Chicken Soup & Homicide - Culinary Competition Mystery #2

Chapter 17

(Amy)

The sunshine reflecting off the snow was so bright, driving through the countryside felt like a journey across a giant tanning bed. Despite wearing sunglasses, Amy still had to squint to see the sign for Dunbar Farms. It didn't help that the wooden placard was half-buried in a snowdrift. The long driveway was freshly plowed, but the snowbanks along the edge were higher than the roof of her Mini Cooper. She felt like a gerbil in a sixth-grade science experiment, creeping through a claustrophobic maze to get a prize at the end. The tunnel of snow opened up into a parking area in front of the white two-story farmhouse. When she got out of the car, her foot slid on a patch of hardened snow turned to ice. After completing the impromptu thigh muscle stretch, she carefully picked her way across the parking area. The objective was not to crash and spill the plate of blondies she was carrying. Trisha would probably like to eat some of the maple-flavored treats instead of watching birds and squirrels pick at them in her driveway.

Trisha opened the front door of the house before Amy could ring the doorbell. A canine guest detector woofed a greeting. The chocolate lab wagged his tail frantically as Trisha pushed the screen door open while simultaneously trying to scoot the dog back with her leg. "It's okay. I like dogs," Amy said as she reached down to scratch the enthusiastic pup's ears.

"That's good, because Moose likes people."

The earthy scent of onions drifted through the old farmhouse as Amy handed the plate to Trisha so she could shed her coat and scarf. The dog circled around her, alternating rubbing against her legs and whacking her with his thick tail. Both actions threatened to knock her over. Moose was a big boy. Suddenly, he sat and offered her a paw. She bent to shake it and was rewarded with a slobbery lick across the cheek. "Hello, Moose. It's nice to meet you." The attention sent the dog into a bucking-bronco version of a canine happy dance.

"Sorry for the sloppy kisses. We don't get many visitors in the winter, so he gets a bit lonely."

"No problem. I know the feeling." Alex left for work at 5:00 a.m. that morning. She was a morning person, but not that much of a morning person, especially after she had a difficult time getting to sleep worrying about a thousand things that were going wrong with her life.

"I made French onion soup. Something warm and cheesy just sounded good," Trisha said as she made an attempt to grab Moose's camouflage collar. The dog ducked capture and bounded up the stairs rising along the side of the foyer. "He's heading on a toy scavenger hunt. He thinks all visitors must play with him."

"Who could resist indulging him? He's adorable." Amy sniffed. "The soup smells so heavenly. I can't wait to try it."

"Let me put these in the kitchen where Moose can't steal them," Trisha said as she disappeared into a room down the hallway. She returned a few seconds later without the plate of blondies. "Why don't we head to the shop now and see if any of the herb gardens appeal to you? It's attached to the house, so you can leave your coat here."

Amy followed Trisha through several connected rooms, then found herself in a little shop full of magical greenery. Container gardens were everywhere in the small store, from lush mossariums complete with tiny fairy houses built in old fishbowls to the herb gardens in the custom-made clay pots. The glaze on the containers seemed to shift colors as she walked around the room. The same pot looked green then aqua blue before appearing to shift to slate gray when she glanced at it from farther away. "Everything is gorgeous. I need to get more than an herb garden," Amy said as she studied a delicate plant floating in water in a recycled chemistry beaker.

It took almost half an hour for her to pick out everything she wanted. All of the walls in her house were either gray, light blue, or white. It was a calming and serene color palette, but when everything outdoors had the same hues, the house felt dreary, like it had been invaded by the winter. As she wandered around examining the container gardens, she envisioned so many of them adding a touch of living color to the rooms. Her stomach was growling by the time she was done. The beaker water garden would go on the coffee table in the living room, an Italian herb garden for her craft room, and a two-foot-tall rosemary plant shaped like a pine tree for the breakfast nook. She paid and then helped load all of the plants onto an antique flatbed cart that Trisha rolled into the entranceway of the house to wait until Amy was ready to leave.