Death at the Day Lily Cafe (19 page)

Jackson had eaten breakfast at the café and stayed straight through lunch. He was on his third pale ale when the sheriff arrived. “Good afternoon,” I said. I picked up my tongs, but he waved me off.

“I'm done with those things. I'll have two coffees, black.”

“Dieting?” I said. “Love interest, perhaps?”

He said nothing and hitched up his belt.

“Would you like some sweetener?”

“Did you know fake sugar makes you gain weight? And it gives you cancer.”

I smiled to myself as I filled the second cup.

Jackson looked over at him. “Been on TV today, Joe?”

“Huh?” the sheriff said.

“Seems you do everything but your job these days.” Jackson took a long slug of beer.

“Say what?” The sheriff faced him full on. “You got a bone you want to pick with me?”

“Why don't you figure out who the hell stole that money from the college,” Jackson said. “Then half this town can get back to work.”

“They hired a private investigator. It's not my business. And if they're taking their time, maybe it's because they don't want you all to go back to work. Maybe they found better workers. Ever think of that?”

Jackson stood. The legs of the chair squeaked against the hardwood as he shoved it back.

“What did you just say?”

I snapped the lids on the coffees. “You can run a tab, sheriff.” I watched them closely as I wiped down the counter. “I'm sure you want to get back to work.”

“What are you serving here?” The sheriff eyed Jackson's beer. “You got a license, Hart?”

“Yes, of course. Now, do you need anything else?”

“You haven't answered my question.” Jackson stepped closer, his fists perched on his hips.

Butch Wells strolled in the front door, the familiar impish grin on his face. “You locking your back door now, Miss Rosalie?”

The sheriff and Jackson were staring each other down. Glenn had noticed and stood close by, punching in an order on the computer.

“Could you two please keep your voices down,” I said.

Butch strode right toward the kitchen door. Glenn blocked his way. “I thought we told you you're not permitted back there.”

“I'll just be a minute.”

“Sheriff?” Glenn said. “We may need your assistance.”

“Cool it, Wells,” the sheriff said, and I exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, sheriff.”

Butch stopped and took in the scene. He smiled widely. “Hey, Jackson, you ever figure out why that wife of yours keeps calling you a dog? She stopped me just the other day and said,
You know, Butch, my husband is a dog. Why is he such a dog?
”

“What?” Jackson cocked his head, taking in Butch's words. “Why, you—” He took off after him, sloshing his beer and knocking over a chair.

Butch shoved Glenn out of the way and hightailed it into the kitchen with Jackson, the sheriff, and a disheveled Glenn in pursuit.

The café fell silent. I hurried around the bar, righted the chair, and sopped up the beer. “I'm so sorry,” I said. “Please, enjoy your lunch. Coffee is on the house.” I caught Crystal's eye, and she nodded.

I could hear raised voices and scuffling in the kitchen. Most of me wanted to plug my ears and pretend this wasn't happening. But the rest of me started to move.

I rushed into the kitchen and took in the scene. Glenn's arm was braced against Jackson's chest, blocking him from Butch. Jackson's face was so red I worried he might have a coronary. The sheriff had Butch pinned against the wall. Custer stood in the middle, his arms outstretched, as if ready to tackle the first man to move.

I straightened my skirt and marched to the back door. “Excuse me, sheriff.” Once he and Butch got out of the way, I opened the door. “Mr. Wells. You are not welcome here. If you return, I will file a restraining order against you.”

The sheriff grabbed Butch's collar and shoved him into the alley. Butch stumbled, righted himself, and straightened his shirt. The sheriff slammed the door in his face.

I faced Jackson. “I know you are a very important customer, but I'm afraid I need you to leave, too.”

“I haven't paid my bill,” he said, his head hanging low.

“Next time,” I said. “No worries.”

“That Butch is nothing but trouble,” Glenn said. He looked over at Custer. “How long does he usually stay in town?”

“Until he gets what he wants.”

“And what exactly does he want?” the sheriff growled.

