I left a spoon with batter on a plate in case Miss Charleena got up from her sickness and needed a treat. I put the batter in the pan, put the pan in the oven.
I told the dogs, “In fifteen minutes, this kitchen is going to smell like a celebration.” One of the big things I’ve learned watching TV cooks is that they have confidence. If they said, “I don’t know if this recipe’s going to turn out,” all over the world people would be clicking their TV remotes to off. If you want people to stay with you, act like you know what you’re doing. There are lots of life lessons on the Food Network.
I fed Tracy and Hepburn, swept the back porch, and brought in the paper. I wasn’t sure what the headline said, but I knew one word, WAR. My daddy told me once that he expected there would always be a war going on somewhere in the world. In fifth grade I did a shadow box on peace for Mr. Mackey’s class. I made people out of popsicle sticks and colored their faces all the colors of people in the world. Everyone was wearing white, and they were standing together holding hands. My peace box was put on the front table in the school for everyone to see, until Ronny Mandolini smashed it with his fist.
I wiped the kitchen counters, cleaned the back door window, and took the brownies from the oven. Perfect. Miss Charleena needed to smell these.
I walked to her bedroom door and heard Dr. Weber say, “Charleena, in my professional opinion, you’re breathing fine, as always.”
“I can hardly get a breath,” she insisted.
The phone rang and rang. Finally, I picked it up.
“Miss Charleena’s residence. This is Foster speaking.”
“Tell her Stan’s on the line.”
“She’s with the doctor.”
“Tell her,” the man Stan insisted.
I walked back down the hall to the closed white door and knocked.
“Miss Charleena, Mr. Stan is on the line.”
Her voice sounded small. “Tell him not now.”
I put the phone to my ear and told him.
“Put her on, kid.” He had a pushy voice.
“She can’t talk right now. She’s with the doctor.”
“What did you say your name was?”
“Foster.”
“Foster, let me tell you about life. There’s life for regular people and there’s life for Hollywood people. Are you following me?”
“Yessir.”
“And the Hollywood life, Foster, goes like this. Actors need agents to prevent them from driving their careers into a ditch.”
Miss Charleena had mentioned being in a ditch, but I thought Kitty and Lester yanked her out.
“I’m Charleena’s agent, Foster. I take calls for her, and sometimes I take a very important call from a very important person who does not like to be kept waiting. Are you with me?”
“Yessir.”
“And this, Foster, is the situation we find ourselves in. A very important person who does not like to be kept waiting has called. Now, get Charleena on the phone! ”
“Okay.” I knocked on the door again. Mentioned the very important person.
“Tell Stan it’s over for me.”
“He’s not going to like that, Miss Charleena—”
“Tell him!”
I told him.
“I’m not happy right now, Foster. And I like to be happy. It’s a green light if we can get Charleena attached. The script is brilliant, the director is rewriting it. It’s a huge tent-pole movie that will drive the studio machine. Tell her that.”
I have no idea what he just said. I knocked again. “I need to come in!”
“What is it?” she hollered.
“Miss Charleena, Mr. Stan said something about a green machine with a pole and a tent.” Dr. Weber stared at me. I walked over to the big canopy bed and handed her the phone. “Please talk to him.”
This was some job Macon gave me!
“Stan, darlin’, you call at the worst times. . .. I know . . . I know . . . I’m at death’s door. . .. What? I am most certainly not afraid to get back out there, Stanley! I deeply resent your tone!”
It was good to hear her sounding crabby again. Dr. Weber took Miss Charleena’s temperature in her ear while she talked. “Perfectly normal,” the doctor muttered.
Miss Charleena shook her head. “It peaks in the afternoon. . ..”
I decided to be confused someplace else. I went back to the kitchen where nothing I could see was attached except the cabinets. There was no green machine and no pole, just brownies. I touched the pan. It had cooled enough. I cut the brownies into squares. I ate one and put the rest on a plate with the chocolate mayonnaise cupcakes.
Dr. Weber came into the kitchen. “Charleena needs to rest. You can go home.”
“Is she really dying?”
“I imagine Charleena will outlive us all.” He looked at the brownies.
“Do you want one?”
I could tell he did.
“They’re warm,” I added.
He smiled, took the biggest square, and gobbled it down. “What was your name again?”
“Foster McFee, sir.”
Dr. Weber walked out the door. “I’ll remember that.”
COOK’S TIP: If you want to be remembered, bake.
Nineteen
REMEMBER ME?
I poked my head in Angry Wayne’s. The counter was full. My baked goods were gone.
“Where you been?” Wayne demanded.
“Around.”
He pointed to the empty case.
“You want me to bake more, sir?”
“One dozen delivered here tomorrow morning.”
Betty slapped the counter. “Pay the girl, Wayne.”
He mumbled something and handed me an envelope. I was in business!
“Mr. Wayne, do you want the chocolate chip muffins and vanilla cupcakes again? Or if you want a change, I could bake butterscotch muffins and the moistest chocolate cupcakes the world has ever seen.”
