Luna City Lucky Seven: Chronicles of Luna City, #7

By Celia Hayes

Welcome to Luna City, Karnes County, Texas … Population 2,456, give or take! Fugitive former celebrity chef Richard Astor-Hall has become a valued member of the community, expanding service at the Café, keeping company with local ace reporter Kate Heisel, and training his new assistant cook, Luc Massie, part-time drummer for the punk rock band OPM. Trouble is brewing when Luc falls in love with the daughter of Sook Walcott, the most ferocious tiger-mother in Luna City … and progress of renovating the historic old Cattleman Hotel has slowed to a standstill. And is Richard's past about to catch up to him, once again, when his old flame comes to Luna City to get married to someone else? This question and more will be answered in this, the seventh Luna City chronicle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celia Hayes
• Release date: Oct 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386772521

Celia Hayes

Celia Hayes works as a restorer and lives in Naples. Between one restoration and another, she loves to write. Don't Marry Thomas Clark reached #1 in the Amazon Italian Ebook chart.

Book preview

Luna City & Environs

Luna City Town Square

Cast of Characters

(An asterisk marks those who are deceased)

The Path of True Love

Richard, I need you to promise on anything you hold to be holy and good in your life, that you will not facilitate any surreptitious meetings between the Walcott girl and that tattooed freak of yours in the Café! Doc Wyler looked over his copy of the Beeville Bee-Picayune newspaper with an expression on his age-leathered face which suggested that he had but one surviving nerve, and someone the size of Hulk Hogan was standing on it with both feet shod in hobnailed boots.

Richard sighed, and pushed up the sleeve of his chef’s jacket. It was a temperate spring Monday morning, the first business day after the grand opening of Mills Farm’s newest attraction, the 1912 Boathouse. Which for him had been a glittering culinary triumph, until the ghastly moment that he and Sook Walcott had surprised Sook’s daughter Belle and Richard’s junior cook embracing each other in the tiny prep kitchen on the water-side level of the boat house. Belle Walcott and Luc Massie in full passionate grapple, clothing madly disarrayed and exploring each other’s tonsils; nope, there was no way that scene could be excused as ‘just good friends and a casual, affectionate kiss’. Not that Sook Walcott allowed anyone involved the opportunity to embellish a bald and unconvincing narrative with a single shred of corroborative detail in the interests of artistic verisimilitude.

Fortunately, the event had been almost over. An audience for the resulting histrionics and spectacular exit by Sook and her offspring was a relatively small one, for all that Sook’s furious lecture to her daughter had ranged the length and breadth of Mills Farm between the Boathouse and the entrance gate, where the Walcott’s blinged-out SUV was parked. For this small blessing Richard was grateful. Young Robbie had been relatively stoic, manly in his vintage USMC garb, and so had Belle, though the latter had given a pretty good impression of Joan of Arc being marched to the unlit pyre and stake by her outraged parent.

"You been getting hourly calls from la Walcott? I finally had to turn off my phone on Sunday morning, and damned if the wretched woman didn’t drive over to the Age late that afternoon and chew on me personally. It was embarrassing; I was in the middle of fixing steak au poivre for Kate. A celebratory supper, don’t you know? All for naught, as the steak turned well-done, while I was distracted."

A tragedy, I am sure, Doc Wyler snarled, wolfishly.

Richard replied. It was, damn the luck – a waste of a prime bit of steak! From one of your cows, by the way, and Andy Pryor cut and trimmed it for me to special order. Ruined by that wretched woman, banging on the door of the Airstream and screaming abuse at me through the screen window!

Sorry about all that, Doc Wyler was abashed. About the steak. I’ll make it up to you, son. Your lady-friend didn’t get put off by the performance, I hope.

Miss Kate Heisel has a high tolerance for screaming drama, fortunately, Richard answered. She was more amused than horrified. She was even taking notes.

