FIVE

 

“Didn’t we already do this? I mean, you and I both fought back the crowds a few days ago. Now, here we are—again—at the grocery store. From the looks of things, it’s even worse now than it was then.”

Jillian nodded. “I know, right? But, what choice have we? I don’t want to wait for the last possible moment to get the supplies we need. I’m still missing a few things, so here we are.”

“Would you like a cart?”

“Yes, please.”

“Where to first?”

“Let’s see if they have any cranberries first. That’s what I’d like to get my hands on the most.”

“Roger that. Wow, I can’t believe how many people are in here. Granted, Thanksgiving is less than a week away, but … Jillian? I’m sorry to tell you this, but it looks like they’re still out of fresh cranberries.”

“Oh, rats. Well, maybe they were able to restock the frozen variety?”

I hurried over to the freezers and stared at the empty spot on the shelf. Nope. If Gary’s had received another shipment, then we were shi … er, make that completely out of luck. Jillian was going to have to figure out something else she could use.

“Nothing?” Jillian sighed, as she eyed my empty arms. “I can’t believe they’re still out of cranberries.”

“Can you use anything else? Like a substitute, perhaps?”

“I’ll have to think about it. I may have to call Taylor and ask her for some advice.”

“Well, she is the baker,” I reminded her. I caught sight of a couple of brand new empty flats, next to the cranberry bin, and pointed at it. “What gives? Those weren’t out earlier. I wonder what was in there?”

Jillian leaned forward. “Blueberries. It says blueberries, Zachary. Why would they be out?”

“Why would cranberries?” I countered.

Jillian nodded. “A fair question. This is just strange. I’ve never seen a run on anything at the grocery store before. Come on. I want to check the frozen section. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a bag or two of cranberries there.”

A family rushed by us a few moments later, pushing two carts laden with food, toiletries, cleaning supplies, and so on. I didn’t really pay any attention to it, nor did Jillian. The only thing on my fiancée’s mind was the procurement of cranberries, so she could make some of her favorite seasonal recipes. As for me, the only thing on my mind was eating those seasonal recipes.

Pushing our cart, I decided to swing by the frozen section a second time, this time with another set of eyes, just in case I might’ve missed something. Sadly, I hadn’t. In fact, there were shelves in this freezer that were looking just as bare as the fresh berries section. Just what the hell was going on? What, were we in the middle of some type of pandemic? Just because a couple of grocery stores were vandalized, did that mean people should immediately begin hoarding supplies? Was that what the family with two carts was doing? Stocking up in case it was the end of the world?

“I don’t understand what’s going on here,” Jillian quietly lamented. “All I need is a bag or two of cranberries.”

“Unless the population of Pomme Valley has somehow increased without anyone else realizing it,” I slowly began, “I can only assume the general public are freaking out for no reason. Did you see the canned goods aisle? Black beans were out. Beans! Who the hell would think to themselves, ‘Dude, we can’t run out of beans, bro! Buy ’em all!’ It’s ridiculous.”

Jillian was laughing. “You sounded just like Harry!”

A young courtesy clerk wandered by at that moment.

“Hey!” I exclaimed. “Excuse me, could we ask you a question?”

The clerk hastily back stepped until he was standing in front of us.

“Yes? Can I help you?’

I pointed at the freezer. “By any chance, do you have any more bags of cranberries back there?”

The teenager sighed and shook his head. “We’ve had everyone asking about them. We’re out, I’m afraid. They were the first to go when the newspaper reported several other stores had their supplies stolen.”

“And blueberries?” I continued. “And black beans? What’s going on around here, anyway?”

The kid looked left, then right, as if he was afraid of being overheard.

“I know, right? This is insane. We haven’t been this busy since … ever. It’s like every single person coming through the line has a minimum of $150 in groceries.”

“People are buying things they don’t need,” Jillian sighed. “They’re …”

“… panic-buying,” the clerk finished for her. “You’re right. Aside from cranberries, do you have everything you need? Perhaps there’s something you can’t find that we might still have on the shelf?”

Another fully laden cart was pushed by us.

“I give it another 48 hours before you’re going to be sold out of everything,” I quietly deduced.

