had sharp blue eyes.
‘My name is Susanna.’ I stretched out my hand.
‘Alice.’ She shook it with a crushing grip, and I tried not to wince.
‘Are you opening something here?’ I asked, hoping that it was going to be something that would stay open past 8 p.m. For once, maybe I would have fresh gossip to share with the Morning Pie Crew.
She sized me up and looped her fingers through the straps on her denim overalls before answering, ‘Just setting up my cookie shop. Hoping to open in a couple days.’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ I said, trying to hide my disappointment. Not only did it sound like a place that would close early, but it also sounded like competition. I tried to force my most neighborly smile, thinking it would be what Aunt Erma would want me to do. ‘I’m new in town too. I work at the pie shop down the street.’
I could have sworn her eyes narrowed for a second before she smiled. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘I’m looking forward to stopping in and trying your pie.’
‘Come on in anytime,’ I said.
The silver cat appeared by Alice’s feet, and she scooped her up. The cat yowled.
‘This is my cat. I named her Cookie,’ she said. How original, I thought. She stroked the cat’s head while it struggled slightly in her grip.
‘I’ve seen her around,’ I said.
‘Are you planning to enter the baking contest at the Fall Festival?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m still honing my baking skills,’ I said.
She nodded sympathetically. ‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you. My cookies are definitely going to win.’
My eyes widened. She had to be joking, but if she was, nothing on her face gave it away.
‘Well, it was nice to meet you.’ I hurried off down the street, not sure what else to say.
‘You too,’ she called after me, making my skin prickle.
When we got back to the apartment, I immediately flopped down on the sofa, the exhaustion of the day setting in. Then I sat straight up and grabbed my computer and found the online form to sign up for the baking contest. I hit the keyboard a little too hard as I entered in my information. I sat back, satisfied. I tried to picture the look on Alice’s face when I beat her.
Day 5 ― Sunday, November 6th
Dear Elodie,
Let me open by saying I do not like cats. They’re creepy and hairy and their eyes always look angry. All my nightmares usually feature a cat. They are truly horrifying, even when they’re kittens. That being said, in general, I am quite the animal lover. What I don’t love is when people let their animals run free. There is a cat in the neighborhood that just wanders the streets. She apparently has a home, but the woman who owns her can’t keep her contained and doesn’t seem to understand what a huge problem that is. I keep seeing the cat outside my door, and she’s not bothered when I try to shoo her away.
Should I call animal control or just suck it up and accept that I’m going to be tormented by this cat on a regular basis?
Sincerely,
Crazy Cat-less Lady
Dear Crazy Cat-less Lady,
You didn’t say if you’ve directly spoken with the cat’s owner. Maybe you can explain to her your concerns for the cat. You could also try recommending that she find a new home for it if she doesn’t have the time to take care of it properly. Calling animal control seems a little extreme. Perhaps you should also consider talking to a professional who can help you work through your deep dislike of cats.
Ask and I’ll Answer,
Elodie
The next day started out with a bang, quite literally. I heard a loud crash in the kitchen and went running downstairs in my polka dot pajamas with Mitzy close at my heels. I slid down the last few stairs and fell through the door at the bottom.
I startled a twenty-something year old man who was stacking boxes that had fallen off his dolly. He let out a little squeak and jumped back making his straight brown hair flop into his large green eyes.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded as Mitzy, the ever-helpful guard dog, hid behind my feet.
‘I’m Stan,’ he said, composing himself.
‘Why are you in my kitchen, Stan?’ I demanded, searching the counter tops for a weapon, but the kitchen was obnoxiously clean. Thanks, mystery night cleaners.
‘I’m the delivery guy. You must be the niece.’ He spoke in a soft voice, and I had to lean in a little to hear him. He extended his hand, ignoring my hostile tone. He was very tall and very skinny. I wondered briefly if I could get him to check the attic space in Aunt Erma’s apartment for the pie recipes I still hadn’t found.
‘Oh,’ I said, feeling a little silly. I had seen ‘Delivery Day’ written on Aunt Erma’s calendar, but I assumed the delivery would happen during my waking hours. I shook his hand, which was a little cold and clammy, and he went back to stacking up the boxes and sacks of flour. ‘You deliver on a Sunday?’
‘We might be a small town, but this is still a pretty happening place,’ he said.
‘What are you delivering?’
He glanced over at the clipboard he had set down on the counter. ‘Flour, sugar, brown sugar, blueberries, strawberries, apples, chocolate, cream, eggs, butter, coffee, and canned pumpkin.’ He ticked them off. ‘I will have to get some of these things in the fridge right away.’
‘Why does that one box say “frozen peas” on it?’ I asked, pointing.
‘Oh, fiddling fiddlesticks,’ Stan exclaimed. I tried to hide my smile at his very G-rated agitation. ‘I must have grabbed the wrong boxes this morning,’ he explained. ‘I’m going to have to go back to the warehouse to get the right ones.’
He began to stack the boxes back on his two-wheeler. For such a skinny guy, he seemed to be very strong, lifting large boxes as though they were empty.
‘Wait, that one says butter on it,’ I said, pointing at the box he was holding. He flipped it around to read it.
‘Oh, you’re right. I must have gotten some of the right boxes. Hurray!’ He sorted the boxes into two piles. One to return to the warehouse, and one to leave with me. In the end I got the flour, the pumpkin, half the order of strawberries, and one stick of butter. I don’t know how it happened, but the large box labeled butter only had one stick inside. Stan made notes amending the delivery on his sheet, and I signed it. He left after assuring me that he would return with the rest of the order for the pie shop, eventually.
He said he had to get Bob his delivery because ‘you know how Bob can get,’ and then he would swing by the next six stops because they were right on the way back to the warehouse. Somewhere in there he figured he would probably need lunch because when his blood sugar got low he forgot to use his turn signal and apparently Sheriff Buddy had been ticketing people lately for not using their turn signal.
After he left, I grabbed the sack of flour to put it away and fell over because it was so heavy. How did Aunt Erma do this at her age? Mitzy, well-trained in health code regulations, understood that she needed to stay out of the kitchen and sat watching me from the bottom of the stairs where I had left the door open after my less than graceful entrance.
I checked my supplies. I was not going to get through the day without