The Return of Betty Snickerdoodle Read online

  Angela rolled her eyes. “Well, at least it’s not as bad as what my abuelita said.”

  “What was that?” Bea asked.

  “Is he a terrorist?”

  Bea cackled even louder. “I’d like to meet your granny someday. And is he?”

  Aseem, busy opening boxes, made no note of their conversation. Angela rolled her eyes.

  “I assume you’re joking,” Angela replied impatiently. “Aseem’s an IT consultant for small businesses. We work together on client projects. He sets up their offices, I set up their social media and marketing. We did tons of projects together before my favorite client took up nearly all my time,” she added with a wink. “Aseem and I still work together when I’m able to take on something new.”

  “Well, he sure is handsome – for a terrorist, ‘Angel,’” Bea joked, shooting a suggestive look at Angela that was very, very awkward. Then she sat down in the second bedroom’s lone chair to enjoy her breakfast. A growing pile of boxes now stood in the room, and Aseem was dutifully making yet another trip to Angela’s little SUV for more. Angela opened the largest one and pulled out directions for assembling a computer desk.

  “A desk, too? How much did all this stuff cost? You remembered I told you not to spend more than $5,000, didn’t you?”

  “We didn’t even come close to that!” Angela laughed. “Don’t you worry. We’re professionals. It’s not our first rodeo.”

  Aseem opened a box and assembled a small side table, which he placed next to Bea’s chair. Then he opened another box to reveal a tube-like metal object, which he plugged in and set on top of the table.

  “Wake,” he commanded loudly.

  “I am awake!” screeched Bea.

  “How can I help you?” an anodyne woman’s voice purred from the tube.

  “Eeeek!” screamed Bea, nearly falling out of her chair.

  “Sorry,” Aseem explained. “I guess you’ve never heard of voice-activated internet devices. They’re amazing – always listening for whatever you need. Weird at first, but once you get used to it …”

  “Turn it off!” Bea shrieked. “Cut the power! Kill the spy! Whatever you have to do, just kill her!”

  “It’s okay, Bea,” Angela said gently. “She’s not a robot. It’s just a voice-activated smart speaker that’s connected to the internet. We can give her any name you want, and she’ll do research for you – anything that you could do online. And more than you could do in a library. Whenever you want her to.”

  Bea was still wild-eyed with suspicion but held her tongue, allowing Angela to continue.

  “How about we call her Rebecca?” Angela asked.

  Angela didn’t add that she suggested “Rebecca” because that was the name of the plucky heroine of the first Treacle Town book. Aseem was still in the room, and Angela always carefully protected the details of Bea’s secret publishing empire and identity, as Bea insisted. Aseem knew that Bea was an author of some kind of romantic fiction, and that she was successful enough to be Angela’s most important client, but that was about it. But Angela knew that Bea would recognize the protagonist that started a sweet fiction dynasty. And as Angela predicted, nostalgia for that first character softened Bea up on the electronic assistant.

  “But what on earth will I use it for?” Bea said, opening her mind a bit to the device’s possibilities.

  “Glad you asked.”

  Angela was delighted to share with Bea all kinds of uses for the futuristic cylinder. “You can order your favorite pizza without the phone,” Angela explained, demonstrating by asking Rebecca for the menu from Bea’s favorite pie shop and creating an account; now Bea could order whenever she liked. “And I know you’ll love this,” she said, picking up the table and the tube and moving them toward the room’s entrance, then walking to the tv and attaching a little dongle in the back. “I think if you keep the device by the door, it will be close enough to control the TV with it.

  “‘Rebecca,’ play ‘The Price Is Right.’” The cylinder lit up and whirred, and, sure enough, the TV turned on.

  “Now playing today’s episode of ‘The Price Is Right,’” cooed Rebecca.

  “Holy guacamole!” Bea’s eyes widened as the show started up. “Now this I like!”

  “Rebecca, pause,” Angela announced. The TV complied by freezing Bea’s show. “Now you don’t have to worry about missing an episode or being interrupted – like, say, by me,” Angela smiled. “But here’s the best part: painless research.”

