The Calamity Café (16 page)

A
fter lunch, I went to take a look at the side porch to see how much progress had been made. I truly wasn't going to talk with Roger about his date. I knew he was busy and that I'd have plenty of time to speak with him after work.

“Amy . . . good . . . glad you're here,” said Roger as I stepped around the side of the café. He pointed. “We need to turn that window into a door. The original door that opened into the office will be fine for staff taking dishes out or bringing them back inside, but you don't want your patrons having to use the same door.”

“You're right. I hadn't considered that, but no, we don't want customers coming through the back, where we're working.”

“I want to get that door cut out today. The flooring should be here later this afternoon, but we can't start putting it down until the door is finished.”

“What about the painting we've already done?”

“It won't be a problem,” said Roger. “If we mar anything, we'll touch it back up. But the molding around the door should hide where the window has been enlarged.”

“Okay. So what do you need me to do?”

“Get out of here.”

“Excuse me?”

He grinned. “You and the café staff should take the rest of the day off. I talked with Aaron about it over lunch, since he's been really interested in construction, and he'd like to stay.”

I huffed. “Roger! I knew Aaron was interested in construction, but he's the best busboy and dishwasher we have!”

“He's really getting the hang of construction, and he's enjoying it. Would you prefer he stay a busboy forever?”

“No.” I felt a stab of guilt for my poutiness. “Of course, I want Aaron to do whatever will make him happy. I'll talk with him.”

“He's a good kid and a fast learner. I think he could do well in construction.”

“I know, but I thought you didn't have an opening.”

“I didn't, but I believe one of my guys will be leaving in late summer or early fall. That gives me time to get Aaron well trained.”

“Then I guess I'm looking for a new busboy.”

“I'm pretty sure you are, but talk with him first and make sure that's what he wants.”

“I will.” I turned to go back around the building to the café and saw Stan Wheeler pulling into the parking lot. “Wonder what he wants.”

Roger stepped up next to me. “I don't know. Wait and we'll see.”

Stan got out of his car and walked toward Roger and me. “Hey, folks, how're y'all doing?”

“Good, thanks,” I said. “How are you, Stan?”

“To be honest, I'm as broke as a convict. I was wondering if Roger here could use an extra man.”

“I don't know,” Roger said. “Do you have any construction experience?”

“I do.”

“Were you only wanting to work today? Or do you want to make it a regular thing?” asked Roger.

“Well, I'm mainly interested in helping with the café,” Stan said. “Maybe we could see how it goes.”

“All right. I could use some extra help for the next day or two.” Roger nodded toward a tall, heavyset man holding a clipboard. “Go talk with Johnny and see where he'd like you to work today.”

After Stan headed in Johnny's direction, Roger muttered to me under his breath, “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck.” Given Roger's warning about Stan, I had to wonder why he'd agree to take him on, even if it was only for a day or two. Could it be a case of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? I left to find Aaron.

Aaron was in the café tearing up a section of flooring with Homer.

“I have good news,” I said. “Roger wants us to clear out of here to let his guys turn a window into a door. So we can relax for the rest of the afternoon.”

A little cheer went up.

“But,” I continued, “I'm going to pay y'all for a full day. You guys have been working so hard, and I truly appreciate you.”

“We're almost finished with what we're doing,” Homer said. “Do you think Roger would mind if we clear this section here before we go?”

“Probably not. Aaron, could I talk with you for a second?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

He was only a couple of years younger than me, but sometimes Aaron made me feel like I was ancient.

We walked over to the counter, and I handed him a bottle of water. He thanked me but looked at me expectantly rather than opening the bottle.

“Roger said he'd told you about converting the window to a door and that you'd like to stay and work with his crew this afternoon.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That might be handy to know sometime . . . like if I buy a house and want to do my own renovations or something.”

“True. Roger says you're a fast learner, and he's impressed with the work you've been doing.”

He opened the bottle then and took a drink. “Thanks.”

“What I'm asking is if you'd prefer to go to work with Roger.”

His eyes widened. “You mean it? You wouldn't be mad?”

“Of course not. I'd miss you. You're our best busboy, but you need to follow your heart and do what you enjoy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I said with a smile. “I would like to ask you something while I'm thinking of it, though. Were
you working that Monday afternoon? You know,
the
Monday?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Did anyone come in acting angry toward Lou Lou or anything?”

“No. Pete almost always worked the afternoon shift, and Monday was no exception. If anybody would've been mad, they'd have been mad at Pete . . . right?”

“Good point. Did anyone come in acting like they had a beef with Pete?”

“Nah, Pete didn't make people mad. He just went along with whatever they said. It was his momma who ticked everybody off.”

“That's true.” I patted his shoulder. “Thanks again for all your hard work.”

“The only person who came in who was disagreeable at all was that Mr. Lincoln from the Chamber of Commerce. He wanted to buy the Joint, but Pete told him his momma had already given him her answer.” He looked toward the door. “Is it all right if I go ahead and tell Roger I'd like to work with him?”

“Sure.” I had a couple of errands to run. I supposed I needed to add a stop at the
Winter Garden News
to the list.

*   *   *

T
he first errand on my agenda was to go to the print shop and order business cards and menus. Now that we had the colors for the café, I could take the swatches to the printer to get an exact match . . . or, at least, fairly close.

I thought this would be a simple, quick trip. I was
wrong. Once I'd explained to the printer what I wanted, she got out books to show me examples of business cards and menus. I looked through pages and pages of samples until I found the styles that I felt best exemplified Down South Café.

My choices made, I was ready to leave. And then the printer asked about letterhead and checks and envelopes—with windows for paychecks and without windows for correspondence. I told her I'd think about those and talk with her again when I returned to pick up the business cards and menus.

