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QUICK AND EASY WAY to Clean Vegetables
I try to always buy vegetables advertised as pesticide free, but there are ways to work around the problem. The most efficient way I’ve found to clean vegetables is to keep a spray bottle filled with undiluted white vinegar on the counter near the kitchen sink. Vinegar or a baking soda wash works well for veggie scrubbing, but the vinegar is easier to me. I give each piece a good shower with the vinegar, rub the pieces briskly with both hands while I rinse them under cool water and then set them aside to dry. For waxy fruits and vegetables, I spray and use a brush instead of just my hands.
* * *
FORTY-FIVE MINUTES later, Kate pulled the van into their cul-de-sac. One of the neighbors knelt working in her roses, and a teenaged boy was at another house pushing a noisy mower.
“That reminds me,” Meg said as Kate pulled up to the curb in front of the Berman’s cream-colored and red-brick two-story cottage. “I have to get Gil to mow the lawn this weekend or I’m going to be doing the job myself.”
“I’ll help you mow,” Kate said, trying to head off the conversation. Gil Berman was a journalist for the Bennington newspaper, but covered the political beat and spent more time than Meg liked at the state capital in Montpelier. “We’ll get some sun. It will be fun.”
“Only if I can get the boys to clean up the dog poop in the backyard first,” Meg said, opening the door to step out. “Nothing is worse than hitting that stuff with the mower. You have no idea which way the poop will fly. Or discovering how many pieces the dang stuff will become as falls.” She opened the back door and retrieved her bag. “Bet you didn’t think of that when you volunteered.”
Kate shook her head and grinned. “The thought never entered my mind, and now the mental image probably won’t leave either. You want to meet at my house after you get the food put away? We’ll draft up the survey so Liz can get on it as she has a minute.”
“Sounds good. Let me double check with Mother, too. Make sure she’s not overdoing it with the boys there. My sons are supposed to be helping her with chores, but I can’t get her to understand that means she’s supposed to take it easy and just watch while they do everything.” Meg closed the door and stepped back so the van could pull away.
In her own house minutes later, Kate unloaded her sacks and took a second to scrub her produce finds with vinegar and a vegetable brush before putting everything into a bowl for later. A glance out the backyard window reminded they probably had to use the Berman’s outdoor grill, as her husband Keith stood in the middle of a deck frame and was fitting cedar planks in place before anchoring each with a nail gun. Sweat glistened in his brown curls, and she wondered again if they really wanted a deck instead of a covered patio.
“Too late now,” she muttered, frowning. They’d had more discussions about this project than either of them wanted. Keith especially had tired of her opting for an opposing opinion each time—even when it countered what she’d said previously. She covered the bowl of vegetables with a dishtowel and stepped back from the counter. “I have to stop over-thinking. No more talk. No more changing my mind.”
Their shaggy orange and gold cat wove between her legs. She bent down to scratch behind his left ear, and shook his bag of tuna treats to send him into an ecstatic dance of anticipation. “You are only my friend because I give you treats, aren’t you? Such a silly kitty.” She knelt on one knee and the cat batted her hand affectionately with his head.
He had followed her two daughters home a few weeks before, a rescue looking for anyone who would take him in. While he had an almost jaunty air now with one permanently closed eye, he’d been living a rough life, and the vet tech at the time had no choice but to give him a not-so-perfect haircut in the spots where the fur had been matted and unsalvageable. His coat was still a little straggly, but he looked more feline and less alien as each day passed. However, while Kate hadn’t been his first fan when he came home with the girls, the plucky feline proved his worth ten-times over days later when he’d helped her takedown a murderer and escape a brutal attack. They’d bonded in a way that surprised everyone in the family.
“Okay, you’ve had your treat. It’s hot out there and I need to get Keith something to drink. You want to walk outside?”
The cat moved to the door. Kate grabbed another dishtowel and a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator before she joined the feline to head to the backyard.
“Thanks.” Keith took the bottle she offered and leaned back against the portion of the deck he’d already assembled. “Do I get a kiss too?”
She smiled and tossed him the towel. “Might want to wipe off the sweat first.”
“Good idea.” He raked the towel over his face and hair, then hung it around the back of his neck. “Don’t realize how hot it gets out here until I start working on this cedar jigsaw puzzle.”
“You should wear a hat in the heat of the day,” Kate said, after leaning down to kiss him. He stood on the cement of the old, too small patio, and the new deck would eventually stand a couple of feet above. She continued, “You’ve made good progress. No more steps down with food in my hands when I’m heading for the grill. That will be nice.”
The cat balanced on one of the support beams, cocking his head in opposite directions as if taking his own measure of the project. Keith tilted the neck of his bottle toward the cat. “What do you suppose he’s thinking?”
Kate laughed. “Either planning out where he can nap in the warmest sunshine, or which side of the porch will be the best for chasing birds.”
