Cooking the Books

by Chelsea Thomas

  “Chelsea? Hello?” Jennifer waved her hand in front of my face. I snapped my focus back to her.

  She had caught me in in my feeble lie, so my next move was to feign surprise. My voice shot up two registers as I squealed, “Jennifer! So good to see you.”

  “Really? It’s good to see me? You didn’t even invite me to your wedding.”

  I wonder why, I thought. But I kept a nice big smile plastered on my face. “Still! It’s always nice to see a familiar face.”

  “Every face is familiar. This is friggin’ Pine Grove. I thought you got out of this stinkhole, why are you even back?”

  She knew why I was back. Everyone in town knew about my runaway groom situation. Half of them had heard it from Jennifer while she was cutting their hair. But then again, I had just pretended not to know who she was, so we were both guilty.

  I straightened my posture and said, “I’m happy to be back in town, working with Miss May. I get to do the seasonal décor for the farm, and I’m helping to upgrade the cabins, and I’m doing all the weddings. It's a lot of fun.”

  “Yeah, when someone doesn’t die in the middle of a rehearsal dinner.”

  “Right. It’s fun except when someone’s murdered. I figured that was implicit,” I said, unable to avoid the creep of sarcasm into my voice. It was just like Jennifer to glibly reference a tragedy while arguing about free donuts. “The murder was unfortunate. So how about those samples—”

  Jennifer held up a finger like “stop talking for a sec.” Then she finished a text conversation on her phone, smiling to herself as she searched for just the right emoji.

  I tried to stay patient, but other people in line grumbled with frustration. I cleared my throat to move things along. “So whaddaya say? Two free donuts?”

  “No thanks.” Jennifer looked up from her phone. “I’d like a free dozen. You know. ‘Cuz this is winter fest. And everything’s supposed to be free.”

  Jennifer’s words worked like a screwdriver on my face, tightening my expression, and threatening to make the bolts pop right off.

  I took a deep breath. “Actually, all the vendors have something for sale, aside from whatever they’re offering free.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jennifer said. “How am I supposed to afford donuts at these prices, when people like you are going back to Manhattan to get their hair cut!? I’m barely making enough to live!”

  I gasped. She knew about my secret haircuts! Still, I tried to cover. “That’s crazy! I didn’t go to Manhattan for a haircut.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Jennifer said. “My dad saw you on the train. Long hair in the morning. Short on the way back home. He said it looked like a real hack job.”

  Shoot. I'd been caught. Still, I tried to make excuses. “Ohhh, maybe I did get a cut in the city. One time. But, you know, I was in the down there anyway, so I figured why not.”

  “Those city salons don’t take walk-ins,” Jennifer said. “You had an appointment.” Jennifer put her hands on her hips and glared at me. She had me backed into a wintry corner. “Way to support local businesses, Chels.”

  I hung my head. There was no point protesting any further. “You’re right,” I said. “I guess I was just missing the city. I’ll go to you for all my haircuts from now on.” Whyyyyy? Why would I say that?

  Jennifer shook her head with disappointment and I felt my people-pleasing genes overriding my system. Sometimes, manipulative people took advantage of that element of my personality. I was working on being more assertive, on standing my ground, on being a stronger woman. But at that moment, faced with Jennifer’s judge-y gaze, my resolve crumbled like a day-old apple fritter.

  “Take the dozen donuts,” I said. “On me.” I reached into my purse, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and placed it in the till. “I’ll come by next time I need a cut.”

  “Better make it soon,” Jennifer said. “Those dead ends are harshing my buzz.”

  Jennifer grabbed a bag of donuts from the table and strode away. I breathed a sigh of relief, then stapled a smile back to my face and turned to the next customer.

  “Hi, how can I—” My plastic smile turned genuine when I saw who was in line. “Teeny! Hi!”

  Teeny looked adorable in a bright pink sweater and Santa hat, and her light-blue eyes popped against the gray sky. Teeny didn’t care if we were a solid month and a half past Christmas. To her, festival meant festive, and festive meant Santa. I loved that about her. Teeny craned her neck after Jennifer, watching as the curly-headed devil bounced away into the crowd.

