Chapter 7
“Overheard it from who?”
“The new guests.”
Morgan snapped her fingers. “Before you tell me, have you had a chance to talk to Hailey?”
“I invited her to dinner last night. At first she said yes and then she made an excuse, something about her Aunt Jennie not feeling well and she didn’t want to leave her alone.”
“Do you think she was telling the truth?”
“Who knows? She could be avoiding me.”
“It’s possible. I don’t know her well enough to say one way or the other.” Morgan studied his face. “Are you going to be okay if she agrees she wants some space?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t want to be with someone who doesn’t want me.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” She patted his hand. “Remember what I said.”
“I deserve the best and shouldn’t settle for less.”
“You know it. So, what is it that you thought I should know?”
“I overheard two of the new guests talking about the medallion.” Greg hurried on. “I can’t be positive, but I like to pay attention to what people are saying.”
“Was it Austin and Tiff?”
“Yep.”
“Great,” Morgan groaned. “When I gave them a tour of their suite, Tiff seemed interested in the shower.”
“Where the secret door is,” Greg said. “I noticed something else. They have a tripod.”
“The kind you use for a camera?”
He nodded.
Morgan rubbed her palms together. “They’re paying customers. I can’t stop them from snooping around or even sneaking into the attic, although as you know, they won’t get far, so I guess I won’t worry about it, at least for now.”
“Do you think Ms. Wynn’s photo in the magazine advertising Locke Pointe is bringing out the…”
“Curiosity seekers? I’m sure it has.” Morgan thanked him for the heads-up and watched him leave. She sat there for a long time, staring at the doorway. It was bound to happen. Eventually, someone who had booked a stay would come along with plans to do more than enjoy a little R&R.
As long as they were respectful, didn’t try stealing from her, or portray the Easton and Locke families in an unflattering light, there wasn’t much she could do.
Pushing the troubling thought from her mind, she worked straight through until it was time to pick Tristan up from school.
“Let’s go get Tristan.”
Chester’s ears perked up, and he scrambled to his feet. The pup dashed to the door and stood waiting for her to grab her keys.
Traffic was light, which meant Morgan arrived at the school right on time.
Tristan was one of the first kids out of the building. He moved at a quick clip, tossed his backpack in the back and scooped Chester up. “Hey, Aunt Morgan.”
“That was fast.”
“I had to stop by the office so I was close to the door.”
“Why did you stop by the office?”
“Ms. Blanchard asked me to deliver a folder to the secretary.”
“Oh boy. Teacher’s pet,” Morgan teased.
“She picks a different student each time. It was my turn.” Her nephew buckled up. “Tomorrow is Science Day. I need to bring my volcano to school.”
“Saturday Science Day,” she quipped.
“I can show it to you when we get to the house.”
Despite Morgan’s busy schedule and plans to drop him off and scoot back to the B&B, she could hear the excitement in his voice. “I would love to.”
During the ride, Tristan chattered about school and his friends, along with the volcano project.
Arriving at Easton Estate, he flew out of the SUV and ran into the house. Chester and Morgan followed at a slower pace, crossing the driveway and making their way into the kitchen.
Mrs. Arnsby stood at the counter, an array of mixing bowls in front of her. Curious to find out what was making a frying sound, Morgan crept closer. “What are you making?”
“Comfort food.”
“What kind of comfort food?”
“Poutine.”
“Yum, yum.” Morgan licked her lips. “Using homemade french fries, I see.”
“Priscilla is getting settled in. That poor woman is out of sorts. I figured home-cooked Canadian comfort food would lift her spirits.”
“You’re so sweet.” Morgan hugged her. “Always thinking of others.”
“I saw the whirlwind Tristan fly by. How was school?”
“Good, at least he seemed happy on the way home.”
“Have you seen his science project in action?”
“Not yet, but I’m about to.” Morgan eyed the deep fryer. “Do you need help?”
“If you don’t mind removing the basket from the fryer. I’m almost done mixing the gravy.”
Morgan promptly plucked the fries from the oil and set the basket handle in the holder. “Do you want me to turn the burner off?”
“Could you?” Picking up a mixing bowl, the cook continued whisking as she carried it to the other side of the kitchen. “I figured a sample batch might be in order before I serve them for dinner.”
Light steps echoed. A breathless Tristan appeared. “Did you still want to see the volcano?”
“I do. I was helping Mrs. Arnsby with her batch of poutine.”
“Pootie?”
“Poutine,” the woman corrected. “It’s a Canadian dish, for our new resident, Mrs. Finkpin.”
“Who is that?” Tristan climbed onto a bar stool, spinning it from side to side.
“Do you remember Great-Grandmother’s sister?”
“The lady who got sick at the art gallery? We ate lunch with her.”
“She’s moving in and feeling a little sad, so Mrs. Arnsby thought she would make a special dish for her,” Morgan explained.
The cook dumped the fresh-from-the-fryer fries into a large bowl and poured the gravy mixture over them before sprinkling cheese curds on top. Using a pair of tongs, she eased a generous portion onto clean plates.
Mrs. Arnsby and Morgan carried the plates to the counter and placed one in front of the boy.
Tristan ran his finger over a gravy-laden fry and licked it. “It tastes yummy. Do I need a fork?”
“They’re fries, so I suppose it’s okay to eat them with your fingers.”