“How should I know?”

The sheriff stepped closer to Custer. “I think you do know.”

Custer lifted his chin but said nothing.

“He came in here looking for you,” the sheriff said. “Since when does he want to be around you?”

“Sheriff Wilgus,” I said, stepping closer to Custer. “That's an awful thing to say.”

Custer's eyes darted from face to face. They landed on mine. “I need to take a walk.”

“Yes, of course. Now, will the rest of you please get out of my kitchen? I have a business to run.”

Glenn and I stood side by side and watched the men shuffle out the door. Jackson stopped and half turned. His head was still hanging as low as a basset hound's. “I'm truly sorry, Miss Rosalie.”

“It seems Butch Wells gets under everyone's skin. I don't blame you. I hope to see you tomorrow for our first champagne brunch. Do you like French toast?”

“Don't forget the oysters,” Glenn said.

“Thank you both. You're too kind. And I may very well take you up on it, as long as I am still welcome.” He shook his head and started out the door. “Got nothing better to do.”

My shoulders fell when the door finally closed. “Oh my.”

“Maybe rethink the beer?”

“Our first day serving alcohol, and we have a brawl.” I faced Glenn. “You okay?”

He combed his hair back off his forehead. “I was a little worried there for a moment, but yes, I'm fine.”

“Do you think Custer knows where that money is?”

“I do, indeed.”

I crossed my arms and sank my teeth into my lower lip. “Glenn—”

“Do I think he stole the money?”

I nodded and peered up at him.

“I honestly don't know, Rosalie. I like the boy. I think he has some very good qualities. But what I don't know is how having Butch Wells for a father has impacted him. A hurt like that can run deep.”

“Would you excuse me for a minute?” I went through the back door and found Custer leaning against the wall, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. “Did your father leave?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see which direction he went?”

Custer pointed.

“I'll be right back. Hold down the fort.” I hurried down the alley and came to a crossroads. The small liquor store on the corner caught my eye. I walked to the window and peered in the cloudy window. Sure enough, Butch was inside scratching off a lottery ticket. After going through an entire stack, he tossed them back on the counter and pushed through the door. He squinted in the sunlight and pulled a pair of aviator sunglasses from the back pocket of his jeans. “Butch?” I said.

He looked startled. “What?”

“Can I ask you something?”

He half smirked. “I knew I would win you over. Women find it hard to resist me.” He stepped closer.

“Yes, I've heard that about you.” I crossed my arms. “You and CJ were best friends, right?”

“That's right. Thick as thieves. Always were.”

“That's an interesting term,” I said.

He placed his palm on the brick wall. “Yes, it is.”

“He told you about the money. But why?”

“I didn't steal it.”

“I know.” I nodded my head. “I just don't understand why he told you.”

Butch cleared his throat. “You want to know so bad? I'll tell you. You see, CJ called me a few days before he got shot. He said someone was going to kill him. And he was carrying his shotgun in his pickup to defend himself.”

My eyes widened. “Did he say who?”

Butch took a deep breath and straightened his posture. “Nope. But he did tell me about the money. He knew I was down on my luck and wanted me to have it if he died. That's how good a friend he was.”

“What about Lori? Why wouldn't he want her to have it?”

“She didn't want it. She told him to give it back. He didn't want all his hard work to go to waste, so he told me to come get it.”

I stared at the ground. So Lori has known all along that CJ stole the money. I looked up at Butch. “That's why you're spending time with Lori. Why didn't you just take the money and go away?”

“Well, you see, little lady, the problem is CJ didn't tell me where he hid it. And Lori claims she doesn't know.”

“But she must.”

“Of course she does.”

“Why didn't CJ want Jamie to have it?”

“Ha!” he said. “You forget Jamie's a damn cop?”

I looked at my watch. “One more question. Why do you think Custer knows?”

“I don't think, I know. That's why CJ fired him. And he told my boy if he tattled, he'd pin it on him. And my boy's in enough trouble as it is.”

“Well, if he hasn't told you by now, he isn't going to. Can't you just leave him alone?”

