The Calamity Café Read online

  Sarah shook her head. “No. Although Lou Lou didn’t have a will, Pete is her only heir. He inherits everything, so it’s his to sell.”

  “Do you still want to buy the place?” asked Jackie as she wiped her mouth on her napkin. “I mean, Lou Lou died in there. Aren’t you going to think about that every time you walk through the door?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Jackie left as soon as we’d had some toast and coffee the next morning. She had to go back home and get changed into her uniform before coming back to the café. We were the only two people we knew for certain were going to be working. Hopefully, Pete had called others—particularly Aaron, who bussed tables and washed dishes—but he hadn’t mentioned anything about it when he’d lent me a key to the café yesterday.

  I saw a police cruiser sitting in the parking lot and my heart began thumping against my rib cage. What were the police doing here? Weren’t they done with me? Obviously Ryan had told me I was a person of interest, but I had hoped they would cross me off the list. Why were they here now? What if someone was here to arrest me? What would I do? I knew I was innocent, but I had no way to prove it. What if every cent Nana had left me went for a legal defense instead of for my café?

  By the time I’d parked the car and stepped out, tears had filled my eyes. Deputy Hall got out of the cruiser and came toward me.

  He gently took my shoulders. “Hey, hey . . . don’t cry. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “You’re not here to arrest me?”

  “Of course, not. I’m sorry if you thought that.”

  “But I am a suspect in Lou Lou’s murder, aren’t I? I found her.”

  “You are a suspect. But there’s no hard evidence indicating you murdered Lou Lou Holman,” he said. “Not really. As a matter of fact, off the record, I know you didn’t do it.”

  “Wait. You said not really. Do you mean there was evidence found?”

  He inclined his head. “Ivy found a necklace beneath Lou Lou’s desk.”

  “What did it look like?”

  “A pearl inside a heart. One of the waitresses we spoke with identified it as yours.”

  “That is mine. I lost it more than a month ago.” Did he believe that? Or did he think I’d lost it the other night in a struggle with Lou Lou? “My nana gave me that necklace for my birthday one year. I thought I’d lost it for good.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure you get it back . . . you know . . . when all this is over.”

  Tears filled my eyes again. “The sheriff thinks it’s me, doesn’t he? But I swear, I didn’t hurt Lou Lou.”

  He spread his arms, and for a second, I thought he was going to hug me. Instead, he simply rested his hands on my forearms. “The sheriff has a lot of people on this case, and we’re going to find Lou Lou’s killer.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I hope you’ll confide to me any information you remember or come across—like who might’ve had the motive and the means to harm Ms. Holman,” he said. “I also want to warn you. Since you were the first person to arrive at the café after Ms. Holman was murdered, the killer might think you know more than you do.” He placed his hands on his hips. “And it’s possible you do know more than you realize. I want you to take some time to yourself as soon as you can, and write down everything you remember.”

  “All right. I will.”

  “And be careful. If you even think somebody might be following you or creeping around your house, call the sheriff’s department . . . or call me. It’d be better to run the risk of being wrong than to ignore it and be right.”

  “You’re kinda scaring me.”

  “I don’t want you to be scared, only aware.”

  “I will.” I nodded toward the café. “I’d better get to work.”

  “Me too.”

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Please call me if you think of anything I might need to know or if you feel threatened in any way,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  I went on into the café and hung my purse on a hook in the kitchen by the back door. Was this door how the killer had entered Lou’s Joint that night, or had he—or she—come through the front? Going through the front door seemed awfully brazen to me, especially with the lights in the parking lot. It made more sense that the person would’ve come through the back. The back of the café led out to just overgrown land. On the other hand, maybe the person had come in the front door, not realizing he’d get angry enough at Lou Lou to kill her.

  I shook my head to try to dispel thoughts of that night. I had too much to do to dwell on it right now. Still, it was hard not to think about it. Lou Lou had been murdered not twenty feet from where I was standing. Besides, this was a remote area. Sure, it was beautiful, with oaks and maples that had stood for hundreds of years, fields of goldenrod, and cattle grazing in the pasture nearby. But the closest house was half a mile away.

  Main Street was three times that distance. And while there were a small grocery store, the newspaper office, a general store, and a hair salon nestled together, none of those businesses were open at six o’clock in the morning.

  My mouth suddenly went dry, and I got a drink of water. Jackie had been right. I hadn’t realized how I’d be affected by returning to Lou’s Joint this morning. I mean, I’d known it wouldn’t be business as usual, but I hadn’t thought I’d feel so afraid. Of course, Deputy Hall hadn’t helped by saying that the killer might come after me. That was something I hadn’t even considered.

  I downed the rest of the water and made sure the back door was locked. The front door was open, but Jackie should be here any minute.

  I had to pull myself together. Pete was counting on me. Lou’s Joint patrons were counting on me.

  I went out of the kitchen to the counter where the coffeepots were kept. I made two pots of regular coffee and one pot of decaffeinated. I felt better when the scent of brewing coffee filled the air.

