“I suppose I’ll start another one.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled; she knew as well as I did she’d be lucky to get halfway through this scrapbook, let alone start another one. “But we must get you one. We’ll make a pretty title page with ‘Aria’s Journey to Discover Her Father’ or ‘Aria and Papa, A Mystical Path’ or something. You can borrow my glitter!”
With a grin, I shook my head. Her enthusiasm was infectious, even if the subject of her current zeal didn’t appeal to me at all.
“I think the journey to discover my father is over before it ever really began. Hazel Crane surprised me with a photo of my father, refused to divulge anything else, and Mom...”
“Your mom hasn’t helped?” said Sarah in disbelief.
I sighed. “She’s worse than useless. All she said was he ran away to Australia and Donovan, Donovan, Donovan. Blah blah blah.”
“Donovan?” asked Sarah, wrinkling her nose.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “She won’t even talk about my father. All she’ll talk about these days is Donovan Charlston, Mayor of Sequoia Bay and the love of her life, according to her.”
“Really? The love of her life? Him?” Sarah shook her head like a cat shaking off a sprinkling of water.
“I know. But what can we do? It’s her life.”
“Her life? No. It affects you too. You should break them up,” she said with a wicked grin.
I shook my head. “No way!”
“Well, we’ll think about it,” said Sarah, half to herself.
Before I could get around to explaining to her that I didn’t meddle in my mother’s personal affairs, someone else came in to meddle with my mother’s affairs.
Ding!
“Fudge!” screeched Kiwi from on top of his bookcase.
“Fudge!” shouted the angry woman who’d burst into the shop with quite the animated shove against my poor front door. “That’s the problem! I don’t ever want to hear ‘fudge’ again!”
“Fudge!” screeched Kiwi, following it up with a cackle that sounded more like it belonged to a fairytale witch than a parrot.
“Err, hello?” I said to the woman.
She was middle-aged and dressed in what seemed to be horse riding apparel, though I was no expert in the subject. But it wasn’t her clothing that was most striking, it was the look of complete and total annoyance on her face that really stood out. It was the kind of look I got after spending too much time with my mother.
“Hello,” she said with a frown. “Where is Annabelle? She owns this shop, right?”
And just like that, annoyance crept its way into my face too. Annabelle was my mother, who only vaguely understood the concept of ownership when it came to my things. Mom often told people my bridal shop was hers, following the logic that I’m her daughter and thus everything of mine is also hers. At least, that’s how I can best figure it.
“Annabelle does not own this shop. It’s mine. Aria Whitmore,” I said, offering her my hand.
“Molly Anderson,” she said squeezing my hand. “You’re the daughter?”
“Yes,” I said with a wry grin. “I am ‘the daughter.’ And the owner of Blue Moon Bridal. Annabelle occasionally helps out.”
“Oh. Well, I don’t know about the technicalities.”
Technicalities? They’re not technicalities when it comes to paying the bills every month! I smiled at Molly while I waited for her to go on.
“So is there anything we can help you with? Do you have a daughter who is engaged, perhaps?” I asked.
It was not uncommon for mothers and even mothers-in-law to take the lead in wedding preparations, often to the annoyance of the bride and groom themselves. Usually a battle would commence during the planning process with the bride eventually seizing control from whichever matriarch was trying to wield it.
“Engaged for a wedding?” she asked, frowning at me.
“Err, yes?”
The woman looked around the shop, turning in a complete circle as she took it all in. The dresses on display, the gloves and veils and other accouterments, the bridal magazines and books and the whole air and ambiance of the shop.
“I thought this was a bridle shop? Blue Moon Bridle, no?”
“It is a bridal shop. For brides. People getting married.”
The woman blinked several times.
“They have shops just for that? People will buy anything.”
“I know what you mean,” chimed in Sarah. “I don’t know why they insist on making such a big fuss about weddings.”
