Two Bites Too Many

by Debra H. Goldstein

  “Good morning,” she said, as they both waited for the coffee to brew and drip through the machine “You came in early today.”

  “I wanted to get a few things done before Maybelle gets here. Just so you know, except for when Maybelle signs her statement, I’ll be in the office all day.”

  “Thanks for telling me. Obviously, I’ll be here in case someone comes in while the two of you are at the police station, but would it be okay if I take a slightly longer lunch break today? I’ll stay late to make up the time.”

  “Sure. It isn’t every day you have the opportunity to spend time with your mother.”

  Sarah placed her mug on the counter and reached in front of him for the almost-empty sugar holder. She pulled a box of raw sugar packets from the cabinet above her head and refilled the holder while deciding how much to confide in Harlan. Finished fidgeting with the sugar, she faced him. “That’s not it. I’m hoping she’ll be gone well before lunchtime.”

  Harlan raised his right eyebrow in the fashion she knew meant more information was necessary immediately. Without further prompting, she filled him in on Thomas Howell’s offer, Emily’s and Marcus’s reactions to it, and her fear of what might happen if she didn’t join Thomas Howell and her sister for lunch because Emily wasn’t thinking like Emily.

  “I agree you need to be there. Also, why don’t you tell Emily I’ll be glad to look over any contract before she signs it.”

  “Thanks.” She held out her hand. “Give me your cup. I’ll bring you your coffee when it’s ready.”

  “Perfect.” He handed her his mug and went into his office.

  Sarah put his cup on the counter near hers. While she waited for the fresh brew, she picked up a stray magazine someone had left on one of the four guest chairs. The headline for an article on magicians and escape tricks caught her eye and she thumbed to it. She always marveled how magicians got out of sealed tanks and freed themselves when their hands and feet were tied. According to the article, it was a cinch. The key was to keep yourself from being tied too tightly by tightening your muscles or causing a gap between your wrists by bringing your knuckles together while pulling your hands back to your chest. She wondered if the situation Emily was getting herself into would require having a secret way to escape.

  Hopefully, Sarah would get a better understanding at lunch. For now, she neatly arranged the magazine with the others on the table where Harlan kept reading matter in case a client had to wait. A few months after she began working for Harlan, when cash flow was a little tight, she suggested he cancel his numerous office magazine subscriptions to cut expenses. After all, most clients killed time reading digitally. Harlan rejected the idea not only because many of his clients weren’t tech savvy, but he believed print magazines gave the waiting room a homey ambiance. Now that she had worked for him for a while, she agreed with him.

  When the coffee was finally ready, Sarah filled their mugs and dutifully delivered Harlan’s to him. Returning to her desk, she saw Mr. Rogers approaching the front door. She buzzed him in. Before she could get good-morning greetings out of her mouth, Mr. Rogers rapped his cane on the floor and demanded to see Harlan.

  “He’s getting ready to leave for an appointment, Mr. Rogers. Could I help you or make you an appointment for later today?”

  “No. I need to see him, now.” He marched toward Harlan’s office.

  Sarah came around from behind her desk and cut him off. “I’ll be glad to make an appointment for you.”

  He stared at her and shifted his cane in a manner that made her think he might use it for something other than a walking stick. “I told you, it’s an emergency. It can’t wait until later.”

  “What seems to be the problem, George?”

  Harlan stood in the open doorway of his office. He nodded at her. Sarah stepped out of Mr. Rogers’s way, but rather than walking past her, he stood where he was, shaking his cane.

  “It’s that blasted nephew of mine. I’ve given him everything he ever wanted and more, and this is how he treats me. This time he’s gone too far!”

  Harlan held his hands up to slow Mr. Rogers’s rant. “George, start at the beginning. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s very simple. My nephew wants me locked up in one of those places where they throw the key away.”

  “Now, George, why would he want to do that?”

  “Because he wants my house and property, and I won’t give them to him.” His bow tie quivered against his Adam’s apple.

