Mrs. Hewitt's Barbeque: Seven Eclectic Tales of Food, Humor, and Love

By Anna D. Allen

Mrs. Hewitt throws the very best of parties - don’t be left out!

Welcome to the eclectic world—or is that worlds?—of award-winning author Anna D. Allen’s debut collection of short stories: Mrs. Hewitt’s Barbeque: Seven Eclectic Tales of Food, Humor, and Love.

Mrs. Kelly searches the sands of Egypt for something she lost, while millennia earlier, Nakht the tomb-painter hopes no one discovers his secret.

Could the buzz of one bee change an entire city any more than the quest for one sandwich could change a man's life?

Oh, and then there’s Dottie who is on a rampage because of what Miz Susan did, while Officer Travis has his hands full with protesters Laurie and Mickey.

If only everyone could have gone to Deborah Hewitt’s barbecue, possibly none of this would have happened.

In the course of seven distinct, yet somehow connected, stories, we find that love is transcendent, humor is important, and food... well... food might just be what it’s all about. But it’s not as simple as all that.

These are not cut-and-dried stories all told from the same viewpoint and formula. Each story is a part of its own remarkable world. And each world, as drawn by the author, is a living, breathing entity. Each character, we can be assured, has a life far beyond what we see on the page.

So come in, have a seat in the shade, and pour yourself a glass of strawberry lemonade. This is one barbecue you simply don’t want to miss.

Includes: "Mrs. Kelly's Ghosts," "The Thwarted Reuben," "A Bee Buzzed," "Chains," "In the Green Fields of Eternity," "Dottie's Dachshunds," and "Mrs. Hewitt's Barbeque."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna D. Allen
• Release date: Jun 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458170606

Anna D. Allen

An award-winning writer, Anna D. Allen lives deep in the forest with too many books and not enough dogs. She holds a Bachelor of Science and a Master of Arts in Language and Literature. Her short story, "Ten Gallons a Whore," appeared in Writers of the Future, and she is a member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Her future plans include growing tomatoes and cleaning out the freezer. When not writing or reading, she can be found in the kitchen. Her collections of short stories, Mrs. Hewitt's Barbeque: Seven Eclectic Tales of Food, Humor, and Love, and Lake People and Other Speculative Tales are now available. Charles Waverly and the Deadly African Safari is her first published novel.

Book preview

Mrs. Hewitt’s Barbeque

Seven Eclectic Tales of Food, Humor, and Love

By Anna D. Allen

Mrs. Hewitt's Barbeque - Seven Eclectic Tales of Food, Humor, and Love

Anna D. Allen

Copyright 2011 by Anna D. Allen

Smashwords Edition

Mrs. Kelly’s Ghosts originally appeared in Ruins Metropolis,

edited by Eric T. Reynolds, 2008.

Cover art by Adam Tetzlaff

Deo in excelsis

To Robert and Heather

for all their hard work and encouragement

on this project and so many others

Contents

Mrs. Kelly’s Ghosts

The Thwarted Reuben

A Bee Buzzed

Chains

In the Green Fields of Eternity

Dottie’s Dachshunds

Mrs. Hewitt’s Barbeque

About the Author

1

Mrs. Kelly’s Ghosts

The Giza Plateau, Egypt

November 1903

The gentlemen sipping their port in the smoking room of the Mena House Hotel agreed on one thing. Mrs. Kelly was quite mad. The well-kept Colt revolver she wore slung low on her hip like some Texas cowboy was one thing, but the trousers? She had even shown up for dinner in white tie and tails, leading to speculation that her entire wardrobe consisted of nothing but male garb, from her beaver skin top hat to her leather hunting boots and everything in between. As well as beneath. The gentlemen smiled at that thought. Although they noticed her clothing did seem a few years out of fashion.

But the young Mrs. Kelly was immensely wealthy, the widow of a sugar magnate and, as such, the gentlemen had no qualms about receiving her into their company. Besides, her taste in cigars was impeccable, and she willingly shared her ample supply.

Why she wished to go digging in the sands of Egypt was beyond them. The idea of the American woman toiling through centuries of debris at the base of the Great Pyramid of Cheops, her jacket removed, the sleeves of her sweat-drenched linen shirt rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons loose and open to reveal sun burnt skin, her gun snug against the curve of her hip.... Well, it was a sight they longed to see, although none admitted it aloud, especially not with Mrs. Kelly standing before them, a glass of whiskey in one slender hand, a cigar in the other, her golden tresses neatly tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck.

But the three gentlemen partaking in her cigars had likewise come to excavate at the base of the Great Pyramid, and none of them were about to give up without a fight for the coveted concession.

We will pull straw, Jean-Jacques de Malmarais of the Académie d’Études Orientales de France suggested, patting up and down his wide stomach as he searched for a box of matches in his waistcoat pocket. The others agreed. Jean-Jacques was the worst Egyptologist ever, having destroyed his discovery of a cache of Second Dynasty pottery in pristine condition in order to maintain the uniqueness of pieces already housed in the Académie’s collection.

