“Morning, Ms. Bernadine,” he called back, breaking eggs onto the hot flattop and immediately using a spatula to scramble them. His current hair color was jade green with deep purple highlights.
“Has Mal been in today?”
Siz paused and glanced at her over his shoulder. “No. Is he back?”
She nodded. “Can we talk in the office?”
He looked to his assistant. “Hey, Randy, take over a minute, will you?”
“Sure.”
The office interior was as quiet as the kitchen was loud.
Siz asked, “Does Mal know he’s basically banned from having any say on what goes down here, now?”
“Yes. Trent informed him last night.”
“That’s rough. In a way I feel sorry for him.”
Bernadine did too, even as she didn’t. “He won’t have a key to the doors, either.”
“Even rougher. Okay. But he’s welcome to eat here, right?”
“Of course. I’m not sure what his plans are, though. Last I heard he was working in Oklahoma, so I don’t know how long he’ll be around.” She also didn’t know if he was still seeing Ruth, the woman who’d been his date at the wedding.
“I got a text from Rock late last night. She and Jack will be back on Wednesday. She’s been checking in every couple of days, making sure we haven’t burned down the place.”
“You’ve done a great job being in charge.”
“Thanks. Can’t wait for her to get back so I can just cook. All this other stuff—scheduling and ordering—not my thing.”
“Good practice for when you open your own place in the future after your apprenticeship.”
“I suppose.”
“Have you heard anything new from the chef who offered you the apprenticeship?”
“Only that he’s still traveling around Asia.”
Even though no one in town wanted Siz to leave, they were all rooting for him and this opportunity to take his career to the next level. In the meantime, she could tell by the way he kept eyeing the door that he was anxious to get back to the kitchen, so she asked, “Any concerns before you go?”
“Mal isn’t going to be trouble, is he?”
She shrugged. “Hope not. Let me know if anything jumps off, though, okay?”
“Got you on speed dial.”
“Good. Love the new hair color.”
His laughing reply of “thank you” accompanied him out the door.
Upstairs above the diner, Mal had slept in. Were he working in the oil fields or still riding point at the Dog, he would’ve reported for duty hours ago. Instead he was lying in bed angry that the consequences of his theft had reduced his life to a steaming pile of manure. As if last night’s dinner with Trent and family hadn’t been disastrous enough, he returned to his apartment to find a message on his landline from the oil company. He’d been laid off. No explanation or reassurances to rehire him sometime in the future. Simply: we no longer need you. He’d been crushed. Still felt that way. With no job, how was he supposed to make restitution? Granted, he could probably find employment somewhere else, but the likelihood of an employer offering a senior citizen like himself the hourly rate he’d earned with the oil company was slim to none. Times like these could play havoc with a former alcoholic’s commitment to sobriety, but he had no urge to be both the town pariah and the town drunk. Been there. Done that. He didn’t see himself ditching his sobriety, but losing his mind was an option. The smells from the kitchen downstairs were scenting the air, driving home the realization that on a normal pre-embezzlement morning, he would’ve already had breakfast as well. Sitting up, he perched on the edge of the mattress and ran his hands wearily down his unshaven face. He was hungry but wasn’t in the mood for the censorious eyes of his neighbors. Breakfast with BFF Clay Dobbs would be a better bet, so he washed up, dressed, and went to his truck.
Clay lived west of town on a hog farm he’d inherited from his parents. He’d also inherited WW2 vet Bing Shepard, the town patriarch, whom he’d taken in after the death of Bing’s wife. Like Mal’s mother, Tamar, Bing would probably live until the year 2525.
As he parked his truck and got out, he could honestly say he and Clay had known each other since they could walk. They’d been inseparable growing up: school, parties, hunting trips. Then came the draft and Vietnam. Placed in different platoons, they were forced to deal with the horror separately. Once home again, they renewed their friendship, but the war took its toll. Mal began drinking to rid himself of the nightmares that plagued him like parasites in his brain, and Clay, who’d once been the biggest jokester in Kansas, returned home closed off and joyless. Now, forty-plus years later, they still had each other’s back. In fact, Clay was the one who’d recommended the condo developer that ran off with Mal’s stolen money. The only reason their relationship hadn’t crashed and burned was that the man disappeared with Clay’s life savings, too.
