Losing Penny (14 page)

Penny looked deflated and held the cheese in
the air. “I should have thought of that. You’re smart. It probably
came with your PhD.”

“No, there are plenty of stupid PhDs.” He
stepped away from his pile of eggplant slices. “So, what did Kayla
find in her trap, the Lurk?”

“His footsteps.” She told him about the flour
booby trap.

“So, you really know nothing more about your
Lurk except for his shoe size.”

“And that he has access to my apartment.”

Drake nodded. “Only a food junkie would think
to use flour for surveillance. Now what?”

She didn’t know if he was talking about her
summer or eggplant plans. She swallowed hard and blinked back a
tear. “Arrange a single layer of eggplant slices in the bottom of
the large colander and sprinkle it with salt.”

“Where’s the colander?
What’s
a
colander?”

She pointed at a cupboard, watching him.
“Good. Now, weigh down the slices with a couple of plates. It needs
to drain for two hours.”

“Two hours? Are you serious?” He wanted to
eat now.

“This is a crucial step. We need get rid of
most of the eggplant juice before we bake it.”

Drake shook his head. “It’s not juicy.”

“Believe me, it is.”

“Two hours?” Drake frowned at the
colander.

“Now we make the sauce.” Penny scooted around
him and pulled open the fridge. “I like it when it has simmered for
a while, and the best way to do that is in the Crock-Pot. We also
need the food processor.” She pointed at the cupboard that had
previously held the colander. “And tomatoes, garlic, and a third of
a cup of olive oil.”

“Seriously? Two hours?”

She nodded. “While we wait, do you want to go
into town? If you’re hungry, there’s a restaurant I want to
try.”

Foods that heal include cruciferous
vegetables; berries; apples; spinach and other dark green, leafy
vegetables; cold, wild-caught fish; olive oil and other healthy
oils; whole grain bread; beans and lentils; tomatoes; mushrooms;
garlic and onions; lean meats and poultry; red wine; green tea;
nuts; and water.

There are also foods that can kill.

From
Losing Penny and Pounds

They stood outside
Helene’s Place, looking in the windows at the distressed wood
floors, pine tables, and benches. Rows of apothecary jars, filled
with a variety of herbs and spices, sat on the open shelves. Penny
itched to examine every single jar—to touch the ginger root, smell
the basil, and taste the dried mushrooms. Drake hung behind her,
less enthusiastic. He stalled when Penny took his hand and tried to
pull him in through the door.

With one last sad glance at the Bluebird
Café, he followed her into Helene’s. Maybe bringing Drake had been
a bad idea. Although, glancing around the empty room, Penny decided
that Helene could use all the customers she could get. How could
Andrea worry about Helene putting her out of business? Helene had
zero—well, now two—customers.

Penny loved the rustic baskets and heavy
pewter décor. Sitting down in ladder-back chair, she looked around
for a menu. Drake settled beside her and pointed at the chalkboard
above the counter. She hoped the food wouldn’t be as disappointing
as her dining companion.

“Mostly soups,” he said.

“No, that’s not true.” A large woman in a
black apron appeared in the doorway. “I have a varied and
complicated menu—strictly catered to the needs of my patrons.” She
squinted at Drake before turning a pity smile on Penny.

Penny raised her eyebrows at Drake, and he
scowled at the middle-aged Scandinavian beauty approaching their
table.

“Are you Helene?” Penny asked, sitting up
straight, ready and eager to be taught something culinary.

Helene studied Drake, and Penny watched him
squirm beneath Helene’s steady gaze. She silently nodded at both of
them before returning to the kitchen.

“What was that?” Drake asked.

“
That
was obviously Helene,” Penny
whispered, leaning across the table toward Drake.

He rolled his eyes. “I know that, but—” He
pressed his lips into a straight line when Helene returned carrying
a large tray laden with a steaming pot and a basket of bread.

“Soup,” Drake said.

Helene shook her head. “Cheese fondue. To
sooth your secrets.”

