Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle (18 page)

“Ah, yes, well, I lost my eyebrows in a dessert-related accident.”

“I don't understand.”

“Why don't we talk about you instead? You're sitting up. That's terrific.”

“And I am glad to see you, even without your eyebrows. You still have your smile. Of course, that is the best part of Fiona Silk.”

“You remember my name!”

“The specialist was in today. He says I am recovering well, and now I am starting to remember. These last few days were a setback, but I am getting better. He told me not to worry too
much about these setbacks.” He leaned a bit forward. “But there is something else wrong, isn't there?”

“No, no, no.”

“You can tell me. I am your friend.”

I nodded, feeling that damn lump swelling in my throat.

“You have been visiting me, thinking about me, worrying about me. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Friendship cannot be one-sided.”

“Of course not.”

“You are thinking that I am in this bed and you need to be sympathetic to me and my problems, but I need to be a friend too.”

Okay, I knew I shouldn't have blurted it out. He was the one who needed help and cheering up and ongoing support. He didn't need to have me melt down in his fragile presence. But I did, and the whole sordid story spilled out: the overdue taxes, the stalled settlement, the threat to my little property by Jean-Claude and his development plans, and this problem with the thousand dollars for the wiring, which all started with an innocent check behind the stove. I felt a flush spread over my cheeks as I explained about the cookbook.

He laughed out loud at that.

“It's not really funny,” I said. “I'm quite hopeless at it. It'll be a spectacular failure.”

“Perhaps not, madame. But let me help you.”

“With recipes?” I said stupidly. “I am already using your strawberries and cream.”

“And I remember I used to make a terrific fig salad. Oh, that is a wonderful memory too. I can taste it! But never mind that now, I meant I can give you the money for your taxes and whatever else you need.”

“But I couldn't accept it.”

The brilliant turquoise eyes met mine. “Why not?”

“It just wouldn't be right.”

“Because I am a prisoner here in this hospital bed? Is that it? Because you feel sorry for me?”

“Of course not.”

“Why then? Am I not a man who can help a woman?”

“I just wouldn't feel comfortable about it.”

“Fine. Don't just take it. I can make you a loan. Interest free. It's no problem for me. It's not like I have anything else to do with my money while I'm here.”

“All this medical attention, the rehab. It must be costing you so much.”

“I had a good medical plan. After my wife got sick, I made sure I was covered for everything you can think of. See? Today I remember Carole too.”

“That's wonderful about your memory. But I don't think I can accept any money from you. For one thing, who knows when I could pay you back. And the way my ex-husband's behaving, he might find a way to keep me from getting my settlement.”

“I would forget the loan then.”

“But that's the problem,
I
wouldn't forget it.” I reached over and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back. A good sign neurologically, I imagined. “I suppose not, madame. And I am not surprised. Did you forget to keep an eye on my home? To pick up my mail? To make sure my car was stored properly? You didn't forget to visit me in the hospital? Did you?”

“No. But that's different.”

“It is not different, madame,” he said. “This is just one more thing you can do for me: to allow me to help you. Let me feel like I am capable to give again, not just receive.”

I smiled back at him. It seemed easy enough to say yes, and yet what kind of slippery slope was it?

“I will write you a cheque,” he said, “for whatever you need. And you can pay me back whenever you want.”

I shook my head.

“Don't think you'll get away with that for one more minute.” I jumped at the angry voice behind me.

“What?” I stared at the beefy aide, Paulette. She looked large and dangerous in her rumpled scrubs.

Marc-Andre's eyes flashed. “This is not the business of the hospital. It is between me and my friend.”

“Au contraire.
There are laws against trying to extort money from vulnerable patients. It's called fraud. And there are policies here as well.”

I said, “But I haven't accepted anything from Marc-André.”

“Tell it to the judge.”

“What judge?” Marc-André said. “This is ridiculous.”

She turned to me, triumph on her face. “You will leave this facility immediately. And once I have made my report, you will not be granted access to it again.”

This reaction didn't even make sense. I didn't even know this woman, yet she was as vindictive as Jean-Claude for no reason I could imagine. Unless, of course, the reason was Marc-André.

I said, “I haven't done anything. I'm certainly not extorting money. Which you would realize if you weren't jumping to conclusions.”

But she was already on the phone to security. I got one last glance at Marc-André's stunned face as they bundled me out the door, down the long corridor and out of the hospital.

Security made sure I knew I wouldn't be allowed back. In both official languages.

I got home to two messages. Hélène's said that she'd found us an electrician. Lola had left the second. Liz had arrived at the same time I did. She made herself at home, meaning she poured herself a walloping drink from my Courvoisier while I listened to Lola's message.

“Fiona! Lola here. Great news, darling. I got the contract you sent. So it's a go. Of course, they might want changes, possibly a diet version. We're still talking about that. So in the meantime, watch the calories in those recipes. Anyway, I got the first part of the advance cheque. I've XpressPosted it to you. That sick relative story worked. Remember that if you're talking to anyone from the firm. You'll have it tomorrow. Go crazy, girl! But stay on top of the project. We have tight deliverables! Well, gotta go. I'm getting ready for BookExpo Canada. Get busy, and I'll talk to you next week.”

I hung up and did a dance of joy around my living room.

Liz peered at me from the lumpy sofa. “You need a new sofa. This one is horribly uncomfortable. What are you dancing about?”

“Money is coming! Just when I thought I was living in a Victorian melodrama, now I can pay my tax bill! It's going to be all right.”

Liz stayed seated but raised her blue glass in the direction of Jean-Claude's house. “Take that, you bastard,” she said.

Josey arrived back from the village, entered without knocking, and joined me in a little jig. I couldn't stop dancing. Even poor old sweltering Tolstoy got in the mood and jumped around with us, his white tail waving.