I jabbed Sarah in the side with my elbow, glaring at her all the while. She gave me an innocent look in return. Sarah didn’t share my love for perfect, traditional weddings, despite the fact that they gave her gainful employment.
I managed to contain a sigh and keep my best retail smile plastered on for Molly, even though it was clear she wasn’t going to be a customer. I don’t mind my mother’s mistruths if they lead to some business for the store, but it didn’t look like it would happen in this case.
“Right, so my mother isn’t here at the moment. What exactly do you need help with?” I asked. The woman hadn’t been offensive but she wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs either. I would gladly rather get back to chatting with Sarah.
“You see, it’s about my neighbor, Sandra Webb.” She gave me a knowing look with arched eyebrows and a mean glint in her eye.
“Sandra Webb? Isn’t she...”
“Fudge!” screeched Kiwi from atop the bookcase.
“The fudge lady!” said Sarah, clapping her hands together delightedly.
I joined Sarah in smiling. It was an involuntary reflex, summoned by the memories of those soft, chewy, creamy sweet treats she concocted.
“Yes. The fudge lady,” said Molly with a dark frown. “She’s been making it and selling it out of her home. Which is right next to mine.”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“Problem!? Of course it’s a problem! It’s a residential neighborhood that’s now being filled with sweet-toothed addicts driving in and out of the area at all times of the day and night! Filling up the street with their cars, banging on her door, causing all kinds of chaos.”
“Is it that bad?” I asked her in some surprise. I couldn’t really imagine one lady selling fudge out of her kitchen could cause that much disruption.
“Bad? Bad? Well, I tell you it was terrible. In one day alone, I counted nine different cars that parked on our street to go into her house. Nine! And three of them came at once! It’s ridiculous!”
“Wow. Three cars at once?” I said, forcing my eyebrows up and my mouth open to feign shock and surprise.
“Nine in a day?” said Sarah, clasping her hands against her cheeks like a ‘50s starlet pretending to look shocked.
“Yes. It’s beyond obnoxious.” Molly had a tight-lipped smile now, seemingly pleased by our response.
“But I’m a little confused. What’s this got to do with my mother?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you!” she said loudly, slapping her palm against the counter.
Sarah and I both folded our arms across our chests and watched her. I must say: I was actually quite interested in where my mother fit into all of this. She certainly didn’t know how to make fudge, nor did she live in the neighborhood in question.
Molly rested one arm on the counter.
“As I said, I was most annoyed by all the riff-raff we’ve been getting in the neighborhood. So I did the right thing. I reported that awful cook to the city and got her shut down for zoning violations.”
I nodded. “Right. The only possible solution.”
Molly nodded at me in agreement, completely unaware of my sarcasm.
“But that wasn’t the end of it. Oh, no. She’s not just an overrated cook, she’s also...”
Sarah and I leaned in while Molly lowered her voice to a whisper.
“...a y’know... woman.”
“A... woman?” I asked.
Molly nodded at me with a calcu
lating look in her eye.
“I mean, she’s a… compromised woman. A Jezebel.”
“A Jezebel!?” said Sarah with more shock-on-demand than was quite necessary.
Molly nodded. “She wasn’t happy about being shut down so she’s been inviting someone over to... well, I don’t like to speculate. Perhaps ‘sample her wares’ might cover it.”
“Someone?” I asked. “What kind of someone?”
Molly leaned in close and licked her lips before she continued.
“The mayor. Mayor Donovan Charlston. He’s been visiting her house!”
Sarah and I both gasped, and this time it was entirely genuine. We weren’t just putting on a show for Molly. Was Donovan really cheating on my mother with the town’s foremost fudge-maker?
“He’s been going over to her house? And Mom doesn’t know about it?”
Molly gave a firm nod and seemed pleased with herself to have been the deliverer of such juicy gossip—something I usually tend to avoid. But in this case, it affected my family directly.
