by Maddie Day
“Naturally Buck and Octavia wanted to question him, as the husband of a homicide victim. He seemed really broken up when Buck broke the news about Toni to him on Thursday. He said he adored her. But then last night he showed up at Bible and Brew. It seemed early for a grieving spouse to be out and about.”
“You think he might have been putting on an act? That he already knew she was dead?”
“I don’t know. It’s all so muddled. Things get that way when people’s feelings and motives are involved.”
He held up a finger. “Here’s one thing I do know. I’ve heard Colton was in bad shape financially. I’m not sure if he’s a gambler, manages his own accounts poorly, or maybe, like Shirley Csik, plows his money into supporting someone.”
I widened my eyes. “Thus wanting Toni’s inheritance. If he inherits.”
“She was pretty sharp. I doubt she died without a will somewhere.”
“Yeah, but what does it say? I also don’t know anything about alibis for folks like Clive, William Geller, Jamie Franklin, or even Shirley, Toni’s tenant. I don’t know anything, really, except a lot of people didn’t like Toni at all.”
“That’s a fact. What were you doing in Nashville, by the way?”
“I went for a little Christmas spirit after we closed the store.”
“While I was here slaving over a hot stove for you?” He gave me a mock frown.
“Hey, how do you know I wasn’t shopping for you? Anyway, Corrine met me there, and we talked to Geller. Can you believe he volunteers at the Santa’s workshop?”
“With the medical group, yes.” This time Abe really did frown. “Robbie Jordan, did you go there in order to interrogate the doctor?”
“No. Well, a little. Don’t you be acting like Octavia, now.” I cleared my throat. “I saw him near Santa, so we said hi. He mentioned Toni’s heart condition, and I asked if Kristina had the same thing. He said they were fraternal twins, and that Kristina’s heart had been healthy.” I drummed my fingers on my knee.
“Penny for your thoughts, hon?”
“I would really like to know how Toni died. Clive said she was taking a heart medication. What if someone poisoned her with a drug that interacted—badly—with the one she already took?” Someone like Clive, even.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I’d never been more grateful for our practice of opening the restaurant an hour later on Sundays. Even though Abe and I had made an early—and delightful—night of it, and I’d scooted home at six-thirty this morning to shower and change into work clothes, I still felt as bleary-eyed as Danna looked when she dragged in at seven.
“Yo,” I called. “Coffee’s ready.”
She sniffed the air. “That smells good,” she mumbled. “Still, I think I’m ready to turn over the early shift to somebody else on Sundays.”
“Same here. I’ll ask Turner today.”
“Nooo, you won’t.” She shook her head slowly.
“He’s got that thing for his grandpa. It’s only the two of us on shift today.”
“Shoot.” I squeezed my eyes shut. How could I have forgotten? The week before Thanksgiving, Turner’s mom’s father had finally succumbed to a long-standing illness. Today had been the soonest they could assemble the far-flung family for a memorial gathering. If Danna and I thought we were tired now, we were going to be totally exhausted by the end of a day operating minus one employee. I cracked another egg into the pancake mix, but it slipped and pieces of shell fell into the batter. I swore as I began picking them out.
“Language, language, Robbie,” Danna said in a wry tone as she dried her hands and slid on an apron.
I laughed. “Yes, Mother.”
“We’ll be all right. And let’s forget about specials for today.”
I tapped the counter. “We could. Or we could throw dried cranberries in the pancake mix. We have a couple big bags of them.”
“Excellent idea. I’ll put it on the board.”
“You’d better eat something while you can, too.”
“Yeah. Soon as I get the caddies out.”
We bustled about in our well-practiced routines until we were as ready as we were going to be at a quarter to eight. Danna whipped up a big cheese omelet that we scarfed down while standing.
She swallowed a bite. “Marcus told me something interesting. It makes Doctor Geller calling him an Arab even more screwy. My bro said in some places, there’s animosity between the Arab mosques and the African-American ones. Isn’t that strange?”
