No Parm No Foul, page 32
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2022 by Linda Reilly
Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks
Cover illustration by Brandon Dorman
Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Excerpt from Cheddar Late than Dead
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Recipes
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Cover
This book is for health care workers everywhere.
Chapter One
Grant Robinson swept through the front door of Carly’s Grilled Cheese Eatery and scooted behind the counter. “It’s over, Carly. I finally did it. I gave my notice at the sub shop.”
The grilled cheese Carly Hale was flipping did a slight wobble. Grant, the twenty-year-old food aficionado who’d been Carly’s part-time grill cook since she first opened, also worked part time at Sub-a-Dub-Sub, a sandwich shop located across the town square. Or rather, he had worked there.
Carly shifted the grilled cheese back onto her spatula, then placed it, butter side down, on the grill. “Wow, you really went through with it. What did Mr. Menard say? Was he upset?”
“Upset? From the steam coming out of his ears, I’d say he was like a water heater about to burst.”
Using her spatula, Carly slid the Sweddar Weather—a grilled Swiss and cheddar on marble rye—onto her cutting board. She sliced it in half, transferred it to a plate, and added chips and pickles to the dish, along with a cup of tomato soup. The heady aroma of melted cheese and butter-grilled bread never failed to delight her. It was the primary reason she’d returned to her hometown of Balsam Dell, Vermont, and opened her grilled cheese eatery. She’d taken over the space where a failing, decades-old ice cream parlor had finally gone belly up.
The other factor that prompted her return to her hometown was the death of her husband two years earlier. To escape the memories and start a new life for herself, she came home, as she thought of it, and opened her dream business. Sharing her favorite comfort food and earning a living from it was the best of both worlds.
Carly glanced around the dining room. At a bit past 2:00, only one booth was taken. Its sole occupant was Steve Perlman, a fortysomething man sporting rimless eyeglasses, a paperback book in front of him. Mr. P., as Carly referred to him, had been one of her high school teachers. Physics, her least favorite subject, she recalled with a shudder. But he’d been an earnest young man then, passionate about science as well as a good teacher. When he spotted Grant, he waved. Grant returned the gesture with a big smile.
Carly had opened her eatery earlier in the year, and though summer had brought in visitors galore, it was autumn that was proving to be her busiest season. While leaf-peepers descended on the town in droves, it was the high school that was turning out to be her best source of customers. The kids, and even some teachers, had been invading her restaurant daily after the last bell rang. They scarfed down grilled cheese sandwiches and cheesy dippers with gusto while they droned on about the disgusting food in the school cafeteria.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it later,” Carly told Grant. “Right now, you can give me a break before the hungry hordes come in, okay? Suzanne had to leave early for a meeting with Josh’s teacher.”
Suzanne Rivers was Carly’s other server. With a son in fourth grade, Suzanne normally worked from 11:00 a.m. to 3:00 p.m. so she could be home for Josh after school. Lately she’d been putting in some extra hours to help Carly get through the midday rush. It helped that Josh had signed up for a few after-school programs, so on most days it worked out perfectly.
“Say no more.” Grant hustled through the swinging door that led into the kitchen. He returned moments later wearing a crisp apron and vinyl gloves.
Carly delivered the sandwich plate to her sole customer. “There you go, Mr. P., and sorry for the holdup. Need a coffee warm-up?”
“I’d love one.” He picked up a sandwich half and aimed it toward his mouth. “And Carly, please stop calling me Mr. P. It’s been a long time since you were in my physics class. ‘Steve’ will do just fine.”
“Force of habit,” Carly said with a smile. She returned and refilled his mug. “By the way, how did you manage to beat the kids here today? School doesn’t get out till two-thirty.”
Steve swallowed a bite of his sandwich. “I had a doctor appointment, so I took the afternoon off.” He winked at her. “Good excuse, right? Plus, it gave me a chance to pick up a few sci-fi books from the library. I read at least three a week.”
“Ah. Got it.” She smiled as if to assure him his secret was safe with her.
Carly went back behind the counter. Grant looked dismayed as he wiped down the grill.
Carly knew him so well. She was sure he felt both guilt and relief at having ditched his job at the sub shop. The owner’s lackadaisical approach to food hygiene had, apparently, finally pushed him over the edge. Although Grant had only recently turned twenty, he was more mature than most thirty-year-olds and had a passion for all things culinary. He was also a gifted cellist, but to his musical parents’ dismay, he was determined to become a chef.
