Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  “One Homer,” he called over his shoulder. “May be a few minutes. They’re training a new guy in the back.” Ed sucked in his stomach and ran a finger along his apron strings before letting out a long sigh. I noticed that the string ends on the knot of his apron had become noticeably shorter since he and Nell from the Sixpence Bakery had tied the proverbial knot. Nell was a true baking genius. Just walking by her bakery added inches to my own hips. I couldn’t imagine being tempted by her treats on a daily basis.

  “What a coincidence that you’re here,” Big Ed was saying as he scribbled out my card. “Your beautiful mother showed up just a few minutes ago.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. Was I detecting a hint of goading in his voice? “Oh, she’s here?” I feigned innocence as I glanced over the crowd. It seemed like the whole town was crammed into his shop. “Sure is crowded in here today.”

  “The Dirty Dozen is having their monthly meeting here. They take up a lot of space.” The Dirty Dozen was the governing body of our village’s garden club, a very active group of ladies who took their responsibility of beautifying Inspiration Valley seriously. Every year they planted over sixteen barrels in the town’s center as well as the gardens surrounding the Nine Muses fountain. I’d come to learn a lot about the club and its service to our community through Vicky, who due to unforeseen circumstances several months ago had become the club’s new president. Which explained her melancholy mood. Undoubtedly she’d planned to attend the club meeting over her lunch hour but had been waylaid by her dog-sitting duties.

  “If you’re looking for your mother and her friend,” Big Ed said as he handed me my card, “they’re at the corner table.”

  I rose on my tiptoes and raised my chin in an attempt to see around the flouncy hats of a couple of the garden club ladies. All I could see from my vantage point was the top of Mama’s head. I did notice, though, that Mama had finally worn the jeweled barrette I’d given her for Christmas. I’d been a bit chagrined before that she hadn’t worn it yet; now it irritated me that she’d chosen to wear it for the first time on her date with Oscar.

  A young man brought a bag out and set it on the counter. Ed gave it a quick once-over and yelled out, “Tom Sawyer!” A man wearing stained painter’s pants under his winter parka stepped up and grabbed his order. I smiled. Clever. Tom Sawyer and the whitewashed fence.

  I glanced down at my own card and raised a brow. “Cordelia Gray?” P. D. James’s famous lady detective.

  “You are on the case, aren’t you?” Ed winked. “I heard one of your authors has been arrested for Chuck Richards’s murder.”

  I sighed. At least he hadn’t written Murder Magnet on my card. “Yes,” I said. “But I don’t believe she did it. Did you know Chuck?”

  “Not personally. I knew of him, though. He didn’t have the best reputation in town.” He thumbed toward the seating area. “So, your mother and Oscar Belmonte, huh?”

  “What do you mean? They’re just having lunch together.”

  He chuckled. “If you say so, Cordelia. She could do worse. He’s an okay guy and a hell of a cook. Course, so is your son.”

  I blinked back my surprise.

  Big Ed was going on. “Belmonte’s lucky to have him on his team. Did Trey tell ya what I did?”

  Suddenly I felt like I was on the outside of my world looking in, watching as my life unfolded. How much had I missed lately? Guilt washed over me as I realized I’d been so wrapped up in my job, consumed with dreams of my wedding … that I’d neglected my family. Hadn’t Mama told me more than once that she wanted to talk with me? And each time, I’d put it off until “later.” Then, when I’d heard about Trey’s situation, I’d been angry that Mama hadn’t kept me in the loop … but she’d tried. I was the one too busy, too self-absorbed to listen. And what type of daughter was I that I hadn’t noticed there was someone special in my mother’s life? And now it seemed that even Big Ed knew more about my own son than me. I stammered for a response, finally just shaking my head and shrugging.

  Big Ed continued, “Tried to lure him away. Offered him more than Belmonte’s paying him, too. Know what he said?”

  Again, I shook my head.