“Sure. But you know by now how strange people can be. Everybody wants their own group to be the correct one, and they look down on outsiders. It doesn’t make sense, but lots of people are like that.” I drained my coffee. “Do Muslims have that kind of rivalry in Bloomington?”
“I don’t know. There’s only one Islamic Center there, but Marcus said there are like seventeen in Indy.” She popped in her last forkful of omelet.
“Indianapolis has that many Muslims?”
“Yeah.” She pointed at the clock.
When I pulled open the door, a mini-horde faced me. I groaned, but silently, at the sight of twenty eager couples. Forty hungry senior-citizen diners, that is. All. At. Once. On a day when we were shorthanded. And the new light of dawn revealed snow starting to fall, too. Wonderful. I’d have to shovel the walk and clear the steps sometime soon.
“Well, good morning, everyone. Come on in out of the snow.” I stepped back to let them troop in.
“We’re up for the day from Evansville,” one of the men said.
The woman with him smiled at me. “Some of us are the Silver Singers. We’re giving a Christmas concert this afternoon in Bloomington and decided to make a shopping day of it. We’ve heard so much about your restaurant, we just had to start here.”
“I’m glad you did. Sit anywhere you’d like.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m going to start my shopping right here, too.”
I was about to head for the coffeepot when Clive followed the last senior in. Exactly the man I wanted to talk to—or one of them—except I wasn’t going to have time for that, not with all these enthusiastic customers. His hair was shower-damp, and today he’d dressed not in the work clothes I’d seen him in previously but in a crisp pale blue shirt, a maroon sweater, and dark slacks with polished shoes. Off to church, perhaps. He certainly wouldn’t have been Shirley’s tall shadowy figure, not with his squat thick build and big blocky head. He’d claimed to have loved Toni deeply. Murderers claimed a lot of false things, however, I’d learned over the years. I greeted him.
“Morning, Robbie.”
“Breakfast before church, Clive?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s why I’m here.”
“Where do you attend services?”
“Over to the Quaker Meeting in Bloomington. I sure do love the quiet. Sometimes the whole dang hour is silent.”
“You must know Marcus Vandemere, then. Tall guy, a little younger than me?”
“Yes.” Clive frowned. “I don’t know him well, and he seems to be practicing Islam, as well. Boy’s got quite the temper on him.”
Marcus’s anger seemed to be noticed by everyone. “Did Toni attend with you?”
He wagged his head back and forth. “She did not. Said the stillness made her nervous. She liked to get things done, not sit around waiting for God.”
I glanced at the restaurant. “I’ve got to get busy, Clive. Look, there’s a small table over there you can snag. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
The next forty-five minutes were the definition of busy for Danna and me. By the time we got everyone served, the first tables were ready for their checks. Clive ordered a big breakfast and read a Bible while he ate. After he was finished, I laid his ticket on the table.
“Whenever you’re ready.” I smiled.
He pulled out a small wallet. After he opened it, he looked up with something I couldn’t decipher written on his face. “Robbie, I’m afraid I forgot to go to
the bank yesterday. I seem to be plum out of cash.”
“We take credit, of course.” Was that shame or wiliness on his face?
“I’m not good with credit cards. Had to cut them up a couple years ago. I ran up too much debt. Don’t supposed I could give you an IOU?” He gave me a look that was half frown and half hopeful.
I sighed inwardly. This was a bad precedent, but what could I do? He’d already eaten the food. A lot of it. “Of course.” I scribbled TO BE PAID on the check. “I’ll put your ticket in the cash register. Stop back any time we’re open to pay.” Only two days ago I’d said I could open a tab for Buck, but that was different. He was in here at least once a day and overpaid every single time.
“I thank you.” Clive stood, giving a last swipe to his mouth with the napkin.
The bell jangled, bringing Octavia into the store. Clive turned toward the door, then froze.
“That woman is bad news,” he muttered.
“What do you mean?”
