Pint of No Return Read online

  Music or not, Alpenfest was bringing people to Eastern Oregon in droves, and if it meant a yodelfest, that was fine by her. The tiny town of Upper Sprocket was finally poised to rake in a share of the much-needed tourist money with the recent addition of the pedal-powered railway. Now Bonnie’s quaint bed and breakfast would be a draw as well. Trinidad intended to scoop up her own portion with the Shimmy and Shake Shop, home of the massive Freakshake creations that would become famous if she had anything to say about it.

  Upper Sprocket could not compete with neighboring Josef for the number of amenities to offer Alpenfest tourists, but when the hotels were booked up, the overflow yodelers had come to stay in Sprocket, and Bonnie had barely finished preparations in time to offer them rooms. The group had decided a small outdoor concert would be the perfect warm-up for the Alpenfest yodeling contest set to begin the following day. Storm clouds were gathering in the sky, and Trinidad hoped the rain would hold off for another hour or two.

  She noticed the mayor of Upper Sprocket, Ramona Hardwick, sporting a smile that looked suspiciously like a grimace as she gazed at the yodeler. How did the mayor manage to appear so youthful when she had to be knocking at sixty? Trinidad would love to try some of Ramona’s skin cream on her own thirty-six-year-old face. The Miami sunshine had not been kind to Trinidad when she lived there with Papa Luis and her parents before moving to her new Oregon home.

  Ramona looked disapprovingly in the direction of Trinidad’s dog and put a finger to her lips. Her hand looked every bit of sixty, which made Trinidad feel better and worse about herself.

  Trinidad again shushed Noodles. He made a valiant effort, but whines and howls kept spurting out of his lips like a tea kettle venting steam. Every inch of him quivered to join in the yodelfest.

  “He’s a natural,” Quinn said. “You gotta get him signed up with the troop.”

  Quinn’s green eyes were framed by adorable little crow’s feet. Why did everything that handsome hazelnut farmer said warm something deep down in her belly? One would think after her disastrous marriage to a liar and felon, she would be more calloused. Still, she found herself tucking her frizzy dark curls behind her ears and remembering her mother’s admonition to stand up straight. Silly. Trinidad was a generously pear-shaped woman with a sweet tooth and little regard for fashion. No amount of straightening or tucking was going to make her any more glamorous.

  She let the rain scented wind blow the thought away as she took in the view. Glorious. It still stunned her to think that all of Gabe Bigley’s former wives were now collected in this one tiny spot on the globe: number one, Bonnie; number two, Juliette; and now, Trinidad herself, running her very own ice cream shop. She clutched her stack of flyers tight, calculating how many milkshakes the average yodeler might consume during the two weeks of Alpenfest.

  It was hard to keep her mind on business with such scenery pulling at her attention. This piece of land that Gabe had deeded Bonnie was exquisite, the perfect place for a quaint train car bed and breakfast. Bonnie’s Sprocket Station exuded charm year-round, but it shone like a jewel in autumn. Tall trees and a thicket of succulent blueberries created a lush backdrop to the four brightly painted railroad cars that now served as rooms.

  Bonnie’s beautiful piece of land might have made her envious were it not for the fact that Gabe had deeded Trinidad a storefront, which had given her a new lease on life. That storefront was now the Shimmy and Shake Shop, her own piece of paradise.

  “Don’t miss anyone,” Trinidad said to Quinn, handing him more flyers to disperse to the spectators in between yodeling numbers. The inn’s dining hall was still partially unfinished and there was the slightest scent of fresh paint underlying the pine, but at least the first paying customers had arrived. Those new guests would surely meander into town to partake in artisan ice cream during their stay, wouldn’t they?

  Her insides quivered with the combination of terror and titillation. The bare-bones truth was the Shimmy and Shake Shop needed an infusion of income desperately, since her store had to be rebuilt after a criminal tried to destroy it…and her. So much for the quiet small-town life. Murder, mayhem, and milkshakes. Who’da thunk it?

  Quinn frowned. “Uh oh. We’ve got competition.”