He grabbed hold of a homemade fry dripping with gravy and covered with cheese curds. He promptly gobbled up the treat and reached for another one.
“Well?”
“I like them, but not as much as your chocolate chip cookies.”
Using a fork, Morgan stabbed a fry and took a big bite, her tastebuds tingling at the creamy gravy mingling with the tangy cheese. “They’re delish, Mrs. Arnsby.”
“You’re not just saying that.”
“No. They’re good. I’ve heard of poutine but don’t remember if I’ve ever tried it,” Morgan said. “What’s the history?”
“To be honest, it’s not very exciting. According to what I’ve heard, it was created back in the fifties by a restaurateur from Quebec. A customer asked him to put gravy on his fries. He sprinkled cheese curds on top and created a culinary phenomenon.”
“People found out by word of mouth and started requesting them?”
“Basically. The big chain restaurants in Quebec put them on the menu and the rest is history.”
Morgan polished off the rest of her fries and placed her empty plate in the dishwasher.
Tristan finished his snack and placed his dish alongside Morgan’s. “Are you ready to see my volcano blow?”
“I can’t wait.” She turned toward the hallway.
Mrs. Arnsby stopped her. “It’s not in Tristan’s room. It’s in the garage.”
“Because it made a mess,” the boy said.
The cook rolled her eyes. “We had lava on the wall, on the ceiling. A word of warning…keep your distance.”
“I will.”
Crossing the driveway, they found the overhead door was open, allowing them to cut through to the rear of the garage.
They passed by the array of estate vehicles ranging from expensive sports cars to more practical sedans and pickup trucks, the family car, and finally Burnie. Morgan and her nephew reached the far corner of the garage, free of tools and vehicles.
A thick piece of plywood sat on the cement. In the center was a volcano with red streaks dripping down the sides. On closer inspection, Morgan noticed plastic grass and palm trees circling the base. “You have grass and trees.”
“And people.” Tristan dropped to his knees and showed her the tiny figurines clustered together.
“You’re not afraid the volcano explosion will melt them?” she joked.
“Nah. I had to rinse them off, though.”
Grabbing both sides, they carefully lifted the volcano and set it on a nearby empty cart. “Ben doesn’t want to mess up the garage so we gotta take it outside.”
“I bet.” Morgan started to wheel it toward the door.
Tristan stopped her. “I have to get something.” He darted over to a counter, grabbed a jug filled with water, and set it on the cart.
“This is everything.” He hummed under his breath, pushing the cart over the threshold and into the grass. “We can put it here.”
“I can’t wait to see it erupt.” Morgan rubbed her palms together.
“It’s not gonna blow like it did in my room.” Tristan told his aunt that he and Brett had tweaked the recipe. “It's only gonna gurgle and blub, blub.”
Morgan giggled. “Gurgling and blub-blubbing sounds intriguing.”
After adjusting the volcano, making sure it was perfectly centered, Tristan unscrewed the cap on the jug and carefully poured water into the top. “It takes a minute to erupt.”
Morgan stood at his side, eagerly awaiting the lava flow. As if by magic, black and red “lava” oozed out of the crater and ran down the sides. The oozing continued for a minute before slowing to a trickle.
“Do you want to see more?”
“Sure.”
Her nephew added more water. It oozed again, this time flowing within inches of the figurines.
“Good job.” Morgan clapped loudly. “I hope you get an A+++ for your project.”
“Me too.” Tristan poured water along the sides and base to rinse it off.
“Do you need to fill it with…volcano stuff?”
“Nope. Me ‘n Brett put a lot in there.” The boy, with Morgan’s assistance, wheeled his volcano back into the garage.
A dull thud echoed from somewhere near the overhead door. Brett appeared. “I heard Tristan was showing you his volcano. Cool, huh?”
“Very cool. I hope he wins an award for it,” Morgan said. “Do you need me to drive him to school in the morning?”
“I appreciate the offer. I was thinking it might fit better in the back of your SUV as opposed to the trunk of my car.”
Tristan tugged on her hand. “Will you come to the science fair, Aunt Morgan?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Plus Mrs. Arnsby and Ben,” Tristan said. “And Great-Grandmother.”
“We’ll bring the whole gang,” Brett said. “I’m not sure if Great-Grandmother will make it.”
“It’s okay. I know she’s busy.”
Back inside, Morgan went in search of her grandmother. She found Elizabeth and Prissy in the library, seated in front of the fireplace and talking in low voices.
Elizabeth noticed her first. “Hello, Morgan. I didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“I dropped Tristan off from school and checked out his volcano for tomorrow’s science fair.”
“Mrs. Arnsby claims we had lava all over his room.”
“You’ll be happy to know it’s been relocated to the garage.”
She leaned forward, a look of alarm on her face. “Near the cars?”
“On the other side, far away from any vehicles. According to Tristan, he and Brett toned it down. Having seen it firsthand, I can confirm it’s no longer spewing lava everywhere.” Morgan patted Prissy’s shoulder. “Are you settling in?”
“I am. Everyone has been kind.” The woman adjusted her shawl and slowly stood. “I’m feeling a little tired. I might go lie down before dinner.”
“Do you need me to show you where your room is?”
“No. I remember.” She gave them a half-hearted smile and shuffled out of the room.
Elizabeth waited until she was gone. “What a mess.”
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid it’s worse…much worse than we thought.”