She hovered over me as I sat down, and began reciting all the calorie-laden possibilities for my dining pleasure. When she got to the description of the meat loaf plate, I interrupted and told her I had already eaten lunch. Her face dropped, but I kept smiling and said the coconut cream pie sounded just right.
“Dessert it is, then,” she said. “Maybe it will put some meat on your bones.”
I also asked for tea instead of coffee, and she walked off.
While Melissa was thus occupied, I might have tuned in to the stimulating conversations of the other clientele. But nothing was happening at Hastie’s Diner that could even remotely pique my interest.
The only other customers were two men who made my mother look young. They were playing gin rummy on one of the Formica tables in front of the old-fashioned juke box, which was playing country and western music.
Dare I say, I actually I recognized the pseudo-harmonizing of Carl and Lucas Wicket? Apparently they had gotten themselves a new long-haul rig that they were quite pleased with.
Melissa came back laden with tea for two. She plopped down two brown mugs, pulled two sets of silverware rolled up in paper napkins from her apron, and took the seat across from me.
“It’s great Clarence is having such good weather for you,” she began as we simultaneously dunked our tea bags into the two mini stainless steel pitchers she had also carried over. “You must have great weather where you’re from. I bet Hawaii is beautiful.”
I didn’t have to respond before she changed the topic and asked after Candy and Karen. “Why didn’t they come with you?”
“They’re both at work.”
“On Sunday?”
“Candy’s in retail and Karen’s self-employed. But at least she let me borrow her truck.” I pointed out the window, and Melissa stared aghast at Wilson’s jalopy.
The sea of empty spaces surrounding the truck was just as depressing, and she groaned audibly. “We’re having a slow day,” she apologized. “So it’s perfect you came in.”
“Does it ever get busy in here?” I asked rather skeptically.
“Used to.” Her gaze wandered back to the window and the deserted car lot across Belcher Drive. A sign announcing “Big Daddy’s Used Cars and Trucks” was still up, more or less, but Big Daddy had clearly gone out of business ages ago.
“Nowadays I barely bring home enough tips to make my rent.” Melissa sighed and poured a package of milk-like substance into her tea. “Do you make good tips, Tessie? Is your age a problem?”
I considered the challenges of Tessie Hess, the fifty-two-year-old cocktail waitress from Honolulu and chose to be upbeat. “Not really.” I smiled. “The work is seasonal—some months I do really well.”
When Melissa asked which months, I decided I should be the one asking questions. “If it’s so dead in here, why don’t you look for another job?” I whispered.
“I have been,” she whispered back. “I’ve been after Elsa to give me a job, like, forever.”
“You actually want to work at the Wade On Inn?” After I said it, I realized how negative that sounded. “I mean, I haven’t noticed any waitresses there, have I?”
“Exactly.” She glanced at Tammy and remembered to keep her voice down. “Elsa claims she can’t afford to hire me. So everyone has to traipse up to the bar and get their beers from her.” Melissa shook her head. “It’s, like, totally ridiculous.”
I was busy agreeing when an unnecessarily loud bell rang, and we both jumped.
“Are you planning on serving that lady any actual food?” the man I assumed was Mr. Hastie bellowed from behind the wait station. He continued to bang his palm down on the bell thingy until Melissa stood up and yelled at him to hold his horses.
The whole place, meaning all five of us, watched as she went behind the counter and hacked off a good quarter of the coconut cream pie. She brought it back to the booth and again sat down.
“So tell me, Melissa.” I slid the desert in her direction and gestured for her to help me with it. “Have you been going to the Wade On Inn a long time?”
“Only like forever.” She plunged her fork into a corner of the thing, and I worked on the opposite side.
“The place must have an interesting history,” I said. “My friends warned me it was a bit rough.”
“Maybe. But Henry’s pretty good at keeping people in line.”
“Elsa has the money for a bouncer but not a waitress?”
“She managed to find the money to hire a bookkeeper for a while there, too.” Melissa frowned and dug into a gob of whipped cream.
“But I guess she really does need a bouncer,” I said. “Especially after those shootings last week?”
My comment inspired a discussion of the murders, but I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know.
Ever the optimist, I pressed on. “Didn’t I hear something about some other trouble a long time ago? Another shooting? Also involving this Fritz-guy?”
