Death at the Day Lily Cafe (32 page)

The music reached a crescendo, as I continued to work, sautéing the crumbled scrapple, peeling the shrimp. I was in my café, and it grounded me. My father had walked the perimeter of his farm like a rooster protecting what and who he loved. I was beginning to understand him now, because I too felt a fierce protectiveness for the people and places I cherished. There it was—our similarity. Thank you, Bini. Why hadn't I realized growing up how content my father was with his life? He didn't need more. I was his little girl with her own eccentricities and he loved me for who I was. I once saw a saying,
happiness is loving what you have
. My father could have written it and he certainly lived it. I smiled to myself. Understanding him in this way gave me a sense of peace.

Bocelli kept me company as I worked. Custer's grandmother's aged index card was propped against the salt shaker. The grits were simmering in butter and cream. The pepper had blackened and I put it to rest in a brown bag. I dipped a shrimp in buttermilk and dredged it in some cornmeal mixed with Old Bay seasoning. Once all the shrimp were coated, I dropped them in a frying pan with a little vegetable oil and butter. The shrimp were fresh, and they pinked up in no time. The scrapple was draining on a paper towel.

I peeled the charred skin from the red pepper, diced it and added it to the grits along with some aged cheddar cheese and seasonings. Next came the crumbled scrapple and I stirred it all together. I rubbed my hands together. Time for the taste test.

After scooping some of the grits mixture in a bowl and topping it with the shrimp, I grabbed a napkin and headed out to the bar. As I walked through the open door, I wondered what the side should be. Roasted corn on the cob? Maybe sliced in thirds, slathered in butter, and dusted with Hungarian paprika? I wondered if Custer's grandmother had a signature coleslaw recipe.

I perched at the bar, dipped in my fork, and took a bite. “Whoa,” I said with my mouth full. It was delicious. Normally I would be already thinking of ways to tweak a new creation, but this wasn't my recipe to tamper with. And my guess was this one had been honed and adjusted for generations.

I finished the entire bowl and was so excited I wanted to share it with my friends. Maybe I would drop some off at Glenn's place on my way home. And Doris Bird might be needing a little something for dinner. And I should definitely take some to Jake and Kevin. I could bring them a bottle of wine, maybe coax them together a little more.

Next I made a batch of medium-roast coffee, my afternoon go-to, and sat at the counter sorting through my mail. I sipped my coffee and flipped through a brochure I'd ordered last week, excited it had arrived. I startled when I heard a knock at the door. I turned to see the sheriff peering in.

“Hi,” I said as I opened the door. He was in civilian clothes, khakis and a short-sleeved polo shirt, a rarity for him. “You're just in time for coffee.”

“No coffee. I'm on my way to the airport.”

“You're taking a vacation?” I smiled. “It's about time.”

“I'm going to Las Vegas to get Jamie.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said. “You are? Did Lori ask you to do that?”

“No. This is something I'm doing on my own. What do you think? No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don't want to know what you think. I'm not even sure why I'm here telling you.”

“Come and sit down. Just for a minute.” I preceded him to the bar where we both perched on the high-backed chairs. The sheriff seemed preoccupied and combed his hand through his hair several times. It was unusual to see him hatless. “Sheriff, what will you do when you get there?”

“I'm not really sure. First I have to find him.”

“That shouldn't be too hard. After all, you are the law.”

“Yeah, I know.” He looked up at me. His crow's-feet intensified as he narrowed his eyes. “I keep telling myself he must have told me about the paternity results for a reason. If he didn't want anything to do with me, then why let me know?”

“That's a very good question. I agree, he wanted you to know.”

“Thing is, I can't stop thinking he got it from me. The drinking, that is.” His forehead was deeply lined. “Maybe I can help him stop before it gets out of control.”

My heart warmed. That had never before happened in the presence of this man. “Go after him,” I said. “Forge that connection. I think it could be very good for both of you.”

He studied me. “I don't know how to do that, but…” He checked his watch. “But I have to at least try.” He stood and removed his sunglasses.

