Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (13 page)

Lionel pouted and held up his empty glass, looking meek as a lamb. “Can I have more milk?”

I gave him my sweetest smile. “You sure can.” Real bad I wanted to mention the fund-raiser for the Buchanan’s to see if I could get more information about the Betsy and George sighting. But it was too soon to say anything publicly, since I hadn’t lined up anyone at this shindig other than myself.

That’s when Betsy walked in, the mayor on her heels. Maybe I wouldn’t need my appointment at Regina’s after all. Neither of the
Tasers
looked chipper, though anyone in their right mind would be sobered by the news of another murder in Maple Gap.

I scrolled my eyes over at Chief, who was just getting settled at a table with Mac and Nelson, his back to the room. I spied out a table farther from the others and decided to lead my little lambs over there. I snapped up two lunch menus in case a patron wanted a sandwich or soup rather than the special I served for the evening meal. “Right over here.”

Betsy started dishing it out with her mouth. “This job really suits you,
LaTisha
. You’re a good servant.”

Um-hm. “Better than serving myself.”
The Holy Spirit knocked on my heart right about then, and I did my very best to rein in the words of my tongue. “Anything you need, honey, you have only to ask.” I turned my attention to Eugene as he slid his chair into the table. “Lester told us he’s giving a speech Thursday morning. I’m sure the townspeople will appreciate his straight talk.”

Betsy answered for her husband. “Lester hasn’t a hope of winning. Eugene is too well known, has too much money, and runs a tight ship. The people of Maple Gap appreciate that about him.”

There was one thing she was forgetting. I felt it my duty to remind her.
“You done with your community service hours for blackmailing Regina?”

Eugene looked up, raised his eyebrows at his wife,
then
stuck his face back behind the menu.
Smart man to keep his silence.
He knew I didn’t take to his politics and that I had no qualms sharing my mind on the matter, which probably accounted for his silence.

Betsy glared at me. For her part in taking over the blackmailing scheme Marion Peters had started before she’d died, the judge had assigned Betsy to community service hours.

“I finished months ago, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Sure it is. The mayor’s wife is an important person. Mary is a quiet woman who keeps to herself and works hard beside her husband.”

“Some of us want more for our lives than working with cows all day. You should understand that,
LaTisha
. You raised your children and got your degree. It’s a shame you’re wasting it on this place.”

“I’m giving back to a community I believe in.” I tried for shock value. “I’m sure the murder of Aidan
Abbett
will help hone my skills.”

Her eyes rounded.
“Murder?”

“Aidan
Abbett
.
Out back in the alley.
Shot.”

Betsy went rigid,
then
her gaze traveled to Eugene, who still had his head buried in the menu. She scooted her chair back but didn’t move to
rise
, her mouth working like a fish.

I am so good. This was scoring a major hit. I couldn’t believe these two hadn’t heard the news. How could that be? Maybe they were playing with me. Betsy was a great actress, putting on airs and such, but pretending not to know of a murder? I wasn’t real sure that was within even her abilities.

“Does the chief have any suspects?” This question popped out while Eugene’s eyes burned a hole through his menu. Being a politician, he just might be the better actor of the two.

 
“Sure he does. I’ve got me a few too. That degree is firing up my head with all kinds of theories to pursue.”

Eugene never did make eye contact with Betsy. I did detect a muscle jumping along his
jawline
. Might be nothing more than him clenching his teeth, but one never knew. Betsy finally released the edge of the table and folded her hands on the menu in front of her.

 
The
calvary
came in about that time, and I had to take off and seat the men and women trickling in from the crime scene. Regina and I traipsed back and forth trying to keep up with the orders, drink refills, and the flow of desserts.

Elizabeth got a little overwhelmed, so Mary stepped in to help her out by slicing up the cherry pies, scooping up ice cream and stirring around a new batch of gravy when we ran out. The sauerkraut was getting low, but I eyed the crowd, the time, the fact there were no more people in line, and decided we’d have just enough until closing.

“How do you remain so calm? I’d be a worried mess.”

“I keep up with portion size and can guess real close as to how much I have on hand at all times.”

Mary placed a small crock of butter on the bread plate and slid it through the pass to me. “William’s bread is wonderful. I never would have thought to make whole wheat sourdough.”

“Since this diabetes has hit, it’s the one thing I told William had to happen in this restaurant. Every recipe has to be healthy—lean and mean to oil the machine.”

As the crowd trickled to a couple of heads, I absorbed nothing new about Aidan, other than what Regina had already conveyed, which was the usual list of posthumous criticisms. “He was mean-looking.”
“Those dark eyes.”
“A loner.”
“He didn’t do much with that jewelry store.”
“Never once had a sale.”
And on and on it went. Even Eugene and Betsy offered little sideshow revelry other than her strange reaction when I announced the murder. Whenever I observed them, they were busy shoveling food in and staring out the window or at people around them.
A happily married couple, to be sure.

I finally shooed Mary, Regina, and Elizabeth out the door. “I can handle things from here.” I flipped the sign to Closed.

Regina stuck her head back inside. “I’ll see you in my chair tomorrow at one.”

