Death at the Day Lily Cafe (22 page)

“Yes. He's a regular. And he's always been very affable.”

“He's a regular here, too, and he almost got into it with a tourist this weekend. I'm telling you, it's like everyone in town is on edge these days. Ever since CJ was killed. I get arguments breaking out in here all the time. You know, you just can't have people shooting each other in a small town. And whoever did it hasn't been caught.” He leaned in. “Do you think it's the zombies?”

“Maybe. Perhaps they dug up a burial ground or something over at the college. You know with zombies it's a virus.”

“Now how do you know that?”

“I have a twenty-one-year-old daughter.” I smiled and took a sip.

“So you must be savvy with the social media, too. Selfies on Instagram?”

“No. I have short arms.”

Chuck picked up a rag. “Well, as I was saying, I wish the sheriff would just figure this out so we can all go back to normal. Whatever
that
is, anyway. Speaking of zombies, your friend is at the other end of the bar nursing a bourbon.”

“Jake?”

“Yeah, Jake. How did you know?”

I narrowed my eyes. Then I spotted him slumped over a glass.

“Kevin is worried, so I offered to talk to him.”

“He's been here every night this week.”

“Was he ever with Kevin?”

“Alone.”

I straightened my spine. “I hope he'll talk with me.”

“Good luck. He's been monosyllabic with me. I don't know what's eating him, but something is.”

“Wish me luck,” I said as I picked up my beer with the napkin still underneath and approached Jake. I sat down and rested my elbows on the bar before he even noticed me.

“Hi, Jake,” I said, keeping my voice soft.

He looked up. His dark eyes drooped at the corners; his usually bright, cheery face was drawn, as if the heaviness of his heart exerted a gravitational pull on his skin.

“Hey, Rosalie.” He sat up a little and placed his palm over his glass. “Jim Beam. My new best friend.”

“I have a good friend who drinks bourbon with coffee. He calls it
grounds for divorce
.”

Jake nodded in appreciation. “Clever guy?”

“Very.” I paused. “Um, Jake? Not to state the obvious, but you seem blue.”

“I'm just trying to figure some things out, is all.” He sipped his drink. “Not making much progress, though.”

“I'm a good listener.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Jake leaned forward, his elbow on the bar, his hand tangled in his dark curls. “Kevin said he told you about the crap CJ pulled on us.”

“Yes. Including his visit to President Carmichael's office.”

“He outed me.”

“Didn't the president already know? I mean, you and Kevin are a couple. An adorable couple, I might add.”

“Carmichael and I never acknowledged it openly. We had an unspoken agreement to keep my life private, especially in front of the lacrosse team. Carmichael knows how to keep John Adams in the limelight. He's a public relations genius. So I went along with him. Preferred it, actually.”

“And you feel you can't do that anymore?”

“It's more than that.” Jake flopped back in his chair and drained his drink. He caught Chuck's eye and nodded. “You sure you want to hear this?”

“Let me go first.” I gripped my glass. “I know a little of what you‘ve experienced. I mean, when it comes to living with a stigma. When my husband asked for a divorce very suddenly two years ago, it seems I had been branded with a new label. I could practically hear the whispers: ‘
Ed
is divorcing
her
.' And because he was the one who wanted out, everyone wondered what was wrong with me. Did you know a friend of mine asked me if I hated sex?”

“No way.” Jake let out a laugh. “Someone really said that?”

“She did. People jumped to conclusions trying to figure out what was so wrong with me that Ed ended the marriage. I think they do that to feel better, maybe explain why it won't happen to them. So not only did I feel unlovable, I felt like a pariah. Labels can be devastating. To all of a sudden be lumped into a group and pushed into that box … it was hard to just be myself. I always wondered what people were thinking but not saying.”

“I never thought about how it must feel to be divorced. So this was your husband's idea and not yours?”

“I loved being married. And I loved my family. I'm not saying my marriage was perfect, but I never would have considered divorcing Ed. It wasn't an option I'd ever entertained.”

Jake slapped his thighs. “Now I feel worse.”

