Читать книгу Recipe For Redemption - Anna Stewart J. - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

“WELL?” GARY CUNNINGHAM’S aged New York voice echoed through the Bluetooth as Jason hefted his suitcase and garment bag out of the trunk of the rented sports car. “Do I know how to find you the perfect hideaway or what?”

“It’s definitely something.” He’d spend some time later appreciating the lush landscaping that included thick, healthy red geraniums interspersed with critter-repelling oleander. He could hear the surf crashing against the shore and cliff line on the far edge of the property and smell that telltale Pacific Ocean combination of brine and open air. Nothing like an old three-story Victorian with beacon-bright yellow paint and peeling white trim to cut through the intricate groves of redwoods, cypress and eucalyptus trees. If the rest of the world ran out of oxygen, he knew where they could find some. “Hang on a second?”

The porch stairs creaked in welcome as he pushed through the etched glass front doors and gave Lori a quick wave of acknowledgment. He walked across hardwood floors in need of a polish, passing crisp white batten-board walls that displayed photographs of the inn throughout its extensive history. They provided a welcome distraction from the faded, out-of-date wallpaper.

At least he hadn’t been inundated with the town’s fluttering namesake. Not that he had anything against butterflies, but they did lend themselves toward a feminine aspect he didn’t relate to. The creatures were so dainty, so delicate, like those lacy pastry swans he’d never mastered in culinary school, but at the same time butterflies were known to weather the most violent of hurricanes.

Reminded him of his current hostess, Abby Manning. He certainly wouldn’t want to be a smoke detector in her presence. He tried to remember the last time anyone had surprised him. He unlocked his door.

Speaking of surprises...

The room was larger than he’d anticipated. He set his bags down on the feather duvet–covered California king situated amid a dresser, nightstands and a sizable flat-screen TV. The decor wasn’t fancy but lent itself to practicality while skirting the far edge of stylish. The ceiling angled up from the walls into a point that he identified as the side tower that had poked into the horizon as he’d crossed into town.

“Okay,” he said and heard the familiar rustle of papers and files as he spoke to his family’s longtime lawyer and his personal confidant. Part mentor, part father figure, it was Gary he’d turned to over the years when it became clear his own father would remain emotionally unavailable. “So why did you pick this place?”

“Figured you had to be tired of four-star hotels and room service,” Gary chuckled. “And the fresh air is a bonus.”

“It seems Butterfly Harbor has plenty of that.” Definitely not four star. He fingered the clean yet old-fashioned curtains draping the French doors to a small terrace. Three stars, maybe.

Pushing open the French doors, he stared out into the vastness of the Pacific crashing against the shoreline below. Even in mid-July, a chill coated the morning air, but that was the California coast for you: unpredictable yet peacefully welcoming.

The deep ocean breath he took eroded some of the tension in his body. He should have come here straight from New York. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost forget...

“Do you think you were followed this time?” Gary asked in that borderline boisterous tone a 1920s gangster might have used.

“No.” He’d left Los Angeles in the dead of night. He’d have noticed if he’d been tailed. Besides, there hadn’t been a car in sight for the mile and a half after he’d taken the Butterfly Harbor turnoff. “No sign of any reporters or cameras. I might finally be in the clear now that I stopped using my credit cards. Thanks for getting me in here so quickly.” Not that booking a reservation would have been a problem.

“You call, I answer. Keeping you off the radar until you’re ready to come back is what’s important,” Gary said. “So are you going to ask?”

“About Corwin Brothers?” Jason’s stomach tightened into familiar knots as they fell into the months-old conversation about his family business. His former family business. “I don’t know how many ways I can say it. I’m done with all of it. The board of directors made that perfectly clear when they ousted me as chairman.” And that was after the National Cooking Network pulled his show off the air, the restaurant chain deal went into the toilet and his publisher decided to “wait awhile” on a new cookbook offer. The fact he’d lost all passion for the business, for the kitchen, for anything, really, since his brother, David, had died only added to his surrender.

“They ousted you because your father took advantage of your grief. He sold the board on the idea of a discount frozen food line when they couldn’t think straight, and now it’s tanking the company. This can’t sit right with you, Jason. Your father’s lack of understanding for what your grandfather wanted to build is the reason he left the company to you in the first place, and now what? You’re going to let Edward swoop in and kill what’s left?”

