The Calamity Café (15 page)

“Why do you think Lou didn't spend the money?” I asked. “Why would he leave it hidden for all this time?”

“My guess is he didn't know about it,” Mom said. “If I was going to hide ill-gotten gains in your café, I certainly wouldn't tell you about it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Where would you get these ill-gotten gains?” Aunt Bess asked. “Have you been up to something?”

“Of course not. But if I
had
, I wouldn't want to drag my daughter into it. Even if I had nowhere else to stash the money except her café, I wouldn't tell her. Then she'd have deniability if I was caught and the money was found.”

“So you think it's been there all this time because Lou—and then Lou Lou and Pete—knew nothing about it,” I said.

“I know Lou Lou Holman didn't know anything about money being hidden in that office, or else she'd have clawed through that wall years ago,” said Aunt Bess. “She
sure wouldn't have left it alone. You know as well as I do that she was so tight her toes curled every time she blinked.”

“That's true,” I said. “But being as tight as she was, maybe she was keeping it there in case of an emergency.”

“What news were you going to tell us about Pete and Chris Anne?” Mom asked.

“Chris Anne is pregnant.”

Aunt Bess shook her head. “Saints preserve us. Those two need a baby like an alcoholic needs to tend bar. It's all they can do to take care of themselves.”

“A lot of people never quite grow up until they have to,” said Mom. “I actually thought I had until I had a child and realized how immature I was.”

“Ain't that the truth? But you turned out just fine,” said Aunt Bess. “And Amy did
too.”

I
got to the café the next morning even before Roger and his crew arrived. I preheated the oven to two hundred degrees so I could warm the doughnuts before everyone else got there.

I heard a truck pull into the parking lot and went out front, expecting to see Roger. To my surprise, it was Pete.

“Pete, is everything all right?” I asked when he stepped down out of the truck. “What on earth are you doing here at six o'clock?”

“Everything's fine. I was up anyway and got to wondering how the renovations are coming along.”

“Come on inside and see for yourself.”

He looked around the dining room. “I like these colors. They really brighten up the place.”

“Thank you.”

“Momma talked a lot about fixing up the Joint, but she never did,” Pete said. “She just never had the time.”

I nodded. “Time certainly can slip away from you in a hurry.”

“Ain't that the truth? Seems like only yesterday, I was a little ol' thing running around here with dirty hands and skinned knees. Momma was waitressing, and Grandpa was at the grill.” He grinned. “You don't know how good you've got it when you're a kid, you know? It's only looking back that you realize how nice it was.”

I smiled. “I guess so.”

His grin faded as he shook his head. “I can't quite come to grips with Momma being gone. She was always here. I know she could have an ornery turn to her sometimes, but she was always trying to do right by me.”

“I know she was.” I didn't really know whether she always tried to do right by Pete or not, but I felt that it was proper to say she did.

“I'm glad Chris Anne saved a bunch of the stuff from the office.”

“I thought you would be,” I said. “It helps you grieve when you have something to hold on to. It's not that you need something to remind you of her, but it's nice to have something of hers to sort of ground you to the past. I have one of my Nana's rings. I wear it sometimes when I want to feel especially close to her.”

“Last night, Chris Anne got out Momma's photo albums. She wanted to see what I looked like as a baby and then as a boy.” He blew out a breath. “I finally had to leave the room—brought up too many memories.”

“It'll get easier. Congratulations on the baby.”

“Thanks.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I wish me and Chris Anne could've done things differently, planned things out a little better, but I guess this is how
it's supposed to be. I mean, I'd have liked to have waited . . . just had it be me and her before having kids. But it is what it is.”

“Chris Anne said you're thinking of asking Stan to be your business partner. I hope that works out for you.”

“So do I. Maybe it's better not to be in business with my fiancée anyway, right?”

“Maybe.” I told him that Aunt Bess had told me the legend of the Holman brothers who'd robbed a bank in North Carolina.

Pete did a snort-laugh combo. “Lordy mercy, I heard that story so many times growing up. At nearly every family reunion and every holiday, Grandpa would gather around anybody who'd listen and give them an earful.” He gazed at the back wall as if seeing it all play out on a movie screen. “After he'd tell the bank-robbing story, he'd tell us that Uncle Grady disappeared after that and that maybe he took the money with him. Then he'd lean in like he was telling us a secret and say that maybe Uncle Grady had left that money hidden around here somewhere. Then all us kids would go on a treasure hunt.”

