Once Upon a Moonlight Night (The Bella Novella Collection Book 1) Read online

  “No, I fed him.” She paced the hallway, her face pale. “It’s what I fed him that worries me. See, I didn’t want that lasagna to go to waste…”

  I felt my breath catch in my throat. “Wait. You fed the bird lasagna?”

  “Rosa always feeds him people food.”

  “Well, yes. Nuts. Fruit. Things like that. But. . .lasagna?”

  “I looked it up online. Birds can eat small amounts of plain pasta. As bland as that stuff was, I didn’t think it would hurt him. You don’t think I. . .well, made him sick, do you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh, I hope not. That would be awful, just awful!” Mama shook her head. “Just to be safe, I think I’d better drop him off at the vet’s office on my way to Parma John’s.”

  “Let me.” D.J.’s voice sounded. I turned to see him standing behind me holding Rosie in his arms. “I heard the whole thing. Let me take him to the vet.”

  “You don’t mind, D.J.?” Mama’s eyes flooded over.

  “Not a bit.” He looked my way. “You okay to get the kids to the restaurant without me?”

  “Of course.” I wanted to kiss the man for going out of his way to help my mother. Then again, that’s always how it was with D.J. Neeley. The guy lived to bless others. He stopped everything he was doing to take a sick bird to the vet. . .and all so that Mama wouldn’t suffer. God bless that cowboy of mine.

  I loaded the children into our van and pointed it in the direction of Parma John’s, my thoughts in a whirl. Overhead, the skies grew darker, more ominous. Lightning flashed in a streak and Rosie let out a wail. This got the twins worked up. They both started crying. I reached to turn on their favorite CD and before long the music had them calmed down.

  Still, I couldn’t help but fret over the weather. Seemed like we’d been having a lot of storms lately. Hopefully Justine was right and they would pass before the 19th. And hopefully the temperatures would play nice, too.

  As I pulled my vehicle onto The Strand and Parma John’s came into view, my thoughts shifted. I couldn’t help but think about the storm Mama was going through right now. She hadn’t caused it, of course, but now that she’d involved the neighbors’ cook…

  Hmm.

  Hopefully that would end well.

  I unloaded the kiddos from the van and headed inside the crowded restaurant, Holly on one hip, Ivy on the other, Rosie’s little hand clutched in mine. Just as I walked in the door I got a text from D.J.. I put the twins down and they started to toddle off in opposite directions.

  At the vet’s office. Waiting. Order me a sausage pizza?

  I responded with Of course then caught up with the twins and swept them into my arms once again.

  The sound of a Dean Martin song playing overhead caused me to smile. . .and to miss Uncle Laz. Not that I had time to think about it for long. The luscious aroma of bubbling, melted cheese mixed with garlic and tomato sauce made my stomach rumble. I looked around for the rest of the family but couldn’t find them through the crowd of patrons. I finally located Pop already seated at a table, eating. I took several steps in his direction and plopped Ivy in his lap.

  “Wow, you made it here fast.” I gestured for Tres to take the seat to my dad’s right and looked on as Rosie scrambled into the chair on his left.

  “Called in my order ahead. And you know why I’m here so fast.” He lifted a piece of pizza—fully loaded—and took a big bite. “I’ll be taking all of my meals here from now until the 18th, thank you very much. I’m counting down the days till Rosa and Laz come home. I’ve survived one week but still have two to go. Thanks to your brother and a hefty amount of pizza, I’ve made it this far. If we left it to your mother, you would’ve buried me after I took my first—and last—bite of that stuff she called lasagna.” He visibly shuddered. “I wouldn’t give that mess to the dog.”

  “Or the parrot.” My brother Nick appeared next to us, carrying a large pizza. “You heard that story, right? I got it from Sophia, who overheard Mama telling Bella that she poisoned Guido with that stuff she called lasagna.”

  My father glanced my way, his eyes widening. “Bella, is this true? Your mother poisoned the bird?’

  I couldn’t help but groan. Mama would be here any second. Hopefully they wouldn’t bring it up and further embarrass her. “Well, poisoned is a strong word,” I said at last.

  “He’s not. . .well, you know. . .dead?”

