Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes by Maria Swan (brene brown rising strong .txt) 📕

I managed to get him off me, petted his head, and he took off running around in circles, creating a small dust storm. Tristan was busy handing boxes to an older man dressed like a ranch hand—okay, like the so-called ranch hands in the late-night western reruns I sometimes can’t resist watching.

Brenda pulled me away from Tristan’s vehicle. Her Honda was parked a few spots away. “Come on, wait until you see my new kitchen.” Giddy would have described her attitude perfectly.

“Your kitchen? What happened to your job at the Silver Sage?”

“I quit. It was time.”

“Wait, are you saying you’re working here now? What about your house? And...” I almost said and me. I had no right to ask that. She wasn’t my keeper, but still. Changes were in the air.  Out with the old, in with the new?

We stood in front of what I remembered to be the building the previous tenants had called home. I could hear hammering and shouting going on, and it appeared there was a large addition being built in the back. The minute we stepped inside the original structure I knew it looked different. Walls down, ceilings up, more like a large common dining room, and what appeared to be a kitchen in the making. And then I saw Angelique Dumont and Lois, her assistant. Well, they were—integrated with their surroundings. Sheesh, where did I get that expression from? Mouth agape, I couldn’t help but stare at the two women in flashy western attire that clearly shouted internet purchase.

“Monica, Monica.” They spoke at the same time like impulsive children.

What? Shades of The Stepford Wives darkened my mood. Not sure what was going on at this so-called ranch, but I vowed not to drink the water or the Kool-Aid. Mercy.

“Come see our new digs.” Lois said.

Digs?

I followed them as a tame lamb on the way to the sacrifice while searching around for Brenda or Tristan or even Dior. Had they all abandoned me? But wait. The lamb thing is an Easter tradition. This was Christmastime. Ok then. The wild women walked me to a part of the ranch I hadn’t seen before. There, next to some work in progress that looked like a...house sat a trailer. Oops, no, not a trailer. As my boss, Sunny Novak, always reminded me, “Mobile home, Monica, it’s a mobile home. You don’t drag it around; it stays put.” And it had Christmas lights all around the roof, twinkling.

“This is where we live temporarily while the new house is under construction. It’s so we can keep an eye on things.” Too much info hit my brain. I couldn’t think. I glanced from the trailer—I mean the mobile home—to the foundation of the new place and back.

“Well, what do you think?” Angelique was relentless. What had happened to the frail, coughing woman in the long caftan, I met few months ago? Hmm, maybe I should try the water after all. “But—but what about your home in Phoenix?” I asked.

“That’s Tristan’s. Plus, we want to be part of this great project. And what better way than living where we work?” I wanted to ask Lois what the great project was or why the Phoenix home wasn’t property of Mr. and Mrs. Dumont, considering the state of Arizona was a community property state—you know, what’s yours is now mine thanks to the blessed vows and vice versa?

Brenda had caught up to us “Monica, the ranch will be the headquarters, if you want, for the made-to-order food delivery company we are setting up. Tristan is kind enough to let us use the facilities.” My lips moved, but my brain was on pause. “Come on, let me show what I’m cooking for us.” She slid her arm under mine and nudged me back toward her kitchen. Still no sign of Tristan anywhere, but I sensed that he might be where the horse stalls were, out toward the grove of large cottonwoods at the very farthest corner of the land he owned. I sighed, which didn’t escape Brenda’s eagle eye.

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Brenda. Everything is happening so fast, and yet, nothing really changes... you know.”

Instead of answering, she patted my arm and dragged me to what used to be the front door of the original structure. The rickety bench sitting on the porch looked as I remembered. As we sat, it made creaking noises. Brenda pulled out that thing she called e-cigarette and started puffing white vapor like a locomotive on a steep mountain track.

“Monica, this is a great opportunity for me to expand and do things I always dreamed of doing. We are getting documents drawn. We’ll start small. I will create the recipes for the meals. These aren’t the kind of foods served to regular people. They’re formulated for specific diets prescribed by doctors. Think of it, I will be able to create good-tasting food that will improve and prolong the lives of regular people who otherwise couldn’t afford personal dieticians. Angelique and Lois will be in charge of marketing and making sure everything gets delivered on time.” As she spoke she seemed to light up from inside.

Still, I worried. “What about your catering business and what about the money to get this project going?”

“That’s the best part. Tristan, well, The Dumont Foundation is bankrolling the food delivery, and I spend three days here at the ranch, cooking and perfecting recipes, and the rest of the time I’m back home working on my catering. I will draw a salary for the three days, and that will take care of my living expenses. So I won’t need to fret if one week I don’t have a venue to cover.” This time I was speechless for the right reasons. “Brenda, I can see why you’re so excited. It’s good. You guys accomplished all this in two days?”

“No, no. We had been working on ideas and numbers for over a month.