The Calamity Café (6 page)

But, anyway, the dean had been observing in our classroom that day. I'd been so nervous that when he'd asked me why the shortbread was baked at 350 degrees for ten minutes and then at 300 degrees for forty minutes, I couldn't sufficiently convey the proper answer—lowering the temperature makes for a flatter, crispier cookie. As I stood there struggling to answer the man, another student in the class stepped up and answered him. He praised her, and she turned to me with a smug smile. I'd decided then and there to stop being intimidated, to never let my
fear of failing or looking foolish stand in the way of my stepping up, answering the question, taking a chance.

That's what I was doing with the Down South Café—taking a chance. If I failed, I'd at least know that I'd
tried.

H
omer was right on schedule at ten o'clock that morning, and by then, things were almost normal.

“Good morning, Homer. Who's your hero today?”

“Mr. John Lennon.”

“Whoa. Are you going to sing ‘Imagine' for me?”

“Unfortunately, I have no musical talent. But I do have a cute story to share. When he was in school, the teacher asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. Mr. Lennon said he wanted to be happy. The teacher said he didn't understand the question. And guess what he said?”

I was familiar with the quote but didn't want to burst Homer's bubble. “What?”

“He said the teacher didn't understand life.”

I smiled as I poured Homer a cup of coffee. “I'll have your sausage biscuit right out.”

“Take your time.”

When I returned with the biscuit, Homer placed a hand on my arm. “Are you nervous being here . . . you know, after what happened?”

“I am, a little.” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening to us. “I wish I'd wake up and all of this would just be a bad dream, Homer. I wish I'd never come here that night.”

“I know you do.” He patted my arm. “John Lennon always said, ‘Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.'”

“Thanks. I hope he's right.”

*   *   *

I
was pressing out hamburger patties when Pete and Chris Anne arrived that afternoon. Chris Anne strode into the kitchen, put her not terribly clean-looking left hand in front of my face, and wagged her fingers.

“Lookie what I got!” she said in a singsong voice. “We're engaged. Pete took me over to the pawnshop and we got the ring last night.”

“Congratulations,” I said, shooting a look of desperation at Aaron, who had come in not long after Jackie arrived and who could usually interpret my expressions and the telepathy I was trying to convey with them.

“Let me see,” Aaron said.

Chris Anne hurried over to show Aaron the ring, thankfully getting her away from the hamburger patties. I mouthed a thank-you to him behind her back.

“Pete says he'll get me an even bigger one once we get our trucking business off the ground.”

“Heck, baby, you'll have rings on every finger then,”
Pete said from the doorway. “I appreciate you patting out them hamburgers, Amy. That'll make it easier on me today.”

“I'm gonna help waitress,” said Chris Anne, tucking a strand of her greasy hair behind her ear. “It'll help me find out what it's gonna be like working side by side with my man every day.”

I glanced over her tight black jeans and black T-shirt. “Do you need a uniform?” I didn't think the goth look would go over all that well with our clientele.

“Nope. I'm good. Thanks, though.”

“Did everything go all right this morning?” Pete asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I think we were all a little bit nervous at first, but we got through it.”

“Good.” He looked down the hallway toward the office. “I can't stand the thought of going in there.”

“If you need anything, sugar, I'll get it for you.” Chris Anne sashayed over to Pete and smiled up at him.

Stan Wheeler came into the café and called out to Pete. Stan rented a mobile home from Lou Lou, and he came into Lou's Joint to eat on occasion. I'd gleaned from overheard conversations between the two that Lou Lou wasn't the best landlord on the planet. But, then, Stan hadn't seemed to be a star renter either. He could be cantankerous, and I preferred to keep my distance from him.

“In the back,” Pete answered.

Stan sauntered up and leaned against the other side of the doorjamb. “Need for you to get somebody over to the trailer and fix my leaky roof.”

Chris Anne held out her hand. “Lookie what Pete got me.”

“Yeah. Nice. About that roof, Pete.”

“Stan, my momma just passed day before yesterday. I'm dealing with about everything I can handle.”

“Then give me the money to get it fixed, and I'll hire somebody my own self.”