The clerk confidently shook his head. “There might be panic-buying happening in here, but the demand hasn’t gone up. We’ve got another shipment coming in sometime in the next day or so. I know they were trying to push the delivery earlier, but I don’t think that’ll happen. Besides, I overheard my boss saying that there should be a shipment of cranberries included with that delivery.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Jillian told the boy. She pulled out her phone and checked the list she had digitally created. “How are your supplies of stuffing and gravy?”

The kid smiled. “I just walked down that aisle. I wouldn’t want to create a panic, but we’re good. And gravy? I saw both jars and cans.”

I grinned and gave the kid a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Perfect.”

“What about chopped pecans?” Jillian inquired. “I can’t find those.”

The clerk nodded. “How much do you need?”

“Just one bag, thank you.”

“It’s okay to tell her you’re completely out,” I offered.

“I’m making those sweet potatoes,” Jillian sternly told me.

The teen grinned. “Sweet potatoes? With pecan topping? Sign me up! I’ll get you a bag.”

Jillian smiled at the boy, while casting a frown in my direction. “Thank you.” The clerk hurried off. “You said you were going to try my recipe. There’s no backing down now, Zachary.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I sighed. “What can I say? I took a shot. It didn’t pan out.”

Jillian swatted my arm and pointed back toward the canned goods section.

“We need a can of olives. I have this recipe where … what’s with that face? Oh, don’t tell me. You don’t like olives.”

“Umm, I’m not a fan.”

“You know what I’m going to ask next, don’t you?”

I grinned and nodded. “Yep. You’re going to ask me if I’ve ever tried them. Well, I have. And, believe it or not, I didn’t find the flavor truly distasteful, just unpleasant.”

“Does that mean you’d be willing to try one of my famous stuffed olives?” Jillian asked.

“Tell you what. As long as you’re okay if you hear me say, I truly didn’t care for it, then I’ll give it a try. I’m fairly certain I won’t care for the taste, but I will try it. For you.”

Jillian smiled. “That’s what I wanted to hear. What I don’t want to hear, however, is that I won’t be able to make my grandmother’s cranberry persimmons cookies. I’ve made those cookies every year since I was 14, and I have no intention of breaking that record.”

“You’ll be able to make your cookies,” I vowed. “Even if it means I have to drive to Portland to buy a bag of cranberries. I just have one question.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” Jillian gushed. “What’s your question?”

“What’s a persimmons? Is it a type of fruit?”

“You’ve never tried a persimmon before?”

“I think we’ve established I’m culinary-retarded,” I reminded my fiancée.

Jillian giggled. “Well, you’re right. It’s a fruit.”

“What’s it taste like?” I curiously asked. “I’ve heard the name before, of course, but I have no idea what they look like or taste like.”

“Let’s see. Let me think how I should best describe them.”

Jillian, master cook and owner of a cook book shop, had to think about how to best describe a persimmon? Why do I get a feeling that my red flags are about to go up? I have a bad feeling about this.

“There are no comparisons to any other fruit that I can think of,” Jillian admitted. Just then, she snapped her fingers. “Ah, I’ve got it. Imagine, if you will, a mango and a roasted sweet pepper met up, fell in love, and had a baby. Now, dust that baby with a touch of cinnamon and presto, you have a persimmon.”

“Mango and a roasted sweet pepper?” I repeated, with mock horror. “I’ve had mango, and while it’s not a favorite, I can choke it down. Sweet peppers? Definitely not a fan, so I can’t begin to imagine what a mixture of those two would taste like.”

“You told me you’d try those cookies, too,” Jillian reminded me. “Your mother tells me you love cookies. Any cookies. Trust me, you’re going to love them!”

As we roamed around the store, picking up only what we needed, mind you, my mind started to wander. Why would a simple theft of cranberries create such panic as what we were experiencing today? For that matter, what in the world would someone want with that many cranberries?

“Can you imagine what would happen to Gary’s Grocery if it was hit by the same thief who hit the other two?” Jillian quietly mused.

I swept an arm around the hustle and bustle of Pomme Valley’s main grocery store, as tiny as it was.

“I’d rather not, thanks,” I remarked.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jillian suggested, as she found the canned olives and selected several varieties.