  Bea was transfixed as Angela commanded “Rebecca” to look up holiday cookie recipes, confirm New England weather patterns, and suggest types of evergreens for Christmas trees.

  “Would have saved me a year’s researching in the early days,” Bea enthused.

  When she wrote her first Treacle Town years before, Bea had holed herself up in a library for weeks on end, boning up on yuletide customs and Yankee winter traditions. Once Betty earned her first few royalties, Bea invested in dozens of cookbooks, subscriptions to the Old Farmer’s Almanac, and romance novels to learn her craft. She had constantly accumulated new material for nearly two decades, and the evidence was piled up and gathering dust all over her house.

  “But … isn’t she spying on me?”

  “You can erase everything she records by checking your history using the tablet,” Angela explained, showing Bea the device.

  “Great, another gadget,” Bea whined. “And we haven’t even gotten to working on the new book!”

  “Well, you need the tablet’s cell connection to access the internet,” Angela said. “But I think you’ll like it, too. Check it out – you can play poker on it. Not for money – at least not yet. Aseem has some ideas to get you plugged in to Vegas,” Angela said. “In the meantime, you just click on this ride-sharing app to get a car to the casino. I mean, if you ever want to go when I’m not around,” she added quickly.

  Bea sighed. She felt a bit overwhelmed – but she had to admit she was also curious. She was still fearful that getting “wired” would make it easier for people to find her, somehow. But pizza without the phone? A robot looking up recipes for her? What was not to love about that?

  After much drilling and hammering, Aseem finished assembling two office chairs and a large desk. A computer tower was set underneath in a sort of cage, and a huge monitor and keyboard on top. “Ready when you are,” he said to Angela.

  Angela invited Bea to sit with her in front of the huge screen. It was big enough to display a document in large type, allowing them both to read easily while they worked together.

  “We’re not connecting this computer to the internet,” Angela explained. “And we’re gonna lock it down tight as a drum. No one can steal your book from the computer, or steal the computer itself.” Angela pointed to the physical protection Aseem had built around the box. “Not the prettiest, but it does the job. Now let me show you how the word processing works, and we can get down to work.”

  “Old dog reporting,” said Bea, miming a salute and settling herself into her fancy new office chair. “Let’s get started on some new tricks.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Well, bye then,” Angela waved as Aseem hopped out of the car at the Vallejo Ferry Building.

  “Bye, Angel. Thanks for the lift!” Aseem said, then headed for the dock purposefully, without looking back. Although it was only a bit after three, a crowd of passengers was already lining up to board a big white boat for Friday night fun in San Francisco.

  Aseem was perfectly friendly and polite, so why was Angela annoyed? And now she was annoyed at herself for being annoyed. Shake it off, girl. Stop allowing Bea’s suggestive comments and “knowing” glances to get in your head. Now is not the time for schoolgirl crushes. Now is the time for making hay. A new Treacle Town doesn’t come around every day! With her performance contract, she could easily double her earnings this year, and probably the next several years, if she did her usual expert job in promoting Betty Snickerdoodle. And it was bound to be a whole lot
of fun, too.

  Angela turned out of the ferry parking lot and pointed her SUV eastbound, toward Sacramento. Her mom was always up for an impromptu visit. In the past few years, as Bea’s business continued to grow, Angela made the trek to the capital less often. But Bea’s sudden burst of creativity was big news, definitely worthy of the drive. She was looking forward to telling Maria all about it.

  Angela hadn’t always been eager to talk shop with her mom. Before Bea and Treacle Town came along, Angela struggled as a freelancer. Maria pleaded with Angela to go back to a stable corporate job, but Angela wouldn’t give up. It wasn’t that Maria lacked faith in Angela’s ability to make it on her own. She just wanted her daughter’s path to be easier. But to Angela, it sounded like judgment and rejection. Angela’s career became something they couldn’t talk about – which was unfortunate, because work occupied most of Angela’s waking hours and absorbed nearly all of her passion.

