Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (12 page)

Me, I was thrilled to be out and taking orders. Talk was high and fast about Aidan and the possibilities of who shot him. If I didn’t miss my guess, Lester brought Mary for dinner at the Goose just because he thought I’d have the scoop. I did, of course, but I wasn’t telling him that. Best to play dumb
in a times
like this, people do more speculating, which can be dangerous, but it also opens up possibilities that might not be there if people thought you had more information than they did.

My questioning started with Regina. She donned an apron and helped me take orders, so we carried on one long conversation, in chunks, as we passed each other. I gave her the rundown of what I knew about Aidan, not that she needed an update, being married to the chief.
 

I’d returned to pick up an order and check on Elizabeth.
“You handling it, girlfriend?”

Elizabeth slid another completed order through the pass-thru and grinned. “This is fun.”

I picked up the plates and arranged them on my tray as Regina sidled up next to me.

“Thought of something else I heard this afternoon. Betsy was spouting off to Flossie about Eugene’s run as mayor being a cinch. But Flossie left two minutes later. Betsy didn’t seem to like that her audience left so quick. She got kind of sulky after that.”

“Did you squeeze her for more?” I lifted the tray high.

Regina shook her head as she finished filling her third glass of tea. She arranged them on her tray. “My feet are killing me.” She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes.

I headed out with my order. When Regina passed me on my way back, she gave me a huge wink. Must be the girl had something good.

When Regina returned for her order, she leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Betsy’s got an appointment in my shop tomorrow at one.
Highlights, this time.
I think you’re due for a fix-up on your hair. Think you can slip away?”

This girl’s mind steams along the same channels as mine.
“Sure thing.”

I ladled a bowl of soup and got drinks for table four. Regina leaned over for another update. “Something’s up with Carl. He’s talking Flossie’s ear off about Dr.
Cryer
and some necklace. Know anything about a necklace?”

Did
I
! But the necklace wasn’t a priority right now. Still, you never can tell about this stuff.

Regina lifted her tray. I reached out to take it. “You handle getting this to table four and I’ll see what I can hear from Carl.”

Regina quirked a smile.
“I can see why Chad so admires you.”

Carl’s back was to me, but I can tell you flat-out that Flossie’s body language screamed bored—or maybe that was exhaustion. Her ex didn’t seem to notice, because he kept right on talking. Now one thing I know is that the minute people see the waiter coming their way, they clam up. I, of course, wanted to hear what Carl was flapping his lips about. I stopped at the table next to Carl and Flossie, asking Michael
Nooseman
, Maple Gap’s crusty newspaperman, if he was jealous.

“Got a dead body out there in the alley to report on and you think I’m jealous?” He slurped on his coffee, eyebrows lowered menacingly, but I saw that spark in his eyes. “You’ve a lot of nerve,
LaTisha
. Why would I be jealous?”

Didn’t take much to stir Michael’s pot, and I loved being the wooden spoon. “Because my bachelor’s degree means I’ll understand more than you will. Makes you wish I worked for you,
hm
?”

While Michael responded with some trivial drivel, I cocked my ear to pick up Carl’s soliloquy with Flossie. “. . . How am I supposed to know? I might just go to Chief Conrad and mention his name.”

“What conversation do you have your ear aimed at?”

It took a minute for me to register what Michael had said, but when I did, I did a quick draw.
“Any conversation other than this one.
Talking with you is like watching a dog turn circles before it squats.”

“And talking with you is like watching the gyrations of a roomful of eighty-year-old belly dancers.”

Ha! This was fun. Michael and I lived for verbal spats. It kept our minds sharp, not to mention our tongues.

My arm ached though, under the weight of the tray I held up. I needed to get over to Carl’s table before I dumped this food down on the head of a hapless patron. Hm. Michael’s head would be a good target. I leaned in as close as I could. “You
ain’t
seen
nothing
until you’ve seen a roomful of
fat
eighty-year-old belly dancers.”

That gave Michael a good hee-haw. While he laughed himself into high blood pressure, I moved on to the next table.
Slowly.

Carl’s tongue was wagging like a puppy’s tail.
Odd for a man usually given to the quiet side.
“. . . Not going to hang it on me, or I’ll make good and sure he has some dental work of his own that needs done.”

“It’s a right nice evening for you two to be dining here.”

Flossie snapped out of her fog and actually beamed a small ray of sunshine. “Hello,
LaTisha
. You heard the news?”

“I’m sure everyone has by now. Nothing stays quiet long in Maple Gap.”

I set their plates in front of them and tucked the tray under my arm.

Carl had his fork to his mouth in seconds. “You’re the best cook in the county.”

No use being shy. “That’s what folks tell me.”

Flossie dragged her spoon through her mashed potatoes, then back through again. Maybe she wasn’t tuned out to Carl but just fine-tuned in to herself. Some people are like that. Since their divorce, Flossie had been kicking up her heels a bit. Rumor was she had a boyfriend in Denver. I wondered if Carl knew that. I couldn’t grip the idea of two newly divorced people being out together at all.

“You’ve got some new help,” Carl’s eyes flitted toward the kitchen.

