Page 8 of Death By Llama
Behind the ancient woman was her beleaguered daughter, Millie Hall, an elderly woman herself, looked as if she could use one of those fancy walkers as well—if for no other reason than to carry all the items, purses, bags, and various things they’d acquired during the festival.
“This is one strange festival,” Eleanor said, reaching for a whoopie pie without asking or paying for it.“I don’t recognize a single vendor here.Who are all these people?This place is crawling with more tourists than locals.”
Eleanor shot an irritated glance at a couple who cautiously tried to go around her to place an order with Brandy.
“I think that’s the point, Mom,” Millie replied, groaning slightly as she dropped her bags to the ground beside her mother.
Eleanor grunted.“If the point is to bring in vendors that aren’t even from the town, then it’s a dumb one.If out-of-towners come to stay at the inn, they’re going to come to Main Street looking for all these places, and they’re not going be there.We don’t have a sushi bar in Friendship Harbor.Or an artisan cheesemaker.”
“Or a glassblower,” Dave said disappointedly.
Eleanor tipped her whoopie pie at him to acknowledge his point.
“Well, Steamy’s will be here,” I said, smiling warmly to the couple, who I didn’t recognize and assumed fell into the category of out-of-towners.
“Yeah, you’ll be here.But can you believe they didn’t even have the quilting ladies?”Eleanor complained, unwrapping the whoopie pie and taking a big bite.Frosting circled her mouth.
“Mom, Oliver explained to us why the quilting ladies weren’t included in this festival.It’s not like we don’t have other festivals where we can display the things we’ve made,” Millie reminded her.
Eleanor rolled her eyes, then reached across in front of the couple to grab a napkin.
“Oliver claims to be an honorary quilting lady.He should be looking out for you and your hard work.Not to mention, it’s one of the few things you do well.It might be the only one, actually.It’s a shame you’re not selling some of your quilts today.”
I glanced at Millie, who blanched slightly at her mother’s words.Although it was probably as close to a compliment as she ever got from her crotchety old mother, backhanded as it was.
“It is weird that none of the local businesses are here,” George Sprague agreed, taking a sip of his beer from where he still sat at the end of the counter, looking just as he would if he were at the bar in the pub.“I mean, I can see that they want to bring in people who will be coming to spend the weekend.”He glanced at the couple, who were still trying to place an order with Brandy for lobster rolls.“But, you know, the locals will be using this inn too, for things like weddings and special events.”
“And I hear it has a great restaurant,” Millie added.“I haven’t had a chance to get there, but Oliver has been telling me all about the menu.”
I tried not to react to that.I did know the inn was going to have its own restaurant, which made sense, but it was a little strange to have my boyfriend start a restaurant that would be my competition.
Of course, we had trivia night, which packed the pub.I doubted Cameron would allow his restaurant to have that.
I turned to help Brandy with the two tourists, who looked decidedly uncomfortable listening to this conversation.
“Where the heck are the doughboys?”Dougie MacDougal appeared at the counter, wedging himself between Eleanor and her walker and the poor couple.“You can’t even call this a festival without doughboys.”
“No, you cannot,” Eleanor agreed, reaching for another whoopie pie.Then she grabbed two and handed Dougie one.
He frowned, clearly not finding the popular Maine treat a good substitute to the admittedly delicious delicacy of fried dough covered in powdered sugar, but then he shrugged and unwrapped the chocolate cake.
A troupe of the carolers stopped behind them in the thoroughfare, singing a lovely rendition of “Hark, The Herald Angels Sing.”The couple hurried to gather up their lobster rolls in the pretense of not wanting to miss the performance.
“I do think it’s a little insulting to aim this whole event at people outside of Friendship Harbor,” Brandy admitted.“Shouldn’t the inn benefit local businesses too?And heck, we have a lot in this town that would bring tourists back.Even uppity ones like the people here today.”
I didn’t know what to say.I could see both sides.Cameron knew that tourists would be the ones filling the rooms of the inn, but the townsfolk were right too.The local businesses also needed those tourist dollars.
“I think you are the only booth from Friendship Harbor at this shindig,” Dougie said, around a bite of whoopie pie.He glanced down at the half-eaten sweet and sighed.
Yeah, it wasn’t a satisfying replacement for that fried dough.
“Would you like to try one of our caviar blini bites?”
Brad stood between George and Dougie, holding out a silver platter.
“Don’t be a damn fool, son,” George said.“Fish eggs will ruin the taste of my beer.”
“I need to watch my waistline,” Dougie said, running his hand over his stomach even as he raised the remainder of his whoopie pie to his mouth.
