Harvest Moon - By Robyn Carr Page 0,35

on the counter for the proprietors. “All of these were made from organic Jilly Farms produce. I’m saving some in her pantry because next week I’m going to hit the farmers’ market, buy some local end-of-season vegetables and make batches from other growers’ stock. I’m willing to bet that my sister’s produce has better flavor, but who knows? Maybe it’s all about the cook and not the ingredients. We’ll see.”

They lined up spoons and small bowls. Lief was allowed to participate in the tasting. It was like a wine, beer or coffee tasting—flat crackers between samples, new spoons for each. “And I’d like to heat this bisque,” Kelly said. “Permission to use the kitchen?”

“Granted!” Preacher said.

The reviews were raves all around, and of course Preacher wanted to know how much she could sell him, what recipes she would share with him, whether she’d provide more.

“You can have this supply if you’re willing to serve it—I’d like to know what your diners think. I don’t share my great-grandmother’s recipes, but I have lots of recipes I can share with you. I’m going to make my nana’s pumpkin soup, roasted pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread and pumpkin muffins for the Halloween open house.”

Preacher’s cheeks got rosier as she listed these items until she finally finished and he said, “Whoa! I have to give you something for this, Kelly.”

“How about a couple of sandwiches,” Lief suggested.

“Just sandwiches? And a slice of my chocolate velvet cake?”

“Perfect,” Kelly said. “And I’d like the jars back, if you don’t mind. I’ll reuse them after sterilizing.”

“It’s turkey pastrami today,” he said. “And if you play your cards right, a little tomato bisque.”

“Lay it on me,” Lief said.

“We’ll eat slow so we can hang out awhile and maybe pick up some reactions from your lunch crowd.”

And that was what happened, with a twist Kelly didn’t realize was unusual for the bar until Jack explained it to her. Preacher usually served up one item per meal, per day and there was no fanfare. He could be talked out of leftovers by the right person, but there wasn’t anything as fussy as a menu. He stayed mostly in the kitchen, brought out finished meals as they were ready, kept to himself and was not usually talkative.

However, on this special day, he was literally meeting every diner, explaining the presence of a guest chef and her special bisques—referring to her as a chef rather than a cook—and offering a free sample of either squash or tomato bisque. His samples were hearty servings, typical of Preacher; the lunch crowd raved and shook her hand in welcome. This gave her a chance to invite everyone she met to the pumpkin patch for a pumpkin picking and more of her goodies.

Then a couple entered, sat up at the bar, and when the woman looked around, Kelly’s breath caught. Muriel St. Claire, Oscar-nominated actress. Celebrities had visited La Touche many times—this was hardly Kelly’s first sighting. But it was astonishing to see her here. And the shocks just kept coming. Muriel locked eyes with Lief and said, “Oh, my God, as I live and breathe!”

“Muriel!” Lief said in surprise. And the two of them met in the middle of the bar and embraced like old friends.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I live here,” she answered, laughing. “And you?”

“I bought a house here—I wanted to get Courtney out of L.A. And maybe have a quieter life.”

“It doesn’t always stay quiet,” she warned him. “We have our wild times in the mountains! Meet my guy. Walt, come here!” she called.

Kelly watched as a handsome guy in his sixties joined them; Lief shook his hand and Kelly heard Muriel introduce Lief as “The Wunderkind”—an Oscar-winning screenwriter for a movie she was in, one in which she’d been nominated for supporting actress. “How old were you when that happened, Lief? About twelve?”

“Thirty-five, Muriel,” he answered with a laugh. “Come meet a friend of mine.” He turned toward her, and Kelly, still in a state of shock over many revelations, stood up. “Kelly, meet Muriel and Walt. Muriel is an old friend.”

And you, she thought, are an Oscar-winning writer? Not just a writer, but a famous writer? But she said, “Pleasure.” She put out her hand.

“I’ll write him a recommendation,” Muriel said. “This one is a gem. If he weren’t young enough to be my son, I’d chase him myself.”

“I’m not young enough to be your son,” Lief said. “In fact, in the years I’ve known you,