Doc took up his newspaper again. It’s a darned good thing the girl is going back to that fancy-ass music school in another week. You’ll only have to stand guard over your freaky pal until next Sunday. Son, I want your word of honor, that you will not assist him in arranging a meeting between him and the Walcott girl anywhere near the Café. I as much promised Mrs. Walcott that much, just to get her to stop harassing the house at all hours. He’s a starving musician in a busted-flat band, and she is a girl with a bright future head of her, less’n he drags her down.

Richard straightened his posture into something resembling attention to orders. Honor bright, Doc. I will not assist Luc in any kind of assignation, romantic or otherwise with Belle Walcott. However – if between them they should manage such a meeting without my knowledge or assistance, I simply do not see how I might be held responsible.

Trust me, Mrs. Walcott will find a way, Doc grunted. At least, your boy is under your eye every day at work in the kitchen. And when he is not...

He is upstairs at his flat in the Mercantile, practicing on his drum-kit, Richard replied. Behind a well-locked door. As anyone with upstairs windows which open into the Square can attest. Saturday night, she tried standing out in the street in front of the Mercantile, screaming up at the windows. Fortunately, Chief Vaughn came along in his official capacity and read Sook the riot act. The Steins have already complained to me – in a fairly nice way, for Germans – and that ghastly Mason woman who is overseeing the redecoration of the Cattleman had also made pointed mention. Richard snickered. "All part of the small-town ambiance experience at full-strength, I told her. You can’t help it, I said; you will live cheek by jowl in small apartments, or tiny cottages, and what your neighbors do, you can’t help being made aware of, in every detail. She should put up with what I endure at the Age, on those occasions when the campground is overrun. At any rate, when I told her that, she made a face like she had discovered a live slug in her salad nicoise. An obnoxious woman; I can’t think why Lew left her in charge of the final touches on the Cattleman."

The man had family obligations, Doc Wyler acknowledged. Fiftieth wedding anniversary and he had already promised to be there, as soon as he had his project for those bastards at VPI launched and well-out to sea. Mind you, I think he had expected to have the last touches to the hotel well in hand by this time. Can’t change hotel and river cruise reservations made a year ago. Though I suppose one can, if you are royalty, or rich enough.

Lew is too much of a gentleman to disarrange any of his well-announced plans, Richard answered. The man is well-recognizant of the pain that it causes, cascading all the way down. A gentleman of the first water. I imagine that Her Majesty feels much the same about a last-minute disarrangement to her published schedule.

More to the point, he could not disappoint Mrs. Dubois, Doc Wyler grunted. I suspect that she would have ways of making her unhappiness known. Miz Alice could always turn the knife in a most ladylike way when she was on the outs with me.

Still, I wish that he had not left the Mason woman in charge, Richard lamented. But I suppose that the board of directors approved room designs from that pretentious bag of bones and silicone. The ground floor rooms at the Cattleman are exquisite. At least she cannot do too much to alter them, at this late date.

Ah – reminds me of something, Doc laid down his newspaper again. Damn near forgot, until you mentioned the Cattleman public rooms. My son Collie; you remember him, of course. Played a round of golf with you and I and Walcott, just before Christmas a year ago. Well, he is blowing in for a visit, sometime over the summer. Wants to introduce me to the soon-to-be next Mrs. Collin Wyler.

And soon after that to be the former Mrs. Collin Wyler, Richard thought, but had the belated sense of tact not to say aloud. The sequential wives of the much-wed international finance magnate and father of Patricia Wyler Pryor were the topic of horrified amusement in Luna City. Not anywhere within Patricia’s hearing, for Lunaites were generally an understanding lot, even if Patricia had on the odd occasion been humorous regarding her fathers’ penchant for increasingly younger and more exotic women.

