Inn Over Her Head Page 3

  This was only making her hungry. If she made some now, she could warm them up for Dawn in the morning, with Beth’s coffee cake. Pandering? Maybe. But it didn’t seem like a bad idea under the circumstances.

  Lori headed for the cookbook shelf. Beth had left most of her collection and Lori had added her own to the stuffed shelves. The original frittata recipe was in here somewhere, but the seasoning mix was a little different. And one of these had to have a good taco seasoning substitute.

  Lori grabbed a thick, well-worn volume of Beth’s and flipped to the index. The substitutions chart was in the back cover, but suddenly she had another idea: maybe Dawn would appreciate a treat today. It could at least soften the blow of her review, and Lori could always use a new recipe to cheer herself up. She collected the cookbook and headed to the porch, promising herself she’d finish Joey’s recipe card soon.

  Lori settled in a rocker and perched the cookbook on her lap, turning to the dessert chapter. Something classic, with a good balance of flavor, something familiar but with a new twist. That would be exactly what Lori needed, and maybe it’d be perfect for Dawn too.

  Lemon zucchini bread. She had a couple zucchini in the fridge that she’d bought with the best of intentions but no desire to eat. And who didn’t love something with lemon? The perfect balance of tart and sweet, and dangerously addictive. Even better, in the margin was a note in Beth’s handwriting: Try this with 1 Tbsp thyme!

  “You got it, Beth,” Lori murmured, practically leaping to her feet.

  Careful to keep up food handler standards even though nobody was watching, Lori took the vital first step: wearing gloves. It made the cooking process a little less familiar and comforting, but Beth had worked hard to earn a perfect health code score, and Lori wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that in her inn.

  She found the thyme on the spice rack in a glass jar with a silver lid. Following Beth’s suggestion, Lori added it to the zucchini bread batter. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too much.

  Before she knew it, she was cutting into the glazed loaf and arranging the slices on a royal blue plate that perfectly set off the green-flecked golden color of the sweets.

  Lori reached for the small slice on the top of the pyramid, but stopped short. Joey had insisted on a quick wedding again — and if she wanted to look even halfway decent, that meant no sweets.

  Suppressing a sigh, Lori took the plate to the sideboard in the parlor that she used for guest treats in the afternoon. To keep herself from temptation, Lori headed to her favorite spot on the porch, with a quick detour back to the kitchen for the cookbook. She popped into the office and grabbed some sticky notes, too, since clearly Beth had some secret recipes to share.

  She definitely wasn’t waiting out front for Dawn to come back so she could point out the treats. Definitely.

  Maybe.

  Lori managed to focus on the desserts chapter for half an hour, marking more mouthwatering treats with adjustments from Beth. Lori had probably gained five pounds from reading alone.

  She barely noticed the distant thunder until she heard footsteps approaching on the gravel walkway. Lori looked up to find Dawn hurrying through the rain to get to the porch, and a white sedan pulling away.

  Once she’d reached the safety of the gray wood, Dawn turned back and looked out over the wide river. Lori followed her gaze. The rain pelted the surface of the Cape Fear so hard that a cloud of mist seemed to rise up, obscuring the view of the islands on the far side.

  “You made it back just in time,” Lori said.

  Dawn made a show of shaking off what little rain hadn’t already soaked into her navy blouse. “What, you’re putting on a game of canasta?”

  This time, the insult was too ridiculous to actually hurt. Lori found herself laughing before she could catch herself.

  Dawn shifted backward a step, her eyes suddenly wide. Apparently, laughter wasn’t the response she was anticipating. She hesitated there, giving the rocker on the other side of Lori a glance.

  “You’re welcome to sit down,” Lori said. It seemed like Dawn had a lot on her mind, and the sarcasm was probably only a shield.

  Dawn chewed her bottom lip, glancing between the empty chair and the screen door. She took one step for the door, but then stopped. “You said you’re a widow?”

  Lori braced herself. Was it a mistake telling something that personal? “Yes.”

  “Before that . . . were you happy?”