  “No. But he’s really sick. D.J. just took him to the vet’s office for a check-up.”

  “And all of this from your mother’s cooking?” Pop slapped himself on the forehead.

  I spoke above the din of the crowd as the teens at the table next to us grew louder. “Technically, she didn’t cook that lasagna. She just heated it. So you can’t really blame this on her.” I shifted Holly’s position on my hip and looked on as my father bounced Ivy on his knee. He somehow still managed to eat his large slice of pizza.

  My father swallowed and wiped his lips with the back of his free hand. “Yes, but don’t you see? This just proves my point about foods like that. They’re loaded with preservatives. Artificial ingredients. That’s what’s wrong with Guido. He’s filled with preservatives. Before you know it, that bird’ll be six feet under.”

  “But beautifully preserved,” my brother added, passing back by with empty drink glasses in his hands.

  I did my best not to roll my eyes as they carried on. “Nah,” I finally managed. “I’m sure he’ll be doing better in no time. Besides, we need to stop joking about this. It would kill Laz if he came back to discover Guido had flown off into the great beyond.”

  “True.” This seemed to shut my brother up, though Pop continued to carry on about Mama’s cooking. Until she arrived. My mother swept in, helped me locate a couple of high chairs, then joined us for some yummy pizza.

  “What took you so long, Imelda?” Pop asked. “Did you get lost?”

  “No, I, um. . .well, I had some things to take care of.” She gave me a knowing look, followed by a little wink. Ah ha. So, she’d already visited the Burtons’ cook. Interesting. I couldn’t help but wonder how this would turn out.

  The conversation shifted to the weather, and—just about the time our food arrived—D.J. showed up, looking none the worse for the wear.

  Mama glanced his way, her eyes growing wide.

  “Sorry I’m late, everyone.” D.J. pulled his chair up to the table. “Had to see a man about a horse.”

  Mama cleared her throat. “Is the horse. . .I mean, are they going to have to shoot him?”

  “Nah.” D.J. grabbed a slice of sausage pizza and plopped it onto a nearby plate. “Poor old fella just needs a few meds and a couple of days’ rest.”

  “Thank you Jesus,” Mama whispered, and then took a bite of pizza.

  This garnered a suspicious look from my father. “Since when do you care anything about horses, Imelda? Is this some new venture?”

  She swallowed and dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Oh you know me, Cosmo. Always caring about God’s creatures. That’s all. I’m a softie.”

  “Then why did you try to poison us with that lasagna?” Pop asked.

  “Well, that’s a fine kettle of fish, Cosmo.” She fussed with her napkin, twisting it in her hands. “These accusations really must stop.”

  “Fish? Did you have to say fish? He paused. “I sure miss Rosa’s fish soup. I can almost taste it now. On a cool day like today, it would be perfect.”

  Mama grunted then rose and scurried off to the kitchen, muttering something about needing extra napkins.

  D.J. and Pop struck up a conversation—thankfully, not about horses—and I tended to the children while eating. These past few years had offered me ample opportunity to learn how to eat and feed four children, all at the same time. Not that I really managed to eat much, but I tried.

  Before long Mama returned and Armando joined us, too.

  “Scarlet wants you to stop by the bakery before you leave, Bella,” my brother sa
id as he pulled up a chair. “She’s got some new recipes she thinks you’ll like, and she had some questions about the cake for the Collins wedding. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Mmm. I might head there, myself,” Pop said. “Scarlet is no Rosa, but her cookies and cakes are pretty good.”

  “Pretty good?” Armando and I spoke in unison.

  Pop grunted. “Okay, very good.” He took another slice of pizza and shoveled it down under the watchful glare of my mother.

  “Cosmo, you’re going to make yourself sick,” she said.

  “I’m going to make myself sick?” He quirked a brow. “I’m just filling the well to the top because I know there won’t be any dinner tonight. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  “You might just be very surprised to hear that you’re having baked teriyaki chicken, roasted asparagus and double dark chocolate cake with caramel sauce.” Mama rose, grabbed our empty plates and headed into the kitchen, carrying on about the amazing meal she would serve him in just a few hours.

