Macaroni and Freeze

  “‘Climes’?” ACB’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t you swear at me, mister.”

  Jud held his hands up. “It means weather. Climates,” he said. “Dan and I were both professors of literature until we were downsized. Now we are writing a book about living with the homeless.”

  “That’s got to be sad,” I said.

  He looked over his shoulder to the mess of boxes and crates. “It’ll be even sadder as Christmas gets closer.”

  My heart sank. “I wish I had my pocketbook, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Antoinette Chloe was busy searching in her bosom purse. That’s what I called the depository in her cleavage, which held just . . . everything. She pulled out a roll of money.

  I looked at her in astonishment.

  “I won it. Over two hundred bucks. Apparently, no one thought a full-figured woman in a muumuu and flip-flops could ride Cowabunga. That’s what they call the electric bull.”

  She handed the money to Dan. “I am counting on you to make sure that they get whatever they need for the clime—blankets, soup, coffee. . . .”

  “You have my word, my lovely Antoinette Chloe.” Dan kissed the back of her hand, and she giggled like a fifth grader.

  Jud nodded like a bobblehead. “Darling ladies, the charitable goodness you promulgate is beyond reproach.”

  “Who said that?” ACB asked. “Shakespeare?”

  “Judson Volonade.”

  “Is he famous?”

  “Not yet. He is I.”

  We waved good-bye to the professors and headed north to Sandy Harbor.

  I felt bad for dragging ACB out of the saloon. She had just been having fun and earning us some dinner. And I was cranky from pain.

  “So, Antoinette Chloe, do you think that Jud and Dan are legitimate?” I asked, taking a bite of a chicken tender. It was still half-frozen, but I could eat around the frozen part.

  She shrugged. “I’d like to think so.”

  “I just hope they are really professors doing research and that we didn’t just give them a drinking binge that would last until Christmas,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, I’m being negative, and I just vowed to stop being negative and not to feel sorry for myself.”

  “Trixie, you’ll still have a great Christmas, and we’ll all help you fill your orders and deliver them.”

  Tears stung my eyes. I did have great friends and a great staff at my diner. I knew they’d help, but my Christmas season wasn’t going to be the same this year.

  Maybe it would be even better!

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