A Mission to the Mustard Museum Read online

  Mission to the Mustard Museum (Young at Heart #3)

  By Beth Mathison

  Copyright 2012 by Beth Mathison

  Cover Copyright 2012 by Ginny Glass and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Beth Mathison and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Off the Dock

  French Romance Cooking Class

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  A Mission to the Mustard Museum (Young at Heart #3)

  By Beth Mathison

  “I think you’re making this up,” David said, searching for the freeway exit sign. “I don’t think there really is such a thing as a mustard museum.”

  “How could I make up something like the Mustard Museum?” Frannie asked. “I’d have to be a marketing genius. They get tons of visitors every year.”

  “It’s that popular?”

  “It’s that popular,” Frannie confirmed. “Apparently mustard is big business.”

  David and Frannie had been driving for over an hour, all of it dreary freeway landscape. The sky was a cold steel gray, and light snowflakes fell steadily. Farm fields were covered in stark white snow, with the occasional barn and gas station breaking up the monotony. Frannie held printed directions she got off the internet, while David watched the GPS unit affixed to the car’s dash.

  It had been Frannie’s turn to pick a location for their date. It had been a long winter, and by mid-February everyone was getting anxious for warmer weather. Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating, so Frannie had picked a date that kept them indoors and out of the cold. She had heard of the Mustard Museum from a coworker, and thought that a mini road trip might help break up the winter doldrums.

  Although David and Frannie’s two kids Brittany and Steven were old enough to stay at home alone, they both were spending time with friends all day. Frannie was glad that the two of them weren’t going to be stuck in the house together. A fifteen- and twelve-year-old, occupying the same space always ended up with a fight, and sometimes with a call to David and Frannie. The kids were instructed to call only in an emergency, even though they thought that hiding each other’s phones or calling each other names was a capital offense.

  “I didn’t know mustard was so big. Maybe I should rethink my painting business,” David said. “We could open up a ketchup museum. We can build it in the lot next to the mustard museum. Put a hot dog and brat stand between them.” His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

  “You’re as bad as the kids,” Frannie said. “They thought the Mustard Museum was hilarious. But you can laugh away, painter man. I’m sure the mustard people are laughing all the way to the bank.”

  “When the kids are older, they can open up a relish and sauerkraut museum across the street. It would be the ultimate American family business.”

  “Seriously, do you have something against mustard?”

  “It’s not my favorite condiment,” David admitted.

  “What is your favorite condiment?”

  David feigned surprise. “We’ve been married for over twenty years and you don’t know what my favorite condiment is? I’m shocked.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d have to say hot sauce,” Frannie said. “Although horseradish and wasabi would come in a close second.”

  “But what kind of hot sauce?”

  “Well, that’s kind of nit picking, but I’d say Louisiana hot sauce,” Frannie answered. “The brand you had on our trip to New Orleans three years ago. You were so excited, even with tears running down your face from the peppers.”

  “You are absolutely correct. By definition, a hot sauce that can make you cry has got to be the best.”

  “I’ll stick to stone-ground mustard. I’d have to say that’s my favorite.”

  “Duly noted,” David said.

  “Before this conversation gets any deeper, I’d like to say something that’s been on my mind,” Frannie said. “I think we should have a mission statement for our dates.”

  “A mission statement?” David asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Like a business mission statement?”

  “Kind of. Something to verbalize what we want to accomplish during our dates.”

  “Is this a lawyer thing?” David asked. “I know you’re a paralegal, but I think that lawyer-eze leaks into your brain when you’re at the office.”

  “No, this is not a lawyer thing. This is a clarification thing. I thought it might help us have more…focus on our dates.”

  “It was the paintball date, wasn’t it?” David asked. “Is that what prompted this mission thing? I swear to God, I didn’t mean to hit you in the chest with that paintball.”

  “No,” Frannie admitted. “It wasn’t the paintball date. You’ve apologized enough for that one. I just was thinking about our dates, and where we’re headed with them.”

  “Well, I always vote for sex,” David said. “Sex has got to be in any kind of date mission statement.”

  “Well, I think that’s a given,” Frannie said, a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

  “Hey, I have testosterone you know,” David said. “You need a mission statement and I need sex. It’s part of our deep natures.”

  “Deep natures?” Frannie asked.

  “Yeah, I read that in a magazine. They had an article about the deep natures of men and woman in Good Housekeeping. How women like to deepen a relationship by non-physical means, and men can deepen their relationships by physical touch. I read it while I was waiting for Brittany to get out of her orthodontist appointment on Tuesday.”

  “They didn’t have any sports magazines?” Frannie asked.

  “No, for crying out loud. We pay them a fortune for Brittany’s braces, and all they have is Good Housekeeping and Woman’s Day. It’s a horror.”

  “OK,” Frannie said. “Physical touch will always be part of our Date Mission.”