With Grant’s help, Carly had added some inspired new sandwiches to their grilled cheese menu, including their most recent offering—Brie-ng on the Apples, Granny. The new autumn sandwich was made by grilling creamy Brie, thin-sliced Granny Smith apples, and cherry relish between slices of raisin bread. After its debut in early September, it quickly became an eatery favorite.
Grant had also helped her design their entry in the town’s annual Halloween Scary-Licious Smorgasbord competition, which was only two days away. Yikes. Aside from supplying light sticks to kids for trick-or-treat night, it was Balsam Dell’s only concession to Halloween.
It would be Carly’s first time participating in the event, and she was feeling more excited as the day approached. The competition, sponsored by the town’s recreation department, was held every year on the Saturday before Halloween. Tables were set up on the town green, and local restaurants gave out samples of their creepy culinary creations. Attendees voted—one vote per ticket. After all votes were tallied, the winner was awarded a $500 cash prize, along with the coveted plaque engraved with the restaurant’s name. Carly had already chosen a spot for the plaque, should it be awarded to her eatery.
“Carly, we’re probably gonna be mobbed soon, so I’ll tell you what happened real quick.” Grant winced, then spoke in a low voice. “Mr. Menard is blaming you for my quitting. He thinks you put me up to squealing on him to the board of health.”
“But…but…I would never do that! I would never try to influence you.” She tried to keep her tone quiet, but she knew she’d hit a few high notes. Still, she was both aghast and furious at the man’s accusations.
“I told him that. I defended you to the moon, but he kept ranting right over me.” Grant shook his head. He looked worried. “At one point I got scared his heart would give out. He takes medication for it, even though he’s only in his forties. His face got bright red, and he stumbled backward. His daughter, Holly, made him sit down and take a pill of some sort. She said he has angina.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carly said. “I hope he’s getting the proper care for it. But it doesn’t give him the right to attack my character.”
“It’s weird,” Grant said, looking puzzled. “He was blaming you more than he was me. Almost like…like he had a vendetta against you.”
“I’m sure he was only lashing out,” Carly said. “No doubt he’s bummed about losing you right before the Halloween competition, but he has his daughter to help him. Once he calms down, he’ll see that you had every right to give your notice and to tip off the board of health. Maybe it’ll inspire him to clean up his act, right?”
Grant looked unsure. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Hey, now that you’re here, do you mind if I pop into the kitchen for a few? I need to make a call about my Halloween costume. I’m having it specially made for Saturday!”
“Take your time. I’ll handle things here.” He gave her a half-hearted smile.
Carly headed into her commercial kitchen. She fixed herself a quick cup of tea with one of the pumpkin spice teabags she’d bought earlier in the week. Though coffee was her normal comfort drink of choice, the Halloween season seemed to inspire cravings for anything pumpkin-spice-flavored.
She sat with her mug at the pine desk beneath the window that overlooked the small parking lot behind the eatery. Only four months earlier, she’d found a body out there. With her help, the murderer had been caught. Nonetheless, she hoped never to go through anything like that again. Pushing away the memory, she grabbed her cell phone and tapped a saved number.
“Miranda Busey. Can I help you?” came a squeaky, tired-sounding voice.
She sounded so young. Carly could hardly believe Miranda was a student who was taking design classes in college. “Hi, Miranda, it’s Carly Hale. I’m just checking on my costume. Can I pick it up tonight?”
Carly and the man she’d been seeing, local electrician Ari Mitchell, were attending the Scary-Licious Smorgasbord competition dressed as Morticia and Gomez Addams. Ari’s costume was finished, but Carly’s required a slinky, lacy stretch of fabric over a full-length, gauzy black dress.
A long silence followed. “Miranda?” Carly prodded.
Miranda groaned. “Carly, I am so, so sorry. I was putting the zipper in the back of the lace overlay when my hand slipped and I tore the whole thing. I was so exhausted. I was practically seeing double. I was up almost all last night, sewing.”
Carly’s stomach dropped. She’d been counting on being Morticia to Ari’s Gomez. With his dark eyes and neatly trimmed mustache, he fit the part perfectly—and much more handsomely than any Gomez she’d ever seen.
“It…it can’t be fixed?” Carly swallowed.
“Unfortunately, no. I had to send away for that lace fabric. Even if I had more of it, I’m jammed up the wazoo with more jobs to finish. I guess I took on more than I could handle.”
“Can I wear the dress without the lace?”
