Hemlock for the Holidays Page 3
To my amazement, both men stopped fighting, stood up, and dusted themselves off.
“Sorry, Gina,” Eric muttered.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!” she scolded. She glared at the crowd that had gathered. “Excitement's over. Nothing to see here.” Turning back to Kevin, she said, “Come on; our table's ready, and I haven't waited here an hour to skip dinner. Let's go!”
As Kevin followed his wife, Eric watched, rubbing his jaw.
At the restaurant's entrance, Kevin paused, glowering at Eric. “You haven't heard the last of this! Not by a long shot!” he yelled.
Eric made a dismissive gesture, but he was obviously upset. Looking around, he noticed me for the first time. “Hi, Amanda. I don't much feel like having dinner after that. I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company. Tell Susan I'll get in touch with her in a couple of days.”
Without waiting for an answer, he hopped into his truck, backed out of his parking space, and peeled out of the lot.
Chapter 5
When I told Susan about the scene I'd witnessed in the parking lot, she said, “I'm tempted to call Eric right now, but I know it won't do any good. He's a brooder. I'd better wait until he calls me. Do you think he's hurt?”
“Probably not seriously, but I think he's going to be sore for several days.”
“I assume Kevin threw the first punch.”
“You're right. I think he took Eric by surprise. Even though they were arguing, Eric didn't act as though he thought they might come to blows.”
“Kevin always was a hothead. He and Eric used to be partners, but then Kevin decided he wanted out. It was before Natalie died, but, even at the time, the business wasn't doing very well. Eric insisted he could make a go of it on his own, so he agreed to buy Kevin's share.”
“From what they said, it sounded as though Eric hasn't made any payments for a really long time, and, coincidentally, I happened to find out today that Eric's in debt to Greg Winters, too.”
Susan frowned. “Name sounds familiar.”
“I think you met him when we were at the spring arts and crafts fair. He and his wife Rebecca sing in the Lonesome Valley Pioneers Choir.”
“Isn't he the guy who sang 'Ghost Rider in the Sky' that day?”
“That's the one.”
“It sent shivers up my spine. He has a great voice. He seemed like a nice man. I hope he's not going to duke it out with Eric, too.”
“I doubt it. Greg's hyper safety conscious and worried about crime. I can't imagine he'd get into a physical fight with Eric. Besides, they're related—some kind of distant cousins—so he may be more forgiving than Kevin; Greg's really angry, though, according to Rebecca.”
“Evidently, Eric's in pretty deep. I hope he's right that things are going to turn around for him soon. The guy just can't seem to catch a break.”
Susan's concern about Eric's situation distracted her during our dinner, which also turned out to be somewhat disappointing culinary-wise. The food and the service were nothing special, and ambiance was nonexistent. After dinner, we declined dessert and decided that we'd scratch the place off our list. I suggested a do-over at Miguel's the following Sunday, and Susan readily agreed.
I didn't see Susan again until Saturday, when we were both scheduled to work in the Roadrunner's booth at the high school's winter craft fair.
I began to understand how popular the fundraiser was when I had to park several blocks away from the high school. Concession booths run by local organizations lined the wide hallway that led to the gym. The goodies tempted me, but I decided to wait until I left to make my purchases. Belle had already come and gone, having helped set up the Library Auxiliary's tables and worked the morning shift.
The gym buzzed with activity, and I didn't see the Roadrunner's space right away, but when I started walking down the first aisle, I spotted it at the very end.
“Wow! I can't believe how busy it is,” I whispered to a harried Susan between customers. “This is crazy.” I pitched in to help bag the gifts of art that eager customers had selected.
“It comes in waves,” she said, as a high schooler dressed in a band uniform approached with her purchase.
I'd noticed several other band members on my way in, so I asked the student whether the band was performing for the crafts show crowd.
“Oh, no. We have practice in a few minutes out on the field.” She flashed a smile before disappearing through the crowd.
The Roadrunner had booked a triple space, so that we had room to display paintings on a portable grid in the back. There was a table on either side, one with boxes of prints and our checkout area, the other laden with jewelry, pottery, and note cards.
I soon learned what Susan meant by waves. Our booth cleared out for a few minutes, ending the crush I'd seen when I'd come in.
“Hey, Beautiful!” I instantly recognized the voice. Even if I hadn't, only one man in the world had the habit of casually addressing me as “Beautiful.” Susan's twenty-five-year-old nephew Chip loved to flirt, especially with older women. When I'd first met him, I'd taken him seriously, but I'd soon learned not to.
“Hi, Chip. Have you been here all morning?”
“Yup. I helped set up. I volunteered for the early shift since I can't stay all day.”
I knew what he meant. Although Chip was a talented painter, his art career hadn't really taken off, and he worked in his father's pizza parlor. Since Saturday tended to be the busiest for pizza deliveries, I figured he'd have to leave to go to work before the show closed at five.
Chip handed Susan a bottle of water.
She uncapped it and took a sip.
“Water, Amanda?” Chip offered, holding out the other bottle he had. “I can go get another one now while we're not busy.”
