Risky Biscuits

by Mary Lee Ashford

  But no.

  Ever helpful, that was me.

  Help find Bunny, go search for Alma, return the Wedgewood platter, drop off a misplaced blank check. MYOB. Mind your own business, Aunt Cricket would have advised.

  This one time, Sugar Calloway, it would have been good to MYOB.

  I remembered in Daddy’s A Fictional Memoir, how Gage had become adept at forging his mother’s signature on notes to the school.

  “You didn’t sign this check, did you?” My voice was calm, but my pulse was racing. My heart pounded in my ears.

  Stanley’s steely eyes bored into me. He had the dark blue Marchant eyes. Like Dusty. Like Nick. Like Nate. “No, I did not.”

  He knew that I knew he hadn’t, and knew I was on my way to figuring out what that meant.

  “No,” he repeated. “I did not.” His voice even, his eyes never left mine. “I would say, my son signed that check.”

  “Your son signed it.” I nodded and took a step back. I mind racing, my only thought was that I needed to get away.

  He was old. I was young. He wasn’t that big. I could make it to the front door and out of the house. Call 9-1-1.

  Another small step backward.

  “Don’t move.” Stanley lifted a gun from his pocket.

  It was small but deadly looking.

  I didn’t know a lot about guns, but I did know a lot about people. And Stanley did not look like a man who was bluffing.

  “You knew Nick was Dustin’s father?” I took another step back, thinking if I could get closer to the door. “From Alma?”

  Stanley nodded slightly, his eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t move.”

  He shifted his grip on the gun and steadied it with his other hand.

  It was then that I realized the gun wasn’t pointed at me.

  “Nate,” he said. “Put the gun down.”

  I turned my head slowly and looked over my shoulder.

  Nate Marchant stood in the hall behind me. He also held a gun and it was pointed at the middle of my back. With my continued steps backward, I’d nearly backed into it.

  “He had to be stopped.” Nate had the gun on me but his eyes were on Stanley. “Slinking back here and making all kinds of trouble. It wasn’t enough he’d cheated his investors. He had to come back here and ruin everything. Wreck our lives.”

  “Nate.” Stanley’s voice held a warning. He steadied his grip again.

  “And to find out…” Nate’s voice shook, but his hand did not. “To find out he had a son. With Cheri Stoller. That should have been me.” He took a deep breath. “He was never going to stop.”

  Some of the things I had suspected, others I hadn’t realized. Nor had I realized the depth of the animosity between the Marchant brothers.

  “I’d already had to take care of Alma Stoller.”

  I felt sick. I could see on Stanley’s face that he’d hadn’t known for sure.

  Had Alma gone to Nate about money for Dustin? She would have had no reason to think Nate would harm her.

  “All he had to do was leave. Like he always did.” Nate’s voice was ragged. “But he wouldn’t.”

  “Enough, Nate.” Stanley straightened up and steadied his hand, which had begun to shake. “Enough.”

  “Father?” Nate swallowed.

  I took advantage of Nate’s brief hesitation and spun around, smacking his gun arm with the Wedgewood platter. At the same time, I brought up my knee, hoping to connect with parts tender enough to bring him to his knees. But he was tall and I was short. I think I only knocked him further off balance. Still, I gave it my all.

  And then I ducked.

  I don’t know which gun went off first, but I know Stanley and Nate both fired.

  Nate fell to the floor with a thud and then Stanley toppled.

  The old man looked across at me. His face was ashen and tears streamed down his face. “Call.”

  Scrambling to my purse, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed.

  “What’s your emergency?” the woman on the other end asked.

  At a loss for words, not knowing how to explain, I just said, “People are shot. We need help.”

  I looked over at Nate, who lay on his side, moaning. And Stanley, who was losing a lot of blood from his leg.

  I kicked both guns away from them with my foot, having seen that on TV.

  I had a brief thought that might be the wrong thing to do because the placement might be important later. But right now, not getting shot at again was more important.

