Flipped For Murder (8 page)

Chapter 13

By the time Jim dropped me at home, the earlier gentle rain had turned into a real storm. I longed to head out on my bike, and let some sweat and some hills make me forget about the mess my life had become. But no way I was riding in this wind and rain, plus it was getting dark. I sat at the laptop in my apartment and prowled the Internet until I found a bike trainer that transformed a road bike into a stationary model. I'd seen the simple stands that the back wheel clicked into, with selectable resistance levels, and I ordered one on the spot. It'd be useful all winter, and was way cheaper than a gym membership. Nashville had a YMCA, but I preferred exercising alone.

I heard a scratching at the back door and froze.
Someone trying to get in? Or maybe a branch in the wind?
I was sure I'd locked it, but it only had a simple lock in the doorknob. If somebody really wanted to get in, I had no doubt they could. I reached out and switched off the lamp on the desk so I couldn't be seen. The motion-activated light outside was lit up, although that could be from the branches waving in the wind. Or maybe from a murderer skulking around my windows. I shivered and grabbed for my bag, scrabbling in its depths for my phone.

I heard the sound again. The loud
meow
that followed made me laugh at myself. I turned the light back on before I got up and let Birdy in, who gave the expression “as wet as a drowned rat” new meaning. His fluffy black fur was soaked and made him look about half the size he usually did. I found an old towel and rubbed him as dry as I could get him. I made sure I locked the door again, just in case the next sound wasn't so innocent. Maybe my next purchase should be a dead bolt. And a cat door.

I was still restless. I hated having to go to the police station. I couldn't stand that I was living under even a hint of suspicion. Buck hadn't given my ideas much credence, either. I was still upset with Jim at having withheld his knowledge of my pen's discovery. And a killer was out there somewhere, a person who'd found it within himself or herself to take another person's life.

I paced my apartment, then went into the store. Wielding a feather duster, I wandered among the shelves of cookware. While everything was vintage, that didn't mean it should be covered with dust. Reaching up, I dusted the top shelf, where I'd arrayed colorful cookie tins and trays. I straightened a collection of pastry cutters and another of choppers. I moved a couple of tart pans from the measuring-spoon section back to the shelves of baking pans. When I came to the meat grinder, I paused. I wanted to insert the
Find the Murderer
disk, pour all the information I'd learned into the hopper, and grind out the answer. Too bad life didn't work that way. And so far, my puzzle master hat wasn't really working, either.

When my stomach notified me in no uncertain terms it was time for dinner, I put away the duster and returned to my personal kitchen. Birdy ran to his food bowl and gazed up at me with hopeful eyes. Looked like it was his dinnertime, too. I scooped out a cupful of dry food, but he bumped my hand as I poured it into the dish and half of it scattered on the floor.

“Silly cat,” I said, kneeling to gather up the food and get it back into the bowl, where it belonged. I heated up the rest of the orzo for my own supper, then I grabbed the grater and added Parmesan on top. That and a glass of red was plenty. I brought the crossword I was working on to the table, but it didn't feel right to do it without Mom's pen. I should have asked Buck if I'd ever get the pen back.

I took a bite of the orzo. Even though the basil in the pesto was still fragrant and the mouthfeel of the slippery little pasta shapes was usually something I loved, I barely tasted it. Despite the delicious ending to last night's dinner with Jim, the about-to-sprout romance looked like it'd dried up and withered away. I shook my head. I'd lived without love in my life for more than three years. I knew how, whether I liked it or not.

As I ate, I stared at the grid of squares on my clipboard. Some empty, some black, some I'd filled in. I looked at the clues, 110 of them in the
Across
list, and 114 in the
Down.

Clues. What about the
Stella Murder
puzzle? What would that one look like?
I snapped my fingers and rose to dig a pad of graph paper out of my desk drawer. I'd bought it when I was designing the layout for the restaurant and store. I brought the paper back to the table, along with a sharp number two pencil and a clear blue ruler. I supposed there was an interactive puzzle design website out there somewhere. Wasn't there an app for everything? But for me, using my hands with something more tactile than a keyboard engaged my brain in a different way than using my eyes on a screen.

I drew a grid. I started jotting down what I knew under the clues section. Corrine disliked Stella intensely. Don hated Corrine for beating him in the mayoral race and, by extension, hated Stella. Ed's restaurant now faced competition from mine. Someone either had access to Stella's house, or was a local she knew well enough to let in. Roy Rogers was an odd bird.