  A short, red-bearded, barrel of a man, Forge Emberly, was thrusting his flyers into the hands of anyone in the vicinity of the impromptu yodelfest.

  “Come experience the rails on the Forge Railriders pedal-powered adventure,” he said. “It’s a four-hour excursion following the rail tracks as they pass through timbered canyons and some of the loveliest farmland you’ll ever see. Definitely worth the price. If you come back this summer, we’ll have a second route that will take you right along the river with views of the Wallowa Mountains,” he said as he pressed flyers into hands.

  That last comment brought Mayor Hardwick to her elegantly booted feet. She cinched her knitted sweater against the late September chill and marched over, stopping inches away from Forge. Her blond hair flashed in the sunlight that was peeking through the gathering storm clouds. “You will stop touting that second route right now,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “There is no way the council and I will approve that project. I cannot stomach cutting those old growth trees just to suit your sight lines.”

  Forge’s eyebrows formed into a grizzled row. “Maybe you won’t be the mayor in November anyway.”

  She went pallid, lips unhealthily red against the white. “You’re not going to win the mayor seat. People know you’re just in it to take care of yourself.”

  He laughed. “Me? Talk about a hypocrite. Think people can’t see through your ‘Betty the Beaver’ scam?”

  Trinidad was a relatively new arrival in Sprocket, but even she had heard the accusations. Mayor Hardwick was hanging onto her seat by the skin of her proverbial teeth. Rumor had it that the mayor “suggested” to organizations negotiating deals with the city that they purchase supplies of her children’s book, Betty the Beaver Brushes Her Teeth. The local dentist bought 3,000 copies and suddenly found the sidewalks repoured outside his office. The hospital board, upon which Hardwick resided, ordered 50,000 copies while applying to the town for expansion of their facility.

  Now Hardwick’s pallor turned to cranberry. She poked a finger into his barrel chest. “There is nothing illegal about any of my actions. You’re not going to get that second rail route approved.”

  Forge shrugged. “Already got Quinn here to agree to sell me the two acres I needed as a cut through. I’ll get the approval for the rest in time.”

  Trinidad gaped at Quinn.

  Quinn’s gaze was firmly fixed on his boots. Why would he, this man who was passionate about his privacy, his land, and his environmental principles, have agreed to such a thing?

  Hardwick looked to Quinn. “Is this true?”

  Quinn raised his head but didn’t quite meet the Mayor’s eyes. “Yes.”

  A one-word reply? No explanation? Trinidad wanted to pepper him with questions, but Forge started in again.

  “I am going to unseat you for mayor in November because you’re crooked.” Forge raised his voice. “And everyone in town knows it.”

  At that moment, the mayor lunged forward and with one determined palm, knocked Forge Emberly onto his solid derriere. His flyers floated to the ground like lazy fall leaves in the quickening breeze.

  Noodles broke off from his yowling to eye the action with concern.

  “You saw it,” Forge cried from his position on the ground. Was he speaking to the crowd or Trinidad? “You saw her assault me. Did someone get that on video?”

  Someone did.

  Bonnie approached, towering over them. At six foot eight, Bonnie, the former professional basketball player towered over pretty much everyone, and with a six-year-old child perched on her shoulders and a cell phone in her hand, she loomed even larger. Bonnie’s white-blond hair was pulled into a
ponytail, which her daughter, Felice, held in one small hand, but plenty of it frizzed around her face, the same pale color as her skin.

  Felice waved at Trinidad. Trinidad’s heart always skipped a beat when she saw the child of her ex, Gabe. Of the three wives, Bonnie, Juliette, and Trinidad, Bonnie was the only one with a child. Trinidad’s friendship with Bonnie was still in its infancy, yet she felt a strong connection, like she had to Juliette. It was that odd “sisterhood of exes” thing, she figured.

  “I was recording the yodeling,” Bonnie said as Felice twirled her ponytail like a propeller.

  Quinn was already helping Forge to his feet.

  “I’ll need that video,” Forge said.

  Bonnie smiled. She always smiled. “No.”

  Forge frowned. “I’ll call Chief Bigley, and she’ll force you to turn it over.”