“You’re forgetting that it was my mistake that started this slide to begin with.” No, he didn’t like the idea his father was in charge. Edward Corwin was a cold, calculating and profit-driven man—he always had been. And he’d never forgiven the fact he’d been ignored in his father’s will. Jason leaned his arms on the railing and ducked his head. Frozen food. Discounted frozen food. Made with the cheapest ingredients from who knew what sources. Gary was right. It was a slap in the face to everything he and David had stood for, everything their grandfather had begun.

But Jason had sabotaged any hope of fighting his father and his arrogance and lack of sense. He didn’t have any fight left in him. His brother’s death had left him struggling. Depressed. Empty.

These days, Jason wasn’t even sure if he was trying to escape the mess he’d made of his life...or himself.

“Sometimes I can’t breathe, I miss David so much.”

Like now, when there was more air than he knew what to do with and he still couldn’t manage. It had been six months, and still, not an hour, not a minute passed when Jason didn’t feel as if a part of him had died with his twin brother. His best friend. His anchor.

Jason wasn’t supposed to be here without him.

He didn’t know how to be here without him.

Jason scrubbed a tired hand over the back of his neck. If only he’d gotten on that plane with David like he was supposed to. If only he hadn’t insisted on working late at the restaurant. Instead, he’d begged off the business trip that was meant to get the ball rolling on a deal that would have put JD’s restaurants in dozens of Lansing hotels around the country. David could handle it, Jason had told him hours before the crash. He didn’t need Jason and his acerbic attitude getting in the way of a potentially life-changing deal that would take them to the next level. The world had been opening up. Finally.

If only. If only...

Now everything they’d planned, everything they wanted was gone, and not only because David was. Because Jason had made mistake after mistake after mistake ever since.

Even now, six months later, his father wasn’t letting anyone forget about David’s death or Jason’s fall from the pinnacle of culinary success. The added Edward Corwin spin on the truth had kept the media far more interested than they should have been, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Whenever attention or headlines began to wane, his father gave yet another interview, another turn on the tragic loss of his son and the disgrace his surviving son had become. Somehow Edward had become the family martyr while Jason had done what he could to disappear.

Driving cross-country had helped, a little. Chopping off his trademark long hair and growing a beard, a little more. But Jason had never learned how to blend into a crowd. He hadn’t had to, because David had always been by his side, guiding him, supporting him.

Jason had lost the only person he’d ever been able to trust, aside from Gary, and that, Jason was only now coming to realize, made living a whole lot more difficult.

“Grief takes time, son,” Gary said in that fatherly tone Jason had spent most of his life wishing he’d hear from his own father. A tone reserved only for David, the son who could do no wrong. “People make mistakes,” Gary continued. “You Corwins have the nasty habit of forgetting you’re human. Crap happens. You’ll find a way out of this, Jason. I have faith in you. We’ll ride this out and you’ll be back on top where you belong.”

“On top or not, nothing’s going to be the same.” How could it be, without his brother? “You and I both know I never should have let Dad talk me into taking David’s place in that cooking competition.” And he never should have let himself get talked into using his sous chef’s dish. “I’ve never liked those contests. They bring out the worst in people. But it was the only thing he’s ever asked me to do.”

Despite his anguish, Jason had felt so proud, as if his father had finally seen Jason after a lifetime of living in David’s shadow. And what had Jason done? Surrendered to the pressure and screwed everything up royally by taking the easy way out. He’d wanted to win. Needed to win. By any means necessary.

And he’d destroyed his reputation in the process.

“Edward never should have asked you to do it. He knew you weren’t up to it. David hadn’t been gone two months...”

“But I did do it. Now I have to live with the consequences.” Which meant he was left on his own, hip deep in the worm-ridden compost pile that was, at one time, a very lucrative career. Now his grandfather’s dreams, his brother’s dreams, were on the verge of disappearing altogether and he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “I need to go, Gary.”

“Before you hang up.” Gary cleared his throat, an indication he’d been rehearsing whatever he was about to say next. “I thought you should know there’s a food festival coming your way in a few weeks. You should stick around long enough to check it out.”

