Candy Slain Murder

by Maddie Day

  I yawned again. In the last book, a phrase caught my eye as I was closing it. I opened it again but couldn’t find the page. Had it been the word “attic”? Why? Maybe she’d had a premonition or a dream about danger in an attic. I gave up when I couldn’t find it, and stored all the books neatly in the bag again. I couldn’t stay up another minute, even though I realized this would be the last chance I’d have to peruse them. Unless I didn’t turn them over promptly tomorrow, and that would be neither cool nor appropriate. I wanted whoever had killed both twins to be caught and prosecuted. Soon. The journals had to be able to help the investigation somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Are you all right, Robbie?” a ruddy-cheeked Danna asked when she came to work in the morning. She tied on an apron and peered at my face.

  “I’m fine. But I didn’t sleep very well.” Images of Geller going after Kristina with a pry bar had alternated with nightmares of him coming after me with a foot-long syringe. “I’d finally fallen into a solid sleep when my five-thirty alarm went off.” My eyelids still felt like they were lined with sandpaper.

  “That’s no fun,” she said.

  “Yeah. Looks like it’s cold out there.”

  “It totally is. Clear and frigid. It’s actually great ice-skating weather, you know, when the pond freezes hard but the ice hasn’t gotten messed up with snow. Isaac and I are going to go this afternoon.”

  “Have fun.” I was still a Californian in that regard and didn’t get the allure of going out on frozen water in super-cold weather to make your feet even colder by skating. “Make sure the ice is solid.” The first time I’d stepped onto a frozen lake I’d been terrified I would fall through, even though it was posted by the town as safe to go out on.

  “Yes, Mother.” Danna rolled her eyes but smiled as she did. She busied herself checking and restocking the condiment caddies.

  “Hey, falling through the ice is a valid concern.”

  “Robbie, it’s fine. You’re such a West Coaster.”

  “What can I do? At home the only place people ice-skate is indoors. And even that never appealed to me.” I smiled and shrugged. “Anyway, I thought of a breakfast special. How about creamy cheesy Christmas grits? We do our usual recipe but sprinkle minced red and green peppers on top to make it look festive.” Our creamy cheesy grits—the perfect comfort food—was always popular in cold weather.

  “I like it.” She gave me two thumbs up. “And it looks like you’re way ahead on pepper prep.” She pointed to the two piles on the cutting board in front of me. “I’ll go write it on the board.”

  I scraped my mincings into two containers and set them to the side, then commenced cracking eggs into the dry pancake mix.

  When she came back, Danna said, “For lunch we can do a split pea soup, but add in fresh frozen peas and minced tomatoes at the end so the peas stay bright green.”

  “Good idea. We have that frozen ham stock, and remember, we made it up already seasoned with sautéed onion and garlic.” I hoped the stock would defrost in time. If she started heating it now, it should, and split peas didn’t take long to cook. Adele had given us a couple of big ham bones last month, so I’d simmered them in an aromatic stock for a few hours and saved it for a late-fall soup. It sure already felt like winter out there even though by the calendar we still had two and a half weeks until the season’s official start. “Can you get the stock heating?”

  “Sure.” Danna brought out two gallon-containers from the freezer and ran them under hot water to loosen the frozen stock. She slid the frozen chunks into our biggest pot and set it to simmer on a back burner. “How was the beer party last night?”

  “It went well.” I switched on the mixer to beat the pancake batter and started cracking eggs. “More people showed than I expected, and Adele and Samuel helped clean up.” I glanced at my desk where I’d set the bag of journals. I’d texted Octavia this morning that I had something pertaining to Kristina’s remains she might be interested in. I’d realized she was the person who should have them, not Buck. And adult-ing was all about doing the hard things, the things you don’t really want to but know you have to, wasn’t it? Octavia was the last person I wanted to see. She was going to want to read those journals, though, and they were in my possession.

  “Cool.”

  “We’ll try it one more time with only Adele helping me, but if January’s crowd is even bigger, I’m going to ask you or Turner to work, if you will. For extra pay, of course.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She squinted one eye. “Did people really talk about the Bible while they drank beer?”