Mal knocked on the screen door. “Dobbs, you home?”
Inside, Bing called back, “He’s in the barn.”
“Thanks!”
He found Clay tossing fresh hay into the pens. It was a yearly task. If winter decided to come early, as it did sometimes, he needed them ready to house his stock.
“Hey, man,” Mal said.
“Hey. When’d you get back?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Had dinner with Trent last night so I could find out the lay of the land.”
Clay paused his work. “How’d it go?”
He shook his head.
“That bad?”
“Yeah.” Mal told him about the keys, his standing at the Dog, and being laid off.
Clay said, “Yeah, that’s rough. What’re you going to do?”
“Try and find another job.”
“Have you talked to the Lady yet?”
Knowing he was referring to Bernadine, Mal replied, “No. Not yet. Maybe this evening. Maybe tomorrow, sometime. I don’t know, man. Everything’s so screwed up.”
“Tell me about it.”
“She probably doesn’t want to see me anyway.”
Clay went back to tossing hay with the pitchfork he held. “You never know.”
“I do know. Coming to the wedding with Ruth was one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done.” And it was. Adding to the mess was trying to extricate himself from Ruth, who wanted a relationship he had no plans to cement.
“Almost as dumb as me letting Genevieve get away. Now that she’s married to TC, I can’t be mad at how happy she is, but she could’ve been mine. Why can’t women be as simple as they were back in the day?”
“They’ve never been simple. We men were just delusional in thinking they were.”
“I suppose. So, you planning on hanging here all day?”
“If you’ll have me. Could use some breakfast, too.”
“It’s almost eleven o clock.”
“Does that mean I can’t eat?”
“No. It means what have you been doing all morning?”
“Wallowing in a tub of self-pity. How about you?”
“Trying not to think about having to get by with no savings.”
“We need a plan.”
“A plan is what got us in this mess.”
Mal grudgingly agreed. Clay touting the big profit they’d make investing in the condos was what suckered Mal into stealing the money from the Dog, but instead of profits, they’d reaped the whirlwind.
Clay spread more hay. “You go on in and find something to eat. I’ll be there soon as I finish this.”
Mal nodded and left him to his chore.
Inside, Mal was just sitting down to a plate of bacon and eggs when Clay entered.
“Bing left with Orville,” Mal told him. Orville Caster was a young vet who’d served in Afghanistan. He was also a farmer and a member of the local Black Farmers Association. “Said to tell you bye.”
Clay walked to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. “They’re going to Lawrence for a WW2 event at the Buffalo Soldier Mo
nument. Bing asked if I wanted to ride over. Told him no.”
Mal eyed his friend. As close as they were, Clay had never shared his experiences in Vietnam, and Mal had never pressed him about it. His own nightmares nearly stole his life, but he’d talked about them to anyone who’d listen in the hopes of finding peace. Mal sensed Clay still struggled with the darkness he brought back from the jungles of Southeast Asia, thus his reluctance to participate in anything tied to the military. He also sensed his friend might exorcise the demons by talking to one of the shrinks at the VA, but Clay would never agree. In his mind, he was fine.
“Any news on Dresden?” Mal asked, starting in on his plate. David Dresden was the condo guy.
Clay sat down. “No. I talked to Jimmy last night. He’s heard nothing. Said he’s thinking about going to the police, but he doesn’t want his wife to know he lost the money.” Jimmy Green was Clay’s cousin.
“Hasn’t told her, I take it?”
“No.”
Jimmy and Dresden were fraternity brothers, a tie that went back to their college years at KU. Because they’d done business deals in the past, it never occurred to Jimmy that Dresden couldn’t be trusted.
Clay said, “Jimmy’s thinking about hiring a private eye.”
Mal didn’t know how he felt about that. “What do you think?”
Clay shrugged. “I don’t know. Might be throwing more money down a hole.”
