Poison at the Bake Sale Read online

  "Yes, it's new. What do you collect?" said Rufus abruptly.

  Abe blinked. "Um. Nothing." He used to collect Dolly Parton memorabilia, but he doubted that would impress this man. Nor would mentioning that his ex-husband had been an avid collector of all sorts of things.

  "Oh. Well. It was good to meet you. Goodbye." The odd man moved back inside, slowly, humming once again.

  Abe felt out his breath. What an odd experience. Still, an eccentric art collector was better than an openly hostile and homophobic neighbor. Though the man hadn't exactly seemed friendly, either, and he'd given Abe that sharp look after the handshake. Abe wiped his hands nervously on his trousers and wished he didn't get shaken so easily. At least it was over and done, the initial polite greeting. Rather late, but finally done.

  He started to move away from the fence and back to his herb patch, then stopped. The jug was watching him. When he moved, its weird staring eyes seemed to follow him. Abe shuddered and abandoned the herbs for now, retreating indoors. He wouldn't be able to see it from the herb garden, with the fence in the way—but it would still be looking in this direction.

  He didn't need to do anything else outside today after all.

  Chapter three

  He got a call from Ollie Osgood, a friend since college days and one of his few gay friends he hadn't lost in the divorce. Somehow, everything had seemed to end up being about Lenard, and that included most of their friends as a couple, too. It had hurt to find that out, one more little indignity on top of everything else. At any rate, Ollie had remained his friend, and had never liked Lenard in the first place. Too bad Abe's gut hadn't said the same.

  But would I be the same person if I'd never met him, never fallen for him, never married him? he wondered. And then he thought: No, I wouldn't. I'd be less neurotic and fearful. But even of that, he couldn't be certain.

  "Hello, darling. What are you doing? It's positively dull at the moment. Anything going on out there in the rural land?"

  Abe laughed; Ollie could always make him laugh, even at his lowest. And this certainly wasn't his lowest, not by a stretch. He'd been a bit down and self-doubting lately, but that was all. "It's the suburbs, Ollie, not a wilderness."

  "If there's no Thai food delivery, believe me, it's a wilderness. So, no wild exploits, amazing murders to solve, et cetera?"

  "No, no, nothing like that. There's a bake sale this weekend; that's the big news here." He tried to think of something else interesting to share. He was almost positive there was something interesting to share, but at the moment, it skipped his mind.

  "Ooh, a bake sale. How cosmopolitan!"

  "Well, it benefits the library, and it's a good excuse to eat baked goods."

  "I'm sure it will be a raging success if you're there. And how are things in Gregory land?" His voice was a little less lighthearted with this question; he knew how horribly wrong the cruise had gone.

  "He hasn't left me yet," said Abe in a world-weary voice that he meant to be jovial. He felt exposed talking about it, though.

  "Touch wood, darling." Ollie had an inkling how serious he was about Gregory. He knew this was a vulnerable place for Abe, trusting someone again after Lenard.

  "No further plans to sell your place and move in together?" probed Ollie, sounding nervous as he asked.

  "No, it's on hold for now. I think it's best to wait for now, and he hasn't argued." Abe realized he'd sounded sad when he said that last part, which was a surprise to him. Did he secretly want Gregory to talk him into moving in together before he was quite sure?

  But Gregory, for all his strong, charismatic personality—he used to be a salesman, and quite a successful one—wasn't one for talking Abe into anything. That was both wonderful and quite an adjustment from his last serious relationship. It was what he wanted: not to lose himself in a relationship or be molded into something he wasn't. He just wasn't used to actually getting it, and sometimes found himself at a bit of a loss, surprised not to be pushed into things or expected to change himself.

  "Anything else new? No neighborhood scandals with that hot gardener?"

  "No, nothing like that. It's positively dull here. I've been trying to improve myself—be artistic, cut back on work—but I swear, I haven't been able to draw anything in ages. I don't know what's wrong with me."

  "Believe me, I know the feeling," said Ollie, who had a small film project that had been on his drawing board since college. He had a huge filmmaker's block about pursuing what had once been a passion of his, and he'd ended up spending his life on anything and everything but that.