“Hey, Miz Silk. After you pay your land taxes, you think there will be enough money to get an air conditioner here? I
think Uncle Mike knows a guy who can get you a great deal on one.”

“Hey, I had that idea first,” Liz said. “It's always so hellishly hot here.”

“One thing at a time,” I said. “At least we're out of the woods. I mean at least we can stay in the woods.”

“Anyway, I've been in town,” Josey said, “and I ran into Marietta and Rafaël when they were going out to dinner. They heard from Hélène. They'd really like to talk to you.”

“That's great, Josey. And another good thing. I got a message from Hélène.”

“She called? What did she say? Is she upset about her kitchen?”

Liz said, “Whoa.”

“Take a breath, Josey. Everything's good. Hélène knows we weren't responsible for the fire. She called to see how we are. I think she's embarrassed about Jean-Claude's behaviour. She said that he won't be taking legal action against me. She also has a line on an electrician. So that's good. And even better, our friendship is still intact.”

“No thanks to his lordship.”

“Never mind him. I think we're on our way out of this situation.”

Although I knew it rankled, Josey showed her sporting side when Hélène was able to locate an electrician before she did.

“Face it, Miz Silk. We need to get this wiring fixed, no matter what it takes. And Hélène's got the connections through his lordship. No wonder this guy can come right away. Ordinary people don't have that kind of clout.”

Josey was waiting at the door when the electrician's mud-covered
pick-up pulled up near the door. Luckily, I spotted the handsome German shepherd accompanying him. I tossed one of Suki's special dog treats down the basement stairs to distract Tolstoy. The last thing we needed was a turf battle.

“Do you play basketball?” Josey said as she led him into the kitchen.

It was a fair question. He must have been six foot five. He was lean without being lanky. His shoulder-length dark blond hair was caught back in a loose ponytail. A gold stud twinkled from each ear. He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt featuring Che Guevara, who was in turn wearing a Bart Simpson T-shirt. The electrician seemed to be in a heck of a fine mood, which might have been because he looked so damned good. Or maybe it was because he'd had the benefit of an excellent dentist for most of his life, which I estimated to be about thirty-five years.

“What about football?” Josey added.

He grinned and ducked to avoid whacking his head on the door frame. “Nope. Just tall. So what seems to be the problem, ladies?”

I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. “Thanks for coming,” I said and meant it.

He gripped my hand in his huge paw and said, “My pleasure. Arlen Young.”

The dog checked us out. She remained aloof and cautious.

Josey said, “What's your dog's name?”

“Sweetheart.”

“Good name. Hey, I think I know you from somewhere.” Josey entered something in the little notebook.

Arlen grinned down at her. “I been a lot of places.”

“The Britannia?”

He said, “Aren't you a bit too young for the Brittania?”

“They let me in when I have to collect my uncle. You some kind of musician?”

“I play a bit of guitar. The band's called Nowhere To Go But Oops.”

“Hmmm. That could be it, but I've never heard you play.” She nodded and ripped out the page. Another crumpled blue page landed in the wastebasket. Just as well. If Josey acted on everything she wrote in that tiny book, we'd all be exhausted.

“Could be. I'm from just up the line. I bet you're Mike Thring's family, right? I think I've seen you with him.”

I decided to re-assert my role as homeowner. “The wiring in the stove seems to be bad. And in back of it too, the what do you call it.”

“Two twenty,” Josey said. “A mouse must have gotten it. I know, you fish a lot up the river from here?”

“You got it. I live to fish.” He showed his incandescent teeth. “So you got mice here?” He grinned again. Possibly he'd never stopped grinning. With those large and perfect teeth, maybe that was a default state for him.

“All these converted cottages get a few mice every fall. You'd know that if you were from around here,” Josey said haughtily.

Arlen laughed out loud. “And I guess we get our mice up the line too.”

“I'll bet you do,” Josey said darkly.

Time for me to butt in. “Maybe you'd have a look at the rest of the kitchen wiring while you're here. I don't want to take a chance if the mice have been busy. And the stuff in my office too.”

“It's a great old stove,” he said. “They don't make 'em like this any more.”

That was excellent news, because the last thing in the world I wanted was to go out and buy a new stove that I would use for this one cookbook. If luck was with me, I'd never have to cook again once I finished.

Josey watched Arlen's every move. There was good money in the trade. I thought perhaps she was considering it. It took him next to no time to scout out the electrical situation in the kitchen. Of course, by then, Josey had managed to win the heart of his dog.

“You were lucky,” he said. “Two twenty's tricky. This stuff's in real bad shape, all gnawed out. You could have been killed just checking it.”

“Huh,” I said.

“How much?” Josey said.

“Everything's doable if you got the time and money. It can cost a bit to fix up these old cottages, but since you're a friend of Mrs. Lamontagne's, I'll give you a good price. And here's my card.”

“Make sure it's a real good price,” Josey said, folding her arms.

“Sure, won't be much more than a thousand.”

A thousand? Might as well have been a million from where I stood.

Contributed by Luc Sauvé

1 cup minced celery

1 cup butter

3 tablespoons minced shallots

1 quart half-and-half cream

2 (12 ounce) containers fresh shucked oysters, undrained salt and ground black pepper to taste

1 pinch cayenne pepper, or to taste

Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Cook the celery and shallots until shallots are tender.

Pour half-and-half into a large pot over medium-high heat. Mix in the butter, celery and shallot mixture. Stir continuously. When the mixture is almost boiling, pour the oysters and their liquid into the pot. Season with salt, pepper and cayenne pepper. Stir continuously until the oysters curl at the ends. When the oysters curl, the stew is finished cooking.

Open a bottle of white wine, turn the lights low and serve.