“Ah, you're sweet, aren't ya? But you just toddle on back to your little café. And don't go telling the sheriff any of this. If he knows Lori has the money, he'll lock her up and throw away the key, and then what will you tell old Doris Bird?”

 

T
HIRTY
-
THREE

The four Day Lily employees were so spent by the time I flipped the sign, we barely spoke to one another. We went about our closing duties like automatons. Glenn and Crystal both admitted that despite the tussle, their tips had doubled as a result of the beer and wine, just as Crystal predicted.

“Thank you both so much,” I said and ushered them out the door. “I'll finish up.”

Before Custer left, I asked if he had somewhere to stay.

“I'm hanging with a buddy tonight. Annie has other plans.”

“Good.” I smiled. “Wait. Annie has other plans?”

He shrugged. “I don't control her. She can do whatever she wants.”

I wondered if I had scared her with my warnings about Butch. “If your plans fall through, my sofa isn't too bad.”

He hesitated. “No need.” He dropped his chef's jacket on the counter and walked out the door. I watched as he lit a cigarette, mounted his motorcycle minus a helmet, and drove away.

After a day like today, I relished being alone in the café. Once it was clean and ready for tomorrow, I dimmed the lights and found a Puccini opera on Sirius. The speakers were strategically placed around the room, giving it the acoustics of a grand theater.

I prayed the brunch tomorrow would be a success, but after today, worry of a repeat performance of this afternoon gave me a pulsating headache. At least Annie wasn't going to be with Custer tonight. That was a relief. Butch wasn't going to give up. And he was certain Custer knew the whereabouts of the money.

I slid several loaves of banana bread into the oven and propped the kitchen door open with a wedge. I was still experimenting with the recipe and ran out of time to send one to the bakery. But I didn't mind making them myself. For this batch I added a tablespoon or two of cinnamon. The aroma saturating the air filled me with nostalgia for wintry mornings as a child when my mother would make me cinnamon toast slathered with butter.

I decided to polish the marble counter while I waited for the bread to finish. Next I attacked the floor with some good oil. It had undergone its first beer spill, and I wanted to protect it.

I startled when I noticed a face peering in the window. It was a man who looked to be at least six feet tall. I tried to make out his face but it was backlit by the setting sun. I jumped when he rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

Whoever it was could certainly see me, so I flipped the dead bolt and opened the door. “Ed?”

“Hello, Rose. I thought you'd never let me in.”

I swallowed hard. He was wearing the cologne I'd selected for him long ago, a clean, crisp scent that made me think of sailing and fresh ocean spray. I looked up into his bright blue eyes; his handsome, tanned face; the graying sideburns that gave him dignity. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Annie invited me out for dinner. Didn't she tell you?” He looked around the room and stepped inside. “Rose, this place is stunning.”

I closed the door behind him. “Thank you. It isn't very big.”

“But it feels big. How did you pick this color?”

“Honestly?” I stuffed my hands into my apron pockets. “I studied photos of Tuscan hillsides.”

He turned around. “How clever.” He smiled playfully with only one side of his mouth curling upward. I knew that smile. It always reminded me of Harrison Ford.

The music reached a crescendo. Ed walked over to the bar and ran his fingers over the polished marble. “You did it, Rose. You followed your dream.”

It felt oddly familiar to share such a moment with him. “Thank you, Ed.”

He walked toward the chalkboard and read the special Crystal had already posted. “Banana bread French toast? Is that what I smell?”

“Yes,” I said. “Oh, that reminds me, I need to take the loaves out of the oven.”

When I returned from the kitchen, Ed was seated at the bar staring at the Mieles, chin in hand. “I would come here,” he said. “Even in DC with all the choices, I would come here.”

“What time are you meeting Annie?”

“Not until seven. I wanted to get here in time. You never know with the Bay Bridge.”

“Would you like a beer? Oh, and I have sparkling wine.”

“I would love a wine. Rose, I just can't believe this place. I really can't.”