Macaroni and Freeze (4 page)

All the Tri-Gams and I would be dressing like ye ol' kitchen maids during the tea.

“I'll wear the apron, but I am
not
giving up my fascinator. I made it special, just for the occasion,” ACB said.

It wasn't
Downton Abbey
, but we'd do.

I hoped that the glue would hold on everything and that the gulls wouldn't dive into the punch.

ACB marched to a different tune from everyone else. That's what made her so unique.

As for me, I'd rather not start another Revolutionary War on the shore of Lake Ontario. One was enough, thank you very much.

Walking to the front door as I tied my apron, I saw a couple of the Tri-Gams rolling out a red carpet from the motor home to my front door. Only it was lacking about thirty feet in length.

Heads would roll on the Tri-Gam Red Carpet Committee!

A six-piece band from the high school played what
might have been “Pomp and Circumstance,” but it was hard to tell. If they were going to play it for graduation in June, they really could use more practice.

People lined up on both sides of the red carpet. ACB and I stood inside and watched, not wanting to get cold or wet.

On a certain note during the march, Megan Hunter knocked on the door of the motor home and the Countess of Comforting Comfort Food emerged in all her regal glory. She had changed her outfit a little bit and now was dressed all in red from the top of her pillbox hat to her dyed faux-fur coat. Red palazzo pants ballooned out from bright red patent-leather boots.

Even with the fur coat on, she looked skinnier than she had at the parade earlier. Unlike me, Priscilla Finch-Smythe did not sample her own cooking.

Immediately, I wanted to feed her some protein—like a juicy, rare Delmonico steak with a roast chicken chaser and a side of pork. However, she needed carbs, too. How about a mug of gravy, a vat of potato chips, and butter-soaked garlic bread? Oh, and dairy! There was a salute-to-cheese platter in my fridge that the Tri-Gam Cheese Committee had prepared, complete with a tiny flag of the country—or state—that the cheese had come from.

I'd make her a nice plate of that. In fact, she should have the whole tray.

Halfway up the walk, Megan stopped Priscilla. The
mayor, Rick Tingsley, was making a speech and pinning a huge corsage on her coat. However, her red fur was too thick. Mayor Tingsley got flustered and just handed the red and white flowers to her.

“Another corsage?” I asked. “It's a little big for her.”

“I made it,” ACB said. “I'm on the corsage committee.”

“I guess you can never have too many flowers,” I added.

“That's what I always say.”

“Why don't you open the door of the Big House, Antoinette Chloe, since you know her? And remember, don't call her Mabel,” I whispered.

ACB threw open the door as wide as it could go and pulled Priscilla into the room. “Well, hell, Mabel Cronk! It's been a long time! About time you came back for a visit!”

Blondie appeared out of nowhere, took one look at the red fur coat, and thought she'd found a kindred spirit. She couldn't stop circling Priscilla, sniffing, lunging, and barking. Then Blondie clamped onto a mouthful of the fur and started pulling.

I took hold of Blondie's collar just as Priscilla was about to topple over. Antoinette Chloe steadied her.

The crowd started screaming, led by Megan in high C, who yelled, “A vicious dog is attacking our Priscilla! Someone stop it!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ty enter the room and hurry Blondie out the back door.

“Was that . . . a . . . a wolf?” Priscilla said, fanning herself with her new corsage.

“It was Blondie, my golden retriever. She wouldn't hurt a fly. I think she just wanted to play with your coat.”

“That police officer should have shot the beast!”

“
What did you say?”
How dare she dis my adopted dog?

ACB sniffed. “Oh, for Pete's sake, Mabel. You know the difference between a dog and a wolf.”

Priscilla sniffed back. “Antoinette Chloe, you haven't changed a bit. You are still as blunt and as crass as you used to be.”

“You've sure as hell changed. Since when did you become British?”

“Since I got my own TV show,” she whispered.

“I heard that you got married four times,” ACB said.

“Three, but who's counting?”

I'd better separate those two before things got heated, I thought. But I secretly loved how ACB was handling the diva.

I took Priscilla's coat and hung it in the closet, wondering where the Tri-Gam Coat Committee was. They were supposed to put the coats on three designated beds upstairs.