“Just now? I was wondering what schmuck, in his right mind, would want to steal a bunch of cranberries? I mean, aside from causing pandemonium at Ye Olde General Store, what’s the purpose? Why go through all of this?”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Jillian began, as she moved to the canned vegetable section, “then I’d say they were looking for something.”

“And they found it,” I confirmed. “More frozen cranberries.”

“No, you silly man. Let’s say that this thief has hidden something with the cranberries. Or, more likely, there’s something hidden inside the shipping box of cranberries.”

“That’s been sitting inside a freezer?” I asked, skeptically. “Can you give me an example?”

Jillian shrugged and lowered her voice. “What about drugs? What if, as the authorities were closing in, this thief had to hide a bag of drugs? And, if by some miracle, they were walking past a box ready to be shipped? What if it was dropped inside?”

“That’s a mighty big ‘what if’,” I pointed out. “And cranberries? I don’t think you can just leave an open box of cranberries—bound for a grocery store—at the local post office.”

“It’s a far-fetched suggestion,” Jillian admitted. “I was just trying to come up with an explanation to fit the facts.”

“It’s a good idea,” I decided.

“Do you really think so?” Jillian asked.

“Well, think about it. So far, the common denominator between the two break-ins are the cranberries. Both were stolen and not recovered, I might add.”

“Yet, the pills and the booze were recovered from those two burglaries,” Jillian reminded me.

“True. I’m not sure how that helps us, but I know it must mean something. How’s your list coming along? Aside from cranberries, do you have everything?”

“We still need the …”

The young clerk reappeared just then. He saw me watching and tossed a bag of something he was holding. Was it pasta?

I caught the item and then looked at my hand and groaned. Chopped pecans. Jillian was going to be able to make her blasted sweet potatoes. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I hate sweet potatoes, but there’s just something about the flavor I don’t care for. I know what you’re thinking. I should like them, due to the word ‘sweet’ being included in the name. On top of which, my own mother used to make a version of sweet potatoes that had some type of roasted marshmallows on top.

I still didn’t care for them. Oh, well. These recipes clearly mean something to Jillian, and I wasn’t about to be the dolt who rains on her parade. So, some compromising was in order. Regardless of how they tasted, I would eat my fair share. I just had to make sure I had a can of soda on hand.

“Have all grocery stores had their cranberries stolen?” Jillian suddenly asked.

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I think it’s just those two so far. Why do you ask?”

“Well, the bigger stores have more stock. If you really wanted to get your hands on some frozen cranberries, then I would think you’d target the bigger stores. There’s an Albertson’s, a Walmart, and even a Safeway in Medford. Were any of them hit?”

Jillian headed toward the bakery while I pulled out my phone and fired off a few questions via text to Vance. In less than two minutes, we had our answer. Vance had—apparently—wondered the same thing and sent off his own inquiries. He confirmed he had no idea why cranberries were targeted and, once I asked if only those two stores had been hit, he said he’d make a few calls.

Another 15 minutes passed before we had texts back from him.

Have already asked the same thing. Was waiting on several more Medford stores before answering, but their replies just came in.

I hurried over to Jillian, just as she selected a loaf of French bread, and showed her the phone.

Distributor has nearly two dozen stores checking inventory. 2 have reported their supplies have vanished. Cranberries only thing missing / unaccounted.

“Two more,” Jillian breathed. “Are they smaller stores?”

I eagerly tapped out the question.

Yes. Looking into how stores are connected. Will keep you posted.

“Vance thinks something is fishy, too,” Jillian decided. She waggled her phone and then slid it in her purse. “That’s everything. Well, mostly everything. Ready to go?”

Another harried shopper rushed by us. And yes, before you ask, his cart was full, but this time, there were a few items in there which made me laugh.

“Zachary, did you see that man? He must have had a hundred rolls of toilet paper. All this because a few grocery stores were vandalized? I don’t get it.”

I spotted another shopper approaching. He looked to be younger than me, maybe mid-thirties, and had a seriously unhappy expression on his face. He noticed me looking his way and shrugged.

“Toilet paper?” I incredulously asked. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s with all the TP? Am I missing something?”

“If there’s gonna be a run on supplies,” the stranger began, “then the last thing I want to worry about is whether or not I have enough, er, paper to finish the job.”

