The Treble Wore Trouble (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer

eatery worthy of Pete's delusions. Rosa did most of the prep work in the kitchen, made coffee, waited tables — whatever was needed — but mostly, she invented recipes. And what recipes!
    "I'll have some pancakes," I said to Rosa, as she filled my coffee cup.
    "Apple cinnamon ricotta pancakes or cherry macadamia nut pancakes?" Rosa said. "We have both today."
    "Really? The first one, then."
    "I think you'll love them." Rosa smiled, then disappeared through the kitchen door. A moment later Pete came out, saw me, walked over to the table, and sat down. Hog took the adjacent table. Noylene had hauled Rahab into the kitchen to say hello to Manuel.
    "How you doing, Hog?" Pete said to him, giving him a nod.
    "Tolerable," answered Hog. "How 'bout some coffee?"
    "Hmm," said Pete, looking around for a waitress, even though he knew both of them were in the kitchen. "Yeah, sure." He got back up and found a coffee pot behind the counter on a burner, then made the rounds: Hog first, then the counter guy, then the Purvises and Gwen Jackson, then Billy's table.
    He dribbled the last half cup into a Kleinpeter brother's cup. "Gotta get another pot," he said.
    "Don't worry about me," said the boy. "I'm full up."
    Noylene came back into the dining room with Rosa right behind her. Rahab was hanging onto Rosa's neck with one hand and pushing a banana into his mouth with the other. Pete went back to the coffee station and replaced the pot. He picked up a full pot, looked around the room, then set it back on the burner and walked back over to my table.
    "Your hotcakes'll be up in a few," said Noylene. "You want whipped cream on those?"
    I shook my head. "Nope," I said, then turned to Pete, who had found his chair again. "What's the word on our pig?"
    "Should be here from France any time. I don't have a final delivery date yet. There's apparently a bunch of quarantine stuff she has to go through."
    "You're getting a pig?" said Billy. "A fancy French pig?"
    "Yep," I said. " A truffle pig."
    "Truffles, eh?" said Brother Hog. "You know, Little Rahab there drinks truffle-milk." He gestured at Rahab, who was stuffing the remaining stump of the banana into his cheeks like a chipmunk. He looked as though he'd be saving most of this banana for later.
    I watched as Len, Roweena, and Gwen perked up at the mention of a fancy French pig. Or maybe it was the comment that Rahab was partial to truffle-milk. Didn't matter. Like most eateries in small towns, conversation across tables was a given. Everyone's participation was invited.
    "I've never heard of truffle-milk," said Roweena.
    "It's my fault," said Noylene. "The boy wouldn't drink cow's milk. Oh, he'd drink goat's milk, sheep's milk, probably yak's milk if I could get it. So one day Manuel was messing around with truffle oil in the kitchen and gave a dab to Rahab on his finger. The boy went crazy. Sucked on that finger like it was the last full teat on the dog. He sobbed when Manuel finally had to pass him off and get back to cooking. Anyway, I tried a few drops in his bottle and he took to it like a rat to a raincoat. He's been drinking truffle-milk ever since."
    "Makes sense," said Gwen. "Truffles have a very distinctive flavor."
    "Cheaper than goat milk, I'll bet," added Len.
    "You ain't just whistlin' Dixie," said Hog. "Goat milk costs more'n beer." He paused. "Or, so I've heard."
    "Did y'all know that yak's milk is pink?" asked Billy. He was still contemplating the remains of his celery stick, swirling it in the gravy.
    "I did not know that," said Roweena, thoughtfully. "Good information, though. I expect it'll come in handy one day." Noylene nodded her agreement.
    "Hang on," said Pete, looking at Noylene. "A rat to a raincoat?"

Chapter 5
     
    Easter was going to be late this year. When Easter fell in March, we might be fighting the snow to get to church. But when Easter was deep into April, we generally had beautiful weather to accompany it. On this Sunday morning, with Fat Tuesday, Ash Wednesday,