  I glanced toward the office door and thought about how Lou Lou had looked collapsed across her desk . . . the blood on the desk pad dripping onto the floor.

  The front door opened, and I squealed and reeled backward.

  “Amy!” Jackie hurried forward. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  “You just startled me. That’s all.” I tried to laugh at myself, but my laugh came out sounding nearly hysterical.

  She hugged me. “It’s all right. Are you sure you can do this? If not, call Pete and tell him you’re leaving. You don’t even officially work here anymore, remember?”

  “I’d still be working out my notice. Besides, that situation kinda changed night before last. Pete needs all the help he can get right now.”

  “But that’s his problem, not yours.”

  “Jackie, his mom just died. And I’m the one who found her.”

  “In this café. Which is the best reason I can think of for you not to be here now. Why don’t you go on back home? I can take care of things until Pete or somebody else can get here. Pete should have his butt kicked for not shutting down this place for a few days out of respect for his momma in the first place.”

  “Agreed, but still—”

  Brooke, a nurse at Winter Garden Nursing Home, and one of my favorite regulars, came in then. “Am I missing out on a good argument?”

  “No,” I said. “We aren’t arguing.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” said Brooke, tilting her head and pushing her brown corkscrew curls off her right shoulder.

  “I’m trying to get her to leave,” Jackie told Brooke. “She’s as jumpy as a frog dropped on a woodstove.”

  “Well, I don’t doubt it.” She turned to me. “I heard about you finding Lou Lou. I’m so sorry. I know that had to have been a shock.”

  “How do you do it?” I as
ked. “You go into work every day in a place where people have died.”

  “That’s true, but in my case, they weren’t murdered. I think that puts a whole different spin on things.”

  “Still, it doesn’t creep you out to go into a room where some person just died?” Jackie asked. “I’d hate it.”

  “Well, it’s not my favorite part of the job,” said Brooke. “But I’m there to help the living. I concentrate on that.”

  “What about you, Jackie?” I asked. “Is it going to bother you to keep working here?”

  “Not as long as I stay out of that office.”

  “Even if Pete sells, and I completely renovate the office?” Actually, the thought of renovating and using the office gave me pause as well.

  “Hey, I heard you were going to open your own café,” said Brooke. “I think that would be so cool.”

  “Thanks, Brooke,” I said. “Pete wants me to buy this one, but I have to make sure everyone would be comfortable working here after . . . well, you know.” I kept looking at Jackie because I wanted her to answer my question. If she couldn’t work here, I wouldn’t even consider buying this place anymore. I’d build my own café from scratch.

  “I can work here,” Jackie said. “We’ll wipe away every trace of . . . anything bad that ever happened here, and we’ll start all over.”

  I gave her a hug. “Then we’d better get started. I think we have our first customer of the day.”

  Jackie grabbed her notepad and pen. “What’ll you have, Brooke?”

  I went back into the kitchen. I wanted to prepare something different for Lou’s Joint patrons today. I looked into the pantry and the refrigerator to see what I could make with the ingredients on hand. I decided to go with a Scottish shortbread.

  Jackie brought me Brooke’s order and, after making the pancakes, I began mixing up the shortbread. If I could start introducing patrons to new dishes, they’d come to not only accept but expect them . . . and, hopefully, look forward to them.

  I thought back to the first time I’d made Scottish shortbread. The dean over the culinary institute was an intimidating man who reminded me of the film actor Robert Preston. Nana had loved older movies, and The Music Man had been one of her favorites.

  But, anyway, the dean had been observing in our classroom that day. I’d been so nervous that when he’d asked me why the shortbread was baked at 350 degrees for ten minutes and then at 300 degrees for forty minutes, I couldn’t sufficiently convey the proper answer—lowering the temperature makes for a flatter, crispier cookie. As I stood there struggling to answer the man, another student in the class stepped up and answered him. He praised her, and she turned to me with a smug smile. I’d decided then and there to stop being intimidated, to never let my fear of failing or looking foolish stand in the way of my stepping up, answering the question, taking a chance.

  That’s what I was doing with the Down South Café—taking a chance. If I failed, I’d at least know that I’d tried.

  Chapter 6

  Homer was right on schedule at ten o’clock that morning, and by then, things were almost normal.

  “Good morning, Homer. Who’s your hero today?”

  “Mr. John Lennon.”

  “Whoa. Are you going to sing ‘Imagine’ for me?”

  “Unfortunately, I have no musical talent. But I do have a cute story to share. When he was in school, the teacher asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. Mr. Lennon said he wanted to be happy. The teacher said he didn’t understand the question. And guess what he said?”

  I was familiar with the quote but didn’t want to burst Homer’s bubble. “What?”

  “He said the teacher didn’t understand life.”

  I smiled as I poured Homer a cup of coffee. “I’ll have your sausage biscuit right out.”

  “Take your time.”

  When I returned with the biscuit, Homer placed a hand on my arm. “Are you nervous being here . . . you know, after what happened?”

