Hmm. Sounds like they’re worth getting up early for. I’ll keep that in mind this week.
The funeral home doesn’t open until nine, so we have plenty of time. While waiting in line, I ask about the women we saw yesterday, the ones who looked like they just stepped out of a 1950s movie. “What did you call them? The Jam Squad?”
“Oh yeah. It’s kind of a funny story. This whole town is obsessed with strawberry-rhubarb everything. You’ll see when I get a chance to show you around. Anyway, Olivia, Emma, Charlotte, and Sophia each make their own version of strawberry-rhubarb jam. Olivia’s is the sweetest, Emma’s has a slight vanilla flavor to it, Charlotte’s has raspberry mixed with the strawberriesand rhubarb, and Sophia’s has cinnamon. You’re going to see their jars everywhere. They’re kind of cute, actually. They’re these short, old-fashioned Mason jars with rings of lace around the tops and white labels that each have a drawing of the woman who made it. Everyone calls the jam by the name on the jar. I like sweet, so I always get the Olivia.”
“Interesting.”
“Oh, you haven’t heard anything yet. Every week,The Caller, our local weekly newspaper, gets a report from every business in town, then they publish a list of jam sales. The paper comes out today; they sell it at the bakery.”
“Is it like a competition?”
“Yeah, a fierce one. They each have their own local fan base. It’s a big rivalry.”
“Over jam? Yesterday, they looked like friends.”
“More like frenemies. It’s like our own local soap opera, which got super interesting when they took turns dating this one guy, Joe Emmerson. At first, he was Charlotte’s boyfriend, but then she caught him with Emma. Then Emma caught him with Sophia. After they broke up, he started dating Olivia. That lasted until she caught him with Sophia.”
“Wait, he cheated on Olivia with the woman he just broke up with? Is he back with Sophia now?”
“Depends on the night. If the rumors are true, they worked out an arrangement where each woman has a designated night with him.”
I resist the urge to slap my forehead. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. I still haven’t told you the best part.”
“It gets better?”
“Oh yeah. The women areall a year older than me. Joe turned nineteen two months ago. He’s a tall, thin cowboy who works on the Shackler ranch, but the crazy thing is—I mean, besides him being ten years younger—is he’s not even good-looking.”
None of this makes sense, yet at the same time, it’s crazy interesting. “Could this Joe guy be some kind of cult leader?”
She laughs. “If you met him, you’d see that isn’t remotely possible. Being a cult leader would require the ability to form cohesive thoughts. I think Joe is capable of two thoughts—I’m hungry and I’m horny. He’s sort of like a puppy you want to scratch behind the ears. I guess he’s cute in a naïve sort of way. You’d have to meet him to understand. Maybe we’ll run into him while you’re here.”
“I’m kind of hoping we do.”
We’ve reached the entrance to the Drury Lane Bakery. The sidewalk leading to the front door is painted to look like its own street. There’s even a green street sign at the curb that reads “Drury Lane.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
“The muffin man.”
I open the door for her, and as we step inside it hits me. In a muffled voice I quietly sing, “Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man who lives on Drury Lane.”
“Yep,” she says. “Clever, huh?”
I give her a nod. “Yeah, it is.”
The display case is full of the biggest muffins I’ve ever seen, and there must be more than twenty different kinds. These aren’t the good ones? Hmm. Next to them are dozens of doughnuts of various kinds and the place smells amazing.
Before I can ask her about the muffins, it’s our turn to step up to the counter. Maddieorders for us. “Four everything lox, two barrels, and a paper.”
“Coming right up,” the young man says enthusiastically.
I’m guessing he’s about seventeen. I’m pulling out my wallet when he leans toward Maddie and in a low voice says, “Sorry about your mom. Jamie said I wasn’t to charge you if you came in. She also asked me to tell you how sorry she is.”
Maddie hesitates. I can tell she hates this, so I quickly step in with, “Thanks.” I drop two twenties on the counter. “This is just a tip from me. I’m Maddie’s friend.”
Maddie looks up at me with gratitude in her eyes. I can already see her tense shoulders relax as she mouths, “Thank you.”
