her scones. The pride of the parish, he’d called them, when actually they’d been responsible for more cases of dyspepsia than anything else served at the potlucks.
“Excuse me. Excuse me,” Bernie whispered as a chorus of “ouchs” and “reallys” followed her down the row.
Finally she arrived at her seat.
“I told you this would happen,” Libby hissed as she plopped herself down next to Bernie.
Bernie noted she was red in the face. Bernie wondered if it was from anger or embarrassment. Probably both.
“Yes, you did. Several times in fact,” Bernie retorted.
She was about to add something to the effect that Libby’s habit of repeating things didn’t help anything when she caught a glimpse of the puckered lips of the lady sitting next to her and decided that in this case silence really was golden.
Instead Bernie settled into her chair, which kept shifting from side to side whenever she crossed and uncrossed her legs, and attempted to focus on what the minister was saying, but despite her best intentions she found her attention drifting.
She started thinking about the new oven they’d installed at A Little Taste of Heaven. Had she known what a big deal it was going to be she never would have purchased it. According to the sales rep, the oven was supposed to do everything from bake bread to darn socks in half the time. And as a bonus it was supposed to save on energy costs. Maybe it would too—if they could ever get it up and running.
First they’d had problems securing it; then they’d had problems with the gas line, and now they were having problems with the baking times, but that was the least of it because there was one thing the sales rep hadn’t mentioned—even though she should have known it. The oven put out more BTUs, considerably more BTUs, than their old oven. Which meant they needed a new exhaust system, including a recirculating fan. Just the thought made her wince.
This was going to involve major construction. Wait until she told Libby. Libby didn’t know yet. She’d been at the market when the housing inspector had stopped by. Bernie flicked her hair back. She was going to tell Libby—once she found the right time—which seemed to be never.
All this aggravation for only six thousand dollars too. What a deal. And the exhaust system was probably going to cost another four thousand, one thousand to have it installed, and three thousand for the ductwork by the time the construction company was done, never mind the mess and disruption the workmen were going to cause.
Libby was ready to kill her, and she didn’t blame her sister one bit.
Fortunately, they still had one of the old ovens left, one of the old reliable ovens as Libby was fond of saying, but that wasn’t enough with Valentine’s Day coming up and all the cakes and cookies they were contracted to make, not to mention the fund-raiser they were doing at Just Chocolate.
They’d have to subcontract some of their baking. That was all there was to that. Libby would object, but what else could they do? Unless of course they could get the new oven up and running. Libby was right. They should have stuck with what they had. Sometimes new is not a good thing. Bernie sighed as she thought of the havoc she’d unintentionally wrought.
She’d just have to speak to the serviceman’s supervisor and see if she could get him to speed things up. She hated to do it, but they were running out of options. She was composing her conversation when she felt a poke in her ribs.
Libby cupped her hand and whispered into her ear, “I don’t recognize anyone here.”
It occurred to Bernie that she didn’t either, which was strange with Longely being a fairly small place. “I don’t either,” she allowed.
Libby tugged at her sleeve. “Do you suppose we’re in the wrong place?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bernie shot back.
How could they be in the wrong place? That wasn’t possible.
Libby tugged at her sleeve again. “I hate to tell you this, but Mrs. Vongel’s mother’s name was Janet.”
“So?” Bernie answered. She was still wondering how to tell Libby what the code enforcement officer had told her.
“Will you two be quiet?” the lady next to her snapped. “Bad enough that you had to be late. At least have the decency to be quiet. Have some respect for the dead, for heaven’s sake.”
“Sorry,” Bernie murmured.
The woman snorted and turned her attention back to the minister. Well, they certainly weren’t making friends and influencing people today, Bernie thought as she felt another tug on her arm.
She turned and put a finger on her lips. “Not now,” she told Libby as the man in front of them turned around and sniffed.
“But, Bernie,” Libby persisted.
“What?”
“The minister is talking about Janet Voiton. Voiton. Not Vongel. We’re in the wrong funeral.”
Chapter 2
Libby closed her eyes for a moment. She was so sorry she was right. She wanted so badly to be wrong. But she wasn’t. How had this happened? She couldn’t believe she and Bernie had done this. No, actually she could. It seemed as if these days anything that could go wrong did. She felt like Lot. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but not by much. Witness the batch of dough she’d made this morning. She’d forgotten to put in the yeast. She never did that. Ever. At least she hadn’t since high school when the rolls she was making for Thanksgiving hadn’t risen. They’d been like little rocks.
And then there were her new black pants, the ones Bernie called her old lady pants, just because they had an elastic waist. Was it so wrong to want to be comfortable? Was that such a crime? But the elastic in the waistband had ripped as she and Bernie were driving here, and on top of that the heels on her good black shoes were so run-down they looked as if they’d been chewed on by her neighbor’s Jack Russell terrier. Her mother would not have approved. And Libby didn’t even want to think about what her grandmother would have said.
And then Amber and Googie had both been late arriving at the shop—both claimed they’d been sick, which Libby didn’t quite believe—but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the special lunch salad A Little Taste of Heaven was featuring—roasted sweet potatoes and fennel on a bed of arugula with a sprinkling of roasted walnuts—still needed to be prepped.
But possibly the worst thing that had happened this morning was that her oven—her one remaining oven—was turning unreliable so that the first batch of scones she’d baked had been raw in the center, a fact she hadn’t noticed until Mrs. Schneider had called it to her attention by spitting out a piece of scone in front of the ten other customers. This was not what you called good business.
Libby glanced at her watch. The repairman was supposed to be at the shop in an hour and a half to recalibrate the oven, and she and Bernie had to be back by then. She’d told Amber what to tell the repairman, but the truth was she didn’t quite trust Amber to relay the information correctly. She tended to get things mixed up, or as Bernie would say, “ditz out,” especially now that she was in love. All she ever talked about these days was what her boyfriend Dickie said. It was “Dickie