Splendid idea, Johnny, Mrs. Kelly said, holding out her box of matches to him. Jean-Jacques visibly bristled at her informality with him but he still accepted the matches.

Noted English archaeologist and occasional procurer of antiquities for the British Museum, Bertie Penry snapped his fingers at the bartender and said, Mahmoud, find some straws for us. The fez-topped man in turn motioned to the water boy, who went off in search of some straw.

Whomever draws the long straw gets to excavate the Great Pyramid? the Earl of Worthington, Penry’s patron, asked, his long grey mustache twitching as his lips curled in distaste, That doesn’t seem quite right. His lordship had come to Egypt on his doctor’s advice and had yet to leave, finding the great distance from his wife quite satisfying.

You’re right, my lord, Penry nodded, his attitude changing as his patron revealed his own thoughts, What about the rest of us?

Easy, Mrs. Kelly said, her hips provocatively swaying as she languidly sauntered over to the bar for a whiskey refill, Three pyramids. Three straws. Long straw gets the Great Pyramid. Short straw gets....

"Mycerinus, bien sur," Jean-Jacques said, referring to the third pyramid on the plateau. In reality, there were ten pyramids, but the excavators were only interested in the pyramids of the pharaohs, not the little pyramids of their queens.

Lord Worthington groaned.

I did not come all this way, enduring no end of hardships, to pay for the excavation of a measly little pyramid. Cheops. Yes. Chephren. Yes. Two magnificent structures. But Mycerinus? It’s nothing but a puny afterthought.

Here, here, Penry said, raising his glass of port.

It was true that Mycerinus’s pyramid was small compared to its two companions. But that had never stopped treasure hunters from trying to rip it apart, dynamite a favorite tool. It just lacked the glory of the Great Pyramid, the only surviving Wonder of the World, or the allure of Chephren’s Pyramid, which, due to an optical illusion, appeared larger than its predecessor on the plateau. Besides, the Sphinx guarded it, so there must be something there worth excavating.

Scurrying across the marble floor, the water boy returned with a fistful of straw from the hotel stables. Mahmoud frowned at him, the boy slowing to a respectable pace before handing the straw to Penry. The Englishman took the straw, turned his back to the others, and then after a moment, faced them, his fist clinched with three bits of straw sticking out.

Ladies first, he smiled to Mrs. Kelly as he held out his fist to her.

One side of her mouth turned up as she glanced over at Lord Worthington. Age before beauty, my lord, she said with a gleam in her eye. The earl glared at her but did not debate her as he quickly pulled a straw from Penry’s grasp.

Ha! he burst out with joy as he revealed the long straw and waved it about for the others to see.

Congratulations, my lord, Mrs. Kelly said, sounding quite sincere.

Jean-Jacques did not appear pleased, his jaw clinched tightly, but then he took a deep calming breath and said, Madame Kelly, as he motioned to the straws.

Without the slightest flicker of emotion, Mrs. Kelly set down her glass of whiskey on the bar, exhaled a cloud of cigar smoke, and chose one of the two remaining straws in Penry’s fist.

The short straw.

The pyramid of Mycerinus.

Jean-Jacques gasped loudly with delight.

Bad luck, old girl, Penry said with a grin.

Yes, Jean-Jacques said, very bad luck.

But Mrs. Kelly seemed unfazed, merely shrugging as she picked up her whiskey glass.

I’ve always enjoyed making lemonade, she said, and then drew on her cigar without another word on the matter.

After another hour of idle conversation, Mrs. Kelly excused herself for the night, but she did not retire to her rooms. Instead, she slipped out of the elegant hotel and walked into the cool desert night, the Great Pyramid of Cheops black and massive, dominating the night sky and blocking out the sea of stars.

Although she hid it well, Mrs. Kelly was angry. Not because she had drawn the short straw and would therefore excavate the sands around the pyramid of Mycerinus. She did not mind that at all. It was the fact that the gentlemen took such pleasure in her apparent failure. That annoyed her to no end.

Her hand found its way to the grip of the Colt revolver at her hip. Her husband had brought it with them to Egypt on their wedding journey a decade before. To protect you from scorpions and asps, he had said, but she knew better, smiling at the memory. A perfect marksman and an avid collector, he always kept a gun close at hand. The Colt had been his favorite and, now, Mrs. Kelly followed her late husband’s example, keeping the weapon with her always.

A lady should not be without an escort, a male voice behind her said in Arabic. She turned to see an older Egyptian man wearing the long traditional galabiyya but with a dark wool European sports jacket over it, his short beard white in the moonlight. She smiled, patting the Colt revolver.

I can take care of myself, Ibrahim, she replied in perfect Arabic to the foreman of her work crew.

They’ll hang you, Mrs. Kelly, Ibrahim said, falling in to step beside her as she continued her walk, if you ever use that thing.

My honor is worth a hanging, she said. She might be the mad American digging through the desert sand but she was still respectable. She would not hesitate to defend herself, and all her workers knew it.

"Did you