Death at the Day Lily Cafe (27 page)

“Good idea. Remember, we're closed Monday through Wednesday, so I'll be off for three days after tomorrow.”

“I love that you have the café, Mom. Don't ever neglect it on my account. And just for the record, you should stay open all week.”

“That's certainly the goal. But I'm overwhelmed as it is. And I can't help but think this wouldn't have happened if I were home.”

Annie snuggled under the covers and turned on her side, her arm embracing Todd. I think the pills were kicking in.

“Good. I'll come back upstairs as soon as I finish talking with the sheriff.” I pulled the drapes closed and trotted down the stairs.

Sheriff Wilgus was seated at the kitchen table staring out the window. The chair seemed too small for his large girth, although it looked as if he'd shed a few pounds. “All tucked in,” I said.

He looked up. “She okay?”

“As okay as she can be. Would you like some coffee?”

He hesitated. “Yeah. I think I would.”

I poured us each a mug full and sat across from him. “How are you, sheriff?”

He wrapped his hands around the steaming cup. “I'm real tired.”

“Have you spoken with Jamie?”

He shook his head. “Haven't seen him. I think he went back to Delaware.”

“It must be so confusing for you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “It's a hell of a lot more than that.”

“Have you arrested Lori?”

“I haven't done a damn thing.”

“Any idea where the stolen money is?”

“If you had asked me that a couple of days ago, I would have said Lori still had it. And she may. It's probably socked away somewhere. It's not like it was marked or anything. It was just payroll cash.”

“And the college?”

“I sent them an e-mail. Everyone will be back to work on Monday.”

“Are you going to leave Lori alone?” I eyed him over my mug as a I sipped.

He grimaced. “I can't. It ain't right if she killed her husband.” He slugged back some coffee. “And it ain't right what she did to me.” He looked back out at the river. “That woman sure knows how to bust up a few lives.”

 

F
ORTY
-
FIVE

Doris was at the door at six a.m. Glenn ushered her in.

She clutched a large stack of newspapers. “Neither of you has been in for your papers for a couple of days now.” She dropped them onto the bar with a loud smack.

“How are you, Doris?” I said. “I've been thinking about you. Can you sit for minute or two?”

Doris situated herself on a bar chair.

“What's been going on?” Glenn said. “How has Jamie taken the news?”

“Jamie got that blood test a long time ago. He's known for quite a while that CJ wasn't his father. Those yearbooks were what tipped him off about Joe Wilgus. He did the math and looked in the mirror.” Doris glanced around the room. “I smell coffee. Is it ready yet?”

I poured her a cup and set it in front of her. “What happened after we left Lori's house?”

“Jamie screamed at his mom for a while, then he tore out of there.” She stirred a generous portion of sugar into her coffee. “I'm worried sick about him. He took a leave of absence from work.” She looked up. “I don't have any idea where he is. My Betsy said he hasn't been on the Facebook or that Insta-telegram thing. And she said ordinarily he'd be posting pictures of his body because he works out so much.”

“And Lori?” Glenn said with furrowed brows.

“I'm so mad at her. And yet I feel sorry for her. I don't know what to think. She's botched up just about everything she could in her life. Why did she have to go and lie about it all? The money, Jamie's paternity?” Doris shook her head. “At least we got her house put back together. And I think Butch is going to leave her alone now.”

“Should I let the sheriff in?” Crystal was standing close, her hands tucked in her apron pockets. Her shoes were quieter than slippers.

I walked over and unlocked the door. “Hi,” I said. “I'll get you some coffee.”

Sheriff Wilgus shuffled in the door. He stopped when he saw Doris. They eyed one another warily. Doris looked down at her coffee.

His cheeks flushed. He adjusted his heavy belt and walked up to the bar. “Deputy found Butch Wells's truck by the side of the road out on Route Twenty-seven.”

“Any sign of Butch?” Glenn said.

“No. There were tire marks all around the truck. And footprints. He could have made a run for it.”

“What about the bounty hunter?” I said. “He could have taken Butch.”