  "I didn't know it was this awful," confided Abe. "I feel like I've lost part of myself, and I don't know when it left." Well, perhaps he had a tiny guess—but he'd never thought it was gone for good, that it was something Lenard could ruin for him by mere association now.

  "Oh, dear, you need cheering up more than I do!"

  "What? Why do you need cheering up? What's gone wrong for you?"

  Ollie sighed extravagantly. "Darling, I'm overcome with fatigue. Work has been beastly."

  Abe couldn't help grinning at the purposely camp tone, but he recognized there was some truth there, as well. "You could try cutting back? Everybody needs a break sometimes."

  "You're right."

  "I am?" Abe was not used to being told that so often, or so quickly—especially from his friend.

  "Yes. I'll drive over and attend your country bumpkin bake sale and buy all your country pumpkin cookies." He sounded pleased with himself at the little pun.

  "Oh, Ollie, you don't have to." Despite his words, his heart leaped at the thought of having a friend and ally at the sale. Just in case something did happen. There was Gregory, of course...but another person he knew and felt comfortable with would be wonderful. "Although it would be lovely if you did."

  "Of course it would. Now, do I need to bring anything besides myself and some money?"

  "I don't think there's a dress code or anything. It's really not a very big bake sale, Ollie. It's for the library, just a little fundraiser."

  "Well, I usually wear tails for a fundraiser, but I'll make an exception for you. We can talk art, or not, but it'll be good to see you," he finished in a more serious tone, showing his true feelings for a moment.

  "Yes," agreed Abe. Why was it so difficult to keep up with friends sometimes? They had less in common than they used to, but he liked Ollie, and it wasn't as though Gregory tried to get him to avoid friends who were only his, the way Lenard had. Gregory had met and liked Ollie, anyway.

  "I'll see you then."

  "Any requests for things to bake?"

  "You're actually baking something? Well, I'll be there with bells on, then. You do make an excellent cream puff, dear. Requests, hm? I don't suppose a key lime pie would be out of the question?"

  Abe laughed. "I'll certainly do my best."

  They ended on a friendly note, and Abe felt better than he had in days. He got right to work digging up a recipe for key lime pie. He'd made lemon meringue before, but never key lime. It shouldn't be too difficult, though he might make a practice pie first, anyway—and it should be refrigerated. Still, special request and all that; he could always bring a cooler and keep it on ice till Ollie got there. No problem.

  In fact, he might make a couple of things that should be kept cold. If it was a warm day on Saturday (as seemed likely), they would probably sell all the more quickly. Feeling industrious, he began making plans.

  THERE WAS A KNOCK AT the door, and Abe dusted flour off his hands to go and answer it. He was not too busy to welcome an interruption—as long as it was a brief one. If it was a salesman, he might even offer him a cookie. Although one really didn't get many salesmen going door to door around here. There was never anyone home to make it worth the bother, he supposed.

  Besides, I only need one salesman—my Gregory.

  He was well aware (and grateful) that Gregory only used his powers of persuasion rarely, and on things that didn't matter: what he wou
ld like Abe to cook for him, for example. He rarely even tried to get his own way on what they watched on TV, instead asking Abe what he wanted as often as not. As far as Abe was concerned, he was almost too good to be true—at least, long-term.

  They were surprisingly compatible in a number of ways—including sexually—that made him really not want to lose this strong but gentle, well-endowed and energetic man. He was so full of life; he could somehow spend a day doing hard physical things and still come home and have time and energy for Abe. It was intoxicating to be the center of his attention, or even in his periphery.

  Abe took off his apron and folded it, laid it aside, then opened the door with a polite expression, hoping he didn't look too messy. In general, Abe was fussy about his appearance. He could make an exception while baking—but not a huge one.

  "Yes, what is it? Oh, Rick! Hello. What's the matter?"

  He stared with some alarm into the handsome face of the gardener, Rick Radford, who used to do his lawn, and was now dating Winnie pretty seriously. (They had moved in together and everything.)

