The Calamity Café Read online

  “Yes.” I paid her for the copies. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Don’t forget to ask Grady’s daughter—Ms. Carter, did you say?—to call me. I’d bet she has an interesting story to tell.”

  Chapter 19

  When I got back to the café, I went around the side of the building to look at the patio. The builders had made a lot of progress today. They’d put up support beams and should be able to construct the roof next.

  “Looking nice, don’t you think?” Stan said, coming to stand next to me.

  “It sure is.” I studied his profile. There was something so familiar about him . . . something I couldn’t quite figure out. “Y’all are doing a fantastic job. Thank you.”

  “I just do what I’m told. I’m tickled Roger saw fit to give me this job, even if it is only for a few days. I’d like to earn enough money to go home for Independence Day.”

  “So you haven’t always lived here in Winter Garden, Stan?”

  There were very few people who lived here who weren’t born here. Some were born here and stayed, some left and later returned, but there weren’t many transplants. Mainly because it was such small town. Folks had either never heard of Winter Garden, or they wanted to live closer to the shopping malls and restaurants.

  “No, ma’am. I’m originally from Pulaski.”

  “And your parents are still there?” I asked.

  “My mom’s passed on, but my dad is. I can’t imagine him ever leaving . . . though if I do ever make enough money, I’d like to have him come here and live with me.”

  “That’d be nice. I think he’d like it here.”

  He smiled. “Me too.”

  I went back into the café and got to work on the floor.

  * * *

  After we’d finished up for the day, Jackie and I went into the kitchen to pack ourselves some dinner to take with us. I was making ham sandwiches, and she was putting chips into plastic baggies.

  Roger walked into the kitchen. “Getting ready for the road trip, I see.”

  “Yep,” Jackie said.

  He ran his hand lightly down her arm. “Be careful. I think it’s weird that this woman wants to meet with strangers to compare notes about her family.”

  “She probably thinks it’s weird that I called her out of the blue about her dead father,” I said.

  “You’ve got a point there,” Roger said. “You’re both weirdos.”

  “And what am I?” asked Jackie.

  “I guess you’re the person going with her to make sure she doesn’t get killed.”

  “As long as I’m not a weirdo.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he corrected.

  I put our sandwiches into baggies and then put the sandwiches, chips, and packages of apple slices into an insulated tote.

  “Did you find lots of interesting photos to share with Anna Carter?” Jackie asked.

  “Yeah. You’ll find them interesting too.”

  She and Roger exchanged glances.

  “One of you let me know when you get back,” Roger said.

  “I will.” Jackie smiled.

  Once we were in the car, I said, “I take it you and Roger had a talk.”

  “We did. And we’re on the same page with wanting to take things slowly but to see if there’s more between us than friendship. We’re going out again on Saturday night.”

  “Oh, good. Glad you’re taking it slowly.”

  “What did you mean about my finding the photos interesting?” She got our sandwiches out of the tote. She took mine from the baggie and handed it to me.

  I accepted the sandwich. “After we eat, you can look through them, and you’ll know exactly what I mean. They’re on the backseat.”

  “I can wait.” She dropped her sandwich back into the tote, undid her seat belt, and reached into the backseat for the manila envelope. She refastened the seat belt and slid the photos from the envelope.

  I ate while Jackie flipped through the photographs.

  “Oh my gosh!”

  “I think you just found the most interesting one,” I said.

  “Can you believe Lou Lou was ever this thin?”

  “I can’t believe she ever looked that happy. I imagine she was devastated when Sherman left. You see how happy she looks in those photos.”

  “Yeah, but come on, Amy. Who looks sad in engagement and wedding photos?”

  “That’s what Ms. Peggy said.”

  “And she said Lou Lou’s husband left her—while she was pregnant—for another woman?” Jackie asked.

  “Apparently. And the other woman also had a child by him.”

  “Did this Harding guy know Lou Lou was pregnant when he abandoned her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t realize it.”

  “I’d hope not. I’d hate to think the man would abandon his child as well as his wife, but this could explain why Lou Lou never wanted to cut those apron strings.”

  “Yeah. It looks as if Pete really was all she had.”

  Lou Lou had been a miserable person. And she’d held to her son so tightly that, in ways, she’d lost him too. He hadn’t even been able to share some of the most important parts of his life with her. I felt that she’d have been happy—or, at least, I wanted to hope she would have been—to have known her grandchild. Maybe she’d have adored the baby and given Pete her blessing to start his trucking career.

  * * *

  The coffee shop was in the middle of a strip of store buildings. There was an antiques store on one side and an art gallery on the other. The Hill o’ Beans was a tan building with kelly green trim. Inside, floral curtains were pulled back to let the waning sunshine in, and there were sofas and armchairs in addition to bistro tables and chairs.

  A waitress spotted Jackie and me standing just inside the front door, looking clueless. Smiling brightly, she hurried over.

  “Hi, there! Is either one of you Amy Flowers?” she asked.

  “I am,” I said.

  “Ms. Carter is waiting for you right over here.” She led us to a table where Anna Carter sat nursing a cup of coffee.