Chuck delivered another glass. “You walking?” he said to Jake.

“I am,” he replied.

Chuck winked at me and disappeared.

I studied Jake. “Are you considering leaving Kevin?”

“It's not because I don't love the guy. I'm crazy about him. I mean, who isn't?” Jake looked over at me, eyebrows raised. “But I don't know if I'm cut out for this lifestyle. I've been in the closet my whole life, and I've been okay with it. I've had relationships, but they were always discreet. I mean, I'm an athlete and a teacher. I love what I do. And I love the esteem I have earned from others. To think some SOB can try to yank that all away from me is too much to take.”

“But you and Kevin have a home together.”

“Which is exactly what I don't think I can do anymore. God knows it would make my father happy. He hasn't spoken to me in three years. My baby sister won't bring her kids around me anymore. The only family member I hear from is my mom. She sneaks out here when she can. Or we meet in DC for dinner. But, Rosalie, I can see the pain in her eyes. My being openly gay is tearing my family apart.”

My heart ached for Jake. I wanted to offer him advice, but I had none to give.

“It doesn't help that the bastard is dead. You'd think it would, but it doesn't. The damage was already done.”

“Except maybe he wouldn't have stopped,” I said. “Who knows what he might have come up with?”

“Well, he was stopped. Once and for all.” Jake slugged back half his drink.

“Yes, he certainly was.” I sipped my beer. “Have you talked with Kevin about this?”

“It's going to kill him.”

“So you've made a decision, then?”

“Depends on when you ask me.”

“Do you think the torment will go away if you go back to hiding an important part of who you are?”

“It's a different kind of torment, isn't it? And it does feel good to be with a guy I love and see him every night and make him coffee every morning.”

“I get that,” I said, and took a sip of my beer.

“We share so much—it's nothing like just hooking up at clubs. And he needs me; I know that. I like being needed.” He exhaled a rough laugh and looked over at me. “Freakin' mess, right?”

I placed my hand over his. “I hope you won't let one man change the course of your life. It seems to me you and Kevin have settled here in Cardigan. You are both very well liked. Maybe your family will eventually come around. It takes time.”

“I appreciate that, Rosalie. I really do. But I'm afraid it's too late for all that.” He signaled Chuck for another drink. When Chuck arrived, Jake asked him to turn on the Orioles game. That was it. End of discussion.

“Jake?”

He looked over at me but said nothing.

“Take care of yourself. And I'm here if you ever need to talk.” I left a ten-dollar bill on the bar, slid off the stool, and waved goodbye to Chuck. I climbed into my car and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. An overwhelming feeling of dread washed through me as I realized Jake could very well be the murderer.

 

T
HIRTY
-
SEVEN

On Thursday morning, the Day Lily was geared up for another four-day run. Previous weekends, we'd all just started where we left off, going about our routines, checking in with one another about our time away from the café—but this morning was different. All three of my employees seemed distracted, as if a lot had happened to them since that dazzling Sunday brunch. I wondered briefly if there was a full moon.

Custer leaned against the building brooding over a cigarette when I parked my car in the alley. I got a grunt instead of a greeting as he stubbed out the butt with his sneaker. Glenn had forgotten the coffee mugs, and no one had put in the menu inserts I'd printed up for that day's special.

Crystal nursed a steaming cup of tea while intermittently filling the flower vases at the bar. I poured the first batch of coffee into a carafe. “Everything all right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, and swallowed her tea. “Except I've been having the weirdest dreams lately.” She snipped off the stem of a lemon yellow day lily. “They're crazy powerful.”

I started the next batch. “What kind of dreams?”

She pushed a vase down the bar and snipped another flower. “You know that Edgar Allan Poe story—‘The Tell-Tale Heart'?”

“That story is terrifying.”

“Exactly. At about two this morning I woke up, and I was convinced someone was buried under my floorboards. You know I have that first-floor flat? The wood is really old and creaky. My heart was pounding so hard my ears were throbbing.” She dropped the lily into a vase. “I couldn't shake it. I still can't.”

