Out of the Dying Pan

by Linda Reilly

  The rack Scott had fetched from Ria’s car had been moved to the other side of the table. Draped over its arms were scarves of every style and color. Most were knitted, but some appeared to be designer scarves from another era. One of the scarves suddenly caught Talia’s eye. Thick and woolly, it was a shimmering shade of cornflower blue with knotted tassels at the ends.

  Talia’s heart leaped into her gullet. She knew that scarf. She’d knitted that scarf.

  She felt her pulse pound as she stepped over to Ria’s table. “Where did you get that?” she demanded, pointing at the blue scarf. “That is my Nana’s scarf!”

  3

  For one scary moment, Ria stared at Talia through eyes that would freeze steam. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? First you filch my ornaments. Then you accuse me of stealing your granny’s scarf. I’m warning you now, Ms. Marby, you’d better stay away from my stuff, or else.”

  Talia gripped her own hands to keep them from shaking. “Where did you get the scarf, Ria?” she said, hating the tremor in her voice. “I made that for my grandmother when I was sixteen. It was my gift to her for teaching me how to knit. You can’t even buy that kind of yarn anymore. It’s a specialty silk-wool blend, and the manufacturer went out of business years ago.”

  Ria swung her lush hair behind her and turned her back on Talia. She bent and started rummaging through her suitcase, muttering under her breath as she hunted for the missing ornaments.

  “All right, I’ll pay you for it,” Talia said. “How much do you want?”

  Ria swerved and yanked the blue scarf off the rack. She pretended to read an imaginary price tag. “Let’s see. Oh yes—this one is a bargain at four hundred and ninety-five dollars.” With a smirk, she tossed the scarf back on the rack.

  This battle was going nowhere. Talia glanced again at the clock. It was a few minutes before ten, and the room was beginning to fill. She’d have to figure out a way to get the scarf back later.

  Now where was Martha? Hadn’t she only gone for coffee? With an exasperated sigh, Talia turned on the fryer and set two covered bowls beside it on the table. On the opposite side of the fryer she placed the container of sliced cake squares, just as two grade-schoolers, followed by a red-cheeked woman, trotted over to Talia’s table. “Are you open yet?” the woman warbled. “Ever since my kids saw your restaurant on the list of vendors, deep-fried raspberry cake is all they’ve talked about!”

  “Give me one minute,” Talia said with a smile. “It’s actually deep-fried marble cake with raspberry sauce, and you’re my first customers of the day!”

  The kids, a gap-toothed boy with a cowlick and a little girl with a dark cluster of curls, grinned eagerly at her. Using her metal tongs, Talia dredged a slab of marble cake through the sweetened batter, then lowered it carefully into the fryer. The temperature was perfect—350 degrees—and the oil began to gently sizzle. She did the same with a second piece of cake, and within two minutes they were fried to a golden hue. Talia lifted the basket to let them drain for a few seconds.

  Martha still hadn’t set out the paper plates, so Talia dug them out from beneath the table and set a small stack next to the fryer. She placed each fried treat on a plate and drizzled a hefty spoonful of raspberry sauce over each one. “There you go,” she said, giving them napkins and plastic forks. “They’re hot, so be careful, okay?”

  The kids nodded, and the little girl blew on her cake. She forked up a tiny bite and popped it into her mouth. “Mommy, this is yummy!” she declared, while her brother bobbed his head in agreement.

  Talia collected three dollars from their mother, who beamed as if she had the most brilliant children in the world. “Thanks,” the mom said. “From the way they’re gobbling these, we may be back later for a second helping.”

  They scooted away, and out of the corner of Talia’s eye she saw Martha slink in behind their table. At least she was pretty sure it was Martha. Her gray hair was tucked into a lime green crocheted hat from which two long braids dangled, one on either side. At the top of the hat, two ears had been sewn on, each with a plastic google-eye glued into the center. She was either a frog or a creature from a distant planet.

  “Martha,” Talia said in a low voice. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  “A hat,” she said. “What do you think I’m wearing?”

  Talia counted to ten in her head. “Don’t you think it’s more of a children’s hat?” she said, instead of what she really wanted to say, which was, Don’t you think it looks ridiculous on a grown woman?