“Did you ever find anything?”

“Poison ivy a time or two. Like as not, every cent of that money—if there ever was any—went for liquor or was gambled away two weeks after they got it.”

I bobbed my head in a way that couldn't actually be called a nod. I didn't want to be mistaken for being in agreement with Pete when I knew full well that the money was in evidence at the Winter Garden Police Department.

“So what kind of tall tales did your grandpa tell you?” Pete asked.

“He mostly told us about working in the coal mines. And, with every story he told, I became more convinced that I never wanted to work in a dark, scary mine.”

“I heard that.”

Roger and his crew pulled into the parking lot.

“There's the boss,” I told Pete. “Time to get to work.”

“Thanks again for letting me look at the place. It's nice. Momma would be proud.”

I knew that was a lie he could've kept from telling, but it was nice of him to say so all the same. “Thanks, Pete. Stop by anytime.”

*   *   *

I
brought out the warm doughnuts and hot coffee, and they were enjoyed by all. Homer still liked his ten-o'clock sausage biscuit, but he wouldn't turn down a warm doughnut at six thirty.

Homer's, Jackie's, and my job today was to tear out the old floor. We had heavy gloves and chisels.

“Who's your hero, Homer?” I asked.

“James Arthur Baldwin. Have you heard of him?”

“He wrote essays, right?”

“Novels too. And poems . . . plays.”

“Sounds like an accomplished guy,” said Jackie.

“Indeed he was.”

“Pete stopped by today,” I said. “He told me he was glad Chris Anne didn't let him throw out all of Lou Lou's things from the office.”

“Yeah, I guess he was when he had time to stop and consider it,” she said.

“Any word yet on who killed Ms. Holman?” Homer asked.

“Not yet.” I pushed my chisel under a particularly well-glued stretch of linoleum. “I wish they'd find whoever did it, though. I'd love to know what the crime scene technician found.”

“Let's think about who Lou Lou's enemies were,” Jackie said.

“Mr. Baldwin said that people who treat others as less than human must not be surprised when the bread they've cast upon the waters comes floating back to them poisoned,” said Homer.

“That guy had a good point.” Jackie stopped in midscrape. “Lou Lou alienated almost everyone who'd ever met her.”

“Even Pete said this morning that his mother could be ornery sometimes,” I said. “But he said he knew she always had his best interests at heart.”

“I'm not sure I believe that,” said Jackie. “Do you?”

“I don't know. Maybe she
thought
she was doing the right thing for him, but she was actually smothering him.” I frowned. “Is that the right word?”

“I believe the word you're looking for is ‘overbearing,'” said Jackie. “But ‘smothering' fits too. All the psychology and parenting articles warn that being too controlling really screws up your kids.”

I dropped my chisel. “You've been reading parenting articles?”

She put the chisel back into my hand. “No. I mean, I thumbed through some when I was still in school and babysitting to pick up some extra money. And I did take a psychology course at the community college when I was taking secretarial classes.”

I remembered that now. Jackie had dropped out of
college after one of her mother's visits to Winter Garden. It was the first time Renee had been back since she'd left Jackie with Aunt Bess, and Jackie had been devastated when her mom had left again.

“It shouldn't take a trained therapist to see that Pete's relationship with his mother was messed up,” said Homer. “The man's forty and seemed to be afraid to tell his mother he had a serious girlfriend.”

“No words of wisdom from Mr. Baldwin?” I asked.

“Only this—and I'm paraphrasing, of course. People pay for what they do and for what they've allowed themselves to become, and they pay for it by the lives they lead.”

“Oh man, you're right. I never stopped to consider it, but Lou Lou must've been miserable,” I said. “Maybe that's why she treated us all so badly.”

Jackie stabbed her chisel into the linoleum with a vengeance. “I refuse to make excuses for that woman. She was wicked. I only went to the funeral because I felt sorry for Pete. After all, wasn't it ultimately her choice to be miserable?”

“Jackie, that's an awful thing to say!”

“I understand exactly what you mean, Jackie,” said Homer. “Despite Ms. Holman's hardships, it was she who chose to wallow in self-loathing or self-pity or whatever other destructive emotions she was filled with rather than rising above them and making a better life for herself and her child.”