I snorted with laughter. “You make it sound as though we’re in the midst of a panic-inducing run on all supplies.”

The guy pointed at the prizes in his cart. “You ought to grab some for yourself. You never know what will happen.”

“We will not be panic-buying anything,” I pointed out. “The only thing we need, which Gary’s is currently out of, is cranberries.”

The young man nodded knowingly. “You, too? I need that, and a few other things. Oh, well. Better safe than sorry.”

Unfazed by my blasé response to his invitation to join the pandemonium, the shopper moved on.

“People are just …”

“… stupid,” Jillian finished for me, after I had trailed off. “The general public is easily frightened. The most we can do is not let ourselves panic-buy anything.”

“Consider it done.”

We returned to Jillian’s house, Carnation Cottage. As we walked in the door, with our arms laden with our purchases, I noticed both of the corgis were up on the couch, laying Sphinx-like, in front of the television. Thanks to Jillian’s suggestion, I tuned in to a free preview of some canine-enriching programming which promised to capture and hold your beloved dog’s attention. I remember scoffing at the notion there was programming explicitly tailored for an animal. But, the moment I set the channel, both Sherlock and Watson, who had been in the process of jumping down to follow us to the door, turned to stare at the TV. What was the program showing? Simple: a procession of dogs, enjoying themselves in an outdoor park.

With the exception of sinking into down positions, neither dog had moved an inch.

“Well, I know what I’m signing up for, when I get back home,” I chuckled.

Speaking of homes, I should point out that I’ve been spending a lot of time over at Jillian’s house lately. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was spending more time here than there. Why? Well, I wanted to be wherever Jillian was, and I know she was more comfortable in her house. Plus, her house was easily twice the size of my own. Ideally, I’d love to have Jillian’s house on my winery’s acreage, but let’s face it. That wasn’t gonna happen.

Neither of us have addressed what the living arrangements will be after we get married. Will we live here, in one of PV’s historic houses? Or, would we choose to live on my fifty acres of land?

If given a choice, then I think I would still love to live out in the country. However, Jillian loves her house, and unless I plan on renovating my house or possibly expanding it, then …

Hmmm. Hold the phone, I think we have a winner! I could upgrade my house and give it some major renovations. The kitchen would need to undergo a huge makeover. Since Jillian loves to cook, I’d have to double the counter space, increase storage, replace appliances, and so on. It might be easier to just raze everything to the ground and start fresh, from scratch.

Wait, could I do that?

The thrum of a lawnmower suddenly erupted nearby. Mentally reminding myself to quietly look into the possibility of tearing my house down to begin anew, I patted both dogs on the head and looked out the window. A landscaper’s truck, towing a large trailer loaded with a wide assortment of tools, was parked outside. I hadn’t known Jillian had her own landscaper, but based on how nice everything looked, it really shouldn’t be too surprising.

“You’ve got some people outside, working on your lawn,” I called to Jillian.

Jillian rounded the corner and nodded. “Oh, good. I need to talk to them. I’m hoping they can trim back the pine tree closest to the house. It’s getting too close for comfort, if you ask me.”

The two of us headed for the front door. Sherlock and Watson finally tore themselves away from the TV and joined us. Clipping their leashes on, we headed outside and were instantly assailed by the exhaust from the lawnmower and the telltale scent of fresh grass clippings. One guy was busy raking up after the mower, and a second guy was loading the clippings into a wheelbarrow.

Also visible was a young boy of eight or nine, who was sitting on one of the porch steps. His head was down and he seemed to be staring at something in his lap. I’m guessing it was some type of electronic device?

I felt the leashes go taut. The dogs, it would seem, had noticed the youngster and were staring at him, as though they suspected he was hiding treats in his pockets. Moments later, I heard a few beeps and several synthesized explosions, confirming my guess the device was some type of video game. I tugged on the leashes, indicating my desire to follow Jillian as she headed for the guy currently raking the lawn. The dogs, however, refused to budge.

Sherlock looked at me, stretched, and then wiggled with excitement. Watson whined and pulled on her leash, too. Both dogs, it would seem, wanted to meet the boy. Upon seeing the dogs, the boy set his game on the step next to him, and stood up.

