Death at the Day Lily Cafe (4 page)

Doris patted her sister's hand and helped herself to a cookie.

“Those cookies smell delicious,” I said.

“After my shower,” Lori said, “I didn't know what to do with myself, so I decided to bake. For who, I'm not exactly sure.”

“I get that, too.” I crossed my legs and leaned back in my chair. “Lori, Doris has asked me to help you. But I'm wondering if you should start with a lawyer.”

“I have one. She's legal aid. She was with me while the sheriff asked me questions last night. But she sure didn't say much.”

Doris rolled her eyes. “That woman only does it because the court makes her. She has about as much interest in helping you as she does in eatin' tar.”

“Doris, you know I can't afford a regular lawyer.” Lori looked at me again. “Carl James had a good job working on those new dorms at the college, but just a few weeks ago they sent all the managers home.”

“Lori,” I said, “why does the sheriff think you killed Carl James? Does he have any evidence?”

“Not that I know of.” Lori played with a button on her blouse. “The biggest thing is I don't have an alibi. The time of death was late at night. Around midnight. Who has an alibi when they're sleeping?”

“Too bad they can't question the dogs.” Doris picked up her third cookie.

“Where had he gone that night?” I took a small sip of tea.

“He was at the tavern,” she said. “At least I think that's where he was.”

Doris rolled her eyes. “You know that's where he was. He went there every night.”

“Only recently, Doris,” Lori said.

“So who could have killed him?” I said. “Did he have any enemies? Or was he in some sort of trouble?”

Doris started to answer for her sister, but Lori placed a hand on her arm to quiet her. “Let me tell you how it was with Carl James and me. You see, we got married right out of high school. I mean, after I got out of high school. Carl James never finished. He was always a charmer. Swept me right off my feet. He did like his Kentucky Gentleman, but he always came straight home from the tavern and was never too drunk to drive. He would bring in the dogs, turn out the lights, and kiss me on the cheek before he crawled into bed.”

“That's sweet,” I said.

“I believe you mentioned the tavern,” Doris said. “If Rosalie is going to help us, maybe you should stop sugar-coating everything and tell her something useful.”

“I don't know what you want me to say,” Lori said. “There was a lot more to him than just a man who liked to go out drinking. Do you know, every morning when I set his coffee in front of him he told me he loved me? And that meeting me was the best day of his life.” She smiled at the memory. “And then he would always say he didn't need any sugar in his coffee because I was sweet enough.” She clutched the button again. “Please let me grieve, sister of mine. I know you and CJ didn't always see eye to eye, but he was my husband. You and I were both raised to be good to our men.”

Doris exhaled a long sigh. Cookie crumbs dotted her dress. “The thing is, Miss Rosalie, I agree with my sister to a point. CJ wasn't a bad man. He was a good provider. And I know he was loyal to Lori here. But see, some folks found him hard to take. I guess that's true for everyone, now, isn't it?”

“Yes, that's for darn sure.” I finished my tea and set the cup on the saucer. “Was there anyone in particular who found him disagreeable?”

“Not that I know of.” Lori shook her head. “This must have been some sort of accident.”

Doris was frowning at Lori. “Honey, he was shot in the chest at close range.”

“I'm aware.” Lori's eyes drooped. Her hands fell into her lap. “It's just so awful.”

“It's tragic,” I said. Lori twisted her hands together. A tear trickled down her cheek. I desperately wanted to help her, but so far neither of them was giving me much to work with. “So you said he was at the tavern. I don't know the place.”

“It's the Cardigan Tavern,” Lori said. “It's on College Avenue. Carl James liked to go there and watch baseball and talk with his friends. Since he got laid off, he went there every night, like Doris said. It was fine by me. It was better than having him sulk around here. You see, Carl James hated being idle. He liked to work. And he was very good at what he did.”

“I can see that just looking around your home.”

Lori smiled, but her lips trembled into a grimace.

I hesitated, unsure how much more she could take. “Who found him, Lori, and where?”

