Revenge Is Sweet

by Kaye George

  Since she had been contemplating her single state lately, she took a couple of seconds to wonder if the detective was married. He was attractive in a hard, lean, cop type way. A glance told her he didn’t wear a ring, which might not mean anything. She deliberately turned her attention from those deep gray eyes to the piece of paper before her.

  “If you’ll please write out your version of what happened the day Gene Faust was murdered. In your own words,” he said. “Exactly like you told me at the time.”

  What had she said? She had told him that Yolanda went to the kitchen. Had anyone else gone after her? Of course. The killer had. But who was that? Tally squeezed her eyes closed, in despair. Yolanda had been the last one in the kitchen that she knew of before Tally walked in and found his body. She wrote that down, but it made Yolanda seem securely guilty.

  In an attempt to muddy the waters, she wrote that Dorella Diggs had come into Tally’s Olde Tyme Sweets looking for Gene and had seemed angry. She wrote that she didn’t see where she went after she left out the front door. Dorella could have gone around to the back. Andrea had left through the back when she said she wasn’t feeling well, though that had been earlier. Would she have seen Dorella? Tally wrote that Andrea left through the kitchen, right under the part about Dorella.

  She hesitated. Should she mention Mart, even though she hadn’t been in the kitchen at all while Gene was there? She drummed her fingers on the paper for a minute, then wrote that Mart had been in the salesroom. She laid the pen on the pad of paper and told the detective she was finished.

  “Sign your name at the bottom.”

  After she signed and he read over her statement, he asked if she was sure she couldn’t recall anything else.

  “Like what?”

  “Maybe some customers who interacted with the deceased. What about his assistant, Allen Wendt? Where was he?”

  “I’m not sure. He was there earlier, but left.”

  “How much earlier?”

  “A couple of hours? Maybe more. Let me think. He came in soon after Gene got there, about eleven or a little past.”

  Rogers looked at her statement and ran his finger down the page. “And what time was Ms. Diggs there?”

  “Right after Allen. She wasn’t in the kitchen that I know of, but she wanted to talk to Gene.”

  “And she was angry, you say?”

  “I think so. It seemed like it. I forgot to give her message to him, so he never knew she was there.” Unless she had gone around to the back.

  “And you say your two employees weren’t in the kitchen at the time either.”

  “That’s right. Andrea had gone and Mart stayed out front.”

  After she left the police station, she parked behind Tally’s Olde Tyme Sweets and walked around the block to gather her thoughts, recalling the argument between Gene and Allen. So both Allen and Dorella were mad at Gene, but it didn’t seem like either of them had killed him. If neither Allen, Dorella, Andrea, nor Mart had killed Gene, who had?

  “Not Yolanda!”

  The two women laden with shopping bags who were walking toward her gave her odd looks as Tally realized she’d spoken out loud. She repeated it silently, in her mind. Not Yolanda.

  That became her mantra as she got busy working in the shop. She’d been in the salesroom only a few minutes when Allen came in the front door. She wanted to ask him what he’d been spatting with Gene about.

  “I came by to see if there’s anything that needs finishing up,” he said. “I don’t know what Gene was doing when he…died.”

  “It looks like everything was completed. He hadn’t quite packed up his tools yet, though. The police left them, and I shoved them into the corner.”

  “I’ll take them, if you want, and give them to his parents. I’ll see if anything else needs doing, too.”

  She heard Allen banging the tools around, putting them into Gene’s metal toolbox. But when he ducked his head into the salesroom, she stopped him.

  “Wait, Allen. Andrea, I need to talk to Allen. Hold the fort a minute.” Andrea looked a little better. Maybe she was getting over the shock.

  Tally went into the kitchen with Allen.

  “I’d like to deliver his tools to his parents,” she said. “I need to offer my condolences.” And maybe see if they were anywhere near when he died. She knew his parents didn’t deeply love him, maybe even disliked him.

  “Sure.” Allen set the toolbox on her countertop.