  Ms. Carter stood when Jackie and I reached the table. “Hello. Thank you so much for coming.”

  I introduced her to Jackie, and we all sat down around the table. Jackie and I ordered coffee from the waitress, and she scampered off to get it.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing what some of Daddy’s relatives looked like,” said Ms. Carter. “Did you have a chance to talk with my great-nephew yet? Pete, did you say his name was?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to speak with Pete yet, but I will.” I took Ms. Peggy’s business card from my purse and slid it across the table. “When I went to the newspaper office to get the photos, Ms. Peggy was interested in doing a story on your dad. She thought people—especially the older folks—would enjoy knowing how he spent his life after leaving Winter Garden.”

  “Okay. I’ll consider giving her a call.” She took a photo album from a tote she had sitting on the floor beside her chair. She opened it. “This is Daddy.”

  The sepia photograph had been taken when Grady Holman was in his early twenties. His hair was dark, and he was smiling impishly at the photographer. He had on overalls and what appeared to be a white shirt. I glanced up at Ms. Carter, but I didn’t see much of a resemblance. I passed the photo album on down closer to Jackie.

  “He was a cutie pie, wasn’t he?” she said to Ms. Carter.

  “He certainly was.” She sat a little taller in her seat.

  I opened the manila envelope and took out the photo taken at the grand opening of Lou’s Joint. “I can see the resemblance between your dad and Bo.” Grady hadn’t been as tall or as broad as Bo, nor did he have a beard, but their faces looked similar.

  “And Lou took after them too,” said Ms. Carter, her lip
s slowly curving into a smile. “Daddy was the better-looking of the two brothers, though, don’t you think?”

  Jackie and I agreed that he was.

  Ms. Carter flipped through the photos. “And this was Lou’s daughter? Poor thing . . . to be named Lou Lou.”

  “I always heard Lou wanted a son,” said Jackie.

  “Apparently, he wanted two of them.” Ms. Carter chuckled.

  Jackie and I thumbed through the photo album.

  “You must take after your mom’s side of the family,” I said, noting that the diminutive Ms. Carter looked nothing like the Holmans I knew.

  “I do. My brother is tall and muscular.” She grinned. “Mother always said thank goodness we girls took after her people.”

  “Did your dad ever talk about his family back in Winter Garden?” Jackie asked.

  “He spoke of Bo pretty often. I believe he missed his brother.” She ran a fingertip over the photocopy of Bo’s obituary. “I wonder if he knew Bo had died, or if he just thought his brother had forgotten about him.”

  “If Grady was in touch with anybody back home, then he knew what happened,” I said. “You mentioned over the phone that Grady had told you about the bank robbery.”

  “He had.” She shook her head. “I always figured it was one of his tall tales. I mean, some of the stories he told about growing up in that little town in Virginia with Bo . . . they couldn’t possibly have been true.” She looked again at the photo of Bo and Lou at the café’s ribbon-cutting ceremony. “I thought there was maybe a grain of truth to them but that Daddy had exaggerated.”

  “So you didn’t believe that he and Bo had robbed a bank?” Jackie asked.

  “I thought maybe they’d tried . . . or even that they had made a teller slip them a few dollars. But Daddy told me his conscience bothered him too bad to keep it, and he gave the money back.”

  “I don’t imagine Bo was very happy about that,” I said.

  “No, he wasn’t. That drove the wedge between them that made Daddy leave Winter Garden and head for North Carolina to look for work,” said Ms. Carter.

  * * *

  When Jackie and I were in the car on our way back home, I mentioned that Ms. Carter had changed her story about the bank robbery.

  “Over the phone last night, she told me that Bo had driven Grady over to the bank in North Carolina and that Grady hadn’t known they were going to rob the bank until Bo handed him a ski mask and a pistol.”

  “And then Grady just went along with it?”

  “According to Ms. Carter, he did. She spoke as if Grady would’ve done anything his big brother wanted him to do.”

  “But she also told us that Grady had given the money back,” Jackie said. “If that’s the truth, where did the money in the lockbox come from?”

  “I mentioned the lockbox to her over the phone too. I said there was money inside, but I didn’t tell her how much. Now I wish I hadn’t said anything about it.”

  “Amy! She might come looking for that money!”

  “You saw her. Do you really believe she’d burst through the doors of the café, guns blazing, to demand her daddy’s stolen money? Besides, I told her the money was in police custody.”

  “I don’t think she’d do it herself, but her children might be like Bo, Grady, and Lou. Or, worse yet, Lou Lou!” Jackie said. “If they think there’s anything to be gained here, they might come after you.”

  “I rather doubt it. I imagine the woman simply wanted to paint her father in the best possible light. Or what if Grady told his daughter the truth, and he really did return the money to the bank?” I asked. “Do you think the twenty thousand dollars was Bo’s part of the money? Or do you think the money found in the lockbox had nothing to do with the bank after all? Maybe the money belonged to Lou.”

  “That’s possible.” She frowned. “Now I’m wondering what other skeletons linger in Lou Holman’s closet.”