Then I added what I didn't know:
Who did Stella blackmail? Was Ed sexually harassing his female employees? Who stole my pen? Who killed Stella?

By the time I ran out of facts and questions, my plate was empty and my glass was, too. No answers were apparent, but my mind was more at ease for laying it out in a format that was as familiar to me as my own name. I stood and headed back into the store to do prep for tomorrow. I had tables to set, biscuit dough to prep, gravy to make, and my alarm was going to ring loud and early. At least now I thought I'd be able to sleep.

 

 

I unlocked the front door of the store at a few minutes before seven, turning the
CLOSED
sign to
OPEN
. Danna had arrived promptly again, and we'd been working together for half an hour. I pushed the door open wide and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. The storm had blown through, leaving a chilly but sparkling clean fall morning. The trees looked cleaner, too, since last night's wind had blown off half their leaves. We might have just slid past peak leaf-peeking. Adele's old Ford Explorer rattled up, the sides streaked with mud. She climbed out of one side, while Vera emerged from the other.

Adele and I exchanged a hug. “Couldn't stay away?” I smiled at her and greeted Vera.

“We're hungry,” Adele said. “We've been out birding already. Thought we'd better fill up the tanks before we head back out.”

They both wore sturdy outdoor boots and warm coats. Vera's neck was wrapped in a brilliant purple scarf and I spied a field guide stuffed in her coat pocket.

“See anything good?” I asked.

“We got the Wilson's warbler, and a Savannah sparrow.” Vera patted her pocket. “That one's a life bird for me.”

“I'm happy for you. No idea what either of those birds is, but come on in.” I gestured them in ahead of me. “You're the first customers of the day.”

Vera headed for the restroom as Adele strolled to the grill. “'Morning, Danna.” She smiled at the young woman busy turning sausages. “You the new kitchen help?”

“Hey, Ms. Jordan.” Danna gave her a big smile. “Robbie's trying me out.”

“Of course you know each other.” I shook my head. “Does anybody in this town not know everyone else?”

“Nope. Danna's school used to bring the kids out to see my lambs every spring.” Adele snitched a hot sausage and tossed it back and forth between her hands before biting off half of it.

“Hey, sit down and order, lady.” I shooed her over to a table, then brought the freshly brewed coffee and poured. “Vera too?”

Adele pointed to Vera's cup as she chewed the sausage. I looked over. Vera still hadn't emerged, so I leaned closer to the table.

“Did my mom ever send you one of her pens? You know, from the shop?”

She cocked her head. “That's a funny question. But yes, she did.”

I must have looked interested, because she went on. “Don't get your hopes up. It got run over once and I threw it away. Why do you ask?”

I gazed at her for a minute. “My ‘Jeanine's Cabinets' pen was found in Stella's house. Somebody stole it and planted it there.”

The door pushed open with a jangle and three workmen clomped in. Bacon sizzled on the grill, and the timer dinged, telling me the biscuits were done.

Adele shook her head, looking as somber as a funeral director. “That's bad news, honey.”

“Don't I know it.” I headed over to the new customers. I called over my shoulder to Adele, “Come back during the morning lull if you can? I need to talk to you, but I can't now.”

“Will do.”

“'Morning, gentlemen.” I mustered my inner cheery proprietor and came up with a smile for the workmen, who wore the green-and-white REA logo on their shirts. I'd had great service from the Brown County Rural Electrical Association. “I'm glad you've stopped in for breakfast. Can I start you off with coffee?” After they nodded, I poured from the pot I still held in my hand, emptying it. I took their orders and headed back to the grill area.

Danna took the biscuits out and slid them into the shallow warming oven. I clipped the new orders to the wheel, started a fresh pot of coffee, threw a waiting pan of biscuits into the oven, and finished slicing the mushrooms I'd been working on when seven o'clock had rolled around. My brain was as busy as my hands, though, and it wasn't thinking about breakfast.

In a couple of minutes, the three orders were done and I carried two platters to the table. “Pancakes and sausage,” I said, setting it in front of one man. “And the Kitchen Sink omelet with biscuits, gravy, and bacon?”

“Mine,” said the heftiest one of the three.

I left his order and brought over the final breakfast, two scrambled eggs, with home fries and fruit salad.

“Looks super, miss,” said the recipient. “This is George, and Ray, and I'm Abe. Abe O'Neill.” He smiled with big brown eyes, a dimple creasing his right cheek. Looking to be in his thirties, he was lean and tan with wavy hair the color of walnuts, and his left hand was bare of gold. A little flutter of attraction in my midsection shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it was.

