Midnight Snacks are Murder

by Libby Klein

  Aunt Ginny grinned. “That boy is very sneaky to get you there every day like this.”

  I stopped. “What do you mean?”

  Georgina stood ramrod straight. “What boy?”

  Aunt Ginny quirked an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. He likes you, so he found a way to keep you near him.”

  I felt myself blush.

  Georgina stepped to the banquette. “What boy, Ginny?”

  Aunt Ginny ignored her. “Have you told Tim yet?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. But I guess I will today when we go shopping at the chef supply warehouse.”

  Georgina was all business. “What boy? And who is this Tim? You aren’t dating, are you, Poppy?”

  “What? No, not really.”

  “I should hope not. Who are these men and do they know you are a grieving widow?”

  “Nothing is happening.”

  “Nothing should be happening.”

  Aunt Ginny snorted. “She’s been a grieving widow for almost a year. It’s time she started having some fun.”

  Georgina narrowed her eyes at Aunt Ginny. “I hardly think nine months constitutes almost a year.”

  Yikes. I had to get out of here before these two grizzlies ripped each other apart like I was the last spring salmon.

  I grabbed my bag of ingredients and my purse and snuck out the front door. I ran into Mrs. Colazzo and Mrs. Sheinberg down at the mailbox.

  “Oh, Poppy, honey, did you hear?”

  “I did, Mrs. Sheinberg. I’m so sorry about Mr. Strut n’ Stuff.”

  “Thank you, bubala. But I’m talking about Helen here.”

  I looked at Mrs. Colazzo, who was wearing a yellow flowered housecoat and pink fuzzy slippers and wringing her hands. “Oh no. What happened?”

  “They got my glass frog figurines and ate the dozen snickerdoodles I had made for Mary Alice’s visit this afternoon.”

  “They ate a hunk of pie and a dozen cookies?”

  “Well, not a whole dozen, no. They took one bite out of each cookie and left the rest of the cookie on the counter.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “We’re discussing starting a Neighborhood Watch program,” Mrs. Sheinberg said.

  “And maybe a Weight Watchers meeting,” Mrs. Colazzo added.

  Mrs. Sheinberg grabbed my arm. “Do you think I should call around to the local pawn shops? Or is it too soon for the thief to have fenced the loot?”

  “Well, I’m not sure the pawn shop would be so quick to buy your unique set of items. They might seem too … personal.”

  “You’re right, honey. They would give them a cooling-off time.”

  Mrs. Colazzo piped in, “No, no. It’s no good. Everything is done by computer nowadays. There’s that new site, eBay they call it. I bet if our stuff is being unloaded, it will be there. What do you think, Poppy?”

  “Actually, I don’t know if you can find your exact items, but I bet you can replace them on eBay.”

  Mrs. Colazzo smacked Mrs. Sheinberg on the shoulder. “Told ya.”

  “Bubula”—Mrs. Sheinberg grabbed my arm again—“promise me that if you come across any shady characters selling glass frogs or a stuffed rooster in a back alley …”

  Mrs. Colazzo interrupted her, “Or out of a white van.”

  “Yeah, or a white van. Promise me you’ll be sure to report it, okay, honey?”

  I held up a Girl Scout honor salute. “I promise.”

  While Cape May’s Thelma and Louise trotted off to discover they would need the Internet in order to get on eBay, I wondered about getting an alarm system installed. I would have to put it on the list and tell Smitty to make it a priority.

  Chapter 8

  I rushed into the kitchen at Mia Famiglia, ready for another day of passive aggression and open disappointment. Momma Larusso didn’t address me when I came in. She met my eyes, twisted her mouth into a frown, and went back to stirring her sauce. So much for her only using her kitchen at night.

  The Cape May weather was brisk and the leaves were changing, so everyone was looking for fall flavors. Since the market was probably saturated with everything pumpkin spice, I wanted to offer something different but still warm and cozy. Gluten-free honey maple pecan shortbread. But first I had to make another batch of muffins. Gia had texted me that the blueberry sold out and they were running low on the other two flavors. Today I was making pistachio. I added a little orange zest, some toasted pistachios, and a couple drops of sweet almond oil. I was so into my baking that I forgot about Momma Larusso until she snuck up on me.

