Cornucopia (A Chloe Boston Mystery Book 16) Page 3

  The day was cold but clear with a sky that was eye-piercingly blue. There was talk of snow on Friday, but the weatherman was predicting that Thanksgiving day itself would be free of bad weather, which was fortunate because Lawrence and Agatha couldn’t join us until Thursday morning because of a previous commitment. And that was okay because I prefer to do my pie baking alone. I need the whole kitchen for chopping and rolling and don’t like for outsiders to see how messy I am with the flour.

  Some of the cabins we passed were little more than run-down shacks and depressing in their neglect which said that no one loved them anymore, but Mary Elizabeth’s home away from home was very well cared for. She had told me that she had even put an arrangement of cornstalks on the door. No actual corn, of course, because the deer would have torn it down and eaten it.

  “You know why Mary Elizabeth offered us her cabin?” Alex asked suddenly.

  I pulled my gaze away from the bare tree limbs that lined the narrow road and glanced at my husband.

  “No, why?”

  “She didn’t come out and say it, but I think she is afraid of getting trapped there with my mom’s cats.”

  The cats were a problem. They had never outgrown their destructive tendencies, and Mary Elizabeth had some nice antiques at the cabin. Of course, I think it was the newly refurbished sofa she was worrying about. The tapestry had run her ninety bucks a yard. Mary Elizabeth believed in buying quality with hard-earned makeup dollars. Old wood and new fabric was a favorite saying of hers.

  “Well, she just paid a lot to have the sofa reupholstered. She’s probably just being cautious.”

  “Yes, but do you think that Mom is getting … peculiar? I mean about the cats.”

  I had always thought Alex’s mom was peculiar, but I needed to be tactful about Rosemary.

  “Honey, you’re asking for a judgment call from someone who rides a bike with a sidecar so her dog can go to work with her.” I reached over my shoulder and petted Blue who had leaned forward at the mention of cats.

  Alex’s brow smoothed out.

  “That’s true. Animal lovers will do anything for their pets. And cats aren’t like dogs. They can’t be trained.”

  In point of fact, they could be trained, but I decided not to have that conversation. Rosemary wasn’t going to do anything to rein in her cats and trying to convince her that they were hooligans would just lead to tears and hurt feelings. Alex hadn’t yet learned about picking his battles with his mom, but he was smart enough to ask me before entering into potentially hostile territory.

  “So, what will we be having for dinner? Besides turkey?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “The usual sides, but also some baked peaches.”

  “And cauliflower with capers?” Alex asked hopefully.

  “Of course. And tonight we are having nacho mac and cheese.”

  “Yum.” I had stumbled onto a recipe that had become Alex’s favorite. It was a basic macaroni and cheese, but I added some sliced jalapenos and substituted pepper jack cheese for the usual Monterey Jack that I liked. Instead of topping it with panko crumbs, I crunched up corn chips into a thick topping. Beating the chips with the rolling pin was the most labor-intensive part of the meal.

  We got to the cabin and pulled the car up close to the door that still had its sheaf of cornstalks tied to the knocker. Alex would move it under the pines later, but it was best to park close for unloading.

  The trees nearest the cabin were mostly bare but the ground was carpeted with a crazy quilt of pine needles and different shades of golden and scarlet leaves. The trees seemed to be rooted at random but looking at the rings of color, I had to wonder if there hadn’t been some landscape planning in the distant past.

  Blue, Alex, and I all inhaled deeply. The air smelled clean with just a hint of pungent pine and I thought I could hear the babble of a stream. I knew there was one, though Alex had yet to try the trout stream that edged the property. I think that he liked the idea of fishing more than the reality.

  Usually we would have begun by carrying duffel bags upstairs, but I wanted to get the refrigerator plugged in and the turkey, which was fresh, into the proper temperature safety zone.

  The windows were shuttered so we didn’t see that anything was amiss inside the kitchen until I flipped on the lights.