  “What was wrong with that girl?” Teeny said. “I would’ve shoved those donuts right where the sun only shines in the shower!”

  I laughed. “Do you want your free donut or are you here to talk?”

  “I want my donut. What am I, stupid?” Teeny grabbed a donut and took a big bite.

  She groaned with enjoyment. I knew she was exaggerating her experience for the crowd, but I appreciated her enthusiasm.

  “Good?” I asked with a wry smile.

  “Incredible,” Teeny yelled. She turned back to the crowd. “These donuts are the best I’ve ever had! I'll take three dozen!”

  Teeny turned back to me, still talking loud enough for everyone to hear. “And your Fruit and Fir Farm hosts events too? Holy whiskers! I plan on hosting my next wedding, rehearsal dinner, funeral, or important birthday there!”

  Teeny winked at me. I laughed and said, “We don’t do funerals. But thanks for the free advertising.”

  “Any time,” Teeny said. “Only one thing I want in exchange.”

  Teeny smiled her sneakiest smile. Bright white teeth bared and thin blond eyebrows raised. I had seen that smile many times before, and it rarely ended with me happy.

  “Please don’t tell me you—”

  “I signed you up for the sled-riding race!” Teeny jumped up and down and clapped her hands, like a golf-fan stuck on fast forward.

  I slouched. The sled-riding race was a huge deal at the Winter Fest. Teeny had signed me up every single year when I was a kid, but I had hoped that I would get a pass that year. You know. Because I was a grown woman.

  “Teeny! I can’t,” I said. “I'm too old for that race! Please don't make me.”

  “I’m not going to make you,” Teeny said. “I’m going to beg until you give in and say yes!”

  Ugh. She wasn’t kidding.

  Teen clasped her hands together. “Please, please, please do the race, Chelsea! It’s so cute! I don’t have kids. Please let me live vicariously through you!”

  “I’m almost thirty,” I said. “Nothing I do is cute.”

  Miss May approached, carrying another big box of donuts. “Just do the race, Chels! It’ll be fun.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Now you’re teaming up on me?”

  Miss May shrugged. “Looks like it.”

  “I was too old for that race when I was a teenager.”

  “You were not,” Teeny said. I sighed. Stand your ground, Chels!

  But Teeny pressed on. “Please, Chelsea! Winner gets free dinner-theatre tickets all year. Don’t you want to take me to free dinner-theatre? Don’t you want to bond!? Don’t you want to hear me sing all the words to West Side Story!? MARRIIIIAAAAAAA...”

  “That is beautiful,” I said. “But this race gave me a bloody nose every single year when I was a kid. I don’t think you want to put me through that again.”

  “Just don’t steer into a tree,” Teeny said. “And your nose will be fine.”

  Teeny looked up at me with her big, blue eyes. Remember how I said people sometimes manipulated my people-pleasing side?

  But Teeny was much sweeter than Jennifer, and I was a sucker for tradition. The sled race was important to Teeny. And I wanted to make her happy. So I cracked.

  “Fine!” I said. “I’ll do it.”

  Teeny pumped her tiny fists, grabbed my hand, and pulled me away.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Where do you t
hink?” Teeny asked. “Two minutes ‘til race time!”

  I stammered. “No! I— I can’t go now! I need more time to prepare!”

  “You’ll be fine,” Teeny said. “Just remember, if another kid gets in your lane you’ve got to use your elbows. Protect your space and stay low. And don’t get suckered in if one of ‘em starts to cry!”

  I protested, but Teeny was already ten feet in front of me, pushing her way through the crowd so we’d make it to the race on time.

  I followed behind her.

  I didn’t know it, but that race was going to be worse than all the rest of them combined.

  4

  Murder a la Mode

  THE WALK OVER TO THE sledding hill — through a patch of evergreens and past a small pond — would have been peaceful if not for my mounting fear and Teeny’s boisterous strategizing.