“He has. I wanted to tell your mother directly. She and I need to work together to stop this whole thing. Sandra is obviously using the mayor to try and get the area rezoned and turn our neighborhood into some kind of fudge-ghetto.”
“A fudge ghetto?” said Sarah. “Sounds awful.”
“I can’t believe Donovan would be so... blatant,” I said with a frown. “I know he’s a politician, but I still expected better of him. Perhaps that was foolish of me.”
Molly nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. It doesn’t surprise me one bit, a politician and a criminal fudge-maker being in cahoots with each other.”
“Criminal? That’s a bit strong, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Our exclusive suburban neighborhood is not zoned for retail or…” She shook her head in disgust. “Cooking or whatever she calls it. She’s breaking the law, so she’s a criminal.”
“Fudge criminal!” screeched Kiwi from atop the bookcase.
“Clever bird,” said Molly, giving Kiwi an admiring glance.
“Yeah. Sometimes.” I glared at Kiwi, warning him to shut his beak.
“So I want your mother to do something: reel her gentleman friend back in because I will not stand for Sandra’s shenanigans. If she thinks she’s going to—pardon my language—fudge her way into rezoning the neighborhood by becoming overly friendly with the mayor, she’s got another thing coming.”
“Ooh,” said Sarah, nodding at Molly’s spirited argument.
“I’ll let my mother know what you told us,” I said to her. “I’m sure she’ll deal with it in her own way. She’s not one to be trifled with.”
“Or fudged with,” said Sarah with a smirk.
I smacked her on the arm.
“Well, I’ll leave you girls to it.” She paused to look around the shop again before she left. “And you’re sure you don’t have any riding gloves?”
When Molly had left, Sarah and I both looked at each other.
“Maybe you were right,” I said. “Perhaps Mom should break up with Donovan.”
Sarah nodded.
“Of course I’m right. I’m always right, aren’t I? Don’t answer that. What we need is an intervention.”
“But then again, Molly could be mistaken. Maybe Donovan has a perfectly legitimate reason for dropping by Sandra’s house.”
“Multiple times,” said Sarah.
“Maybe he’s addicted to her fudge and needs to get his fix,” I said with a giggle.
“Fudge! Fudge! Fudge!” screeched Kiwi.
“We’ll get some more soon,” I said in the direction of the bookcase. “He really does seem to like that fudge, doesn’t he?”
“He sure does. I hardly ever hear him demand cheese puffs anymore.”
Cheese puffs were Kiwi’s all-time favorite snack. I knew his current obsession with fudge would only be temporary; he always went back to the cheese puffs.
“I’m sure cheese puffs and fudge would be the perfect meal for him,” I said shaking my head. “Goodness knows how he would survive being back in the wild.”
“I’m sure he’d find a nice little fudge tree or cheese puff bush down in the Amazon, wouldn’t you?” said Sarah to Kiwi, who responded with a happy chattering sound.
“So what are we going to do about Mom and Donovan?”
Sarah grinned at me. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you arrange a dinner for us, just the three of us, at your place?”
I nodded dubiously. I didn’t really relish the thought of having my mom criticize my cooking, though to be fair, it had been a long time since I’d given her the chance.
“Okay, dinner it is. I’ll check with Mom but plan on it being the day after tomorrow.”
“Yay!” said Sarah with a clap of her hands.
“Fudge!” shrieked Kiwi.
Chapter 2
I was quite pleased with myself. The soup was delicious, the chicken looked great, the vegetables were neither soggy nor undercooked, and I’d picked up a delicious chocolate fudge cake for dessert.
Sarah had arrived early of course, and after an offer to help that was so fleeting it barely existed, she sat down at the dining table with her scrapbook, scissors, tape, glue, and goodness knows what other art supplies she had in her bag.
“What are you sticking in there?”
“I made a page for my love life,” she said.