  “That he appreciated my offer, but that he intended to open his own restaurant one day and needed to learn the complexities of cooking a full menu. That fine dining was where he’d find his niche. His words, not mine. But his enthusiasm was evident. That, combined with his obvious work ethic … Well, that kid of yours is going places. You must be so proud.” The guy from the back appeared again. This time carrying a tray with a wrapped sandwich and a soft drink. Ed took the tray and passed it my way. “Here you go, Cordelia. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, still a little dazed by what he’d told me about Trey. Yes, I should be proud, and, yes, I should have recognized his fire for cooking. But I hadn’t seen it, or at least I hadn’t recognized the depth of it anyway, and what else had I missed? My thoughts quickly turned back to my current dilemma—Mama and Oscar Belmonte. A man who had spirited my son from college to his workforce. More importantly, a man I’d run up against immediately as I’d backed up from a nail-gunned dead body. A man who then accused me of murder! In reality, how honest and safe was this man? How safe was Mama in the hands of this new “special friend” of hers? I turned to scout a place to sit. Someplace out of the way, but where I could keep an eye on the lovebirds. Suddenly, I noticed Lynn waving to me from a table not too far away. Pam and Dr. Meyers were seated with her.

  Pam reached over and pulled out a chair as I approached. “Come sit with us,” she said. “Or were you planning on eating lunch with your mother and her friend?”

  I glanced over, wondering if Mama had even noticed I was in the café. She hadn’t. She was too wrapped up in her dining partner, her eyes glued on the man whose face glowed as he spoke with a hand-waving flourish about something or other. I sighed. “I’d love to join you ladies,” I said, settling in and unwrapping my sandwich.

  “This is going to be my go-to place for lunch whenever I’m in the area,” Dr. Meyers said. “The sandwiches are unbelievable. I’m having something called the Hamlet.”

  “Mmm … Black Forest ham on rye with Dijon. One of my favorites,” I told her. We slipped into a long discussion about food before the subject turned to the expo. Two of Franklin’s authors were due to speak that afternoon: the authors of Tie the Knot on a Shoestring Budget and A Handmade Wedding. Afterward, Ms. Lambert had arranged for several local craftspeople to hold a crafting seminar, focusing on hand-crafted centerpieces and homemade wedding favors. I’d hoped to get some ideas for my own ceremony, maybe special placeholders for the reception tables or memorable party favors to say a special thank-you to our wedding guests.

  “Oh, don’t look now, but here comes your mother and her beau,” Pam giggled. “They do make a cute couple.” I looked up from my sandwich to see Mama coming our way. Oscar was on her heels, following like a puppy dog.

  “Hi, hon. I didn’t even notice y’all were here.”

  So much for my mother’s psychic abilities! Apparently her crystal ball was clouded when the aura of romance filled the air around her. “Well, you were busy enjoying your lunch. With your friend,” I added, nodding his way and not bothering to try to sound pleasant. “How are you today, Mr. Belmonte?”

  “Oscar, please.” He extended his hand, which I shook quickly, without making eye contact. He shuffled his feet and made another attempt at conversation. “Guess we didn’t get off to such a great start the other day.”

  I shrugged, still not looking his way. “Guess not.” Sort of difficult with a dead body in the room. An awkwardness fell over the group. I picked up my sandwich for another bite.

  Mama spoke up. “Well, guess we’d best be goin’. Oscar needs to get back to the restaurant. Trey’s been holdin’ down the fort for him while he’s out.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Oscar shift his stance and lean forward. “That boy of yours has the makings of a
fine chef, Ms. Wilkins.”

  I should have said, “Call me Lila, please.” Or at least maybe a simple thank you. Or anything except nibbling on my sandwich without bothering to respond. It was rude and I knew it. I felt it in the crawling warmth up my neck, the cold stares of the others at the table. But I simply couldn’t help myself.

  Casting a sideways glance toward Mama, I could see telltale spots of red breaking across her cheeks. My behavior was embarrassing her. “Well, guess I’ll be seeing y’all later this afternoon at the expo,” she said. A round of good-byes ensued from the table, but I kept my focus on my food.

  After they left, Dr. Meyers tentatively said, “Your mother’s friend seemed nice. Don’t you think?” She dipped her chin and tried to engage my eyes, using a tone of voice I imagined she used to coax secrets and innermost thoughts from her clients.

