Flipped For Murder (25 page)

Chapter 1

What had I been thinking, agreeing to cater a welcome-home party in my country store and restaurant tonight? I'd been working since six this morning serving up breakfast and lunch to wave after wave of hungry customers on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I sank into a chair as the antique clock chimed. At least two o'clock was only half an hour until closing time, and just three people remained, lingering over their gourmet hamburgers. Two of them played a game of chess on the painted tabletop and the third read a newspaper, just the kind of scene I'd envisioned when I'd bought this old country store and opened Pans ‘N Pancakes.

I gazed at the gleaming counters, the shelves full of antique cookware, the pickle barrel, proud that I'd accomplished most of the renovation carpentry myself. My mom had wanted to be sure her daughter would always have a trade, a trade that came in handy when I'd bought the run-down place in scenic Brown County, Indiana, last winter. Now that Turkey Day was over, I needed to get decorated for Christmas, but that could wait until tomorrow. After I got through this darn party. Oh, well. It was income, and my bank account could always use more of that.

I glanced up when the bell on the door jangled. Sue Berry bustled in with her daughter Paula, the hosts of tonight's shindig for Sue's other daughter. I waved them over to my table.

“Everything all set for tonight, hon?” Sue asked. She plopped down across from me, her short cap of bottle blond hair a little disarranged.

“I think so. Have a seat, Paula,” I said to the daughter, a woman in her thirties.

“Thanks, Robbie. I think I'll stand. My back's kind of bothering me.” Paula nestled her other hand in the small of her back, her pregnant belly pushing out a black knit shirt under her open coat. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a messy knot and her face was devoid of makeup, letting the high color of a woman carrying a child shine through, but also showing the dark splotches under her eyes.

“Three months to go. I sure can't wait to be a grandmother,” Sue said in a bright voice, beaming up at Paula and then turning back to me. “So the cupcakes are all ordered, and Glen and Max will bring the drinks over a little early. I'm just as thrilled as punch we can do this for our dear Erica.”

Sue's other daughter, Erica, had moved back to South Lick, our little town nestled in the hills of southern Indiana, a month earlier, and her parents were throwing a welcome back party for her at Pans ‘N Pancakes. Erica's late husband had been my boyfriend's twin brother, so I could hardly say no. I wasn't quite sure why they'd waited a month to welcome her back, but I was happy they'd chosen me to cater it in the store.

“I'll have a veggie platter and a couple of dips out,” I said. “I've made up a pasta salad and a coleslaw, as we discussed. I have the mini-sliders ready to go, and a couple dozen hand pizzas ready in the freezer. I'll pop those in the oven during the party so they can be served hot.”

“What's a hand pizza?” Paula asked. “Shaped like a hand, with fingers?”

I laughed. “They're just small. Like the size of a hand. Maybe I should call them single-serving pizzas.”

“It don't matter what you call them, they are going to be so yummy,” Sue said. Her blue eyes sparkled behind a bit too much eye makeup.

“The mini-sliders sound interesting.” Paula cocked her head. “Just like your lunch menu, but smaller, right?”

I nodded. Both women had been customers over the last month and a half since I'd opened. “Beef, turkey, and black bean. And my friend Phil is going to tend bar.”

“Oh, good, so the guys can relax and enjoy themselves.” Sue nodded her approval. “Hey, Robbie, you ever think about entering the log cabin competition?”

“The what? I mean, I'm a carpenter, but I have my hands full with this building.”

Paula grinned. “Mom means gingerbread log cabins, right?”

Sue nodded and smiled. “It's so gol' dang cute. Everybody makes log cabins out of gingerbread and other edible stuff. They judge it over at the Brown County Inn.”

“You could make a cabin of a country store and enter it,” Paula said. “I bet you'd win a prize and all.”

“If I have time, I'll look into it. It would be good publicity, I suppose.” It did sound like fun, but when could I fit baking and decorating a log cabin into my schedule? Monday, my day off, was the only possibility.

The door jangled again and a frowning broad-shouldered man strode in. “There you are,” he said, spying Paula.

