If Fried Chicken Could Fly (28 page)

“Oh, Jerome, Gram told me it might be a blessing that you didn’t remember. I’m sorry if anything Jake or I did forced you into reliving these things.”

Jerome was genuinely surprised. “Isabelle, no, it’s a blessing
to
remember. I don’t have much of anything in this existence. Mostly it’s bits and pieces of things and not remembering much of anything from one visit to the next one. This is real, a real memory and something that makes me think my life might have actually been worth something. A man—a dead man—doesn’t need much more than that, even when he was alive maybe. I thank you.”

I nodded. Belinda must have died after she had the baby. According to the note, the baby had been adopted by a cousin.

“I’m trying hard to remember where we hid the treasure. We hid it together, Belinda and I. She wasn’t happy with my thieving ways, but she would have done anything to protect the future of that child.” He laughed. “She was all for hiding a treasure for its future.”

“It was a boy, you know,” I said. “I at least paid attention to that part of the family tree. She had a boy. It looked like there were no other children and he grew, married, and had a family of his own. I’ll have Jake and Verna investigate it closer. Maybe there are pictures somewhere.”

Jerome shook his head slowly. “I don’t think there’s much time left, Isabelle, and I don’t know if or when I’ll come back. If you find something, hang on to it and maybe some day…”

“Sure, of course.”

Jerome turned his attention back to the picture.

“Hey, you want to come with me? I can take you to Gram’s, or you can come to my house again,” I said, but the offer felt strange and uncomfortable. He was capable of getting himself anywhere he wanted to be, but it didn’t seem right just to leave without offering.

“Thank you, Isabelle, but I think I’ll stay right here. I might remember more.”

“I understand,” I said after a moment. “I’ll see you later.”
I hope.

There was no one else in the theater. I still didn’t know why the front doors were open and the lights were on. I peered into the auditorium but had no desire to search it alone. If someone was inside, they were being very quiet.

Jerome’s story had left me sad and spooked. I wanted nothing more than to go home, go to bed, and not think about the previously unknown tragedy of Jerome Cowbender’s life. He really had been misunderstood. I stepped back out into the night. The hanging platform was almost in place, and I had a sudden vision of older times, when the platform was used for
what it was meant to be, not a place for cook-off judges to sit and sample the labors of cooking students.

I could “see” the throng gathered to watch the horrible deadly punishment. I could see the women in their dresses and cloaks and the men in their dusty clothes. I could hear the sounds and even imagine some of the smells. Broken Rope was an odd place to live, but it was home and for the first time in a long time I was glad to be there; sad and spooked though I might have been, I suddenly appreciated the history that was all around.

I ventured one last glance back into the theater before heading home.

Too bad I didn’t notice the shoes that had been left beside the old front counter. They were just canvas tennis shoes, but they had some red spots on them.

It might have saved us all a lot of trouble.

I ended up with about three hours of sleep. The adrenaline from the excitement of the cook-off and a pot of coffee would get me through at least most of the day. I’d be fine.

My dreams had been haunted by stories of Jerome, but by the time I got out of bed I had to switch my complete focus to the cook-off. I hoped Jerome hadn’t left, but I’d have to worry about that later. I’d meet Gram at the school at seven, so I had some time.

From all indications, it was going to be perfect weather—sunny and warm but not too hot. On my way to the school, I took the long way around town to the outskirts to inspect the RV park. As I suspected, it was full to overflowing with one fifth-wheel parked on the road waiting for either a space or help with maneuvering into a spot. I’d forgotten that it was my yearly ritual to check it every night before the
cook-off. Late the previous evening, it would have had only a few vehicles but it always sprouted exponentially overnight. The fact that I’d forgotten the tradition left an uncomfortable whoosh in my gut. I wasn’t superstitious about many things, but this ritual had become important. Finally, I forced myself to shrug it off and not think about any possible blips I’d put into the universe.

Before the road was closed to motor traffic, I drove down Main Street toward the hanging platform. Every light was on everywhere, even as the sun rose. The door to Jake’s sheriff’s office was open, and I thought he was probably rehearsing or sweeping the floor. I could see both Mabel and Amy in the cookie shop. I knew the shop was going to sell cookies, but they were probably making sure their ovens were ready for the contestants.

Miles was sweeping off his pool tables, and Jenna stood behind the bar in the saloon and concentrated on something on the shelf in front of her. They’d all have someone cover for them when they left for judging duty. I admired their dedication to making sure everything was in place before the cook-off. They had probably slept about as much as I had.

I pulled over to the side of the road and stared at Jenna. If she looked out, she’d see me and wonder what I was doing, but it was worth the risk.

I remembered the first time I met her. It was just over a year earlier when she came to town and got a job at the saloon. She’d struck me as almost stereotypical, with her heavy makeup and cigarette-ragged voice. She
had a big scratchy laugh that everyone enjoyed and a way with cuss words that made you want to cover children’s ears. She was a party girl, but she’d never once struck me as homicidal.

I wondered briefly if I could just ask her. Could I just walk into the saloon and ask her about her relationship with Everett? Did she even know? Did Everett know? Could I go in and search for some sort of gun?

Jerome had been interested in his family tree but not as far as wondering more about Everett and Jenna. He seemed only interested in gaining the memories from his relationship with Belinda. One thing at a time, I supposed.

“Betts,” a voice said through the passenger’s window.

“Cliff, you’re up early.”

“Everyone is.” He looked toward the saloon. “Trying to figure out if she’s Everett’s daughter?”

“Actually, yes.”