I started adding the inserts to the menus while the next batch of coffee filled the air with a rich, nutty aroma. “Do you ever analyze your dreams, Crystal?”

“No, not so much. But I do think they're telling me something. Like when my older sister was pregnant I had this dream where everything was pink—the sky, the grass, this striped cat.”

I smiled. “And she had a baby girl?”

“Two,” Crystal said.

“Okay, so maybe you need new floors?”

She shook her head. “I don't want to know if something's under them.”

I set the last menu on the counter and thought for a moment. “I wonder…”

Crystal studied me. “What are you wondering?”

“It's nothing. Just an idea. Anyway, the breakfast special is an open-faced crab melt bagel. Can you write it on the board?”

“Open-faced bagel and some mini doughnuts.” Kevin had arrived and was heading toward us. “What do you think? I have glazed and cream filled. And some espresso bars for poor Janice.”

“I think I need a cream filled,” Crystal said. “A little sugar should wake me up.”

Kevin opened the box, allowing her to select a doughnut. He looked up at me while she pondered her choices, his eyes tense with pain. “And then things fell apart.”

“Coffee?”

“Please, darling.”

“Sit,” I said.

Glenn sidled up next to Crystal and gazed into the box. “Those look too good to eat.”

Crystal was chewing. “They are. So save the rest for me.”

Glenn straightened his bow tie. His fingers hovered over the box like a helicopter waiting to land. I hadn't seen Glenn wear a tie in months.

“Anytime now,” Crystal said.

Glenn removed a glazed doughnut. “Good morning, Kevin,” he said brightly. He popped the small doughnut into his mouth, spun on his heel, and picked up a tray of coffee mugs.

Kevin toted the box over to the pastry display case. “I should have—” He stopped. His shoulders fell. “I mean, it didn't happen soon enough.”

“What didn't happen soon enough?” I said while I poured his coffee.

Kevin plopped into a chair, tongs in hand. “CJ. If he hadn't gone to the college, Jake wouldn't be feeling this way. I should have done more.”

“Like what?” I pared a small sliver of lemon peel.

“He thought it would blow over. But he hasn't been out long enough to know the wrath being openly gay can provoke.” He looked up at me and blinked a few times. “Or maybe he has all along. Maybe I pushed him too soon.”

“Oh, Kevin. I'm so sorry you are going through this. Maybe once CJ's murder is solved, it will blow over.”

“I don't know, friend. I think I might have lost him.”

*   *   *

During a lull in the morning crush, Glenn dropped some menus onto the hostess stand and walked over to the bar. “What was wrong with Kevin?”

“He and Jake are having problems. It all started when CJ confronted them in the bar. It shook them both up. And I think they would do anything to protect each other.”

Glenn peered at me over his glasses. “Anything?”

“Yes. I'm afraid so. CJ did some horrible things after that night.”

“I didn't have this feeling with Megan,” Glenn said. “This feeling of dread that the killer would be someone I cared about. But I'm having it a lot now.”

“Me, too. I talked with Jake the other night. He's in a bad way, Glenn. He's thinking of leaving Kevin. Oh, and I got a Facebook message from Jamie.” I looked up. Gretchen was waiting at the hostess stand. Her cheeks were a bright pink, and she wore a light linen dress with pearls. “I have so much to tell you. Let's find some time to talk later.”

“I look forward to it.” Glenn turned and walked over to Gretchen. Her smile widened. After chatting with her for a bit, he escorted her to the bar. He pulled out her chair, and she perched on it. “Did you know there is a hook under here for your handbag?”

“Oh,” she said, “how convenient.”

“Good morning, Gretchen,” I said.

“Cheerio,” she said, and folded her hands in her lap.

“The doughnuts are dangerously good,” Glenn said.

“I like the sound of that.” Gretchen smiled.

“All right, my dear, you are in good hands.” Glenn picked up a tray and headed for a table that needed clearing. He was whistling.

“Tea, Gretchen?”

“I think I'm in the mood for an espresso. Make that a double.”