  I shrugged and pretended to be enjoying my sandwich. But the truth was, the hurt look on Mama’s face had ruined my appetite. I’d behaved horribly toward Oscar. Not without good reason, I reminded myself. Look at all the havoc the man had created in my life! First, he hired Trey away from a good college education; now he was … what? Trying to take Mama from me, too? And for all anyone knew he could be a crazed killer.

  Pam thumped the table, bringing me out of my reverie. “Now I know where I’ve heard that man’s voice before. At the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast.”

  “Oscar?” I asked. “When?”

  Pam rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “It must have been the first day I arrived. Before you and Jodi got there,” she said to Lynn.

  “We came in Sunday morning,” Lynn supplied.

  “That’s right. It was Saturday afternoon. I remember now because Flora picked me up at the airport that morning and dropped me at the inn. She was coming back to pick me up for an early dinner, so I was hanging around the front room waiting for her. I remember a huge argument breaking out in the kitchen between Chuck and someone else. Someone who sounded just like Oscar.”

  “Did you happen to hear what they were arguing about?”

  “Oh sure. I couldn’t help but hear. It was over some work Chuck had done. I didn’t quite get the gist of what type of work, but Oscar was really mad. He said something like, “You’ll regret this, Richards. When I’m done with you, you’ll never work in this town again.” She shrugged. “Well, I don’t know if those were his exact words, but something like that.”

  “You’re sure it was Oscar.”

  “Pretty sure. It was a raspy voice like his and with that slight Jersey accent.”

  “His voice is distinctive,” Lynn commented. “Do you suppose he was angry enough to … ?” She rubbed the tops of her arms and shuddered.

  “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” Dr. Meyers started. “People exchange angry words all the time. In fact, arguing is an acceptable form of direct communications. If done properly, it can provide a healthy emotional release and help pave the way for further discussion. That is, if both participants refrain from becoming contemptuous and express their differences in a respectful manner.”

  Pam was listening with raised brows. “If you say so, Doc. But I’m telling you girls, there wasn’t anything courteous about this argument. And there sure as heck wasn’t any mutual respect floating around. Leastways, all I heard was a whole lot of pissed off. And mostly on Oscar’s part. I wouldn’t have wanted to be Chuck Richards for anything.”

  “And it’d be much easier to believe that a guy like that killed Chuck than it is to believe Jodi did it,” Lynn said. “Although that would mean your mother is dating a …” Lynn let the last word drop off, biting her lip.

  Suddenly a sense of self-righteousness swept over me. See? I wanted to say. I was right not to be nice to the guy. But I didn’t say anything, just held my head a little higher.

  “Well, being angry doesn’t make one a killer,” Dr. Meyers said. “Thank goodness, or everyone who comes into my office would be wanted for murder.” She ended with a raised eyebrow and half smile. She started wrapping up her leftover sandwich. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to head back to my office to see a client. Can I give either of you a lift back to the inn?”

  “Me,” said Pam. She took a final drag on the straw from her cherry Coke, grabbing the stem of the cherry and biting off the sweet morsel. Then she wadded up her sandwich wrapper. “Think I’ll try to get some writing in before this afternoon’s events get started.” She looked toward Lynn and cracked a smile. “Unless you want to challenge me to another game of pool this afternoon?” Then, noticing my double take, she offered an explanation. “Cora’s got a nifty game room up on the second floor of the inn. It’s fun, but little did I know Lynn’s a pool shark. She’s about taken me for all of last quarter’s royalties.”

  Lynn laughed. “Maybe later this evening, Pam. Right now I think I’ll stay and finish my sandwich.” Then she smiled up at Dr. Meyers. “And thanks for the offer of a ride, but I think I’ll walk back. I may want to browse some of the shops anyway.”

  After they departed, Lynn grew quiet. “Are you doing okay?” I asked. “This has been quite the week, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it has. I need to ask you a favor.” She fiddled nervously with her napkin as she spoke. “I want to go to Chuck’s funeral.”