  “Two people are injured.” I gave her the address. “We need help.”

  Yanking a cloth from the nearby table, I wrapped it around Stanley’s leg like a tourniquet, hoping to slow the bleeding. I could already hear the sirens coming closer.

  The sheriff’s department arrived with the ambulance and paramedics right behind them. There were so many people and so much chaos at first, I just stayed where I was. But then both Stanley and Nate were stabilized and loaded quickly for transport to the hospital.

  A young deputy talked to me, jotted down some notes, and moved me to another room.

  I could see Sheriff Terry talking to the deputy, and they began securing the area. The sheriff looked in to where they’d put me and asked, “You okay?”

  I nodded. My legs had begun to shake, so I’d sat down on an ottoman.

  Dixie arrived a few minutes later. I assumed that Sheriff Terry had called her. He motioned her through and she immediately folded me into a hug.

  “I had the wrong brother,” I mumbled into her shoulder.

  “I know.” She pulled back to look at me and then hugged me again.

  “Come on.” Dixie gave me a hand up. “Terry says he’s got enough information from Stanley and that you can give your statement tomorrow. Okay?”

  I nodded, getting to my feet. I was wobbly but able to stand.

  “I hear you kicked Nate in the shin and saved the day.” She grinned. “I would’ve aimed elsewhere.”

  “I was aiming elsewhere.” I smiled back.

  “Anyway, it worked and you saved the day.” With an arm around my shoulders, she headed me toward the door.

  “I didn’t save the day.” I shook my head. “But I didn’t die.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  This time the all-you-can-eat breakfast at the St. Ignatius City Park featured several dishes from the Crack of Dawn Breakfast Club cookbook.

  Alma’s Heart Attack Hot Dish was popular, as were the Cat’s Head Biscuits, and Dixie’s Grandma Ruby’s Cinnamon Rolls. Greer had set up a card table to take money, and Leela Harper had a table right next to her where people could purchase their very own copies of the cookbook.

  Nate Berg, from the St. Ignatius Journal, was on the scene interviewing people and taking pictures. And most importantly, the cookbooks were selling like hotcakes.

  This time I was better dressed for a walk in the park. Jeans, a lightweight gray cotton top. I smiled to myself, thinking Tressa would have exclaimed that it matched my eyes. I hoped she was okay. I’d heard she was back with her husband.

  I’d also gone for boots this time instead of cute but impractical shoes. It was a gorgeous summer day with mild temps and a gentle breeze that rustled through the big oak trees. We couldn’t have asked for better weather.

  I’d taken a turn around the park trail while waiting for the line to clear out a bit. After my walk, I settled myself on one of the rustic limestone benches that had recently been installed around the perimeter.

  There was still a long line of customers and the queue wasn’t moving very fast, mostly because Greer chatted with each person as they paid. Out in one of the open green spaces, Dixie chased a frisbee with her nephew. At the edge of the shelter house there was a burst of whoops and laughter as several volunteers chased down some napkins that had blown off the picnic table. I watched the action and savored the scene.

  Home. This was home. This was my home.

  I heard someone come up behind me and turned to see Max ap
proaching.

  “Mind if I join you?” he asked.

  “There’s plenty of room.” I smiled and scooted to the side of the seat. “Aren’t these benches great? I love how they blend with the weathered limestone of the shelter house.”

  He nodded and sat down beside me. His ever-present backpack of photo equipment was missing.

  “No camera?” I asked, surprised.

  “Not today.” He sat forward, his elbows resting on jean-clad knees. He sat for a minute or two looking at his hands, and then looked up and met my eyes. “I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For ignoring you.” He took a breath and let it out. “For keeping to myself. For being a jerk.”

  “Max, you don’t owe me anything.”

  “But I do.” He stared off across the park. “I’ve been alone so much of my life that when stress hits I don’t know how to share that with someone else.”

  “What were you stressed about?”

  “Decisions.”

  I let the silence lie between us.

  “My old job called and they want me back.”