  “You don’t have to give him anything, ever,” Harlan said.

  “That’s exactly what I told him, but when I made it clear I would cut him out of my will, he started talking about how I need to be in one of those senior community retirement homes. Said it would be in my best interests now that I’m getting on in years.”

  Sarah thought about how much upkeep there was on her property. Mr. Rogers easily had the same responsibilities. “Maybe he’s suggesting it for your well-being?”

  “The only one’s well-being that boy ever thinks about is his own. He can suggest from here to doomsday, but I’m staying put until they plant me. You’re not going to see me in one of those places, where they give you three lousy meals and a choice between playing checkers, watching the other inmates, or staring at television until you wither up and die.”

  Sarah was impressed Harlan could keep a straight face when he said, “I gather you told him that.”

  “Dang straight, I did.”

  Harlan smiled. “And what did he say?”

  “He laughed. Said it wouldn’t be up to me in the end. Harlan, that’s why I need you to draw up some kind of paper to keep him from doing anything. Apparently, he’s gotten tired of waiting for me to croak.”

  “Surely not.” Sarah clamped her lips shut when she caught the stern glance Harlan threw in her direction.

  He gestured Mr. Rogers toward his office. “George, relax. Let’s go in my office and talk about this some more. Believe me, your nephew is not going to do anything while you’re here.”

  Harlan put his arm around George’s shoulders and guided him the rest of the way into his private office. From the bang the door made closing, she knew Harlan had given it a firm push.

  This was one of those times Sarah wished Harlan and she had some type of intercom system or maybe, since no one was in the office, she could simply hold a glass against the wall. She desperately wanted to eavesdrop. In all the time she’d known Mr. Rogers, she’d never seen him this emotionally overwrought. He was the kind of person, as she’d seen in his neighborhood dealings, who used analytical arguments to get even. Whatever Cliff was up to, he’d obviously pushed his uncle’s buttons beyond Mr. Rogers’s limit.

  Her mother at the door made Sarah hope Harlan could help Mr. Rogers, but quickly. Maybelle wouldn’t be happy waiting long for Harlan to review whatever list of points she’d brought to discuss before she gave her statement.

  Once cleared to enter, her mother bustled in. Instead of Maybelle’s usual makeup and flamboyantly colored attire, today she wore a simple blue shirtwaist dress and little makeup. Her hair was combed back, anchored by a cloth headband that was the same shade of blue as her dress. “Hi, honey. Where’s Harlan?”

  “Tied up with someone in his office. What’s with the outfit?”

  “Nothing.”

  Sarah stared at her mother.

  “Oh, okay. Considering Officer Fife seems to be convinced I did it, I thought I should go with an innocent look.”

  “Officer Fife? Do you mean Chief Gerard?”

  “He may be Chief Gerard to everyone, but all I see when I look at him is a bigger version of the deputy from The Andy Griffith Show.” Her mother drummed her fingers on the counter separating Sarah’s desk from the waiting room. The glint from her diamond solitaire reflected against the counter’s metallic finish. “Why don’t you tell Harlan I’m here?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be ready for you in a few minutes.”

&n
bsp; “He better be. We need some time to talk. I thought of a few more things for him to think about saying when we go to sign my statement.”

  Sarah hoped her smile and calm attitude about how soon Harlan would be free was more convincing than she felt. Maybelle picked up a magazine from the table, then threw it back on the other ones lying there. “We’re not going to have time to talk if he doesn’t hurry. I don’t understand why he’s meeting with a client now. He knew I’d be here early for a last-minute review before we went to the police station.”

  It was nice not being the target of her mother’s ire. She couldn’t help baiting her, though. “Maybe he thought there wasn’t anything else worth discussing.”

  Sarah kept a straight face while her mother rustled the magazines irritably before plopping into one of the guest chairs with a Vogue. Giving up, Sarah addressed her mother’s annoyance. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  Maybelle tossed the magazine back on the table. “I would have thought Harlan would have wanted to go over some legal precedent or argument applicable to the chief’s narrow-minded focus on me.”