Betty’s head shot up. Angry Wayne crossed his arms. “You’re the baker. Bring the best you’ve got.”
I killed myself making these. I got up early and baked them so they’d be perfectly fresh. I used my special striped paper liners, too. When I took them from the oven, the butterscotch smell filled the Bullet, and Sonny’s chocolate cupcakes were enough to wake Mama, who normally can sleep through a hurricane.
Mama’s nose twitched. “You baked extra?”
“Two dozen.”
“Good.” She went back to sleep. I piled the frosting on.
“Those smell wonderful.” It was Macon. What was he doing here?
“You’re sick,” I told him.
“Not anymore.” I handed him a cupcake. He ate it in two bites. “You should sell these, Foster. I’m not kidding. Could I bring one to Miss Charleena? I can start working for her again.”
“Oh.” I looked down. “I was there yesterday, and she stayed in her room.”
“She doesn’t know you that well, Foster. She knows me.”
“Well . . .” I said.
So much for learning how to read.
“You can keep the money for the days you worked, but I’ll keep ten percent because I got you the work. You know, like a movie agent.”
He counted out the money and gave it to me.
“I talked to her agent,” I said.
Macon stopped dead at that. “You talked to Stanley Bull?”
“He said his name was Stan.”
“You actually spoke to him?”
“Yeah. He wanted to talk to her, and she didn’t want to talk to him.”
“I’ve never even answered the phone!”
I shrugged. “It was ringing.”
“Stan Bull is one of the biggest agents in Hollywood.”
I mentioned how Miss Charleena got angry on the phone and told him she wasn’t afraid of getting back out there. “Do you know what that means?”
“It’s personal information, Foster.”
Elvis the cat crept by. I gave him a dir
ty look.
“I’ve got to go back to Miss Charleena’s now.”
“You want me to go with you? I mean, I think she likes me and—”
“Miss Charleena doesn’t really like anyone, Foster.”
“I think she likes me. We had a long talk—”
“This is my job, Foster. Not yours.”
“I know. But maybe I could help her and—”
Macon’s eyes got a funny look and his voice changed. “It sounds like you’re trying to steal my job!”
What was he talking about?
“It sounds like you got real involved over there, Foster. Real involved!”
“That’s crazy, Macon!”
“I’m going to leave now.”
“Good!”
Elvis the cat jumped out from behind a bush. Stupid, sneaky cat!
I watched Macon storm off down the driveway.
You want to know a big issue I’ve got? Being accused of something I didn’t do!
Lester walked up. “Just so you know, Charleena Hendley can seem like she’s your friend one day and ignore you for months after. Don’t let it get to you.”
Kind of late for that.
I dropped the baked goods off at Angry Wayne’s and I think I almost saw him smile when I put them in the plastic container.
“How much you charging?” Clay asked.
Wayne thought about that. “Dollar seventy-five”
“Yesterday they were a dollar fifty.”
“Hold on to your seats, boys. These are about to be famous.”
Yes!
“You add one with my eggs instead of toast?” Clay asked him.
“Nope.”
Two men at the counter were wearing green uniforms and mirrored sunglasses. I bet they worked at the prison. “Give me one of each,” one of the men said.
“Same,” said the other.
Wayne pointed to a plate and said to me, “Give Charlie and Zeke what they asked for.”
I put a muffin and a cupcake on two plates and put them in front of the men. Charlie and Zeke ate them fast without saying anything. The biggest man burped, chugged down coffee, pushed the empty plate toward me. “Hit me again.”
“Same.”
“I want a cupcake,” Betty said, and another man said he’d take what was left.
Clay raised his hand. “What about me?”
“He who hesitates is lost,” Wayne told him.
“You want me to bring more tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yep.”
I decided to leave while I was ahead.
The bus was orange, there was no missing that. A lady was standing outside of it saying hi to everybody. Little kids were getting books, and other people were bringing books back. I got close to this lady who was smiling and laughing. She was wearing dangling book earrings.
I saw Garland coming out of the bus. “Hey!” he shouted.
“Hey.”
“Mrs. Worth,” Garland said, “this is Foster. She’s new to town.”
“Welcome to the Bookmobile, Foster. What kind of a book can I get you?”
“Uh . . .”
I felt like I had a sign around my neck: THIS GIRL CAN’ T READ.
Her book earrings swayed.
“She’s a baker,” Garland said.
Mrs. Worth patted her stomach. “I’m an eater. I’ve got all kinds of cookbooks inside. Garland knows where they are.”
You don’t know how much I’d love to read a cookbook.
“Come on, Foster!” He climbed in the bus.
Okay, but . . .
I followed him. There was a desk with a swivel chair and posters of people holding books, there were tall cases slanted back stuffed with books, and there was Amy sitting on the floor reading. She was wearing shorts and a black shirt with a purple thunderbolt across it.
Garland stepped over her.
She kept reading. “I see you, Garland.”
I bent down so she could see my face and waved. Amy said, “Welcome to the inner sanctum, Foster.”
