Introduction

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Excerpt

Chapter 1

“He reads Mario Puzo,” Suzanne murmured, focusing on a couple that was eyeing each other warily. “She likes Charlaine Harris.”

“Could be a match made in heaven,” said Toni, brushing her hands against her apron after hastily arranging a plate of sugar cookies.

“Only if you believe in a vampire who’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse,” Suzanne quipped, as she glanced over the crowd of hopeful singles that had jammed the Cackleberry Club this Sunday evening.

It was the week before Halloween and Suzanne Dietz, café owner and slightly reluctant match-maker, was holding her first ever “Read Dating” event. The whole shebang was similar to speed dating, except that the singles, mostly middle aged and divorced folks from the small midwestern town of Kindred, were searching for compatibility based on reading preference. It wasn’t exactly a polite afternoon of tea and cookies at Hope Church, but it wasn’t the slightly desperate and bumbling last call for alcohol at Schmitt’s Bar either.

“Uh oh,” said Toni, putting a hand up to scrunch the frizzle of reddish-blond hair that bobbed atop her head like a show pony. “A World War II buff and a romance reader just paired off.”

“If she’s into historic romances, it’s a done deal,” said Suzanne. Toni may have been a show pony, but Suzanne was both thoroughbred and work horse. With silver blond hair brushing her shoulders, eyes of cornflower blue, and a penchant for slim-fitting jeans and white shirts tied at the waist, she could have breezed through an elegant crowd at an East Hampton polo tournament. Instead, Suzanne was CEO, PR director, and chief purveyor of eggs and sundries at the Cackleberry Club. This heart-warming midwestern café, where all manner of egg dishes were whipped up for breakfast, had been launched some eight months earlier, right after Suzanne’s husband Walter had died.

In the weeks following Walter’s funeral, Suzanne, not one to put off decisions, had taken a long, hard look at her life, sorted through her various passions and penchants, and bet the house on the Cackleberry Club. Under the combined banners of sisterhood and over-forty BFFs, her best friends Toni and Petra had thrown in with her to help revamp a rickety little Spur station into a cozy café. Now, with the addition of a Book Nook and Knitting Nest, the Cackleberry Club had become a kind of crazy quilt magnet for knitters, book lovers, and breakfast lovers.

“One, two . . .” Toni called loudly, as she stepped to the center of the room, then blew an eardrum-busting toot on her silver whistle.

Which caused an immediate flurry among the “read daters.”

“Nice to meet you” and “I’ll give you a call” echoed throughout the café, as men popped up from their chairs like manic gophers dodging pot shots, then quickly moved to the next table. Much clearing of throats and smoothing of hair, or what was left of it, ensued as they plunked themselves down to meet yet another potentially available female.

Suzanne figured that, with any luck, the read daters would enjoy the books they discussed and maybe each other as well. Maybe.

“I’ve got one more pan of blond brownies in the oven,” Petra announced, as she tottered from the kitchen, bearing an enormous tray stacked with peanut butter cookies and lemon bars. Her white chef’s hat bobbed atop her head as she hefted the tray and gazed out over the buzzing crowd. “Can you believe how hungry these men are?” she asked. “Our first two trays of desserts disappeared in something like three seconds flat. They didn’t even bother to chew, they just . . . gunk . . . swallowed everything whole, like crocodiles. Really hungry, I guess.”

“And for more than just food,” Suzanne observed. She’d seen flickers of interest in the eyes of quite a few men, who ranged in age from fortyish all the way up to Methuselah.

“Typical,” snorted Toni, coming up to grab the tray from Petra. “All men are hot to trot, aren’t they?” Toni had a chip on her shoulder the size of Rhode Island, thanks to her on-again off-again marriage to Junior Garrett, an overage juvenile delinquent who was known for his roving eye. Especially when it came to floozy female bartenders with tight angora sweaters and hot pink extensions clipped into their hair.