“My secrets?” Penny asked, delighted that
Helene read her so well, although not so delighted with a gooey pot
of cheese and a basket full of bread tinged with rosemary. It
smelled like heaven, so maybe she’d try just a bit of that golden,
beautiful bread, but she couldn’t try the cheese. She’d have to let
her secrets stay put—no amount of cheese could spill her secrets
out.

“Your secrets are safe,” Helene told Penny as
she set the tray down on the table. She tilted her head at Drake.
“His are dangerous.”

Penny propped her elbows on the table and her
chin in her hands. “Dangerous secrets?”

Helene shook her head and a tiny strand of
hair escaped her tightly pulled braid. “Your secret is safe,” she
repeated. “He needs cheese.”

“Do I need cheese?” Penny probed.

“No, you need curried squash bisque.” And
Helene set a bowl in front of Penny, pulled a tiny glass vial from
her apron, and sprinkled a dash of fragrant spices on top of the
soup.

Penny couldn’t help it, she squealed in
delight as she inhaled and tried to guess the ingredients. Giving
up, she picked up her spoon. “How did you know I needed curried
squash bisque?” she asked Helene.

“You are very easy to read,” Helene said, and
she pointed at the goose pimples on Penny’s arm. “See, you are
cold. I brought something to warm you.”

“But what if I don’t like cheese?” Drake
asked. “What if Penny is allergic to squash?”

Helene smiled at him. “Do you like
cheese?”

“Of course, but what if I didn’t?”

Helene shrugged. “I will bring you something
else.” She moved to take away the pot.

Drake put his hand on the pot to stop her.
“No, leave it.”

“I can understand your hesitation. It can be
very difficult to share secrets, and you’ve held yours close for
such a long time.”

Penny wondered about Drake’s secrets. The
most obvious one was their fake marriage, but Drake hadn’t held
onto that one for very long. Not very long at all. How long had
they been sharing the beach house? Two days? Only something with a
very short life span, like a fly, would consider two days a long
time. Drake must have another secret—maybe a dark, hidden
secret.Taking a bite of her soup, she tried to distinguish the many
flavors as the soup slid down her throat and warmed her belly.
Squash and curry obviously, but also garlic, maybe a bay leaf,
oregano, cinnamon, and maybe nutmeg.

“I win,” she whispered to Drake as he
continued to frown at his cheese. But Drake didn’t look like he
minded losing as he dipped a crusty piece of bread into his pot of
cheese.

***

Drake drove a fifteen-year-old BMW
convertible with a leaky roof. Trevor, on the hand, drove a brand
spanking new BMW convertible. One was new, one was old. One purred,
the other spat. Drake called his car Monique, because occasionally,
without warning or any visible signs of distress, the car
moaned.

When the car began to shake, Penny glanced at
Drake’s frown and said, “Maybe you should have named her
Shookie.”

“What kind of name is Shookie?” Drake said,
holding onto the vibrating steering wheel with both hands.

“You know, like Sookie Stackhouse.”

“Who?”

“She’s the main character in The Southern
Vampire Mysteries novels—I honestly don’t know how you can teach
literature, because you obviously don’t read.”

The car’s shaking rattled the windows and
Penny’s bones.

“I don’t read vampire books!”

“Bram Stoker?”

“Okay, fine, I’ve read Dracula.”

Penny smiled. “One for me.”

“What does that mean?” Drake shot her an
annoyed look. He’d been cranky ever since the cheese incident when
Penny had made it her mission to weasel out his secrets. “Why are
you keeping score?”

Penny ignored his question and gripped the
door handle. “We need to pull over,” she told him through rattling
teeth.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

She would have to travel hundreds of miles to
find nowhere in Laguna, but nowhere was everywhere in Washington.
The road stretched ahead of them, a long ribbon of gray slicing
through the woods. Trees and bushes, green and thick, crowded the
gravel shoulder as if trying to creep and overtake the one manmade
creation in sight. No houses. No cars. As they rounded a hill, a
clanking sound came from the engine, like pots banging against each
other.

“That can’t be good,” Penny said.

Drake eased the car to the side of the road,
looked at her sore foot, and fished his phone out of his pocket. He
slumped in his seat. “No service. Now what?”

“We walk,” Penny told him.

“Penny, you have a gash on your foot.”