  "Nothing's wrong," said Rick, but his face said differently. "Um, I got roped into helping with the library thing."

  "The bake sale?"

  "No, it's more than that now. They're doing an auction." He waved a hand vaguely. "So, is there anything you want to donate?"

  Abe thought about it. "Is there anything specific they want?"

  Rick shrugged, looking glum.

  "Are you certain there's nothing wrong?"

  "Just...thinking about stuff, I guess."

  "Well, why don't you come in, and I'll take a look around and see what I have to add to the auction?" He used to have a crush on Rick. Now he was fond of him for Winnie's sake; the man was good for her and treated her right. And he had helped save her life—there was that, too. Winnie deserved her happiness, and it was easier to be glad for her now that Abe had someone of his own so he wasn't ragingly jealous.

  He walked quickly through the house, looking for anything he wouldn't mind letting go that might earn a few dollars at an auction without looking too silly. "What sort of thing are other people donating?" he called, turning to look behind him.

  Rick, who had been following him, stopped abruptly before they could collide. "Oops. Should I wait in the kitchen?"

  "No, no." Abe waved his hands nervously. He wasn't good with surprises, and his heart was pounding rather hard. But it was fine. "You sure nothing's wrong?"

  Rick grimaced, but this time he didn't wave it away. "It's just...Winnie."

  His heart sank. "Did something happen between you two?" This was it: the beginning of the end of her happiness. So long fought and hard-won. The fledgling relationship had survived nearly a year, and now—

  He hadn't thought his own relationship would survive forever, but somehow, he hadn't suspected Winnie of losing Rick so soon—if ever.

  Rick shook his head impatiently. "I'm pretty sure she wants to get married. Make it, you know, legal and everything." His frown said he didn't feel the same way.

  "And? You don't want to?" Maybe he didn't like marriage. Abe understood the feeling; one could certainly get turned on the concept, as beautiful and precious as it was when it went right.

  "Nah, it's not that, but, man, if we get married, everybody will say I'm doing it 'cause she's rich. Like I just want her for the money." He looked disgusted.

  "Well," said Abe gently, "anyone who wants to think something so silly probably already does. But anyone who knows the two of you can see you're in love."

  "Yeah, I guess." Rick looked at the floor, clearly embarrassed to be talking about something so personal. He probably wouldn't have confided in Abe if he weren't feeling a bit desperate. Maybe he didn't have many friends he could talk to about something so serious? That was a bit sad if it was true. Everyone should have someone to confide in who would care.

  "Are you certain she wants to get married? I don't believe her first marriage was terribly happy, and, you know, sometimes that can turn a person against the idea of trying again, even if they're really in love." He twisted his fingers together, feeling awkward and exposed. Maybe Rick wouldn't connect the dots.

  "Well, we've kinda been...talking about it. Arguing about it," he admitted. "Besides, even if I did ask her, where am I gonna find the money for a ring? I mean, a ring good enough for her? I should be able to...you know, take care of her. But she..." He blew out his breath, clearly frustrated beyond belief.

  Toxic masculinity, to the front.

  Abe picked his words carefully. "I don't think the ring really matters very much. It's what it means. Especially if you're right, that she really wants to marry you. You could probably ask with a Ring Pop, and she wouldn't mind."

  "A Ring Pop?" Rick scrunched up his face. "You're joking."

  "Well, maybe, but I've heard of it done, and ending in happy marriages. It's the person and the situation that matter, not so much the jewelry for many people. And I think Winnie is one of them."

  It wasn't as though she was a society girl who longed to show off her ring to her brunch ladies so they could compare carat size. She'd never been like that, and she didn't have any brunch pals, as far as he knew, unless Abe himself counted, metaphorically. They'd never eaten a real, physical brunch together, although they probably would have if they'd lived nearer to places that served tasty brunches. But they'd certainly shared afternoon snacks while chatting about anything under the sun. He was probably her closest friend here.

