Cookbooks and Crooks: PB & J, #19

By Kamaryn Kelsey

Pary's unending quest for unusual items has led her into the kitchen with a resolve to master the skill of cooking. Her determination to conquer that challenge takes her to a department store, where she unexpectedly lands a job. There, the perks of an employee discount and a generous layaway plan open her eyes to the unchartered territory of retail shopping, much to John's dismay.

But a store policy regarding purchases and an extra snotty employee aren't Pary's only difficulties as she tails shoplifters and roots out thieves. The new job forces her to make a sacrifice, much to John's delight.

However, she's determined to prevail, so with her usual style and diplomacy, Pary enters the retail arena AND the kitchen. Can she handle both? Can John? What about his stomach? Just how many sacrifices will Pary make?
 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kamaryn Kelsey
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393778967

Book preview

Chapter 1

The smoke alarm screamed a warning and John sat up in bed. The building was on fire! They needed to evacuate. Wait, where was Pary? How much time did they have before thick clouds of noxious fumes filled the apartment and overcame them? WHERE WAS PARY?

The bedroom door flew open with a crash and Parody waved her arms frantically. The pillar of smoke that followed her like a tail was sucked into the bedroom. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, gasping for air.

John, hurry! she wheezed. Get out of bed and open the windows before someone reports a fire. I'll be in the kitchen. With a flip of her spatula she zipped through the door and hustled back to the kitchen. 

John pulled the covers over his head and waited for the stench of burning breakfast to dissipate. After a week he should be used to the early morning routine. After all, Pary in the kitchen had the potential for disaster. Unfortunately, she added cookbooks into the mix and thus guaranteed catastrophe.

After five minutes John took off the covers and sniffed. It was impossible to tell if the air was clear or if what he smelled was the lingering burnt offerings Pary had been presenting for over a week. There was only one way to find out. He wandered down the hall and cautiously poked his head into the kitchen. Pary turned from the stove, waving a spatula and wearing a cheerful smile.

Yay! I'm improving, she enthusiastically greeted him.

John's eyes roamed the kitchen looking for proof. He stopped at the plate of black bacon and Pary rapped the counter with her utensil.

No, not the food; the time.

John's brow wrinkled. I don't think the smoke alarm doubles as a timer, Pary. After five pounds of bacon, I thought you'd realize that as well.

Pary's hands went to her hips. You need to get your ears cleaned out, she declared with a sniff, overlooking his muttered and my lungs. I said TIME, not timer. The smoke alarm didn't go off for a whole five minutes today.

John ran to the stove and pulled a smoking pan from the heat before it ignited. With a strained smile he said, You don't have to cook for me. I appreciate the effort, but I know how busy you are.

That's not the point. She pointed to a stack of cookbooks lining the counter. It would be a waste not to use these.

Are you sure? Because with the food we throw away I think it's cheaper to get rid of them. John rubbed his neck when Pary's expressive gray eyes turned dark. He took the spatula from her and put it in the sink, then grasped her shoulders. Didn’t your mother cook?

She was a wonderful cook, John!

I don’t understand. Why didn’t she teach you?

She let out a puff of air that blew her bangs straight up. It was my father’s fault that she aborted the mission after a slight mishap.

How slight? John’s brow rose in amusement.

Well, she put me outside with my father and the barbecue grill at a park near the edge of town. Just in case there was an accident. You know, I never fully appreciated my mother’s wisdom until this moment.

Uh, huh. Keep going. He smiled and leaned against the counter.

It wasn’t my fault, she insisted, no matter what the official report said. I didn’t burn those ten acres of field.

Ten acres? he choked, and she nodded with a crabby look.

My father distinctly said, ‘Pary, I want you to learn how to light a charcoal grill.’ So after he showed me, he went to get the hot dogs from my mother and I followed his instructions. Then I lit the grill, and it blew up.

All by itself? he asked, and she nodded solemnly.

It looked like a pinwheel flying through the air with fire shooting out from it. And it was a dry summer. And that wheat field was pretty dry too. My father didn’t want a police record, so he told the fire chief it was my fault. Now I ask you, whose fault was it really? I mean the grill had plenty of charcoal already so I only added a couple pieces before I soaked it with lighter fluid. Just like he showed me. She folded her arms and nodded.

So your dad put in the charcoal and lighter fluid. Then you added more?

Didn’t I just say that? John, I’m never taking you to the park for a cookout because if the park burns down, you’ll blame it on me just like my dad did.

He chuckled and said, I think we can agree to pass on grilling in the park.

You’re a sensible man, John Smith, she said wisely. And after that my mother hid all the recipe books.

And you've never owned a cookbook in your life. Why do you suddenly need so many? he asked curiously.

Her eyes flicked back and forth as she struggled for an answer, confirming John's suspicions that she was hiding something.

Spill it, he suggested. I know you didn't buy those books for the recipes because you can find them on the internet for free.

She pulled her arms from his clasp and hugged herself. Fine. I joined the cookbook club so I could get the free towel. John's brow rose, so she sighed and pulled an ugly dish towel from a drawer, waving it like a flag. This one!

You couldn't just buy it? he asked incredulously.

Her eyes narrowed. Is there something wrong with your hearing this morning? Didn't I just say I joined the club so I could get it free? That means it can't be bought. I'm surprised I have to explain basic economics to you.

Blame it on the time, he suggested, wondering if he should pursue the conversational loop or just let it roll away. How many books did they sucker you into buying for that ugly rag? Pary crossed her arms. How many books did you buy for that unique towel, Bear?

She smiled. I only had to buy six! But if I buy ten, I can get a matching washcloth.

God, please don’t let them offer hot pads and dishes! I see. He responded with a nod at the books. And you've tried them all? Please say yes!

"Don't be stupid! Each book has at least 250 recipes and this book has breakfasts. I have to start