Page 5 of Mail-Order Avis (A Mail-Order Mystery #3)

Five

“ Y ou can never go wrong with chicken and dumplings.”

Avis filled the tureen as Tamsin and Alicia watched.

Samuel, Reed, and guests from out of town were already seated at the dining room table.

She’d made her father’s favorite dish, pairing it with mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, and dinner rolls.

For dessert, she’d baked cherry pie using her mother’s recipe.

She remembered helping her mother with pies as a little girl and had reveled in the smell of them baking that afternoon.

She hadn’t seen Reed Barclay since that morning but knew he was waiting with the others because Alicia thought it necessary to announce that the man had entered the dining room.

Good grief. It was a dining room, not a throne room.

He was the town’s future mayor, not royalty.

That is, if someone didn’t up and decide to run against him. Hmmm… what if someone did?

“Is this everything, dear?” Alicia asked as she fussed around the worktable.

Avis took in the bowls of potatoes, beans, and salad. “Yes. Tamsin, did you already take the rolls out to the table?”

“I did.” She took off her apron. “If you don’t mind, I’ll try a quick bite of everything, then I’d better get on home.”

“You do that, dear, but we want to hear what you think,” Alicia said. She picked up the bowl of salad and green beans. “Ready when you are, Avis.”

Avis smiled. Ever since they’d gone over the contract that morning, Alicia insisted she call her and her husband by their Christian names. Since they’d be seeing a lot of each other, and because she was living in their boardinghouse, Avis had agreed.

The three women carried the food to the table and set it down. Tamsin gave them all a parting smile and retreated back to the kitchen. Avis and Alicia sat.

Samuel looked at everything as Avis removed the lid from the tureen and smiled. “This looks and smells delicious.” He said a quick blessing, and the meal began.

“My, this is the best chicken and dumplings I’ve ever had,” Mr. Kirk said. He was a salesman passing through on his way to Portland. Avis had met him that afternoon.

“Indeed,” said Mrs. Patzer. “Don’t you think so, dear?”

Her husband grunted something and kept eating.

Mrs. Patzer smiled. “That means he likes it. You’ll find my husband’s a man of few words.”

“Well, I agree with him,” Mrs. Hammer said. She and her husband were here for a few days to take in the park and explore the town. “What do you think, Henry?”

Mr. Hammer took another bite of food. “Delicious. Get the recipe, Martha.”

She giggled and helped herself to another dumpling.

Avis smiled and found herself staring at Mr. Barclay. What would he think of her cooking?

He stared at his untouched food. He’d been the last to serve himself. Mr. Barclay met her gaze as he stabbed at a piece of chicken and brought the fork to his mouth. Even Alicia and Samuel were watching him now.

As far as Avis knew, the other guests didn’t know about the fix they were in, or rather, the fix she was in. She was the one drawn out here under false pretenses.

Mr. Barclay’s eyebrows shot up. “This is good. Very good.” He took another bite and smiled. Then he tried the rest of his food and smiled again. “You have a winning dish here, Miss Prescott.”

Part of her inwardly sang at his praise, while another part shot it down. What does he know? She lowered her head and stared at her food. Oh yes, he’d managed a restaurant in a major city. But did he cook?

“Avis, dear,” Alicia said. “Reed asked you a question.”

She looked up. “Oh?”

“Rosemary,” he said. “You’re using a hint of rosemary.”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded and took a bite of her own food.

“I like it.” He smiled and continued to eat. The meal was quiet, which Avis took as a good sign. Everyone had second helpings of the chicken and dumplings, and she had to refill the tureen.

The men complimented her on the meal several more times (even Mr. Patzer) before she and Alicia went to fetch the pie and coffee.

“Cherry pie, my favorite,” Mr. Hammer said. “I can already tell the crust is going to melt in my mouth.” He turned to his wife with a happy smile. “Get the recipe, Martha.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Hammer said. “I thought you lovedmycherry pie.”

“I do, my dear. But one has to admit, it doesn’t look like this .” Mr. Hammer rubbed his hands together in anticipation and smiled at Avis. “I’m sure this is going to be delightful.” He took his first bite and closed his eyes in bliss. “Martha, you have to get the recipe now.”

Mrs. Hammer looked a little put out but turned to Avis. “May I?”

“Of course,” Avis said. “It’s my mother’s recipe. I remember baking pies with her when I was younger. It was one of my favorite things to do.”

“Is that when you learned to cook?” Mr. Barclay asked.

“It was the start, yes. Pies were one thing, bread another. I loved baking both. You could hardly keep me out of the kitchen when it came to baking cookies.”

Mr. Hammer and Mr. Kirk smiled. “Did you have any brothers?” Mr. Kirk asked. “If you did, I’m sure they loved every time you baked.”

“No, it was just the three of us,” Avis said. “But my uncle owned a café in town, and Mother and I often made desserts for him to sell to his customers. As I got older, I began to bake and cook for him.”

Mr. Barclay didn’t say a word. Instead, he studied her, and Avis couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. How rude would it be to ask?

Mr. Barclay looked over his pie as though he were judging it at a county fair. After several bites, he said, “Delicious.” He smiled at Alicia and Samuel. “She’s a fine cook.” He turned the smile back to Avis. “What else do you have in your culinary repertoire?”