“He is a guy of simple needs. Luckily, he’s too fat to catch anything, ” Keith said, smiling. Then he waved an arm to take in the whole space. “But you’re right, it will be much safer than having to immediately climb down steps. And when snow is on the ground we can clear it off and have some space without having to shovel several feet. I may try to get the girls to help me stain it once I’m done. Might be a fun project.”
“Hmm...”
“What?” Keith set the bottle down on the finished portion of the deck.
Kate shrugged, feeling perspiration bead on the base of her neck and start running down her spine. “Nothing really. I just don’t know if our daughters’ idea of summertime fun will match yours.”
Keith picked up the bottle again and looked off in the distance. “Maybe I’ll offer to pay them.” Then he tipped back the Coke and drained it.
“Parenting at its best,” Kate teased, taking the bottle from him to toss into the recycle bin. “I’m going to get some work done. Meg’s coming back over in a second. Or do you need me to pick up the girls at art camp first?”
He looked at his watch. “It is getting close to time. Nah, I’ll grab a shower and go get them.” He glanced over at the stack of lumber on the grass. “This is as good a point to end the day as any.”
Kate opened the back door and the cat streaked inside. “You’ll be done by the end of the week, easy,” she said.
“End of the week, nothing. I say Wednesday at the latest.”
She looked at the about one-fifth progress he’d made in the course of one Monday, but didn’t argue. Just smiled. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
After Keith came downstairs again showered and changed, he grabbed his keys and said he’d go and pick up the girls. Kate and Meg relished the quiet and sat at one end of the kitchen table with legal pads, composing survey questions for Liz. The cat sprawled in the middle of the table, one big mass of orange and gold fur, motionless except for the tip of his tail flicking periodically.
“I know technically she isn’t our client,” Kate said, clicking the pen a few times from nervous energy. “But making sure what we do meets Liz’s comfort level feels like the right thing to do.”
Meg tapped a pencil eraser against her chin. “The way I read Liz, she seems pretty easygoing about most things. It’s her publisher I’m concerned about. The way they talked on the conference call with us last week I expected the place to be in total disarray, but that isn’t the case at all. This might be a situation where we need to simply make some decisions ourselves and stress that we’re getting things under control.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Liz probably felt unsure about whether her working space would fit the publisher’s parameters, and her indecision came off in their conversations like a flighty writer who isn’t as organized as her published work implies. A real handicap in having books that originated out of the needs of her business—not vice versa.”
“But the previous editions used pictures, right?” Meg asked.
Kate waggled her head. “Yes and no. According to the publisher, this is the first time they’re highlighting Liz’s actual writing areas. All the earlier calendars used shots of her taken in park settings or with mocked up office space in New York that the photographer and publisher put together. This is the first real on-location photo shoot they’ve done, but it seemed like a good step-up since the previous two editions hit all the bestseller charts.”
The cat whipped his tail and sent one of the extra pencils flying.
“Don’t start reorganizing our space, Robin-Hero,” Kate said, bending over to retrieve the pencil. The cat chose that moment to whip at the small calculator resting nearby and knocked the plastic device into his owner’s forehead. “Darn it, cat. Stop.”
Kate grabbed the fallen calculator, too, and returned everything to the table top. Then she rose from her chair, scooped up the cat, and dropped him into the living room. “So much for giving you a treat earlier to make you be good.”
The cat began weaving in and out of her legs.
“No, go.” Kate again moved him toward the other room.
“You should have never used the word t-r-e-a-t,” Meg said, smiling. “Cats recognize the words that reward them. And what’s all this Robin-Hero stuff anyway? I thought the big boy was just going to be called Robin—although I’ve never heard of a cat being named for a bird.”
Kate laughed. “Unusual, I know, but that’s my twins for you. And, yes, I thought it was all sorted out too. Until last night when I entered the girls’ bedroom for our nightly story time and found not only World War Three going on, but a war of words while they both yelled Robin and Hero at the cat to see which name made him move toward one of them.”
“Cats don’t come when you call.” Meg said, chuckling when the cat returned once again to the kitchen and jumped into her lap this time. She pulled Robin-Hero’s face up so she could look at him and used a finger to stroke his smushed up nose. “Do you, handsome?”
“You know cats ignore us, and I know cats ignore us, but the girls just kept shouting and arguing.”
“I get the Hero name, since he kind of helped save your life, but why Robin? Is it because I call you Batgirl.”
“Got it in one, Wonder Woman.” Kate pointed at her friend. “My nickname helped create this poor cat’s crazy moniker. The Hero part is sort of a feline purple heart and Medal of Honor all rolled up together since Suze can’t figure out a way to keep a tiara permanently on his head.”
“So did he finally go toward one of the girls?”
“No.” Kate turned and grinned. “He made a beeline for me instead.”
“And I’m guessing Robin-Hero became a compromise?”
“Exactly.”
