CHAPTER 2.

"Suzanne, you're early," Marge said as she let me into her house through the back door the next morning.

It was true that I wasn't due to show up for another half hour, but I hadn't been able to wait a minute longer. I'd had the perfect opportunity to sleep in before the kickoff of the kitchen tour, but I'd lain in bed tossing for hours, waiting until a decent hour when most folks got up. By six AM I couldn't take it anymore, so I put on some sweats and a T-shirt and took a walk in the park that bordered our house. After a long shower when I got back home and more time spent picking out what I was going to wear than I'd ever taken in my life, I still had too much time to kill. Even dawdling over breakfast with my mother just killed an hour, and though I hadn't planned to be at Marge's until nine, I was knocking on her door at twenty-seven minutes past eight. I had to smile when I saw the fresh, oversized corsage pinned to her elegant dress. If her attire was from Gabby's shop, it had been very lightly worn.

"I'm sorry," I said as I glanced at my watch. "If you'd like, I can come back later. I'm sure I can find something to do in town." It had taken every bit of my self-restraint to keep from popping in on Emma at the donut shop, but I'd promised myself that I wouldn't do it, and I was going to keep my word.

Marge frowned at me for a second, but then her creased lips were wiped clean with a smile. "Now don't be silly. Of course you can come in. I've got a surprise for you," she added as she led me inside.

"I'm not certain I'm up for any surprises today," I said as I followed her into the house. Though the tour featured kitchens only, it was clear that Marge had realized she had to spruce up the rest of her house as well. There were fresh flowers throughout the place, and a shine on every surface.

I asked, "Did you buy all new furniture, too?" There were some pieces that I didn't recognize from my last visit, and an Oriental rug I knew was new. She must have spent a fortune.

"No," she said simply.

"Marge, I was just here a few days ago, remember?"

She shook her head slightly, then said, "Fine. If you must know, I contacted a staging company in Charlotte. They're responsible for all of this."

I looked around at the elegant antiques. "Are you trying to tell me that this furniture was all in a play?"

She laughed. "Not that kind of stage, Suzanne. The company helps sell million-dollar houses, and they stage each room with their own furniture to help their clients get top dollar. It was much more reasonable than actually replacing my things, and I didn't have to lift a finger to have it done." Marge bit her lip, then added, "Well, that's not entirely true. I wrote them a rather substantial check, but I think it was worth it, don't you?"

As I followed her into the kitchen, I added, "The entire place looks really great. I think it was money well spent."

"Thank you," she said shyly. "I wanted everyone to remember this stop on the tour. I hope you'll like what I got for you."

"You didn't get me a corsage, too, did you?" I asked, envisioning wearing a floral arrangement like hers on my blouse as I tried to cook. It was a step up from what I usually wore when I worked, but I wasn't ready for flowers.

"Of course not," she said. "Flowers wouldn't do at all, would they? I did get you something, though."

She reached into the pantry and pulled out a very nice chef's smock and hat--pristine white--starched and ironed without a wrinkle in sight. I shuddered when I thought about what would happen to it if I wore it working in her kitchen.

"I appreciate the thought, honestly, I do," I said, backpedaling for something to say. "I'm just not sure I could ever live up to it."

"Nonsense," Marge said. "I think you'll look delightful in it. I won't take no for an answer, Suzanne," she added as she shoved the garb in my face.

I couldn't stand there refusing to accept her offering, so I reached a hand out and took the smock and hat from her. I peeked inside the top and saw that unfortunately, she'd bought the right size.

"How'd you know my size?" I asked as I slipped it on over my blouse.

"I can't take all the credit. Your mother was most helpful."

"I just bet she was," I said. Funny, we'd just had breakfast together, but she hadn't mentioned this at all.

Marge must have seen my expression cloud over. "Now, Suzanne, don't blame her. I asked Dorothy for her help, and she was quite sweet about it." She frowned at the smock, then said, "It wasn't my idea in the first place. As a matter of fact, it was suggested rather strongly to me that I do this for you." She let out a deep breath, then said, "You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. It's fine with me."

As I slid the towering white hat into place on my head, I said, "Don't be silly. It's perfect for the tour."

"I'm so glad you like it," she said. "I do think it's rather smart."

I took the smock and hat off again, happy to be rid of it, at least for the moment. Before Marge could protest, I said, "It's much too nice to do the prep work in. Don't worry, I'll put it on when the tour starts."

"I thought you were supposed to demonstrate making the beignets during the tour," she said.

