Be Sweet Read online

  “So you’ll go with me?”

  “As long as there are enough workers helping Daniel, why not? Oh, that reminds me. He wanted me to bring down some more coffee.” Janni makes a face.

  “Don’t worry, I can take over on the cake. The recipe’s not that hard. Even I can handle it,” I assure her.

  “Just don’t burn down my house while I’m gone, okay?”

  She laughs and leaves the room before I can find a rubber band to fling at her.

  One glance at the recipe, though, and my cooking phobias return tenfold . . .

  “Oh, this is so cute.” I step onto the Tuckers’ wooden porch that has colored rails and scalloped windows. “This resembles a Mary Engelbreit drawing.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Janni cups her hands around her eyes and peers into the window. “Too bad the Tuckers aren’t here to show you around.”

  “I know, doggone it. I’d really like to see it.” I glance down at the listing in my hand. “The price is reasonable.” ’Course, it’s not zoned commercial, so I’d have to check into that for the Scottenses.

  Janni glances at the paper. “Wow. With all the redecorating they supposedly did, I wonder why they’re asking so little for this and the acreage.”

  Glancing around, I wave my hands at the barren cornfields across the street. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t exactly a thriving metropolis. Unless they have a farmer interested, they’re out of luck.” Or unless I can convince the community that this is an ideal place for the discount store. Though the population is small in Tappery, there are enough people close to this section of town that I think the business could work here. They could throw in some farming necessities, and they’d be good to go.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Janni chuckles.

  “Oh, come look around here, Janni,” I say, pointing to the huge maple tree that’s at the side of the house with branches that spread to the second-floor window. “Remember how we used to climb that thing?”

  Janni chuckles. “You climbed. I watched.”

  “That’s true. Let’s go look at the backyard.”

  We walk around to the back that’s lined with dwarf apple trees. “How quaint,” I say.

  “It surprises me to hear you say that, of all people. Since you don’t cook, all these apples would go to waste.”

  “Well, not with Dad around. He eats apples the way I eat cookies.”

  “Bakery cookies, mind you,” Janni corrects. “You know something, you’re a cookie snob.”

  Her comment halts me for a second, but then I decide it fits. “I’m good with that.”

  Janni makes a face and shakes her head. I walk over to the back door and yank on the knob just to make sure it’s not open.

  “Be careful, you might get in there and find a dead body,” Janni teases.

  “Thanks for the warning, Mom.”

  Janni gives me a pointed stare. “Don’t you ever call me that again in this lifetime.”

  That makes me laugh. We talk about the apple trees as we walk back around the side again.

  “That would be the first thing to go if I lived here,” Janni says, pointing to the maple tree.

  I gasp. “Why?”

  “I wouldn’t want someone climbing the branches and looking inside my house.”

  Her comment causes a lightbulb to come on in my head. She must see it because our eyes collide in a millisecond.

  “Oh, no.” Janni’s already shaking her head. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “Come on, Janni, why not? It just might be open.”

  “You can’t be serious? You just got over a bruised ankle, and now you’re ready to risk it again? That ankle might be weak, Char.”

  “Weak, schmeak, I can handle it.”

  “I want no part of this, Charlene Haverford.” She folds her arms across her chest and turns her back to me. “It’s time to own up to the fact that you’re too old for this kind of stuff.”

  “You were too old for anything daring by the time you were five, Janni.” Carefully, I pull myself up to the first branch.

  “At least I recognize my limitations.”

  The rough bark gouges my hands, and a branch jabs my leg, but I’m not about to turn back now. “Approaching fifty doesn’t mean you’re dead,” I say, struggling for every breath.

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Be careful!”

  I knew she would watch. Her motherly instincts would never allow her to look away. In fact, right now she’s staring at me as though I’m about to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge.

  My foot slips on the bark, and I almost lose my grip. Okay, that scared me a little, but the color on Janni’s face scares me even more. It has faded to a dingy white.