“Lester Quinn got killed,” Melissa said without hesitating. “Right in front of Elsa and Mackenzie. It was an accident.”
“But that’s so awful. Were you there?”
She nodded and swallowed some more whipped cream. “Avis and Henry, too. Henry’s always saying Fritz was the one who was supposed to die.”
I pretended to think about that. “You don’t think Henry killed Fritz?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” she said and smiled as I gasped. “He blames Fritz for Lester’s death. And he’s,” she hesitated, “real devoted to Elsa.”
“Did Elsa blame Fritz?”
“Elsa never blames anyone for anything. She’s what you call naïve.” Melissa pointed to the pie and told me to eat up.
“What did you think of Fritz?” I asked as I dutifully tackled the remaining two-inch layer of whipped cream.
She began fidgeting with empty package of fake milk. “Fritz and me go way back. We—well, you know?”
I made a point of watching her shaking hands. “This is upsetting you,” I said. “Maybe we should change the subject.”
Melissa assured me it wasn’t necessary. “It’s been over between me and Fritz for a long time.”
“What about you and Spencer?” I ventured.
She looked up from the pie. “We’re cooling it for a while until he gets his divorce.”
I put my fork down and stared, wide-eyed. “You aren’t the reason he left his wife?” I asked breathlessly.
She grinned, pleased with my reaction. “He’ll deny it. But yeah.”
I imagined Spencer would deny it because it wasn’t true. But why not see what other fantasies Melissa Purcell was harboring?
“Love is so strange isn’t it?” I asked. “Take Bobby Decker, for instance.”
“What about him?”
“Well, I’m confused about him and the girl who died. Were they sleeping with each other or weren’t they?” I asked point blank.
“Oh, absolutely. Bobby’s scared out of his mind the cops are gonna say he killed her.”
I cringed. “So, like, you and Bobby were never—” I cut myself off and twirled an index finger in the air, since Melissa seemed to enjoy the coy routine.
But this time she offered a straightforward denial and told me Bobby was not her type. “I hate that aw shucks and jeepers routine, don’t you?”
I was thinking of my response when the damn bell behind the lunch counter started ringing again. I looked up to see a crazed Mr. Hastie furiously banging his bell, making an ungodly racket that drowned out Isabelle Eakes and all the Cornhuskers combined.
“Earth to Mel,” he bellowed. “Move your sorry butt and get back to work!”
Melissa sprang up and scurried to the counter without a backward glance.
***
Our gallant hero spurred his horse to a fast gallop and hastened toward St. Celeste.
The Duke of Luxley had tried to uncover the truth about the mysterious damsel before, but on each of his previous visits to Winnie Dickerson’s dress shop, the proprietress had stood her ground at her doorstep. Sputtering vague accusations regarding his character, the girl’s honor, and what had transpired in that lavender field, Winnie had stoutly refused him entry.
Trey resolved to do better this time, and was astonished when Mrs. Dickerson actually welcomed him into her shop. Indeed, she sat him down at a table littered with an abundance of fabric and lace and told him everything that had transpired since he had delivered Sarina Blyss to her doorstep.
Sarina Blyss! What a beautiful name! Trey smiled wistfully, but Winnie was saying something else now. Something about the lady’s true identity—that she was in actuality a girl named Daisy O’Dell, a former chambermaid.
Mrs. Dickerson explained to the stunned and shocked Duke how the girl had been hauled off by Constable Klodfelder that very morning. Arrested for thievery.
Thievery! Trey sprang to his feet. The lady of the lavender fields was innocent, and it was up to him to prove it! To secure her future as Sarina Blyss Barineau, the Duchess of Luxley!
***
I jumped when the phone rang.
“I found out what you wanted, Honeybunch.”
“You did? But that’s fantastic.” I gave Snowflake a thumbs up, and told my mother to come on home and tell me all about it.
“Oh, but I can’t say much of anything right now.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Doreen might overhear me.”
I scowled at the cat. “You’re still with Doreen?”
“Mm-hmm. In her guestroom. She and Ethel gave me such a pleasant tour of Cotswald Estates. This place is just lovely. But I still like living at The Live Oaks,” Mother continued. “I’d miss my friends far too much if I moved up here. And of course I’d never want to get in your way. Especially now that you’ve found yourself a new beau.”