  “I like that. Date Mission. It sounds like a covert operation. I’m starting to get into it now. Can I wear cammo and night vision goggles?”

  “I think we both can when appropriate,” Frannie answered.

  “Great. I’ve always wanted to try out night vision goggles.”

  “I think another goal would be to learn more about each other,” Frannie said. “Like the condiment conversation. Even though we’ve been married for a long time, we can still learn things about each other.”

  “You think I will love you more because I know your favorite condiment is stone-ground mustard?” David asked.

  “I think we’re learning more about one another, which will deepen our relationship. It’s like when we first started dating, how we were learning about each other. It creates intimacy.”

  “Intimacy I like,” David agreed, nodding his head.

  “So, physical touch and getting to know each other.”

  “Fun,” David added. “I think part of our Date Mission should be fun. Now, that excludes sex, because sex is automatically fun
.”

  “Well, I would hope so,” Frannie said. “If you’re doing it right.”

  “You would tell me if I’m not doing it right?” David asked, looking over at her.

  “Absolutely. And I hope you would do the same.”

  “I really don’t have a problem expressing myself. It’s also part of my deep nature.”

  “I think we should also come into our dates with open minds,” Frannie said. “We can experience new things.”

  “And we’re not just talking about sex here, correct?” David asked.

  “Correct.”

  “Open minds is good. As you know, we’re very different people. We’re going to have to stretch a little bit with some of our more…unique date locations.” He paused. “Like the Mustard Museum.”

  “All right then,” Frannie said. “Our Date Mission is to get to know each other, have fun, and keep an open mind. With the ultimate goal to deepen our relationship.” She paused. “And there’s physical touch and or sex in there at some point.”

  “Works for me!” David exclaimed. “And I want to remind you that testosterone doesn’t rule my life. I agree with all the other parts of the mission too. I just wanted to include the sex clause so we keep it a priority.”

  “The sex clause, I like that.”

  “The big purple arrow on the GPS is telling me to exit. What does your crude paper map say?”

  “My classic paper map is also telling us to exit,” Frannie replied. “Actually, I’m reading the map, which takes training and skill.”

  David sucked in his breath as he angled the car off the freeway. “Are you telling me that it doesn’t take any brainpower to operate a GPS?”

  “Only when the big purple arrow points you in the wrong direction and you have to drag out a paper map.”

  “Hey, that’s only happened a couple of times,” David said. “Well…maybe more than a couple, and that’s only because I haven’t updated the software in a really long time.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to tease you. I know how you like your electronics. Your big purple arrow is quite exceptional.”

  “You can take that to the bank,” David exclaimed. “I am truly a gadget man.”

  “There’s only one gadget I’m interested in,” Frannie said with a smile. She looked down at her map, blushing.

  “Hey!” David said. “She’s putting the moves on me on the way to the Mustard Museum. I think that Date Mission is already working. Mark the calendar. Gotta love that.”

  Frannie’s smile broadened and she hit him over the head with the map.

  David pulled off the freeway, following the GPS instructions. The museum was on a quiet side street off a main road. The parking lot was packed with cars and buses. Frannie and David pulled their coats around them as they rushed to the front door. Snow swirled around the entrance way, and they welcomed the warm blast of heat from the building.

  “Wow,” David said as they stomped the snow off their feet on a rug. “This is a lot of mustard.”

  The front of the building was dedicated to a retail store. Dozens of shelves held rows of mustard containers. The store was filled with older people, families pushing strollers, and employees in bright yellow shirts. Frannie slipped her hand into David’s, and they walked down the aisles.

  “Holy cow, it’s mustard from Scotland,” David exclaimed, picking up a blue jar. They moved to the next section. “Holy Moly,” he said, louder this time. “This one’s from Singapore. I had no idea they made mustard in Singapore.”

  An older woman, her head wrapped in a colorful scarf, clutched her purse to her chest. She gave David a suspicious look and scurried away.

  “Hey,” Frannie said to David in a stage whisper. “Lower your voice. You’re scaring the mustard customers away.”

  An employee dressed in a full-body mustard costume walked around the open area near the registers. A little girl bumped into the mustard man and looked up at him, her eyes huge. The mustard man gave her a little wave with gloved fingers, and the girl turned around, screaming for her mother.

  “I think the guy in the mustard costume has a corner on the scaring market,” David said. “All I did was offend an old lady.”

  “Sample?” An employee asked, walking up to them with a giant serving tray of pretzels and small pots of mustard.

  “Oh, food!” David said, reaching for a pretzel. “I’m starving. What kind of mustard have we got here?”

  The teenaged girl was dressed in a brown apron that matched the pretzels. Her name tag said “Becky.” “We have classic French Dijon, an Irish specialty wholegrain with whisky, and a stone ground,” she said in a bored tone.