The cat leapt back onto the table, then down the other side, mostly disappearing into Kate’s project bag. Part of his back end still visible.
“Okay, cat, that’s it. Out, right now.” Kate pulled at the resistant cat, his claws clinging to miscellaneous items that fell out as his head reappeared. She scooped up the collections of pens and a tape measure and set the bag onto the table, saying to Meg, “Look in there and get the notepads so we can add measurements to everything. I’m going to put Mr. Helpful in the window of my office. He needs a nap.”
“Obviously, one of you does,” Meg said, laughing. But she wasn’t smiling when Kate returned. “I can’t find the pads we used today. Did you leave them in the van?”
“What? No.” Kate grabbed the tote and tunneled into its depths. She found the notes folder on the publisher’s call, a project binder, and a few empty pads, but not the two used that afternoon. “Oh, no. When Josh came back honking, I tossed the pads toward the bag. I thought they went in, but they must have missed and are still in the barn.”
“Probably went over to the backside of the bag.” Meg pulled her cell phone. “I’ll call Mother and tell her Keith will bring the girls by there when he goes to work, and we’ll go back to Liz’s for our notes.”
“I hate to give your mom more to do,” Kate said. “Let me see if I can contact Keith’s parents.”
“It’s fine.” Meg dialed as she spoke, “Mother will just order pizza to feed the munchkin crew.”
Kate scratched her forehead. “I’m so sorry. I—”
“No worries... Hi, Mother. Katie and I need to run back to the job site. We’re hoping Keith can take the girls to your house so he can go to work tonight... You can order pizza... Okay, good. I thought that would work. We’ll let him know. Love you. Thanks!” Meg ended the call and grabbed her purse. “Come on. It’s all set. I’ll drive and you can call Keith on the way.”
The drive to the farm went much faster since they didn’t have to check GPS or look for landmarks and road signs. And because Meg drove faster than Kate. Still, it was dusk by the time they turned onto the country lane that would take them to Liz’s. They only passed one car after they’d turned off the state highway, a dark blue or black pickup about two miles from the rescue.
“Not a lot of traffic on the road,” Kate said.
“Nope. Remember, even this afternoon when we were deciding what to do about the horses there weren’t any that passed by,” Meg said.
As they neared Liz’s property, Meg pointed out the windshield. “Looks like the horses are back and the fence is repaired.”
“I can’t tell if all of them are inside,” Kate replied, loosening her white knuckled grip on the door handle as the Camry turned into the drive. “I think there was one more.”
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Meg said. “And there aren’t any lights on at the house either.”
“So they might still out chasing another.”
“Could be.” Meg gave the steering wheel a twist and bypassed the circle drive out front. “I’ll go directly to the barn. That’ll save us some steps in the dark.”
Kate rummaged in her purse and found a flashlight. “In case we can’t find light switches.”
“I’m so glad you always have stuff like that,” Meg said. “But I actually do have a flashlight in the glove box.” She reached across and flipped the latch. “I know I should use something like you do for back of the seat organizing, but at least I’m on point for once.”
Meg stopped near the spot where Josh parked earlier in the day and left the car running, the headlights trained on the big weathered red doors. Right inside, they saw the sack of goat feed he’d left earlier, but now the thick band that bound the sack was sliced and the top open wide.
“I thought Liz said she was going to use food she already had,” Kate remarked, bending down to pick up a torn piece of the bag. A few inches farther, she saw something shine in the semi dark. It was a silver pen. She put the items into her pocket.
“Maybe Liz didn’t have as much as she thought, or the feed had gone bad,” Meg said.
“Still, why open it before you move it into the other room. It would be much easier to avoid spilling it if—”
“Katie, come on.” Meg interrupted. “You can’t organize the world in one day.”
“But you know I’ll try,” she said, laughing.
As they turned into the long hallway, however, their lightheartedness turned to concern when gasoline fumes wafted their direction. They raced to the office door. Spilled grain and goat food pellets covered the floor, and the gas smell was getting stronger by the second. The door was closed. Meg opened the door and reached out with her free hand to hit the light switch.
“Stop, Meg! Electricity can spark the gas fumes and set the barn on fire,” Kate warned.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.” Meg hugged her torso and moved closer to Kate and the flashlight.
The beam illuminated the room in sections. A wet petroleum trail traced the movements of someone with a strong intent for potential arson. Several wet blotches stained the far wall.
“You don’t think they’re still here, do you?” Meg asked, whipping her head to look back down the hall.
But the flashlight beam spotlighted the far section of the room, and Kate tapped her friend’s shoulder then pointed at what the light revealed. Crumpled to the floor, wearing the same clothes she’d had on at the market, her hand still in the handle of the tipped over five-gallon gas can that was dribbling onto the wooden floor, was Bren Mitchell. Her eyes were wide and staring.
Jutting from the side of her neck was a bloody silver letter opener.