“Money we don’t have. At least I don’t.”
“Me, either.”
Mal picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. “Be nice if we could find him and get our dough back, though. The town could’ve had me thrown in jail.” He set the cup down.
“We both know Trent wouldn’t have stood for that.”
“I’m not so sure. He’s pretty mad.” The hurt in Trent’s eyes last night continued to weigh on Mal’s heart. “Devon thinks I should paint Marie’s fence.”
“That’s punishment for the kids, not grown folks.”
“I know.” He’d find some other way to atone for his sins.
Clay continued, “Devon needs to worry about Devon. He’s way too sanctimonious for a boy his age.”
Mal didn’t like hearing his grandson described that way, especially by someone who had sanctimonious issues of his own. “Dev’s okay. He can be a little high-and-mighty at times, but that’s just part of his charm.”
That earned him an eye roll from Clay, but Mal let it go. Bigger fish to fry. “But getting back to the private eye thing. Sandy Langster has an office in town. She did a good job busting Astrid Wiggins. I wonder what she’d charge if we hired her for, say, a week?”
“No idea. I can run it by Jimmy and see what he says.”
“Okay. In the meantime, how about me whipping your butt in some dominoes?”
“Penny a point?”
“I think I can afford that. Not that I’m going to need it playing you.”
A smiling Clay left to get the dominoes.
Chapter 3
Standing outside the Marie Jefferson Academy, the hired gun, now calling herself Lisa Stockton, shook the hand of Mayor Trent July. “Thanks for the job. You won’t regret hiring me.”
“We hope you enjoy being here.”
Where some women would’ve been smiling seductively in response to July’s handsomeness, Lisa kept herself in character. She’d just been hired as the school’s second-shift custodian. She and July just finished a tour of the school. The building was impressive, but she wasn’t there to be wowed by it. Her real interest lay in a building a block or so down the street. “When do I start?”
“Tomorrow is good.”
“Can I start this afternoon? I really need the pay.”
He hesitated for a moment, then finally said, “Sure. I don’t see a problem. All your paperwork is in and processed. Just make sure everything’s locked up tight when you leave.”
He’d given her a small ring of keys earlier. “Will do. Thanks again for the job, I’ll be back in time to begin my shift.”
“Call my office if you need anything or run into problems.”
She nodded. He walked to his shiny silver truck and she to the old green Fiesta she was driving to fit the role she was playing: a down-on-her-luck lady custodian. She decided to drive down Main Street before heading back to her motel room. The building housing her prey, a place called the Sutton Hotel, was easy to find. In fact, everything in Henry Adams was easy to find: the school, the church, the recreation center, a diner called the Dog and Cow, were all located within feet of each other on both sides of the street. Surrounding the buildings were acres and acres of flat, wide-open, undeveloped Kansas countryside, and that was a problem. Often after a job, escaping depended upon melting into dense traffic, crowded buildings, hordes on the sidewalks. There was none of those things in Henry Adams, so a night plan might have to be used. Another issue. There were no tall building to hide an armed sniper. But the most surprising complication lay with the security setup. The surveillance-equipment detection software on her phone was beeping like mad. The place seemed blanketed with it. Why would such a small town be outfitted with sophisticated electronic bling? She’d done a Google search of the town and its website and chuckled upon finding a job opening at the school. Piece of cake, she’d said to herself, but now, knowing that Big Brother had eyes in the sky, the cake wasn’t as tasty. She’d been in this business for almost a decade and the challenge of it was still a rush. Taking out the targets was going to be a task requiring thoughtful planning, and possibly a bit of luck. But she always got the job done.
The students of Marie Jefferson gathered outside at the picnic tables for lunch. “So, what do you think?” Amari asked, removing his pastrami sandwich from his backpack.
Preston withdrew his own sandwich and a small ziplock bag of carrot sticks. “About what?”
“Mr. Abbott.”
Leah sipped her juice. “He’s cute.”
Preston’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
She tossed back, “Hey, if you can drool over Beyoncé, I can do the same over Mr. Abbott.”
