For the first four hours, I joined Ayisha, Val, Mrs. Buzzard, Reggie, and Lloyd in getting the inn ready. This meant removing furniture from rooms—no small task when the sofas in the lobby had to be hauled into storage, which was thankfully on the first floor. It would have been nice to have had help from Dad, whose car was still in the parking lot so I knew he was there, but he failed to make an appearance. Which I was hoping had something to do with my mom’s car also still being in the parking lot, the only sign she was still around.

And that meant I didn’t complain with all the furniture schlepping. But it did make me ravenously hungry, especially with all the delicious smells coming out of the kitchen.

By noon I couldn’t take it anymore and headed for the kitchen, the wrath of Mrs. Buzzard at my intrusion be damned, and encountered Steve, who was on his way out. He had completed a CK grocery delivery, so he wasn’t wearing the entire elf outfit, merely the coat and scarf. His shoes were a well-worn pair of brown waffle-stomper boots and his headgear a green, furry aviator cap, pulled down around his ears.

“Hey, Finley,” he said in his raspy voice, with a cheerful wave.

I waved back. “Hey, Steve.”

He paused. “Where’s my man Arthur?”

I bit my lip at the painful reminder. “He and his aunt checked out and went to a hotel in Norman.”

Steve frowned. “Something happen?”

“No. They just decided to make a change.”

“Are they gonna be here for the party tonight?”

“No.”

His thin frame deflated. “Oh, that’s a shame.”

It really was.

“Tell him I said howdy if you see him.”

I promised I would. Then my stomach gurgled loudly enough for Steve to hear and make a “whoa” face and I entered the kitchen.

All day there had been a plethora of aromas swirling, but one stood out. It was spicy in a different way and I followed my nose to the stove when Mrs. Buzzard wasn’t looking and discovered the source was a reddish, lumpy, soup-like concoction simmering in a pot on the back burner.

Mrs. Buzzard turned and caught me so I pointed. “That’s new.”

“Eh?!”

“That’s NEW.”

“Indian stew!”

I leaned in closer. “Smells nice.”

“That’s the tumor!”

I blinked.

Steve swung inside the kitchen with a new box of tomatoes and clarified, “Turmeric.”

“Ah.”

Mrs. Buzzard shouted: “Daal!”

Steve and I exchanged looks. Steve shrugged and boogied right out of the kitchen. He was no fool.

“It means stew!” Mrs. Buzzard pointed at the pot. “Lentils, coconut, cinnamon, something called ‘ghee’? And a buncha other stuff! Daal! Here!”