Talk of the Town (4 page)

“Russia! How fascinating. What impressed you the most?”

“That’s an easy one—Lenin’s tomb.” He laughed. “I was ten years old on that trip and I thought a moldering, decades-dead body had to be the most enthralling thing ever.”

Alice chuckled. “Oh yes. I know some ten-year-old boys who would be equally fascinated by that.” She crossed the room and found her scissors lying on her father’s desk. “Aha! Just what I was looking for.”

Maxwell was looking around the library with interest. “This room has a certain charm.”

“It was my father’s study before he passed away. He used fountain pens all his life. My Aunt Ethel, whom you’ve met, gave him this lovely box for the special pens in his collection. And these vases are collectibles called Depression glass. Are you familiar with it?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m afraid my art education consisted largely of studies of the Old Masters.”

Alice laughed. “These are a bit newer than that. Depression glass was made, as the name implies, before, during and just after the Great Depression. There were many patterns. Single pieces were sometimes packed in cereal boxes as premiums. People collected their favorite patterns and colors.” She picked up one of the green glass vases. “This pattern also was made in yellow and pink. It is formally known as ‘Cameo’ and often is referred to as ‘Ballerina.’”

“For obvious reasons.” Maxwell peered at the tiny dancers in the glass’s motif as Alice pointed them out.

“It’s my favorite pattern,” Alice told him. “Not only because of the pattern but because I like the shape of the dishes in this set. There are all kinds and shapes of Depression glass, simple and elaborate.”

“How interesting.”

He didn’t sound as if he thought it was very interesting, Alice thought. Although in fairness, she knew she probably could talk anyone to sleep once she got started discussing the collection.

“How did you get interested in Depression glass?” Maxwell asked her.

“My mother. She loved socializing and having parties, and part of her pleasure in hostessing was the opportunity to create a certain look with table settings and decorations. She had an entire luncheon set in a pink Depression glass pattern called Cherry Blossom, and every spring she held a tea party for the ladies she played canasta with. She would cut pink peonies and set a stunning table with the pink glass and all the ladies would dress in pink. Half the fun for her was the collecting, though. I can recall going to auctions and flea markets with her when I was small. She always had an eye for bargains.” She smiled at the fond memories.

“I’ve never been to an auction. Or a flea market,” Maxwell said.

“Really?” She smiled. “If you’d like, we can remedy that while you are with us.”

Wednesday morning, Louise walked into the kitchen to find Alice already enjoying breakfast. “Good morning,” she said to her sisters. Then she eyed Alice’s plate. “It looks and smells delicious.”

“It is delicious.” Alice said. “Jane, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Jane had made rhubarb streusel muffins; an egg, basil and cheese breakfast lasagna; and chicken basil sausage, a new set of recipes. From the aroma arising from the breakfast, Louise suspected it quickly would become one of the inn’s specialties.

Jane carried servings for Louise and for herself to the table. “You say that at least twice a week,” she informed her sister.

Alice’s eyes twinkled. “I only speak the truth.”

“So what’s on everyone’s agenda for today?” Louise poured herself a glass of cranberry-apple juice and passed the pitcher to Jane.

“I’m off to Aunt Ethel’s after breakfast,” Alice informed her. “I promised to help her with her spring cleaning today, and she wanted to get started early. That’s why I started eating without waiting for you.” She chuckled. “I asked her if she wanted me to come by around seven and you should have seen her face.”

Jane grinned. “A tad earlier than she intended?”

“Most definitely.”

“Spring cleaning,” said Louise reflectively. “I suppose we need to get started on that here, as well.”

“I thought perhaps we could start washing windows next week,” Jane said. “If we do two rooms per day, it won’t seem like too much work.”

“Yes, when you put it that way, it sounds manageable,” Louise remarked.

Jane laughed. “I have to approach big jobs that way or I’m discouraged before I even begin.”

“I’ll help as I can,” Alice said. “We’ll make short work of it.”

“Today I want to dust the library,” Jane said. “I’m going to take all the books off the shelves and give everything a thorough cleaning.”

“I can help with that this afternoon, if you want to wait for me,” Louise said. “I have a National Piano Guild luncheon and meeting. This morning, I need to look over the judging packet.”

“That would be great,” Jane said. “I had a notion of putting all the books in alphabetical order by author as I went.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Alice told her. “It would make it much easier to find things.”

The sisters ate heartily. Jane finished her juice and rose. “I need to get tea things on the dining room table,” she said. “Both Maxwell and Mr. Jervis liked our selection yesterday.”

Alice had risen to place her dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “I’m sorry I can’t help today,” she said.