“Nice to meet you all. I'm Robbie Jordan. And I love REA. You all were really helpful when I was setting up here over the last few months.”

“We're a cooperative. Being helpful is part of our mission,” Abe said. When George rolled his eyes, Abe said, “It is, truly.”

I took a closer look at him. He looked familiar on top of the cuteness. “Are you related to Don?”

“One and the same. I'm his little brother.”

“You two have the same eyes.”

“And you're Jeanine's daughter, right? She used to babysit me back in the day, long time ago when she was dating Donnie.” He laughed—a delightful, low, rolling sound. “Boy, did I give her hell.”

Abe's expression turned serious. “Sorry to hear about Jeanine's passing. That must have been tough for you.” He watched me with the kindest gaze I'd gotten from a man in a long time. Maybe ever.

My throat thickened. I managed to swallow and say, “Thanks. I miss her. Boatloads.” I mustered a smile.

“And thanks to you all for coming in. I hope you'll be back.”

“We will,” Abe said. “I will, anyway.” He kept those big browns on me until I turned away.

Chapter 14

I slid tea bags into three mugs as the clock chimed ten, filled them with hot water, and carried them to the table where Adele sat. She and Vera returned, as promised. Vera wandered the cookware shelves, picking up items and exclaiming. The restaurant was empty except for us and Danna, who hummed to whatever was in her earbud as she scrubbed the morning's pots and pans. The air was warm and still held aromas of spicy sausage, sweet syrup, and old wood.

“How was the birding?” I asked as I sank into a chair. It'd been a busy morning, thank goodness, but my feet ached. I'd been so occupied I hadn't had much time to worry about murder, but now it all flooded back into my brain.

“Decent. We never got the Carolina, although we heard him. So, what's up? Has something to do with your mom's pen, I guess.”

“Buck questioned me about it yesterday. Do you remember seeing me take orders with it Saturday morning?”

Adele shook her head. “I was pretty busy on the grill. Can't say I do or don't remember.”

“Someone who was in that morning must have stolen it and left it in Stella's house. Either accidentally or to make it look like I was there. I didn't even know where Stella lived until Buck told me on the night she was killed.”

“Hmm.” Adele fished the tea bag out of her mug and laid it on a napkin, then measured four heaping spoonfuls of sugar into the mug.

A giggle burbled up out of me. “My teeth hurt just watching you sweeten that thing up.”

She stirred, took a sip, and smiled. “I've always had a thing for sweet tea. But back to business,” which she pronounced as “bidniss.” “What we have to figure out is who wanted Stella dead.”

“That's for sure. Believe me, my brain's been heating up trying to sort that out. Corrine was in here yesterday, said Stella was blackmailing half the men in town. Think it's true?”

“Could be. Wouldn't surprise me one iota.” She tapped the side of the mug with her spoon. “She was a snoopy bi . . . broad.”

I laughed. “Go ahead. Corrine called her a ‘bitch.' You might as well, too.”

“I'd always catch her listening at the door during the time when I was Madam Mayor. And it all got stored in her brain. Steel-trap memory, that one.” Adele glanced at Danna as she worked. She lowered her voice and went on. “'Course Corrine herself doesn't exactly get along with everybody.”

“Do you think Stella was blackmailing Corrine?”

“Possible.” Adele nodded. “Coulda happened.”

“What would there be to blackmail her about?”

Before Adele could answer, Vera walked up, holding a cast-iron muffin pan, with a delighted expression on her face. “I've been wanting one of these for years. Who doesn't love a corn-shaped corn muffin?” The heavy black rectangle featured indentations that looked like ears of corn.

“The muffins come out with nice crisp crust on them,” I said. “Oil the pan and heat it up as you preheat the oven. Oh, and here's tea for you.”

“Sold.” Vera set the pan on the table and sat. “Hot tea's perfect, thanks. A bit chilly out there.” She rubbed her hands together.

“Winter's on its way.” I gazed out the front window as a gust of wind blew a collection of leaves sideways down the street.

 

 

Despite having a lineup of patties ready to cook and a red-skinned potato salad using local spuds on the Specials menu, lunch was slow. I finally sent Danna home at one o'clock. I could handle two customers here, one there, which was all we'd had since eleven-thirty. I hoped this was only a small Wednesday bump in the road and not a pattern.

The last customer to come in, a blond woman on the far side of forty, sat alone with a book, reading as she ate. I moseyed over, pot of coffee in hand, to see if she needed anything. She glanced up.