Paula twisted her wedding band around and around. “Max, I told you I was going out with Mom.”

“Max, honey, come meet Robbie.” Sue gestured to him.

After Max approached the table, Sue said, “Robbie Jordan, this is Paula's husband, Max Holzhauser. Max, Robbie.”

He extended a big, meaty hand. “Nice to meet you, Robbie.” He barely got the glower off his face, which featured a jutting Neanderthal brow and heavy eyebrows now pulled together in the middle. His thick hair, tucked behind his ears, brushed his collar.

I shook his hand. “Likewise. Sit down?” What was he so mad about?

“Can't. Let's go, Paula.” He took hold of Paula's upper arm. She wasn't much taller than my own five foot four. He was not only over six feet tall, he was also stocky and heavy boned.

Paula pried his hand off, twisting out of his grasp. “I'm doing errands with my mother, Max. I'll be home in time to get ready for the party.” She pressed her lips together and her jaw worked.

“Have it your own way, then.” He cracked his knuckles. “You always do.”

One of my chess-playing customers looked up and frowned at the disturbance. I watched Max leave, hearing the door close with more force than necessary, and glanced at Paula. Sue had taken one of her daughter's hands in both of hers and was stroking it.

“Things will work out, sugar,” Sue murmured as the bell on the door continued to jangle. “He'll get a hold on that temper of his, bless his heart. You'll see.”

 

 

The timer on the oven dinged just after the wall clock chimed eight. We were an hour into the party and it was in full swing. I hurried over to draw out the last pan of pizzas. I slid them onto a tray, the cheese bubbling in tan spots, the aroma of fresh crust almost too alluring. I sliced each pizza into quarters and carried them to the food table. I wiped my hands down my blue-and-white store apron, which featured our logo of a cast-iron griddle held by a grinning stack of pancakes, and surveyed the now-packed room. Late this afternoon Phil and I had pushed the tables to the sides and stacked half the chairs in a corner to leave room for mingling.

Near the banner reading “Welcome Back to South Lick, Erica!” a small group of men, including Max, Sue's husband Glen, and my green-eyed Jim, clustered with beers in hand. Paula, now made up and in a green dress that didn't try to disguise her baby bump, sat talking with Tanya Porter, an attractive local jewelry maker who owned a gift shop in town. Phil stood behind the bar table chatting with Sue. Other townspeople, some of whom I'd met, many I hadn't, chatted in small groups, with a few women browsing the shelves of cookware. Country music played from a couple of small speakers someone had set up next to an iPad, and the buzz of conversation over the tunes was loud.

The only person missing was the guest of honor, Erica. She was more than an hour late. I picked up an empty slider platter and headed back to the open kitchen area, smothering a yawn before drawing another pan of sliders out of the warmer. I'd made little rolls for buns, precooked the patties, and assembled the tiny burgers shortly before the party started. All I had to do now was serve them. Then maybe I could sit down for a few minutes.

As I set the platter of sliders on the food table, Tanya walked up to me.

“I really like all your cookware, Robbie.” Her full lips curved into a smile that lit up her face, and her almond-shaped eyes crinkled at the edges.

“Thanks. I do, too. Half of it was already here when I bought the store, and I've acquired the rest.”

“Don't you just love thinking about who cooked with it when it was new?” she asked, gazing at the far wall.

“Exactly.”

“Do you have time for me to ask you a quick question about one piece?”

“Sure.” We moved across the room together. Tanya, four or five inches taller than me, especially in heels, walked with a fluid motion, like an athlete might. Her light-brown hair fell in graceful waves below her shoulders.

She pointed with an elegant finger that ended in the perfect white tip of a French manicure. “What's that round thing with the two long handles?”

“That's a sandwich press.” It featured two slightly convex cast iron disks joined by a hinge, and two long handles that extended out. “After you insert, say a cheese sandwich, between the disks, you clamp the press shut and then hold it over a gas flame or even a campfire to toast the sandwich. It makes the best grilled cheese in the world.”

“And it's beautiful, too, isn't it?”

“Sure is. Browse as much as you want. The pieces for sale have tags on them.”