“That’s all right, Alice,” Jane reassured her. “You’re doing a kind thing for Aunt Ethel. Besides, you’re probably going to work a whole lot harder today than either Louise or I.”

Alice laughed. “Sadly, I suspect you’re right. My taskmaster awaits.”

“Yes, you don’t want her to get mad at the help so early in the day.” Jane glanced down at Wendell, who was winding around her legs looking hopeful. “Not a chance, buddy,” she said. “This sausage is for humans only.”

“Have a good day,” Alice said. “I’ll see you two later this afternoon.”

Jane waved a tea towel at her sister.

“Have a good day, Alice. Say hello to Aunt Ethel for us.” Louise rose and began to clear her place.

Jane glanced at the clock. “Oh, good. My timing is perfect for our guests’ breakfast.” She took a tea tray from the kitchen pantry and covered it with a linen cloth. She set a creamer and sugar bowl on it, a pretty basket arranged with several different teas that she had ordered in from Time for Tea and a woven basket holding some muffins. Adding two small teapots filled with hot water and cups and saucers, she backed through the swinging door.

“Good morning, Mr. Jervis,” Louise heard her say pleasantly as she approached the table and began setting down the items from her tray. “Here is our selection of teas, with creamer and sweeteners, and rhubarb streusel breakfast muffins. Please let me know if there is anything else I can get for you. I’ll be bringing the main dish within a few minutes.”

A moment later, Jane returned to the kitchen, where she began cutting generous slices of the lasagna.

“Well,” said Louise, “I promised Cynthia I’d give her a call this morning. Then I’ll be back to help with the dishes.” She walked into the hallway, intending to use the phone in the reception area. As she did, she saw Maxwell Vandermitton walking toward the dining room.

“Good morning, Louise.” Maxwell greeted her with a smile.

“Good morning.” She smiled determinedly at the young man. She still found herself put off by him. “How was your exploring trip yesterday?”

“Quite pleasant, thank you. Everyone is so friendly here.”

“It’s one of the things we love about Acorn Hill. Have a good day.”

“Is Alice about?” The question stopped her just as she was about to pick up the phone. Louise shook her head. “No, she will be away until later this afternoon. Is there some way I can help you?”

Maxwell hastily shook his head. “No thank you. I simply wanted to get to know Alice a little better.”

Louise could have pointed out that she had not spoken to him much more than Alice, but that would have been rude. “Perhaps this evening she will have time to visit with you. I’ll try to remember to mention it to her.”

“That would be quite helpful.”

Louise shook her head as he entered the dining room. What an odd young man. He talked as if he’d been born in another, far more formal time.

She was again about to pick up the phone when it rang.

“I’ll get it,” she called to Jane.

A few minutes later, she retraced her steps to the kitchen, smiling in satisfaction. “I just took a reservation for August,” she reported to Jane. “A group of ladies getting together for a girls’ weekend. They want three rooms.”

“It’s a good thing they didn’t wait,” Jane said. “We’re soon going to begin getting more bookings for the summer.”

“Always a good thing,” Louise said.

“Ah, Jane,” said Mr. Jervis as Jane walked into the dining room to see if their guests needed anything more. “What a wonderful meal.”

Jane smiled. “Would you like a second helping?”

Shaking his head, the businessman sat back, a smile wreathing his face. “I couldn’t eat another bite,” he confessed. “That was one of the best breakfasts I have ever had.”

Jane removed his empty plate. “Thank you so much. I enjoy finding unique and tasty recipes.”

“You certainly succeeded with this one,” he told her. “I hate to leave.”

“And we will hate to see you leave. You’re welcome to extend your stay.”

“I wish I could,” he said. “Unfortunately, I have a schedule to keep. But I’m going to put Grace Chapel Inn on my list of wonderful places to stay during my travels through this area.”

“Thank you. That’s what we like to hear.” She gathered a few more items from the table.

“Yes, Jane, this was a marvelous meal,” Maxwell informed her. “I never would have expected muffins made with rhubarb to be so flavorful.”

“It is an unusual ingredient,” Jane admitted. “But when I read the recipe, it sounded as though it would be tasty, so I decided to try it.”

“Your judgment was sound,” the young guest declared as he rose, setting his napkin aside.

Chapter Four

L
ouise needed a bag to carry some extra music and notebooks to the luncheon. Several canvas bags were stored in the pantry, and she went to retrieve one. As she came back out of the small storage area, she stopped in her tracks and sharply clapped her hands twice. “Wendell!”

The cat was on the table, hunched over a platter that Jane had yet to clear. He had been gnawing vigorously at a length of sausage, but at the sound of Louise’s horrified tone, he cast a wild-eyed glance in her direction and leaped off the table.