  “I’m okay.”

  Her hand is on her throat. “Char, get down from there.” I think she’s suddenly developed laryngitis because she’s talking funny. “I’m going to call Mom.”

  Another step up the branch. “Okay, that’s a low blow.”

  “I mean it. Get down from there.”

  “I’m almost there, Janni. Don’t panic.” Once I reach the window, I anchor myself on the limb and give the window a nudge. It opens. “Bingo,” I call down to my sister, before raising the window all the way.

  She gasps. “You can’t go in there.” She steps closer. “That’s called breaking in.” She’s whispering, but her words are on the verge of hysteria.

  “Oh, come on, Janni. You said yourself you’ve been bored.” I’m proud of myself for not pointing out that she was born bored. “Let’s spice things up a little.” I climb inside the room, turn, and poke my head through the window. “I’ll meet you downstairs and unlock the front door.”

  Before she can object, I scurry away from the window. I’m evidently in a guest bedroom. Antique furniture abounds in the home in stark contrast to the updated flooring and colorful painted walls.

  “It’s really cute,” I say to Janni when I open the door. She looks as though she’s swallowed sour persimmons. “Hurry up and get out of here, will ya?” Her eyes dart about the room. With skittish movements she scurries from room to room in an effort to hurry me along.

  “Calm down. This is no big deal. We’ll be out in no time. Come look at this kitchen, Janni. You won’t believe it.” I take her into the kitchen that boasts cream-colored cabinets and tiled flooring.

  She takes a deep breath and seems to relax a little. “Oh my. This is nice.” She pulls open the cabinets one by one, and we browse through the walk-in pantry.

  “I’m honestly surprised this place hasn’t been snatched. No doubt it’s all the acreage. Most folks don’t need it.” But I think I have the remedy to that problem—if only I can get the Tuckers to agree. Still, I have to admit it would be a shame to tear down this lovely place.

  “That’s true. And if you’re not a farmer—well, what’s that phrase they always use in real estate?” Janni asks.

  “Location, location, location.”

  “That’s it. You said yourself it’s not exactly a thriving metropolis.”

  The sarcasm in Janni’s voice surprises me. “I thought you loved it here.”

  She runs her fingers along a coffee table, leaving a streak behind. “It’s all right. But it’s not as though we’re on the Maine coastline.”

  There’s a hint of resentment in her comment, and I can’t imagine why. She’s the one with the good life, not me.

  “Hey, what’s that sound?” Janni stops pawing through the books on the shelf and listens.

  “What? I didn’t hear anything.” My fingers run along the book spines. “Look at this.” I lift a copy of Pride & Prejudice from the bookshelf.

  “Wonder why they left all this furniture? It seems like they’d need it,” Janni says.

  “They probably left as much as they could to help sell the house. Homes always sell better if you show them when they’re furnished.”

  “Shhh, there it is again.”

  “What?”
Suddenly a scraping sound breaks the silence. “Wait. That sounds familiar.” For the life of me, I can’t put my finger on where I’ve heard it.

  Janni chews on her lower lip. “What could it be?”

  Creeping toward the noise, we edge up the stairway, boards creaking beneath our feet, toward the guest bedroom where I came in. Janni is following so closely behind me that her shoes keep scraping the backs of my heels.

  “Ouch,” I whisper when we stop a few feet to the right of the bed-room door. I turn a frown to her.

  “Sorry.”

  Just then I peek my head into the bedroom. The hair on my neck bristles as I lock eyes with—a brown squirrel. Panic slices through me, and I scream, which causes Janni to scream, which causes the squirrel to dash through the room, underneath my legs, past Janni, and down the hall at the speed of light.

  “He’ll tear up the place,” Janni screams, her arms flailing about as she runs after the squirrel.

  “I’ll get the broom out of the kitchen closet,” I yell, running after Janni.

