catch his breath, “and I think he may arrest her if you can’t get her calmed down.”
Good grief. What had happened now?
I excused myself to Jimmie and got in the Jeep. I hoped Dixie didn’t get herself in so much trouble that she really did get charged with something. Something like assaulting a police officer.
I pulled my car into the parking lot and entered through the back. I could hear yelling when I opened the door.
Sheriff Griffin was warding off blows from Dixie who was bashing him over the head with a piece of cardboard from some supplies we’d unpacked the previous day.
“You need to put all those papers back where you found them.” He ducked as she struck again.
Game of Scones Page 8