Avis hadn’t meant to smile, but it slipped out. “Quite a few things, Mr. Barclay. It may surprise you that I brought several cookery books with me.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all if you’re a genuine cook. Though I imagine you’ve memorized quite a few recipes.”

“That I have.” Avis resumed eating her own dessert and sipped her coffee. This had gone well. She had no doubt she’d be signing the contracts with Alicia and Samuel after dessert. Then she’d see to cleaning up the kitchen. Bed was already sounding good, and she realized just how tired she was.

To her surprise, when everyone finished eating and began to rise from the table, Mr. Barclay offered to help her clear it.

“You don’t have to,” Avis said.

“I know. But I want to.” He began gathering plates and carrying them into the kitchen.

Avis noticed Alicia had disappeared. She wondered where she’d gone. Perhaps to talk over the contract with Samuel?

She gathered cups and saucers, placed them on a tray, and took them to the kitchen, where Mr. Barclay was already filling a dishpan with hot water.

“You plan to do the dishes too?” Avis said, surprised.

“Is there anything wrong with that?” he asked with a smile.

“Not at all. You just surprise me. One rarely finds a man doing dishes unless, of course, it’s my uncle working in his own café.”

Mr. Barclay gave her a tender smile. A small tingle ran up her spine, and she backed up a step. Good grief, what was that about?

“Did you enjoy working for your uncle?”

“Very much. My parents died when I was fifteen, and he took me in. He was all the family I had. My aunt had passed the year before, so at least we had each other.” She looked away for a moment. “Then he took another wife, and less than a year later, Uncle Phil died.”

His expression softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must’ve been hard, losing all your family.”

She met his gaze. “It was. And for whatever reason, Uncle Phil left the café and everything to his new wife, Henrietta.”

“Can she cook?” he asked, offering a lopsided smile.

Avis smiled back. “Not really.”

Mr. Barclay laughed. “Well, you should be satisfied knowing your uncle’s customers are missing you sorely about now.”

“I’m sure they are,” she said with a nod. Avis watched as he added soap flakes to the hot water in the dishpan and stirred them around. “I’ll go get the rest of the dishes.”

She left before he could say another word. The fact that she was attracted to him startled her, especially after the morning they’d had. But he was a handsome man, and he knew how to manage a restaurant…or so he said. Hmmm. If she asked questions about his restaurant, would he answer them honestly?

When Avis returned to the kitchen with another load of dirty dishes, she set them on the counter beside the sink, then glanced at the pots on the stove. They were empty. Always a good sign that the meal had been a success.

“Would you like to dry?” he asked, holding up a dish towel.

“Yes, thank you.” She joined him, and together they finished the dishes. It was, in a word, pleasant.

Avis hadn’t been this close to him before and realized he towered over her. She noticed his strong-looking forearms and hands, and rather liked the sight of him with his sleeves rolled to the elbows.

“There, that’s the last dish,” he said. “Now we’ll start on the pots. Are you cooking tomorrow night?”

“No, Alicia is. She told me the Kirks and Patzers are leaving tomorrow.”

“More tourists will be coming for the weekend. Alicia might ask for your help now that she knows what a good cook you are.” Mr. Barclay gave her a warm smile. “A very good cook, indeed.”

“So does this mean I meet with your approval?” Avis hadn’t meant to say it, but there it was.

“I never disapproved of you, Miss Prescott. I was merely concerned about your skill level. Many people can cook, but that doesn’t mean they’re good at it. Like your step-aunt, for instance.”

She laughed. “All right, point taken. I just hate the thought of Uncle Phil’s café being run into the ground by Henrietta. I know that’s what’s happening, unless she finds a good cook.” She paused. “Not that she didn’t already have one. But I’m not sure he’ll stay on.”

Mr. Barclay nodded. “If he needs the job, he might. Unless, of course, your aunt is hard to get along with. I take it you didn’t leave voluntarily.”

Avis swallowed hard. “No. I did not.” She handed him the dumpling pot. “She made it clear she didn’t want me around as soon as the will was read.”

He took the pot, set it in the soapy water, and gave her his full attention.

“I’m sorry, Miss Prescott. That’s horrible. You must have been devastated.”

Avis nodded. “I still am. That café was my life. I…I feel lost without it.”Mercy, why did she tell him that?

“Then I’m glad you have a chance to start again here in Fiddler’s Gap. The café and bakery will do well under your management, I’m sure of it. You have plenty of experience, and you can cook and bake besides. I’ll help you any way I can.”

Avis looked up at him. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Barclay.”

“Reed.”

Her eyes widened, if only slightly.

He nodded. “Call me Reed. And I’ll call you Avis. Around here, folks aren’t as conventional as other places. Most everyone’s on a first-name basis. If you’re going to live and work here, you might as well start somewhere. Besides, using our Christian names helps us become friends.”

Avis didn’t say anything at first. In fact, she wasn’t sure what to say. “You…want to be friends?”

“Sure. Why not? We’ve got a few things in common, like the restaurant business. And we both love to cook.” He smiled and turned back to scrubbing the pot.

Avis gaped at him. “You cook ?”

He didn’t so much as blink. “Does that surprise you?”

Her mouth hung open. She quickly turned away. “Yes. As a matter of fact, it does.”

Reed laughed. “Well, to prove it, I’ll cook dinner one night this week, or perhaps breakfast in the morning. How’s that?”

Avis smiled at him. “I’d say that’s something to look forward to.”