  A huge commotion follows as we chase the squirrel around the house, waving the broom, screaming, yelling, and barking—well, we’re screaming, and the squirrel is barking—thwacking here and there until he finally runs for his life through the front door and heads for freedom and refuge in a nearby tree.

  We hobble over and fall onto the sofa.

  “Okay, that was exciting,” I say, trying to lighten the storm that’s sure to come once Janni catches her breath.

  “Or not.”

  “Lucky for us you left the front door open,” I say with a laugh.

  Janni’s gaze rams into mine.

  “You didn’t leave it open?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Hold it right there.” The deep voice causes my blood flow to stall. “Get up and turn around slowly, ladies.”

  Janni and I exchange a glance, then turn around to see a uniformed Toby Millington standing before us, badge flashing, gun in position.

  With one look at us, his eyes grow wide and his shoulders sag. “First your mom and now you?” He sighs and shakes his head. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law . . .”

  twenty-four

  “Boy, what is it with you and squirrels?” I say to Janni once we’re placed in a holding cell.

  “Shut up. We’re in enough trouble,” she snaps.

  “Good grief. You said you wanted adventure. I give you some and you get all mad.”

  “Riding a motorcycle is adventurous, Charlene. This is”—she looks around at what appear to be angry inmates and lowers her voice—“not.” She scoots closer to me. “Wonder what neighbor called the police?” she whispers.

  “Gail Campbell.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  “She doesn’t live near there.”

  “No, but she always seems to be at the right place at the right time.”

  Janni shoves her chin into her palm. “What a mess.”

  “At least Toby knew us.”

  “Poor Toby. Probably figures our family is going down the tubes fast, what with all of us breaking the law.”

  I laugh. “Oh, well, look at it this way, we can tell our grandkids about this one day.” What am I saying? As Gail so graciously pointed out, I won’t be having grandchildren.

  She looks at me. “We’re supposed to tell our grandkids things that will build them up, give them lessons on the road of life. Breaking and entering does not qualify.”

  I shrug.

  Janni glances around the cell and bites her lip. “I sure hope we’re not in here long.” She inches toward me some more.

  “If you move any closer, people will talk.”

  “Daniel will come,” she says, ignoring my comment.

  “He’s so busy with the syrup. He’s not going to be happy about this.”

  “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

  “What is?”

  “How I let you talk me into getting sucked into another of your harebrained ideas. When are you going to start acting your age?”

  “What? You’ve got your nerve, Motorcycle Mama. You’ve got issues of your own to sort out without getting into mine.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Phil.” Nose hiked, Janni inches away from me, looks around, then inches back.

  She’s miffed, but I don’t have time to worry about it. Once we get out of here, I need to call the Scottenses. I have a promotion hinging on it.

  The Tuckers come down to the jail and vouch for us. It is so good to see them, and I hope to spend more time with them before I head back to Maine. When we’re freed from lockup, we run some errands, mostly in an effort to avoid Mom. When we get back, everyone has gone to their rooms for the evening. Janni is carrying scrapbook stuff into the kitchen and dumping it on the table. I offer to help her. I figure it’s the least I can do since I landed her in jail and all.

  “I’m so glad we’ve brought this stuff inside. I’m sure you’re still thawing out from working in the barn.” I help Janni carry two boxes of pictures from her bedroom into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, this is better, as long as we can keep Mom and Dad away. You’ll have to help me keep watch for them so they don’t spoil the sur-prise.” Janni drops her box on the table with a grunt, then settles into a chair. “I still can’t believe we were in jail today.”

  “At least we didn’t have to wear the orange suits. It’s totally out of my color scheme. Washes me out something fierce.”

  Janni stares at me like she wants to hurt me.

  “I’m kidding.” Why is it I always say the wrong things?

  Together we dump a batch of pictures on the table, then place our boxes on the floor.

  “How we’ve managed to steer clear of Mom is beyond me,” she says.