“Do you like dogs?” I asked the boy.

The kid emphatically nodded his head. I looked over at Jillian, for permission to allow an introduction. She was in the midst of a conversation with whom I’m guessing was the owner of the landscaping company, when she saw me looking her way. Just like that, both were staring at me. Jillian pointed at me, then the dogs, and finally, back to the boy.

The man nodded, but not before reaching for his own phone. Jillian, it would seem, must have warned him what was going to happen, and suggested he record the encounter. You want your son to experience a full, corgi introduction? Hey, I can make that happen.

“Would you like to meet them?”

The boy nodded again. I then pointed at the freshly mowed grass.

“Perhaps you should sit on the grass there.”

The youngster turned to look at the lawn. He shrugged, walked over to the grass, and dropped into a cross-legged sitting position.

“Are you ready?”

The boy nodded a third time, and then looked at me as though he thought I was just another crazy adult. I squatted next to the dogs, draped an arm around each of them, and decided to up the ante. Any dog owner will know how to rile up their dogs. I was certainly no different.

“Do you want to meet him? Are you ready?”

Both dogs were wriggling so bad that you would have thought they knew the boy and hadn’t seen him for months.

“All right. Release!”

Both corgis took off like a shot. The kid’s eyes widened with surprise, but before he could say anything, two horizontal tornados reached their destination. Sherlock and Watson collided with the boy and knocked him onto his back. Then, in true corgi fashion, they plastered wet doggie kisses all over his face. I didn’t know who was enjoying himself more, the giggling boy or the laughing father. I think we clearly made someone’s day.

A blue 1967 Corvette Stingray pulled up and parked alongside the curb, behind the landscaper’s truck. A woman in her late twenties appeared, wearing a thick green sweater and ripped blue jeans. She noticed the frolicking dogs and immediately veered toward them.

Watson, barking excitedly next to her packmate as Sherlock continued to lick the boy’s exposed face, noticed the approaching woman first. My red and white corgi yipped once and tore off after her. Moments later, Sherlock zipped by me, eager to reach the woman first.

“Sherlock! Watson! Hi, guys! How are you doing today, you cute-as-a-button doggies?”

“Hi, Dottie!” Jillian said, as she arrived at my side. She checked her watch. “You’re right on time.”

Dottie Hanson, daughter of the late Clara Hanson, had become a new permanent fixture in our lives, it would seem. Having no other friends in PV, and no family she could turn to, Dottie latched on to us and seemed to view Jillian and myself as her surrogate parents.

I looked at my fiancée with confusion on my face. “On time? For what? Did I forget something?”

“Always,” Jillian laughed. “In this case, Dottie is here to give us her opinion on the flatware and china we selected.”

“Wedding stuff,” I sighed. “Of course.”

“Men,” Jillian giggled. “Well, come on, Dottie. I can’t wait to show you what we’ve picked out so far. We’ve narrowed the china down to four different possibilities. It’ll be interesting to see if you can pick out which of us selected which patterns.”

“I can’t wait to be of help,” Dottie gushed. “And the flatware?”

“There are two choices,” I told the girl. “Truth be told, I think the two of us are okay with either choice. However, it’d be nice if you picked the right one, of course.”

“Oh, great, no pressure there, Zack.”

I started up the front steps, intent on following the dogs and the girls inside. There, on the second step from the top, was the boy’s video game. Turning, I could see father and son having an animated discussion, with the kid doing most of the talking. Plus, he was rambling on so fast that you’d think he was practicing to become an auctioneer.

Glancing down at the game as I covered the distance to the duo, I saw that I had been right. The boy had been playing a video game, and an old one at that. There were no fancy graphics, and no high-def displays. This particular game used vector graphics, and depicted a space game where you were trying to blow up enemy ships. Bad guys zipped around the screen so fast that it’s a wonder someone that young could play it. There’s no way I’d survive ten seconds playing that game.

That was about the time I remembered where I had seen that game before. As a matter of fact, I had played it before, and since I know you’re going to ask, I’ll admit it: I sucked at it. I must’ve lost stacks of quarters playing that game at the local arcade. I will also say that it was nice to see the younger generation interested in playing those older, 8-bit games. Remembering the dogs had stared at the device for a few moments, I decided to snap a few pictures.

