A Catered Thanksgiving Read Online Free PDF Page A

looked puzzled. “I know that,” she said.
    â€œI wasn’t sure, because you look like a waiter in those clothes.”
    Libby shrugged. At this point she was too tired to care. Her clothes were clean. They fit—kinda. And they were unobtrusive.
    â€œYou should get some new pants,” her sister added. “Those should be retired. The seat is bagging out.”
    â€œI plan to on Friday,” Libby lied as she closed the door to the flat. She hated shopping.
    â€œAnd not from a catalog, either. You have to try them on.”
    Libby just grunted, annoyed that Bernie had called her out. But she didn’t say anything, because there was no point. She’d tried, but she couldn’t get Bernie to see her point of view. She didn’t care about clothes. Not in the slightest. Unlike Bernie, who was a fashionista. On this issue they had to agree to disagree.
    Libby was thinking about how one mother could have produced two daughters so opposite in their tastes as she and Bernie went downstairs and began gathering the supplies for the upcoming meal. The shop seemed especially quiet after yesterday’s commotion, and as Libby passed the ovens on the way to the cooler, she could almost hear them sighing in relief. She ran her hand over the counters, then lightly touched the kitchen witch hanging over the window by the sink, something she did every day.
    Libby remembered her mother buying the good luck charm at a craft fair two years after she’d opened A Little Taste of Heaven, and even though the witch was now more than a little worn, and she’d had to restitch the seams a couple of times, Libby wouldn’t let Bernie take it down. Not that she was superstitious or anything, but why mess around with something when it was working, especially when the business you were working in was so precarious?
    They’d had good luck so far, and Libby saw no reason to change things up now. Besides, the witch reminded her of her mom. She was thinking about her and how she’d always worn an apron in the shop kitchen—a different colored one for every day of the week—as she glanced out the window.
    The weather reports had predicted light flurries, but this was more. This looked like a storm. Great. Just what they didn’t need. Oh well, they’d better get a move on. The roads would be bad, and it would take them longer than usual to get to the Fields’ house.
    Longely was a great town and Libby was happy to be living here, but the town wasn’t very good at snow removal and the shop’s van didn’t have its snow tires on yet. Libby made a clucking noise with her tongue as she pondered the possibilities for disaster. After she’d come up with several scenarios, she decided it was better to try to think positively—an ability that had unfortunately eluded her since childhood.
    And on that note Libby continued on to the cooler, opened the door, and slid the box containing the turkey out. It was an eighteen-pounder, which was rather large for the number of guests coming, but Perceval Field had said that they wanted enough for leftovers, which this would surely do. In fact, both she and Bernie had tried to convince him that a twelve-pound bird would do the trick, but he’d remained adamant on the subject, and so they’d bowed to his wishes under the rubric of the customer is always right—something that was so not true. In fact, he’d even specified the brand of turkey he’d wanted them to buy.
    That had irritated Bernie no end, although it really shouldn’t have. In Libby’s humble opinion one brand of frozen turkey was as good as the next. No. Her fear was that since they hadn’t gone to the Fields’ house and seen the oven in the kitchen, the turkey might be too big for it plus the other dishes they had to fit in.
    Perceval had assured them that that wasn’t the case, and Libby figured they’d have to go with that. It