His stomach rolled as if he’d eaten spoiled seafood. “There’s a what?” Jason considered chucking his phone into the ocean as his hands went clammy.

“It’s a new event they’re using to drum up business in the area. They’re calling it the By the Bay Food Festival. Coastal cuisines and wines, niche food companies looking to help small towns build up their presence in the tourist industry. Lots of local sponsorships. The National Cooking Network’s covering it for a series of specials later this year about small-town celebrations.”

“Suddenly Butterfly Harbor feels more like a setup than a hideaway.” Of course. Now the three-week booking made sense. “When are they due to show up?”

“Not sure, but so you know, Roger Evans is heading up the production crew. He’s, ah, been promoted. To assistant vice president of programming.”

“Great.” His former producer coming to town was the icing on the cake. Only the Best had been yanked from the airwaves days after word of Jason’s cheating hit the internet and sent the crew into unemployment overdrive. Leave it to Roger to come out ahead of the game. No doubt elevating Jason’s former sous chef to star status had assisted the producer up the ladder. “You do remember Roger and I didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“Maybe it’s time to rebuild that bridge now that he’s in a position to help you.”

Even Gary had to get tired of tilting at windmills sometime. “No one with NCN is going to want anything to do with a scandalized ex-chef.”

“You’re not an ex-chef yet, Jason. Not as long as you’re still answering your phone. We can salvage the book deal, and it’s not as if they canceled your contract with the network. Suspended, sure, but there’s always hope. Especially if you change your mind. If nothing else, let’s get you back in the kitchen at JD’s. Fight for what’s yours. Fight for that future you and David wanted for yourselves.”

“You still don’t get it, Gary.” Jason had to open his eyes to stop the ghostly image of David from appearing. “That future went down in the plane with David. Please don’t ask again. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Jason disconnected before he said something he’d regret. He was already down a father and brother—he didn’t need to alienate the last person still on his side.

He didn’t have answers to much right now, but he knew one thing for certain: he was done with the cooking world.

And nothing Gary or his father said would ever change that.

* * *

“DOUBLE MOCHA SHAKE, extra whipped cream, cheeseburger and fries, Holly. Stat.” Abby slunk into a booth at the Butterfly Diner and dropped her head into her folded arms. Not even the comforting confines of her best friend’s throwback diner decked out in hues of orange and black in honor of its monarch namesake were enough to lift her normally sparkly mood.

She gave a weak wave to Matt Knight and Fletcher Bradley as the two deputies dived elbow deep into drippy cheeseburgers of their own in the corner booth. It was nice to see the diner flush with customers, most of whom were longtime residents and business owners. Too bad none of them needed a room for the...year.

“Uh-oh.” Holly Campbell set a coffeepot on the table and crossed her arms. “The last time you ordered like this you had just gotten dumped on prom night. All that’s missing is the onion rings. What’s up? Did you have another online dating disaster? You couldn’t have found someone worse than rented-bowling-shoe guy.” Holly tightened her ponytail and aimed a sympathetic gaze Abby’s way.

“The newly engaged are not allowed to mock the emotionally unattached.” Nonetheless, her best friend’s teasing eased her mind. She honestly couldn’t remember a worse day. “And for the record, I wasn’t dumped. It was a mutual parting of the ways.”

“Rewriting history, check.” Holly grinned, but the concern in her eyes brushed lightly against Abby’s bruised heart. “What’s going on, Abs? You haven’t been your usual shiny self for a few weeks.”

“Oh, nothing much.” Abby took a deep breath as she realized Holly, and not lunch, was the real reason she’d come to the diner. There wasn’t anyone else she could confide in who would keep things quiet. “Aside from all the time-suck repairs the inn needs, I started the day by almost burning the kitchen to the ground—”

“Again?” Holly groaned. “You should come with a warning sign.”

“Not you, too.” It was bad enough to have Mr. Cranky Pants Corwin denounce her negligible cooking skills—she didn’t need to hear it from her best friend. “Believe it or not, that was the highlight of my morning. I just came from seeing Mr. Vartebetium at the hospital.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Pretty good for an eighty-two-year-old man who’s had his third heart attack.” At least he was getting the break he needed. “They’re still debating whether to send him to a transition facility before allowing him to go home. Remember all those months ago when I told you I thought maybe the Flutterby was in trouble? Yeah, well, I was wrong. It’s in huge trouble with a great big F for financial. He finally confided in me how bad things are. His words? The Flutterby would be better off if we launched it off the cliffs.”