  “He still might. Harlan came in early and was working on your case when something neither of us expected came up.”

  Maybelle sat up straighter in the chair. “Whatever distracted Harlan from our scheduled meeting better have been important.”

  Sarah assured her mother Harlan must have deemed it urgent or he would have rescheduled or more quickly wrapped up the unexpected matter. Both Sarah and her mother looked up at the sound of Harlan’s office door opening.

  Harlan and George Rogers came into the waiting room. Simultaneously, the two said, “Maybelle, sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Ditto,” Sarah and Maybelle said simultaneously. Both then burst out laughing while Harlan and Mr. Rogers stared at them.

  Sarah quickly regained her composure. “Ditto is something our family always shouts when two of us say the same thing at the same time. Old habits are hard to break. Right, Mom?”

  “Almost as hard as educating a child to say ‘Maybelle. ’”

  Now it was Harlan and Mr. Rogers’s turn to laugh. Harlan still was chuckling when Maybelle slid by him into his office while Harlan said good-bye to a calmer George.

  Returning to what she’d been working on when her mother arrived, Sarah listened with one ear to Mr. Rogers’s cane tapping the floor in rhythm to his step as he crossed the room. When the beat abruptly stopped before she heard the door open, she raised her eyes and glanced in his direction. He stood five feet from the door staring at her.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Rogers?”

  Shoulders slumped, he shifted his weight back and forth in the same way she did as a kid when her mother caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. She waited for him to speak.

  “I’m sorry if I came across as rude. I know I barged in without an appointment and raised my voice to you, but this whole matter with my nephew is unsettling.”

  “That’s okay. It sounded like you had a right to be angry. I hope Harlan was able to help.”

  “I think so. At least, I feel better knowing Harlan thinks there are ways to thwart what my nephew wants to do.” Mr. Rogers smiled, then frowned. “It’s just painful to think I’ve been there for him for all these years, and now he shows his true colors. I know he’s had financial problems, but . . .” His voice trailed off and, for the first time, Sarah thought he looked his age. “I only hope Harlan can put a stop to this nonsense.”

  “I hope so, too. Do you need me to make you another appointment?”

  “No. Harlan said he’d call after he talks to my nephew. Well, I better be getting along. Gotta put out some fresh food for Fluffy.”

  “Did you find her?”

  “She still won’t come to me, but she came back to eat last night.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sarah whipped her car between the arched columns of the Howellian Hotel. If she could quickly figure out where the restaurant was, she might be on time.

  Between her mother lingering in Harlan’s office, providing a full report of what transpired while she signed her statement at police headquarters, and Harlan needing a motion typed and filed before Sarah could leave for lunch, the cushion of time she intended to leave in case there was traffic was almost nonexistent. An accident closing one lane of Highway I-65, a few exits before the one she needed for downtown Birmingham, destroyed her hope of being early.

  At least the hotel’s valet parking offered quick service. A young man, who looked like he was playing hooky from high school, immediately opened her door, presented her with a ticket, and directed her in the direction of the restaurant and art galleries while she fumbled with removing her valet key from her fob. She said a little prayer of thanks when the elevator door opened, delivering a passenger, at exactly the instant she was about to press the button to summon it. As the doors closed and the elevator rose, she glanced at her watch. She was just on time. A stop to use the ladies’ room or examine the artwork lining the hallway walls would have to wait until after she’d been at the table.

  From the hostess desk, she saw there was a formal dining room and a more casual terraced bar area. People were eating in both locations; either she’d arrived before Emily and Thomas or they were hidden from her view. Sarah wondered if they could be seated in a private dining room rather than the informal wicker-and-glass terrace or the gray-and-black-accentuated white-cloth room.

  “Mr. Howell’s table, please.”