  I laughed. “Believe it or not, they did.” I caught sight of the clock. “Yikes. Five minutes. We ready?” I stirred the grits.

  Danna glanced around. “Looks like it. I’ll take first shift cooking.”

  “Perfect.” I took a last sip of coffee and set my mug in the sink before heading to the door. Unlock, flip sign to OPEN, grab handle and pull. All things I did every morning but Monday. What I’d never been greeted with before was Octavia standing at the head of the line of hungry diners. And she looked peeved instead of peckish.

  “Good morning, Octavia. Please come in. Good morning, everyone.” I stood back and let a half dozen locals file in after the detective, who stood to the side rather than taking a table.

  After they had passed, she said, “You have something for me?”

  “Yes.” I considered asking her to wait until I’d poured coffee and taken orders, but that could snowball into an hour of helping customers. Better to get this over with quickly. I led her to the desk and handed her the bag.

  “What’s this?” She took it, frowning.

  “It contains Kristina Geller’s personal journals. Last night Jamie Franklin brought in the bag and gave it to me. I told him he should take it to the station and turn it in, himself, but he was reluctant and asked me to. I’m not sure why.”

  “I assume he had read the journals?”

  “He said he hadn’t.” But had he?

  “Did you, while they were in your possession?” Octavia asked.

  Truth or lie? I chose the high road. “I glanced at one. It was from exactly ten years ago. Kristina mentioned being beaten by her husband and hiding money so she could escape with Jamie.”

  She folded her arms, still holding the bag. “Interesting. You know, of course, you were tampering with evidence and had no business reading these.”

  “I didn’t tamper with anything. I even wore gloves when I handled the book.” I kept my voice level. I wasn’t going to grovel and apologize for reading Kristina’s desperate words. I wasn’t the one who had sat on the journals for a full decade. Let her grill Jamie about that.

  “Be that as it may. Are you quite sure the deceased wasn’t writing a novel?”

  A novel?

  “The words you read could be pure fantasy,” Octavia went on.

  In the restaurant, a man waved at me, and an older woman pointed to her coffee mug. Her empty coffee mug.

  “Octavia, I have no idea. I’m going to go ahead and let you figure that out. Right now I have a restaurant to run. If you’ll excuse me.”

  She cleared her throat. “I’d like to eat while I’m here.”

  “You are welcome to sit anywhere you’d like.” I hurried off to wait on customers who weren’t going to give me a hard time about doing my civic duty and Jamie’s dirty work in one fell swoop.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Buck set the bell to jangling twenty minutes later as I was loading my arms with food. He headed straight for Octavia’s table. Darn. I’d wanted to intercept him and see if he knew anything new.

  Octavia had ordered a small bowl of grits, two scrambled, and a bowl of fruit salad. Her meal, being behind all the other orders, was only now ready. I set it down in front of her and greeted Buck. Octavia hadn’t taken out Kristina’s journals, not that I could tell, anyway.

  “Mornin’, Robbie. Shoo-ee, it’s as cold out there as . . .” H
e glanced at Octavia. “As a well-digger’s belt buckle in Antarctica.” He pulled off his watch cap and slid out of a police-issue winter coat.

  I poured his coffee. “What can I get you to eat, Buck?”

  “This cold gives me a hunger.” He gazed mournfully at Octavia’s grits. “How about a double-regular helping of them pretty grits? That tiny itty-bitty bowl she’s got wouldn’t satisfy my left baby toe. Plus one of them Kitchen Sink omelets y’all are so good at. With sausage and a side of flapjacks, please.”

  “You got it.” I scribbled on my order pad, smiling.

  Octavia slid her hand over her bowl. “Don’t even consider taking my grits as an appetizer, Bird.” She gave a half smile. “They’re absolutely delicious, Robbie. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  I was so surprised at both her smile and the compliment, I almost uttered one of Buck’s regular phrases, “Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.” I restrained myself. “Thank you. It’s a popular dish when the weather is like this.”