  Teeny was in favor of what she called the “face-first technique.” As the name suggested, this technique would have had me lying down on the sled on my stomach, careening down the hill with my face first.

  My argument against the face-first technique was that I liked my face and didn’t want to ruin it for all time. Teeny’s counter-argument was based on her desire to see “as much community theatre as humanly possible.”

  In the end, we settled on feet-first, but only if I let Teeny choose my sled. I agreed but regretted my decision as soon as I saw the speed-demon Teeny selected out of the lineup.

  The sled was long, skinny, and pink. Teeny claimed it had “optimal aero-dynamic efficiency.” And it said “speed-demon” right on its slim, pink side.

  When I approached the starting line, a row of children — eight or nine years old — were already waiting for the race to begin.

  The kids looked adorable all bundled up in their winter coats and hats, and each one had a mother or father behind them, snapping photos and chatting.

  I was bloated from eating pizza and French fries the night before and I had squeezed into my jacket like a sausage. So yeah. Less adorable.

  As I dragged my sled past the parents toward a free spot at the end of the line, it occurred to me that this was the ultimate walk of shame.

  But when I made it to the last person in line, I was happy to find a few teenagers joking around with a slight, balding man who looked to be about forty.

  I smiled as I got closer to the man. “Boy, am I glad to see another adult in this race!”

  The man gave me a sideways glance and spoke in a lilting tenor, “Don’t be too glad. I’m here to win!”

  The teenagers cracked up and continued joking around with the guy.

  “Mr. Frank’s gonna take this thing down!”

  “Heck yeah I am,” the man said.

  The teenagers laughed again. I leaned in and got a closer look at my adult competition. He was well-dressed. Wearing tight snow-pants, and one of those super-soft puffy jackets. And he had flannel accents on all his accessories. Far more fashionable than most men in Pine Grove. But where did I know him from?

  “I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve met you before. Have you lived in Pine Grove a long time?”

  “Been a teacher at the high school almost twenty years.”

  “Of course!” I exclaimed. “Mr. Frank! Now I remember you. I never had you, but my friends did. You were the coolest teacher in school, so I heard.”

  A peach-fuzzed teenage boy chimed in, “He’s vice principal now! Big time baller!”

  “Wow,” I said. “Vice principal. Congrats, Mr. Frank.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Frank said. “And please. Call me Marvin. All the kids do after they graduate.”

  “OK,” I said. “Nice to see you again, Marvin. Good luck.”

  I reached out for a handshake, but Marvin pulled his hand back at the last second and passed it through his hair.

  The teenagers “oooooohed” like Marvin totally got me. Which was fair, ‘cuz he did.

  “I don’t shake hands with the competition,” Marvin said. “There’s too much at stake.”

  I laughed, but Marvin looked serious. “Those tickets are everything to me.”

  Marvin stared me down. I felt myself shrinking under his unblinking gaze. One inch shorter. Two inches. I needed all the height I could get. After what felt like forever, Mr. Frank broke into a big smirk. “I’m just kidding. Have fun out there!”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” I said. “You have fun, too.”

  Marvin nodded, jumped into his sled, and pulled goggles down over his eyes. He looked like an Olympic luger getting ready for the gold medal race. All focus, sinewy muscle, and determination.

  If Marvin were a cheetah ready for the hunt, I was a cocker spaniel that needed a nap. I contemplated calling it quits, but then I looked back at Teeny. Her lips were spread in a nine-inch grin, and she gave me a big thumbs up.

  I guess I’m doing this.

  Before I had a chance to reconsider the race, Mayor Delgado walked a few feet out in front of the starting line and addressed the racers.

  “Welcome children of Pine Grove! Plus Marvin and Chelsea! Are you ready to race!?”

  The kids cheered. Marvin looked concerned. He raised his hand and waited to be called on, the true sign of someone who spends too much time in school. Mayor Delgado spotted him.

  “Yes? Marvin?”

  “Hi. Wasn’t Mrs. Fitz supposed to wave the flag to start the race? Shouldn’t we wait for her?”