  Bonnie’s smile didn’t diminish. “Sorry, but the video will be deleted before she gets here.”

  “You better not do that.”

  Bonnie still smiled. “It’s my land, Mr. Emberly. I want people to love being here. This isn’t a place for politics or arguments. I don’t want that around my girl.” She held onto Felice’s little shin with one hand and toggled it playfully. Felice’s hair was caught up in a knit cap with a massive pink pom-pom on the top. Her luminous blue eyes were wide, taking it all in.

  “Pollyanna,” Forge spat.

  Still the smile. “Not the worst I’ve been called. So let’s just listen to the yodeling, okay? This isn’t a place for name calling either.”

  “You should be helping me,” Forge said. “A second railway will be good for your business.”

  Bonnie shrugged. “Some things are more important than winning in business.” She turned her back on the two bickering people and gestured for the yodeling to recommence. “I’m sorry,” she called out. “Let’s hear that again, okay? Verse two? There’s a storm coming, and I don’t want us to get rained out.”

  Now two yodelers took their places next to the one on the stump and began a complicated yodel jousting. Noodles wagged his tail and joined once again in hysterical accompaniment. Forge resumed his friendly flyer delivery demeanor and continued on with his duties. No sign of Mayor Hardwick who had slipped away in the confrontation.

  The collected crowd, an even mix of locals and visitors, did not seem too concerned about what had happened. Most were still seated in the provided chairs and occupied themselves with friendly chatter and sips of the free hot cider Bonnie had provided. The yodelers were equally calm as they finished one song and plunged into another. They looked straight out of a postcard in their poufy red skirts and gold-laced black vests. She was disappointed the men wore long pants with their snappy vests instead of lederhosen.

  The chief yodeler cued them up for another song. Trinidad wanted to have a private moment with Quinn, but he was already passing out Shimmy and Shake flyers during the pause, a smidge too focused in her mind. When the yodeling was done and the flyers all distributed, she couldn’t spot him at all. She looked at Bonnie, who was now chatting with her newly hired cook, Gretchen Torpine.

  “Where did Quinn go?” she asked.

  “Didn’t notice,” Gretchen said, adjusting the clip that caught her mane of white hair.

  Bonnie hoisted Felice down. “Felice and I picked and packaged the blueberries. They’re all boxed up for Papa Luis. He said he’s coming by later.”

  Papa Luis, her dear grandpa newly transplanted from Miami, to the rescue. He’d made a bit of a business for himself, schlepping people and property around in his gorgeous 1951 Chevy Bel Air. For Bonnie, she knew, he’d do it for nothing. Trinidad didn’t know yet what she would concoct with the blueberries growing wild behind the train cars, but the succulent jewels were too precious to be passed up. Gretchen could only use so many for the blueberry scones she was going to bake for the guests. “I’ll have Papa pick them up when he delivers your first official overnighters.”

  Bonnie turned pink with pleasure. “I keep pinching myself. This is going to be the most wonderful place for people to visit. They can let go of their troubles and just…be.”

  Trinidad found Bonnie’s sanguine nature a puzzle. After all, this was a woman who’d earned the nickname Bruiser as a power forward for the Oregon Pistons. She’d broken plenty of noses in her heyday.

  Quinn’s strange behavior and the altercation between Ramona and Forge left no room in her psyche for her to ponder Bonnie’s peculiarities. The flyers were gone, there were shakes to be invented, and a pair of eager teen boys were running the shop. The boys were incredible, but she dare not leave them too long.

  Time to get back to business. When she could finally tear Noodles away from his yodeling fanfest, she packed up her Pinto and returned to the shop.

  ***

  Back aching and hands tired from scooping, Trinidad finally locked the door of the Shimmy and Shake just before sunset. Noodles settled himself in the passenger seat. When they reached Main Street, the first sprinkles of rain appeared on the windshield and he activated the wiper with his left paw.

  “Thank you, Noodles.” She had adopted Noodles after her divorce from Gabe, unable to resist the old Labrador who had been surrendered so his family could acquire a newer model. She could relate since Gabe had started up with Juliette while married to Trinidad. Ugh, stop it Trinidad. Don’t go there again, she ordered herself.