  Martha shrugged. “It’s an adult size, and the lady who sold it to me said they’re all the rage.”

  “It’s already quite warm in here,” Talia pointed out. “With all the activity, it’ll probably be stifling before the day is out. By noon you’ll be ripping it off your head, I guarantee.”

  “I like it warm,” Martha countered. “Besides, old people are supposed to keep their heads toasty.”

  Talia squeezed the bridge of her nose with two fingers. Could the woman be any more contrary?

  “Martha, I’m really going to need your help today,” Talia pleaded, hearing her voice inch toward whiny. “It’s hard for one person to do the frying and take care of the cash box at the same time. I already sold two cakes and had to juggle the money.”

  “So I’m here,” Martha said. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  What an opening that was, Talia thought wryly. No, she had to be nice. She was raised to be polite, and polite she would be. If it killed her.

  “Smile at the customers. Keep the table stocked with forks and napkins, and be sure I’ve always got a stack of plates next to the fryer. And most important, handle the money.”

  Martha cocked a finger at her. “Gotcha,” she said with an exaggerated wink.

  Talia sensed a touch of sarcasm in Martha’s response, but decided to ignore it. Who knew? Maybe that silly hat would actually attract customers. Anything was possible.

  Before long people began streaming toward the table, and at one point there was a line four deep. Within an hour they sold about four dozen servings. Talia was glad she’d prepared for a deluge. Although she was still pretty well stocked, she’d left a second container of sliced marble cake squares in her car. And in the community center’s commercial kitchen she’d tucked a backup bowl of batter.

  Twice Martha had ducked off to the restroom, leaving Talia to cope on her own. Most people were giving her exact change, which helped tremendously.

  And she had to admit—Martha’s goofy hat was definitely attracting attention. Kids giggled as they approached, and a few asked her if she was Kermit. Martha only smiled mysteriously at the question and wiggled her gray eyebrows.

  “Wish we could take a coffee break,” Martha grumbled, as the noon hour approached.

  On top of the two bathroom breaks you’ve already taken? Talia was tempted to blurt out. But that wasn’t fair, was it? After all, people did need to use the bathroom. In fact, she wouldn’t mind a mini-break herself. Could she trust Martha alone for ten minutes?

  Talia waited for a lull, then said to Martha, “Do you mind if I—”

  “Go ahead.” Martha waved a chunky hand at her. “I was wondering when you were going to ask.”

  Talia smiled. “Thanks. I won’t be long.”

  Talia snagged her purse from beneath the table. She’d ignored Ria all morning, but it looked as if the annoying woman was doing a brisk business of her own. Talia prayed someone wouldn’t buy the blue scarf before she could figure out a way to buy it for herself.

  After a fast trip to the restroom, Talia strolled along the perimeter of the gym. She spied Kelsey Dakoulas at her face-painting table. Biting her lip in concentration, Kelsey was putting the finishing touches on the face of a darling brown-haired little girl who’d been transformed into a striped tiger—complete with whiskers and a round black nose.

  Talia gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed, Nice job.

  Kelsey set her bru
sh down and handed the child a mirror. “There you go, Samantha. Now you’re a baby tiger.”

  The little girl’s eyes widened and she broke into a grin. “Thank you,” she said softly.

  Kelsey smiled, but her eyes looked tense. The child went off with an older woman, no doubt her doting grandmother, bouncing and making growly sounds as if she were a real tiger.

  “You’re very talented,” Talia told Kelsey.

  “Thanks. Unfortunately, I’m not much in the mood to paint today. That horrid, evil woman spoiled everything.”

  “You mean Ria?”

  Kelsey nodded and stuck her brush in a plastic cup filled with cloudy gray water.

  “Anything I can do to help?” Talia asked.

  “No. Not unless you want to kill her for me.”

  Talia itched to know what Ria had done to Kelsey to make her so angry. “That bad, huh?”

  “You have no idea,” Kelsey said, her brown eyes glittering with fury. Then her face softened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t talk about her that way. After all, she is my boss. Unless she fires me tomorrow, which is a definite possibility.”