Amari smiled and wondered what Brain and Leah would be like as a couple when they were old and gray. To bring the conversation back to the issue at hand, he said, “Other than his cuteness, what do you think?”
Leah replied, “Too soon to tell. I like him, though.”
Zoey said, “I like his accent.”
Devon countered, “He sounds like that skunk on those old Bugs Bunny cartoons. You know the one always trying to kiss the cat.”
Zoey rolled her eyes. “No, he doesn’t. You’ve got an accent too, you know, and so do I.”
Leah’s sister, Tiffany, said, “He seems nice. He hasn’t yelled at anybody.”
“Looked a little lost,” Wyatt added.
“He’s new,” Lucas sagely pointed out. “Just like me and my sister, Jaz.”
Amari thought the new kid had a point. Lucas and his little sister, Jasmine, came to live in Henry Adams this summer and were being fostered by Wyatt’s grandmother, Ms. Gemma. Amari was still trying to figure Lucas out. He rarely spoke, which led Amari to believe there was some deep thinking going on inside.
Devon boasted, “Last night, I told OG he should have to paint the fence for stealing.”
Preston said, “Quit lying.”
“I’m not lying. Ask Amari.”
Skeptical eyes turned his way and Amari grudgingly nodded.
The skepticism morphed into surprised amazement.
“What did he say?” Leah asked.
“Nothing,” Devon said. “My dad told me to let it go. When I made a face, Mom said if I couldn’t let it go, I should leave the table, so I picked up my plate and left. Didn’t I, Amari?”
Jaws dropped, and every eye turned Amari’s way again. He knew agreeing would only make Devon that much more of a jerk, but he couldn’t lie. “Yeah, he did.”
Devon added proudly, “And Amari backed me up. He got up, too.”
“I did
n’t do it to back you up. I got up for my own reasons.”
Devon asked, “What reasons?”
“None of your business.” Sullen, Amari bit into his sandwich. He was still processing his feelings about what OG had done, but he wasn’t sharing any of it with Devon’s pain-in-the-butt behind. He might with Brain, but Devon? Not a chance.
Everyone continued to stare, so he asked coolly, “Do I look like I’m in a cage at the zoo?”
Eyes quickly dropped.
“Thank you.”
A few minutes of silence passed before Preston said, “The adults aren’t going to make him paint the fence.”
Zoey agreed. “Nope. Not going to happen. That’s just for us kids.”
Devon said self-importantly, “I’m going to talk to Tamar about it.”
That drew another Zoey eye roll. “Yeah, right.”
“Bet you five dollars I will.”
“Bet you don’t even have five dollars.”
Snickering followed that.
Having been smacked down by Zoey more than once, Devon shut up, which suited Amari just fine. Truthfully, he thought maybe OG should be painting the fence too, but he didn’t want to say that out loud. Knowing his grandfather was a thief had him torn between disappointment and anger. Not to mention the embarrassment of knowing everyone in town was whispering about it. Amari felt the OG’d dirtied the July name. Granted, the family did rob trains back in the day, but they never stole from the people they cared about, and certainly never helped themselves to money owned by the town. And even he hadn’t stolen a car since the disastrous night he tried to help Crystal find her birth mom. Talking to Tamar might be a good idea, but without Devon.
Upon returning to the classroom, they took their seats. On Monday afternoons, Mr. James usually let the rest of the day be Montessori time, which meant you could do anything you wanted if it was education related. You could free-read, or head to the art room, work on homework, use the computers to check out approved sites like National Geographic, museums like the Smithsonian, and the new National Museum of African American Heritage and Culture, or sites such as NASA—where Preston’s birth mom worked as an astrophysicist. Mr. James said it fostered independent learning, a skill they’d need as they grew into adults. Since doing a project a few years ago on the Jacob Lawrence paintings of the Haitian revolution, Amari had a growing interest in other cultures, and he spent his Montessori time reading up on people who lived in faraway countries like China, Botswana, and Brazil, and in places he knew nothing about like Iceland and Paraguay. He enjoyed checking out what the people looked like, how they dressed, and stuff like their churches, religions, and what they ate.
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