  She eyed the none-too-clean thing, telling herself she would thoroughly clean the countertop later. She waited for him to take his leave, but he was hesitating.

  “Are you going to need a handyman?”

  “I guess I will. Are you taking over Gene’s business?”

  “Not exactly. But I’m volunteering to do your odd jobs if you don’t have anyone else in mind.”

  Of course she didn’t. She hadn’t had time to think about that.

  “I’ve had some cards printed.” He handed her a shiny card with his name and phone number in white over a gray-tone picture of tools spread out on a black surface.

  Her hand touched his as he gave it to her. Such a warm, strong hand, she thought. Why had that thought sprung into her mind?

  “Th-thanks,” she said, stammering slightly. “I’ll call you.”

  “That would be great.” His smile hit her harder than his touch had. Then he walked through the front room and out the door, setting off the chimes, before she could find her voice and say, “That’s not what I meant.”

  She turned the card over a few times, thinking that Allen had gotten them printed awfully soon after Gene’s death. Or had he printed them before that? Knowing that Gene would be unable to keep working?

  * * * *

  Yolanda punched the screen to end the call with her father and gazed out her window to calm herself. Her shop had been empty for the last hour, but passersby had been stopping to look at her display. They would soon start coming in.

  She hated the humiliation of having to ask him for money. Again. But she needed supplies. All those things she had mentioned to the grandmother, the things for her granddaughter’s new-car basket. She had gotten the job and now had to come up with the goods. Those custom-made coasters were going to cost more than she’d thought. She would be able to recoup her expense when the basket was paid for, but she had to make the basket before she got paid.

  Of course, her father had used his most condescending tone, sneering at her “little hobby.”

  “No, Dad, it’s not my ‘little hobby.’ It’s my job. It’s what I’m doing for a living.”

  “What kind of living loses money every month?”

  “I’m gaining traction. I’m getting more and more business. I’ll make of go of this, but I started out with zero capital.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  Yolanda could almost feel the steam boiling from her ears. She had asked him for a start-up loan, but he had refused, telling her it would be easier to wait and fund her as she got off the ground. She should have known that, with him, getting off the ground involved groveling.

  Sometimes she wished she had parents like Tally and Cole had. Absent parents who wandered the globe. For the twentieth time, she kicked herself for not going to a bank for a loan. Tally had done that, and she should have, too. She should have tried, even though her mother had told her she wouldn’t be able to get one. She would have to come up with a business plan and get money from someone other than her tight-fisted, sarcastic father soon.

  At least he hadn’t found out that she had given money to Gene and hadn’t ever gotten it back.

  * * * *

  At five p.m., both Andrea and Mart were on the sales floor, and Tally didn’t need to be at work in the kitchen right then. There was a lot of inventory ready to go. Besides, she was itching to take the tools to the Fausts an
d see how they were dealing with their son’s death. If they weren’t a bit distraught, she’d tell Detective Rogers to take a look at them. Anything to remove his focus from Yolanda.

  She told her two employees she would be gone half an hour or so, hefted the toolbox from the floor, where she had set it as soon as Allen left, and toted it to her car. Everyone knew where the mayor’s family lived: in a Colonial two-story house on Travis Street complete with columns supporting the grand balcony above the porch that swept across the entire front of the broad mansion. She parked on the street in front and toed the picket gate open, grasping the toolbox with both hands as she made her way to the front door. She managed to press the doorbell with a knuckle on her right hand and was treated to a grand chime concert. It sounded like the doorbell had set off the beginning of a symphony.

  Mrs. Faust opened the door and frowned at Tally doubtfully, as if to say, “Do I know you?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Faust,” Tally said, and then introduced herself and told the woman how sorry she was for her loss. She shifted the heavy metal box to her left hand and extended her right.

  Mrs. Faust acted reluctant, but limply took Tally’s hand. Tally didn’t know her first name since everyone simply called her Mrs. Faust. It occurred to Tally that maybe it wasn’t easy being married to the mayor and having no identity of your own.