  She asked something in Italian and I caught the words olio di mandorle.

  “Olio? You want to know why I’m adding almond oil?”

  Momma nodded while looking at the muffin batter.

  “Sweet almond heightens the pistachio flavor. Makes it more pistachio-y.”

  She looked like I’d just said I was adding grasshoppers, and she wasn’t convinced that was a great idea. I hoped nothing was twisted in translation. She dipped a spoon in my batter and tasted it. She didn’t comment, but shuffled her raised eyebrows back to her side of the kitchen.

  I had the muffins and pecan shortbread on the cooling rack and was about to take the pistachio muffins out of the oven when my cell phone buzzed. I had an email from one of the couples who was due to arrive tomorrow afternoon. The Reynolds were confirming their cancellation? In a panic, I tore through the email train to see what could have gone wrong. They said they received my message and were disappointed, but they would love to visit when we worked everything out.

  What the—? No. She couldn’t have. Could she?

  I took the muffins out to cool and cleaned up my workstation at top speed. Another email came in, this one not so accommodating. It seemed the Blairs were looking forward to their weekend away and already had a babysitter, so I had ruined their lives by canceling the free promotional trip I had offered in order to give the B and B a practice run. I had to get home immediately.

  I scrawled a note to Gia about another emergency—geez, no wonder he thinks I’ve been ducking him—set aside a pistachio muffin for Momma, and waved goodbye. Momma waved goodbye back to me. It was a very disgruntled-looking wave and may have meant something naughty in Italian, but I didn’t have time to think about it. Georgina was busy destroying my business and I hadn’t even gotten it off the ground.

  *

  “Georgina!” Get in here with your flying monkeys!

  Georgina floated into the foyer looking just as calm and relaxed as if she was having a spa day and not creating a bed-and-breakfast bloodbath. “What’s the matter?”

  I tried to calm down until I got all the facts. “Georgina, did you cancel my guest reservations?”

  Georgina spoke to me like I was a five-year-old asking how many nights till Christmas. “Only three of them. I still have one couple to get ahold of. They aren’t answering their phones.”

  I saw red. “Why … How … Don’t …” I took a deep breath but it didn’t help. I needed a shot of something stronger. Like hot fudge.

  “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. I’m only trying to help you. You aren’t ready for guests, and these aren’t even paying guests.”

  “They can still leave negative reviews and destroy our reputation.”

  I had to do damage control and fast. I went to my apartment upstairs and got on my laptop. Figaro followed me to sit next to the keyboard with his butt blocking half of my screen. I gave him a half pet, half push to the side, but he still managed to ooze back into my way.

  I looked up the reservations and called each of the guests Georgina had canceled. I reassured them that we were in fact ready for them and looking forward to their visit. Ignore the previous phone call, it was from a deranged lunatic. The Blairs had already canceled their babysitter and there was no way to redeem myself with them. I offered them another free weekend any time of their choosing. They said they would think about it, and hung up on me mid-apology.

  It
was just as well that they weren’t coming. Georgina had set up her command post in my best suite, and now I didn’t have to give her my bed and sleep on the couch in Aunt Ginny’s sitting room.

  I looked at the time. I was meeting Tim in less than an hour at the chef supply warehouse he’d recommended. The time had come to swallow my insecurity and have a heart-to-fragile-heart talk with him.

  Was Aunt Ginny right? Did I need to tell Tim about Gia? I mean, it’s not like anything was really going on between us. Tim and I had a couple of awkward dates—outings, really—not dates. Of course, there was that kiss goodbye. The hairs on my arms stood up when I thought about it.

  But then there was also that kiss with Gia. I was still trying to sort through my emotions—okay, guilt. Gia was amazing, sensitive, gentle, and ohmygod was he hot! So hot that most of the time I was sure I was imagining his interest in me. I had heard about men who like hefty women, but I thought it was an urban legend.

  Tim, on the other hand, already had a piece of my heart. Who knows what might have been if things had turned out differently twenty-some years ago.