  “Have you known her long?” Talia asked.

  “About eight months,” Kelsey said. “Until a few months ago, we both worked at the Wiltshire Inn in Stockbridge. I want to study to be an animal care technician, and my mom suggested I work for a year first to save up some tuition money. Mom has MS and can’t work anymore, so she depends on me a lot.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Talia said.

  “Anyway, I was waiting tables at the inn when Ria got the hostess job. Even though she’s quite a bit older, we ended up becoming pretty good friends, and started doing lots of stuff together. You know, shopping, movies … girl stuff.”

  Talia was anxious to hear more, but didn’t dare leave Martha alone much longer. “Kelsey, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to my table. Please drop in and see me anytime you want to talk, okay? Even if you come by before opening, just knock on the front door and I’ll let you in.”

  Kelsey’s face fell, but then she quirked up one side of her lips in a halfhearted smile. “Thanks for the offer, Talia. I might just do that.”

  Talia headed back to her table by a different route, slowing when she neared Santa’s village. Partially hidden behind a portable divider wall, the “village” had a cozy look. A cardboard sign capped with fake snow made from cotton balls had been propped up, announcing, SANTA IS FEEDING HIS REINDEER. COME BACK SOON.

  Talia peeked around the divider wall and paused to admire the tree. Standing about six feet tall, it glittered with tinsel and blue mini-lights. Now that she was living permanently in Nana’s bungalow, she’d have to think about putting up her own tree.

  A clipped voice suddenly filtered into earshot from the other side of the tree. It sounded a lot like freaking witch, except Talia was sure the “freaking” was a slightly different word, and the “witch” was really the B word.

  Talia peered between the tree branches and saw a swatch of bright red. Oh no, was that Santa Claus cursing like an escapee from a prison movie?

  She ambled away, but couldn’t resist turning around for another look once she had a better angle. Yes, it was Santa all right. Huddled behind the tree, he was stabbing furiously at his cell phone with both thumbs, his mouth twitching.

  Santa, aka Andy Nash.

  Wow. That was an eye-opener. Why was everyone so angry today?

  Talia felt a tap on her shoulder and jumped. She turned to see a round face framed by silver curls beaming at her like a burst of sunshine.

  “Hi,” Vivian Lavoie said. “I saw you standing there, and wanted to ask if you had a minute to check out my hand-crafted ornaments.”

  “Oh … um, of course.” The woman looked so hopeful Talia couldn’t bear to say no. “I’d love to see them.”

  Vivian rubbed her fingers together with glee. “Follow me, then.”

  Talia trailed Vivian to a table in the center aisle that was covered with a faded red tablecloth. A slew of balsa wood ornaments had been carefully set out. Some were small. Others were far too oversized for Talia’s taste. Snowflakes, reindeer, candy canes, and even a few elves were included in the mix. Hand-painted with a not-too-steady hand, they had a definite amateur look about them. It was clear from Vivian’s bubbly smile that she was proud of her handiwork, and was keen on having Talia admire it.

  Talia’s heart went out to the woman. “These are … really sweet, and quite interesting, Vivian. How much are they?”

  Vivian’s lips puckered. “Well, they started out being four dollars each, but I had to lower the price because nobody was biting.” She sighed. “It’s the economy, I guess. Anyway, I’m selling them for two bucks apiece. Is that too much for you?”

  “Not at all,” Talia said with a big smile. She chose five different ornaments and paid Vivian.

  “Thank you!” Vivian said, sticking the cash into her pocket. She seemed so excited that Talia wondered if it was the first sale she’d made all day. Poor woman.

  Talia eased the ornaments into her purse and hustled back to her table. She’d only been gone about twelve minutes, but what she saw when she approached her table shocked her.

  Martha the Frog was frying up cake squares as if she’d done it all her life. And the expression on her face! In spite of the dab of raspberry sauce clinging to one corner of her mouth, she actually looked … pleasant. She was going about it so efficiently that Talia wondered who was handling the money.

  “Excuse me.” Talia squeezed past the row of kids and their moms who were waiting patiently for the line to move forward.

