Death at the Day Lily Cafe (21 page)

Bini tossed the wheat stalk and sank her hands into her front pockets. “I tell him.”

“And how does he take it? Because I know my father wasn't terribly interested in my opinions.”

“He explains. Sometimes he gets a tone. But then I realize he's right. I just didn't see it his way.”

“And then you're back on track?”

“We're never off track. We don't talk all that much. But we do stuff. Now that he stopped farming, he's building purple martin houses. We sell 'em at the farmers' market.”

“Those birdhouses on the tall poles?”

“Right. Purple martins eat mosquitoes. They need to be in open spaces.”

“I'd like to get one for the farm. If you pick one out, I'll pay you for it.”

We walked in silence for a bit. Then Bini said, “Maybe you should think about what was good with your dad, not bad. Like, maybe you should think about your similarities with him.”

“Oh.” My eyes widened as I allowed the wisdom of her words to sink in. “You know, Bini, that's actually a good idea.”

When we reached the end of the apple tree orchard, I spotted Tyler in the tomato plants.

Bini stopped walking. “I'm supposed to stay away from him. And I need this job.”

“I haven't seen Tyler since our shared cup of coffee this morning. Let's go and say hi.”

Bini looked at me, eyes wary. “You first.”

“Good afternoon, ladies.” Tyler sank his pitchfork into the ground and held the top with both hands. “Out for a stroll?”

“Yes, actually,” I said. “We've been talking. Isn't that right, Bini?”

She nodded.

I cocked my head and smiled. Tyler tugged on the bill of his cap. “You two are making me nervous.”

“I'm sorry,” Bini blurted out. “I'm sorry for telling you how to do your job.”

Tyler's head reared back a little. “You can say what's on your mind, Bini. That's why I hired you.”

“You sure didn't like it an hour ago.”

“It sounds like there's more than one way to fertilize a tomato,” I said.

Tyler grinned. “Is that a fact?”

I shrugged. “And I don't know any of them. I used to buy the stuff at the hardware store. All you had to do was pop off the top and shake out the little pellets.”

“Okay, Bini, here's what I was trying to tell you,” Tyler said. “The thing about chicken-manure compost is it's full of nitrogen. If you get it too close to the stalk, it can kill the plant. Even if it's not directly touching the plant, the tomatoes will still benefit.”

“But I wasn't—” Bini stopped. “Maybe I was.”

Tyler walked over to the small trailer behind the tractor and grabbed a large plastic jug of water. His Adam's apple bobbed as he drank. His Barclay Meadow T-shirt was dirty, his jeans hanging low on his narrow frame. I wondered what he was thinking. Had I meddled?

He set down the jug and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You ready to get back to work? I'd like to get these tomatoes knocked out in another hour or so.”

Bini walked over to the trailer and picked up a shovel.

“Why don't I go back to the house and make some iced lattes? I'm working on a black bean soup, too, if you get hungry when you've finished here.” I started to go but stopped. “Thank you, Bini. I really enjoyed our talk. Your insights were very helpful.”

Bini gave me a small wave, placed her foot on the shovel, and plunged it deep into the soil.

I jumped when I realized Tyler was behind me. I turned around. He was staring at me hard, his hands on his hips. “Just when I thought I had you all figured out.”

The close proximity caused my heart to thud in my chest. “A lot of people make black bean soup.”

He stepped closer. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “There's a lot to you, Rosalie Hart. You can still surprise me when not many folks can.”

 

T
HIRTY
-
FIVE

The sun was dipping low in the sky as I drove into town to get my paper. I buzzed the convertible top down and detected the scent of pine trees mixed with a hint of woodsmoke in the air. I tried not to think about Tyler, how it felt to be so close to him, the way he looked at me with those green eyes. No, I scolded, and eased the car around a curve in the road that mimicked the river's path. Think about black bean soup. A little cumin added a nice touch of warmth, but it needed something else. Maybe Tyler could find me some fresh sweet corn.
Tyler.
No. A side of corn bread would be delicious.

Doris was perched behind the counter of Birdie's Shoe Store, her arms folded. The chairs were vacant, and I guessed she would be closing soon. Lately the once-reliable hours of operation at the shop had become erratic. Some days the doors were locked as early as three in the afternoon.