He paused at the hallway door, though, which was his big mistake. Incensed, Louise snatched a section of the newspaper and rattled it menacingly, then thwacked it on the table. “Shoo!”

Wendell vanished as if he’d been shot out of a rocket, his black-tipped tail lashing the doorframe as he raced through it.

“What on earth…?” Jane pushed through the swinging door from the dining room.

“That cat!” Louise barely could get the words out. “He was …” She made agitated gestures. “He was on the table eating sausage!”

Jane looked aghast. “Gracious. He’s never been so bold before. I wonder why he’s suddenly so determined to sample table food.”

“I don’t know.” Louise still was provoked. “But I let him know it was not appropriate.”

Jane grinned. “I bet it will be a while before Wendell braves your wrath again.”

Mr. Jervis checked out shortly after breakfast, promising a return visit. Both sisters stood on the front porch as the businessman’s dark blue sedan rolled out of the driveway and turned onto Chapel Road. He waved through his open window as he drove off.

Louise went up to her room and dressed in one of her best twin sets with a soft beige skirt in lightweight wool. She added modest pearl earrings to match her pearl necklace and put on a new pair of taupe pumps with the sensible heels she preferred. She was attending a National Piano Guild luncheon today because she was to judge performances of students in several nearby towns this year. She brought her judging packet to the kitchen for one last review before she left. Jane had gone upstairs to clean the vacated guest room, and Louise had no intention of leaving the kitchen unattended with Wendell the Sausage Thief still at large.

Jane returned a bit later, carrying a basket of sheets and towels to be laundered. She stopped and blew a stray wisp of hair out of her eyes, smiling at Louise. “Lying in wait for Wendell?”

Louise narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t seen so much as a whisker. I suspect he got the message that the kitchen table is off-limits.”

“I haven’t seen him either, but if you had fussed at me like that, I’d have run too.” She laughed. “I wish I had been there when you caught him in the act.” She crossed to the porch door, where the washer and dryer were located, then paused again. “Gracious, today is already Wednesday. Our German guest will arrive on Saturday. What would you think if I asked Aunt Ethel to teach us a few phrases in German? It might be a nice gesture to make Mrs. Moeller feel welcome.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Louise said.

Just then, the telephone rang. Since Jane had her arms full of laundry, Louise rose. “I’ll get it.” She picked up the telephone receiver. “Grace Chapel Inn, Louise speaking. May I help you?”

“Miss—Mrs.—Louise? This is Lyle Jervis. The guest who just left? I think something terrible has happened!” The man’s words were rushed, his voice agitated.

Alarmed, Louise said, “What’s happened, Mr. Jervis? Have you had an accident? Do you need assistance? I can call—”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’m in Potterston. I stopped for gas a moment ago. When I opened my door to get out, a gray-striped cat leaped out from behind my seat and ran across the parking lot. I was so surprised I just stood there, and when I finally did give chase, he had vanished into a heavy thicket just behind the gas station. I hate to tell you, but I’m almost positive it’s the big cat I saw lounging at the inn yesterday, the one with the four white paws and the black tip on his tail.”

Louise put a hand to her heart, feeling its rhythm speed up. Suddenly there did not seem to be enough oxygen in the room. “Oh no!” She sank into a chair at the table.

Jane came rushing in from the porch. “What’s wrong?” she gasped. “Is it Alice?”

Louise shook her head. “Wendell,” she said helplessly.

“Has he been hit by a car?” Jane glanced toward the front of the house as if she was ready to dash out to the road.

“No.” Louise put a hand on her sister’s arm to restrain her from rushing out. “It’s Mr. Jervis.” She indicated the receiver. “He stopped for gas in Potterston and a cat that looked like Wendell jumped out from a hiding spot behind his seat and took off.”

“Was he sure it was Wendell?” Jane clearly was grasping at any straw. “I’ll go check to see if he’s lying on Alice’s bed. He likes to lie there in the morning sometimes.”

Louise shook her head, and then held up a finger as the man continued to speak.

“I had left my two front windows down last night, you see. The weather was so pretty and mild that I had been driving with them down and never gave it a thought when I came in last evening. Your cat must have jumped into my car sometime before I drove away this morning.” He exhaled heavily. “I am so sorry. Tell me what to do.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Louise told him. “Tell me again where you are.”

Jane rushed for a pen and paper, and Louise wrote down what the man told her. When she finally hung up the phone, she said, “It was Wendell. I’m sure it was. I scolded him and scared him, and he found a wonderful hiding place—only it turned out to be Mr. Jervis’ car. He must be so frightened,” she said, her voice trailing off.

Jane had tears in her eyes. The sisters all were very fond of the cat.

“Oh, dear heavens.” Louise had another thought. Alice was particularly attached to Wendell. He was the last living link to their father, who had adored the chubby feline.