  Pop did not look convinced. His gaze traveled around the table. “Just pray for me, folks. If I keep eating your mother’s food I’ll be six feet under, right next to the parrot.”

  “But beautifully preserved!” D.J. added with a wink.

  I slapped him on the arm and then turned my attention to the kids, who had taken to squabbling. Maybe Mama would prove a thing or two to Pop, once she served him a hearty home-cooked meal. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d have to weather this storm a little longer. . .say, until Rosa returned home, safe and sound, and ready to cook.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Winter Weather

  “Everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it.”

  ― Mark Twain

  When we finished our lunch D.J. and I made our way to Scarlet’s bakery next door. Pausing in the doorway, my eyes fluttered closed. The smell of sugar—divine, powdered sugar—hovered in the air around me. I could feel myself putting on several pounds, just breathing the air. Still, who could resist, especially during the holidays?

  And talk about a feast for the eyes! I’d never seen so many themed cookies before. And the cakes! Wow. This whole place was an invitation to enjoy Christmas, one treat at a time.

  D.J. cradled Holly in his arms and I held Ivy, but Rosie and Tres took off running toward the cases, oohing and aahing over the luscious treats they saw through the glass.

  I’d just settled my sights on a plate of snowflake sugar cookies when Scarlet emerged from the kitchen.

  “Bella!” She came out from behind the glass and I noticed her Let Them Eat Cake apron was covered in powdered sugar and blobs of icing. Scarlet’s hair, usually tidy, was a frizzy mess and the red cheeks clued me in to the fact that she must be working really hard back in the kitchen. Still, I’d never seen such a blissful expression on her face before. Scarlet always looked happy while baking.

  She gave me a big hug. “Thanks for stopping by. I’ve missed you! I’ve been so busy baking I didn’t get to help this morning.”

  “We managed just fine,” I said. “But, Scarlet. . .wow! This is all so amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.” I pointed through the case to a row of delicate little cakes, shaped like snowflakes and embellished with shimmering bits of sparkling sugar to look like glistening white snow. I could practically taste them now. “Scarlet, those little personalized snowflake cakes are divine. Is that coconut on top?”

  “Yep. And the inside layers are Italian meringue buttercream. Light and fluffy. Ooh, speaking of fluffy, you need to try a piece of divinity. I’m using a new recipe with a little bit of almond in it. I think it’s divine.”

  “Divine. Divinity.” I giggled. “Now I have to have a piece, thank you very much.”

  D.J. and I got the kids settled down at one of the little tables. Scarlet gave us a few pieces of divinity to share and I ate my piece in three big bites, then licked my fingers clean. Each luscious bit melted like a soft cloud in my mouth, leaving behind the yummy flavor of sugar on my tongue. “Man. I see what you mean. That was the best thing I’ve eaten in months.”

  “Thank you.” Scarlet’s cheeks flushed pink. “Here, have another.” She shoved another piece my way and I took it willingly.

  “Are you ever going to teach me to bake like this?” I asked. “No pressure, but I’d love to know how to do this. Maybe pass it down to my kids one day?”

  “Sure. We could do a baking day. I’d love that.”

  This, of course, got Tres and Rosie very excited. I had a feeling they’d be quite the handful in the kitchen, but maybe we really could start a new tradition.

  I licked the sugary goodness off of my fingers. “For now, we’ll take a few of the snowflake cakes and some divinity, too. I know that kids will love it. And Justine will think it’s amazing, too. You have to make some for her wedding. They look like little clouds.”

  “Ooh, good idea.” Scarlet laughed. “That girl has her head in the clouds. Never saw anyone as intrigued with the heavens.”

  I started to dive into a conversation with Scarlet about the wedding but incoming customers sent her off in the opposite direction. Probably for the best. I needed to get these kids home for a long nap, and I had my suspicions D.J. wouldn’t be terribly happy with me if I went off on a tangent about my work right now. The poor guy looked like he wanted to take a long winter’s nap, if one could judge from his slumped shoulders and sagging eyelids.

  We headed home and got the kids settled down. D.J. and I ended up falling asleep in front of the TV. So much for watching a movie together. Who could blame us, though?