  I was surprised, not sure exactly what she wanted from me—encouragement or dissuasion. “Of course. I’ll go with you, if you wish, but do you think it’s a good idea to dredge up all those bad memories?”

  She sighed. “I understand what you’re saying, and believe me, I’ve gone back and forth myself. It’s complicated. I’m not even sure I can explain.”

  “There’s no need to explain.”

  “But I want to try,” she insisted. She took a deep breath, her eyes not quite meeting mine as she started to explain. “Whenever Chuck lost his temper and … and hurt me, he’d say how bad he felt, how he couldn’t help it. Then he’d apologize and say the sweetest things, promising me it’d never happen again.” Her cheeks flushed as she nervously tore at the edges of her napkin. “I always believed him.” She sighed. “Over and over, I made excuses for his behavior until one day he almost killed me.”

  I reached for her hand, sending little white flakes of paper napkin everywhere. “Oh, Lynn. I’m so sorry.”

  She pulled away and sat straighter in her chair. “It was so bad … I was in the hospital for two days. As soon as they released me, I left. Didn’t even say good-bye. I couldn’t. Didn’t trust myself to go back to him. And ever since then, I’ve been trying to push it all behind me. Build my own life, become stronger so I never fall into anything like that again.”

  “And you have. Look at you, Lynn. You’ve written a book and it’s going to be a huge success. I just know it.”

  She nodded, her stare fixated on the table. “Anyway, I think going to the funeral will help me close that part of my life. I just need to know it’s really over. Can you understand that?”

  I nodded. “I think I can. And I’d be happy to go with you.”

  “Dr. Meyers doesn’t think I should go. She said the same thing you did. That it might bring back too many unhappy emotions.”

  I nodded. “Yes, but now that you’ve explained it to me, I understand your need to go. For a sense of closure. To put those emotions finally behind you.”

  “Thanks for understanding,” she said. And for the first time in our conversation, she looked across the table and met my gaze. A little shiver ran down my spine, because what I saw in her eyes didn’t bespeak a woman lacking confidence or struggling with inner strength. Instead, they were filled with cold determination. “Besides, I’m a different woman now,” she professed. “And I’ll never let another man hurt me again. Never.”

  *

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON at the expo, I kept busy trying to avoid my mother. Or, perhaps, trying to avoid my own thoughts of her dating Oscar Belmonte. Of all the men to pick! Not only was his ego as large as his waistband, but if what Pam said was true, he had a supersized te
mper to match. Knowing about his argument with Chuck had definitely moved him up a notch on my suspect list. For all I knew, Mama was dating a cold-blooded murderer. And my son was working in his kitchen!

  Despite my best efforts to keep busy, my mind still reeled with worry as I popped into the Dragonfly Room to check on the progress being made for this afternoon’s crafting events. Inside, I found Ms. Lambert busy directing her minions through the rigors of setting up several crafting stations. The idea behind tonight’s events was to appeal to the more budget-minded gals who hoped to not only save some money but add a personalized touch to their big day.

  As I walked between the craft stations, I found all manner of interesting—and sometimes intimidating—craft projects. I especially liked a giant faux floral arrangement I saw Ms. Lambert’s people haul into the room, dipping the tops under the doorway. It sported what appeared to be giant alliums created with large foam balls covered in those oversized cotton swabs found in medical supply houses. Each swab had been cut in half and pierced into the balls, the resulting flower “head” sprayed in pale lavender paint. The flowers were then attached to flexible tubes wrapped in green floral tape, accompanied with green silk leaf spears and towering high over the heads of attendees. Stunning!

  I continued to circumvent the room, trying to gain inspiration for my own wedding, admiring hand-stamped placeholders, dried flower arrangements, and easy-to-do party favors. I felt in awe of the vision these crafters had for taking simple things and making them into extraordinary pieces of art, but I found my enthusiasm waning as my mind kept becoming sidetracked by thoughts of the case.

  I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice Flora until she tapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, Lila,” she said. Her face was deeply flushed with tiny beads of perspiration forming above her upper lip.

  “Flora. Are you okay?”