“Still,” said Petra, “this was a grand idea.” She nudged Suzanne. “You see Mrs. Moxley over there?” They all turned to gaze at a cheerful looking woman with a head of white hair who was talking animatedly to a red-faced farmer in overalls. “She probably hasn’t had a date since her husband died some twenty years ago.”

“It’s not really a date,” Toni pointed out. “More like a . . . mixer.”

“Even so,” said Petra, a faint smile playing at her lips, “it’s nice and sociable.” Petra, as head baker and chef at the Cackleberry Club, was the third partner in the troika. Big-boned and big-hearted, she had a clean, square-jawed face with shining brown eyes. Today, the green ivy print apron she wore over her chef’s jacket matched the bright green Crocs she wore on her size ten feet. Petra, too, had lost her husband, only in a different but just as heartbreaking way. Donny suffered from Alzheimer’s and now resided in the Center City Nursing Home. Though Petra visited him constantly, Donny was rarely responsive.

“You going to pass out those bars?” Suzanne asked Toni.

“Yup,” replied Toni. “Then I’m gonna blow my whistle and move ‘em on again.”

“Excellent,” said Suzanne, grabbing a lemon bar dusted with powdered sugar as Toni moved off.

“Those are for our guests,” Petra said, scolding.

“Can’t help it, they’re so good,” laughed Suzanne.

“Well, in that case . . .” said Petra.

Suzanne and Petra grabbed steaming pots of coffee and Darjeeling tea and wound their way through the tables, pouring refills and doing their fair share of eavesdropping.

“This really is a success,” said Petra, when they met back behind the counter. Then she made a tiny grimace. “I just hope our Quilt Trail is this popular.”

“Are you kidding?” said Suzanne, ever the civic booster, “you’ve been working with the Historical Society, planning it for months. It’s gonna be gangbusters!”

The Quilt Trail was a special event Petra had talked the Logan County Historical Society into sponsoring and it kicked off tomorrow. Giant quilt squares, painted on blocks of wood, had been hung on the county’s historical homes, barns, historic sites, farmer’s markets, and quaint country restaurants. Self-guided maps had been readied to lead tour goers to these special sites via a meandering route through the most picturesque and remote parts of the county.

“Still,” said Petra, as she measured Kona coffee into the coffee maker, “I always . . .”

“Are you insane?” came the sudden burst of a woman’s shrill voice. It rose above the normal buzz and clatter, instantly causing heads to turn.

Petra frowned and glanced over. “Jane?” she murmured. Jane Buckley was one of her best friends. And right now, Jane Buckley was beaucoup angry over something.

“You’re the one who’s crazy!” a male voice shouted back, matching and even exceeding Jane in volume.

You could have heard a pin drop in the Cackleberry Club. Then chairs scraped and necks craned as everyone tried to see what Jane Buckley and Chuck Peebler were shouting about.

“If I find out that you . . .” Chuck Peebler raged again, only to shrink back in his chair as Toni leaned down and blew her whistle directly in his ear.

“Time to switch!” Toni cried. “Move along, move along, just like the Mad Hatter’s tea party!”

“Fast thinking,” Suzanne breathed, watching everyone change partners again.

“Why was Peebler yelling at Jane?” wondered Petra.

“Maybe because she disagrees with his political platform?” Suzanne speculated. Chuck Peebler was a mayor candidate running against the incumbent Mayor Mobley. Though popular opinion held that Peebler would be a breath of fresh air, after Mobley’s dirty tricks and politics.

Except, perhaps, Jane?

Toni came tripping up to Suzanne and Petra, smiling broadly. “Pretty crazy, huh?” she trilled. “Kind of like our own version of The Bachelor or The Bachelorette.”

“Seemed more like Survivor to me,” Petra murmured.

Twenty minutes later, the event was slowly winding down. Men and women shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and exchanged phone numbers. More than a few bought books.