“Mother,” I interrupted. “You can come home now.” I reminded her I was heading back out to the Wade On Inn that evening and wanted to hear what she had learned beforehand.
“We’ll have a nice dinner together,” I said. “I took some of Wilson’s lasagna out of the freezer.”
“My, that does sound good.”
Why was she hesitating? “We’ll have a nice meal,” I insisted. “And then you and Snowflake can rest while I go out. You’ve had a long day, no?”
“Well, yes. But I’m afraid the plans have changed a bit.”
Somehow I knew not to blame the stomachache I was getting on that stupid coconut cream pie.
“Mother,” I said sternly. “Why are you in Doreen Buxton’s guestroom?”
“Because we’re resting up for tonight.”
“Tonight?” I squeaked.
“You’ll never guess what’s happened, Jessie!”
I was getting a vague and altogether horrifying notion.
“Doreen and Ethel have invited me to join them at the Wade On Inn! Isn’t that marvelous?”
Chapter 17
While I pulled the receiver from my ear and stared at it in stunned dismay, Mother took the opportunity to hang up on me. Of course, I tried calling her back. But of course, she had turned off her cell phone.
I took an Advil for the enormous headache I had suddenly acquired and called my friends. Clearly we needed a strategy session before venturing out again, but this newest crisis was far too grave to discuss over the phone. Both Karen and Candy agreed to come over for dinner, especially after I enticed them with promises of Wilson’s lasagna.
They were at my place at seven o’clock, and I opened the door before they even knocked. “My mother will be at the Wade On Inn tonight.”
“Your mother?” Karen stared at me, aghast. “Wilson is gonna kill you.”
Candy started chewing her knuckle.
I whimpered only slightly and dragged them inside, where they were momentarily distracted by the heavenly aromas.
“Lasagna,” I reminded them. “I planned on serving it to Mother.” I waved my arms. “But she’s not here because she’s on her way to the Wade On Inn.” My voice went up a couple of octaves. “With Doreen and Ethel!”
“The Wade On I—” Karen shook her head vigorously. “You’re losing me, Jess.”
“Gosh, Jessie. Why is your mother even in Clarence tonight?” Candy asked.
I grimaced. “It’s kind of a long story.”
I had them sit down, and while I served dinner, I explained what had seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan to have my mother visit The Cotswald Estates and befriend Ethel and Doreen.
Candy interrupted with a few “Gosh, Jessies,” and Karen felt compelled to remind me that Wilson was going to kill me, but I soldiered on.
“I thought it would be a good idea to find out more about Ethel and Doreen.” Even as I said it, the idea didn’t sound so good after all. “I thought their secrets might have something to do with the murders. And I thought my mother would be the perfect person to visit the old ladies. You know, since she’s an old lady herself?”
I stopped talking and waited for a response. Any response.
“Would you guys please say something?” I begged.
After another long pause Karen spoke up. She pointed to her plate. “This is delicious lasagna.”
I whimpered and appealed to Candy. “Wilson even mentioned George Abernathy and Paul Buxton last night. Right, Sweetie?”
“But, Jessie,” she argued. “He also told us A and B both have alibis. Don’t you remember?”
Karen agreed with Candy. “Even if A and B were involved, how was your mother hanging out at Cotswald Estates going to help?”
“Umm,” I answered.
“Do you really think the ancient history between those old ladies is important?”
“Probably not.” I sighed at my untouched plate of lasagna.
When I looked up, my friends were exchanging a meaningful glance.
“Umm, Jessie,” Candy ventured. “Karen and me were wondering about you and Wilson.”
“Oh?”
“Is everything okay?” Karen asked. “You seemed pretty ticked off last night.”
“Puddles and I noticed he didn’t stay very long,” Candy added.
I asked her if she didn’t have something better to do than spy on her elders, and Karen came to her defense.
“We’re concerned, Jess. That’s what friends are for, right?”
I sighed dramatically. “I’m worried about this thing he has going with Tiffany Sass.”
“Jessie!” they both squealed, and Candy continued, “Wilson loves you! He just works with Tiffany is all.”
“I am not a fool, Sweetie.” I sat up straight. “I have my pride, and I intend to keep it this time.”
“You mean about Ian?” Karen asked.
I dropped my fork, which had yet to make it to my mouth.