  My fingers rummage through the pictures. “Well, we’d better get our stories together because we’ll most definitely be dealing with her tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” Janni picks up a picture of the two of us. “Remember this one? We were baking pumpkin cookies. I think you were around nine or ten here, and I was probably five or six.”

  Leaning over, I look at the picture and laugh. “That’s the day Mom got us our first aprons.”

  Janni’s eyes light up. Over aprons. She snaps her fingers. “That’s right.” She gets up, goes over to a cabinet drawer, and opens it. “I still have mine,” she says, whipping out a tattered and spotted pink apron the size of a potholder.

  My jaw drops. I’m not about to point out that it would barely fit around her neck, let alone her midsection. “You kept the apron all these years, why?”

  “Because it was my first one. You didn’t keep yours?”

  “It wasn’t fashionable until Martha Stewart came along. Why would I?”

  Janni shakes her head and stuffs the apron back into the drawer.

  “You know, the good thing about that jail deal is it will keep Mom’s thoughts off of her paranoia about Dad.”

  “Yeah, maybe. At least those two are civil to one another now. It’s a start.”

  “By the way, did you talk to Dad about the motorcycle yet?” My fingers continue to sort through the pictures.

  “Yeah. Guess he wanted to surprise Mom with a motorcycle ride on their anniversary, as we suspected.”

  “Did you tell him she wants no part of it?”

  “Yeah. He said it belongs to Gertie’s son, and he’s out of the country, so he asked if we could keep it here until they return. Gertie doesn’t have room for it.”

  “Oh, that’s probably why they met at the bakery, and why she was calling him. Well, if you’re going to ride that Harley again, you’d better get a license. All we need is for Toby to pull you over.”

  “You’re such a worrywart.”

  “Did I tell you that I found another of Mom’s books in the laundry basket?”

  Janni shakes her head. “Suspense author again?”

 
“One and the same.”

  “She’s hiding them because she’s afraid we’ll take them away from her.” Janni laughs.

  “She’s right.” Picking up a couple of pictures of Mom and Dad with their siblings, I glance up. “We’re forkin’ out too much money for her to be so suspicious.”

  Janni agrees, then yawns. A look of complacency has settled over her. She thumbs through the pictures with all the excitement of a slug. She catches me watching her. “What?”

  “I really think you need to see someone about your energy level. Like I said, you could have some thyroid issues.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You had me breaking and entering somebody else’s house. We were hauled off to jail. From there we went on errands, which included grocery shopping for the week, we’re now working on the scrapbook, and you say I have energy issues? Maybe the better question is, are you snacking on coffee beans?”

  I chuckle. “No. Though it’s not a bad idea for either one of us.”

  Just then Stephanie bursts through the front door and hangs up her coat. “Hey, whatcha doing?” Her smile brightens the room when she enters the kitchen where we have pictures sprawled across the table.

  We explain the events of our day to her and have a good laugh.

  “Mom and Dad are in bed, so we thought we would work on the scrapbook. Would you like a turkey sandwich? I can make you one.” Janni starts to get up.

  Stephanie motions for her to stay put. “I’m a big girl. I can get it myself.”

  “There’s pumpkin pie in the fridge, too, if you decide to indulge,” I say.

  Stephanie stares at me.

  “Alfalfa sprouts?”

  She laughs. “Okay if I join you two?”

  “That would be great,” Janni says, her face brightening.

  Stephanie walks over to the fridge while we continue to sort through the pictures. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have discouraged Stephanie from talking to Janni about this whole matter. It’s better than allowing her hopes to get too high. When Stephanie realizes she’s mistaken, it will likely devastate her.

  “Oh my goodness, is that you?” Stephanie asks, pulling a picture of Janni from the pile. Sandwich in hand, she settles into her seat.

  My sister laughs. “Guilty as charged.” Leaning over, I see the picture in question and suddenly realize how much Janni and Stephanie resemble one another.