Fiona Silk Mysteries 2-Book Bundle. Mary Jane Maffini
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you, Josey. That’s my Aunt Kit’s. I’ve been searching for that for years.”
“Boy, it’s heavy. It’s nice, though.”
“Made of chestnut, I believe. If I remember correctly, she brought it back from a trip to Ireland. She always used it for hikes. I can’t imagine how it got back there, but I’m glad to have it. It’s like a family heirloom.”
“Well, you better be careful Dr. Prentiss doesn’t take it. Anyway, speaking of family heirlooms, how old is this stove?”
I shrugged. “Been here as long as I can remember. Even when I was young and visiting. Maybe it goes back to the thirties. It could be older. Aunt Kit might have bought it secondhand. She found a lot of stuff at garage sales. Like the beanbag chair, for instance.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Miz Silk, but maybe it’s time for you to get a new one.”
“I love those old chairs. I’m not really into décor. You know that.”
“I meant the stove.”
“You know the monetary situation. Minus zero and all that.”
She said. “I could try to fix it for you, but it’s 220 wiring, and you need a licensed electrician to mess around with that. You have to do something, Miz Silk. You could catch fire.”
Josey might still be short of sixteen, but she knows way more about such things than I do at forty-six. Or than I want to. 220 wiring? I wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Except danger. Even though my insurance bill was actually paid, I wasn’t too keen on fires.
“A lot of these converted cabins, their wiring’s in real bad shape. Yours too, Miz Silk. You need someone to bring it up to code. Probably need to replace the electrical panel.”
“I have an electrical panel?”
“Sure, Miz Silk. It’s in your office. I wouldn’t put it past his lordship to call the city and ask them to check it out.”
“He couldn’t do that.” Of course, he could. He’d pretty well insinuated that when we spoke.
“He can do whatever he wants. You know my uncle Mike is a licensed electrician.”
I must have blanched.
Josey raised a dusty eyebrow. “He’s real good at it when he’s sober.”
“I’m sure he is,” I said, “but didn’t you just tell me that he’s back in, um, for disorderly conduct?”
She looked miffed. “Not disorderly this time.”
“Sorry, public drunken...”
“No. No. Uncle Mike’s trying to get sober. It was a dispute over this television set he picked up at the Britannia. Some guy claimed it was stolen, and I guess it had some security number etched on it.”
“Huh.” I didn’t mention that if you were trying to go sober, maybe you shouldn’t hang out in the worst booze-pit in West Quebec.
“Uncle Mike didn’t know, but the judge didn’t believe him. He couldn’t get bail, but he’ll be out again. I’m pretty sure he’ll get two for one for time served. He’s got a pretty good legal aid lawyer.”
I felt a throbbing in my temples. Uncle Mike talk can bring that on. But for all his faults, he is Josey’s family, if you don’t count the institutionalized senile granny, the missing mother and the father no one knew. I said, “I seem to have no choice. I’ll get it fixed.”
“Okay, I’ll see if I can find someone for you. But, if you don’t mind me saying so, if you’re going to start cooking stuff and trying recipes, you’re still going to need a lot more stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe measuring cups and spoons. You could consider a frying pan.”
“I have a bowl and a wooden spoon. And Kit had some Tupperware measuring cups and spoons. Avocado green. I remember them distinctly. I’m sure they must be here somewhere.”
“I already found them. They’re pretty neat and retro. I can find someone to sell them on eBay for you and make a few bucks. But you’ll need more than that, and you need it now. The stuff has to look good too. Even with the product endorsements, you’ve got to spend money to make money. That’s a basic business principle. And if you don’t mind me saying so, Miz Silk, a lot of people have spices in their kitchens too.”
Spices? Apparently I had a lot to learn.
“The thing is, Josey, I can’t run a tab all over town. The advance will take a while. So will the book, since I don’t even have an idea how to do it yet.”
Josey offered a bit more guidance. “You have to think positive, Miz Silk. We can beat this thing.”
I’m not proud. I’ll admit that I needed that pep talk from the kid who’d had more trouble in her life that I’d ever had in mine. Even so, facts were facts. “I’ll work with you, and I appreciate everything you do. But I can’t pay for anything else, Josey.”
“Why doesn’t Dr. Prentiss help instead of just taking things?”
“She’s got a cash flow problem because she just bought that condo. And the same with Woody. He’s sunk a bundle into renovating his living quarters and the store. They’d help if they could.”
“So would I, Miz Silk.”
“You are more help than anyone.”
“Sure. I know that,” Josey said. “You’re the writer. I’m the executive assistant, remember? But you can help yourself. I picked you up a bunch of cookbooks from the library. Sort of like homework.”
“Speaking of homework, how is your exam preparation coming along? You’re spending all your time on my project and...”
Of course, you can only get so far explaining yourself to an old stove. I tucked the walking stick in the kitchen corner and headed for the phone.
I lowered my voice in case my fifteen-year-old executive assistant, and now apparently career coach, home renovator and financial advisor, heard me on the phone.
“All I can say, Lola, is that this erotic cookbook idea is turning out to be a disaster. How about if I write a book about brain-damaged people getting their memories back and living happy, fulfilled lives afterwards. That would be worthwhile. That could be really heart-warming. People would—”
“Don’t be crazy, darling.”
“Or what about people who love brain-damaged people and stay with them and try to have some kind of life, even though—”
“Fiona. Pull yourself together. We have a winning formula with this idea. By the way, I have a title for you: Too Hot to Handle! We’ll come up with a subtitle later. Don’t worry about that.”
“The lack of a subtitle is the least of my problems. The lack of recipes or ability is key. Pay attention, Lola. I’m getting nowhere.”
“It hasn’t even been two days, darling. You need to cut yourself some slack.”
“You don’t understand. I’m the wrong person. I don’t have a single sexy thought. I can’t remember one event in my life that ever connected food and sex in any kind of successful way.”
“Now you listen to me. Get out of that mindset, because I have gone way out on a limb for you on this one.”
“What? Why?”
“Because, as I keep trying to tell you, it’s a moneymaker. It’s an easy moneymaker. I’ve already told them you’d do it, and you’ve signed the contract Let me remind you that we need to make this work. So pull yourself together, get out there and start mining your contacts.”
“Mining? What contacts?” I said in a distinctly panicky