The Christmas Table (Christmas Hope #10) - Donna VanLiere Page 0,46
of recipes, telling her daughter that fresh milk made for the best recipes.”
“Do you know when the recipes were written?”
“Not really. But there’s no mention of anything modern. She mentions hayrides at Hurleys’ Tree Farm.”
“The Hurleys did that thirty or so years ago. I haven’t heard of them doing that in recent years.”
“So, the cards could be at least thirty years old,” Lauren says. “The mother said on the cards that she would pick up her milk on Saturday morning. Do you remember a woman who would come by on Saturdays who talked about cooking at all?”
Bud’s face looks disappointed. “I’m sorry. A lot of people came to the farm and my wife or kids dealt with them more than I did.”
Lauren realizes something and pulls her phone out of her purse. “I just remembered that I took a picture of some of the cards. Maybe the handwriting will look familiar.” She stands up and walks to the recliner, kneeling down next to it and holding the phone so he can see. “On second thought, I should’ve just brought the cards. That would have made more sense than taking a picture.” She accidentally taps the wrong thing on her phone and the photos she took weeks ago from Halloween at Clausen’s, decorating at Glory’s Place, and from the parks department Christmas party pop up. “Oops. Hold on. I need to scroll down and—”
“Is that Gigi?” Bud asks, looking at a picture on the phone.
“Who?”
He indicates he wants to see a picture she passed and she scrolls back, stopping when he points to a picture. “Gigi. She and her mother Joan used to come here. Whatever happened to them?”
Lauren beams at the picture and leans up, hugging Bud’s neck. “You did it!”
“Did what?” Bud asks, surprised.
“You solved the mystery!”
“Well, how’d I do that?”
“By being brilliant,” she says, smiling. She stands to her feet. “If I invited you to my house for dinner, would you come?”
“Of course!”
TWENTY-SEVEN
December 2012
“Who can come to our house for dinner on Friday night?” Lauren asks at a meeting inside Gloria’s office where Dalton and Heddy, Andrea, Miriam, Amy, and Gloria are discussing the annual fund-raiser taking place in two weeks. “Gloria, feel free to bring Marshall, Andrea, please bring Bill, and Amy, you have to bring Gabe and Maddie.”
Dalton and Heddy accept the invitation right away, along with Gloria and Miriam. “That seems like so many people,” Andrea says. “Are you sure?”
“The more the merrier,” Lauren says. “Larry and his wife are coming, and Robert and Kate Layton and…”
“So many people,” Gloria says. “What can we all bring?”
“Nothing. Travis and I are taking care of everything. We want to say thank you for all you’ve done.”
“We could at least bring the appetizers,” Gloria says.
“Nope. They’re covered. Everything’s covered,” Lauren says, grinning.
* * *
On Friday evening, Lauren opens the door and smiles at Bud, who’s wearing a bright red sweater and a green knit cap pulled tight over his ears. “You look all Christmassy,” she says, moving aside so he can come in. “Bud, this is my husband, Travis.”
Travis extends his hand, smiling. “So glad you could come, Bud. Lauren was excited to track you down.”
Bud gives a sheepish smile. “Well, I don’t know how helpful I was…”
“Very,” Lauren says, closing the door. “Come on in. Would you like an appetizer? I have a delicious chocolate chip cheeseball with gingersnap cookies and a Vidalia onion dip with tortilla chips.” She leads him into the kitchen and hands him a small plate for the appetizers, which she has laid out on the table. “Here’s some punch. Or I have tea or water.”
“Punch is fine,” Bud says. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had punch. My daughter-in-law says it’s too sugary and I shouldn’t drink it.”
Lauren pats Bud on the arm. “It’s a special night and I won’t tell her.” She hands him a small glass of punch. “This is the table I told you about. See, this drawer contained all the recipes.”
The doorbell rings, and Travis walks to the front door as Bud stands and admires the table. “And you bought this at a garage sale with the recipes in the drawer?” he asks Lauren.
“No, no. I bought it from a man named Larry who found it at a garage sale years ago. He refinished it.”
“Bud?”
Bud and Lauren both turn toward the voice that came from the kitchen doorway. Bud takes a moment looking at the man and pieces memories together. “John?”
Lauren doesn’t know this gentleman who looks