“I might be able to help. Drive me to Bunny’s for some coffee? I’d suggest walking, but Jim’s going to shut down the street in a minute and you don’t want the Nova towed, do you?”

I thought about it a second. Might not be a bad thing. “Maybe not.” At least until I knew if I’d be able to afford the Mustang.

I needed to get to the school but it would be okay if I was a little later than everyone else. The students might start working early but things didn’t get too crazy until about mid-morning.

“Hop in,” I said.

Even Bunny’s early crowd had grown. Many of the tourists had marked Bunny’s as one of their prime destinations, and it would be packed all day. The early birds seemed to think they’d get the best food.

Cliff and I found places at the counter and had cups of coffee and plates with large sweet rolls in front of us in record time. I knew there were plenty of sweet rolls to last the entire day. Gram had given Bunny her sweet roll recipe about twenty years ago, and they were still one of the most popular items on the menu. Bunny made them by the hundreds.

There was no privacy, but the place buzzed with the hum of the crowd, so we weren’t concerned about being overheard.

“What do you know about Jenna?” I asked.

“She was adopted,” Cliff began, “by a couple in Kansas. Her birth parents are from Springfield, but we don’t have any further information. We suspect that when we get all the pieces of the puzzle put together, we’ll find that Everett was her father.”

“You took me and Jake seriously?”

“Of course.”

“You acted like you thought we might be making things up.”

Cliff chewed on the roll for a second and swallowed. “We did, but we thought it might be worth a look. Jim has a cousin who works for Family Services in Topeka. He called his cousin last night, well a few hours ago, and had him go into his office and do some computer snooping.”

“That’s impressive,” I said.

“Just because we’re small-town doesn’t mean we can’t get stuff done.”

“Well, good, I suppose. It must mean something. Maybe.” There still wasn’t any bright light shining on a guilty party. The familial connections were strange, but not yet proven to have created a killer.

“Yes, and Jim is planning on another visit with Everett’s widow as soon as he can get out of here for the day, but when that will be is a mystery. It’s a pretty big day. Plus someone’s got a happy trigger finger. We’ll be earning our pay today.”

“I know. I thought about that. Do you think there’s cause for much concern?” I said.

“We’re taking extra precautions.”

“How?”

“I can’t go into detail, but not all of the fake cops will be fake cops today. We’ve called in some help from Springfield. We don’t want anyone hurt.”

“Good plan,” I said.

“Jim’s been as on top of things as he could be.”

“Got it,” I said.

Cliff and I were sitting in Bunny’s having sweet rolls and coffee—and it was easy. Suddenly it wasn’t as if all that time and all that life had passed. For an instant, I forgot that I was a law school dropout. I forgot that Cliff had gone away and lived a whole other life, forgot that he’d been married. And seeing him hadn’t surprised me again. I’d accepted that he was back. It was as if the world suddenly righted itself on its axis.

But only for a second, which I realized was a good thing. I had somehow become mature enough that I knew no matter how easy it was between the two of us as we sat at Bunny’s counter, there was no going back to the way things had been in high school. My relationship with Cliff, whatever it turned out to be, was going to be new and different, perhaps tainted a little from the past, but the worst thing I could do was hold on to that past. Moving forward was the only healthy path.

Cliff glanced at his watch. “Gotta go, Betts. Jim needs me.” He stood and dropped some money on the counter. “Listen, I want you to be aware of everything around you today. Pay attention and listen to your gut. If any place or any situation feels strange, remove yourself from it immediately.” Cliff’s dimple was always deeper when he smiled or when he was extra concerned.

“I’ll be careful. You, too,” I said.

Had Cliff been Jake, we might have hugged or even kissed cheeks. There was a clear gap in what was expected. I just smiled and Cliff awkwardly patted me on the arm before hurrying out of the restaurant. I turned back to my mug and caught Bunny looking at me. She rolled her eyes before turning to deliver coffee to a customer on the other side of the counter.

I was tempted to take a dollar out of the amount Cliff had left, but I didn’t. Instead, I dropped a couple more. Bunny and the rest of her staff were just about to experience their busiest day of the year. I could forgive the eye roll.

I wanted to check the theater for Jerome, but I’d run out of time so I drove back to the school.

While the rest of the town was preparing for their performances or tours or just question answering, Gram, Teddy, and I would be at the school for the next few hours as our students created their best meals ever—or so they hoped. Sometimes, the stress would get to someone and they’d forget a key ingredient or burn something or mix when they should have folded.

No matter how good they thought they were, there were always challenges.

Things were set up, but not rolling along too quickly when I got to the school. Gram and Teddy greeted me as if they didn’t mind I was a little late and the students were too focused on their plans to care. I jumped in, and before long things were moving at a crazy pace. There was something about the cook-off that made the hours seem both long and short. It was a strange anomaly that Gram and I had discussed many times but had never been able to understand. One second it seemed that there were many hours ahead of us, but somehow the next time we looked at the clock, we’d all fallen into a warp and nothing would be able to get done before the deadline.

Marie would be making pot roast with potatoes and carrots, a cucumber salad, and a pumpkin pie, which she claimed was even better than Gram’s. I doubted that Gram was worried.

Myron Benson would be making Cajun pork chops, red beans and rice, and something with carrots that included brown sugar. Bananas Foster was his dessert.

Missy Landon had taken on Gram’s fried chicken. She was the first student in a long time who wasn’t going to change the original recipe even a little. However, she was also making a cheesy potato side dish that would either ruin the meal or make it so incredible that we’d have to ask her to share the recipe with us. And, she claimed that her chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting would put her meal securely in the winner’s spot. We’d see.