  “Sticks to your ribs better than about anything,” Buck agreed. “Like a burr on a burro’s rear end.”

  I shook my head. At least he didn’t say “butt.”

  “Say, Detective, whatcha got in that there bag?” He pointed at the cloth bag on the chair between them.

  Octavia lifted her chin in my direction. “Ask her.”

  I reprised for him what I’d told her about the journals, including where I’d gotten them and what I’d read.

  “Welp, that’s purty interesting,” Buck said. “I can’t imagine young Franklin didn’t read them, though. Doncha think? Sit on his sweetheart’s private words for ten whole years? Unlikely.”

  I’d wondered the same thing.

  “The part about Kristina claiming Doctor Geller was beating her is what interests me,” Octavia said. “Bird, we’ll need to send someone to area hospitals and find out if she’d been treated for her injuries.”

  “Yes, ma’am. We can do that. Carl mighta found evidence on her bones, too.” Buck’s stomach let out a hungry noise. He gave me a wistful look.

  “I’ll put your order in right now, Lieutenant.” I headed in Danna’s direction smiling. Never get between a tall hungry man and his breakfast. I handed Danna Buck’s order. “His usual modest breakfast.”

  “As if. Anyway, I’m on it, but there are a few orders ahead of him.”

  We were nearly full, only a half hour after I’d turned the sign. The door opened, letting in Josie with a rush of cold air. I waved, and she bobbed her head in acknowledgment but didn’t smile. Uh-oh. I made my way to her.

  “Good morning, Josie. We still have a couple tables open.”

  She greeted me. “Thanks.” Her dark hair had remarkably little gray in it for a seventy-year-old, but the frown she wore as she gazed in Danna’s direction accentuated the lines in her face.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked in a murmur.

  “I might have learned something about young Marcus that’s troubling me. I’m not sure whether to tell Danna yet or not.”

  Related to what Phil said about Marcus being quick to anger, maybe, and to how I’d seen Marcus react to Geller? The bell on the door jangled behind her and a party of four lean women about my age bustled in, all clad in running gear. They’d had an early start. They smelled of fresh air, and their flushed cheeks indicated this was the end of their run and not the start. All wore headbands with lights on them, as well as reflective pants and flashing red lights on armbands, necessities for a predawn jog.

  “Good morning,” I said to them. “Josie, go grab that open two-top. I’ll stop by and get your order. If you want to tell me what you found out, I’ll listen.”

  She nodded and made for the small table with a quick detour to the grill to give her granddaughter a kiss.

  “Breakfast?” I asked the runners.

  “Please. We earned it,” the shortest one said.

  “We just did our weekly long run,” a taller one said, pulling off her watch cap.

  “We’re training for the Boston Marathon,” the first added.

  “We all qualified last month in Indy,” Taller said. “Fifteen hilly miles is some workout, but we have to keep at it if we’re going to make it over Heartbreak Hill.”

  “I know those hills.” I smiled. “I’m a cyclist. Sometimes it seems like the whole ride is uphill. When’s the race?”

  “It’s in April, on what they call Patriot’s Day back East.”

  “Good luck,” I said. “You can take that last open table and I’ll be right over to take your order.”

  I grabbed the coffeepot and aimed myself for Josie, but had to top up a few mugs on the way. Buck and Octavia were conversing with intense looks on their faces, making me wish I was a fly on the table, or better, a tiny surveillance drone. Buck was sometimes forthcoming with me about cases. Octavia, not so much.

  “Thanks, Robbie,” Josie said after I filled her mug, looking up from a tablet device on the table.

  “What can I get you to eat?”

  “The grits sound good. Can I get a small bowl?”

  “Of course.”

  “And one fried egg, over easy, with bacon and wheat toast, please.” Her frown carved little canyons between her eyebrows and she blinked, as if it helped her think.

  I waited for a moment to see if she’d offer up her information. She looked back at her tablet, instead, so I stopped by the runners’ table and jotted down what they wanted, then took the orders to Danna.

  “What’s up with my grandma?” Danna asked. “She looks worried about something.”