“Well. OK. Thank you,” I said, accepting the bottle. Selling art and eating didn't mix, any more than selling art and sipping soft drinks or coffee. The possibility of spilling them was greater when our venue was as active as this one, so water was our go-to drink during busy shows.
I had the chance to take a couple of sips before we were slammed again. I sold a necklace to a young mother, several packets of artists' Christmas cards to a white-haired couple, and a large painting to a dentist who was looking for something to decorate her reception room. By the time Chip came back, we'd fallen into another trough.
“You certainly timed that right,” Susan told her nephew, who grinned in response.
“I see an empty spot on the grid,” he commented. “You must have sold Pamela's tiger portrait. I'd better go grab another painting to replace it. Aunt Susan?”
She reached into her pocket, produced her car keys, and handed them to Chip. “Let's display Ralph's desert landscape. It's in my trunk.”
With a quick nod, Chip left to get the painting. When he returned, he carried it high above his head to avoid close encounters with the crowd. He carefully hung it on the grid and stepped back to make sure it aligned perfectly with the other paintings.
“Looks like we're doing all right,” Chip said.
“This is always a busy show,” Susan agreed.
“I wish I were so busy,” I said wistfully. “Last night was the first time I haven't had even one visitor for my studio tour, and I haven't sold a painting at the Roadrunner in three weeks.”
“Things will pick up,” Susan, ever the optimist, assured me.
“I sure hope so,” I said glumly. I hadn't meant to indulge in a pity party for myself, but after reviewing my finances the previous evening, I admit I'd felt a bit panicky. I told myself to get a grip. My friends, especially Susan, didn't need to be exposed to my distress. She had enough on her plate worrying about Eric's dire financial situation. I wondered whether he'd called her, as he'd promised. I was about to ask her when another crowd inundated us, and it took us half an hour to handle the rush.
When I came up for air, I saw that Chip was talking with a young couple in front of a booth in the corner of the gym.
“How is Eric? He seemed embarrassed after the dust-up with his former partner.”
“Coping, I suppose. He apologized for standing us up. He insisted again that he had something he wanted to show me, but he wouldn't give me any hint about what it is. I told him I could stop by around eight tomorrow evening. I plan on dropping by after our dinner at Miguel's, but I didn't mention it, especially since my first dinner invitation didn't work out too well.”
Several people came into the booth then, and we turned our attention to them. The reprieve between waves had clocked in at a scant minute or two. Finally, the rush subsided.
“I hate to tell you this, but I'm going to have to leave for work,” Chip said, glancing at his phone.
“Sure. No problem,” Susan said. “We're only open for another hour, and Frank's going to come by to help pack up and take the paintings back to the Roadrunner. Say, wasn't that Josh you were talking to?”
“Sure was. I haven't seen him in a while. We're going to the Suns' game in Phoenix next week. Somebody gave him a couple of tickets, and his girlfriend Kayla doesn't want to go. I'm sure Dad won't mind giving me one night off.”
“He'll wish he was the one to get the free tickets—that's for sure.”
“Well, I should get on the road.” Chip winked at me. “Bye, now, Beautiful.”
I smiled at his nonsense and briefly wondered whether Brian thought I was beautiful. He'd never said so, but he had told me he thought I was “amazing.”
I didn't have time to think about it anymore, because Frank showed up just then, and I took the opportunity to visit the food booths in the hallway before they totally sold out of goodies. I found Rebecca at the choir's table, which, fortunately, looked very well stocked. Some of the other tables were practically empty.
“You're in luck,” Rebecca told me. “We just brought in more goodies. If we don't constantly replenish our treats, we'd sell out way before the fair ends.”
“Good idea. I have to have some of that peppermint fudge. It's Emma's favorite. And, let's see, one of those carrot bars, a gingerbread man, a couple brownies, and the big tin of chocolate walnut fudge. That's the same kind as you made for the cookie exchange, isn't it?”
“The very same,” Rebecca assured me.
“I'm going to freeze the candy, so I'll have it when the family comes, but the rest is for me,” I confessed. “I'm going to try to be good and ration them, though.”
“It's hard, isn't it? I can't resist temptation this time of year. Do you want to pick this up on your way home? I can hold it for you.”
“Thanks, Rebecca, but I'd better take it with me now. It's going to be chaos when we break down our booths at five, and you'll probably be able to finish before we will.”
Rebecca neatly stacked the treats I'd bought in a large paper bag with handles, and I returned to the Roadrunner's booth to find another surge of activity. Unfortunately, the buying frenzy didn't include either of my two paintings that were on display, so we'd be hauling those back to the gallery soon.
We were still checking out customers when the five o'clock closing time rolled around, but slowly the gym emptied, leaving only the vendors to pack up their goods and remove their displays. Pamela and her husband Rich showed up to help, and we were able to pack up and load Frank's truck in record time. Pamela told Susan and me we didn't need to come back to the gallery. They planned to unload quickly and sort things out the following morning.
Susan and I were both happy to be on the way home. She'd been there longer than I had, and we both felt tired. “I'm going to call Chip and order a pizza,” she told me. “I'm too exhausted to cook. How about you?”
“I have leftovers from last night's dinner. I'll just pop them into the microwave.”
