"Well, I don't think I ever told you this, but when I was in college I used to work as a waitress in a pie shop.”
“Perfect! You’re hired.”
“I was fired.”
Meg gave a sigh of frustration and turned back toward the problematic espresso maker. “Great. Now what am I going to do?”
Amanda looked around the crowded room again. “I can give it a try, but I wouldn't even know what to do. What did you have in mind?"
Instantly, Meg perked up and tossed Amanda a clean apron. "Just walk around with a pot of coffee and see if they need anything., If they want a specialty drink send them my way. If there are cups and stuff on a used table, clean it off and wipe it down." She paused, perhaps considering Amanda's statement about having been fired in the past. "That okay? I’ll make it worth your while."
Amanda grinned as she tied the apron around her waist. "By doing what?" she asked, and Meg smiled back.
"How about giving you your weight in chocolate? That enough for you?"
"Deal!" Amanda said, grabbing the pot of hot coffee Meg handed her. She looked over the full room and sighed. It wasn't what she'd expected to be doing this morning, but her friends had bailed her out more times than she cared to remember, and it wasn't exactly rocket science to help out.
Clean the table, pour the coffee, she thought to herself, almost as a mantra. Smile firmly in place, she walked toward her first customers. She was used to making small talk with her guests at the Ravenwood Inn, and it wasn’t long before she felt at ease.
As she strolled around the shop, pouring coffee and chatting, she began to learn more about who these people were who were hanging out at Cuppa late in the morning. She met Lenny Peterson and his brother Robert, who were both roofers, and Gideon Archibald and two of his crew members, all landscapers. Oswald Pike and Eddie Adams were exterior carpenters, still with sawdust all over their clothes, and Bob Fairfax bragged about how no one else in the county could restore the interior of a historic home like he could. When a very tall, thin man with the name of a concrete company printed on his shirt asked for herbal tea and nonfat milk she directed him back to the counter. All the contractors were polite with her. When she was pouring Lenny a second refill she asked him why they were hanging out together he gave an angry grunt and hooked both of his thumbs under the straps on his overalls.
"We're still waiting for our money. He says it's not ready yet."
Amanda finished topping off his coffee and pulled back the half-empty pot. "What money?" she asked.
Lenny didn’t answer but Bob Fairfax jumped in. "Radcliffe's money. Yesterday was supposed to be payday and the checks still aren't ready, so we have to wait. He said they'd be ready by noon. It's the same stunt he pulled last week."
Lenny nodded his head in agreement. "Exactly. Same story every week. If he's so eager to get the place fixed up and open for business, then how come he can't be bothered to pay his workers on time, huh? I mean, some of us have families to support." He looked away, obviously upset. "My wife's already written checks against my pay. She's gonna kill me if anything bounces."
"Same here," Gideon said, and there was a general grumble of agreement.
"Wow, I'm really sorry to hear that," Amanda said. She'd been a worker for other people before, and she certainly knew how important it was to get paid on a predictable schedule.
"Rumor has it he has a stash of gold somewhere in the house, " Fairfax said, looking at Oswald. "If he's tight on cash, all he'd have to do is dip into that stash. Then we wouldn’t have to wait to get paid."
"You know, if the guy were healthier he'd probably keep better hours," Oswald added. "He's been off his feed for the past couple of days, sleeping weird hours and stuff. I'm glad I work outdoors. I don't want to get the flu or whatever. " He thumped his chest. “Fresh air.”
As she came back with a third pot of fresh coffee, Fairfax picked up his buzzing phone and checked the screen. "He texted. The checks are ready," he said, and within minutes everyone was standing up and pulling on coats. There was a rush of guys pulling out dollar bills and quarters and leaving them on the tables, then hurrying out the door so they could get paid.
As the last contractor walked out, Amanda looked at Meg, coffeepot still in hand.
"Does this mean I get to keep the tips?"