  An inauspicious web posting had changed everything – both for Angela’s business and her relationship with her mother. “Help an author of sweet Christmas stories build on modest success,” the tiny internet ad began. “Social media experts willing to bet on themselves encouraged to apply via Charlie Carter, literary agent.” The ad made it clear that compensation would depend entirely on results. Angela knew that if the product was good – if there was a real audience for it – being paid for results was the best possible compensation plan for her. She wanted to be tested, to stand by her accomplishments.

  Like the old saying goes, the rest was history. Promoting Treacle Town had turned out to be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It was the right product at the right time, and it transformed Angela’s hard work into a thriving business. As a bonus, she even got the occasional insider’s glimpse of a best-selling author’s creative process.

  And the story even had an unexpected twist: Maria had a small, but very important, role to play in Treacle Town’s success.

  That was the real reason Angela was so buzzed about seeing her mom. She couldn’t wait to share her big news: a new Treacle Town was in the works! She thought Maria would be just as excited as she was.

  As they cleaned up after dinner, Maria sighed with pleasure repeating Angela’s big news. “I can’t believe Bea’s back at the typewriter,” she said.

  “Well, technically, she’s in front of a computer,” Angela said proudly. “I’m helping her get started with it.”

  “Wow! That’s a bit of a miracle,” Maria gushed. “However she does it, it’s amazing news. I thought she’d finally retired. I mean, she must have more money than she can spend. What’s it been, three or four years?”

  “At least,” Angela replied.

  “So,” her mom ventured, “do you think she’ll want to work with me again?”

  “We haven’t discussed it. We’re just getting started with the new book. But how could she not?” Angela replied. “It’s been so long since the last one, there are bound to be interviews – especially if I do my job right. Time to retrieve your sweet-lady hair from the back of the closet!”

  “Gosh, it’s been, what, seven years since I last wore that thing?” Maria replied, heading to her bedroom closet. “I hope the moths haven’t destroyed it!”

  “I hope not, too. Bea sounds determined to get this new story out fast. I think it will be done in a couple of weeks. And we’re even publishing it ourselves to get it right out to readers.”

  “What’s the rush, after all these years?”

  “I can’t figure it out,” Angela said. “You know how Bea is when she sets her mind to something, though.”

  Angela suspected their strange poker excursion and the break-in at Bea’s house might be connected to Bea’s sudden urgency, yet she wasn’t sure how. But instinct told her she shouldn’t share those things with her mother.

  “She can’t be too far away from eighty, right? Perhaps she just feels like she’s not getting any younger,” Maria said.

  “Can’t be that,” Angela laughed. “I predict that Bea’s going to live forever – and I bet Bea thinks so, too.”

  After a few minutes of digging through boxes in the closet, Maria shouted, “Got it!” She shook the dust out of the wig and fitted it on her head before heading back out to the kitchen. “Well, what do you think? Still work?”

  “Betty Snickerdoodle lives!” Angela said.

  “Now we just have to get her an outfit,” Maria said. “So, what would the creator of the most beloved New England holiday town wear in September in California?”

  “Easy. Sweet holiday sweater – a little on the loud side, knit slacks, and sensible shoes.”

  “Well I guess you’re saying Betty’s wardrobe hasn’t evolved in seven years,” Maria laughed. “I probably still have the right costume in that closet, too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bea woke with renewed vigor the following Monday. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then changed right out of her nightie into a tidy velour track suit. No lounging about; she was excited about the day ahead. Angela would be coming over shortly to work on the new Betty, and Bea was raring to go. Cash was a problem, but Bea had never liked to waste time stewing about problems. Action was always the way forward. Decide on a plan, then don’t look back – that was Bea’s way, and that was exactly what she was doing.

  This newfound determination, melded with the technology Angela had supplied, prompted Bea to create a whole new morning routine. She no longer had to watch “The Price Is Right” at its scheduled time, since Rebecca could summon it from the internet whenever Bea wanted. Bea could get up, get presentably dressed, and get right to work – or maybe start the day with a joke, courtesy of her tubular electronic companion.

  “Rebecca, why did the chicken cross the road?”

  “That’s really only the chicken’s business.”

