Midnight Cravings

Josie forced a smile. This was no momentary lapse, she realized with horrible certainty. This was Beatrice’s personality. No wonder no one else wanted to take on this job.

No wonder Susan Pringle had written confidentially about “special challenges” with Beatrice. God knew what that letter said, but if it got out…. At best, the public would get wind of some less-than-flattering comments about Beatrice. At worst, Beatrice would get wind of them herself and leave her publisher. Who might then fire Page-turner.

Who would then almost certainly fire Josie.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

“And are they staying for the evening?” Josie asked in a voice not quite her own.

“Weekend,” Beatrice corrected. “I’m stuck with ’em.” She gave Josie a look that challenged her to have a complaint about it.

“Oh.” Josie nodded a little too vigorously. What was she going to do? If word got out that Beatrice was so…unpleasant…it would be terrible for her and for the PR firm. But how was she going to hide it?

Quickly she realized what she had to do, the only thing she could do. She—Beatrice’s publicist—had to keep Beatrice quiet and out of the public eye as much as possible.

No wonder everyone had bowed out so Josie could have this “plum” assignment. No one wanted it!

“Hot as hell in here,” Beatrice said, fanning her face with her hand.

It was the perfect segue. “We’ve reserved a wonderful air-conditioned suite for you on the top floor,” Josie told her. “Plenty of room for all of you. In fact, I think you’ll enjoy it in there. There’s a wide-screen TV, a fully stocked minibar and a refrigerator. You might not want to leave the room once you see it.” She gave a light laugh while sending up a fervent prayer. “Oh, and we sent up some Rocky Top Beer, too, which you can take home with you.”

It was like throwing a cocktail meatball to a hungry rottweiler. Beatrice looked satisfied for a moment, but then she frowned deeply and snarled, “I hope I don’t have to take all them stairs to get up there.” She looked dubiously at the gorgeous sweep of a stairway.

“No, no, there’s an elevator in the hall,” Josie assured her. The pleasant expression she had frozen on her face was beginning to melt. She couldn’t keep this up much longer. She took Beatrice’s key out of her pocket. “Here’s your room key. I’ll show you the way.” She led Beatrice and her small entourage toward the elevator.

“So,” she said as they walked, searching the air for something to say that wouldn’t bring criticism. “I understand you’re going to be cooking some of your famous dishes while you’re here. How fun.”

“Nothing fun about cooking,” Beatrice said, sniffing.

“No?” Josie was surprised. She thought that, at least, was something Beatrice felt warmly about.

“But people love your recipes. Surely you must enjoy creating them.”

Beatrice snorted. “Nope. It’s a gift.” She spat the word as if it were a gnat that had flown into her mouth. “Damn gift. All the women in my family have it. My grandmother, my mother. Sister missed the boat, though. Madge.” Her mouth turned down at the corners into a very unpleasant expression when she said Madge. “She’s jealous that I got it.”

“She doesn’t cook?”

Beatrice heaved her heavy shoulders. “Haven’t seen her in more’n five years.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.”

Beatrice nodded, and for a moment Josie thought she spotted a little tenderness. “Too bad it ain’t been ten years,” she said.

Josie nodded and pressed the up button for the elevator.

They waited.

“So. The Beaujold women have a gift for cooking,” she said, pressing the button again. Where was the elevator? The inn only had five floors. How long did it take an elevator to get from top to bottom?

Beatrice stared at her with beady eyes. “Wickham women. And the gift is for bewitchin’ men,” she said with an absurd swing of her hips. “Seducing ’em. They cannot resist. The recipes,” she finished, “are simply how we do it.”

“Lots of people seem to think the recipes work magic,” Josie said, thinking of Buffy and others she’d met who swore by the book. She’d never given the idea much credit, but she was surprised at the number of stories she had heard of men making proposals—proper and otherwise—over chilis and hot cakes from the book.

“You got a husband?” Beatrice asked unexpectedly.

“Not at the moment, no.” She saw a change in Beatrice’s expression and added quickly, before she could be accused of being a half-dressed lesbian, “Someday, maybe, but right now I’d rather not get tied down.”

“Smart girl.” Beatrice thumped a meaty finger against her temple. “That’s where I made my mistake. Shoulda just played the field.” She cocked her head toward her granddaughter. “Tried to tell Cher that, but she got it all confused and had a baby.” She shook her head. “Girl’s got nothin’ upstairs. Nothin’.”

Cher gave her aunt a look of sheer hatred.

“Remember to get them cheesecakes out of the car when you’ve unloaded your stuff, girl,” Beatrice barked, then said to Josie, “They asked me to bring them cheesecakes of mine, even though they’re gonna bring nothin’ but trouble. Haven’t met a man yet who didn’t turn into a horn dog on eatin’ them. ’Course, it’s like that with most of my recipes, but the creamy ones in particular. Chocolate pudding, cheesecake. Guess people like to spread it on their body parts or something, I don’t know.”

“Excuse me,” said a small voice from behind Josie.

Josie turned to see Lily Rose from the front desk. “The elevator is out of order.”

“Out of order?” Josie repeated. “When will it be fixed?”

“Oh, we’ve called the handyman already,” she said, as if that would mean something to Josie. “But since it’s after hours now, he was already in bed. He’s on the way, though.” She looked at Beatrice. “In the meantime, Ms. Beaujold, can I show you to your room?”

“Well, somebody better,” Beatrice said, with a look that implied Josie had better fix the elevator herself if the handyman didn’t come through.

Beatrice stopped and turned back. “You the one with my check?” she asked Josie.

“I’m sorry?” Josie asked, although she knew full well what Beatrice was getting at.

“The check. My appearance fee for comin’ here. They said you’d have it ready for me.” She held a meaty hand out. “Let’s have it.”

It took Josie a moment to formulate the words. “I…I don’t have it on me. It’s in my briefcase.” That much was true. “I’ll get it to you later.”

Beatrice frowned. “I don’t work until I have it in my hand. Make no mistake.”

It was an interesting choice of words, considering Josie had already made about fifty. “Don’t worry about a thing,” Josie said, as brightly as she could. “You just go on up and get some rest.”

Beatrice wasn’t so easily distracted. “You’ll have the check for me then?”

“Absolutely.” Somehow. Even if she had to write it herself. It probably wouldn’t bounce until after Beatrice got home.

Apparently satisfied, Beatrice gave a nod and dragged Cher and Britney off behind Lily, just as Dan Duvall approached.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms and she rubbed her hands across them. “Did you find my briefcase?”

“Not yet. But—”

He was interrupted by a small pack of women flouncing by. An impossibly buxom platinum blonde tossed a seductive look over her shoulder and said, “Hey, Dan. Long time. What’s the matter, don’t you like me anymore?”