  Noodles had so many hidden talents, being a service dog flunk-out in his younger days. He revealed them at the most surprising moments. The driving assistance was a fairly new development. She stroked his satiny ears as they drove out of town.

  “Love you, sweetie,” she said.

  He answered with a lick to her wrist.

  They headed toward her rented home. Along the way, she passed the tree-studded hollow of land that separated her place from Bonnie’s property. Raindrops fell in earnest as she drove along. After a long, sizzling summer, it was a treat to activate the car heater. She hoped she would feel as cheerful when the winter snows hit. She’d lived in Oregon with Gabe during their marriage, but Portland apartment-living was not the same as the wild winters of Eastern Oregon.

  The storm swept in as Trinidad arrived with Noodles at the tiny house they shared. Tiny was the appropriate word for a structure not quite 700 square feet. When her grandfather abruptly arrived from Miami two months earlier, bunking on the sofa, the house had gotten even tinier. But Papa’s perpetual good cheer, uniquely Cuban outlook on life, and his near genius brain had swept away some of the grief she’d experienced over Gabe’s departure and the ruination of her store.

  Like a phoenix, the Shimmy was rising again, in large part thanks to the efforts of Papa Luis and Quinn. Thinking about Quinn reminded her of the bombshell. Quinn had actually agreed to clear some of his property at Forge Emberly’s urging. Forge was certainly a wheeler and dealer in town, the loudest voice at town council meetings and a go-getter. There had never been any rumors that he was untrustworthy, but his blunt, aggressive demeanor did not seem to be the kind of personality to win over quiet, gentle Quinn. She still could not wrap her mind around their unexpected agreement. Was Quinn desperate for money when Forge had offered a deal? She knew hazelnut farming was not a massive moneymaker, and Quinn was the sole provider for his younger brother, Doug, who had special needs.

  She and Noodles scurried into the tiny house through a curtain of steady rain. She set about warming up a pot of stew Papa had made in his newest efforts at batch cooking. The fragrance of garlic and black beans made her mouth water. Headlights from Papa Luis’s Bel Air shone as he rolled up the drive.

  “You stay here, Noo,” she said. The dog wagged his tail from his spot on the squashed beanbag he used as a cushion. He was getting old, she thought with a stab. Silver washed his muzzle, and his back legs were stiff. Impulsively, she draped him with an old blanket to keep off the chill that would inevitab
ly reach him when the front door opened.

  Papa pushed inside as he always did in a cloud of enthusiasm. “Those train cars—so amazing, don’t you think?” he said, his Cuban accent thick as ever. “Bonnie has done such a fine job, excellent judgment in such an endeavor, which unfortunately did not kick in when she chose the Hooligan.”

  Papa would only refer to Gabe as the Hooligan. She was happy Papa had become close with Bonnie, but then, he had never met a stranger, making friends with everyone from the pastor to the postman since he arrived in Sprocket. Did she feel it again? That wee pinprick of jealousy that her beloved Papa had grown an affection for Bonnie? And the other ex-wife, Juliette, for that matter? Wasn’t Papa’s love supposed to be exclusively hers? Wasn’t something?

  She shook the uncharitable thoughts aside as she kissed him. “Raining hard?”

  “A real palmetto pounder.” He shivered. “And so cold here. This rain is not the same water that falls on Miami.”

  She laughed. “Wait until the snow comes.”

  He groaned. “I will have to fortify. That stew smells good, if I do say so. Let me bring in the blueberry box before we eat.”

  “Why don’t you wait until the storm passes?”

  He gave her that look. The one that meant, You can’t possibly suggest I leave that untidy box in my impeccable and precious machine known to others as a car?

  “Need help?”

  He waved an airy hand. “Of course not. You spoon up the stew. And make me a cafe, will you? Such cold.”

  She began work on the strong coffee, which Papa could somehow swill even into the wee hours of the night. Of course, the man only required four hours of sleep. Another blast of chill air sent Noodles burrowing deeper into the blanket until he noticed that Papa had re-entered but left the door ajar.