Goody Goody Gunshots Read Online Free PDF Page B

hire someone to work for me, I want it to be someone who . . . oh, I don’t know . . . someone who acknowledges that I’m the boss and that I have the right to make decisions around here. I want someone who won’t challenge me on every decision I do make.”
    “Then let me talk to Stephanie. She used to work here on weekends a few years ago. I know she’d be exactly what you want.”
    Of the whole, unreasonable bunch, my cousin Stephanie might actually have worked out all right, except for one thing. “I saw her a couple of days ago at the market. I guess you haven’t heard that she’s pregnant again?”
    Karen’s mouth fell open. “ Stephanie is? But she’s—”
    “At least forty-two,” I finished when words failed her. “Apparently the baby is as big a surprise to Stephanie and Kevin as it is to you. She’s not having an easy time of it. I don’t think she’s a candidate.”
    “Hire Roz, then.”
    “Roz has decided that she’s going to make her fortune selling Mary Kay. She predicts that she’ll be driving a pink Cadillac around Paradise in two years.”
    Karen’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Those would have been my top two choices, but give me a minute to think.”
    “This is exactly what I’m talking about, Karen. You just can’t see it. If you worked for anyone else, you wouldn’t push like this to get one of your relatives hired.”
    “They’re your relatives, too.”
    All the more reason to keep them at arm’s length when it came to business. “I’m not hiring from within the family,” I said firmly. “End of discussion. You’ve convinced me to spend time with the boys; be happy with that. I’ll put an ad in the paper tomorrow. Do you want to take care of interviewing the applicants, or should I?”
    Thankfully, Karen recognized the olive branch I’d extended. She might not be happy with my decision, but she gave up the fight as the bell over the door tinkled to signal our first customer. “I’ll do it. God only knows what kind of ‘help’ you’d stick me with.”
    I grinned as she slipped out from behind the counter to greet Pearl Whitfield, one of our oldest and most loyal customers. And I wondered again what I’d do without her. I just hoped I’d never have to find out.

Chapter 5
    I spent the rest of the morning telling myself that it wouldn’t do any good to keep rehashing the episode at Hammond Junction, and trying to keep busy in the kitchen. I pulled my favorite of Aunt Grace’s saucepans from the overhead rack, then measured sugar, corn syrup, and vinegar into the pan and set the mixture over a low flame. When the sugar dissolved, I turned up the flame and hooked a candy thermometer to the pan. The temperature climbed steadily while I scrubbed down the granite counter, buttered a cookie sheet, and dug my kitchen shears from the drawer.
    The thermometer finally reached 245 degrees, and I quickly stirred in butter and molasses. The heat in the kitchen had climbed, but even that didn’t dispel the pleasure I found in the rich scent that filled the entire shop as the flavors came together. I left the candy on the flame, watching and stirring every few minutes, until it finally reached the hard-ball stage, then carried it to the workbench and poured the molten mixture into the pan I’d prepared earlier.
    Every few minutes, Karen poked her head into the kitchen and made appreciative sounds—a habit of hers I find increasingly endearing. When you cook for a living, it’s nice to know that someone is eagerly awaiting the results of your efforts. When I thought about how excited about candy we’d been as kids—and how many of us cousins there were—I decided Aunt Grace must have been on an emotional high most of the time.
    I managed not to think about the previous night’s encounter while I was actually cooking, but as soon as the mixture cooled enough to touch, my brain clicked into gear again while my fingers did the work. Hands buttered, I pulled and folded