  He studied Rick for a moment, noting the gardener's miserable face. His words didn't seem to be getting through, but he kept trying. "She doesn't need you to take care of her financially or prove yourself. You already have proved yourself—you saved her life, you love her, you're kind to her. She just needs your love and commitment. If you're right about her wanting to get married, that is," he added hastily, because it would be awful if he encouraged Rick to propose when Winnie didn't want him to.

  Of course it was all fine and well to say Winnie should just propose to Rick if she wanted to marry him, but Rick seemed like he'd be even less comfortable with that idea than proposing with a Ring Pop, and Winnie was not exactly a brave, non-traditional type when it came to dealing with men. Any saucy daring she might have once possessed had been beaten out of her by her awful husband.

  She'd probably only gotten up the courage to befriend Abe because he was so clearly nonthreatening. She didn't have a lot of friends, and he got the feeling most men still scared her a little. As for Rick, she'd spent months mooning over him and had taken up gardening just so she'd have a chance to speak with him. She certainly hadn't rushed into anything, or been the first to make a move, and that wasn't likely to change for a marriage proposal. No, if she wanted to get married, she would want Rick to propose, to be strong and kind about it, not reluctant or resentful or focused on their disparate incomes.

  Abe plowed doggedly on. "Two of my friends ended up getting married after an onion ring proposal. It suited their personalities—and their budget at the time—and they laughed and were happy about it. A good story to tell afterwards."

  He decided not to share that it had been a young marriage while both were in college, and had lasted five years before they changed too much and ended up getting a divorce. Sometimes it seemed like everyone ended up getting divorced. But that thought wouldn't help this conversation. "What I'm saying is, don't think of the money, think about what would make her feel good in a proposal."

  Rick was nodding slowly, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. "I could get a tattoo," he said quietly.

  Abe cringed at the thought. He didn't want to know more. He hated needles, and this sounded like a really bad idea on all fronts. A tattoo would be a permanent reminder of an embarrassing situation, if Winnie didn't really want to marry him.

  Abe clapped him companionably on the shoulder and tried not to look worried. "Just think about what she'd prefer in a proposal, if you're both sure you want to do this. What would suit her p
ersonality," he stressed. He didn't really think a tattoo would do it, but what did he know? Maybe Winnie was secretly a fan.

  "Yeah, man. You're right." Rick nodded slowly. "I guess I should get going. Hey, thanks." He flashed Abe that dazzling smile of his, and it was so good to see it return.

  "Of course. Anytime," said Abe, hoping he hadn't given some very bad advice. A tattoo marriage proposal. Oh, dear. Something occurred to him. "I can bring a few potted herbs for the auction," he said. "My herb garden is getting crowded, anyway. Mostly mint, I think."

  "Okay. I'll write you down for some plants. See you around." He left, seeming much more lighthearted than when he'd arrived. Abe had forgotten to offer him a cookie.

  Oh, well. He checked the oven and then pulled his apron back on. I hope I didn't steer him wrong. Maybe he should talk to Winnie and warn her.

  That didn't seem quite fair, though. He would have to trust them to communicate on their own—and hopefully without too many tattoos. Ouch.

  Chapter four

  Abe stayed safely in the house while Gregory tended to his bees. The work was complicated and involved using smoke and wearing his astronaut-like beekeeper's suit. Abe got the shudders if he thought too much about all those bees, so close and so grumpy and ready to sting, buzzing around, inches from one's face.

  He tried not to think about it as he got some work done. He'd been baking for most of the day, and there were one or two consulting things that needed to be accomplished before he could say he'd done his duty today. Tomorrow was the bake sale. Oh, and he also needed to dig up and pot those herbs he'd promised to Rick.

  That, and his sketchbook sat empty in front of him, taunting him. Every time he looked at it, he found something else he needed to tend to. It had a bit of flour on it now from all his baking. It would be nice to feel accomplished because he'd gotten so much baking done—Mary would be pleased, certainly—but he felt guilty, as if he was just avoiding doing something creative. He'd come up with lots of interesting things to bake, too, but it felt like a hollow victory. If only he could get over this creative block!