  Lori paused. She and Glenn had had sixteen years together — he’d been gone almost as long they’d been married now. But there was that one year when they’d both gotten so involved in their own lives and their own projects that suddenly they discovered they were living on parallel tracks. And then the tracks diverged.

  “Mostly,” she finally said. “Everyone has hard times.”

  Working their way back to one another was like starting their relationship over. Only the second time around, they brought baggage — baggage that had the other person’s name on the luggage tag.

  But, then, they had one last good year before he was diagnosed, so it was definitely worth it.

  “Did you ever think about leaving him?” Dawn asked, so softly Lori could barely hear her over the rain hitting the roof upstairs.

  “We thought we were headed for divorce once.”

  Dawn shook her head. “What if he didn’t believe in divorce? What would you do then?”

  “I don’t know.” Lori’s heart was already beginning to soften to this woman. Under her icy exterior, there was a lot of pain. “We fought through our tough times. With a lot of help.”

  “Hm.” Dawn turned to head inside.

  “Oh, Dawn!” Lori called before she disappeared. “Would you like a wake-up call and breakfast on the same schedule tomorrow?”

  “No.”

  “I made a treat for you. A recipe of Beth’s.” Though she couldn’t be sure Beth had ever made this for Dawn during her previous stays, at least the mention of the old innkeeper should buy her a little favor. “Lemon thyme zucchini bread. Take as much as you like.”

  Dawn said nothing and let the screen door slap behind her. Lori turned back to the cookbook, but her attention was really on listening for a sign of life from inside.

  It took about ten minutes before the sliding door above her screeched and lurched open — she’d better fix that. From the sound of it, Dawn settled on the rocker under the upstairs porch’s roof to watch the storm from there.

  Sometimes, nature was the only balm. Lori couldn’t solve everyone’s problems, even if she was willing to listen. Lori marked her place in the cookbook and finally followed Dawn’s lead inside. She couldn’t help but check the sideboard. The whole blue plate was gone. Lori glanced up at her reflection in the mirror above the sideboard and didn’t even try to hide the smile. Maybe Dawn wasn’t ready to share with Lori, but at least she’d helped a little bit.

  The next morning, Lori fished the last container of strawberry yogurt out of the half-melted bowl of ice. Dawn hadn’t requested a meal to go this morning and hadn’t shown up for breakfast. If it weren’t for her car still parked outside, Lori would’ve thought Dawn had skipped out on her.

  Lori dumped the ice water in the sink and replaced the yogurts in the fridge. And what would she do with the mini frittatas she’d carefully kept the perfect balance of warm and moist all morning?

  Lori strode back to the dining room and the serving table. She gathered up the chafing plate of frittatas, but paused to turn on the lamp.

  A bright flash and a loud pop made Lori jump. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite enough to make her drop the dish. That lamp. Lori huffed at it, as if it cared what she thought. That was the second light bulb it had shorted in two weeks. The mental list of repairs and maintenance was quickly outpacing her single mom and Joey’s hotelier experience. Not that she planned on seeing Joey today, anyway.

  Lori set the chafing dish on the kitchen stainless steel counter and opened the lid. The happy little frittat
as sat there, practically smiling up at her as if to say, Please eat me.

  Lori might be watching her figure, but she wasn’t heartless. She picked up a muffin-shaped serving of savory eggs, cheese, peppers and salsa and took a bite. The tender-crisp peppers complemented the salty smokiness of the cheese perfectly.

  Was she eating her emotions? Perhaps. But at least they tasted good.

  That wouldn’t help her problems, though. She’d need a maintenance man. And if things went further south with her first guest, she might need a lawyer.

  No need to get ahead of herself. One thing at a time: extra food and maintenance first. Lori sighed again and looked out the window. Across the street, the sign for Dusky Card and Gift waved in the breeze.

  Oh! That was exactly what she should do to solve two of her biggest problems. Lori checked the time: still an hour and a half till check-out. Maybe Dawn wanted to enjoy the last morning of her vacation. Or maybe she wasn’t ready to return to the “real world” and whatever problems in her marriage were waiting for her there. Couldn’t blame her for that, could she?