“Believe me, she’s bad news.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It turned out the detective was here to talk with me, not with Clive. After he saw her, he aimed himself for the door. Octavia glanced at the new widower as he passed but didn’t speak to him. Instead, she beckoned to me.
I made a T with my hands. I had to bus, clean, and reset Clive’s table before I took time to speak with her. I was waylaid by other diners wanting to pay, two tables whose orders were ready, and a woman needing to pay for an armful of gifts from the store section. I needed another pair of feet and hands each, and soon. Danna was a two-handed fast-moving miracle at the grill, bless her heart.
By the time I reached a displeased-looking Octavia, Buck had joined her. Two more parties pushed through the door after him, dusting snow off their shoulders and stamping it off their feet. I swore silently. I needed to get out there and clear the steps at the very least. The porch’s wide overhang usually kept it mostly snow free unless it was blowing a lot.
“I need to speak with you, Robbie,” Octavia said.
“Good morning, Octavia, Buck. I’m sorry, but we’re swamped and are missing one employee. You can have that two-top I just cleared if you want to eat.” I pointed.
Buck nodded with enthusiasm. Octavia opened her mouth to object, but I held up a hand to forestall her.
“Otherwise you can wait on the bench, or you can come back. I have a business to run.”
“Fine.” Octavia let out a noisy breath. “We’ll eat.”
It didn’t sound like it was fine, but Buck nearly skipped to the table. I seated the other two parties, grabbed the coffeepot, and poured for the newcomers before ending up where Buck and Octavia sat. As I filled Octavia’s mug, she spoke in a quiet voice.
“Thank you for the information you texted me on Friday about Shirley Csik. Would you happen to know her whereabouts?”
I frowned. “I know where she lives and works, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, it ain’t,” Buck said. “Ms. Csik is missing, plain and simple.”
“Missing?”
“She doesn’t appear to be at home,” Octavia said. “She doesn’t answer her phone. Her car is gone. She did not report to her workplace yesterday.”
Right. What the gift shop owner had told me. “And she hasn’t turned up in a hospital? Maybe she had an accident.”
“Not in Indiana, she hasn’t.”
Danna hit the Ready bell twice. “Let me take your orders real quick. I’ll be back to talk when I can.” I hurried to Danna thirty seconds later with Buck’s usual Breakfast of Giants order and Octavia’s oatmeal with a banana. I stuck the ticket on the carousel. As I loaded up the orders, I murmured to Danna, “Shirley is missing. What was that soccer team in Chicago you mentioned?”
“The Red Stars? Why, do you think she went up there for a tryout or something?”
“I have no idea. But it was a thought.” I carried the orders over to a big table of six, but my brain was focused on Shirley. Was she on the run? I couldn’t think of a reason unless she’d killed Toni and decided to make a break for it. But why now and not right after she did it? Or had someone hurt her? Abducted her? Her absence could be as simple as an unscheduled trip out of town to pursue a professional soccer career. Early December seemed like a funny time to hold tryouts for an outdoor sport, but I didn’t know a thing about sports in general and soccer in particular. And if a tryout was the case, why not tell the gift shop owner she couldn’t make it in? The same as a few days ago, I had another uneasy feeling, this time about Shirley being gone and unaccounted for.
By the time Buck’s and Octavia’s orders were ready, business had calmed down a little. Buck poured on the syrup and tore into his cranberry pancakes so fast I thought they would catch on fire.
“Did you know Shirley is an accomplished soccer player?” I asked, glancing from Buck to Octavia. “Abe told me she was captain of the team in high school, and Danna said Shirley coached her team when she was a kid. You might want to call a women’s pro team called the Red Stars in Chicago. She could have driven up there for tryouts.”
Octavia cocked her head and regarded me. “Good information gathering, Robbie. Thank you.”
Whoa. A compliment from the taciturn, all-business detective. “You’re welcome.”
She tapped into her phone. “We’ll check that out.”
“Are you thinking Shirley might have killed Toni and is trying to evade being charged?” I asked in a soft voice.