  Mrs. Fitz was Pine Grove’s high school principal, and the wife of the widely-hated local CPA, Charles. It made sense that Principal Fitz would start the race, since it was intended for children. And it made sense that Marvin had noticed her absence. He was her right hand man, after all.

  “Mrs. Fitz is under the weather this morning, so I’m filling in,” Mayor Delgado said.

  Marvin nodded. A look of concern flashed across his face, but a broad, smarmy grin followed in its wake. “Too bad she’s going to miss me teaching all these young guns a lesson!”

  “OK, Marvin,” Mayor Delgado said. “Save it for the racetrack.”

  Mayor Delgado raised the town flag above her head and prepared to start the race. “Are you ready, kids, Marvin, and Chelsea!?”

  The kids cheered. I gave a weak “yay,” which was all I could muster.

  “On you mark, get set...go!” Mayor Delgado waved the town flag back and forth like she was at the Daytona 500. Teeny gave me a big push, and we were off...

  The first ten seconds of the race, I felt free.

  My sled carved through the powder like a knife. The whooshing air invigorated my senses. My eyes were laser-focused on the path ahead of me. I hadn’t felt so unencumbered since the first time I had ridden a bike without training wheels. I imagined this was how flying might feel.

  The cold air hit my teeth as I smiled wide. I let out a gleeful, “Woooo!”

  I was winning. I never won anything, and being in the lead felt surprisingly good. Dinner theatre, here I come.

  Then I hit a skid of ice, and my sled spun a dozen times in a matter of seconds.

  There was nothing I could do, so I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.

  I opened my eyes once and saw Marvin speeding past me on his death-sled. I opened my eyes again, and I was facing back toward the starting line.

  The third time I opened my eyes I was careening toward a giant boulder.

  That time, I grabbed ahold of the side of my sled and pulled hard to the left. I missed the boulder by about an inch, but I pulled so hard that the sled veered straight into the forest off to the side of the hill.

  I tried to course-correct, but it was too late.

  Whoomph! I hit a small bump and soared into the forest, screaming “No no no!” at the top of my lungs. This was not good. Then...

  Wha-poof! I landed between two big evergreens and raced downhill through boulders, logs, and trees at twice the speed I had been moving on the track.

  I had been scared when I was still on the designated course, but once I disappeare
d into the trees, I was petrified. Number one, the likelihood of a catastrophic crash had skyrocketed. Number two, within milliseconds I was so deep in the forest that no one would hear if I screamed. They’d never find me if I crashed into a rock and died.

  Just steer! I thought. Don’t hit anything! Stay focused! Stop thinking about how you might die!

  For the first hundred feet, I stayed on my sled despite my self-defeating inner-monologue. Then I hit a log that was half-hidden in the snow, and everything kicked into high gear.

  The bump sent my sled three feet into the air. When I landed, my speed doubled once again, and I was suddenly on what I would call the “death drop” part of the hill.

  Branches and boulders whizzed by me at what felt like a thousand miles per hour. My sled skidded across black ice with violent scraping sounds. And my inner-monologue had morphed into a mono-syllabic S.0.S.

  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

  I contemplated rolling off the sled like James Bond from a burning car or grabbing a branch and hanging there like Tarzan in the jungle.

  Then I spotted what looked like a fifty-foot drop up ahead...straight over a cliff.

  I tried to stop the sled by shoving my hands into the snow at my sides, but it was no use. I was hurtling toward a literal abyss, and I would have to jump.

  I took a deep breath and braced myself. Then, about fifty feet from the drop, my sled clipped a tree, and I catapulted upward like someone had shot me from a circus cannon.

  As I soared through the air, my perception of time slowed, and I was frozen in a long, silent suspension, high above the earth.

  I wished I could say my life flashed before my eyes, but it didn’t. Instead, I thought about how mad I was at myself. I had spent too much of my time letting people talk me into things I didn’t want to do. If I survived this crash, I swore I would change. I would stop giving away free donuts to mean girls. I would stop worrying about where I got my hair cut. And I would put cheese on everything. And, and, and—

  Oomph!

  I belly-flopped right onto a four-foot snow drift.