Meg laughed in relief. "Honey, after what you did today, you get your mocha for free, too. All week. With extra whipped cream and sprinkles."
Chapter 12
Ravenwood Cove's cavernous Grange Hall had seen scores of dances, meetings, rummage sales, and parties since it first opened its doors. One of the regularly scheduled events was the monthly city council meeting, and Amanda did her best to attend as often as possible. At first, she'd gone because she'd had her own ax to grind, wanting the city council and the horrible mayor to change the zoning of her newly inherited building so it could become a bed and breakfast again. As she'd started to become part of the town, and she'd discovered that the troubled mayor was her cousin, she'd continued to attend the meetings, even if she didn't have anything to say. It was amazing how much you could learn from listening, even if it was just to discover which farmer was griping about the garbage company accidentally taking down his barbed wire fence when they cut a corner and ran over the fence post, and how upset he was when his sheep tried to take off for parts unknown. The city council meeting was also the place to learn about upcoming events and possible changes, long before they were ever written up in the local paper.
Amanda had gotten used to looking for Lisa and sitting by her at the meetings. She knew her reporter friend would be taking copious notes about everything going on, so she could figure out what to add into upcoming editions of the Ravenwood Tide newspaper. In Amanda’s previous life in southern California, the thought of being part of a community like this had never crossed her mind. Now that she was in Ravenwood, she had to admit she kind of enjoyed sitting on cold metal folding chairs and watching the council debate whether to put in a parking meter by the police station.
Tonight's meeting promised to be especially important, since Mrs. Bitterman and Mrs. Granger were once again going to ask for funding for the historical museum. The hall was nearly full by the time the new mayor called the meeting to order and they'd said the pledge of allegiance, and Amanda looked over the crowd with a sense of satisfaction. She was just thinking how nice it was that so many people showed up, until a large man standing at the side of the room, arms crossed over his large belly, caught her eye.
The walrus.
"What's Radcliffe doing here?" Amanda leaned over and hissed to Lisa, and her friend craned her head to see where he was.
"No idea," Lisa said, finally turning back toward Amanda and lowering her voice. "I doubt it's because he's feeling civic-minded. My guess is a man like that is here for a reason. Maybe he wants something from the council."
"Maybe," Amanda said, keeping an eye on Radcliffe.
Mrs. Granger and Mrs. Bitterman were sitting in the row in front of Amanda. Mrs. Bitterman had made sure to get them listed on the agenda and clutched a red notebook full of papers. When their names were called to speak, Mrs. Granger pushed her wheeled walker over in front of the stage, and Truman jumped up to adjust the microphone stand down far enough that the diminutive lady could reach it.
Mrs. Granger cleared her throat and stepped up to the mike. "Okay, you all know me, and I know all of you," she started off. "I've known most of you since you were born. Ravenwood Cove is almost like a family, and we're here to talk to you...again...about why this town needs to have a museum so we can remember our heritage. We need to remember the people who came before us, the good and the bad. You know the old saying, ‘those who cannot recall the past are condemned to repeat it'. Well, folks, a museum should be a celebration of how far we've come. It should also be a cautionary tale." She thrust her arm out and pointed a crooked finger straight at Radcliffe. "Like, how politicians in the past let their cronies do just about anything
they wanted, as long as they got a piece of the pie." She paused, frustration on her face. "Or get a taste of the Sweet-n-Tastee jelly jar, if you get my drift." She dropped her eyes and looked around the room. "Things are better around here moneywise. We should use some of that cash coming in to dedicate a place people can come and learn about Ravenwood Cove. We need it. My generation is nearly gone." She cleared her throat and leaned closer to the microphone. "I'm also asking that if this city council doesn't get its collective backside in gear, you all vote them out of office, because they’re not worth their weight in horse poo." She turned toward the stage, where the shocked eyes of every member of the council were fixed on her. "Okay, I'm done now," she said, a small note of triumph in her voice as she turned and slowly wheeled her way back to her seat.
