Down Squash Blossom Road by Janet Chester Bly

Author:Janet Chester Bly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuth, romance mystery, cozy mysteries, contemporary adult fiction, christian romance novel, cowgirl romance, murder and kidnapping, clean and wholesome romance, relationships between mothers and daughters, cowgirl adventure
Publisher: Bly Books

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After her drugstore purchase, she turned left on Charpentier Drive lined with palm trees and violet wisterias and pulled into the large parking garage under the Grecian lettered sign: George Marketplace Industries. Her stomach gnawed and growled as she entered the Deli. She waved at Grandma Toula and mother Olympia who conversed with customers filling shopping carts or plastic baskets, their favorite duties and the famed George personal touch.

She mustered her most vigorous smile to brace against teasing by the nephews or rumbles of trouble brewing among the staff. She inhaled the familiar mixtures of garlic and nutmeg, basil and cinnamon. As usual, temptations and Uncle Thodoris ruled the bakery today.

Marina accosted her with a note before the doors closed. “Two messages. Uncle Paul wants to see you and Paris called twice. Sounds frantic.”

Ginny looked at her watch. Still time left on her break. “Where’s Grandpa?”

“As far as I know, still out on that ... that ship!” She made it sound like a cuss word.

Crusted breads studded with raisins and garlic piled on shelves with fresh hot loaves of pumpernickel and sourdough. Cousins Gus and Dimitris sliced mounds of chives wrapped in Saran Wrap and wolf whistled at her as she rushed by. She pretended to be engrossed in the butter cookies and fruit tarts displayed on bright colored paper doilies.

Caged macaws and cockatoos squawked above Aunt Zetta from the gift shop balcony. Blue, green and scarlet Panamas tuned up with their incessant chatter: “Roast beef special today. Don’t forget the pie.”

At the far wall, Uncle Christos layered rows of fresh fruits and vegetables. Specialty signs advertised radicchio, morels and raspberries for $5.95 a half pint. He pointed with pride to the berries. “Two hundred forty cases just in from Chile.” He didn’t skip a beat with his mechanical arranging. “Are you going to be at lunch Sunday?”

Why would he ask that? She was always there. “Sure.”

“You’d better. Everybody’s stirred up.”

“About what?”

Christos shrugged. “You should know.”

“The women too?”

“Oh, yeah. They want their say. “

“What do you think about Grandpa’s new toy?”

“Drives me insane. He’s still a little boy showing off for Papa’s attention, even though Papa’s no longer around.”

Ginny veered into the cafeteria and toward the staff who worked in a stark white kitchen with stainless steel appliances, counters and baker’s racks. The rhythm of loud, piped-in music changed according to the shifts. Right now it was the pop music of Michael Jackson. Most all the employees wore white or blue uniforms embroidered with a blue Parthenon logo for George Industries. Vegetables stir-fried in a giant wok. Several young Georges sliced and chopped mounds of ingredients for one of the many different salads. Others stirred red or white wine sauces and checked ovens.

She tapped bare headed Uncle Paul on the shoulder. “Never wear a hat when you cook,” she’d heard the head chef say.

Uncle Paul majored in texture, taste, and presentation and made sure everyone scrubbed their hands as diligently as a doctor. Today he stood over two six-burner Vulcan ranges where gallons of water simmered various pastas and fragrant soups.

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