“The potato salad is right delicious. What're these small little goobers?” She used her fork to prod a caper. “They taste kind of like pickles.”

“Capers. You're right, they're pickled. I like the flavor,” I said. “And I'm pleased you're enjoying the salad. Can I get you anything else?”

“You might could top up my coffee, if you don't mind.” She wore dark pants and a tailored green jacket on her well-padded figure. Her hair color, however, came out of a bottle, and it looked like she did it at home.

As I poured, I said, “I feel like I've seen you around town, but can't quite place you.”

“I'm Georgia.” She laughed. “I work at the library.”

“That's it. It's nice to meet you, Georgia. I'm Robbie Jordan, and I'm sorry for not remembering where I'd seen you.”

“Not a problem, hon. I'm no librarian, only an aide. But I love working there. I'm a reading addict.” She winked.

I didn't think anybody younger than grandparents winked at people, but maybe I was thinking of California. I definitely wasn't in California anymore.

“Say, heared you're in a spot of trouble with this murder thing.” Georgia raised her thinly plucked eyebrows.

“I'm not in trouble, exactly. But it seems like someone's out to make it look like I killed Stella.”

“The biscuit. And now your pin.”

By now I knew she meant “pen,” but I was a little bit astonished she knew those details. Not really, though. Everybody in South Lick knowing everything no longer surprised me.

“Too bad all this came up right about when you opened over here.” She shook her head. “I usually eat lunch with my girlfriends on Wednesdays. But they wouldn't join me today when I said I wanted to try your place out. Said you might poison them.”

“Are you kidding me?” I stared at her.
I guess I am in trouble. Deep doo-doo trouble, if potential customers are boycotting me.

“I told them they were being ridiculous.” She waved her fork in the air. “And they are. This lunch was the best I've ever eaten in town. I'm going to tell everybody to get their suspicious butts over here and make sure you stay in business.” Only a scrap of sesame bun remained from her cheeseburger and she'd done a good job demolishing the potato salad, too.

“I really appreciate that.”

“And it doesn't even compare to what Eddie makes over in Nashville.” She wrinkled her nose. “I won't eat at his so-called country store anymore, and it's not only the lousy food. That man's got problems.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, ma'am. It's not Christian to speak ill of others.” She patted her hair. “But he should be arrested for sexual harassment.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with a dainty move of her napkin and stood. “What do I owe you, dear? I need to be getting back to work.” She stuck her book into an enormous yellow faux-leather handbag and pulled out a wallet.

I handed her the ticket. When she handed me a twenty, I fished in my apron pocket for change until she held up her hand.

“You go on and keep the rest. I feel bad for you, losing business for nothing. I'm going to tell everyone I run into they should come eat here.”

“Thank you, Georgia. I appreciate that.” As she walked toward the door, I stacked up the dishes and silverware from her table. The bell jangled as I set them in the sink and turned on the water to rinse them. Man, if I was losing business over being questioned by the police, it could be bad. I whistled out loud, wet a cloth, and turned back to wipe Georgia's table.

And then jumped about a foot off the ground at the sight of Jim standing directly in front of me.

“Eep! Don't you know how to announce yourself?” I let out a breath and leaned against the counter behind me. He must have come in the door at the same time Georgia went out, or I would have heard the bell again.

He stuck one hand in the pants pocket of a well-tailored gray suit. He lowered his chin and gave me an abashed look over the top of his glasses. He wore a blue silk tie the color of cornflowers knotted over a black shirt, and kept his other hand behind him.

Recovering, I cocked my head. “You sure look like a lawyer today.”

“Been in court all morning. But I wanted to apologize to you. And I'm also starving. Any chance of lunch with a side of forgiveness?” He brought a compact white box the size of a brick out from behind his back and extended it to me.

“What's this?” I accepted the box, holding it in both hands.

“I took a wild guess and got you dark chocolate fudge from the Nashville Fudge Kitchen.”

“Jim. You didn't have to do that.” Now I was the sheepish one.

“No, you were right. I should have told you Monday night. I don't think anything could have spoiled that evening.”

I cocked my head, regarding him, set the box down, and extended both arms toward his shoulders. “Hug and make up?”

He wrapped me up tight as I leaned into the smooth cloth of his suit jacket. I inhaled him as his heart beat beneath my ear. He stroked my hair with one hand, a touch that felt as intimate as if we were naked. I didn't want to surface, ever, but I had to. Customers could come in at any moment.