  And then there was John. He may be gone from this earth, but he was very much alive in my heart. Starting any new relationship made me feel like I was cheating on John, and that was a feeling I had lived with for far too long after I wrecked things when I cheated on Tim in college. Was I really this girl who couldn’t be faithful? As soon as I’d reconnected with Tim, I was kissing another man. I didn’t think our relationship could handle another betrayal, even if this time there was no pretense of commitment. No, Aunt Ginny was right. I would have to lay all my cards on the table and see who was left standing when I was done. With my luck, it would be just me and Fig to the end, ride or die.

  Figaro flopped over and typed yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy on my keyboard. Thanks, that’s helpful.

  Chapter 9

  I took the Garden State Parkway up to Stone Harbor, heading for the Master Chef Warehouse. The food service supply center was in an industrial park surrounded by other large, unmarked warehouses. The sand-colored building was the size of a Walmart Supercenter, but there were no windows and only one set of dark glass double doors. I parked next to Tim’s Kia and went inside.

  The enormous room was poorly lit, with rows and rows of shelving units filled to the brim with stockpots and sheet pans and chafing dishes and industrial-size containers of mayonnaise and cooking oil. Sur La Table this was not.

  Tim came around the corner carrying a large bag of Styrofoam takeout containers. He was tanned and tall with broad shoulders and slim hips, his blond hair in that shaggy beach-bum style that hadn’t changed since high school. His chin was covered in light stubble. He was scruffy-sexy. Is that a thing?

  “Hey, you made it.” He gave me a big smile and leaned down to kiss me, but we were interrupted before he could make contact.

  “Hi-yee!”

  Oh goody. Gigi the perky and annoying is here. Gigi was Tim’s chef “friend” and mentee. In her late twenties, the cute little blonde had a cute little restaurant in West Cape May, Le Bon Gigi, and the uncanny ability to pop up every time Tim and I tried to get close. I might hate her.

  “Surprise!” Gigi raised both hands in the air.

  Tim stepped back to include Gigi in our circle, like it was some kind of creepy threesome. “Look who came to help.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “I told Gigi we were coming here today to get you set up with some baking supplies and it turns out that she needed a new silicone mat so she tagged along.”

  Gigi flashed me a smile. “It was so lucky for me that you were coming today.”

  “Yes, how lucky,” I said flatly. Gigi wasn’t fooling me for a minute. Ever heard of Amazon, Gigi?

  The three of us walked up and down the aisles, looking at the baking and pastry paraphernalia and the professional stand mixers. My every instinct for what I needed was apparently wrong, according to Chef Gigi.

  “Not those pans, you want a wire rim for a convection oven. Are you sure you want disposable pastry bags? You could just wash the canvas ones. Chicago Metal makes a better jumbo muffin pan than that brand, if you care about quality.”

  I resisted the urge to fwack her with a spatula and grabbed a large whisk and dropped it in my basket.

  “Do you want a ball whisk or a French whisk?”

  “Does it make that big a difference?”

  Gigi’s hands flew to her hips and she tapped one foot impatiently. “It depends on whether you’re whipping cream or making a béarnaise.”

  Tim put his arm around my shoulders and laughed softly. “Geeg is very passionate about her tools.”

  “I gathered that.”

  Gigi picked up a pastry wheel and spun it with her thumb while keeping an eagle eye on Tim’s hand on my shoulder. “Hey, I’m just here to be of assistance.”

  Are you, Gigi? Are you?

  Gigi and Tim got immersed in a conversation about baking a fish in a paper bag versus a salt crust, and I snuck off to finish getting my supplies. I spoke with the shop manager about macarons and he chose some pastry tips with large holes for me to try. He also helped me pick a copper saucepan for making caramel, and he put back the roll of parchment paper that Gigi had picked out and swapped it for the box of individual sheets that I had originally wanted. I decided that he was my new best friend. I ordered a twenty-shelf baker’s rack to be delivered next week and checked out just as Tim and Gigi caught up with me.

  Tim gave me a smile. “Sorry we chef’d out there for a minute.”

  Gigi linked arms with Tim. “You know how we chefs can be when we’re discussing new recipes.”

  I looked her in the eye. “I’m pretty sure I see how it is.”

  Gigi had the decency to blush.