I couldn't contain the wide grin I felt bubbling up from inside. “Godspeed.”

He gave his head a stiff nod and walked out the door.

I sat back at the bar and sipped my coffee. I flipped through the pages of the brochure. The photographs were stunning. Breathtaking landscapes. Ancient buildings. Italy. I longed to go to there. The Italians seemed to know the secret to living, relishing everyday pleasures: food, wine, love. Love. I propped my chin in my palm. There it was again. My missing piece. I thought about Tyler. Did I love him? I rolled my eyes. I'd loved him for a long time. And it had grown stronger every day I'd spent with him. Having thought so much about my father, I had gained some insight into who I had been in my marriage—a placater, pleaser, waiting for direction from someone else on how to live my life.

I gazed around the café, admiring the ochre walls and floral toppers, the gleaming Mieles and the chalkboard waiting for the next special. I was different now. I was ready to relish life like an Italian. I closed the brochure. Maybe I could learn the language. Maybe I could—I startled when I heard a noise in the kitchen. “Hello?” I called out. I could see the shadow of someone moving about. I heard cabinets opening and closing. “
Hello
?” I said again. The kitchen door opened and Dickens trotted through. “Oh my goodness.” I hopped up and ran over to him. “Look at you.” I scratched his ears enthusiastically. His tail thumped against the floor. “You're out and about.”

Tyler's head appeared in the doorway. “Busy?”

“No.” I wrapped my arms around Dickens. “Tyler, he seems better.”

“Steroids. Doc said it could slow down the cancer for a couple of years if it takes, and it sure seems to be.”

“Oh my goodness. That's wonderful news.” Dickens perched on the floor and rested his head on my knees.

“I brought you something,” Tyler said. “It's a little belated. But I can't find the champagne glasses. Don't you serve champagne now?”

I set Dickens's head gently on the floor and stood. “They're out here, on the shelf.”

Tyler walked behind the bar and picked up two glasses. I noted he didn't need to stand on his tiptoes. The scent of sandalwood met my nose. He was in clean, faded jeans and a T-shirt that was a little more snug than I was used to seeing him wear. His sandy blond hair was loose about his head, his ball cap stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Punch out early?” I watched as he set the glasses next to each other on the marble.

“Bini's letting the chickens free range, then I think she'll call it a day, too.”

“Mmm. Champagne.” I spun the bottle around. “Moët and Chandon? Nice.”

“Read the entire label.”

I leaned in closer. “Dom Perignon? Oh my gosh, Tyler, did you win the lottery or something?”

“Let's just say I got a good deal on the spinach this spring.” He peeled off the foil surrounding the cork, unwound the wire, wrapped the towel around the top of the bottle, and eased out the cork stopper. After a quiet pop, a cool mist rose out of the opening. Alessa would have approved.

He filled the glasses and raised his in a toast. “To the Day Lily Café. Long may she live.”

“Thank you, Tyler.” We clinked glasses. I smiled up at him and took a long, luxurious sip. The bubbles tickled my throat.

He studied me. “You know what I realized this afternoon?”

“What's that?”

“I've missed seeing you.”

“You have?”

“I'm used to having you around the farm every day.”

“I've been feeling the same way. I miss talking with you.”

He leaned back against the counter. “I also want to apologize for the other night.”

“Why?” I took another sip. “Tyler, did you only kiss me because you'd been drinking? Do you regret it now?”

“What? That's not what I meant. I was worried I had crossed some sort of boundary because the wine had freed me up to do so. I told you that night I'd wanted to kiss you from the first day I met you.”

I inhaled deeply and focused. I wanted to be fully present for this moment. No fears, no old worries. I was Rosalie Hart, the owner of the Day Lily Café. “It was a lovely kiss.”

Tyler came around the bar and sat down. He put his hands on either side of my chair and turned it so we faced each other. “I said that about the wine because it gave me the courage to kiss you. I didn't regret it in the morning.” He lifted my chin and kissed me with his soft lips. Every dormant nerve ending responded, and a delicious warmth ignited my body. When he finished I looked into his eyes. He met my gaze. “How was that one?”