“A young couple walking their dog yesterday morning. They found him in a lacrosse field and…” She covered her mouth.

“I'm sorry, Lori, but I have just one more question. Had you reported him missing?”

She shook her head. Her hand dropped into her lap. “I never knew. The sheriff's call woke me up. That's when I noticed he had never come to bed.”

“Okay, honey,” Doris said, and rubbed her sister's arm. “I can see you're spent. Rosalie and I will be going now so you can get some rest. You okay?”

“I'm okay. And Butch is coming by later.”

“What's
he
doing in town?” Doris said, a scowl set hard on her face.

“He was Carl James's best friend.” She brushed a wet strand of hair off her forehead. “Of course he would come.”

“Who is Butch?” I said.

“Butch Wells.” Doris shook her head. “Don't you go trusting him, Lori. You're vulnerable right now, and he knows it.”

I thanked Lori for the tea and cookies and headed back out to the foyer. Doris stayed behind and whispered with her sister for a moment. I peeked into the small living room and noticed a gun cabinet with three very well-polished shotguns standing upright. I walked over to it. There were four slots. One was empty. I tugged on the knob but the door was locked.

“Ready?” Doris said from behind me. She took in the cabinet. “You think she did it, don't you?”

“No, of course not.”

“We are all she has, Miss Rosalie. You and me. CJ was a good enough man, but he had a chip on his shoulder. It's like he always felt the world owed him more than he got. But you and I can't go there. We have to figure out what really happened.”

“Agreed,” I said. “But I noticed there's a gun missing from this cabinet. You can tell one was here not long ago, because the shape is outlined by dust.”

“So you
do
think she did it.”

“That's not what I'm suggesting. Maybe someone took it in order to frame Lori.” I studied the tall cabinet. “But how would they get inside?”

“That's easy.” Doris reached up and found a key on top of the cabinet. She held it out to me.

“But who would know it was there?”

Doris shook her head. “Everyone keeps their key exactly there. Little ones can't reach. Grown-ups don't forget.”

“But they would have to find a way inside the house.”

“Front door,” Doris said matter-of-factly.

“That's right. No one locks their doors on the Eastern Shore.” I frowned. “Doris, does Lori have any children?”

“Yeah. Just one. But Jamie couldn't have done it. He works in Delaware. He's a police officer. And a good one at that.”

“I wasn't accusing him, either. Just asking questions.” I tucked my arm through Doris's and started for the door. “The key to conducting an investigation is not jumping to conclusions. First you have to gather evidence. And then you let the evidence point you in the right direction.” We stepped out into the sunlight, and I fished my sunglasses out of my bag. “And the missing shotgun could be significant.” I let go of her arm so she could walk around to the other side of the car. “If someone took that shotgun, maybe they had a vendetta against Lori.” I slid into the car. “We'll have to find out if the sheriff has the murder weapon.”

As Doris and I drove away, the dogs chasing us most of the way down the lane, I said, “Tell me about your family, Doris. Did you have other siblings?”

“No. It was just me and Lori.” The seat belt signal was almost finished. “After me, my mama had trouble getting pregnant. It took her a while before she could conceive again, plus a miscarriage in between. And Lori was always small. My daddy used to call her his little runt.”

“Do you mind if I ask what kind of childhood you and Lori had?”

Doris thought for a moment. “We had a good mama, but she was always tired. She worked hard cleaning houses, and then she had to come home and take care of us. I think plain old living just pooped her out.”

“What about your father?”

“Let me tell you this: The way I see it, when women get hitched at a young age they either marry their fathers or the opposite of their fathers. And Lori married our father. I loved my daddy, but he was a lot like CJ, thinking he got the short end of the stick.” She looked over at me. “When you think like that, no one can ever make you happy no matter how hard they try.”

“That's some truth.” I eased off the gas as we entered the town limits. “What about you? Did you marry your father?”