  No matter what the delay, if Dawn wasn’t stirring yet, Lori had time to pop across the street for five minutes.

  Lori replaced most of the mini frittatas in the muffin tin she’d made them in and stuck that in the freezer. If she didn’t serve them to guests, she could always use a fast, hot breakfast. The last few, however, she wrapped up in a towel. She grabbed one of her serving baskets and a couple squares of coffee cake and made the arrangement as pretty as possible.

  Lori checked Dawn’s door — still closed — before she popped across the street for a quick visit to her neighbor business. A large bell on the door clanged to announce her arrival. At opening time, during the lull between spring break and summer vacations, Dusky Card and Gift felt more like Dusty Card and Gift. It even smelled a little like dust. Lori had been in before, but the eclectic mix of antiques, unique local treasures and more standard souvenir and greeting card fare still made her stop and stare. Whether it was more wonder or weirdness, she wasn’t sure.

  Finally, a white-haired head poked out from the back. “Welcome to — hello, Mrs. Keyes.”

  “Hi, Mr. Watson.” Hopefully they’d move past the formality soon.

  “What can I do for you today?”

  “I was wondering if you might have a recommendation for a maintenance man? Looks like that was one thing that wasn’t in Beth’s notes.” Unless it was lost somewhere in the mess that was her desk. Lori lifted the basket. “I brought a bribe.”

  Raymond’s faded blue eyes lit up behind his thick glasses at the sight of the piece of coffee cake, and he smacked his lips. “That isn’t necessary,” he said, although his face said otherwise. “But it is much appreciated.”

  “Of course! I had extra today anyway. My guest didn’t come to breakfast.”

  Raymond tsked and accepted the basket. He lifted a roll and moved aside the towel. “And what’s this?”

  “A mini Southwestern frittata. Like a quiche without a crust.”

  Raymond’s lips drew together in a delighted ooh. “I’ll have to bring some of these to my Katie.”

  Lori had only met Raymond’s wife once, briefly. Kathleen’s eyes and mind were bright, but her body was too frail for her to venture out much.

  “I’ll be right back. Watch the shop for me?” Raymond winked. Obviously, Lori wouldn’t be ringing anyone up in his absence, but she’d try to be a theft deterrent if anyone came in. Lori perused a rack of treasures that had washed up along the North Carolina seaboard — sea glass, bottles, driftwood and more. One of these days, she’d find the perfect knickknack to complete the Bald Head Island Suite.

  Raymond was only gone in the back for a few minutes. Not every business in the jumble of historic and semi-historic houses of Front Street actually had an attached owner’s apartment, but it seemed Card and Gift was one of them.

  “Katie says thank you very much.” Raymond returned Lori’s basket with one hand, and raised a plate of frittata as a toast to her with the other. “And so do I.”

  “You’re very welcome, especially if you’ve got a maintenance man to recommend.” Even if Raymond didn’t use one himself — unlikely, for a man who had to be pushing eighty — he knew Dusky Cove better than anyone, and he was the person to ask.

  “Absolutely: Mitch Griffin. Jack of all trades — electrical, building, plumbing — and certified, licensed and bonded in them all. He’ll do anything but build you a new house, and he’s honest.”

  Lori smiled. “With that kind of endorsement, I almost expect to find out he’s your son.”

  Raymond laughed. “Close: son-in-law.”

  “Now it all makes sense.”

  “Let me go get his information.” Raymond carried his plate into the back room, leaving Lori to peruse another shelf for a few minutes. Would a dried starfish keep, or would it end up like the ones from the Sunset Beach Room?

  Of course, Dawn seemed to like the rotting old things. If she was sitting up in her room with those things all morning, she could definitely use a change of pace. Especially with what she might have waiting at home.

  “Here you go, Mrs. Keyes,” Raymond called. “I found Mitch’s card.”

  Lori hurried back to the counter so Raymond wouldn’t have to look for her. “Thank you.” She took the business card.