  “There you go.” Martha handed a fried cake smeared with raspberry sauce to a towheaded little boy. “Fresh out of the fryer for one of Santa’s favorite helpers!”

  The little boy giggled and his mom thanked Martha profusely. “Is this the donation can?” the woman asked.

  Donation can?

  “Yes, ma’am.” Martha nodded and winked at her, grinning when the woman deposited a ten-dollar bill in the can. Ten dollars for one fried cake.

  Talia shook her head in disbelief and slipped behind the table. “What’s going on?” she said to Martha.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m frying me up some marble cake. And since you weren’t here to handle the cash, I set up a donation can. A buck fifty is too low when you’re selling for charity anyway, so I’m letting people decide for themselves what to pay.”

  Talia graced the waiting customers with a frozen smile and peeked into the can. It was stuffed halfway to the top with tens and fives!

  Before she could ask Martha where she’d scrounged up the can, Martha said, “Hand me another stack of plates, will you? I’m running low.”

  Still baffled, Talia did as instructed. For the next two hours they worked in tandem, keeping the steady line of hungry customers moving along quickly. It was after one when the line dwindled to a trickle and Martha said, “These creaky old legs need a rest. Plus I gotta pee.”

  “Take a nice long break, Martha.” Talia grinned. “You deserve it.”

  Talia still couldn’t believe how much cash they’d collected. She did a quick count of the money in the donation can. They’d made over a hundred dollars!

  Still wearing the silly frog hat, Martha fetched her chartreuse purse and moseyed off toward the restrooms. It wasn’t until a prickle ran up Talia’s spine that she noticed someone observing Martha’s receding form with a critical eye.

  Ria.

  She was staring intently at Martha’s back with a quizzical expression. Almost as if she was trying to remember where she’d seen her before.

  Not good, Talia thought. Did Martha have some history with Ria? Is that why she bought the frog hat, as a disguise?

  Talia didn’t have time to ponder it, because a well-dressed man somewhere in his fifties was approaching her table. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, the ends of which curled softly over his Burberry wool scarf. Everything about the man’s cla
ssic style screamed money, but there was a gentleness in his emerald green eyes that made Talia feel instantly at ease.

  He nodded with a friendly smile as he passed Talia’s table. For a moment Talia thought maybe he knew her from somewhere. Then he spotted Ria, and his eyes brightened like twin stars.

  Ria broke into a schoolgirl grin when he strolled into her line of vision. She moved around her table and ran to him. He swept her into his arms and the two embraced, right in front of Talia’s table.

  “I got your text a few minutes ago,” Ria whispered, a catch in her voice. “Oh, sweetie, I am so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too,” he rasped, burying his face in her hair. “There’s no place I’d rather be, my love.”

  After that, their words were lost in hushed whispers and secretive smiles. Ria took his right hand and rubbed her fingers over the chunky ring that graced his ring finger. Talia sensed they were making plans for later. She only wished they’d move their love fest a little farther away from her table.

  But the man, whoever he was, didn’t linger. After a flurry of butterfly kisses, he promised to see her later and then left. Ria waltzed back to her table, a dreamy expression floating in her eyes. Her bliss faded when she saw two female customers fumbling through her antique brooches as if they were cheap doodads.

  “May I help you ladies?” Ria said tersely.

  Both women ignored her and continued fingering Ria’s jewelry. Then one of them—a thin blonde with a crooked nose—looked up at Ria and gasped. “Oh my God,” she shrieked, “I just realized who you are. You’re Oriana Butterforth, aren’t you?”

  Talia felt her jaw drop, and suddenly it all made sense.

  Oriana Butterforth.

  The rabbit thief.

  *

  Talia was only seven or eight the summer Oriana stole the rabbit out of its cage. The bunny belonged to Noah Ostrowski, the little brother of Talia’s best friend, Rachel. When Talia spotted Oriana in the local variety store clutching a basket of carrots and lettuce, she was immediately suspicious. She looked up Oriana’s address in the phone book and pedaled her bike over to the two-family house where Oriana lived with her mom. The rabbit was there, in a makeshift cage Oriana had constructed from cardboard boxes.