LITMIR.BIZ

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“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

      Chapter 2

      My cell phone buzzed the next morning as I was stirring chopped bison for a new cat food recipe that I was already pretty sure Trouble wouldn’t like. But being in new product mode had me trying all kinds of strange things.

      Trouble took turns sitting on her windowsill perch surveying the neighborhood and dropping down to twist around my ankles. Finish already and let me taste test!

      Another early call? That couldn’t be good. I glanced at the screen and then immediately whipped off my gloves and grabbed it. Only bad news would make my head chef Zoey call me on a Sunday.

      “Zoey? What’s wrong?” I asked.

      “Quincy got in a fight last night!” I couldn’t tell if she was proud or upset.

      “What?”

      “I’ve had like ten people text me saying they heard he was in a fight on Main Street, right in front of Happy Aprons Grocers,” she said. “Like, actually punching someone.”

      I couldn’t imagine easygoing Quincy fighting. “Who? Why?”

      “Something about his granddaughter,” Zoey said.

      My stomach sank. “Did you talk to him?”

      “I’ve texted him a couple of times and he hasn’t responded,” she said.

      “Oh man,” I said. “Let me try calling him.” Quincy was one of the few people I knew who woke up earlier than I did.

      “Then call me back and tell me what’s going on!” Zoey asked.

      “I will,” I said and hung up before hitting the button for Quincy.

      “I’m fine,” he said by way of answering.

      “Oh good,” I said. “What happened?”

      “I asked Franny if she liked her oboe teacher and she told me he was mean and she wanted to quit,” he said.

      Oh no. This was so my fault. “So what’d you do?”

      “I went to his house to have a little talk with him and saw him driving away. I followed him to the grocery store.”

      “Happy Aprons?” I asked.

      “Yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

      “’Cause everyone is talking about it!” My voice rose an octave.

      He sighed. “Everyone should mind their own business.”

      “But why did you punch him?” I still couldn’t believe mild-mannered Quincy could do such a thing.

      “He was insulting,” he said.

      “Just tell me everything,” I said.

      “I introduced myself and told him that Franny would not be coming back,” he said. “He lost his nut and yelled, ‘Good riddance.’”

      “Okay.” I drew out the word, knowing there had to be more.

      “He said that the only reason he took her as a student was because I was…”

      “Rich?”

      “Yes!” He sounded outraged. “And that Franny didn’t have an ounce of talent and it was a waste of his time to work with her.”

      “Oh.” I thought how I’d feel if someone said that about Elliott. “I would’ve punched him too.”

      Trouble meowed. Me too.

      “Damn right,” he said. “He went down like a sack of potatoes. Cried like a baby.”

      I stayed quiet for a minute. “He could sue you.”

      “Let him.” But he sounded unsure. “Don’t worry. This will blow over.”

      “I hope so,” I said. I heard someone yelling in the background and thought I recognized his wife’s voice.

      “I gotta go,” he muttered quietly into the phone. “See you tomorrow.” He hung up.

      Trouble meowed again. It’s not blowing over.

      I was about to call Zoey back to tell her what I’d learned when the front doorbell rang. I looked through the kitchen window to see who was on the front porch.

      It was Yollie. Uh-oh.

      I put the pan on the back burner and turned off the stove, then took a few deep breaths and answered the door.

      “What did you do?” It was Yollie, angrier than I’d ever seen her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she had pulled her hair back into an unruly ponytail. As a hairdresser, she usually made sure to look her best in public.

      “I had to tell Quincy,” I said. “I didn’t know he’d punch the guy.”

      “That guy is the only chance Steven has of getting into a conservatory!” she said. “You ruined that for him.”

      I tried to calm her down. “Yollie, Benson won’t connect Quincy to Steven.”

      “Oh my God,” she said. “Benson is not an idiot. You’re publicly connected to Quincy. He’s going to figure it out and then refuse to teach Steven anymore. He can’t change teachers in his senior year. He’s so close.” She sounded like she was going to cry.

      I had to try reasoning with her one more time. “But Steven is so talented. He’ll get in no problem.”

      “You have no idea how it works!” she yelled, waving her arms around. “Steven needs Benson’s recommendation or he won’t even get an audition. Music is his life!”

      Oh man. What did I do? “I didn’t know,” I said, my voice quiet with embarrassment. “Should I go apologize to Benson?”

      “No!” she shouted.

      “Okay,” I said. “What can I do?”

      She shook her head, taking a few breaths. “I guess an apology is worth a try. But I have to go with you to make sure you…”

      Don’t screw it up even more? “I understand,” I said. “Should we go now?”

      She looked at her watch. “It’s too early to bother him.”

      But not too early to yell at me.

      “I’ll pick you up at eleven,” she said. “He doesn’t have students then.”

      “I’ll be ready,” I said and watched her walk stiffly back to her car.

      Trouble sat in the middle of the kitchen, probably waiting impatiently for her taste, but her expression said I told you so.

      I texted Zoey back to let her know that Quincy said he was fine and would see us tomorrow, so she wouldn’t badger me for more information. Quincy would fill her in if he wanted.

      She texted back. I couldn’t wait anymore and called him. It went right to voice mail. Is he mad at me?

      I texted back. He hung up fast because his wife was yelling at him. Maybe wait a few minutes.

      She texted back a laughing emoji.

      I opened the door into the dining room and saw the mayhem as a result of the previous day’s costume marathon. The earlier explosion of material, paint, and glitter was beginning to come together in costumes that were approaching Lani’s designs.

      Lani and I had become best friends years before, when she designed costumes for Elliott’s first junior theater group. I’d made the mistake of thinking that since I’d sewn one Halloween costume, I could handle being on a costume committee. Little did I know that the more experienced stage moms signed up right away to fill the volunteer slots for ushering and backstage monitoring—the costume committee required real work and long hours of measuring, fitting, sewing,

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