Engagement and Espionage (Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries #1)(2)

The thing about the church choir was, it didn’t take much to get them to sing, if you know what I mean. In fact, one might even say they were gleeful about spreading unhappy news.

Therefore, once I did have the eggs, I made coconut custard tarts with shaved coconut and dropped them off—in person—to the Saturday choir practice. All had been forgiven and the Donner Bakery’s praises were sung once more.

But . . . two weeks? With the church picnic coming up? And the first round of entries for the state fair due next week?

Lord have mercy.

I wrestled my panic and nodded for no reason, blinking away the irritating tears. “Well,” I croaked when I found my voice, “I guess—I guess—”

Mr. Badcock made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Fine, fine. How about this?” His reluctance was obvious. The reluctance gave my heart hope. “I have four dozen eggs up at the homestead.”

“Oh, Mr. Badcock, I would—”

“Now settle down.” He lifted his hands, even the one holding the hat. “I’ll give them to you, for double the price.”

I swallowed again because that was a tough pill. Double the price? His eggs were already ten dollars a dozen. Part of me wanted to argue. I told that part to hush. Serene eggs didn’t grow on trees.

“O—okay.” I tried to smile but couldn’t.

“And from now on,” he continued sternly, “the Donner Bakery needs to preorder their eggs three months in advance, with a—uh . . . fifty percent down payment. That’s right, fifty percent.” He nodded as though agreeing with himself.

I found myself momentarily at a loss for words, not because these were unfair terms, but because Mr. Badcock had always been opposed to preorders or prepayments prior to right this minute, said he didn’t like the paperwork.

Nevertheless, it took me less than a second to respond. “Of course. Absolutely, Mr. Badcock. In fact, I’ll be happy to place our order for the entire year right now.”

He blinked several times, visibly startled. “You would?”

“Yes. I most certainly would. I don’t want anyone’s eggs but yours.”

He blinked some more, standing straighter. “You wouldn’t?” His voice cracked like an eggshell.

“No.” On a whim, I reached forward and held his hand. He looked between my face and our joined fingers as I spoke from the heart. “Mr. Badcock, your eggs are . . . well, they’re magical. And I guess I should have told you prior to now, but all other eggs in comparison might as well be applesauce.”

Applesauce being the low-fat, vegan replacement for eggs in baking recipes. In other words, a sad and inferior imitation.

“Oh,” he breathed, blinking faster now. A bit of color touched his cheeks. “My goodness. I don’t—I mean, I don’t know what to say. This is all very unexpected.”

I released his hand, stepping away as he watched me retreat. “Just, thank you. Thank you for your eggs. Thank you for taking the time to raise those chickens right.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Sylvester.” He sounded a bit dazed, but also proud.

As he should be. He should be proud of his serene layers.

“Anyway,” I laughed lightly. “Look at me, getting all emotional. Again, I’m sorry for my outburst. Should I send a check over? With the deposit for this year? Or how do you want to handle that?”

“Uh . . .” He glanced at the ground, looking like he was frantically trying to locate his scattered thoughts. “I guess, uh, a check is fine.”

“Glorious!” I clapped my hands together. “I’ll send my momma over on her way home from the hotel.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t mind.

Now he stiffened and his face blanched. “Your—your momma?”

“Yes.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile. It was no secret in Green Valley that my momma was as well respected as she was feared, especially with the local business owners.

“Mrs. Donner-Sylvester?” His voice cracked again, and he pulled at his open shirt collar like it was too tight.

“It’s just Ms. Donner now,” I reminded quietly. “The divorce isn’t anywhere near final yet, but she prefers it.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right.” Mr. Badcock pushed his fingers through his sweaty hair, frowning as he glanced down at his clothes. “What time would she be by?”

“About nine, I suspect. As long as that’s not too late or disagreeable to you.” Glancing at my watch, I saw it was now half past three. This egg encounter had taken much longer than I’d expected. I needed to get those four dozen eggs back to the bakery and in the fridge soon. Three new orders had come in—all for custard—and the way I made it, the mixture needed to rest overnight.

Plus, I couldn’t be late for the jam session, not again.

“Well, all right then.” Mr. Badcock, seeming both overwhelmed and resigned by the turn of events, motioned me forward. “Let’s go up to the house and get you those eggs.”

I followed dutifully, happy to have avoided a disaster.

At least, for now.





Chapter Two





“Selfish— a judgment readily passed by those who have never tested their own power of sacrifice.”