  “We know Sherman Harding was one. Wonder whatever became of him.”

  “I don’t know, but I’m guessing you’ll be burning up that laptop of yours tonight to try to find out.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I said.

  * * *

  Jackie had been right. I wanted to find out more about this man who’d been married to Lou Lou Holman and had then thrown her over for another woman. So I got out my laptop as soon as I got home to see what I could learn.

  I had no luck finding Sherman Harding until I downloaded a free trial for a genealogy site and searched for him there. That’s where I found Sherman Harding, who had been married to Rebecca Minton Harding. And they had one son—Stanley Wheeler Harding.

  Wait . . . what?!

  I sat staring at my laptop as my cursor kept blinking on the name “Stanley Wheeler Harding.” Stanley Harding. Stan Harding. Stan Wheeler Harding.

  Oh my goodness. Was that true? It had to be. It’s why Stan’s profile had looked so familiar after I’d seen the photo of Sherman Harding. Stan Wheeler was Sherman Harding’s son. He was Pete’s half brother.

  Had Lou Lou known? I thought back to the paper I’d seen in the box from her office. Was that why she’d written Stan’s name and drawn the fish beside it? Did she think Stan was fishing for something? Or did she think there was something fishy about Stan?

  At least, I now knew why, after seeing the photograph of Sherman Harding, something about Stan struck me as being familiar. And if I saw a resemblance, even though I couldn’t quite recall why, surely Lou Lou—having been married to Sherman—could see his likeness in his son. Funny, though, Pete looked nothing like Sherman. He took after the Holman side of the family.

  I thought about my conversation with Anna Carter and promising I’d talk with Pete to see if he’d be willing to talk with her. There might be another family member he’d be even more interested in speaking with.

  So what was Stan doing in Winter Garden? Why was he here as Stan Wheeler rather than Stan Harding? And how long had he been here? It had obviously been long enough to establish a seedy reputation. Maybe I should talk with Ryan about this. He’d told me to let me know of any leads I came across. This could be considered a lead. I’d give him a call tomorrow.

  Something very, very strange was going on with Stan Wheeler.

  Chapter 20

  The shrill noise woke me, but it was Rory’s barking along with it that fully brought me from sleep to wakefulness. I rose up onto my elbow, gently pushed Rory’s face out of mine, and answered the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Morning, Flowerpot! Rise and shine!”

  It was Roger. I looked at the clock. It was six a.m. “I refuse to rise or shine this early. What’s wrong?” I had a sudden fear that the café was on fire.

  “Nothing really. I just wondered if you’d give your staff the day off. It’s pouring rain, and my guys can’t work on the patio today, so I thought we’d work inside.”

  “And you don’t want us in your way,” I said.

  “Precisely. You catch on quickly for a foggy-brained sleepyhead.”

  “What would you like me to bring for breakfast?”

  “Nothing, thanks. I’ll stop and get a box of doughnuts. We wouldn’t turn down lunch, though.”

  “You got it. Are sandwiches all right?”

  “That’ll be great,” said Roger. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you. Not having to come in so early will be wonderful.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

  I laughed. “Do I need to tell Jackie, or does she know already?”

  “I told her when we spoke last night that if it rained like the forecast was calling for, I was going to ask you to give the café staff the day off. You might want to remind her, though.”

  “I will. See you at lunchtime.”

  I hung up the phone. Rory had already snuggled back up against me. He was
so warm and cozy. And I could hear the rain pounding against the roof. I dropped my head back onto my pillow. My alarm was set for six thirty. I’d snooze until then.

  * * *

  It was seven o’clock before I finally dragged my butt out of bed and called the café workers. Like me, they were thrilled not to have to work on such a rainy day. Jackie offered to come by and help with lunch, but I assured her that I had it under control. I’d planned to make sandwiches, potato wedges, and cookies. Easy to make, and easy to transport.

  While I was at it, I thought I’d make a small tray of sandwiches to take to Pete and Chris Anne. I wanted to talk with Pete about his father and find out what he knew about Stan.

  When I spoke with Homer, I promised to add a sausage biscuit to the lunch and have it for him at the café. He understood that he didn’t have to work today, but he said he would drop by anyway to see if Roger needed his help. Homer was such a good guy.

  I washed the potatoes, dried them, and cut them into wedges. I preheated the oven while gathering my spices. I put salt, pepper, and garlic powder into a large plastic baggie. I then added the potato wedges. I gave the mixture a good shake, added olive oil, and shook them again.

  While the potatoes were baking, I made turkey, ham, tuna, and pimiento cheese sandwiches. I cut them into fourths, so they’d stand up nicely on the trays and the workers could see what kinds of sandwiches there were to choose from. When I took the potatoes from the oven, I sprinkled them with Parmesan cheese. I put the potato wedges in a pan lined with parchment paper to transport them to the café.

  Fortunately, I had some frozen biscuits in my freezer, so it was no problem to add Homer’s sausage biscuit to the food I was delivering. I also had frozen cookie dough, so while the oven was hot, I was able to make three dozen chocolate chip cookies.