“Thanks.” She moved on down to the shelf area.

I turned back to the party and made my rounds, picking up empty dishes, tidying the food display. I paused when I passed a smiling Jim Shermer, my new boyfriend and my former real-estate lawyer. I knew he wanted more than the occasional date, but I was so busy with the store and restaurant, and he with his practice, we usually only managed Sunday nights together, since Pans ‘N Pancakes was closed on Mondays.

“Everything looks great. And tastes even better,” he said, smoothing an errant black curl off my forehead.

He looked more delicious than any food I could make, with those emerald eyes, curly red hair that he wore a bit long and shaggy, and his trim physique. Tonight he wore a deep blue shirt with well-cut black pants, but I could get lusty for him even when he was in an old T-shirt and ragged jeans.

“Thanks. It seems to be going pretty well, doesn't it?” I smiled back at him.

“Except that Erica isn't here.” He frowned. “I wonder what's keeping her?”

“It's not a surprise party, is it? Sue never said anything about that.”

“No, I don't think it's supposed to be a surprise. Oh, well. Erica has always been a bit, shall we say, dramatic.” He pulled his mouth. “She probably wants to make a grand entrance.”

I saw Sue glance at the phone in her hand and touch it a few times with her index finger.

“Gol' dang, she's almost here!” Sue announced with a big smile. “Get ready, y'all.”

Sure enough, it wasn't two minutes later when the bell jangled and a woman who had to be Erica pushed in, shedding a puffy white thigh-length coat as she walked. She wore a snug red dress that crossed over in the front and nowhere near covered her cleavage. She was closer in height to her tiny mother than to Paula, and her spiky blond hair and light coloring were more like Sue's, too. Through the door behind her emerged Abe O'Neill, a handsome guy who worked for the local electric company whom I'd met earlier in the fall. He set a case shaped like a banjo on the floor as the talking fell to a hush.

Erica left Abe at the door and swanned over to her mother on four-inch red heels. She gave Sue a hug and then waved to the room.

“Hi, everybody,” she called out. “Thanks so much for all this.”

Her father, a man in his sixties whose dark hair was shot through with silver, raised his beer. “Welcome back, sweetheart.”

A chorus of “welcome back” echoed throughout the room. Next to me, Jim raised his bottle of Cutter's Half Court IPA. “Welcome back, Rickie.”

Erica turned her head sharply, then tilted her head in a seductive pose when she saw who had said it. She clicked on her heels over to where we stood and slid her arm through Jim's.

“Oh, Jimmy. You're the only person besides Jonny who can call me that.” She pursed her lips in a pout. “And he's gone.” She stroked his arm with her other hand and cast luminous blue eyes up at him.

A shadow passed over Jim's face as he carefully detached from Erica's arm. Jon, his twin, had killed himself in Chicago a year ago. Jim had told me how hard it had been for him, and still was, to lose his twin, and to suicide, too. “I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'll call you Erica from now on.”

“No, I want you to call me Rickie. Please?”

Jim cleared his throat. “Have you met my girlfriend, Robbie Jordan? This is her restaurant and country store.” He slung his arm along my shoulders, giving my arm a squeeze, a comforting gesture given how Erica had just been acting.

Erica narrowed her eyes and studied me before flashing a big smile. She held out her hand. “His girlfriend? Well, isn't that a surprise? I was hoping to come back here and claim Jimmy for my own.”

“Nice to meet you, Erica. Welcome back.” I forced a smile and glanced at Jim, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Isn't this a cute place you've got here,” Erica said. “It was a real dump last time I lived in town.”

“Robbie did all the renovation work herself, too.” Jim's smile at me was genuine.

“Imagine that. You're so talented,” she said in a voice oozing insincerity.

“I'll be bringing out some hot sliders in a minute, and the pizzas over there are probably still warm, if you're hungry. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll let you two have some time to catch up.” I cast a quick look at Jim before heading to the kitchen area, and if that wasn't a panicked expression on his face, I don't know what is. Well, he was a big boy. He could handle his former sister-in-law. Or not. I sure wasn't going to get in the middle.