  Before moving to St. Ignatius, Max had worked at a big glossy magazine doing photos all over the world. An injury had sidelined him, but when he’d talked about it, it had always sounded like he loved it. Loved the work. Loved the travel. My head jerked up. “But wait, that’s good news, right?” I asked. “That’s what you want to do.”

  “I thought I did.” He tilted his head and gazed up at the blue cloudless sky. “The exciting life, assignments all around the globe.”

  “But?”

  “But I’ve discovered I don’t want to do that anymore.”

  “Hmm, I can’t see you doing quilts and baseball teams, or that kind of thing, and being happy with that.”

  “No, I can’t either. But I really enjoyed doing the food thing for the cookbooks and I’ve looked into some more in that line of work. And I’m very much enjoying the local nature photography I’ve dabbled with, so I want to do more of that. Iowa is beautiful and doesn’t get much credit.”

  “What did you tell your old boss?”

  “I told him thanks but no thanks. I’m staying here.”

  “Well, in that case, no apology necessary.” I bumped him with my shoulder. “But next time you’re sorting out major life decisions, I’m a really good listener.”

  “I know you are.” He turned toward me, his bright blue eyes serious. “I simply defaulted to loner mode. I’ll work on that.”

  “And I defaulted to neurotic mode. I’ll work on that, too.” I laughed.

  “Deal.” He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Then turning serious again, he picked up my hand. “I understand you literally dodged a bullet, a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, two of them.” Sometimes it hit me like a brick just how close I’d come to not being able to enjoy a summer day in the park like this.

  “I understand Nate Marchant has been charged in both Alma Stoller’s death and his brother’s.”

  Max kept my hand in his and I liked it.

  “What a bizarre turn of events.” He leaned back to look at me.

  “According to Sheriff Terry he went to the park to give Alma the money she had asked for to help her grandson,” I explained, “but Nate thought that meant she’d keep quiet about it and that wasn’t what Alma had in mind.”

  “Wait. Nate Marchant knew his brother was Dustin’s father, but Nick didn’t know that himself?”

  “That’s right. Alma had contacted Stanley, but Nate intercepted the message and decided to take over as the ‘fixer’ of his brother’s problems. He didn’t tell his dad or Nick and must have thought the secret would die with Alma.” I shivered in spite of the warmth of the day.

  “But to run over the poor woman.” Max shook his head.

  “I know. Unbelievable.” I felt sick at the fear Alma must have felt. “It sounds like he panicked and jumped in her car and ran her down. And then backed over her.”

  Max laid his other hand on top of mine. “And why his brother?”

  “Wanting to help find whoever had killed her mother, Cheri Wheeler told the sheriff who Dustin’s father was. And after that she called Nick and told him.” I paused thinking about how quickly all that had unraveled.

  “And Nick put two and two together and realized what his brother had done.” All the pieces had been there; I simply had not put it all together. “Not only was he going to expose what Nate had done, but he was also going to acknowledge Dustin as his son.”

  “So, Nate Marchant’s world was falling apart and, in his mind, there was only one person to blame. His brother.”

  “Exactly.” I suddenly realized I hadn’t actually talked about it since everything had happened. It felt good.

  We sat silently for a few minutes.

  Finally, I stood and pulled Max up with me.

  “Have you had any of the Cat Shed Biscuits yet?”

  “Any of the what?”

  “Come on,” I linked my arm with his. “I’ll explain.”

  As we made our way through the crowd in the shelter house and got in line, I felt a tug on my sleeve and turned to find Tina Martin beside me. Her blonde hair was tied up in a sparkly scrunchy that matched her sparkly pink top. Even her jeans had sparkly rhinestones down the sides.

  “I’m so glad I found you, Sugar.” Tina clamped pink-tipped fingers on my wrist and pulled me beside her. “I want you to meet Rafe.”