I had to take care of my budget. I knew it would be easy to spend a small fortune on things that would be nice to have but that I didn't necessarily need. A paycheck written on a plain check and put into a regular envelope would spend just as well as one written on a fancy check and put into a window envelope with a preprinted return address.

I still had checks and envelopes on my mind when I left the print shop and nearly collided with Chris Anne.

“Oh, goodness! I'm sorry, Chris Anne. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going.”

“It's probably my fault. I'm so mad I could spit.”

“What's wrong?”

“I went in there to the bank to get a loan. I want to build onto the house, get me some maternity clothes, buy a few things for the baby . . . stuff like that.”

I was thinking,
Didn't Pete just come into an inheritance? And money from selling the café? Wouldn't
that
money buy you clothes and things you two need for the baby?
I didn't say anything, though. It wasn't any of my business.

Chris Anne anchored one bony fist to her hip. “Do you know they had the nerve to tell me that I couldn't use our house as collateral on a loan?”

“Your house?” I asked. “I thought you lived in an apartment building in Abingdon.”

“I'm talking about my house with Pete.
Our
house.”

“You and Pete bought a new house?”

She rolled her eyes. “Pete's house is now
our
house.” She held up her left hand and waggled her fingers. “We're engaged?”

“True, but that doesn't make it your house too until Pete either adds you to the deed or the two of you get married.”

She let out a growl of frustration. “Now you sound just like those bank people! They said I have no right to use Pete's home as collateral, and they wouldn't even tell me how much he has in his bank account.”

“Huh.” That's the only sound I could manage that wouldn't let her know that I was absolutely astounded by her incomprehension.

“I told them Pete was fine with it and told them to call him. They said he'd have to come to the bank in person.” She huffed. “I told them he couldn't come today because he was out looking at trucks and getting ready to start his business. Don't they
know
they're dealing with a businessman now that could have a big impact on their bank?”

“I guess not.” I wondered if Pete really
was
fine with Chris Anne trying to get a loan against his house. Did he even know?

“Oh well. I'll see you later, Amy.”

“See you.”

As I walked on up the street toward the
Winter Garden News
office, I marveled at Chris Anne's actions. Had she honestly thought that since she was Pete's fiancée, the bank employees would give her information on Pete's financial accounts?
And
a loan secured by his house?

And what about Pete and Stan? Both Pete and Chris Anne had indicated that Pete was considering asking Stan to go into the trucking business with Pete. Yet Stan had stopped by the café looking for work. If Stan was as broke as he said he was, how was he supposed to become a partner in a business? He couldn't afford to help pay for a truck. Maybe Pete intended to hire Stan as an employee rather than take him on as a partner. Or, it could be that they both thought they'd make so much money once the business got rolling that the truck would practically pay for itself.

I walked into the office of the
Winter Garden News
and was happy to see that it hadn't changed since the last time I'd visited, about nine years ago. I'd gone to have a classified ad put in proclaiming Mom's age on her birthday:
Lordy, lordy, Jenna's forty!
Mom had not been amused.

Anyway, the walls were still the same flat beige. The globe still stood in the corner, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves to the left and right. And the scarred wooden desk stood in front of the office's only window—a picture window that looked out onto the street.

Ms. Peggy, who'd run the
Winter Garden News
for as long as anyone could remember, sat in her huge leather office chair with the wood scroll arms and the nail-head accents.

“Hello, dear,” said Ms. Peggy in her reedy voice. “What can I do for you today?”

“I'd like to put in a classified ad to hire a busboy for the Down South Café.”

I'd also put an ad on Craigslist. But even though not everyone in Winter Garden was computer savvy, everyone read the
News
. Hopefully, I could get my ad to run for a couple of weeks and have a few applicants by the time I needed to staff the café. Most of the high schoolers on summer break already had jobs, and there weren't many others beating a path to Winter Garden for its employment opportunities.

“All right.” Ms. Peggy pushed away from the desk, got up, and handed me a pad of paper and a pen. “Twenty-five words or less, twenty dollars per week. Anything over twenty-five words will be an additional forty cents a word.”

“Thank you.” As I sat and tried to concentrate on what I wanted to say, I thought about how long Ms. Peggy had been here in Winter Garden. I got up and went to stand by the desk so she could hear me. “Ms. Peggy, have you lived here all your life?”

“Yep.”

“My aunt Bess was telling me about a bank robbery that Lou Holman's dad, Bo, and his brother Grady were supposed to have committed back in the thirties.”

“Over in North Carolina. I remember. What about it?”

“Do you believe the Holman brothers did it?”

“Course I do. Didn't she?” Ms. Peggy asked.

“I think she thought they were guilty.”

“I'd bet you five dollars to ten they did it. Though why they didn't use that money to get Grady out of hock is beyond me.”

“Aunt Bess said that Grady disappeared right after the robbery.”

“Disappeared, my eye,” she said. “Lou killed him.”

“Lou?”

“Yeah, Lou. He was furious that Grady had dragged his daddy into something that could cause him to have to rot in prison for the rest of his life, and he killed Grady.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“I wouldn't swear to it on a stack of Bibles or anything, but I'm fairly certain. And so was my father. He's the one who told me.” She leaned back in her chair. “Lou Holman was a mean man. Why'd you think Lou Lou grew up with such a wicked look and a mouth that didn't spout nothing but vitriol?”

“Well, I figured it had something to do with her upbringing.”

“Then you figured right. That little ol' girl never could do anything good enough to suit her daddy. And still, she worshipped the ground he walked on. It was a crying shame.”