Then it hit me! I was having boarders staying over tonight and maybe tomorrow night. I'd completely forgotten that I'd volunteered to house Priscilla's entourage at the Big House since my cottages were already closed up for the winter.

Well, I'd get the details later from the Tri-Gam Lodging Committee.

Megan stood on the top step and shouted to the crowd, “Can I have the Tri-Gams committee people come in first to meet and greet Priscilla? Everyone else step aside!”

Soon I was joined by the Tri-Gam Tea Committee. They went to work like little beavers in their mobcaps and aprons and walked around with silver trays, toothpicks, and napkins, serving the guests. Other guests found their way into the kitchen to help themselves.

Megan made a plate for Priscilla, who was too busy meeting and greeting to make it to the buffet in the kitchen. Priscilla was sitting on my uncle Porky's favorite faux-leather recliner with the footrest up.

I stationed myself in a corner of the kitchen, passing out punch.

The afternoon passed by in the blink of an eye. But it seemed that everyone loved the entertainment so much, they didn't want to leave. The Tri-Gam Tea Committee had arranged for a violinist and a soloist from the church to play and sing through the event.

“Do you want to clear out this place quickly, Trixie?” Antoinette Chloe asked me as she replenished a platter of cookies to distribute to the guests.

“You read my mind, girlfriend.”

“Watch this!”

She glided over to the violinist, whispered something in her ear, and locked arms with the soloist.

It was then we all heard the strains of “Home on the Range” warbled in a way that only ACB could warble it. The soloist inched herself away from ACB and found her way to the punch bowls in my corner of the kitchen.

“How about a stiff one?” I asked, filling up a cup with champagne only.

“Hit me,” she said, taking the cup. “And I need a smoke even though I haven't smoked in two years. Where can I hide?”

“Back porch, but it's snowing, and you shouldn't smoke.”

“I'll risk it,” she said, chugging the champagne and holding her cup out for another. “I gotta get that caterwauling out of my head.”

I filled her cup again, and she walked out onto my back porch, closing the door behind her.

ACB's singing did the trick. In a matter of minutes, I could see dozens of arms checking their watches. The coat committee quickly started fetching coats from upstairs, and as ACB kept on singing old Western songs, people kept on leaving.

Finally, during a showstopping rendition of “Red River Valley,” she paused midwarble and asked, “How's that?”

I'd just opened and closed the door for my last guest, the violinist. Then I hugged her. “Better than a smoke bomb.”

“So, where's the Tri-Gam Cleanup Committee?” she asked.

“I think we're it. They either ran for the hills or the Adirondack Mountains.”

Just then Ty walked in. He shook off his boots and shrugged out of his coat. “The parking lot is clear except for Priscilla's motor home and our vehicles. Clyde and Max are plowing and snow blowing to tidy everything up in the parking lot.”

“Good. Where's Blondie?” I asked.

“I left her in my apartment. I thought you might need some help cleaning up.”

I looked around at my beautiful house, and it looked worse than the village dump.

“It'll be no problem, Trixie.” ACB held a garbage bag open. “We can clean this up in no time.”

I was touched. “Thanks. Both of you. I really appreciate it.”

We cleaned the place in record time, and then I made the mistake of looking at the kitchen floor.

“Don't worry about it, Trixie,” Ty said, reading my mind. “I'll take care of the floor. You just go upstairs and get a couple hours' sleep. Antoinette Chloe, you probably have to get your entry ready, so head for your house and drive carefully . . . and go slow!”

“I have to get my entry ready, too,” I reminded him.

“Nope. Not now. Find time at work during your shift to put everything together,” he said, bossy deputy that he was.

Just as I was saying good-bye to Antoinette Chloe and thanking her profusely, the door to Priscilla's
motor home opened, and I could see three people walk down the red carpet, two of whom were carrying suitcases.

I'd forgotten about my houseguests—yet again!

“G'night, Mabel Cronk,” ACB yelled.

“G'night, Antoinette Brownelli,” was the reply as their paths crossed on the sidewalk.

I held my breath. Ty chuckled.