“Oh, no.” Holly sagged onto the bench across from her. “That can’t be true. The Flutterby has been here forever. Maybe he’s exaggerating. Do you think?” The hope in her friend’s eyes didn’t do much to bolster her own.

“He wouldn’t come out with the details, but he gave me the keys to his filing cabinet,” Abby said. “It must be pretty bad considering he stopped letting me oversee the books months ago.” She’d assumed Mr. Vartebetium had wanted to keep as much control of his lifelong business as he could. Now Abby had to wonder if it was his way of keeping the truth about the finances secret. “How early is too early to crack open a bottle of pinot?”

She blinked back tears, which only made her mad. Abby Manning didn’t cry. Abby Manning was the town optimist—she got things done, and if she didn’t know how, she found a solution. Abby Manning never saw a gray cloud in the sky even when it was storming outside.

“The inn can’t close, Holl,” Abby whispered. “It’s the only home Gran’s ever known. It’s her last connection to Gramps, and now with her Parkinson’s diagnosis, ripping her out of that place will only make her decline faster.” And it would kill Abby. The Flutterby was the first home she’d ever known. “I’ve got to save it somehow. I won’t let it go without a fight.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Holly said. “I wish I could help, but between this place and Simon’s school tuition, not to mention Luke’s and my wedding—”

“Do not make these stupid tears spill over, do you hear me?” Abby ordered, appreciating more than words could say how much she loved Holly for the thought. Holly had her back, just as Abby had had hers a few weeks ago when Holly hit a rough patch with her son, Simon. That was before Holly went and fell tail over teakettle in love with the onetime bad boy of Butterfly Harbor turned sheriff, Luke Saxon.

Looking at Holly’s engagement ring glinting in the early afternoon sun made Abby’s heart ache and sing at the same time. Her friend deserved to be happy, especially after all she’d been through.

“I don’t suppose Simon is around?” Holly glanced at the half-filled diner. Whatever boost she needed, she’d bet her overly precocious eight-year-old godson could provide.

“He’s at the community center with my dad and Charlie. I swear my son and Paige’s daughter are tethered constantly, but at least they’re staying out of trouble these days. Good thing, too, since Paige has been putting in extra hours here at the diner.”

“As far as you know they’re staying out of trouble,” Abby mused, the idea of those two juvenile partners in crime roaming Butterfly Harbor on their bikes giving her heart a lift. “Tell him I’m up for a movie night anytime he’s ready.” But Abby figured her godson might already be aging out of sleepovers with his boring godmother. Well, boring when compared to seven-year-old Charlie Cooper with her crooked smile, equally crooked pigtails and mischievous personality.

“Is there anything Luke and I can do?” Holly asked, giving a nod of acknowledgment to one of her customers.

“I’ll let you know. But I should probably get back to the Flutterby and dive into those books. Can I get my order to go? Along with a turkey sandwich for Lori?”

“Of course. You know Paige, though. Chances are she’ll throw something unexpected on your burger.” Holly patted her hand and headed for the kitchen.

Considering Abby’s luck today, it would be a handful of jalapeños. Abby shuddered. She hated jalapeños. She took a calming breath and inhaled the familiar aroma—frying onions accompanied by hot sugar from Holly’s homemade pies.

How could some people make food sing while others, like her, made it scream?

Abby plucked the pamphlet advertising the By the Bay Food Festival from in front of the laminated menu of Holly’s desserts and grasped a final hope. Her full reservation book should bring in a good chunk of change for the coffers. If Matilda came home in time to get the kitchen up and running. If. If, if, if.