  Bea snorted with delight. “Rebecca, tell me another joke.”

  “What do you call a number that wanders about? A roamin’ numeral.”

  “Oh Rebecca, I love you. You’re like the world’s best roommate,” Bea laughed, slapping her knee.

  Feeling liberated and invigorated, Bea added another new activity to her routine: exercise. She learned how to summon Rebecca to play one of her favorite songs.

  “Rebecca,” Bea said in the direction of the tube, “Play the song that starts ‘I made it through the wilderness.’”

  As the song started up, Bea began dancing chaotically around her cane. Absorbed in the music, she punched the air bum-bum-bum with the drumline and tried her best to squeak out a breathy “Heee” like Madonna’s in the second chorus. She sounded more like a penguin than a sexy songbird, but this fact did not dampen her enthusiasm.

  Bea had forgotten how much she loved dancing. After three mornings in a row of jerking about to Madonna, Bea was even convinced her spine had straightened up a smidge. If she kept at it, she might be able to see out of that peephole again.

  As she gathered momentum, Bea’s hips orbited in a wobbly fashion, reminiscent of a blown-out tire. She’d worked up a full head of steam when Angela walked into the living room and surprised her. “Ahhh!” Bea cried, nearly falling over, save for Angela grabbing her by the arm.

  “I’m so sorry, Bea! I knocked and knocked but you couldn’t hear me over the music,” Angela shouted over the speaker. “Rebecca, softer,” she added, and the tube reduced the volume.

  “Hahaha!” Bea replied. “No harm, no foul. By the way, don’t you love ‘Like a Virgin’? It’s one of my favorites. It might even be the best song of all time! It’s kind of my anthem, really.”

  “It’s a classic,” Angela agreed. “But I think I was an infant when it came out. Or maybe a toddler,” she added, as she watched Bea still swaying to the tune.

  “Yeah, that Madonna must be using a cane by now herself,” Bea opined. “I’m pretty sure she’s older than I am. Pushing 90 I bet.”

  Angela nodded slowly and soberly while secretly biting her lip. It was her time-tested meth
od to avoid giggling when Bea said something a bit ridiculous. At times like this, Angela was also grateful that Bea left all the social media to her. She shuddered to think what kind of personal “wisdom” Bea might impulsively share on Treacle Town’s Facebook page if she suddenly got inspired.

  “But even if she is on a walker, I’m sure Madonna is still gorgeous,” Bea continued. “And probably still strutting around half-dressed. I wonder if she’s got a boy toy? Oh, I know – we could ask her,” Bea enthused, tipping her head in the direction of the tube. “The tube girl can look up anything in The Winkypedia.”

  Angela bit her lip again. It was a struggle not to laugh, but she was determined not to derail Bea’s unexpected enthusiasm for Rebecca and “The Winkypedia.” Angela was hoping it carried over to using the PC they set up to crank out the next Treacle Town tale in record time.

  “I’m not kidding! I’ve been doing all kinds of research. Watch this, Angie,” said Bea. “Rebecca, what is Treacle Town?”

  Rebecca replied soothingly, “Treacle Town is a fictional New England community created by the reclusive novelist Betty Snickerdoodle. Treacle Town is the remote setting for Miss Snickerdoodle’s series of sweet, Christmas-themed stories. The series’ hallmarks are its slightly quirky but familiar small-town characters – the librarian, the mayor, the confectioner, the Christmas tree farmer, and other staples play recurring roles – and, of course, the books center on the local obsession with all things Christmas. In each installment of the series, a heroine finds G-rated romance after facing a string of minor yet melodramatic obstacles – all of which are happily resolved in time for Christmas.

  “For example, in Sweet, Sugary Christmas, comic and touching miscommunications ensue when Polly Pendleton discovers her attractive male competitor in the Christmas cookie bake-off is somehow using her own secret family recipe. In Miss Snickerdoodle’s first book, Christmas Storms into Her Heart, newcomer Rebecca St. James foolishly heads out on a Christmas Eve hike as a nor’easter develops – only to be happily rescued by a handsome country doctor/lumberjack.