“I thought of that, too. I need a description of his vehicle, and I'll put out an APB. It's not that I'm overly concerned about Butch's well-being. But I want him in my jail, not someone else's. I want to talk to your cook, though, before I do anything else. He's gone after his daddy before. No reason he didn't do it again.”

“I understand,” I said. “Of course you can talk to Custer. I'm sure he wants to know where his father is, anyway.”

I filled a cup with coffee and popped on the lid. Kevin hadn't arrived with the pastries yet, but then the sheriff didn't seem to be eating much of anything lately. His pants were so baggy he had to cinch his belt at the last notch to keep them up.

Sheriff Wilgus looked at Doris. “State's attorney says I got enough to haul your sister in.”

“What?” Doris's eyes were like saucers behind her bottle-thick glasses.

“We got the motive now with the money. And we got the weapon with her prints and no alibi.”

“What's the motive?” Glenn said.

“She wanted the money for herself.”

Doris took a long swig of coffee. “Things just keep getting worse.”

“Seems to be the case.” He lifted his hat and scratched his head. “No need for her to stay in the jail, though. We'll let her out on bail. You just make sure she don't go running off.”

Doris's eyes pleaded with me. I was glad it was Sunday and the Day Lily would be closed for the next three days. Glenn and I needed to wrap up this case, and fast.

“I'll be going back into the kitchen. Don't get yourself all worked up, Hart. Got that? Your shenanigans are the last thing I need right now.”

We watched him go.

“Doris,” Glenn said, “we've narrowed down our list of suspects. Rosalie and I are going to figure this out.”

She finished her coffee and pushed herself up. “And what if you figure out it was Lori?”

“That doesn't seem to fit, Doris,” I said. “I think she's as confused as the rest of us.”

The sheriff reappeared. “What time is he supposed to show up for work?”

Glenn and I exchanged a quizzical look. “An hour ago,” I said.

“Well, there ain't no sign of him back there. His cycle ain't in the alley, either.”

*   *   *

The sparkling wine was chilling, the coffee brewing, the tables set, and still no Custer. “He's not coming,” I said to Glenn. “He's too ashamed.”

“He's not responsible for his father's behavior.”

“What should we do?” Crystal said.

“Can you two handle up front? I'll have to take over the food.” I reached for my purse and pulled out a hair clip. “Play up the French roast so we have fewer special coffee orders.”

“Is everything ready?” Glenn said. “We ran out of here yesterday before you had a chance to prepare for today.”

“I honestly don't know.” I looked over at Glenn. “You predicted this.”

“Not predicted, just wondered what we would do if Custer didn't show up for work one day.”

“Okay,” I said. “Stall, entertain, and pour lots of champagne.”

“Now you're a poet,” Crystal said.

“That's a first.” I twisted my hair up and snapped the clip in place. “I have no idea how this is going to work.”

“I'll be in charge of opening the sparkling wine,” Crystal said. “I can channel Alessa.”

“If anyone can pull that off, it's you, my dear,” Glenn said while he filled the vases. “Um, Rosalie?” He peered at me over his glasses. “Perhaps you should head back to the kitchen. I think you have a few things to do.”

 

F
ORTY
-
SIX

When I'd first devised a business plan for the café, I met with the Cardigan Bank and Trust and took out a small business loan. One of the most expensive items I needed to purchase, in addition to an eight-burner commercial stove, multiple dishwashers, and an enormous refrigerator, was a POS computer system. The POS, or point of sale, included the computer on which Glenn and Crystal typed their orders and a monitor in the kitchen where the orders were displayed for the cook. Who was now me.

I fired up the monitor and brushed my hands together. Brunch consisted of an à la carte menu with a choice of three items from the following: banana bread French toast, potato cake, florentine omelet, arugula salad, choice of breakfast meat, fruit, and fresh oysters. Every order included a side of buttermilk biscuits and local creamery butter. What was I thinking?