  “She does. I don’t know what it’s about. I have her breakfast order, though. Want to swap? I’ll cook and you handle the front. Maybe she’ll tell you.” And maybe Buck would stop by and tell me what he knew after Octavia left, too.

  “Sure.” She traded her greasy apron for a fresh one and loaded up her arms with the orders that were ready. She pointed to the grill. “These are for those two couples. Buck’s is up next.”

  “Got it.” I poured out three disks of pancake batter, slid on a couple of sausages, and added a handful of chopped onions, mushrooms, and peppers to sauté for his omelet. The Everything-and-the-Kitchen-Sink omelet had veggies, crumbled bacon, and grated cheddar, and was a popular menu item among the hearty-eater crowd. I checked the runners’ orders, too.

  When I glanced up, Octavia was headed out the door, a black beret on her head and bag of journals in her hand. Good. With any luck, I would get a chance to chat with Buck. I ladled out a round of beaten egg and flipped everything else. A minute later I dinged the bell, but Danna didn’t hurry over. She stood in front of Josie with her arms folded, shaking her head. That didn’t look good at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  By the time Turner breezed in at eight, Danna was nearly sprinting trying to keep up. Ten people waited for tables. Everybody wanted to go out for breakfast on a Saturday morning, apparently. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Danna what Josie knew.

  “Hey, Turner. How are you this morning?” I asked.

  “I’m glad to be inside where it’s warm. We’re having a real cold snap out there. But I’m here and ready to rock and roll.” He slid an apron over his head.

  “Good, because that’s what this place is doing today. Start with busing, okay?”

  “Yes, boss.” He glanced at Danna, who stood taking a couple’s order without her usual relaxed, happy face on. “What’s eating her?”

  “I don’t know. I think Josie told her something Danna didn’t want to hear.”

  “Huh. Maybe I can worm it out of her.” He grabbed a tray and a damp rag and headed for a recently vacated table.

  I worked steadily through the orders. When Danna arrived to deliver them, she didn’t make eye contact as she loaded up and turned to go.

  “Danna, what’s going on?” I asked softly.

  “I can’t talk about it right now.” She shot a look in Josie’s direction and strode away.

  All rig
hty, then.

  Tanesha and Bashir emerged from the stairs to the rooms above. They stood as if not sure about something. She looked intently at him, saying something, but they were too far away for me to hear what. He shook his head, hard. First argument of the brand-new marriage, perhaps? She tucked her arm through his—not a serious disagreement, apparently—and they headed toward me.

  “Good morning.” I smiled at them. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

  “We are, thanks.” Bashir’s voice was soft. “But my wife has a question for you.”

  “Of course.” I flipped three pancakes and poured out a disk of eggs. “Excuse me if I keep working.”

  “No worries,” he said.

  “Robbie, are you sure we’re not going to be harassed for our faith here?” Tanesha asked. “This is such a, you know, mostly all-white town, and you have like fifteen Christian churches. After what that man said yesterday, well, I’m worried.”

  Bashir laid his hand on her back with a light touch. “It’s that we’ve had trouble before. At home in Minneapolis, we live among others of our faith and we garb ourselves accordingly. But when we venture into certain areas, we encounter gentlemen like the one who stormed out of here because he didn’t like that young man. You know, who make false accusations simply because of our faith, which is a peace-loving one.”

  “That guy was no gentleman, honey,” she protested.

  “I agree,” I said. “His behavior was uncalled for.”

  Her husband went on. “So we thought we’d go incognito down here. My grandmother was from French Lick, and I’ve always wanted to come back to where I spent some of my happiest childhood days.”

  “But we didn’t want anyone to hassle us.” Tanesha leaned into him. “I think we should go home early. But if you think we’re safe, Robbie, we’ll stay until Tuesday as planned.”

  I considered this as I plated up the pancake order, added three links, and rang the bell. “I can’t guarantee your safety. But I will say that kind of slur is basically unheard of in South Lick. Of course, there are ignorant types everywhere. But as I mentioned yesterday, we have an excellent police force and we really are a peaceable community.” If you didn’t count a half dozen murders.