Mrs. Bitterman was apparently flustered by her elderly friend's odd speech and hadn't been able to say a word. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, almost like a gasping fish, then dutifully tagged along behind Mrs. Granger and sat down in her metal chair, still clutching the binder.
All eyes turned toward Radcliffe, who was standing stock-still, with a murderous scowl on his face. He quickly scanned the crowd, then suddenly turned and stomped toward the door, slamming it behind him with a heavy thud.
Mrs. Granger turned around and locked eyes with Amanda, a tiny smile playing around her lips. "Well, well. Looks like that boy has his knickers in a twist," she commented, and winked broadly as Amanda stifled a laugh. The old lady was shameless, but Amanda had to admire her pluck.
The rest of the meeting seemed very anti-climactic after that, and she found her thoughts drifting toward her list of things she had to do at the Inn and what to make for dinner. As the mayor adjourned the meeting, Amanda stood and picked up her purse. She was just telling Lisa goodbye and making a coffee date for the next morning at Cuppa, when a stooped figure at the back of the room caught her eye.
Wendell Smith. Her father.
He was still sitting in his chair, his eyes locked on Amanda, as the crowd started moving toward the back door. She stood stock-still for a second. His face was solemn, and he made no move to stand and leave with everyone else. He was just watching her, as if waiting.
Lisa must've sensed something was going on, because she followed Amanda’s gaze and instantly realized what the issue was.
"Ready to go?" she asked quietly.
Amanda nodded. "Yep. I'm done here."
Pushing open the side door near the stage, they walked out into the coolness of the spring evening, leaving a somber man still sitting alone on his folding metal chair.
Chapter 13
Everybody has their breaking point, and apparently, Amanda had just found hers.
It had started as a normal morning, but when she’d come downstairs to see how the breakfast service was going she could tell Jennifer was upset. Her sole employee was obviously trying to be cheerful and helpful for the guests, but there was an unusual undercurrent of tension that Amanda hadn’t seen before. As soon as the guests went out the door, bellies full and each clutching a bag with one of Jennifer’s gourmet picnic lunches inside, Jennifer fell against the back of the door with a relieved sigh and stared at Amanda.
“I have something to tell you, but you’re not going to like it.”
Amanda’s eyebrows went up. “How bad?”
“Bad.”
It didn’t take long for Jennifer to spill out the news she’d overheard while she was out shopping. Buster Radcliffe wasn’t wasting any time, and apparently he was asking a lot of pointed questions about how many guests Amanda normally had at the Inn. He’d wanted to know if she had any bad habits like gambling or taking drugs, and if anyone knew how her money situation was. As Jennifer spilled the news of what she’d heard in town, her face was nearly scarlet in embarrassment and Amanda’s was a bright red in matching fury.
“That jerk!” she raged. “Who does he think he is, investigating me? Investigating the Inn?” She stared at Jennifer in near-disbelief. “What a piece of work this guy is!” she said, and Jennifer instantly agreed.
“I’m so sorry, Amanda. I just thought you’d want to know about it right away. He’s been sucking up to every person in town he can talk to, trying to get information about you and about what the Inn’s actually worth.” Jennifer gulped, her eyes filled with sympathy. “I think you need a game plan.” She checked her watch and grimaced. “Amanda, I hate to do this, but I’m already late for a meeting. Is it okay if I go?” she asked, and Amanda absently nodded, her mind on what Jennifer had told her.
As the heavy front door of the Inn closed behind Jennifer, Amanda pressed her lips together in determination and rolled up the sleeves of her sweater. “Oh, I’ve got a game plan, all right,” she growled, grabbing her purse off the nearby bench. “And it starts off with me telling that jackass exactly what I think of him.”
Seven minutes later she was standing on Radcliffe’s porch, her clenched fist above her eye level, less than an inch from Buster Radcliffe's massive front door. It had taken her only a few minutes to drive from her house to his, and she'd been muttering under her breath the whole time, trying to practice what she should say to someone who was deliberately trying to ruin her life. Maybe some of the words were ones her mother would definitely have disapproved of, but they certainly reflected her anger at how far Radcliffe had gone.