  “Oh!” We both checked just inside the kitchen where we looked around in baffled horror. It had been ransacked. Flour was all over the floor along with some kind of crunchy cereal. There were dismembered cans of spam, though no meat, and someone had pulled the racks out of the refrigerator.

  “Damn it,” Alex said. “Let’s make sure they’re gone.”

  “You think it was squatters?” I asked. I was pretty sure that we were alone in the cabin or Blue would have given voice.

  “What else?”

  We went through the cabin and discovered that one set of shutters and one window in the living room were open. There was mud on the sill, but the prints were so blurred we couldn’t even guess at what kinds of shoes our unwanted visitors had been wearing.

  “I’ve warned Mary Elizabeth that she needs new locks on the windows. I’m going to have to nail this shut.”

  “Look, you get things locked down and I am going to get the kitchen cleaned up.” I hate a dirty kitchen and there was no way that I would be able to start baking until it was straightened.

  “Okay. Don’t worry about unloading the car. I’ll do it in a few minutes.”

  “Just the turkey. Can you plug in the fridge, please?” I asked, heading back for the kitchen. Another look told me that it would take a while to get things cleaned up. I would be making pies into the night. Maybe we could be happy with just apple and pumpkin and I would skip the pecan? But no, we had to have pecan pie. It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without it.

  Blue followed me, curious about why I was muttering and later about who had been in the kitchen. She sniffed the place over like it was concealing cats. She went from pantry to kitchen and back again and then finally into the living room and the window that Alex was hammering shut. Obviously this was how the squatters had gotten in. I was just glad that they had stopped at the kitchen and not gone upstairs.

  Fortunately, since I hadn’t brought cleaning implements, I found an old wisp broom and dust pan in the small pantry where Mary Elizabeth kept the dried and canned goods. It was a relief not to discover any mouse droppings or too many spiders as I started to clean up the dusty mess.

  I had gotten the worst of the flour up when Alex reappeared, carrying a couple tote bags of groceries.

  “I’ve got a fire going. We should be warm pretty quickly. I think that the squatters are pretty recent. I didn’t see any sign that rain or snow had gotten in through the open window.”

  “Good.” Once he mentioned it, I was aware of the chill inside the cabin. There may have been sun during the day but nights were near freezing. “I’ll put the tea kettle on. We can have some lunch before I get started on the pies.”

  “I’ll finish unloading and then go split some firewood.”

  We didn’t need any more kindling, but being in the country makes Alex feel all Daniel Boone and manly.

  “Okay.”

  We ate toasted cheese sandwiches washed down with strong tea, and then Alex went out to be Paul Bunyon and I started unloading flour and fruit and other things I would need for the pies. Thank heavens I had brought my own supplies. Mary Elizabeth had said the place was stocked with staples, but I prefer my own brands and had hauled everything from home.

  The kitchen wasn’t as clean as I would have liked. Flour was stuck between the planks of the floor, but nothing but a hand vac and a toothbrush would get it out. It would take hours and elbow grease, so it would have to wait. Cooking for company topped housework.

  I opened my little tin box of family recipes and plucked out the section of index cards marked PIES.

  I started with making dough for crusts and began with baking the pumpkin pies since the frozen
pumpkin had thawed. A little more than an hour after cleanup, the cabin was full of delicious smells and as toasty warm as anyone could wish. Annoyance faded away and was replaced with warm, Thanksgivingy feelings.

  While the pumpkin pies baked, I mixed up the corn syrup and condensed milk for the pecan pies. I do a version with Kahlua. I’ve mentioned the recipe before, but here it is again in case you ever want to make this extremely delicious pie.

  Kahlua Pecan Pie

  ¼ c salted butter

  1 tsp vanilla

  3 eggs

  ½ c corn syrup

  ¾ c sugar

  2 Tbsp flour

  ½ c Kahlua

  ¾ c evaporated milk

  ¾ c pecans

  Cream butter, sugar, vanilla, and flour together. Add eggs one at a time. Stir in Kahlua, corn syrup, evaporated milk, and pecans. Pour into pie shell. Bake at 400° for 10 minutes then reduce heat to 325° and bake for 40 minutes.