“How will I tell Alice?” She badly wanted to lay down her head and sob, but of course, she was not the type for that. Louise stood up, making a decision. “I’ll go to Potterston right now. Wendell ran into some underbrush near the gas station. Perhaps he’ll come out if I call him.”

“Oh, I wish I could go with you,” Jane cried. “But I still haven’t made up Maxwell’s room, and Miss Havishim, the school teacher from Boston on break, will be arriving soon.”

“It’s all right.” Louise attempted to sound confident. “I’m sure when he hears a familiar voice, Wendell will be happy to come home. Besides,” she added, “it’s my fault that he’s missing. He probably wouldn’t have sneaked outside the house if I hadn’t been so angry about the sausage.”

Quickly, she called the coordinator of the Piano Guild luncheon and explained that she had a family emergency and would be unable to attend. Jane was trailing miserably behind her as she snatched up her purse and keys. She paused to give her sister a hug. “I’ll find him,” she said. “I have to.”

“I’m going to start praying,” Jane said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Call me if you have any success.”

Louise arrived in Potterston shortly before eleven o’clock in the morning. It had been the longest twenty-minute drive she’d ever taken.

Pulling into the gas station, she went inside and identified herself, and asked if anyone might have seen Wendell.

A young clerk with appalling black eye makeup was behind the counter. Through a wad of snapping gum, the girl said, “That man that lost him said to tell you he was sorry, but he had to get going. I walked out back on my smoke break and looked around but I didn’t see nothin’.”

Louise ignored the automatic urge to correct the girl’s grammar and suggest that she would be more attractive without the gum and the gunk on her eyes. “Thank you,” she said instead, and hurried back out.

It was a beautiful, warm March day, for which she was thankful. It easily could have been rainy and blustery, if not snowing and downright miserably cold. She called and called Wendell’s name, moving from one side of the gas station to the other, and wading as far into the thicket of bushes behind the building as she dared in her dress shoes and good clothes. She had been in such a rush she had not even thought to change into something more practical.

After an hour of fruitless calling, she popped the top on a can of tuna she had brought along and set it on the ground, hoping that the scent of the enticing treat might flush him out. She opened the door of her car and sat down heavily, bitterly regretting her earlier treatment of the cat that, after all, had only been following his instincts.

Lord
, she thought,
please don’t let Wendell come to harm. Help me to find him and bring him home. He can have sausage every day if he likes
.

After resting a few moments, she got to her feet again. She started down the street next to the gas station, reasoning that someone in the residential area behind the main road might have found the cat.

She walked up and down through the quiet streets, stopping to talk to anyone she saw, describing Wendell and giving the inn’s telephone number. Two young girls, perhaps nine or ten, joined her for a while, but they didn’t find a single hint of him.

The girls finally got bored and wandered off, but Louise decided to make one last attempt. She turned down the block closest to the thicket of brush into which Wendell had disappeared. “Wendell,” she called again and again. “Wendell.”

About halfway along the block, a tiny woman with snow white hair coiled into a bun came stumping across the street, leaning heavily on a cane. “Here, now,” she called to Louise, “don’t you give him the satisfaction, missy.”

Distracted from her search, Louise raised one eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ain’t no man on the face of this earth worth carryin’ on like that for,” the woman informed her tartly. “I’ve been listenin’ to you caterwaulin’ half the afternoon. Where’s your pride, girl?”

“My pride…?”
Caterwauling?
Louise shook her head. “I’m sorry, I believe you have me confused with someone else, ma’am.”

“I most certainly have not.” Thumps with the cane accented the last two words. “You’ve been wanderin’ up and down the street tryin’ to find your Wendell, haven’t you?”

“I… oh!” As comprehension dawned, Louise did not know whether to laugh or to cry. “Wendell isn’t a man,” she told the old lady. “He’s my cat. He stowed away in a car this morning and jumped out the window at the gas station on the corner.”

“Yer cat?” The woman’s face softened from the ferocious scowl it had been wearing. “Well, that’s another story. I like cats. Tell me what he looks like and I’ll keep my eyes peeled for him.”

It was nearly three o’clock when Louise’s feet finally demanded immediate respite. Feeling terribly defeated, she spoke to the gas station clerk one last time. The girl gave her a piece of paper on which to write a description and then affixed it to a bulletin board inside the door.

“You’ll find him,” the girl said, patting Louise’s shoulder encouragingly. “When he gits hungry, he’ll be back.”

The girl’s attempt at comfort was touching, and Louise mentally asked forgiveness for the critical thoughts she’d had earlier. Then, climbing wearily into her car, she turned it toward Acorn Hill.