"I am, but since I'll be making them all day, I thought I'd get a jump on things by measuring out batches of some of the ingredients I'll be using to save time. Surely that's acceptable."

"I suppose," Marge said, as her doorbell rang. "Excuse me, I'll be right back. No one's supposed to be here yet. Who could it be?"

I left her to it, since I had problems of my own. Butterflies were starting to dance in my stomach, and I was beginning to regret the heavy breakfast my mother had forced on me. I didn't usually get nervous before I cooked, but then again, I normally didn't do it with an audience, either. There was just one solution; I needed to get to work so I could forget about the audience that would be coming soon enough. I was scooping out quantities of flour when Marge came back into the kitchen, trailing Peg Masterson, the entirely unpleasant head of the tour.

"Suzanne, why aren't you wearing your smock and hat? Marge, you did as I asked and bought them, didn't you?"

"Of course I did," she said defensively.

"I wanted to keep them pristine as long as I could," I said. "So, I have you to thank for my new outfit." It figured that Peg had butted into our demonstration, even down to the clothes I'd be wearing.

Peg looked at me as if I'd lost my mind, which I was starting to realize I probably had by ever agreeing to this in the first place.

She snapped, "Nonsense, those belong to your sponsor. I arranged to have all of the chefs wear them. It gives the tour a sense of continuity." I swear, she had to choke out the word chef when she looked at me, but somehow she managed to do it without flinching.

I shrugged. "I'll put it on once the tour starts."

"I suppose that will be all right," Peg said as she surveyed the granite countertop where I'd been working. "What's this?"

I held up each ingredient as I identified it. "This is flour, and this is sugar. Now this is . . ."

"I know what they are, Suzanne. What I don't know is why you are starting before we've opened the tour."

I couldn't believe this woman. Was she going to be hovering around me all day? "Peg, I'm just measuring out some of the things I'll need ahead of time. It will make the demonstration go smoother, trust me."

She shook her head. "I absolutely forbid it. The entire purpose of this tour is for our patrons to see the kitchens in real working conditions. You mustn't start anything until we open the doors."

"What if no one's here when I start?" I asked. "Do I have to sit around waiting for an audience before I start preparing my food?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Peg said. "You may begin precisely at ten A.M., and not a moment before."

"Fine," I said as I dumped some of the flour I'd already measured back into the container. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"I'd suggest you find a quiet place to relax and take full of advantage of it while you can. You're going to be on your feet constantly for six hours once the tour begins."

"I do more than that every day in my shop," I said. "Six hours is going to feel like a vacation."

Peg smiled cruelly. "Yes, but have you ever done it with an audience? I'm sure it's not as easy as it may seem."

I nodded. I hated to admit it, but she had a point. Then, I had a thought. "You're not staying here the entire time the tour's going on, are you?"

Peg laughed, but there wasn't an ounce of warmth in the sound. "Suzanne, as important as you must think you are, I have seven kitchens open on the tour today. I simply wanted to stop by to check on your setup, and to brief you one last time on the rules." As she looked around, she added, "It's a good thing I did, too."

I gave her my most artificial smile. "Well, you've done that, so why don't you move on to the next vic . . . I mean kitchen on your list."

I swear, I saw Marge stifle a giggle when she realized I'd been about to say victim. She'd been surprisingly quiet during my conversation with Peg, and I wondered how the tour organizer had managed to intimidate her so much.

After Peg was gone, I said, "Well, I for one am certainly glad we got all of that cleared up. It could have been an absolute disaster if I'd continued measuring out ingredients. What was I thinking?" I'd done my best to imitate Peg's nasal voice, but though I wasn't all that effective a mimic, Marge had understood the impression.

"She's certainly unique, isn't she," Marge asked.

"I'm kind of surprised you ever agreed to do this," I said. "How did you two manage to bury the hatchet?"

She waved her hand in the air. "Peg is harmless."

"That's not the first word to describe her that pops into my mind." Seeing coffee brewing on one of the countertops, I asked, "Is there any chance I could get a cup? I have a feeling Peg's right about one thing. It's going to be a long day, and I might not have much time for breaks once we get started."

Marge said, "Where are my manners? Why don't you sit over on the sofa, and I'll bring you a cup."

"I can get it myself," I protested.

"Nonsense. Let me wait on you. Now go sit."