Chapter Fourteen

I can’t tell you how good it felt to be sipping a hot mocha in my favorite chair with my stocking feet propped up on the ottoman and Hardy snoring away across the room. Though peeling off the hose would have helped raise the comfort level, I hadn’t bothered.
Too lazy.
What had begun as a sprinkling of rain when I left the Goose turned into a deluge as I got within a few hundred feet of
home.
I was sure glad to be out of the weather, though I guessed the crime scene crew wasn’t too happy to have their evidence washing away.

Just as I suspected, Hardy had woke up at some point and sucked down the broth. The ice puppy was nothing more than a soggy washcloth folded into a cute shape. What can I say? I did it for years for my children to soothe them when they were in pain and give them something to smile about.

At some point I wanted to repaint; the tired room needed something refreshing. A nice
blue,
or maybe a soothing green. It would be a present to
ourselves
to celebrate our fortieth. That’s when a bulb popped in my brain. I plucked up the cordless and pounded out
Shayna’s
number. She didn’t answer, so I hauled myself up, preparing to leave a message and not wanting Hardy to hear.

“
Shayna
, baby, it’s Momma. I was just thinking about our fortieth anniversary coming up soon. Do you think you could round up the others and have them come here as a surprise to your Daddy? Don’t call me back. I’ll give you a call later on. We’ve had some excitement today. The new guy to town was found shot. I’ll give you details when we talk. Love you.”

Replacing the phone in its charger, I settled back in to my chair, satisfied with my idea. With a grin, I watched the drool drip from Hardy’s mouth to the already plentiful puddle on the pillow. He’d have a pruned cheek when he woke, and I wasn’t waking him.

Mentally, I listed the things I still needed to investigate. First off, Chief Conrad needed to know about William’s whereabouts and the strange reaction to the news of Aidan’s death by Betsy and Eugene
Taser
. I also wanted to know if he’d checked Dr.
Cryer’s
whereabouts, since the whole thing with the necklace might have given him motive.

I retraced my impressions about the crime scene, wondering if the Dumpster behind Regina’s shop had become part of the cordoned-off area. It was a long alley, and Regina’s Dumpster was far away from the back door of the Goose and the place where Aidan’s body was found. Still, police tended to secure a large area. Too small an area meant they might miss a vital clue.

Chief’s mention of a silencer meant it would have been possible for someone to shoot Aidan without a hiding William hearing the gun go off, but not possible for William to leave the one-way-in, one-way-out alley and not trip over Aidan’s fallen body. Unless . . .

Which is when it dawned on me to ask William if he’d left the alley any other way.
For a car, there wasn’t another exit, but for a person legging it, there were narrow footpaths between buildings.

And on that note I sank down into the mire of a sound sleep.

Hardy’s the one who shook me awake. Good thing, too, because my neck was hurting something powerful. I hauled myself vertical and shuffled myself up the steps with Hardy trailing me. Our new, obnoxious alarm clock with numbers three inches high shouted the time as two-twenty-eight in the morning. Hardy moved like a mummy, lurching about as he changed clothes, then dove under the covers as if the room temperature was below freezing.

I slipped in beside him and pulled him in close.
“How you feeling?”

He moaned, “Like they were drilling for oil in my gums.”

“He
give
you a prescription?”

“Um-hm.”

“We’ll get it filled in the morning.”

He nodded against my shoulder and, within seconds, fell into a deep sleep, his lips
poofing
out on each exhale. I trailed my finger over those lips, kissed his swollen cheek, and closed my eyes.

I woke up refreshed and ready to go. Well, my mind was ready anyhow. My body demanded more naptime, but I ignored the signals my brain was receiving from various body parts and got vertical. I then spent the first minute on the hardwood, doing the funky chicken walk while my feet got used to the cold, unpadded floor. It was a morning ritual for me.
Hardy, not so much.
I assumed my weight had something to do with the pain in my feet in the mornings. Or maybe all the walking I was doing for exercise.

I groaned and made it to the bathroom for my morning weigh-in, another habit I had started when I began my quest to lose-weight-or-else. I’d lost another pound. Heaven opened up and the angels descended, playing their horns. I closed the door of the bathroom, turned on the shower, and flushed the toilet, all a warm-up to cover the noise of my whooping little boogie dance.

Hardy stuck his head in the door, eyes rolling all crazy-like. “
LaTisha
,
gotta
get! We’re being stampeded by a herd of pachyderms.” He cocked his head.
“Why you looking so crazy?”

Mid-jig, I had frozen, one hand pointing a finger in the air, the other hand at the floor,
Stayin
’ Alive–style. I straightened and snatched a towel off the rack. “Never
you mind
, you just scoot before you get hoofed into the ground by that stampede.”

I caught his smirk as he turned.

I rolled up the hand towel real quick-like and followed him out into the room, letting go on his backside. We chased another pound off my body as I whipped up on that boy, him howling with laughter and yelping with the sting of the towel snaps I laid on him. In the kitchen, Hardy realized he was trapped.

“Mercy!”
He ran at me, arms spread wide. It was supposed to be his version of the body slam. It ended up being a body bounce, because that’s exactly what he did off the front of my body. Twenty-five pounds less, but I was still three times the body he was.
Poor, scrawny thing.
Not that I hadn’t tried to fatten him up in all our years of marriage. Some people are born with metabolism. Hardy was one of those.

Watching him fall against the counter, clutching his midsection and laughing like a lunatic got me to going. I wrapped that boy in my arms and we hee-hawed ourselves to the floor. When our laughs slipped away, we still held each other.