  Tally held the cumbersome box in front of her with both hands. “This is your son’s. It was left at my shop.”

  “Your shop?” Recognition opened her eyes and raised her plucked eyebrows. “You mean the place where he died?”

  “Yes, he was working for me that day. At Tally’s Olde Tyme Sweets.”

  “I’ve seen it and driven by. Never been in. I’ve heard some good reports. Did you bring me any samples?”

  “Mrs. Faust, I’m not selling my sweets to you right now, I’m returning your dead son’s belongings.” Tally was ruder than she liked to be, but this woman was aggravating her. Why on earth would she have brought candy samples to her? She had never met Mrs. Faust before one on one, but she completely disliked her at the moment.

  “Oh yes, you can set it…” Mrs. Faust glanced around the hallway behind her. “I don’t know. Maybe here?” She pointed to the hardwood floor beside the door.

  Tally walked through the entrance and started to set it on the floor. “On the carpet so it doesn’t scratch the wood,” Mrs. Faust added.

  Tally set it down and eyed her. “If you’d ever like to see the place where your son died, I’d be happy to let you do that.”

  Mrs. Faust stared at her.

  “Are you curious about what happened to him?” Tally asked.

  “Not really. I think it was unpleasant.”

  “Well, yes, he died. Of stab wounds. He was murdered. You don’t know anything about it? Have the police asked you where you were when he was killed?”

  “Oh my, no. They wouldn’t do such a thing.”

  “They wouldn’t? Why? Where were you? Do they already know?”

  Mrs. Faust put an even haughtier expression on her wrinkled face. “I was getting my hair done at Fancy’s Curls. I always get it done there on Tuesday afternoon. Are you finished here?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  The woman’s indifference to her own son wasn’t even thinly veiled. She just didn’t care.

  Tally stomped her way back toward her car, trying to stop her head from exploding with the anger she felt toward the coldhearted woman.

  Chapter 7

  As Tally got to the Fausts’ front yard gate, which she had left swinging open, she was met by the mayor himself. He was striding up the walk with a golf bag slung over his shoulder. Their garage was around the corner. Apparently he preferred to access the house from the front rather than go through the backyard.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” she said.

  He squinted at her. She wondered if he was nearsighted. But he opened his eyes wide when he recognized her. “It’s Tally Holt, isn’t it? You work in the place where Gene was killed.”

  “Yes, that’s me. I came by to return your son’s tools. They were left in my shop.” At least he called his son by his name. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you, young lady. It’s been a hard blow.” His eyes were now eagle-sharp, even if they did sit in a comically round, bald head. It felt uncomfortably like his eyes were penetrating into her brain. “Were you there when it happened?”

  “I was in the shop. In the front. He was killed in the kitchen.”

  “And you didn’t hear anything?”

  Was he interrogating her? “We were busy, full of customers. They chatter and make a lot of noise.” Why was she justifying herself to this man? She wanted to ask where he had been while his son was being stabbed. Maybe she would give him the same treatment he was giving her. She glanced at his clubs. “Do you golf a lot? Were you golfing when he died?”

  “As a matter of fact, I was. I spend a lot of time on the golf course. It’s necessary to network in my job. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He brushed past her, bumping her sore finger. She clicked the gate latch shut and started to get into her car. Before she closed the door, as she was reaching for her seat belt, she stopped at the sound of screeching.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?” Mrs. Faust was tensed in the doorway, ready to spring on her husband like a puma, it looked like to Tally.

  “I need to get some things.” Mr. Faust’s voice was raised, too.

  “Get them all. And don’t come back.”

  She saw him push past her to get into the house. “You just think you’ll get this house,” he said. “The judge is my friend, not yours. You’ll get pennies.”

  That sounded like they were divorcing!

  “At least that thug you adopted is gone. If he’d had his way, we’d probably both lose everything. What an idiotic thing to do, adopting a juvenile delinquent.”