“Abby, what brings you by so early today?” Mayor Gil Hamilton, or Gil the Thrill, as he’d been known in high school, sidled up to her booth and leaned a hand on the table. With his longish blond hair and overbright blue eyes, Gil would forever be Butterfly Harbor’s charmer in residence. He might have spent a good portion of his thirty-two years trying to distance himself from his father’s financially irresponsible actions during his own term as mayor, but even benefit-of-the-doubt Abby had to admit Gil slipped too easily into the political swamp his father had polluted. Then again, she did believe his concern for the town’s survival was genuine. So long as some of his ideas didn’t strip the uniqueness out of Butterfly Harbor in the meantime. That was one of the reasons she was in support of the butterfly sanctuary he was trying to get off the ground.

“Errands,” she said and painted on her trademark smile. She’d keep smiling even as the ship began to sink. “How are the plans coming for the festival?”

“Amazingly well, actually. Tents and banners should start going up around town and in Skipper Park sometime tomorrow, and Calliope has offered her empty property at Duskywing Farm for the open house on Thursday night. We lucked out with the timing. Being able to celebrate Butterfly Harbor’s anniversary when we’ve got a town full of people gives us a chance to show off. One hundred twenty-five years is nothing to sneeze at. Plus, we’ll get that national exposure thanks to all the media coverage.”

“The Cocoon Club is anxious to expand on their success from the Pig in a Poke BBQ cook-off.” The group of Butterfly Harbor seniors had their fingers in a lot of events these days. She only wished she could convince Gran to get involved with them again. Abby flipped open the pamphlet for the upcoming festival and immediately locked on the bolded wording on the second page. “Wait. This is an amateur cooking competition? As in no talent required?” With a hefty fifty-thousand-dollar first prize. Was this the universe’s way of bashing her over the head with a skillet? “Who’s sponsoring this? ShopMax Foods?”

“Hardly,” Gil chuckled. “I told you, sponsorships have been rolling in. And NCN is footing most of it. They’re hoping to find some new on-air talent. Since Butterfly Harbor pitched in a good chunk from our discretionary fund, we get to host the two-day competition while Pacific Grove and Monterey will pick up the other events. You know, now that I think about it—” Gil angled a look at her that told Abby his thought wasn’t new at all “—it would be nice to have someone from Butterfly Harbor representing us to really get the community involved. I wonder if Matilda has any suggestions.”

Why did he insist on asking questions he already knew the answers to?

“Last I heard she and Ursula were somewhere around Ohio.” That motor home of theirs had more miles on it than the space shuttle, but the sisters’ charity trek had become an annual event, one Abby wasn’t about to get in the way of, not when both Matilda and Ursula were breast cancer survivors.

“What about you?” Gil asked.

“What about me?”

“You should enter, Abby. There’s no one more amateur than you. Think about it. They’re only allowing three competitors, so your chances of winning might be better than we think.”

Was he serious? “Sarcasm aside, I doubt that’s a good idea.” Even if she had the inclination, by the time word got around town of her scone BBQ this morning, they’d probably start a petition to ban her from even owning a kitchen.

Still... She bit her lip. Fifty thousand dollars.

“Including one of our oldest businesses would look great in the advertising. Besides, you have the personality for it,” Gil said. “Then there’s the added advertising the inn wouldn’t have to pay for. All you’d need to do is come up with the entry fee. Don’t say no. Not until you check it out, but FYI, the deadline to enter is tomorrow.” He rapped his knuckles on her table and headed out.

Temptation and opportunity knocked. That money could be the answer to her problems. Assuming she won, of course. And Gil was right about one thing: no one was more amateur than her. Oh, this was crazy, wasn’t it? Even crazy for Abby, who wasn’t known for always making the most reasoned decisions. The smoke detector was evidence of that.

She was getting ahead of herself. She couldn’t make any decision until she got a look at the books. It could be she was worried over something a good couple of months could fix, in which case she had time to come up with a gangbusters promotion plan.

No reason to put all her expectations on a competition she didn’t have any hope of winning. Not until she knew what she was dealing with. But...she supposed it could be an option. A nuclear option, but still an option.

“Your order will be ready in about ten.” Holly returned after filling her customers’ coffee cups and clearing some tables. “What was that about?” She aimed a suspicious glance at Gil’s retreating back.

“Possibilities.” Abby shoved the brochure into her purse and smiled. “Do me a favor—add a small strawberry shake to that order? Lori deserves to remember life is all about enjoyment and taking chances.”

Now all Abby had to do was remember the same thing.