by Meg Muldoon
Chapter 24
After getting back from the café, I poured myself a cup of orange blossom tea and then set about making another batch of Raspberry Lemon Pudding pies. I half-listened to the soap opera playing on the local news station in the background as I gathered the ingredients.
On my walk back to the pie shop, I had decided to stop over at Geronimo Brew Pub to check on Warren and Aileen. The last of the film crew was leaving, and my grandfather and his wife seemed to be in good spirits.
But I could tell by the underlying expression of worry in Warren’s eyes that not all was daisies, the way he’d pretended with the crew. I imagined the reality of what had happened last night had settled in a little. No doubt, he’d spent some time the night before going over the scenarios in his head, much like I had. And some of those scenarios probably scared him, the way they had me.
When I left, Red – one of his brewers – was talking about how they should get a gun to keep behind the bar of the pub just in case something like that happened again.
I wasn’t fond of the idea, and normally, Warren wouldn’t have been either. He was a big believer in people working their problems out with words, not weapons. But I got the feeling that the incident had shaken him enough to give Red’s suggestion at least a passing thought.
I just hoped Daniel would catch the robber soon. That might give the old man some peace of mind.
I began building the base for the lemon pudding, cracking several dozen eggs into a big bowl while heating up some milk and sugar in a saucepan.
I glanced over at the TV as the local news came on over the soap opera credits.
“…Good afternoon. I’m Justin Salzwedal. It’s two o’clock and here’s your latest news from the Central Oregon area. This just in – the Booze Bandit has struck again. This time the serial robber hit The Red Burro in Pine Grove
At approximately 1 p.m., the owner of The Red Burro called 9-1-1 to report a robbery in progress…”
I stopped what I was doing, my eyes glued to the images of the flashing red and blue lights outside of the ramshackle Pine Grove Brewpub.
With the way Daniel had left earlier, I’d had a feeling it probably had something to do with the robber. I’d been waiting for the local news to come on to confirm what I suspected.
“He struck again already?”
I glanced back behind me to see Tiana coming into the kitchen. She had a pink scarf wrapped around her neck and she was carrying a massive, heavy-looking cardboard box.
Her cheeks were bright from the cold.
I ran over to help before the large package crushed her.
“That’s what they’re saying,” I said, taking the box from her and setting it down on the counter. “In Pine Grove this time.”
Pine Grove was a tiny town about an hour south on the highway. I’d only been there a few times, having no real good reason to visit. The people who lived in Pine Grove lived there for a reason – and it wasn’t because they liked socializing.
“Why do you suppose he only goes after bars and breweries?” Tiana asked, watching the screen.
“Maybe because it’s easier,” I said. “Small amounts of money that can’t be traced. Small business owners who don’t see him coming. Of course now every bar owner in the area’s going to be on alert, so it’s probably not going to be easy anymore.”
“Is Daniel any closer to catching him?”
“I hope so,” I said, my eyes going back to the TV. “But it sounds like he got away again.”
We watched the news broadcast a little longer. The robbery had taken place much in the same way that it had at Geronimo Brewing Co. The robber had broken into the pub before it opened for the day, holding one of the employees at gunpoint and emptying out the money in the pub’s safe.
“Well, I hope the Sheriff catches him real soon,” Tiana said. “I wouldn’t want anything hanging over your upcoming trip.”
She took off her scarf and hung it up on the coat rack.
“Best to go into big trips like that with nothing holding you back,” she continued. “Or at least, that’s what it seems like. I can’t say I’ve ever been on a trip quite that big: I’ve never been outside the U.S.”
“Really?”
She let out a wistful sigh.
“Always wanted to go someplace exciting. You know my ex-husband? He promised that he’d take me to Europe one day. But the years came and went, and the farthest place he ever got was the state penitentiary.”
She smiled a little sadly.
“Looking back, I’m glad I didn’t have to go anywhere with him. But I sure wouldn’t mind having a romantic dinner in some fancy foreign city with my Toby.”
I turned down the volume on the television as the news switched to a story about the local library book drive.
“You and Tobias should do that, Tiana. You’ve got all that unused vacation time, you know. What’s stopping you?”
Tiana smiled sheepishly, then shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m too old for that kind of thing now. Big trips like that are for the young.”
I scoffed, putting my orange blossom tea down and placing my hands on my hips.
“Oh, pish-posh. I’d like to remind you of a certain old man named Warren Peters who went off to Scotland as a full-fledged octogenarian and had an absolute ball. Even came back with a wife.”
“That’s different,” Tiana said, going over to the box she’d brought in and cutting the tape on its edges with a knife. “Warren… he’s, well, he’s special.”
“So are you, Tiana. And you’re about 40 years younger than him, too. Besides, life’s about having some adventures. Don’t you think?”
She shrugged again, opening the box. She pulled out the new mint-green mixer that I’d ordered earlier in the week.