“I miss bringing you bread,” I said. “Maybe I should start that up again.”

She rolled her eyes. “That's all I need, to feel even more like I should be giving you money.” She bent over and picked up my
Post
. “Anything new?”

“Yes. But I don't really know how to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“I'm pretty sure CJ stole the money from the construction site.”

Doris's jaw dropped. “How sure?”

I peered up at her. “Ninety-nine point nine percent?”

“Does Lori know?”

“I think so. Doris, let's be careful how we play this, okay?”

Doris frowned. “Why can't we go over there right now and confront her? What if the sheriff finds out?” She sat hard on her stool. “This is horrible news, Miss Rosalie.”

“But at least we have the motive. Well, I think we do. I have one other theory, but I need to explore that a little more.” My shoulders fell. “I don't want it to be true. But it could be.”

“So where is the money?” Doris's voice cracked.

“I don't know. But Butch Wells knows about it, and he's trying to find it.”

“So that's why he's hanging around Lori. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to force her to tell him.”

“I thought about that, too. But if he can sweet-talk her into telling him, then no one will know he's run off with it. He could persuade her, I think. If he takes it, she doesn't have to deal with it.”

“But that doesn't tell us who killed CJ—and if we can't find out who did, she's no better off.”

“Agreed.”

“So what do we do?”

“I haven't quite figured that out yet. I need to have a powwow with Glenn. But if Lori has the money, it could lure out the killer.”

“Maybe Butch killed him. Did you ever think about that? If he knew CJ had the money, he'd probably do it in a heartbeat. CJ always said Butch was his best friend, but Butch Wells doesn't have any friends. He doesn't care about anyone but himself.”

“Yes, I think there is a strong possibility Butch killed CJ.”

Doris looked out the window and nudged her glasses up her nose. “Speaking of Mr. Glenn, he's out there in the park. You just missed him.”

“Really? Maybe I'll go sit with him.”

“Three may be a crowd,” Doris said.

“Three?”

“He's talking with that English woman who runs the inn. What's that place called? The Inn at somewhere?”

“Gretchen?” I said. “
Really
?” I walked over to the smudged glass door and peered out. They were seated on an ornate wrought-iron bench facing the fountain in the park across the street. I could just make out the backs of their gray heads, dipped together as if in a serious discussion. “Oh, Doris.” I looked back at her. “This is exciting.”

“Don't go playing matchmaker. Nothing good ever comes from that.”

“I won't. Glenn says he isn't ready, that he already had the love of his life. But Gretchen has been persistent. She comes to the café almost every day we're open. You should see the way she looks at him. I think
moony
is an understatement.”

“Well, if it happens on its own, I'm happy for Glenn. He's a good man. But I agree with him about feeling lucky you got it right the first time. Sometimes one is all you need.”

 

T
HIRTY
-
SIX

As I walked to my car, I wondered if I was on the right track. Was I deliberately ignoring Kevin and Jake as suspects? I slid into my seat and fished my phone out of my purse. I texted Kevin.

I waited for a response. I had another day off tomorrow. Maybe he would be up for a talk. My phone chimed.

I typed quickly.

The talk bubble appeared immediately.

*   *   *

The bar was quiet, with just a handful of people occupying the stools. Chuck approached immediately. “I sure am glad to see you,” he said. “I was worried you didn't like the place.”

“Are you kidding? I love it here. Glenn and I are excited to have discovered it. I've just been very busy.”

“Blue Point?”

“Oh my goodness, yes.”

“Coming right up,” he said as he filled my pint glass.

“So, Chuck, when you get a moment, I need some advice.”

“It's a Monday. Everyone spent their money over the weekend. I've got all night.”

I took my first sip. “Oh, that is even better than I remembered. I would serve this at the café, except I would never compete with you.”

“You serving spirits now?”

“Just some local beer and wine. But that's my problem. One of my customers drank three beers in less than an hour on Saturday, and I had myself a skirmish.”

“You tussled with a customer?”

“Everyone but me. Let's see, we had the sheriff, Butch, Jackson, and then Glenn and Custer tried to break it up.”

“You don't say? In a café?”

“In the kitchen, no less. So what do you do when someone is drinking too much? Cut them off? Maybe I shouldn't have served Jackson that third beer.”

“Jackson?”