Jackie smiled. “Homer, you are one deep dude.”

“Thank you. I have my mom to thank for that . . . and my heroes.” He smiled and went back to tearing up the floor.

“You grew up around here, right, Homer?” I asked.

“Nearby.”

“Did you ever hear any stories about the Holmans? Aunt Bess told me that it was rumored that Lou Lou's grandfather and uncle robbed a bank in North Carolina once. Have you heard that story before?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Must've been before my time. The only stories I ever heard about the Holmans was that Lou—the original owner of this café—was a very hard man. He was said to have been rough on his wife and daughter. I always heard that he doted on his grandson, though. It seemed he'd wanted a boy when Lou Lou was born.”

“So Lou Lou has no siblings,” Jackie said.

“No.” He looked at his watch. “It's ten o'clock.”

I gratefully put down my chisel. “Let me get that sausage biscuit for you.”

It did strike me odd, though, that Aunt Bess had believed Lou Holman to be such a peach of a guy when Homer had heard the exact opposite.

*   *   *

I
didn't get a minute alone with Jackie until she and I were in the kitchen making sandwiches for everyone's lunch.

Speaking in hushed tones, I asked, “So?”

“So what?” She opened a loaf of bread and made a row of slices across the countertop.

I rolled my eyes. “How was your date with Roger?”

Jackie lowered her voice too. “I don't know that I'd classify it as a
date
. I mean, it was dinner with Roger. We've had dinner lots of times.”

“Not by yourselves. Come on. His telling you about . . .
the thing we found . . . was just an excuse for the two of you to go out.”

She tried to hide her smile. “Okay, okay. It was . . . nice.”

“Nice?”

“It was
Roger
.” She huffed. “We've known each other practically all our lives.”

“But not like
this
. Not as dates. You've known each other as friends.”

“I'd like to think we're still friends.” She put mayo on half the slices she'd laid out and mustard on the other half.

“Jackie!” I wailed.

“Shhh!” She smiled. “It
was
nice. Maybe a little better than nice.”

I squealed. “I knew it! You guys have liked each other for so long.”

“Keep your cool. He might've had a lousy time.”

“I'll do some recon later,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “Don't you dare.”

“Why not?”

“Because he'll know we've been talking about him . . . about our date,” she said.

“As you pointed out, he's known us most of our lives. He already knows we've been talking about him and your date. He also knows I'm going to ask
him
about your date and that I'm then going to report back to you.”

“Fair enough. But you know Roger well enough to know that he'll say it's none of your business.”

I raised an index finger. “Unless he wants me to tell you something in particular.”

She shook her head and took some turkey out of the refrigerator. “Do you think everybody's good with turkey?”

“I don't know. We'll make several turkey-and-cheese sandwiches and some peanut butter–and-jelly sandwiches too. That should cover everyone.”

“So . . . what do you think he'll say?”

I made my own row of bread slices and got out the peanut butter. “Only one way to find out.” My best guess was that Roger was dying to know what Jackie was saying about last night and that he'd seek
me
out after lunch. “Did you kiss good night?”

“None of your business.”

“I'll take that as a yes.” I spread peanut butter on the slice of bread nearest me.

“Fine. He kissed me once . . . when he dropped me off at home.”

“And?” I looked up in time to see Jackie blush and drop her head.

“Tell me about your date with the deputy.”

“What date?” I asked.

“The one where he came to your house to tell you all the important stuff about the thing that happened forever ago that couldn't wait until the next day.”

“It was interesting . . . and it
was
important.” I tried to concentrate hard on spreading my peanut butter to perfection. “I think it was great of Ryan to come to my house during his off-duty time to fill me in on what may be a . . . another . . . clue . . . or something in Lou Lou's case.”

“Ah. Does
Ryan
think the box in the wall is a clue?”

“It certainly
could
be.” I moved on to the next slice without looking up from my work.

“Sure. Because anything that happened—what—seventy-five . . . eighty . . . years ago would naturally have some bearing on a murder that took place just over a week
ago.” She snorted. “That kind, thoughtful deputy . . . rushing over on his own time to make sure you were safe from the centenarian bandit killer!”

“Will you just hush and make your turkey sandwiches? We have hungry people to feed.”