With the way ovens were breaking these days, I figured it was never too early to start preparing for the summer tourist season. Plus, I knew that Tiana had had her heart set on this mint-green, state-of-the-art mixer for some time now. If it did at least half the things the box promised, it was going to make both of our lives a good deal easier.
“Well, maybe I’ll talk to Toby about that vacation time,” she said. “I’m not saying we’ll go to Europe or anything big like that. But maybe some sort of vacation is a good idea.”
She set the mixer down on the counter and then wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“Well, now that that’s settled, what do you say we give this pretty piece of machinery a spin?”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
“You did all the heavy lifting,” I said. “You’ve got first dibs.”
She grinned.
A moment later, the whisk attachment was whirring as smooth as buttercream frosting around the bowl.
Chapter 25
“Snowmen in Siberia! Oh my goodness… It’s only you, Mr. Longworth. I thought for a moment that… that—”
I lowered the bread knife in my hand, setting it back down on the counter. I let out a sigh of relief and clutched my chest.
My heart was still pounding like a bread machine set to knead.
I’d been in the Harvest Bakery kitchen, baking a batch of blueberry pies, when I’d heard a noise coming from the front of the store. Thoughts of The Booze Bandit zipped through my mind then, and I’d become paranoid. I’d grabbed the closest bread knife to defend myself.
And when I saw the silhouette of a man through the dark entrance of the kitchen, well, I just about jumped out of my skin.
Luckily, I’d had my wits about me and recognized Frank Longworth before I could do anything crazy.
Although with how dull the average bread knife was, I wasn’t sure how much damage I would have really been able to inflict.
Frank Longworth stared at me for a long moment, then glanced down at the knife on the counter.
“Only me,” he said gruffly.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I, uh, I see that now.”
He walked into th
e kitchen, taking off his black beanie cap and crumpling it up in his hands. He marched over to a far counter, where a row of large ceramic crocks sat.
“Forgot to feed the starter,” he mumbled.
I watched for a moment as he grabbed a bag of flour and began measuring out scoops of it, dropping heaps into the crocks and stirring their contents with a wooden spoon.
“Sourdough starter needs feeding twice a day,” he said. “You miss a feeding, the flavor suffers.”
“Oh. I, uh, I didn’t know that.”
Though I spent all day baking, I hardly knew anything about making bread.
Frank went about adding water to each crock in silence.
I swallowed hard.
Something about Mr. Longworth made me nervous. I knew part of it was because of his no-nonsense manner of speaking and his gruff ways.
But there was more to it than just that. I’d met my share of ornery people over the years, and none of them made me quite as uncomfortable as Frank Longworth. There was something about him – a kind of coldness. He was hard to read. And his long silences, where I didn’t have the foggiest idea of what he was thinking, didn’t help any.
“The ovens working out for you?” he asked brusquely.
“Great,” I said a little too quickly. “No problems at all.”
“Good.”
I cleared my throat.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about payment, Mr. Longworth. I can pay you by check or by—”
“We’ll settle it all when you’re finished here,” he said. “I believe services should be rendered first. That way everything’s clear. But as I told you, the price will be fair.”
I nodded.
“Okay. Fine by me.”
I went back to work, dividing the ruby-colored blueberry filling into a row of prepared pie crusts. I was about to say something else – to try and make some sort of conversation – but then a jingle filled the kitchen.
Mr. Longworth fumbled for his phone in the pocket of his down vest. He brought it up to his ear.
“Frank here.”
There was a muffled voice on the other end of the line that I couldn’t make out.
“No, I sent it in last week.”
I tried not to eavesdrop, but in a space that small, it was hard not to. I focused on my blueberry pies and went over to the oven and opened it, trying to look as busy and disinterested as possible.
“No, ma’am. I’d remember if I didn’t. You check your records again.”
His voice started growing louder.
And angrier.
“What? I don’t believe you people. You know, I don’t have to put up with this. We’ll go elsewhere if this is how you’re going to continue running things.”
I placed the pies in the oven and thought about stepping outside and giving Frank some privacy.
“I am not raising my voice, ma’am. When I raise my voice, you’ll know!”
He slammed the phone down on the counter and I imagined that was the end of that conversation.
I tried to look busy again, like I hadn’t overhead anything. I began moving some of my bowls over to the sink area.
“Bastards,” he mumbled. “Bunch of bastards.”
He was red in the face and looked like he could blow his top at any minute.
He let out another long sigh and crossed his arms tightly against his chest. For a long moment, he seemed to be deep in an angry thought.
But as the seconds passed, his anger seemed to cool.
I felt his eyes on me.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that in front of you.”
“It’s all right.”
He let out an unsteady breath.
“It’s this company I order my supplies through. They keep raising their prices, and now they’re claiming they didn’t get last month’s payment when I know we paid them. This is the second time it’s happened, and I…”
He trailed off.
“This work is hard enough. I’m in here before sun-up and I don’t leave until after sundown. I’m tired, and I don’t need the aggravation of someone trying to rip me off.”
