Free Maple Mayhem (A Sugar Grove Mystery) by Jessie Crockett Page B

said. “When did you want to go?”
    “I don’t.”
    “Has something happened to change your mind in the last fifteen minutes?” The grin left his face like it had never even thought about being there. In that moment I disliked Mindy Collins even more than I had when she was offering advice about my sex life.
    “I think you misunderstood me and that’s definitely my fault. I was actually inviting you on behalf of my nephew’s Squirrel Squad leader. She needs another adult for the overnight winter camping trip tomorrow night. She asked me this evening to find out if you would be willing to help out.” I could tell from the look on Graham’s face that he was both disappointed and trying not to show it. It was a little flattering.
    “I see. Tomorrow?”
    “Yes. I totally understand if you aren’t free or even if you don’t want to do it.”
    “What time?”
    “The kids arrive sometime after lunch at the Collins’s place.”
    “I’ll do it.” The grin was back in full force.
    “Are you sure?” All of a sudden it occurred to me that Mindy might take it upon herself to make the same offer of seduction education to Graham that she had to me. I wasn’t sure I wanted him anywhere near her.
    “I’m sure. I love camping, I’m free tomorrow, and I like your nephew.”
    “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
    “You can make it up to me.”
    “What did you have in mind?” My stomach fluttered and thrashed and generally made a nuisance of itself. I was torn between wanting to know what he would say and dashing out the door and down the steps before he could squeak a word out.
    “I’m sure I’ll think of something.” Graham pointed his packet of sausage at me, gave me a light peck on the top of my head, and strode out the door.

Seven

    Saturday morning breakfast at Greener Pastures is a thing of beauty. On weekdays we eat well. There is no shortage of home-baked goods and oatmeal or eggs. Sometimes someone even makes bacon and if you are up early enough, there will still be some when you get to the table. When we were all growing up, weekdays were school days and there just wasn’t enough time to do breakfast justice. So Saturday was set aside as
the
day for life’s most important meal.
    Everyone gets to the table by eight with the sort of attitude generally reserved for religious occasions. Reverence is what Grandma’s breakfasts bring out in the family when she has time to unleash her full culinary skill set. Her own mother, who was the cook for a logging camp as a young bride, had taught Grandma the way round the kitchen. Which meant she was taught to make everything from scratch and in generous amounts.
    Considering how good a cook my grandmother is, the quantities manage to disappear no matter how much she churns out. When we were all teenagers Grandma baked at least three loaves of bread each day. The breakfast menu is always a surprise since Grandma didn’t even know herself what she would want to create until she woke up that morning. So it was with eager anticipation I trotted to the warm and cozy kitchen and poured myself a cup of strong coffee. Stirring in a glug of maple syrup and a generous splash of cream, I asked if there was any way I could help.
    Grandma may be a whiz in the kitchen but she is a teacher at heart. Every one of us is adept at whipping up a sit-down meal for forty. Well, maybe not the kids, just yet. Grandma starts in early teaching whoever is new to the family how to bake beans, frost a cake, or season a stew. Grandma believes everyone should know how to cook for themselves even if she prefers to do it for them. She’s fond of mentioning that when she teaches one of us something her mother taught her, it makes her feel like her mother is still with us.
    I know just what she means because I feel the same about sugar making. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t help in at least a small way during sugaring season. As soon as I was walking, my father would