visits to deliver notes or wait for sentencing from the principal.
Ms. Wesland looked up from the papers that littered her desk and peered at us through heavy glasses. I fought back the impulse to stammer an apology for disturbing her.
“We’re from the Service Club of Upper River Gulch Environs,” announced Gerda.
“Oh, the SCOURGEs,” sighed Ms. Wesland, thereby delighting me. “It’s about time. I thought you were going to get that pumpkin out of here by last week at the latest.”
“Pumpkin?” I brightened even more. “You mean it’s here?”
Ms. Wesland rolled her eyes heavenward. “It’s been taking up most of the freezer. Really, if you weren’t going to use the stuff…”
“We are,” I said quickly. “We’ll take it away with us, I promise.”
“But we need another favor,” Gerda stuck in brightly with her usual lack of timing.
Ms. Wesland placed her hands palm down on the cluttered surface of her desk. “Another favor?” she asked in tones of foreboding. Obviously, she’d had prior experience of the SCOURGEs. I hoped she had as little resistance to their persuasion as I had.
Somehow, we smoothed out the details. It involved a free book of tickets for the turkey raffle and a pair of free tickets to the breakfast, but in the end she agreed to not only let us store the perishables in the school refrigerator, but also to show up at the school early on Thanksgiving morning to unlock the kitchen and let us retrieve the stuff. Somewhat reconciled by the deal she had struck with us, she rose and led the way to the small kitchen that fed the three hundred plus students who infested the place.
The vision of clean, sparkling stainless steel countertops, undoubtedly new since my time, greeted us. It smelled of disinfectant and a flowery air freshener that kept puffing its sickly sweet perfume into the room. A large freezer with double doors, and a matching refrigerator, stood against the back wall. I checked the latter for space, was relieved to find more than enough room available, and Gerda and I set about ferrying boxes and bestowing them under the watchful gaze of the secretary. I shoved in the last batch of sausages with a sigh and turned toward the door.
“Not so fast,” called Ms. Wesland. “The pumpkin?”
Oh, yes. The pumpkin. An unwelcome thought crossed my mind. Now that I’d found it, I was going to have to use it. And that meant rounding up cooks. That was another detail Cindy Brody never got around to, conning people into baking, and baking, and baking. Boy, were the SCOURGEs—and everyone else I knew in town—going to be thrilled to hear from me. And then I’d have to visit every one of them to deliver the frozen stuff. Apparently I hadn’t even begun to touch the highlights of this day.
Then another idea struck me, and I turned back to the secretary. “I can’t get the pumpkin into my car unless I can leave the coffeepot here.” I honestly didn’t think I’d get away with it, considering Hans Gustav stood outside, but twenty minutes later I headed for home with Freya’s trunk mercifully closed on the tubs of frozen pie filling.
Gerda followed, saying she needed a break from the store. With both our cars safely in the garage, we headed up the stairs toward afternoon tea—I’d long since missed lunch—and for me, a round of begging phone calls. As I shook out my wet coat before going into the house, I remembered one question I hadn’t had time to ask Gerda.
“How much did Cindy know about Brody’s finances?” I called after my aunt.
“To hear her tell it, everything and nothing.” Gerda’s answer floated out from the kitchen. Already I heard her filling the kettle.
“How so?” I trailed after her into the comfortable room. The calls could wait a few minutes.
“She’s been complaining for months he was hiding his income.” She stooped to detach Furface from his tooth-hold on her ankle, and brought him up to purr in contentment on her shoulder.
Ms. Wesland looked up from the papers that littered her desk and peered at us through heavy glasses. I fought back the impulse to stammer an apology for disturbing her.
“We’re from the Service Club of Upper River Gulch Environs,” announced Gerda.
“Oh, the SCOURGEs,” sighed Ms. Wesland, thereby delighting me. “It’s about time. I thought you were going to get that pumpkin out of here by last week at the latest.”
“Pumpkin?” I brightened even more. “You mean it’s here?”
Ms. Wesland rolled her eyes heavenward. “It’s been taking up most of the freezer. Really, if you weren’t going to use the stuff…”
“We are,” I said quickly. “We’ll take it away with us, I promise.”
“But we need another favor,” Gerda stuck in brightly with her usual lack of timing.
Ms. Wesland placed her hands palm down on the cluttered surface of her desk. “Another favor?” she asked in tones of foreboding. Obviously, she’d had prior experience of the SCOURGEs. I hoped she had as little resistance to their persuasion as I had.
Somehow, we smoothed out the details. It involved a free book of tickets for the turkey raffle and a pair of free tickets to the breakfast, but in the end she agreed to not only let us store the perishables in the school refrigerator, but also to show up at the school early on Thanksgiving morning to unlock the kitchen and let us retrieve the stuff. Somewhat reconciled by the deal she had struck with us, she rose and led the way to the small kitchen that fed the three hundred plus students who infested the place.
The vision of clean, sparkling stainless steel countertops, undoubtedly new since my time, greeted us. It smelled of disinfectant and a flowery air freshener that kept puffing its sickly sweet perfume into the room. A large freezer with double doors, and a matching refrigerator, stood against the back wall. I checked the latter for space, was relieved to find more than enough room available, and Gerda and I set about ferrying boxes and bestowing them under the watchful gaze of the secretary. I shoved in the last batch of sausages with a sigh and turned toward the door.
“Not so fast,” called Ms. Wesland. “The pumpkin?”
Oh, yes. The pumpkin. An unwelcome thought crossed my mind. Now that I’d found it, I was going to have to use it. And that meant rounding up cooks. That was another detail Cindy Brody never got around to, conning people into baking, and baking, and baking. Boy, were the SCOURGEs—and everyone else I knew in town—going to be thrilled to hear from me. And then I’d have to visit every one of them to deliver the frozen stuff. Apparently I hadn’t even begun to touch the highlights of this day.
Then another idea struck me, and I turned back to the secretary. “I can’t get the pumpkin into my car unless I can leave the coffeepot here.” I honestly didn’t think I’d get away with it, considering Hans Gustav stood outside, but twenty minutes later I headed for home with Freya’s trunk mercifully closed on the tubs of frozen pie filling.
Gerda followed, saying she needed a break from the store. With both our cars safely in the garage, we headed up the stairs toward afternoon tea—I’d long since missed lunch—and for me, a round of begging phone calls. As I shook out my wet coat before going into the house, I remembered one question I hadn’t had time to ask Gerda.
“How much did Cindy know about Brody’s finances?” I called after my aunt.
“To hear her tell it, everything and nothing.” Gerda’s answer floated out from the kitchen. Already I heard her filling the kettle.
“How so?” I trailed after her into the comfortable room. The calls could wait a few minutes.
“She’s been complaining for months he was hiding his income.” She stooped to detach Furface from his tooth-hold on her ankle, and brought him up to purr in contentment on her shoulder.
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