  My cell phone buzzed, and I saw a text from Georgina:

  When are you coming home!

  Tablecloth emergency! 911!

  I texted back:

  What are you talking about?

  I could hear the condescension in her text:

  Wrong shade of oatmeal!

  THEY WILL CLASH WITH EVERYTHING HOW DO I TURN CAPITAL LETTERS OFF?

  How many shades of oatmeal could there possibly be?

  AND SMUTTY HUNG THE WINDOWS BACKWARDS SO THE LOCKS ARE ON THE OUTSIDE!

  Followed by a text from Smitty:

  I can fix that!

  I sighed.

  Tim raised an eyebrow, “Everything okay?”

  “I have to go. Georgina is … being Georgina.”

  Tim unwound Gigi’s arm from his and took my bags. “Thanks for coming with us today, Geeg. It was totally cool of you to help.”

  Gigi turned adoring eyes on Tim. “Oh yeah, anytime. Day or night. I’ll be there.”

  Oh, good Lord.

  We said our goodbyes to Gigi, and Tim walked me to my car.

  “Hey, I’m sorry if Geeg turned it on a little too bossy. She’s a total gearhead with tools, but she loves to help.”

  I hugged my victory box of parchment to my chest. “It’s fine. It was nice of her to offer suggestions.”

  Tim leaned down and kissed me and I forgot where we were for a minute.

  “By-eee!”

  Oh, for the love of God!

  “Bye, Gigi!” I put my hand on Tim’s chest and he smiled. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  He put my shopping bags in the trunk of my car. “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “Um—” My mouth went dry and I suddenly felt like I wanted to melt into the parking lot. “Well, I was just wondering, you know, if we, maybe …”

  Tim laughed, “What? Spit it out, crazy.”

  “Um, are we serious here?”

  “Serious about what?” He smiled.

  “What I’m saying is, are we officially dating or anything?”

  Tim leaned into me and raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were just getting to know each other again. Weren’t you the one who thought too much time had passed for us to jum
p back into a relationship, and we needed to get to know who we are as adults?”

  My heart sped up and my breath caught in my chest. “That’s very reasonable. It doesn’t sound like me at all.”

  He touched a lock of my hair on the side of my face. “Then why do you ask?”

  “Huh, oh, uh. There is this guy, a friend, who wanted to know.”

  Tim’s expression lost all its flirtiness and he cut his eyes to the side, taking that in. He was very calm, but his shoulders showed a tension that wasn’t in his voice. “Who is this friend?”

  “He owns a coffee shop on the mall. I met him when I was getting ready for the reunion. He’s been very nice to me.”

  Tim was listening closely and nodding.

  “He’s who I’ve been making the muffins for. He’s selling them in his shop.”

  “Has he asked you out?”

  It was my turn to blush. “Well, something like that. But I told him that I wasn’t sure what was between us yet, so I wasn’t free.”

  Tim nodded some more. “Hmmm. Well, we don’t have any kind of commitment between us. So, it’s cool.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah, man, I’m cool. We’re both adults. I think we should keep it light for now and just see where it goes.”

  I was a little disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

  But then he pulled me to him and kissed me with a passion that left me totally confused. When he let me go he walked over to his car.

  “I’ll call you later and we’ll set up a date, if you’re free.”

  I smiled. “That would be nice.”

  “Yeah. We’ll just keep dating each other while we see other people.” He gave me a big smile, then got in his Kia and drove away. Gigi pulled out from around the corner right behind him.

  Wait! What did he mean we’re seeing other people?! Has he been dating other people? What just happened?

  Chapter 10

  The day for our practice launch had arrived. I lay in bed and went over my checklist one more time. The guest rooms are clean. Do the bathrooms all have clean towels? I’d better check. And I need to run the fan in the Emperor Suite to dry the paint, since Georgina had Smitty put another coat on the walls last night. She insisted the purple paint was streaky. Smitty said that it was easier to just do the work than to argue with her. Boy, didn’t I know that. The kitchen was finished, sans oven. I had muffins I’d made yesterday at Momma’s and baked oatmeal, which I could warm up for tomorrow’s breakfast. Thank God you could make bacon in the microwave. Yes, everything was under control. I got this.