“Just a page?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
She stuck her tongue out at me. “Just a page. Look, Brad here is represented by this picture of a bottle cap, Emerito by this scrap of wine label, Sebastian by this little drawing of a snail to represent his love for French cuisine, Nic—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” I frowned at the mess on my dining table. “Why don’t you put that away before Mom gets here? You know what she’s like.”
Sarah cocked her head at me. “You don’t think she’d like my scrapbook?”
“Nope.” I knew she’d make some cracks about Sarah finally graduating from kindergarten or something equally trite. “Why don’t you take Kiwi downstairs to the stockroom?”
Mom didn’t like Kiwi, and even though I could trust him not to cause any serious mischief while she was here, I didn’t need to hear another rant from my mother about how I should get rid of the feathered menace. Out of sight was out of mind. One less thing for Mom to criticize.
Sarah held out her arm, and Kiwi obligingly hopped onto it. “You poor little thing.”
“Just put on CSI or some reality television for him and he’ll be fine.”
He let out a happy squawk. He, too, would be happier downstairs and out of Mom’s way when she got here. An evening of reality television alone in the stockroom without me there to criticize or heckle would no doubt be an ideal evening for my simple-tasted bird.
While Sarah and Kiwi descended, I went back into the kitchen to take out the condiments and finish my preparations.
BZZZ.
Mom rang the bell to the side door of the building.
“I’ll get it,” shouted Sarah from downstairs.
There was the sound of the bolts turning and the door unlocking before Sarah and Mom greeted each other as if they liked each other, which they didn’t. They didn’t hate each other; they were just very different people who struggled to even communicate due to the large differences in their thought processes. I was somewhere between them and could act as an intermediary though, when necessary.
The two women climbed up the stairs and I stood at the threshold of my small apartment, which was located directly above my shop, taking up the second floor of the building.
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
“Hello, dear. It’s been so long since you had me over for dinner I thought you might have forgotten I eat!”
“Ha, ha,” I said, rather than laughed. “I’d forgotten how delightful it was to have you as a guest. Come in.”
My mom smiled at me with a suspiciously unlined face. I gave it a quick once-over and
tallied it up. Fresh collagen injections? Check. Botox for the forehead and eyes? Check. A glamour spell to cover up those last few wrinkles? Check. Freshly-dyed blonde hair to mask the gray? Of course.
“You look nice, Mom,” I said.
“I do, don’t I?” she said with a smile, neglecting the generous opportunity I’d given her to compliment me.
We walked into the main room of my apartment, which had a living area and a dining area all in the same open floor plan.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine, dear, chilled but not too much. Something fruity but dry and no oakiness. And nothing too pale.”
“Right. I’ll see what I’ve got.”
“Nothing too yellow either,” she called after me.
I popped into the kitchen and took out the only bottle of wine I had in the refrigerator. It would have to do. Mom had recently taken an interest in wine and become something of a connoisseur, or ‘fussy’ as I preferred to put it.
We all sat back down in the living room with a glass of wine each. Mom took a sip, wrinkled her nose, scrunched up her face like she was about to spit it out, and then in a remarkable show of theatrics made a drama of putting a neutral expression back on her face.
“Interesting choice. But if it’s all you’ve got, then it’s all you’ve got.” She patted my knee while she spoke, in an almost motherly way, while she criticized.
“Well, I think it’s lovely,” said Sarah smiling.
This was probably true, as Sarah found almost everything to be interesting, lovely, wonderful, or at the very least a learning experience. She was always positive, unless you got on her bad side—in which case, you’d best be careful.
“Annabelle,” said Sarah. “I was wondering...”
And so the game was afoot. Sarah had two goals for this evening and I’d gone along with them with only my usual amount of reluctance.
The first goal was to find out more about my father. Sarah had been so eager to get some answers that she threatened to put together a scrapbook by herself on the topic. The second was to “gently encourage” Mom to break up with Donovan.
“Yes?”
Wedding Bells And Magic Spells Box Set Page 37