I did as I was told, and sat on a sofa in the nearby sitting area where I could look outside at Marge's landscaping. While it was true she skimped on buying things for herself, when it came to her flower garden, Marge hadn't held back. An explosion of blooms dotted the landscape outside, and a fountain centered on a delightful stone patio supplied a constant, aerated stream for the birds. Several feeders were arranged near my vantage point, and as I watched, a Carolina Chickadee swooped in for a quick black oil sunflower seed before darting off again.

"I think I found the best seat in the house," I said as Marge walked over with two thick mugs.

"I had the entire landscape in back designed just for that spot," she said as she took another seat.

"Then you should sit here," I said as I started to get up.

"Suzanne, you're here doing me a wondrous favor. Besides, I get to enjoy this view every morning. I can share it with you today."

"I appreciate that," I said. I wasn't about to fight her on it, especially when I noticed a bright red male cardinal come in for some seed of his own. Instead of making a hit and run on the feeder, though, this fella was obviously more interested in sampling a few of the offerings before giving up his spot in line.

"Who's that?" I asked as I saw part of the back of a head peek around the corner of the courtyard.

"Is someone out there?" Marge asked as she stared where I'd pointed. "They know they're supposed to wait at the front door."

She ducked outside, but was back just as quickly. It was clear that whoever had been out there was now gone.

"Suzanne, did you see who it was?"

"No, I just caught a glimpse of red hair."

"Was it a man or a woman?" she asked.

"Honestly, whoever it was had short hair, but that's all I could say from the little bit I saw."

Marge frowned. "Peg should be doing a better job of keeping people in line."

After she settled back down beside me, I said, "Marge, may I ask you something?"

She looked surprised, but nodded. "I owe you that much, at least."

I wasn't satisfied with her terse explanation about her relationship patch with Peg, and if I was ever going to find out what had happened, this was the time. I knew it wasn't any of my business, but that didn't keep me from dying to know the truth. I took a sip of coffee, then asked, "Why has there been bad blood between you and Peg for so long, and why did you ever agree to do the kitchen tour?"

"That's two questions," Marge said.

"Indulge me," I said as I sipped my coffee. It was a first-rate blend, and I wondered if she'd bought it and brewed it just for the tour.

Marge stood and started to pace around the large space. "I don't believe I even know where to begin. Peg and I have always been at odds over one thing or another. I suppose it all goes back to our fathers."

"They knew each other?" I asked as my attention was diverted from the backyard habitat for a moment.

"I should say so. They were business partners once upon a time, and I'm afraid it ended badly."

"What happened?"

Marge said, "Peg's father, Daniel, grew tired of the investment house they were running, and from the way my father used to tell it, he'd done more than his part to run the company into the ground. One day Daniel came to my father and asked him to buy him out. My father agreed that it would be a good idea, but refused the outlandish price Daniel put on his half of the business. After much arguing, Father finally agreed to turn over the keys and title to his new car, a Cadillac that was the talk of the town. My father told me Daniel's share of the business wasn't even worth that, but he wanted to be rid of a partner who'd become dead weight. The papers were signed, the car exchanged hands, and my father proceeded to work eighty-hour weeks until he built his firm into a place he could be proud of. A year after the transaction, Daniel drove while he'd been drinking, and he crashed the Cadillac into a tree, totaling it beyond repair and killing himself in the process."

I'd heard stories growing up that Daniel Masterson had died in a car wreck, but I hadn't realized the history behind it.

"How awful."

"Not as bad as how Peg's mother acted. Shelly had to blame someone for her husband's death, someone besides the man himself, so she focused on my father. Peg must have grown up with stories of the evil man who'd stolen her father's business, so it's a wonder she speaks to me at all."

"It's tragic, though, isn't it?"

"On more levels than I can convey," Marge said. "Last year Peg talked me into serving on some of her favorite committees, but I don't have time for that anymore. My life these days is rather full without worrying about fundraisers and benefits." She glanced at her watch, then said, "Look at the time. We'll be opening in ten minutes! Suzanne, do you think anyone will come?"

"Of course they will," I said. "You're taking tickets at the front door, right?"

"If anyone shows up," she said.

"Why don't we go peek and see if anyone's out there waiting to get in?"

Marge looked surprised by the suggestion. "What if they see us?"

"Come on. It will be fun."

We slipped through the kitchen, and I started for the front door when Marge touched my shoulder. "Let's go into the living room. We can get a better view from there."

I followed her into yet another room of the big house, and she ducked behind the curtain first. When she came back out, she looked positively stunned.

I felt my heart start to sink. It was beginning to feel like I was going to be making beignets all by myself. "What's the matter? Did no one come?"