I pushed away, smiling up at him. “What was that about lunch?”

He sank into the nearest chair and set his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. “You're a lot easier on the eyes than Judge Zimmer.” Using his other hand, he rubbed the tips of his fingernails with his thumb.

I laughed, but I was glad I'd worn my favorite skinny jeans with a deep peach-colored shirt that set off my skin. “Poor judge. Now tell me what you want.” I pointed to the blackboard and told him about the potato salad.

“That and a mushroom veggie burger. And a glass of lemonade.”

“Coming right up.”

As I worked, he sauntered over and leaned against the sink. “Quiet in here today.”

I pursed my lips. “Yeah. Not any lunch rush to speak of. A woman named Georgia came in, said her friends stayed away because they thought I might poison them.”

The smile slid off Jim's face. “That's outrageous. I suppose they heard about Buck's questioning you.”

“Who hasn't? Maybe I should have bought a store in Nashville, or even in Bloomington. A town this small—well, it's good and it's bad.”

“You got that right.”

“I feel like I should post a big sign in the window saying, ‘The Cook Is Not a Murderer.'” I shook my head. “Anyway, a guy came in this morning. Don O'Neill's brother.” I ignored the teeny-tiny pang of guilt stabbing me for having thought Abe more attractive than the common bear. Or the common Hoosier, at least.

“Abe?”

“Right. He said Don used to date my mom. So Don might have one of her pens. And, apparently, everybody knows Corrine and Stella didn't get along.”

Jim picked up a spoon and tapped the sink.

“Do you know what kind of dirt Stella might have held on any of these people?” I asked. “Corrine? Don? Ed? Or anybody in town, for that matter.”

“I was away at school for quite a while, what with undergrad at IU and law school in Massachusetts. I've only been back for about five years, so I'm sure I missed lots of news. Or secrets, as it were.”

I flipped his burger and stirred the sautéing mushrooms around on the grill. I reached for a clean plate, laying a pickle and a big scoop of potato salad on the blue-and-white concentric stripes. I opened a bun onto the grill as I thought.

“I wish I knew what happened between Don and Mom. I don't think he'd tell me even if I asked.” I assembled the burger and laid it on the plate. “Come on, eat your lunch. I'll get the lemonade.”

He took the plate and sat. He managed to squeak out a “thanks” before chowing into his burger like he hadn't eaten in a week. After I brought his lemonade,

I realized I hadn't eaten in a long time, either. I dished up a scoop of potato salad for myself, grabbed a couple of leftover sausages, and took the seat next to him.

“News and secrets,” I murmured as I chewed, not seeing my plate, not tasting my food. “Secrets and news.”

“What?”

I glanced at Jim, who looked like he was waiting for an explanation. “Oh, I was just thinking about this puzzle.” I fell silent for a moment. When my puzzle brain is engaged, I can barely carry out normal interaction. I forced myself to focus on his face and went on. “You mentioned missing news while you were away. I think I might hit up the library, see if I can find newspapers for the time right before Mom moved out West.”

“Good idea. I'm not sure the South Lick Public Library has much of an archive. But Nashville will if they don't.”

 

 

I scrolled through the archives of the
South Lick Sentinel
after Georgia happily set me up with the microfilm from a couple of decades earlier. I sat ensconced at a desk in a carrel on the second floor of the small but decent library, which was housed in a renovated boardinghouse built in the late 1800s.

Georgia watched me work for a minute. “We also have Nashville's paper, the
Brown County Democrat,
online.” She showed me how to access it.

I thanked her, but I kept my gaze on the screen. My puzzle brain had taken over again and I didn't want to engage in small talk. I was glad Jim had been wrong about the South Lick library archive, though. They seemed to have everything I needed, and I'd been able to walk the three blocks here.

Mom had moved to the Santa Barbara area before I was born, but I wasn't exactly sure how long before. Was she pregnant when she left her hometown? Had she met my birth father in California? I couldn't believe she'd never told me, although we hadn't really talked about my father. I'd had a brief flurry of curiosity after I started elementary school and realized other kids had dads at home and I didn't. She'd told me the man responsible for my hair and coloring was a decent man, but he wasn't able to be in our lives. After that, I was so happy with only the two of us I didn't really care. But living in South Lick, seeing Don's reaction to realizing I was Jeanine's daughter, and now the business with the pen had my interest in the past rekindled, and that fire wasn't getting doused by anything but the truth. I could have asked Adele, but I didn't want to interrupt my train of thoughts to step out and try to call her now.