I dusted my hands on my apron.
“If it helps any, I’m really happy with my delivery service,” I said. “They’re always on time, the quality’s good, and they haven’t raised their prices since I’ve been with them.”
Frank scratched at the gray stubble on his chin and didn’t answer. He looked like he was suddenly far away.
“I could bring their business card when I come by tomorrow,” I said.
He paused for a long moment.
“What?”
I repeated myself.
“Oh. Yes. I’d… I’d appreciate that.”
The conversation died out again, and I began cleaning up my work space. I still felt a little nervous – I could feel Frank’s eyes on me, and I knew that he was no doubt studying my tidiness in his kitchen.
He started making motions like he was about to leave.
But then, Frank Longworth did something I would have never expected him to do.
He started making small talk.
“Do you ever think of quitting all of this, Cinnamon?”
It was the first time he’d actually said my name, and I felt caught off guard by it. I had the sense that he mostly grunted at people to get their attention.
“You mean running a pie shop?”
He nodded.
I shook my head without a moment’s hesitation.
“I don’t know what else I would or could do, honestly. Baking pie is my passion. I guess you could say I’m in it for the long haul.”
I glanced over at him.
“You?”
“I felt that way once about baking,” he said.
“But not anymore?”
He shrugged.
“Sometimes I dream of handing over the keys to this place to my daughter, taking the little money I have, and moving up to a cabin in the mountains.”
He stared out the small window that faced the side of the toy shop next door.
“A fresh start in a place where no one knows my name.”
I waited for more, but he stopped speaking.
“Well, you’ve been in business for a long while,” I said. “It’s probably natural to want to retire.”
“I didn’t used to believe in retirement. I always believed you find something you love doing – and you do it until the very end. But sometimes, the spark just goes out of something. And try as you might, you can’t get it back.”
His eyes remained fixed on nothing as he spoke.
“It’s just gone,” he added.
I struggled to come up with something to say, but I fell short.
After a long moment, he shook his head, as if waking from a dream.
Then he gave me a weak smile that came out odd on his features.
“I’m sorry – sometimes I talk too much when I get tired.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “I mean, I’m just waiting on pies now, anyway. I don’t have anything else to do but talk.”
It was now obvious to me that Mr. Longworth was a troubled man.
I knew a thing or two about troubles, and I knew that sometimes, the best therapy in the world was to talk about them with a good listener.
But I could see Mr. Longworth already pulling back as I spoke.
“I should get home before the roads freeze. My tires are too worn down to handle ice.”
He put the large container of flour back in the pantry and pushed the crocks into a perfect, neat row. Then, before I could say so much as “goodnight,” Frank Longworth was out of the kitchen in a head-spinning blur.
I let out a sigh, glancing at the small photo of Frank and his two kids that he kept up on a cork board in the far corner of the kitchen.
Some people had trouble opening up to others. I knew, because I had been like that once.
And I also knew that it wasn’t easy living that way.
It made a perso
n feel isolated and alone.
I waited around until the pies were finished. Then I dropped them back off at the shop and drove home in the cold, foggy night.
Chapter 26
“You know, when I talked to you last, I thought for sure you were giving Rex the ol’ brush off. So you can imagine my surprise when only a few hours later, Roberta here tells me that you called back and wanted to cash in on the coffee lunch date.”
Rex leaned across the table, tapping me on the arm.
“Somebody had it bad to see me, eh?”
I forced a smile, glancing over at his assistant Roberta who had just gotten up and given me her seat. The well-dressed middle-aged woman was sliding on her jacket, seemingly oblivious to Rex’s gesture.
Or maybe she was just used to him by now.
“I’m going to pick up your dry cleaning and I’ll call the producer back about that segment idea you had,” she said. “I’ll be back to pick you up at 1 p.m.”
Roberta started walking away, but then Rex stopped her.
“Better make that one-thirty, honey,” Rex said. “Ms. Peters paid quite a bit for this lunch, and I wouldn’t want her to feel cheated now.”
Roberta nodded at him with a distant, uncaring look. Then she marched out the door, not so much as saying “goodbye” or “it was nice meeting you” to me.
But, I supposed that working for Rex all these years might take a toll on a person. Plus, I imagined it would be strange working for your brother-in-law. Being family of sorts had to add more pressure than usual to the situation.
“What she lacks in friendliness she makes up for in efficiency,” Rex said when she left. “She’s a damn fine scheduler. I’ve never had a single mix up in all the time she’s worked for me.”
I signaled the waitress at The Marionberry Truck Stop Diner for another cup of coffee. She nodded before sneaking a glance at my brunch date.
I imagined that after so many years of telling people the weather here in Christmas River, Rex Dawson was used to those kinds of looks. He was just about the closest thing we had to a celebrity, and over the years, I’d heard quite a bit of gossip flying around in the dining room of my pie shop about Rex the weatherman.