That was just peachy with Suzanne, who was hunkered in the Book Nook, ringing up sales like crazy. She watched mysteries, cookbooks, and even romance novels fly off the shelves. Maybe because interest had been peaked, maybe because she was discounting everything twenty percent tonight.

Whatever the reason, sales were good and the evening had been a lot of laughs.

“You okay over there, Mr. Mayor?” Suzanne asked Chuck Peebler. He was lingering in the Book Nook, nosing through books on the Korean War.

“Sorry about . . .” Peebler began. Then, because he didn’t look particularly eager to explain his earlier outburst, he amended his words to just, “Sorry.”

Suzanne pushed the cash register closed and walked out into the empty café with Peebler. Toni was humming to herself and half-heartedly pushing a broom around. Petra had already gone home for the night.

“You need help?” Suzanne asked Toni.

Toni shook her head. “I’m cool, but the front door’s already locked, so you two will have to go out the back.”

“No problem,” said Suzanne. She smiled at Peebler, who still looked slightly sheepish, then added, “we’ll just scoot through the kitchen. Easier than unlocking the front door and resetting the security system.”

Peebler nodded, as he followed her through the swinging door. “Sure. I’m parked back here anyway.”

Suzanne juggled her jacket, her purse, her keys, and a handful of Quilt Trail brochures as she pulled open the back door. “Know what I think?” she said, eager to forgive his earlier transgression, “I think you’re going to be elected in a landslide. Everyone in Kindred is fairly convinced that Mayor Mobley is up to his armpits in more than a few dirty deals.”

“That’s why I’m running,” said Peebler, holding the door for Suzanne.

“So a good thing,” echoed Suzanne. She strolled out into the backyard where her dog Baxter was pulling himself up to greet her. Suzanne grimaced, worried about the cool autumn weather playing havoc with Baxter’s arthritis. “Baxter,” she said, concern coloring her voice. “You okay, fella?”

But Baxter had spun around and was staring directly into the dark woods where leaves rustled and shifted in the night wind and a twig suddenly snapped.

“Did you . . .?” Suzanne began, turning back toward Peebler. Then her words were interrupted by a kind of mechanical twang followed by a strange swooshing sound.

Peebler’s hands flew up in protest as he let loose a harsh gasp and began to crumple.

Suzanne uttered a sharp cry as Peebler continued his downward, slow motion progression, wondering what on earth had happened to the man! Heart attack? Stroke? She put out a hand to try to lend some sort of assistance and was suddenly stunned to see a gleaming metal shank protruding directly between Peebler’s eyes. And just before Peebler fell forward onto the dry earth, she saw a thin trickle of blood ooze slowly down the side of his nose, like some unholy form of war paint.

Dumbfounded, Suzanne lifted her head and stared into the twisted tangle of buckthorn and scrappy poplars that backed up to the Cackleberry Club. She figured that was were the arrow had zinged out from. And the terrified, fleeting thought that burst like a cartoon bubble in her brain asked, Am I next? view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

Do you think the title of the book offers a clue to its content?

What’s the starting point of the book – the one big action that gets the story rolling?

Do you like the idea of women coming together at a little country cafe to talk, knit, and solve problems? Do you think it’s important for women to have a special set of friends they can talk to?

Are there any characters you identify with? Any characters you particularly like or dislike – and why?

What did you think about Suzanne’s relationship with Sam? Do you think it’s too soon for her to get involved?

Which characters do you think offered the most comedic interest?

Why do you suppose so many women want to be entrepreneurs like Suzanne, Toni, and Petra? And why do many women prefer to own smaller, more manageable businesses?

Do you think the small town of Kindred plays out as a “character” in this mystery?

Do you think the author succeeded in creating a “sense of place?” Could you visualize the café, the Quilt Trail ride, the dog scene?

Cooking is a fun thread in the book, but what is the central and over-riding theme of the book? Justice, faith, friendship?

What egg recipe would you like to see on the Cackleberry Club’s menu?

Weblinks

»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Laura Childs' web site

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