“Drake, if you don’t want to limp with me,
I’ll wait here and you can walk for help.”

Drake looked at the roof of the car. “I can’t
leave you here alone. Didn’t you see
Breakdown
?”

She shook her head.

“A thriller from the nineties about this guy
and his wife with a broken down car…”

“And it doesn’t have a happy ending?”

“Well, maybe, but there’s all sorts of
unhappiness that starts pretty much as soon as their car engines
dies.” He thought for a moment and then admitted, “It’s an awful
movie, but it presents a convincing case not to ever leave your
wife on the side of the road.”

“I’m not really your wife,” she reminded him,
laying her hand on his arm.

He shook his head. “Not the point.”

“So, you’ll watch awful movies, but you won’t
read vampire books?” She laughed, put her hand on the door handle
and opened it. “Another point for me,” she said, right before
climbing from the car.

Drake followed her. “By my count you have
two.”

“Two to nothing.”

“I’m losing.”

“I didn’t say that,” Penny said, as she
limped away.

“You have two, I have nothing, and I don’t
even know the rules to the game.” Drake caught up to her in two
easy strides. “Where are you going? Home is that way.”

The way he said
home
sent a small
thrill down Penny’s back, although she didn’t know why. She looked
up and down the road and pointed the direction the car had been
headed. “Home
is
that way, but I think the nearest gas
station is that way.”

Drake considered this. “Maybe,” he said
slowly.

They walked, or Drake walked and Penny
limped. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

When she didn’t answer right away, he asked
again, “Penny, does your foot hurt?”

“I’m fine. I was just trying to decide if I
got another point.”

“I want a point,” Drake said. “You seem to
gather them with every breath. There should be one or two to spare
for me.”

Penny sighed. “Okay, I used to have a dog
named Muffin. Now you have a point.”

“Muffin? I get a point for a muffin?”

“Actually, muffins are usually four
points.”

“Four points? Then I’m ahead.”

“No. A typical muffin has four Weight Watcher
points, and you still only have one point.”

He was silent for a moment. “I get it. I get
a point when I discover something I didn’t know about you.”

“Very good, Professor Poet.”

A hurt looked flashed across Drake’s face.
“Please don’t call me that.”

“Professor Poet?”

He nodded.

“Three points!” She laughed. “Really, this is
very simple game. It’s amazing I haven’t discovered your secret
yet. Unless Professor Poet is your secret.”

Drake shook his head. “No, that would be a
stupid secret.”

“Then what’s so wrong about Professor
Poet?”

Drake swallowed hard. “Pretentious Professor
Poet piss pot producing pompous, pedantic, popish, putrid
poetry.”

He probably expected her to shout out four
points, and she nearly did, but she saw his expression and instead
gently asked, “And that hurt your feelings?”

“It was meant to.”

“Of course it was, but no one can really hurt
your feelings unless you think highly of them. You must have cared
about this person.”

“She was crazy.”

“Of course she was.”

“No really, she was insane. Charlotte Rhyme,
the artist.”

“You knew Charlotte Rhyme?” Another point.
She was now at five, but she didn’t think she should mention
it.

Their footsteps crunched on the gravel, and
Penny thought about how the quiet could be noisy. She wanted to ask
how he knew Charlotte Rhyme and what he had done to make her call
him names, but she didn’t know if she should.

“Auntie Mae once helped Charlotte find her
way home. I guess she got lost a lot. Charlotte gave us that
painting in the beach house in return.”

“I dated her niece.”

“That must be Blair.”

“Which puts you at six, and I still only have
the one point you gave me.”

He’d been keeping score too. That surprised
her.

Drake stuck his hands in his pocket. “This
game is almost as insulting as being called a piss pot.” He thought
for a moment. “How do I win?”

“I’m not telling,” she shook her head.

“What? I refuse to play a game where I don’t
even know how to win.”

“Then I win.”

“No. No way.”

“It’s true. You win if the other person
refuses to play.”

“This is an evil game.”

She nodded. “It’s a junior high sleepover
sort of game.”

“I’m playing a teenage girl game?”

“We’re not playing anymore, because I just
won.”