“Even better.”

“You sure?” He had a playful grin on his face. “'Cause I really like kissing you.”

“I like kissing you, too.”

He handed me my champagne glass. “It might get weird. How are we going to play this?”

I took a long sip. The bubbles were so tiny and numerous they made me giggle. “You know, maybe what seems weird to our friends is that it's taken us this long.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But you and I needed to learn to trust again. Otherwise it never would have worked.”

“And are you ready now?”

“Honestly? I've been ready for a while. But I wanted to make sure you were, too.”

I put my hand on his and played with his fingers. “You're very astute.”

“So we can do this, right?”

“Yes. We will still do what we do. Only now we get to kiss and stuff.”

“And stuff?” His eyes danced.

My face warmed. “Maybe we shouldn't overthink it.”

“Agreed.” He topped off my glass. “You like this champagne.”

“Very much.”

Tyler looked around the room as he sipped. “This place is amazing. I didn't really get a chance to see it when there were so many people here last week.”

I studied his profile. His straight nose, dimpled chin, long lashes. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”

“You know, Rosalie, I have a few ideas of my own.”

Wow. He so rarely said my name. It sounded as beautiful as the note Bocelli was singing in the background. “Tell me, Tyler.”

“I'm talking about the farm. I know we've already done a lot, but it could be so much more. Not just organic crops, but organic animals, and flowers that attract the right insects, all keeping the ecosystem stable. Global warming is snowballing.” He stopped, his brow furrowed. “That metaphor didn't quite work.”

I laughed, kicked off my shoes, and tucked my legs beneath me.

“We could establish a humane slaughter system,” he continued. “That way we could raise some cattle. They've done studies about animals and stress. And if we decide to do it, we wouldn't have to stuff them into trucks and send them to feedlots. We could do it right there on the farm. We're forming the co-op, and I've got a lot of interest from other farms.”

“Cattle?”

“Grass-fed beef. I've been trying to decide which field I'll put them in. I may forgo the soybeans this year and plant grass. I'm not sure what kind is the best, but Bini will do the research.”

“I like the idea a lot, actually. I love cows.”

“Don't tell me you're going to name them.”

“Of course I will. I've already got some ideas. Will they be Black Angus?”

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“There will have to be a Midnight. Oh, and Shadow.”

“At least they'll be original.”

“I've got one, Cocoa Chanel,
c-o-c-o-a
.” I nudged him. “Come on, that's pretty good.”

“You go ahead and think up your names, but I've got a lot to do to make it happen.” He eyed me. “So you're okay with this?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “More than okay. I love it. And I'll help you in any way I can.”

“We'll learn together.” He pointed at me and then himself. “You and me.”

I lifted my glass. “Another toast?”

“Always.”

“Here's to you and me being sustainable, too.”

He smiled. “Yes, Rosalie. I like the sound of that.” He clinked his glass against mine, locked eyes with me, and drained his champagne. He set the glass down. “Actually, that raises another question.”

“Really?” My heart fluttered with anticipation.

He reached over to the stack of mail and picked up my brochure. “Any particular reason you were reading this?”

I swallowed hard as he held it up.

Casa Bianca
. A
villa set high in the hills of Tuscany offering two
-w
eek-long cooking vacations.

“Oh, that. Just a little somethin' I was thinking about doing.”

 

R
ECIPES

Grand Opening Egg Bake

This dish serves six and can be prepared in one large skillet or it can be prepared in a large skillet then dished into six oval ramekins before baking.

¼ cup olive oil

1 medium onion, chopped

1 green pepper, chopped

1 red bell pepper, chopped

4 garlic cloves, finely chopped

½ to 1 teaspoon Rosalie's aromatic salt (see recipe below)

1 teaspoon dried oregano

1 28-ounce can crushed organic Italian tomatoes

½ can chopped ripe olives or 1 small can sliced ripe olives