I opened the refrigerator and began removing ingredients. The salad was ready. It just needed to be tossed. The banana bread had been baking all morning. The eggs were whipped. Where to start? Although Custer and I had worked out a prioritization system when I first trained him, I felt like a triage nurse in an overwhelmed ER. One at a time, I thought. Start with the French toast. The monitor flashed. An order already?

I rushed over to read it. Four diners and four completely different orders. I ran back to the refrigerator and looked for the oysters. They weren't opened. Are you kidding me, I thought. I peeked through the door to the dining room. Three tables were already filled. Crystal was opening a bottle of sparkling wine. Glenn had turned on some soothing classical music.

“Psst,” I said when Glenn passed by.

“What is it?”

“I didn't open the oysters.”

He looked over his shoulder. Crystal was seating a party of three. “Maybe we should cancel them for today.”

“Can you try?”

He hesitated. “Let me make sure everyone has their drink orders, and I'll be right there. How are the biscuits coming along? That might tide everyone over.”

“Ready to go.” I let the door swing shut, lined four baskets with cloth napkins, and piled in the biscuits the bakery had delivered that morning. I folded the napkins over the biscuits and topped each basket with a dish of maple butter. I balanced them on my arms and hurried to the door. Glenn barged through, and we barely avoided toppling into one another.

“I'm not used to someone coming the other way.” Glenn righted his glasses. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “There are two orders for oysters. Each order includes three.”

“I just got another one,” he said. “Wish me luck.”

I passed out the biscuits and greeted the customers. So far everyone seemed relaxed and composed. Except me, of course. “I'm telling people our espresso machine is out of commission,” Crystal said as she walked by with two sodas.

“Really?” My shoulders fell. “Okay. I guess we have to.”

I went back to the kitchen. Glenn hadn't opened a single oyster. “They're not cooperating,” he said as he tried desperately to pry one apart. “Where's the shucker?”

“Cancel the oysters,” I said. “Tell them our cook is out for the day.”

Glenn picked up the tray and flung it back into the refrigerator.

The French toast was sizzling. I flipped several over and noticed the omelet was starting to brown. I could smell the potato cakes in the oven. I tossed some bacon in a pan and slid the omelet off the stove. Glenn opened the oven. Dark smoke billowed out.

Our eyes met. “Go entertain,” I said. Glenn washed his hands and headed for the door. “How are you at soft shoe?”

He pushed through the door. “That's Crystal's department.”

*   *   *

By ten o'clock, all the tables were full but only three orders had been delivered. I was beginning to wonder if we would make it until two. I looked at the stovetop. One pan held sausage and local bacon sizzling and popping together and I had another batch of potato cakes in the oven. Crystal came back for more biscuits. “Here,” she said, and picked up some tongs. “I can toss this salad for you in a jiff.” She whipped it around, set the tongs down, and reached out to turn over several slices of bacon with a fork. She patted my back and hummed
We will rock you
as she exited.

Glenn hurried through the door. “I have a very unhappy gentleman. He came here specifically for the oysters.” He opened the refrigerator and removed the tray again. “I can do this.” He picked up a knife.

“Whoa,” Custer said as he dropped his keys on the counter. Gauze had been taped over his nose and the skin under his eyes was a deep purplish blue. “Take it easy. You're gonna cut yourself, dude.” He opened a drawer and removed the missing shucker. He took the oyster from Glenn's hand and pried it open with one twist.

“So that's where that thing was,” Glenn said. “How did you do that, anyway?”

“Eastern Shore, born and bred.”

Tears escaped down my cheeks. “Custer,” I said. “I—”

“Bacon's burning.” He slid the pan off the flame. “The organic stuff burns faster. No preservatives.” He walked over to the oven and removed the potato cakes. “These puppies start to turn black about a minute after they've cooked just right.”

“I've learned the hard way.”

He slipped into his chef's coat, tied a black and white bandana around his head, and sized up the kitchen. “This place is a freakin' mess.”

“I don't appreciate you enough.” I pushed my hair from my face.

He stood next to me and stared at his feet. “I'm sorry.”