  Frannie grabbed a pretzel and tried the stone ground.

  “Um, Becky,” David said. “This Irish whisky mustard isn’t going to get me snookered, will it?”

  Becky gave him a blank stare.

  “You know, snookered? Because of the Irish whisky.”

  Becky just stared at him.

  David smiled at her and shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you so much for the sample.” He dipped his pretzel lightly in the Irish mustard and Becky hurried off.

  “I think you’re still scaring the mustard people,” Frannie told him. “Including the employees. If you’re not careful, they’re going to kick you out of here. And this stone ground is excellent. If we find Becky again, we can ask her what brand it is.”

  David popped a pretzel in his mouth. He made a face and shivered. “Well, the Irish whisky mustard is apparently an acquired taste. And it’s definitely not going to make me drunk. Do you have a mint or something?”

  Frannie fished a mint out of her purse and gave it to him. “Maybe we should go to the museum section of the building before we buy anything. Then we don’t have to carry it around with us.”

  The museum was packed with glass display cases filled with mustard memorabilia. The cases were filled with mustard pots, tins, and glass containers. Interactive displays detailed the history of mustard, and how mustard was produced.

  Another employee in a bright yellow mustard costume stood near one of the cases, waving at people as they passed. The costume’s yellow foam body was in the shape of a mustard container, with Yellow Mustard written across the front in red. Cotton arms and leggings completed the outfit.

  “Remember the guy in the Italian Sausage costume at the ball game last year?” David asked. “He kept on following me around, telling me that he could beat me up. I think he had heat stroke or something. That’s just not normal behavior for an Italian Sausage.”

  “I think it had more to do with the amount of beer the guy consumed during the game,” Frannie replied.

  “Just because I’m a big guy doesn’t mean I like to fight all the time. I have my sensitive side. I know about deep natures.”

  The person in the mustard costume was staring at David and Frannie, a hand on his hip.

  “You better be careful,” Frannie whispered. “I think mustard boy wants to kick your butt.”

  “I can take him,” David said, hefting his belt up. “I’ve been working out.”

  “You have not. Throwing the ball for the dog does not mean you’re working out. I’m telling you, the mustard guy can take you.”

  “How do you know it’s a guy under there?”

  “I can tell,” Frannie said. “He stands like a guy. He’s tall. I think I see muscles under those yellow leotards.”

  David walked up to the person in the mustard costume. The mustard man swiveled around to face David. The man’s yellow-clad arms swung limply at his side.

  “Excuse me,” David said. “But my wife thinks you can beat me in a fight. I don’t believe her. Want to arm wrestle?” David held up his arm and pretended to flex his arm muscles.

  The guy in the mustard costume stood perfectly still except for his arms which swayed slightly against the mustard suit.

  “What do you think?” David asked with a smile.

  The guy in the mustard costume just stood
in front of David.

  “Are you related to Becky?” David asked.

  A small boy and a small girl walked up to the mustard man, their eyes large and staring. The mustard man swiveled towards them and waved. The little girl screamed and ran off, and the little boy reached up and punched the mustard man in the vicinity of the word “Yellow.”

  The mustard man moaned and doubled over, both hands clutched below his belly. The little boy ran off.

  “Hey buddy, do you need any help?” David asked, leaning in.

  “I love my job,” a young male voice sounded from the suit. He shuffled away, still doubled over.

  “Guess you were right about him being a guy,” David said to Frannie, giving her a pained expression. “Hope they have really good benefits here. I think he’s going to need some medical attention.”

  “Do you think our kids ever acted like that?” Frannie asked. “I don’t remember them acting like that.”

  “Not to my knowledge,” David replied. David and Frannie walked to the rows of glass display cases, peering in at the antique mustard containers. “I think we’re raising pretty good kids.”

  “We’ll have two teenagers in the house next year,” Frannie said, putting her hand on the glass. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that.”

  “I don’t think anyone is ever ready for that. And Brittany’s going to be driving this summer. That should be a hoot.”

  Frannie groaned. “Are we that old?” She pointed at the mustard advertisements behind the glass. The magazines were laid out flat, their edges worn and fading. “I remember a lot of these ads.”

  “It will be fine,” David said, taking her hand off the glass. He kissed her palm, and put an arm around her waist. “We’ll be fine and the kids will be fine. I think you worry too much.”

  “Maybe you don’t worry enough,” Frannie said, leaning in to him. He smelled like fresh soap and the outdoors.

  “Worry is a sin, and I’m no sinner,” David said.

  Frannie snorted with laughter and pulled away from him. “Excuse me while lightning strikes your head.”

  David smiled and pulled her to him.

  They drifted to the corner of the museum. A small movie theatre room had been set up with folding chairs and a large TV. David and Frannie took a seat at the back. A man in a bow tie on the screen was explaining the way mustard was processed from seed.