I put the lid on the plastic container full of hamburger patties, slipped off my gloves, and put the container in the refrigerator. I was anxious to get out of there.

“How'd we do this morning?” Pete asked me.

“Not good enough to pay for a new roof,” I said as I dropped my gloves into the trash.

“What about the safe?” Stan asked. “I know Lou Lou kept money in there.”

“She did,” said Pete. “But I ain't going in the office after it.”

“I'll go,” said Chris Anne.

“No, baby, you don't want to be going in there.” Pete put his arm around her.

I could tell by the gleam in Chris Anne's eyes that Pete was wrong about that. Was it mere morbid curiosity that had her wanting to look around Lou Lou's office, or was it something more?

“Give me the combination, and I'll go.” Stan held out his hand like it was a done deal.

Pete got out his wallet, took out a square of paper, and handed it to Stan. Frankly, I was surprised that he would trust Stan enough to have him go through his mother's safe. Maybe the two of them were closer than I'd thought.

“I never got to use the safe enough to memorize the combination,” he said. “Just go ahead and clear it out while you're in there and bring everything out here to me.”

“Fine.”

“Is there anything else you need from the office?” Chris Anne asked.

“Well, I would like to have the accounts payable, accounts receivable, and payroll ledgers . . . if they're in there,” said Pete. “The sheriff said they might have to take some of that kinda stuff for now . . . you know . . . until the person is caught or whatever. But I'm going to need all that stuff to settle the estate.”

“I'll help Stan, then. He can't carry all that stuff by himself.” She practically ran from the kitchen.

“Get anything else that looks important,” Pete called down the hall.

I noticed he'd shut his eyes before turning toward the office.

I walked him into the dining room. “Come on out here and let me get you a cup of coffee. Or would you rather have some water, tea, or lemonade?”

“I don't need anything.” He sat down at a table, and I saw that his hands were shaking. The man was an enigma—that was for sure. One minute, he's coming in here bragging with his fiancée that she'll soon have rings on every finger, and the next he's closing his eyes and trembling as he realizes his mother died just a few feet away.

“I can stay and handle the afternoon shift if you need me to,” I said. “You don't have to be here today. In fact, I figure most of our patrons probably think we're closed.”

“I'll stay,” he said. “Thank you, though.”

“You're welcome. In addition to patting out some hamburgers, I sliced some tomatoes and onions, shredded some lettuce, and made a chocolate crème pie.”

He smiled slightly. “I appreciate that. I know you said you wanted to give me some time to think it over, but I'd like to know if you still want to buy Lou's Joint. If you're not, I'm going to go ahead and put it on the market.”

And another emotional shift from Pete. Was he being manipulated by a puppet master who was throwing darts at a list of moods? “I am interested. Have you already scheduled the appraisal?”

“Billy said he'd handle all of that. I need some cash if I'm gonna buy me and Chris Anne that truck.”

I nodded. “I wish you all the luck in the world with that.”

“I do you too, Amy. I reckon you, me, and Chris Anne are all about to make our dreams come true. I wish Momma hadn't been too stubborn to make hers come true.” His eyes filled with tears.

“I'm sure she had everything she wanted,” I said. Who was I kidding? I wasn't sure of anything. I had no idea what sort of dreams Lou Lou might have had. Had someone asked me last week, I'd have guessed that maybe belittling her staff was her dream come true. And then I had a stab of guilt for thinking ill of the dead.

Stan and Chris Anne brought out armloads of stuff from Lou Lou's office: a metal bank box, three or four notebooks, a bunch of documents. . . . Chris Anne even had a coffee mug.

“Look,” she said. “Still has your momma's lipstick print on the rim.”

I managed to suppress a shudder. Jackie didn't.

“Jackie, are you ready to take off?” I asked.

She nodded. “I'll talk to you later.”

*   *   *

I
went home, showered, and changed into a navy blue business suit. I didn't have an appointment, but I hoped Billy Hancock would see me anyway. I headed for his office with high hopes.

The office building was small but elegantly decorated. Sarah was sitting at her desk looking beautiful in a pink dress. She loved pink, and the color looked terrific on her.

She smiled up at me. “Hi.”