“Opposite.” She nodded stiffly and stared ahead. “I've always had an independent nature. So I got out of that house as fast as I could and started working. I married my Charlie after I opened the store. He helped me out some, but he was just as happy sitting in a chair behind the counter talking with folks. He was a gentle, good man.” She smiled. “He could always find something to be happy about, even if it was as simple as sharing a cold beer.” She clutched her hands together. “We had a good run at marriage. I sure do miss him now that he's gone.”

When I stopped in front of Doris's house, I turned in my seat to face her. “Lori mentioned Butch Wells. Is he related to Tyler? Distant cousin, maybe?”

She gripped her purse with one hand, the other on the door handle. “Butch is Tyler's older brother.”

*   *   *

As I at last headed home, I wondered … who had I married? My father or the opposite of him? He was a farmer, which was very unlike Ed, and led a simple life, preferring quiet and certainty over excitement and surprises. He expected his coffee to be strong, his food piping hot, and my mother to deliver a frosty Budweiser to him every evening before supper. The only change he welcomed was that of the seasons because, after all, in rural Virginia, that was certain, too.

But my father never seemed to know what to do with me. Sometimes I wondered if he wished they'd stopped having children after my brother. Oliver would have been enough for him, I think. I was certainly the opposite of my father. I loved surprise parties and fairy tales and skipping. And I had never been comfortable with silence. I spent afternoons in the barn chattering away at the cows, naming each one, making them queens and princesses pining over unrequited love. But my need to fill the airwaves would cause my father's ears to stretch back like an annoyed cat's. Funny, I thought as I turned into my drive, I never thought much about my father.

I parked my car and killed the engine. I was exhausted and in need of a shower, and my brain was beginning to hurt. I climbed out of the car and started toward the house, but stopped when an eerie feeling prickled my scalp. Someone was watching me. I looked around. Dusk had settled, casting a gray pall over the house and its surroundings. I walked over to the chicken coop but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Then I looked up. I froze when my eyes met the steely, unwavering gaze of a hawk, its razor-edged talons gripped tight around a sycamore limb.

 

E
IGHT

The next morning I cracked open the door to Annie's room and peered in. One arm was draped over her forehead; the other clutched our cat, who gazed at me with a contented look. He winked a few times and settled his chin on Annie's hip. My adopted cat had originally been named Sweetie Pie, but after just one day on the farm and seven dead goldfinches under his belt, Tyler renamed him Sweeney Todd. Annie and I had reluctantly agreed to the name change, but had shortened his name to Todd. An odd name for a cat, but he seemed content with whatever we called him. Just as long as we called him.

Annie looked younger than her twenty-one years in slumber, a peaceful expression on her face, her cheeks tinted a bright pink. I was curious about her evening with Custer. But she had already completed two independent years in college; I had no business telling her who she could or couldn't date. I squeezed the knob and left the door slightly ajar.

After an early shower, I immediately began my tasks. I was not going to be late to the café again. Once I was properly groomed, I headed downstairs and into the kitchen, picked up a flower basket, and went out to the garden to gather herbs for the day's menu.

I opened the front door and almost tripped over Scheherazade, my favorite chicken. She was huddled on the coir doormat. Her black-and-white feathers were puffed out, making her look twice her normal size. I scooped her up, just as Tyler taught me, holding her close to my body like a football. She pecked at the buttons on my blouse and eventually laid her head against my chest.

“Sherry,” I said, “why are you trying to come into the house?” I carried her toward the coop. “You have a brand-new house of your own.”

I found Tyler standing amid the chickens while they pecked at the grass. He held a rifle in one hand.

“Are you going to shoot the hawk?” I said as I neared.

He shook his head. “Not legal.”

“Are you going to shoot the chickens then?” I gave him a small smile.

“I'm just letting them free range before I put them back in the coop.” He eyed Scheherazade. “Where did you find her?”

“Huddled on the stoop.” I set her down, and she lingered at my feet. “I saw the hawk last night when I got home. I think the chickens are scared.”

“Affirmative.” Tyler scanned the clump of sycamores.