  She turned me around to face a pleasant though slightly pudgy and very ordinary-looking man. In contrast to Tina’s sparkles, he wore nondescript khakis and a plain white dress shirt. He extended his hand. “So nice to meet you, Sugar. I’m Rafe and I’ve heard so much about you and your business partner.”

  I reached out to shake his hand and as I did, met Dixie’s gaze from across the picnic tables. She was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Nice to meet you, Rafe.” I laughed. “Welcome to St. Ignatius. I hope you’re having a good time.”

  “It’s a great town.” He glanced around at the shelter house and the crowd.

  “Yes, it is.” I looked around, too, my gaze taking in Dixie and Greer and Max.

  “It’s home.”

  Recipes

  Jeri Beetles Cat’s Head Biscuits

  These are called Cat’s Head Biscuits because they are as big as a cat’s head.

  Ingredients

  4½ cups all-purpose flour

  ¼ cup granulated sugar

  2 tablespoons baking powder

  1 teaspoon baking soda

  2½ teaspoons salt

  ⅓ cup butter-flavored shortening, cold

  ¼ cup cold butter

  2 cups cold buttermilk

  ¼ cup melted butter

  Instructions

  1. Place oven rack in upper-middle position and preheat the oven to 450ºF. Grease a 12-inch cake pan. (A deep-dish iron skillet works well too.)

  2. In a large bowl, mix together flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

  3. Pour the dry ingredients into a food processor and then add the shortening and the cold butter. Pulse the food processor until the butter and shortening are mixed in.

  4. Continue pulsing as you add the buttermilk and stop as soon as everything is blended together.

  5. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and press it flat with your hands. You’ll want it approximately 2 inches thick.

  6. Using a glass or a three-inch biscuit cutter, cut out your biscuits. If necessary, reshape the dough to get the last couple of biscuits.

  7. Place the biscuits in the pan and brush with the melted butter. Place in the oven right away.

  8. Bake until golden brown, about 30 minutes. You’ll be able to tell if they’re done by looking at them.

  Tips for great biscuits

  Don’t over mix the dough. The dough should be fully blended but still have a course texture. In order to get the best rise on your biscuits they should go in
to the oven when the dough is cold, so if you start with cold ingredients and work quickly, they may actually end up the size of your cat’s head.

  Alma Stoller’s Heart Attack Hot Dish

  Not exactly your healthiest breakfast but made to be shared with family and friends, so those calories are negated by the laughter.

  Ingredients

  1 pound of breakfast sausage

  6 slices of white bread, buttered, crusts removed

  1½ cups shredded cheese (sharp cheddar works great)

  6 large eggs, beaten

  2 cups half-and-half

  1 teaspoon salt

  Instructions

  1. Preheat the oven to 350ºF.

  2. Cook the sausage, crumble, and drain well.

  3. Place the buttered slices of bread in the bottom of a 9 x 13-inch baking dish.

  4. Spread the crumbled sausage on top of the bread.

  5. Sprinkle the shredded cheese over the sausage.

  6. In a medium bowl, beat the eggs, half-and-half, and salt until blended.

  7. Pour the blended mixture on top of the sausage and cheese.

  8. Cover with foil and refrigerate overnight.

  9. Remove from the refrigerator fifteen minutes before baking.

  10. Bake uncovered for approximately 45 minutes, or until a knife inserted into the center of the casserole comes out clean.

  11. Let cool only slightly, cut into squares, and serve.

  Tips

  You can add extra sausage and shredded cheese, if you like. Alma always did. If you do, you may want to add a little more half-and-half. Pour in just enough so you can see it through the other ingredients.

  Greer’s Better Than Robert Redford Cake

  Greer thinks this cake may be better than Robert Redford but not George Clooney. Just her opinion, of course.

  Ingredients

  1 box chocolate cake mix

  3 eggs

  1¼ cups milk

  ½ cup oil

  1 can (14 ounce) sweetened condensed milk

  1 jar (11.5 ounce) salted caramel sauce

  2 cups heavy whipping cream

  2 tablespoons powdered sugar

  ½ teaspoon vanilla extract