I giggled. Garland climbed up a step stool and handed me books—one with chocolate cookies on the cover, one with a beautifully set table, one with a deepdish blueberry pie. He looked through the stack and handed one down with a strawberry cake on the cover.
Cookbooks are heavy. “These look good,” I told him.
“Wait, there’s more.”
“That’s okay, Garland, these are—”
Amy looked up. “Do you guys think having free coffee and cookies on Saturday will bring people to the store? ”
“I thought your dad said you couldn’t do that,” I mentioned
“Let’s assume I can convince him. What do you think?”
“It sounds good,” Garland said.
“It depends on the cookies,” I added.
Amy was surprised. “It does?”
“Totally.”
“I thought Oreos.”
I shook my head.
“Chips Ahoy?”
Please.
“Boring won’t work,” I told her.
“My whole life is boring, Foster! I’m trying to bring new ideas to the hardware store and my dad just looks at me like I’m an alien.”
“You are an alien.” Garland held up another cookbook. It was big, it was yellow, and it had Sonny Kroll’s picture on it.
I couldn’t believe it.
“Sonny Side Up with Sonny Kroll. You want it?”
I didn’t know Sonny had a book! “I want it.” I put the others down. He handed it to me. I held it like it was made of diamonds.
“Come on.” He climbed down and stepped over Amy, and we headed outside. “Foster wants this one, Mrs. Worth”
“Good choice. This book just came out. I love that man’s show.”
She filled out a card for me, and when I told her where I lived, she said, “Address: Silver Bullet behind Kitty and Lester’s, Culpepper, West VA, USA.”
I grinned. That’s an excellent address.
She stamped the book and gave it to me. “You bring it back in three weeks.”
I held it over my heart.
Mrs. Worth smiled. “That’s where a book should be carried.”
Twenty
I HELD TIGHT to Sonny’s cookbook as Garland and I walked up a path behind Angry Wayne’s. “My mom and I started Helping Hands House a year ago,” he told me.
“It’s where prisoners’ families stay, right?”
“Yeah. They stay for a few days and we try to help them with the expenses.” Garland shook his head. “But we’re basically broke.”
We walked toward a broken-down house. Three women were sitting on the porch steps. A little girl came running up to us.
“Did you bring breakfast?” she asked us.
Garland bent down. “Didn’t you get breakfast?”
“No.”
One of the women walked up. “We’re low on food.”
“I want scrambled eggs,” the little girl whispered.
Garland’s jaw got hard as we walked inside, past rickety stairs, to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator. No eggs, no toast. There was some margarine and juice. The little girl followed me. She held up an empty jar. “The grape jelly’s gone, too.”
I put Sonny’s book on top of the refrigerator. “Maybe I can help. I’ll be right back, okay?” I ran outside, down the path, and into Angry Wayne’s.
The sheriff, Betty, and two other men sat at the counter.
“Heard crime’s up by Fish’s place.”
Mama hadn’t told me that!
The sheriff nodded. “Wait till more of ’em get out on parole and have to get jobs around here. We’re going to see some changes, boy.”
“We’re going to see some changes,” they all said. Betty took a big gulp of coffee.
Wayne threw a ball at the wall; the buzzer went off. “One a these days I’m going to make a citizen’s arrest!”
The sheriff chuckled. “I’d pay to see that.”
“If you
see it, Boone, you’d better come and help me!”
Here goes. “I need a favor, sir.”
Angry Wayne glared at me. He didn’t seem to be the kind that did too many favors.
“I need some eggs and bread for Helping Hands. There’s a little girl over there who hasn’t had breakfast.”
“How crazy are you, girl?”
Pretty crazy.
“Those people are freeloaders—every last one of them.”
Betty slapped the counter. “They’ve got real needs, Wayne. Those families are broke and hurting.”
I gulped. “You could just take the money out of what you owe me, sir.”
The door opened and Garland walked in.
“You in on this scheme?” Wayne asked him.
Garland stood next to me. Betty leaned across the counter. “Do something for someone, Wayne.”
His face got pink. He threw a ball at the buzzer.
Garland whispered, “Let’s go, Foster.” We headed out the door.
“How many eggs you need?” Wayne asked.
I turned around. “A dozen.”
“Two dozen,” Garland said.
Wayne walked in the back and came out with two cartons of eggs. He took a loaf of bread down from the shelf. I needed one more thing.
“Thank you so much! Have you got a little grape jelly for this little girl who—”
Betty pointed. “It’s behind the counter.”
“I know where it is!” Angry Wayne reached down and slammed a jar of grape jelly on the counter. “Now git.”
Garland grabbed the jelly. We shouted, “Thank you!” and tore out the door.
We ran into Helping Hands. “Okay, we’ve got breakfast with grape jelly!”
The kids shouted yay and I set to work. Garland plugged in the toaster. I broke eggs into a bowl one-handed like I learned on the Food Network.
“How do you do that?” the little girl asked. She was the cutest thing, with long dark hair and blue eyes.