Read Online Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
Tags: Mystery
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Kendall, thinking that I'd better pin
her down about helping with the food for the Tour. She answered on the second
ring. In reply to my question, she said, reassuringly, "Of course I'll
help. Tell me what you'd like to serve and I'll bring it over on Sunday
morning."
"That's
wonderful," I said enthusiastically. "Thank you. You've saved my
life."
Mrs. Kendall had become such a fixture
in our lives that it was hard to believe that neither Ruby nor I had ever met
her before that October morning, almost two months ago, when she appeared
unannounced in the tearoom. She introduced herself and said that she'd heard
we might be seeking help in the kitchen.
"You'll find me a rather good
cook, if I do say so myself," she remarked confidently. She spoke in one
of those clipped, precise British accents that always sound so cultured in
contrast to our sloppy, folksy Texas drawls. She looked to be in her late
forties, with brown hair twisted into a loose knot at the back of her head,
piercing blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, a beige sweater set and brown
tweed skirt, sensible brown shoes. I could see her hiking long distances over
the open moors or putting a corgie through its paces at a dog show. She was a
bit dowdy and rather heavy of movement, but commanding all the same. The sort
of woman who inspires confidence.
Ruby and I exchanged startled glances.
The tearoom had gotten off to a strong start because Ruby's friend Janet, an
experienced cook, had helped us out in the kitchen. Two weeks after the
opening, however, Janet had to go to Dallas to help settle her mother's estate.
She'd only been gone a few days when we saw that, where the kitchen was concerned,
we had definitely bitten off more than we could chew. Not that our menus were
terribly complicated. We were open only for afternoon tea, which is pretty
simple— scones, an assortment of sandwiches, a few cakes, some jam, and tea, of
course. Lots of teas, herbal, black, green, flavored, you name it. Ruby and I
knew we couldn't turn much of a profit with the limited hours and we were
afraid that our customers would soon get tired of the restricted fare. But we
rationalized the decision by reminding ourselves that we were just getting
started. There was time to add a lunch menu when we had a bit more experience
under our belts, when we gained a little more confidence in what we were doing.
When we found a good cook to replace Janet.
"Exactly
how good are you, Ms. Kendall?" Ruby asked.
"One doesn't wish to boast, of course,"
the woman said modestly, "but until quite recently, I worked in a splendid
tearoom in Sussex called The Royal George. A lovely little place, right in the
village High Street, owned by two very dear women. I did enjoy working for
them. They were so very kind and attentive. Should you see fit to employ me,
I'm sure you would find my work quite satisfactory." She paused and then
added, "Although, as I said, one doesn't like to boast."
"Oh,
quite," Ruby said hastily. "Quite, indeed. Rather."
Mrs. Kendall made a judicious survey of our newly
renovated, newly decorated tearoom, with its stone walls, green wainscoting,
chintz chair cushions and place mats, the baskets of ivy and philodendron hung
from old cypress ceiling beams. Through the open doorway, she could see the
sparkling, fully equipped kitchen installed at the behest of the Texas
Department of Public Health. But from her look, it was clear that she was
comparing Thyme for Tea with The Royal George and finding it wanting on several
important counts. She sighed.
"Well," she said
matter-of-factly, "one has to begin somewhere, doesn't one? I've no doubt
that we could work up a menu quite similar to the one we had at The Royal
George, which enjoyed a brisk luncheon trade."
I frowned. "I'm
not sure a British menu would go over very well here. After all, this is
Texas."
"Just
because one lives in Texas," Mrs. Kendall said loftily, "one is not required
to behave like a barbarian. I'm sure that even
her down about helping with the food for the Tour. She answered on the second
ring. In reply to my question, she said, reassuringly, "Of course I'll
help. Tell me what you'd like to serve and I'll bring it over on Sunday
morning."
"That's
wonderful," I said enthusiastically. "Thank you. You've saved my
life."
Mrs. Kendall had become such a fixture
in our lives that it was hard to believe that neither Ruby nor I had ever met
her before that October morning, almost two months ago, when she appeared
unannounced in the tearoom. She introduced herself and said that she'd heard
we might be seeking help in the kitchen.
"You'll find me a rather good
cook, if I do say so myself," she remarked confidently. She spoke in one
of those clipped, precise British accents that always sound so cultured in
contrast to our sloppy, folksy Texas drawls. She looked to be in her late
forties, with brown hair twisted into a loose knot at the back of her head,
piercing blue eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses, a beige sweater set and brown
tweed skirt, sensible brown shoes. I could see her hiking long distances over
the open moors or putting a corgie through its paces at a dog show. She was a
bit dowdy and rather heavy of movement, but commanding all the same. The sort
of woman who inspires confidence.
Ruby and I exchanged startled glances.
The tearoom had gotten off to a strong start because Ruby's friend Janet, an
experienced cook, had helped us out in the kitchen. Two weeks after the
opening, however, Janet had to go to Dallas to help settle her mother's estate.
She'd only been gone a few days when we saw that, where the kitchen was concerned,
we had definitely bitten off more than we could chew. Not that our menus were
terribly complicated. We were open only for afternoon tea, which is pretty
simple— scones, an assortment of sandwiches, a few cakes, some jam, and tea, of
course. Lots of teas, herbal, black, green, flavored, you name it. Ruby and I
knew we couldn't turn much of a profit with the limited hours and we were
afraid that our customers would soon get tired of the restricted fare. But we
rationalized the decision by reminding ourselves that we were just getting
started. There was time to add a lunch menu when we had a bit more experience
under our belts, when we gained a little more confidence in what we were doing.
When we found a good cook to replace Janet.
"Exactly
how good are you, Ms. Kendall?" Ruby asked.
"One doesn't wish to boast, of course,"
the woman said modestly, "but until quite recently, I worked in a splendid
tearoom in Sussex called The Royal George. A lovely little place, right in the
village High Street, owned by two very dear women. I did enjoy working for
them. They were so very kind and attentive. Should you see fit to employ me,
I'm sure you would find my work quite satisfactory." She paused and then
added, "Although, as I said, one doesn't like to boast."
"Oh,
quite," Ruby said hastily. "Quite, indeed. Rather."
Mrs. Kendall made a judicious survey of our newly
renovated, newly decorated tearoom, with its stone walls, green wainscoting,
chintz chair cushions and place mats, the baskets of ivy and philodendron hung
from old cypress ceiling beams. Through the open doorway, she could see the
sparkling, fully equipped kitchen installed at the behest of the Texas
Department of Public Health. But from her look, it was clear that she was
comparing Thyme for Tea with The Royal George and finding it wanting on several
important counts. She sighed.
"Well," she said
matter-of-factly, "one has to begin somewhere, doesn't one? I've no doubt
that we could work up a menu quite similar to the one we had at The Royal
George, which enjoyed a brisk luncheon trade."
I frowned. "I'm
not sure a British menu would go over very well here. After all, this is
Texas."
"Just
because one lives in Texas," Mrs. Kendall said loftily, "one is not required
to behave like a barbarian. I'm sure that even
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