The driveway had been empty when she arrived, probably due to the late hour and the workers heading home to their dinners, but she'd still had to sidestep a few extension cords and loose boards as she approached the porch.
Mustering her courage, she gritted her teeth and pounded loudly on the door. The sound was jarring and seemed loud enough to wake the dead, but she waited several minutes and there was no answer.
Amanda gave a deep sigh and knocked again, hard. She could see a light shining inside through the window to her right, from the dining room. Knowing that he was in there but avoiding her made her even angrier. She was just going to knock again and holler at Radcliffe to open the door when she heard a loud bang from inside the house, as if something heavy had fallen over, followed by a muted yelp of pain.
For a moment, she was uncertain what to do, but she finally leaned over toward the window and raised her voice enough someone would be able to hear it inside.
"Mr. Radcliffe, are you all right?"
Listening closely, she only heard the slight wind ruffling the branches in the nearby fir trees.
"Are you all right?" she shouted again, and when she got no answer she put her hand on the doorknob and turned it.
It was unlocked.
"I’m coming in to see if you're okay," she said loudly, praying he wasn't a guy who was trigger-happy if someone came in his front door. She didn't know Radcliffe's habits, but it was certainly possible he would own a gun.
She pushed the heavy wooden door open and looked into the gloom. The front room was dark but the single light above the dining table let her see a bit.
She took a couple hesitant steps inside.
"Mr. Radcliffe?" Previous anger and thoughts of her original mission of confronting him were fading. She took several more steps toward the dining room, the old wooden floor creaking with her every move.
As soon as she took the sixth step, she knew she was in deep trouble.
And so was Mr. Radcliffe.
Amanda gasped in horror, her hand instinctively covering her mouth.
Radcliffe lay sprawled on the floor, his skin mottled with ugly red spots and his eyes opened as if in surprise. His expensive loafers were kicked off and discarded several feet away, his arms distended as if he’d been flailing wildly when he died. A bowl of tomato soup had been tipped over and spilled across the lace tablecloth topping the long table, and it looked like he might have been sick on the floor. A stack of opened mail and a spiral notebook sat by his untouched silverware. Beside him was his ornately carved chair tipped over on the rug.
Amanda had seen dead people before, but di
scovering a corpse on her own was truly terrifying. Fingers trembling, she hastily dug her phone out of her purse and backed toward the still-open door.
"Yes, I need to report a dead body, please."
Chapter 14
George sat down beside Amanda on the bench outside Radcliffe’s house. They both looked out at the ambulance and bystanders milling around the front lawn.
"Amanda, at this rate I'm going to have to either get you a frequent flyer discount or sign you up as an honorary cop. I swear, I've never met anyone who had such a nose for getting into trouble as you do. It's like you're a magnet for dead guys." The words weren't meant to be unkind, but they certainly weren't comforting, and Amanda sighed.
"George, I don't know what to tell you. I came over here to talk to him and found him that way. It could've been anyone in town who found him on the floor. You know that."
"Yeah, I know that," George said. "And I hate to be all official with a friend, but you know I have to ask you some questions."
Amanda's voice was low, resigned. "I figured you would sooner or later."
George looked over and caught her eye. "So, you said you came over to talk with him. Rumor in town is you wanted to do a whole lot more than that to him. From what I hear, he was deliberately trying to put you out of business. Is that true?"
The thought of people in town talking about her personal business didn't set well with Amanda at all, and she couldn’t help but bristle at the police chief’s words. "Did all those gossips tell you everything? Did they add in the fact that Radcliffe told me if he succeeded in taking all the business from the Ravenwood, he’d probably get a good deal buying the Inn after he shut me down?"
George's eyes widened for a moment before his professional calm returned. "He said that?"
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