  The mayor turned to face his wife, and Tally could clearly see his face. “He might have done better if he’d had a mother, instead of…you. You never gave him a chance.”

  “I’m not the one who petitioned to have the adoption annulled.” She shoved him aside and slammed the door closed with both of them inside.

  Tally let out a breath. The show was over. But it had been quite enlightening. If she hadn’t disliked Gene so much, she might have felt sorry for him, being brought into that household.

  * * * *

  That evening, she was surprised when Cole showed up at Tally’s house at about eight thirty.

  “Have you eaten?” she asked him.

  “No, not yet. I was going to, but something happened.” Nigel ran over to Cole and started twining around his legs, purring loudly. The cat was heavy enough to knock a person over if they weren’t careful. Cole showed his dimples when he saw the cat.

  “I assumed you’d be with Mart tonight.”

  He reached down to give Nigel a rub. “I assumed the same thing. She said she’d meet me for dinner an hour ago, but she never showed.”

  “Did she call? Text? Anything?”

  “Only after I texted her when she was an hour late. Said something came up. Never said what it was.”

  Tally managed not to smile at Cole’s exaggerated doleful expression. “So, how many times have you been stood up in your life?”

  “Stood up? Never.”

  “Now you know what it feels like. Maybe she thought you’d ask her to repay the money she borrowed from you.”

  “I never mentioned that. Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”

  Tally bit back any further I-told-you-sos and made him a peanut butter–honey sandwich, having picked up takeout on her way home and eaten as soon as she’d gotten in from work an hour ago. Her kitchen still smelled like the wonderful pulled-pork BBQ she’d had, but Cole didn’t seem to notice.

>   “I was thinking, Sis,” Cole said between bites as he sat in front of the TV, “do you think we should tell Mom and Dad what’s going on here?”

  Tally sat beside him and drummed her fingers on the end table. She had been wondering the same thing.

  “Do you still do that? Stop, okay? It’s annoying.”

  “Sorry.” Tally put her hands in her lap.

  “Hey, I’m kidding. But what do you think?”

  Tally drummed her fingers silently on her leg. It helped her think. “If we told them, what would they do?”

  “Good point. They would either cut their trip short and come here, or they wouldn’t. If they didn’t come, would you be upset?”

  “Probably. But if they came here, what could they do?”

  “Right. And they’re so excited about this latest cowboy thing. Although I’m pretty sure they’re in the wrong country for cowboys.”

  “They are excited,” Tally agreed. “You’re right. Let’s leave them alone. We’ll tell them all about it when it’s over.”

  “Good idea.”

  As he was crunching the last of the carrots she had laid on his plate, Cole’s phone beeped. He frowned when he saw the display.

  “A text?” Tally said.

  “Yes. From Mart,” he said around his final bite of peanut butter.

  “Well, what does she say?”

  “She wants to meet tomorrow.” He set his phone down on the couch beside him.

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you should. And you should try to get some of your money back.”

  He swallowed the bite and shot a thoughtful look at her. “I might just do that. Before, she mentioned something about…”

  Tally waited. “About what?”

  “She was talking about a former boyfriend. It sounded like he had asked her to marry him, but then was coming on to one of her coworkers. She says she can’t trust men anymore.”

  “She said that? A coworker?” Tally jumped up and took Cole’s empty plate into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing, Sis?”

  “I need to think about this.” She tried to picture Mart’s job application. She remembered that her name was actually Martha and that she lived out of town on a ranch, probably with her parents. It was the job history section she was trying to recall. She didn’t think she had any. She’d hired Andrea full-time because she had worked for a couple of years in shops around town. But this was Mart’s first job out of high school, so Tally had taken her on to work part-time. Tally was pretty sure Mart had never had another job, not even during high school. So, if she was speaking the truth to Cole, her coworker was Andrea. Tally had seen the sparks between Andrea and Gene herself. That might mean that the man she was angry at, the one who had made her distrust men, had been Gene. If she was telling Cole the truth. Tally didn’t know why she was reluctant to trust Mart, but she was…