  Easy-peasy, if your oven keeps a nice even temperature. The one at the cabin was old and cranky. That meant I couldn’t stray far and had to get the beds made up in stages. I also usually like to cut out pie-crust leaves to decorate the edge of the pie plate, but settled for a simple crimped edge. I did dab it with egg yolk because I like the dark color, but wetting the edge with milk and sprinkling sugar on it is nice too.

  Alex came in a while later, flushed red with cold and sniffing the air longingly. He loves pumpkin pie, so I cut him a slice of cooling pie and poured out some coffee which I knew he would be wanting.

  “Thanks,” he said, diving in. Blue thumped her tail so I broke off a bit of crust and let her try the pie too. She thought it was terrific.

  I saved the apple for last. It takes forever to peel all the fruit, and though the Delicious apples and Granny Smiths are easy enough to skin, the pippins are stubborn and take a lot longer. Then everything has to be cut to exact-sized pieces. Where a lot of people go wrong is in having some thick chunks and some skinny ones so their pie cooks unevenly. Also, I have discovered that using lime instead of lemon to keep the apples from browning makes for a nice, tart flavor.

  By then I was heartily sick of rolling out dough and only too ready to open a can of chili for dinner. A little cheese sprinkled on top and we called it good.

  I never sleep especially well in a strange place, so I wasn’t surprised to find midnight rolling around and me watching shadows on the ceiling and running checklists on the groceries I would need for tomorrow. It was peaceful enough out there in the woods, just the wind sighing through the trees and the soft snores of Alex and Blue for company, but sleep just wouldn’t come. I was too keyed up.

  A little before one o’clock I heard a noise that had nothing to do with wind and doggie exhalations, and everything to do with someone battering a door.

  “Alex,” I whispered, giving his shoulder a shake. My lips had gone dry. “I think the squatters are back.”

  “We’ll see about that!” he said softly and went into the closet. On the top shelf was a shotgun which he loaded quickly. I felt a little bit horrified that he seemed at home with the gun, but then there was some more pounding and I found myself glad that Mary Elizabeth kept a rifle in the house.

  I stuffed my feet into slippers and grabbed my robe. The cabin was chilly without the fire. Also, I was frightened.

  “Stay behind me,” Alex ordered quietly. “We’re going to catch them red-handed.”

  And then what? We had no way to call the police. Still, we had to do something. The shotgun should be warning enough for anyone.

  Blue, Alex, and I crept down the stairs. Blue might have wanted to hurry but the bare treads were slippery and I kept a hand in her collar so she wouldn’t get ahead of Alex.

  After a little more banging, we heard a screech like the hinges on a dungeon door which startled us so badly that we all froze. A moment later there was the sound of breaking crockery, which I greatly feared was a pie plate.

  “Noooo!” I wailed and letting go of Blue I pushed by Alex and ran for the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t you touch my pies!”

  Blue skidded down the steps behind me and then stopped abruptly. In the dim light I actually saw her hackles go up and she howled like a werewolf on the way to hell. It was a sound I had never heard her make and it frightened me badly. It must have frightened our intruder too because by the time we reached the kitchen, it was empty, except for the overturned pie dish. It was the one Alex and I had sampled earlier. The others—thank heavens—had been put away in the cupboard and were spared destruction.

  “They’re gone, but how.…” Feeling a draft, I looked toward the pantry which was standing open. Crossing the room, I put on another light and stared in consternation at the trapdoor in the floor. I grabbed Blue before she could jump in the hole. She began whining and pulling hard. It was a pitiful sound but at least her hackles were down again.

  “Blue, stop it!” I ordered, my voice shaken. “You’re not going down there.”

  “Good God! That must lead into a crawlspace for the wiring and plumbing,” Alex said, lowering the shotgun. “I never knew it was there.”

  “B-but what…?”

  “Raccoons,” Alex pronounced. “They are a pestilence. Mary Elizabeth said they were in the trash all summer long. They must have found a way into the crawlspace. I’ll look for it tomorrow and make sure we close it up.”