He tells me that this one wants to be married here, for some damn-fool reason, Doc Wyler continued. Ah, well. Likely he’ll have changed his mind about marrying her by then. He usually does. Doc shook his head, sadly. You’d think that one woman – her habits, likes and dislikes, funny moods – is more than enough for a man to learn to handle. Who is fool enough to go out and start all over with another one, every six months or so? This one is one of his old girlfriends, though. Name escapes me for the moment. An actress, I believe. Not Joan Collins, but someone whose name reminds me of her. Anyway, if the wedding is still on when Collie does visit, I’ll talk to you then about catering. I’d frankly rather have all the fuss and upset someplace other than the ranch.

I’d be happy to work up something for a happy event, Richard answered. Just let me know where, and how many guests.

Good, Doc picked up his paper, indicating that business was concluded, and Richard escaped to his kitchen, where Araceli, Beatriz and Blanca, the junior waitresses, were wrapping up the breakfast rush. Luc Massie, the Café’s junior cook and target of Doc Wyler’s breakfast ire and Sook Walcott’s unappeasable fury, was beginning preparation of tomorrow’s batch of the Café’s signature cinnamon rolls, rolling out a long rectangle of sweet-roll dough on the lightly-floured worktable surface. The vast Wolff oven would be ready to accommodate the finished breakfast rolls in another hour or so, when the vast beef pot-roast, and pork butt roast intended for today’s luncheon entrée would be done.

Richard regarded this scene of culinary chaos, aware that everyone glanced up as he came back to the kitchen; wordless and wary. They bent to their assigned labors with renewed vigor almost instantly, which he viewed with approval and satisfaction. His kitchen moved as a well-lubricated machine, no matter how deeply the stickiness of love gummed up the gears; Araceli and the girls all neat in their old-fashioned pastel dresses and crisply starched aprons, for they worked the front of the house. Luc – spectacularly tatted, pierced to a fair-the-well, with a crest of magenta-dyed hair adorning his otherwise shaved skull ... Richard preferred that Luc exercise his considerable talents at the grill station well out of sight of customers.

I’ve just been speaking to Doc Wyler, Richard raised his voice slightly. "Who is, as I am certain you are all aware, the majority owner of this enterprise, and therefore our employer. He brought to my attention the fact that Mrs. Sook Walcott is extremely unhappy that one of my subordinates – that would be you, Luc – has formed a mésalliance with Miss Isabelle Walcott. Hardly necessary, as I was already well aware of the matter. He added, upon correctly interpreting expressions of bafflement from Luc, Beatriz and Blanca, Mésalliance; that means an unsuitable and damaging relationship. Doc Wyler has asked me to ensure that there should be no such liaison on these premises; especially a private meeting in the week remaining before Miss Walcott returns to New York. I have given my word on this, as Doc has assured Mrs. Walcott. I would ask you to do the same."

Beatriz and Blanca, Araceli’s pretty, dark-haired,  Gonzalez/Gonzales cousins,  looked like sisters. And now their faces both had the same expression; obdurate and scowling. They were friends, contemporaries and former classmates of Belle Walcott at Luna City High School. Catering their joint quinceanera had been the job which cemented Richard’s welcome among the clan, over and above Abuelita’s enduring fan worship.

It’s not right, Chef, Beatriz spoke first. They’re really seriously in love and they’re both of age.

Luc was looking down at the pastry dough on the tabletop. ’S not against the law, Chef, he mumbled. She’s nineteen, and I’m twenty-five.

Pat and I married when we were eighteen, Araceli pointed out, and Richard scowled at her. Thanks for not backing him up on this!

Very true, Richard agreed, keeping his voice level with an effort. Old enough to know your own minds. But I would remind you that the undeniably charming Miss Walcott is still under the authority of her parents, and they are paying a not-inconsiderable sum for her continuing musical education; an education, which if completed, is supposed to guarantee her a continuing and remunerative career in music. I would advise you not to imperil that future, no matter what unwise impulse your gonads urge upon you. There is more at stake than scratching a sexual itch.

’Got a career in music, Luc answered mutinously.

Richard snorted. "Really? With OPM, whatever that stands for this month? One or two nights a week, playing in low-rent bars and nightclubs and passing the hat among the audience does not count as