  “I also have these for you too.” He picked up a large shopping bag from behind the counter. “Your guest’s. Didn’t want to lug them around all day.”

  “Thanks. Speaking of which, do you have any recommendations for someone who needs some fresh air, or maybe a place to think? That guest could probably use both.”

  Deep smile lines creased Raymond’s cheeks. “Of course! There’s the Salt Marsh Boardwalk—” Raymond paused when he saw Lori’s mystified expression. “It’s a wooden walkway over the marsh on the channel side. Very peaceful, when everybody else in town isn’t there.”

  “I’ll have to check it out. Go on.”

  “Over thataway there are some canoe trails, if he’s more of an outdoorsy type.”

  Huh? “She,” Lori corrected. “I don’t think she is.” Plus, they’d need to track down a boat. She definitely didn’t have one of those around. The insurance would be murder.

  “She, then.”

  Hopefully she had the right person’s purchases in her hands.

  Raymond paused and contemplated her question some more. “There’s the historic tour down at the fort.” He nodded down the street toward the brick building only a couple blocks away.

  “Or, if she’s the type that won’t want to be out of the air-conditioning, try the museum.” He pointed his fork the opposite direction down the street.

  “Those are great; thank you!”

  Raymond’s eyes twinkled. “Probably do you some good to experience the local attractions too. Your guests would appreciate personal reviews, you know.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. Just takes time to get to know a whole new business and a whole new town.”

  Raymond finished his final bite of frittata. “Of course. Take your time. Dusky Cove isn’t going anywhere. I’ve been here long enough to vouch for that!”

  Lori laughed along with him and headed back to the Mayweather House with her spirits — and her basket — lighter.

  She ventured upstairs and tapped on the door to the Sunset Beach Room very lightly. If Dawn was sitting and stewing, Lori wanted to help, but if she was busy, she wouldn’t interrupt.

  No answer. Either she’d slipped out while Lori was gone — or before breakfast — or she was busy.

  Well, if she hadn’t eaten, and she was still here, Dawn would probably need a snack before she left. Lori headed back to the kitchen and the freezer to prepare Beth’s standby midday snack for guests: a cheese plate. Slicing the firm frozen cheeses only took a minute, then Lori set the display plate out on the parlor sideboard, along with a fruit bowl and a sealed package of crackers. They wouldn’t last long i
n the humidity if they were open, but nobody wanted to open the package either. She’d have to figure out a better compromise. A filmy cheesecloth protected the plate from any bugs that might get in the house.

  Lori double-checked the historical anomaly in the room: the miniature fridge inset in one end of the sideboard. It was stocked with bottled water and sodas. All set.

  She checked her watch. Check-out time was looming closer and closer. She couldn’t be a doormat, never enforcing her inn’s rules until they were moot altogether, but how could she kick a woman out who was having a hard time?

  A gentle reminder would be enough for now. Lori hiked back up the stairs and softly rapped on the door again. “Mrs. Vogel?” she called through the door. “I’m not trying to kick you out, but I do want to remind you that it will be check-out time in about half an hour.”

  No response. She could be in the bathroom, or she could just still hate Lori. Or she might be sitting on the upstairs porch again, if she was even here. Maybe she’d gone out.

  Lori tapped one more time. “If you could say something to let me know you’re in there?”

  Still no response.

  Lori decided to check the porch, but before she made it to the front door, the phone rang. Dawn calling? Lori rerouted to grab the nearest cordless phone. “The Mayweather House,” she answered. “This is Lori Keyes.” Should she say she was the innkeeper?

  “Hi, Mrs. Keyes, my name is Mitch.”

  Not the handyman, was it? She hadn’t even called him yet. “Hi, I was about to give you a call.”

  “I know, Ray told me.”

  Mr. Watson? Ah, so his family must call him Ray. “I see. Is he always this eager to help?”

  “Only for very special people,” Mitch said. Lori thought she could hear the smile in his voice. “Seems you qualify. Quite the compliment.”