  “Oh, raccoons.” I exhaled in relief, and reached out to shut the trapdoor. There was no handle and it banged closed with a shriek of the dry hinges. The rag rug which had covered it had been shoved off to the side. “There’s no lock,” I said worriedly.

  “Let me get my hammer. We’ll nail it shut for now.”

  Blue gave up on the door once it was shut and retreated to the kitchen.

  “That must have been a giant raccoon. And a strong one,” I said, thinking of the ripped-open cans of spam. I turned back to the galley and began looking around to see if any further damage was done. Before I could stop her, Blue had gobbled up the rest of the pie out of the broken plate. “Blue!”

  But I couldn’t say much. The rule was if it was on the floor then it was hers.

  “They can get pretty big, the males can be the size of a medium dog.” Alex reappeared with his trusty hammer and a handful of nails.

  “Great, and Blue wants to chase it.” I picked up the broken pie plate and wiped the floor while Alex made banging noises in the pantry. I was pretty sure that just one nail would have done the job, but he was as pumped with adrenaline as I was and the hammering was probably helping him let off some steam.

  Since we were up anyway, I decided we needed some hot chocolate with marshmallows, or Alex and I did. Blue got some fresh water and then I wiped the pumpkin filling off her chin.

  “Bad dog,” I said lovingly. Blue belched quietly.

  I was up early to get the turkey in the oven, which had trouble reaching a steady temperature and staying there. Had it been my cabin, I would have replaced the stove, but Mary Elizabeth wasn’t much of a cook. Fortunately, I had brought a meat thermometer to check the poultry’s progress. There would be no salmonella at our Thanksgiving table.

  Blue spent some extra time outside because of her indiscretion with the pie, but I didn’t mind because the sunrise was glorious and I had a mug of coffee to keep my hands and face warm. I looked around for raccoon tracks and found none in the pine needles, though I did discover a sort of ventilation duct where the wood lattice had been broken away. That had to be where the raccoons had gotten in. I hoped that there was plywood or lumber lying about in one of the sheds, because the opening was quite large. Alex might have found it a tight squeeze but I could have gotten in that way without any trouble. It would be just our luck if a skunk decided it wanted to live under the house.

  “All done, Blue?” I asked, and she came loping over. “Then let’s go have some breakfast.”

  After a light meal of pancakes made with berry yogurt, Alex went out to scare up s
ome lumber and nail up the ventilation hole. I began assembling casseroles of scalloped potatoes, green beans and onions, and the nacho macaroni and cheese I had been too tired to make the night before. As I worked, I consulted my timeline which included not just what I was making but which baking dishes each side dish went in and when they needed to be added to the oven. Military campaigns have been launched with less careful planning, and I know that this amuses my mother, but I need everything written down in order to feel calm and confident of getting a dozen sides to the table all at the same time.

  The Jackmans arrived just before eleven and after the hugging and petting (of Blue) and shedding of coats, I regaled Agatha and Lawrence with tales of the raccoons’ midnight marauding. Mr. Jackman had had some experience with them out at his place and he also told us about how the raccoons had gobbled up the very expensive imported fish in the koi pond at Golden Gate Park back at the turn of the last century.

  As I had expected, it was only a few minutes before Lawrence had slipped on an apron and began helping with the meal. We have cooked together often enough that we are quite comfortable, even in a strange kitchen. He halved Brussels sprouts while I chopped cauliflower. Our conversation was easy and I said a prayer of thanks that we had had the good sense to leave Hope Falls and have a small feast with just our friends.

  Alex and Agatha retired to the fireplace for a visit and some coffee with Irish whiskey and Blue took up a position near the table where she could keep an eye on all of us. Usually she would have chosen the rug near the fire, but there was food in the kitchen, after all, and what was a dog supposed to do when torn between two imperatives?

  Beyond the kitchen window, the sky began to cloud up in the west and soon the sun failed. It wasn’t raining yet but a mist began to creep over the ground making everything look a bit ghostly.