Very observant.
And the crack in the door I needed just so I could stick my size eleven in. “Hardy is recovering after Dr.
Cryer
worked him over this afternoon.” I figured mentioning Dr.
Cryer
might bring the conversation to a simmer.

Carl looked disgusted. “He
mention
that necklace?”

“Necklace?”

“The one his mom loved so much. He accused me of stealing it and making a fake.”

Bingo!

Flossie kept her eyes on her food. She still hadn’t eaten one spoonful of those potatoes.

“A fake?”
I prompted him. Though it sure didn’t seem he needed encouragement to vent.

“Says I must have slipped it off his mother, had Aidan make a copy,
then
sold it for money to go to
Taser’s
campaign. You know how much he hates the idea of Eugene getting reelected.”

Aidan? Guess being a jewelry-store owner would give him all the things he needed to do such a thing. If Dr.
Cryer
thought Aidan had a hand in his mother’s necklace being a fake, would he . . . ?
Nah.
I’d have to see if Dr.
Cryer
left at any point after Hardy’s appointment. It wouldn’t take long to shoot someone, though Dr.
Cryer
didn’t seem that upset about the necklace. Who knew? It was his mother’s property. His dead
mother’s,
and grief cut deep.

About that time, Regina passed, full speed, eyes flashing a warning.

I wrapped up my conversation with Carl the best way I knew how, putting down a stack of extra napkins as I talked. “Not a lot of people with any sense who want to see him reelected.”

Seeing that Carl is pro-Eugene
Taser
, I was sure that punch wasn’t going to get me any big tips, but that was all right with me.

I hustled myself up to Regina. “What information did you hook?”

Regina’s expression was set in stone, her back to the dining room. I realized she was following Elizabeth Buchanan’s dash around the kitchen as she filled orders. “Lionel’s over there with Shiny Portly saying he’s sure he saw George Buchanan driving in from Denver with Betsy
Taser
in the passenger seat.”

Chapter Thirteen

I don’t have to tell you how that news made my heart ache. Coupled with what Elizabeth had said about George earlier, and knowing Betsy like we all did . . . But something tickled at my brain. I turned to Regina. “You get wind of something in the shop about that?”

“I just know George has been scarce lately, and Elizabeth looks exhausted and sad all the time.”

“We best not get to thinking too hard. It could be nothing.”

Regina dragged her eyes to mine. “You’re right.”

“I’ll do some digging tomorrow at one.”

Regina smirked.

“Now, anything on Aidan?”

“The usual comments about him being strange-looking, having mean eyes, and all that. I get the impression no one knew him real well. There’s some murmuring about the influx of new people, or should I say new men? A lot of people are wondering about the whereabouts of their so-called wives. Give it a couple more days and gossip will heat to critical.”

Three new men.
Aidan had been here the longest, though he never professed to
having
a wife, and I asked when I took over my welcome-to-town lasagna. He’d turned it down, saying he was a vegetarian. But a month ago, two new men had arrived in Maple Gap, Eddie and Roger. Betsy had courted them for a while, thinking she might make a house sale, but they ended up moving in with Aidan in the large apartment over his shop.

No problems there. There were three bedrooms, even if one was the size of a closet. They were all rather tight-lipped, though they’d at least accepted my welcome-to-town spinach salad with sweet mustard dressing, letting it slip that they were married. We only ever saw Aidan around
town,
and him on rare occasion.

I loaded my tray and turned, not missing the way Regina’s sad eyes stared into the kitchen. When the bell over the door tinkled its greeting, I was relieved to see the chief coming in, Mac on his heels, Officer Nelson trailing. Chief’s eyes roved the room,
then
settled on me. “You’ll have some of the tech team dropping in for a bite. I recommended the best. Got enough help?”

“If not, I’ll volunteer people.”

There was a lull in conversation and I could imagine the curious stares of all the diners, wondering what the chief, state
police,
and crime scene techs had discovered.

Michael
Nooseman
was the first in line. Chief saw him coming and held up a hand. “I’ll comment later, Michael. Not now.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, looking weary. Regina came up beside him and
bussed
him on the cheek. “What are you doing here, babe?”

I didn’t catch her answer, but the smile he gave her screamed its own message.

“Waitress!
I need another drink.”

That cocky call was straight from the lips of Lionel Don
Bailmout
, mechanic extraordinaire and man-about-to-be-sermonized.

I rolled over to his table. “Didn’t your momma ever teach you that patience was a virtue?”

Lionel grinned huge. “She did, but it didn’t take too well.”

“Well then, let me bless you with
an abundance
.” With that, I turned my attention to Shiny. “
You having
any specials on peaches? I need me some for peach cobbler.”

Lionel’s favorite.

Shiny must have known too because he shot Lionel a snarky little grin. He knew my methods. “I do. I’ll box them up and have them waiting for you tomorrow.
Wholesale price.”

Lionel was practically drooling.

“Good. I’ll serve it in the evening.
Except to you, Lionel Don.”

Lionel was a widower.
A widower desperate for good cooking.
Most single men are. Well, except for William. “I’m sorry for razzing you,
LaTisha
.”

“Then I’m guessing you’d better get over here real fast-like tomorrow evening. Before it’s all gone. I’ll make good and sure you’re at the back of that line, too, so you can take to practicing your patience.”