  Sometime after eight that evening I got a text from Mama. Just six cryptic words: Operation Feed Your Father a success.

  Alrighty then. Looked like she had things under control with her new plan. Hopefully it would keep Pop pacified until Rosa returned. Maybe Mama could get some rest now, too. The poor woman certainly needed it.

  I fell into bed that night, completely exhausted. On Sunday morning I awoke with weather on the brain. Strange, too, because one peek out the window convinced me that the storm outside hadn’t let up one little bit. Hmm.

  In spite of the icky weather, D.J. and I managed to get the kiddos to church. After getting the children settled into their classes I happened upon my father in the hallway, wandering aimlessly and talking to himself. Very odd.

  “Pop?” I paused and gave him a curious look. “You okay?”

  “Hmm?” He never looked my way, but continued pacing back and forth.

  “What’s going on? Is Mama okay?”

  “Your mother. . .” He looked around, as if expecting her to materialize.

  “Has something happened to her?” D.J. asked, concern lacing his words.

  “Yes, something has happened.” My father stopped pacing and drew close, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Something very, very odd.”

  “Odd?” D.J. asked. “How so?”

  My father looked back and forth then leaned in close. “She’s cooking.”

  “Ah.” I drew in a breath, unsure of what to say next. I didn’t want to give away my mother’s dirty little secret, of course.

  “This is problematic?” D.J. asked.

  “No.” Pop shook his head. “Not problematic. Just. . .curious. The woman is cooking like a pro. Every dish she served me last night was straight off of the Food Network. She’s gone from novice to Top Chef in less than twenty-four hours. I find that. . .”

  “Suspicious?” D.J. asked.

  “Yes, very.” Pop leaned against the wall, still looking confused. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m not. I’m well fed and happy.” He rubbed his belly, which seemed to be a bit larger than the last time I’d seen him. “Very, very happy.”

  “So. . . .?” I gave him a curious look. “Why does this trouble you so much?”

  “I just feel as if she’s hiding something from me. Do you think she’s taking cooking lessons?”

  “From someone
other than Rosa?” I asked. “Absolutely not.”

  “Maybe that frozen lasagna the other night was just a ruse, something to throw me off-track. Maybe that’s the point. She’s known how to cook all along and just prefers Rosa to do it. Do you think that’s it?”

  “I doubt she’s known how to cook all along,” I said. . .and left it at that.

  “Maybe she’s buying the food from a restaurant,” D.J. suggested.

  I felt a twinge of guilt as I heard those words. Still, I didn’t want to give away Mama’s secret. She’d never live it down if Pop found out the truth.

  “I searched the house for evidence of that, but could find nothing.” My father shook his head. “I hate to admit it, but when I’m wrong, I’m wrong. Maybe we’re witnessing a miracle of biblical proportions. Who knows.”

  From inside the church the sound of music startled us to attention. The service was starting without us. No doubt Mama was already seated in the fifth pew on the right, her usual spot. We tagged along on Pop’s heels and inched our way into the designated pew. I couldn’t help but notice Mama’s upturned lips as she sang the opening hymn in joyous praise.

  I thought about her devious plan all the way through the service. Right or wrong, at least she’d come up with a way to stop my father from cutting her down. I had to give it to her for that.

  When the service ended, my father rose and rubbed his belly. “Who’s up for seafood?” he asked. “Gaidos. My treat.”

  “Eat light, Cosmo,” Mama said. “I’ve planned a wonderful beef stroganoff for dinner, along with creamed spinach and baby carrots. Oh, and angel food cake for dessert. With strawberries and whipped cream. Light and fluffy, just like you like it. Easy on the hips but luscious on the lips.” She gave him a playful wink.

  Oh boy.

  “Mmm.” He slipped his arm over her shoulder. “Well then, I shall eat light at lunch so that I can enjoy my wife’s wonderful cooking at dinner.”

  “Gaidos sounds good to me,” D.J. said. “As long as we get the kids home in time to rest.”

  We joined the family for lunch and then—bone tired and ready for the clouds to lift—headed home. By the time we pulled into the driveway the babies were crying and Tres and Rosie were squabbling. Lovely. Time for another nap. We got them situated in bed and then we settled onto the couch.