  “I am, a little.” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening to us. “I wish I’d wake up and all of this would just be a bad dream, Homer. I wish I’d never come here that night.”

  “I know you do.” He patted my arm. “John Lennon always said, ‘Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.’”

  “Thanks. I hope he’s right.”

  * * *

  I was pressing out hamburger patties when Pete and Chris Anne arrived that afternoon. Chris Anne strode into the kitchen, put her not terribly clean-looking left hand in front of my face, and wagged her fingers.

  “Lookie what I got!” she said in a singsong voice. “We’re engaged. Pete took me over to the pawnshop and we got the ring last night.”

  “Congratulations,” I said, shooting a look of desperation at Aaron, who had come in not long after Jackie arrived and who could usually interpret my expressions and the telepathy I was trying to convey with them.

  “Let me see,” Aaron said.

  Chris Anne hurried over to show Aaron the ring, thankfully getting her away from the hamburger patties. I mouthed a thank-you to him behind her back.

  “Pete says he’ll get me an even bigger one once we get our trucking business off the ground.”

  “Heck, baby, you’ll have rings on every finger then,” Pete said from the doorway. “I appreciate you patting out them hamburgers, Amy. That’ll make it easier on me today.”

  “I’m gonna help waitress,” said Chris Anne, tucking a strand of her greasy hair behind her ear. “It’ll help me find out what it’s gonna be like working side by side with my man every day.”

  I glanced over her tight black jeans and black T-shirt. “Do you need a uniform?” I didn’t think the goth look would go over all that well with our clientele.

  “Nope. I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  “Did everything go all right this morning?” Pete asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I think we were all a little bit nervous at first, but we got through it.”

  “Good.” He looked down the hallway toward the office. “I can’t stand the thought of going in there.”

  “If you need anything, sugar, I’ll get it for you.” Chris Anne sashayed over to Pete and smiled up at him.

  Stan Wheeler came into the café and called out to Pete. Stan rented a mobile home from Lou Lou, and he came into Lou’s Joint to eat on occasion. I’d gleaned from overheard conversations between the two that Lou Lou wasn’t the best landlord on the planet. But, then, Stan hadn’t seemed to be a star renter either. He could be cantankerous, and I preferred to keep my distance from him.

  “In the back,” Pete answered.

  Stan sauntered up and leaned against the other side of the doorjamb. “Need for you to get somebody over to the trailer and fix my leaky roof.”

  Chris Anne held out her hand. “Lookie what Pete got me.”

  “Yeah. Nice. About that roof, Pete.”

  “Stan, my momma just passed day before yesterday. I’m dealing with about everything I can handle.”

  “Then give me the money to get it fixed, and I’ll hire somebody my own self.”

  I put the lid on the plastic container full of hamburger patties, slipped off my gloves, and put the container in the refrigerator. I was anxious to get out of there.

  “How’d we do this morning?” Pete asked me.

  “Not good enough to pay for a new roof,” I said as I dropped my gloves into the trash.

  “What about the safe?” Stan asked. “I know Lou Lou kept money in there.”

  “She did,” said Pete. “But I ain’t going in the office after it.”

  “I’ll go,” said Chris Anne.

  “No, baby, you don’t want to be going in there.” Pete put his arm around her.

  I could tell by the gleam in Chris Anne’s eyes th
at Pete was wrong about that. Was it mere morbid curiosity that had her wanting to look around Lou Lou’s office, or was it something more?

  “Give me the combination, and I’ll go.” Stan held out his hand like it was a done deal.

  Pete got out his wallet, took out a square of paper, and handed it to Stan. Frankly, I was surprised that he would trust Stan enough to have him go through his mother’s safe. Maybe the two of them were closer than I’d thought.

  “I never got to use the safe enough to memorize the combination,” he said. “Just go ahead and clear it out while you’re in there and bring everything out here to me.”

  “Fine.”

  “Is there anything else you need from the office?” Chris Anne asked.

  “Well, I would like to have the accounts payable, accounts receivable, and payroll ledgers . . . if they’re in there,” said Pete. “The sheriff said they might have to take some of that kinda stuff for now . . . you know . . . until the person is caught or whatever. But I’m going to need all that stuff to settle the estate.”

  “I’ll help Stan, then. He can’t carry all that stuff by himself.” She practically ran from the kitchen.

  “Get anything else that looks important,” Pete called down the hall.

  I noticed he’d shut his eyes before turning toward the office.

  I walked him into the dining room. “Come on out here and let me get you a cup of coffee. Or would you rather have some water, tea, or lemonade?”

  “I don’t need anything.” He sat down at a table, and I saw that his hands were shaking. The man was an enigma—that was for sure. One minute, he’s coming in here bragging with his fiancée that she’ll soon have rings on every finger, and the next he’s closing his eyes and trembling as he realizes his mother died just a few feet away.

  “I can stay and handle the afternoon shift if you need me to,” I said. “You don’t have to be here today. In fact, I figure most of our patrons probably think we’re closed.”

  “I’ll stay,” he said. “Thank you, though.”