Making it inside, I immediately heard the girls laughing at one of the china designs, claiming that the pattern was ‘too busy’ and ‘wouldn’t go with anything’. Yes, they could have been talking about one of Jillian’s choices, but let’s face it, I already knew they were talking about one of mine. The pattern in question was bold, bright, and full of colors. Personally, I thought it was a good choice. Then again, that must explain why Jillian refrained from voicing her opinion, citing her decision to wait for Dottie, instead.

Now, I could see why. Like minds think alike, I suppose. The pattern they ended up selecting was a basic white, with a gently scalloped edge and some type of metal trim around the edge of the plate. Or bowl, I guess.

“Do you see?” Jillian was saying. “This set, while basic in your eyes, is perfect.”

“Exactly,” Dottie agreed.

“Why?” I inquired. “It looks boring.”

“Think how many different colors it can go with,” Jillian insisted.

“What colors are you talking about?” I asked, trying hard to keep my exasperation out of my voice. “Am I missing something? Are you planning on mixing this set with another?”

“Show him the Christmas plates,” Jillian instructed, as she looked over at Dottie. “Then, he’ll see what we mean.”

“Christmas plates?” I lamely repeated. “You’re going to mix this set with Christmas plates? I don’t see … oh. Oh, I get it.”

Yes, I finally did. Jillian was thinking long term. The Christmas plate Dottie was showing me was sitting directly on top of one of Jillian’s newly selected white plates. That was why she wanted white. It was generic enough to be used with any other colored plate, be it Christmas, or Halloween, or essentially any other holiday.

“It looks great,” I admitted. “Objections withdrawn. Great choice, you two.”

Both girls beamed at me.

For the next four hours, the girls … yeah, you read that right. Four hours! As I was saying, for the next four hours Jillian and Dottie perused thick, glossy magazines, consulted numerous websites, and made extensive notes in a huge, white three-ring binder. What was I doing? Well, I managed to entertain myself by playing with the dogs and, between the frenetic random activity periods, or FRAP sessions for you fellow dog owners, I went over notes for the completed draft of the special novel I had written as an homage for Vance and Tori’s anniversary. By the time I looked up, the sun had long since retired, and it was pitch black outside.

“Would either of you like anything to drink?” I asked, as I stood up to stretch my legs.

“Thank you, Zachary. Dottie? Would you care for something to drink?”

“Holy cow. Is that the time? Is it really 9:30 at night?”

“It is,” I confirmed, as I stretched my back.

“I had no idea it was so late. I should really be getting home.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Jillian hopefully asked.

Askance, Dottie glanced over at me.

“Pretty please?” I added. I made a point of looking at all the materials laid out on the table before the two of them. “You wouldn’t want to subject me to any of that, would you?”

Dottie laughed and eventually nodded. “If you’re okay putting up with me, then I’d love to help.”

“You’re on,” I said, nodding. “Just let me …”

“Oh my! We can fly! You can fly! We can fly! Come on, everybody, here we go!”

I sheepishly reached for my phone. “Sorry ’bout that. I really need to rethink that ringtone.”

“That’s from Disney’s Peter Pan, isn’t it?” Dottie asked.

I nodded. “That’s right. I use it for Vance, who’s a detective on the force.”

“Why would you use the song from Peter Pan?” Dottie asked.

“Check YouTube,” I chuckled. “Hey, Vance. What’s up?”

“Zack? Good. You’re still awake. Um, you are, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Jillian and Dottie were going over some wedding stuff and lost track of time. Seeing as how I don’t have to do it, I wasn’t about to interrupt them.”

“Smart man, buddy. Listen, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if I could get you and the dogs to do me a favor?”

“You want us to do you a favor? Right now? Okay, sure, I guess. What do you need, pal?”

“Get over to Gary’s Grocery on the double. They received their shipment of supplies tonight, and …”

“… they finally have cranberries? Awesome. We’re on it.”

“They’ve closed for the night, you doofus. I’m trying to tell you that, sometime after they closed, they received their shipment. Wouldn’t you know it, they were hit. Do you get it? PV has been hit!”