“Only if you want the entire world to see your underwear.” Miranda hesitated. “There’s one thing I can offer, but I’m not sure you’ll like it. I made a darling lady vampire costume for a customer who changed her mind. It’s kind of a pale gray, with a filmy cape that extends out like bat wings. I think it’ll fit you, and it’s super pretty. Wanna try it?”
Carly was positive she didn’t want the entire world to see her underwear. “Sure. I’ll stop by after work and try it on.”
Disappointed, Carly gulped the rest of her tea and returned to the dining room. As if a magic door had opened, in the short time she’d been gone nearly every booth had filled. The high school contingent had arrived.
A sudden burst of gratitude filled her.
With every passing week, her restaurant was gaining popularity. Only recently, an informal newspaper poll voted it one of the “coziest eateries” in southern Vermont. She had to admit, she agreed. With its exposed, pale brick walls, aqua vinyl booths, and chrome-edged counter lined with stools, it was exactly the way she’d hoped it would look when she first imagined the concept. In every booth, a vintage tomato soup can filled with faux flowers of the season graced the table. October’s flowers were orange and yellow mums.
If she won the competition, it would add another feather to her culinary cap, so to speak. With luck, that would translate to an increase in business. It would be a perfect way to usher in the start of the holiday season.
Ferris Menard had won the competition the past three years in a row, according to Grant. It made Carly even more determined to emerge as this year’s winner.
At one of the rear booths, a former middle school classmate of Carly’s—Stanley Henderson—sat with books and notebooks spread over the table. These days he was preparing for the Realtor’s exam and enjoyed reviewing his study notes while he scarfed down a sandwich and a cola. His current job as a guidance counselor at the high school was no longer “floating his boat,” as he’d put it. He wanted to make his own hours and be his own boss, not to mention earn some serious commissions selling homes.
When he caught Carly’s glance, he gave her a wide, pleasant wave. “Hi, Stan,” she mouthed, then went behind the counter.
In the booth behind Stan’s, Evelyn Fitch, a retired English teacher, sat with a book of crossword puzzles and a pink notepad. Carly had never had her as a teacher—she’d retired about ten years too early. Now somewhere in her eighties, Ms. Fitch spent at least three afternoons a week enjoying a late lunch of a Vermont Classic—sharp cheddar on country white bread—while she pored over a puzzle. “It’s both my lunch and dinner,” she’d told Carly one day, “which is why I always come here midafternoon.” Carly suspected it was more a case of the lonely Ms. Fitch enjoying being around loads of people, but she’d told her, “Good plan,” and let it go at that.
Carly’s heart skipped when she saw Ari seated on one of the stools. She went over and leaned toward him. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” His smile warmed her, and she felt her cheeks grow pink. She gave him the bad news about the Morticia costume.
Ari reached over and squeezed her wrist. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “Actually, I’m sort of anxious, now, to see you in that lady vampire dress.” His deep voice and stark gaze made her heart leap skyward again.
Carly grinned, and in the next moment the door to the restaurant swung open, hard. Ferris Menard stormed in, his blond brush cut gelled into porcupine quills, his face a scary shade of red. “Carly Hale,” he boomed. He looked around, spotted her, and strode over to the counter. “Yeah, you. I heard about your little sabotage ploy. Well, it won’t work—do you hear me?”
As if someone had turned off a switch, the dining room instantly quieted. Stunned by the verbal assault, Carly took a step backward. Grant, who had the protective instincts of a mother grizzly, moved to stand in front of her. “Mr. Menard,” he said quietly, “what are you doing here?”
“My beef isn’t with you, Grant. I know she put you up to it!”
“But—”
Carly shifted around Grant to face the man. “Ferris,” she said tightly, “I will thank you to behave courteously in my establishment. Otherwise, you need to leave. Is that clear?”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’ll thank you to stop trying to ruin me.” His small blue eyes blazed with fury. “I got a little visit from the health inspector this afternoon, but you already knew that, didn’t you, Miss Hale. Unfortunately for you, I run a clean, sanitary operation. Oh sure, I got cited for one dumb thing, but it was ridiculously minor. As for this place”—his lip curled as his gaze flickered around the dining room—“suffice it to say, you wouldn’t know an aged cheddar from a bale of hay. You’re a fraud, and I’m going to prove it.”
In the next instant, Stanley Henderson shot out of his booth and strode toward Menard, one fist curled at his side. Steve Perlman was right at his heels, and between the two of them, they blocked Menard’s view of Carly.