“Unfortunately, our investigation is still in progress,” Octavia said. “Ms. Csik certainly is a person of interest. We asked her, along with the others, not to leave the county.”
Buck swallowed a mouthful. “We want to find the woman and there’s no two ways about it.”
“Did you get to question her about what she told me? About seeing a tall person outside the house that night?”
“We did not have that opportunity, no.”
I stuck my hands in my apron pocket. “Could she be tending to her brother? The one in prison?”
Octavia pressed her eyes shut for a moment. Opening them, she said, “I won’t even ask how you know about that. Bird, can I assume you have already checked on the brother’s status?”
“As a matter of fact, I have not,” he said. “I’m sorry to say it did not occur to me. I’ll get one of my people on it ASAP.”
Still, if the brother was sick, why wouldn’t Shirley return home in between visits? Why wouldn’t the police be able to find her? That didn’t seem like a plausible scenario for her disappearance. A customer caught my eye. She waved her check and some money in the air. I signaled I’d be right there but flashed on what Clive had said.
“One more quick thing. Clive Colton was in earlier. He apparently has a lot of trouble handling his personal finances. He didn’t have cash for his breakfast, and said he no longer carried credit cards because of a bunch of debt he’d run up. It might be something to consider.”
Octavia sliced the banana onto her oatmeal and topped up the dish with the whole milk she’d requested. A dainty bite later, she swallowed. “Thank you for helping us. Now I have a few matters of business to discuss with the lieutenant, if you don’t mind.”
I was dismissed. All righty, then. Buck cast his gaze briefly to the ceiling and then winked at me. I hid my grin and turned away. But his good humor didn’t completely dispel my unsettled feeling about Shirley. In lieu of prayer, which wasn’t my thing, I sent out my intention into the universe that she be all right. I crossed my fingers for good measure.
After I took the waving woman’s money—five twenty-five for two over easy with bacon and rye toast, plus a dollar tip—I donned my coat, winter hat, and gloves before heading outside. I had an arrangement with a plow guy to come and clear my driveway and the parking area in front when it snowed. It was up to me to get the white stuff off the sidewalk and walkway as well as the steps. The last thing I needed was for a customer to slip on a freshly snow-covered surface.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Danna and I barely got our usual midmorning lull. The pre-church crowd was followed closely by the Sunday morning athletes, who drifted in in Spandex and breathable jackets. After them came the early-service church folks and the midmorning brunchers. It went on from there. My helper and I each took quick bathroom breaks before diving back in. I also grabbed a moment to text Abe.
Shirley C is missing. Text or come in, K? I have questions. OOXX, R
Abe had gone to school with her. He might know someone, something, that could lead to the missing woman.
He wrote back.
Sure. Be there in a bit. Plus community party at 5, right?
He meant the annual South Lick gathering to celebrate the lighting of the municipal tree, complete with a visit from Santa riding in an antique fire truck. It was always a cheery event, and I didn’t have to lift a finger to prepare for it other than putting on warm clothes.
You bet.
I’d opened the door to check the snow again—not that I had time to shovel right now—when William Geller approached the store. He must have forgotten his pledge never to enter my store again. He was accompanied by a woman and two teenagers the same size, twins, perhaps. They were nearly as tall as the woman, but the boys slouched and hid their faces behind floppy long hair. Family, maybe? Or perhaps this was his girlfriend and her children. Geller took one more drag on the lit cigarette he held and stubbed it out on the ground with his toe.
Great. I had a butts bucket filled with sand on the porch for exactly that purpose.
I greeted them and ushered them in. I glanced around to see that a four-top had opened up. “Follow me.”
“Thank you, Ms. Jordan,” Geller said. “This is my sister and my nephews visiting from Fort Wayne for the day.”
I smiled. “Welcome to South Lick.”
The woman thanked me, and the teens ignored my greeting. Were they here to help Geller make burial arrangements for his wife and sister-in-law, maybe? The latter would be up to Clive, come to think of it. I could have asked him this morning what his plans were for a funeral or memorial service, but it hadn’t crossed my mind.