As we exited the gym, we noticed that quite a few people were still milling about in the hallway, and a couple of food vendors were selling their snacks at half price.
When we left the building, we heard a siren in the distance. Maybe the throng hovering around the entrance expected to catch a glimpse of the emergency vehicle, but we didn't see any flashing red lights.
“Where did you park?” Susan asked when we'd made our way through the crowd.
“Over on Third Street. I couldn't find any place closer.”
“Let me drop you off at your car,” she offered.
“That would be great.”
“I'm right over there,” she said, pointing to her car, which was parked an aisle away.
I sank gratefully into the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt.
Susan backed up and swung into the lane leading to the street in front of the high school. The siren we'd noticed earlier had been growing louder and louder, and now we could see where it came from. An ambulance veered into the lane.
“Uh, oh. It's turning in here. I hope it's nothing too serious.” Susan pulled her car over to the right of the lane as the emergency vehicle sped past us.
“I hope not,” I replied. We both turned and saw the ambulance stop in front of the high school's entrance.
No sooner than it stopped, we were startled to hear another siren, and before we knew it, a second ambulance had turned into the lane.
We looked at each other with concern.
“What in the world is going on?” I asked as more flashing red lights appeared in the distance.
Chapter 6
“Rebecca's still inside. Maybe she knows what happened.” I pulled my cell phone out of my bag, scrolled through my contacts, and punched in her number. She answered immediately.
“We saw the ambulances,” I said, as soon as Rebecca answered. “What's going on? Was there an accident?” I turned on my phone's speaker so that Susan could hear Rebecca, too.
“I'm not sure. The EMTs are going into the band room now. Oh, I hope everyone is going to be all right. We had such a wonderful turnout, and people really enjoyed the fair. I'll call you if I hear any news. Someone must know what happened.”
“OK, thanks, Rebecca. We're keeping our fingers crossed that it turns out not to be too serious.” I put my phone back into my bag.
“We should go,” Susan said. “I'd better get the car out of the way before the ambulances come back.”
Susan dropped me off at my car on Third Street, but, before she left, she asked me to let her know if I found out about the emergency that brought the ambulances to the high school, and I assured her I would.
When I pulled into my carport, I realized that I'd forgotten to leave any lights on in the house. I didn't like coming home to a dark house, but Laddie was waiting to greet me on the other side of the door. I quickly flipped the light switch, and my little home felt as cozy as ever. Mona Lisa jumped down from her kitty tree and ran to me, vying with Laddie for my attention. They both acted a little needier than usual, but I soon realized the reason: it was past their normal dinnertime, and they wanted to eat right away. I set the paper bag containing the cookies and candy I'd bought on the counter, took my coat off, and filled their bowls before I heated the remains of last night's casserole for myself. While it warmed in the oven, I made room in my freezer for the candy. After some rearranging, I was able to close the freezer door. I put my baked goods into the cookie jar, except for the carrot bar, which I decided would make a good dessert. It was piled high with cream cheese frosting, one of my favorites.
I'd just polished off dinner and dessert when my cell phone rang. I fished for it in my bag, picked it up, and saw that Rebecca was calling.
“It's awful,” she began, before choking back a sob.
My heart sank, and I held my breath while I waited for her to continue.
“They took my neighbor Carmen and two band members to the hospital. Some guy from the county health department suspects they have food poisoning, but that's not the worst of it. He found out that all three of them b
ought carrot bars from the Pioneers. I still don't believe it. I know every one of the choir members who made treats for us to sell, and they're all reliable people. This is the tenth year we've had a booth. It just doesn't seem possible.”
“Carrot bars?” I croaked. “I just ate one of them!”
“Did they have little carrots piped in orange and green frosting on the top?”
“No, just cream cheese frosting.”
“And you bought it sometime around four, if I remember right, not in the last half hour.”
“That's right.”
“You bought different bars than the ones that made the kids and Carmen sick. We always replenish our stock about half an hour before the fair's due to close. We sold only the decorated bars after that. The funny thing is—well, it's not funny, but odd—that nobody knew who made them. Mary made the bars with plain cream cheese frosting, but she didn't decorate any of her carrot bars.”
Despite Rebecca's reassurances, I felt a bit queasy at the mere thought of possible food poisoning.
“I can't understand how this happened,” Rebecca wailed. “I really can't. I've spoken to everybody who made treats to sell at our booth, and they all brought exactly what they signed up to bring. I know for sure Mary didn't make the decorated bars because I saw her bring in the plain ones myself, and then she left. She couldn't help at the booth this year because her husband's recovering from a stroke at home, and she needs to be with him most of the time until he can manage better on his own.”
“How did the man from the health department figure out the problem was with the carrot bars so quickly?”
“He asked Carmen and the band members if they had eaten anything there, and the bars are the only thing they ate. I remember selling one to Carmen myself. I feel so guilty.”
“There's no way you could have known she'd get food poisoning from it.”
“I know, but I still feel really bad. When the EMTs wheeled her out on a gurney to the ambulance, she was wearing an oxygen mask. Greg and I are going to head over to the hospital in a few minutes to see how she's doing.”