“G'night, Countess Priscilla Finch-Smythe,” ACB said.

“G'night, Antoinette Chloe Brownelli.”

They both laughed, and ACB flip-flopped her way to her car.

“Hello again, Priscilla,” I yelled, waving to her.

Priscilla tossed what looked like a mink coat over her shoulders and paused on my sidewalk. “The tea was quite acceptable. I particularly loved your cheese-olive puffs. You must give me the recipe.”

“Sure.” I was a little underwhelmed by her opinion of the tea. She didn't have to gush, but she could at least show some gratitude for all the work we had done just for her.

“Trixie, I'd like you to meet my entourage. They will be staying with you in your home. You probably don't know this, but I like my privacy, and my motor home is too small.”

Priscilla held out her hand in the direction of a very overweight young man.

“This gentleman is my stepson from my second
marriage, Peter McCall. Out of all my marriages, I liked Peter's father the best. Peter drives my motor home and is a jack-of-all-trades.”

I held out my hand to shake his. His grip was limp and lifeless, but I still hung on.

“I'm Trixie Matkowski. This is my house and over there is my diner, the Silver Bullet. I also own the housekeeping cottages behind the house, which you can barely make out in the dark.”

Suddenly he came alive, and he pumped my hand hard enough to rattle my teeth. “So glad to meet you. I saw you at the tea, but you were busy making it so wonderful for my darling stepmummy that I didn't want to disturb you.”

Did he really say
stepmummy
?

“Nice to meet you, Peter.” I pulled my hand out of his grasp to get the blood going in the direction it was supposed to. “And I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Ty Brisco. Sandy Harbor deputy Ty Brisco, to be precise.”

He gave Ty a snappy salute.

Ty offered his hand instead and they shook. “Howdy.”

As they made small talk about the weather, I was able to study Peter. I'd say that he was in his late twenties or early thirties and of average height, and he had cheeks with leftover scars from a bad case of teenage acne. He was about fifty pounds overweight. Now I knew who sampled Priscilla's cooking. He had a nice
suit on, although he had loosened his tie already. I did remember his face from the tea party earlier. He'd been making the rounds with Mayor Tingsley.

Peter's cell phone rang, and he rudely answered it in front of us and started talking into it, until Priscilla shooed him away.

That left the woman standing in Priscilla's skinny shadow. “Jilly? Where are you?”

Jill walked around Priscilla and stood at her side. “This is my assistant, Jill Marley. I don't know what I'd ever do without her. She does just
everything
for me.”

Jill smiled and shook my hand. She had thick chestnut hair with reddish streaks, cut shoulder-length and stylish, and in my porch light, I could see that she had striking blue eyes. Her smile radiated warmth and friendliness.

I momentarily wondered if she and Peter were a couple since they were about the same age, but then I shrugged it off, not wanting to be too nosy. Plus, ACB would find out sooner or later and would tell me.

When I introduced Jill to Ty, she stepped way too close to him, and I noticed he didn't move back.

She stared up at him, beaming a smile that would light up Mars. “It's so nice to meet you, Ty. I hope I see you around a lot this weekend.”

Define “a lot,” please.

“I'll be around, darlin',” he drawled in the way that only a Texas cowboy could.

Suddenly I wanted to get my lodgers into the Big
House and into their respective rooms. I was tired and my cranky quotient was steadily rising to full tilt.

I could remedy both with a quick trip to the kitchen for leftover chocolate chip cookies on my way upstairs.

Shoot! I'd forgotten my manners!

“Can I offer you a snack? Or are you both good?” I asked, praying for the latter.

“A snack sounds really good,” said Peter, smiling at me. “Even though I could stand to lose a few pounds.” He chuckled and patted his stomach.

“Nonsense,” said Priscilla. “You're fine the way you are.” She turned to go back into her motor home, then said over her shoulder, “You two, get some sleep. I'll need you in the morning. I have to be up very early tomorrow. The Tri-Gams are taking me to breakfast.”

“Oh, really? Where?” I asked.

“Why, at your diner, of course, Trixie. I understand that you created a breakfast dish in my honor. I have to sample it.”