“Hi. Is Billy in?”

“Not back from lunch yet. Want to wait?”

“I do.” I sat down on the chair nearest Sarah's desk. “Are you expecting anyone in this afternoon?”

“Not until two, so you have a little while. What do you want to see Billy about?”

“I just need some advice. Before I left Lou's Joint, Pete said he'd talked with Billy about getting the place appraised and that if I didn't want it, he was going to put it on the market.”

“He was in here this morning—he and that insufferable Chris Anne. What does he see in her? Not that he's any big catch, but still . . .”

“I think you hit the nail on the head with that ‘no big catch' comment. I mean, Pete's nice enough, but he's always struck me as being a sandwich or two short of a picnic. Plus, think about who his bride would have as a mother-in-law.”

“That
is
scary,” Sarah agreed. “Or was. Maybe Chris Anne is the one who knocked Lou Lou in the head.”

We held each other's gazes.

“I was kidding,” she said after a moment, “but that's not entirely out of the question.”

“She was awfully ghoulish about wanting to go into Lou Lou's office a little while ago.”

“Maybe she wanted to make sure she hadn't left any incriminating evidence behind.”

I shook my head. “If she did, Ivy Donaldson has already scooped it up.”

“Chris Anne might not know that.”

It had me thinking. “Hey, can you come over to my house tonight? I'll see if Jackie and Roger can come too.”

“Are we having a party?” Sarah asked with a grin.

“No. But what you said about Chris Anne makes sense. I want everybody to toss some theories around, write them down, and see what we can come up with.”

“Honey, I'm sure the police are doing all of that.”

“I'm sure they are too, but I'm on their list.”

“What?”

“I'm a suspect,” I said.

“That's total crap!”

“Not if you look at it from their point of view.”

“Then let's Nancy Drew the fire out of this thing and get you off the hook.”

Before she could say more, we heard Billy's car pull up.

“See you at six?” I asked.

“I'll be there.”

“Hello, Amy,” Billy said when he came in. “Did you and Sarah have lunch?”

“No, sir. I'm here to see you, if you have a minute.”

“I believe I do . . . don't I, Sarah?”

“You're free until two,” she told him.

“Good. Come on into my office, then.”

I followed Billy into his office. Like the lobby, his office was decorated in forest green and burgundy. He had a high-backed leather desk chair, and there were two small matching chairs in front of the desk. With the exception of an in-box that was full stacked upon an out-box that was empty, the desk was uncluttered. It appeared all of Billy's current case files and other works in progress were on the credenza behind him.

“So how can I help you, Amy?”

“You tell me. I'm afraid I'm a suspect in a homicide, and I want to either buy Lou's Joint or build my own café. But you're probably already aware of all of that.”

“I am.” He folded his hands. “Whoever found Lou Lou was going to be a suspect in her murder. I don't feel there's anything to worry about unless you're formally accused.”

“By ‘accused,' do you mean ‘arrested'?” My tone was matter-of-fact, but my heart was fluttering up into my throat.

“I do. Is there any reason for you to be arrested, Amy?”

“I didn't kill her, if that's what you mean.”

“That's not what I meant. Good to know but not what I'm driving at. Do you have a motive?”

“I resigned from my job at Lou's Joint that morning, and I offered to buy the café. Lou Lou rejected my offer . . . rather soundly, I might add. I was surprised when Pete called to set up our meeting.”

“I admit I thought the deed to Lou's Joint would have to be pried out of . . . well, you get my meaning.”

“Then you were surprised too,” I said.

“Sure, I was. And I let Pete know that I was billing him for the meeting even if his mother backed out.”

“He told me this morning that he'd already asked you to get the café appraised.”

Billy nodded. “I've called the commercial real estate appraiser, and she's going to get to it as soon as she can.”

“Do you think I should buy the existing building or that I should buy a piece of land and build my own café?”

He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “I believe you'd be better off from a financial standpoint to buy Lou's Joint. All the power, water, and sewer lines are already in place. The location is established. And all you'd have to do is renovate.” He lowered his arms and rubbed his chin. “Plus, if you don't buy the place, some fast-food franchise might come in and get a foothold while you're still trying to build.”