Drizzled with Death(6)
“I hadn’t noticed.” I kept my back deliberately turned on Graham, instead focusing on the river of fat leaking out of the sausage patties.
“Well, no wonder you’re getting to be an old maid. When I was your age, I had a line of men stretching out the door.” It was hard to imagine. Myra’s year-round wardrobe consisted of stretch knit shorts and tank tops. Not to mention whenever she flipped a sausage patty, it set her flabby triceps swinging like a hammock in a hurricane.
“I guess I’m just picky.”
“Well, I suppose with your youthful looks, you’ve got a little more time than most. Although if you go around telling eligible men you’ve seen a mountain lion, you’ll die a spinster for sure. Wait ’til Mitch hears what you’ve been saying. He’ll be glad you dumped him.” Mitch, the police officer I’d been dating, had dumped me, but I wasn’t about to correct her. “Do me a favor and open the doors.” She pointed her spatula toward the entrance. Connie Wilson, the Sap Bucket Brigade’s treasurer, hurried after me and stationed herself at the ticket table just inside the doorway. I heard the crowd and felt the tremors beneath my feet as I approached the threshold. A news report about a man killed in a Black Friday sale stampede flashed through my mind as I grabbed the door handle.
Within moments, tables were filled with people munching pancakes and sausage drenched in Greener Pastures syrup. My family entered with the rest of the guests and spread out to sit with friends at tables all around the hall. All except my grandparents, who headed for the contest table at the front like they had for more than fifty years. I poured them each a cup of coffee and picked my way through the throng to the front table. They both put on a good show, but their age was starting to creep up and I liked to make things easy on them whenever I could.
“So you’re feeling better then?” Grandma asked. She used the same tone of voice she always had when asking if anyone knew who had been at the cookie jar. There was nothing left to do but confess.
“It was the sort of thing cured easily enough by a couple of hours left on your own.”
“I find that particular virus gives me a bad bout of food poisoning. Your grandfather always has wondered how I’m the only one to get it.” A smile spread over her ruby red lips. Grandma comes from a generation of women that always dress to go to town and she had outdone herself this morning. From her wool tweed skirt to her cashmere twin set and pearls, she was every inch a lady. Even in her seventies she favored strappy heels despite dire warnings from her physician about hip replacements.
“I won’t be the one to tell him.” I stretched up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on her papery cheek. “Doesn’t Grampa look like he’s in fine form this morning?” Grampa is as disheveled as Grandma is elegant. His long salt-and-pepper beard always drags in his soup and his socks never match. Making things even worse, he’s colorblind but insists he isn’t and won’t ever ask for help. He caught us watching him and waggled his gnarled fingers flirtatiously in Grandma’s direction. Despite their surface differences, they go together like pancakes and syrup. If I was picky about men, it was only because I knew what kind of marriage was possible after having them as an example all these years.
“He does love to be the center of attention.” Grandma looked up and down the contest table. “Who’s vying for the pewter syrup pitcher this year? Besides your grandfather, I mean.”
“Roland Chick, Jill Hayes, Alanza Speedwell, and a couple of boys from the junior firefighters.”
“That woman ought to know better than to show her face at a town function after the way she’s ruined the property Lewis left her.” Grandma scowled like she’d just found a gnat in her dentures. “And to imagine sitting at the table with Roland, outrageous.”
“I’ve never noticed Alanza having a sensitive side. Besides, she is the secretary of the Sap Bucket Brigade. She’s got to put in an appearance at their main fund-raiser.” I looked out at the sea of people, wondering when Alanza would arrive. I expected to hear a rumble go through the crowd when she did show.
Alanza inherited a valuable parcel of land covered in sugar bush three years earlier. The previous owner, Lewis Bett, had allowed townsfolk to tap the trees without a thought to charging them. The local snowmobile club was encouraged to establish trails through the property, and one of the area’s best fishing holes could be accessed by cutting through the south corner of the eighty-acre spread. When Alanza first took ownership, she gave her blessing to all the activities the community was accustomed to, and Sugar Grove heaved a collective sigh of relief. She was welcomed with open arms into many town committees and clubs, including the Sap Bucket Brigade, despite her unorthodox appearance and flamboyant behavior. Things had cooled for her socially over the last year, once she decided to clear-cut pristine acreage in order to open a self-storage facility.