  The hostess, whose gray-and-black uniform blended with the dining room, peered over a pair of oversized eyeglasses at her. “Ms. Blair?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “This way, please. They’re waiting for you.” Dropping the menu she’d picked up back onto her stand, the hostess ushered Sarah across the dining room. Although Sarah wanted to assure her, “I’m not late,” she simply followed the hostess to a corner table tucked into an alcove in the main dining room. Because of the table’s careful placement in the room’s nook, she hadn’t been able to see it from the hostess stand.

  After she exchanged greetings with Thomas and Emily, she slid into her chair and looked around to get her bearings. Their table not only offered privacy from the eyes in the room, but both her seat and Thomas’s were situated in the L of where the two rooms met, giving them perfect sight lines between the pillars into the two rooms. She couldn’t help wondering if the placement of this table in the alcove had been deliberately designed or simply happenstance.

  The one thing she was certain of was that Mr. Thomas Howell still was a hunk. He was formally dressed in a navy business suit, and she couldn’t help but notice how the combination of his pink shirt and cornflower blue tie highlighted his blue eyes. She wanted to say, “You look lovely” but settled for “Your hotel is lovely.”

  “Is this your first time here?”

  “Yes. I can’t wait to look around a little more. I understand, in addition to the cat exhibit, you have a sculpture garden, dog photo room, and a full art gallery.”

  Emily put her napkin in her lap. “Sarah is a sucker for sculpture gardens.”

  “Guilty as charged.” Sarah smiled at the hunk.

  “Then, before you leave, I’ll give you a private tour. Of course, besides the sculpture garden, I’m very proud of our other collections, too.”

  “I’ve read about them—especially the cat exhibit.”

  “Sarah owns a cat,” Emily said. “Or, maybe I should say the cat owns her.”

  “Cats have a way of doing that. My mother was a big cat lover. We always had a few in the house when I was a kid.”

  He turned so his gaze was focused on Sarah. “I remember you told me your cat is a Siamese.”

  She was pleasantly surprised he remembered. “That’s right. What kind of cats did your mother have?”

  “Anything that strayed her way.”

  “I know your hotel has been written up for its cat motif and artwork collection,
but do you actually permit cats here at the hotel?”

  “No. Between guests who might be allergic to cat hair and health restrictions in the kitchen area, I thought it best to stick to paintings for the cats and photos for the dogs.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Tell you what, before we have lunch, let me give you the royal tour. Emily, I know you’ve seen the kitchen area, but I don’t think you’ve taken the grand tour?”

  “I haven’t.”

  Thomas signaled the waiter, who, by how fast he arrived at the table, must have been keeping an eye on them. Unlike the valet, the waiter was an older gentleman who Sarah recognized as having previously waited on her when, in the old days, Bill took her to their favorite high-end Birmingham restaurant to celebrate her birthday or their anniversary. It had been years since she’d been to that restaurant or he’d waited on her, but she would have known him anywhere. If he was working lunch service here, tips must be good, which would speak to the volume of customers or the food prices.

  “Hi, I’m Ned. I’ll be serving you today. May I bring you something to drink?”

  “Ned, I’m going to take these lovely ladies on the Cook’s tour of the hotel. Please hold our table for us. When we come back, we’ll need to place our orders.”

  “That won’t be a problem, Mr. Howell.” Ned reached to pull out Emily’s chair while Thomas did the same for Sarah. As they walked from the table, Ned neatly folded their napkins over the backs of their respective chairs.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sarah had to admit there wasn’t another hotel in the Birmingham area comparable to the Howellian. The wine-tasting area, teaching kitchen, statue garden, art gallery, shops, conference rooms, and cat and dog exhibits were all impressive, but it was when they went through the kitchen she could see why Emily was itching to work there. Shining workspaces, multiple refrigerators, freezers, ovens, and even two dishwashing stations were to die for. Even with the limited knowledge Sarah had of restaurant kitchens, she knew this one was top of the line. Sarah couldn’t imagine what it had cost to put together. What she, and she bet Emily, couldn’t understand was why, with a facility like this, there was any problem with any aspect of the restaurant’s operation?