by Linda Reilly
The second she unlocked the door, a furry calico ball launched itself at her. Talia scooped Bo into her arms and pressed her face into the cat’s fur. Bo clearly sensed something was amiss because her purring ceased. The cat rubbed her whiskers against Talia’s cheek, a soft pillow of comfort.
“Oh, Bo,” Talia mumbled over her sniffles. “I just thought of something. How will I ever tell Martha?”
5
Martha slammed the knife into a thick head of cabbage, sending a loud thunk reverberating from the cutting board.
Talia cringed at the sound, but she knew Martha’s heart was aching. No doubt her employee was picturing the poor cabbage as the neck of the lowlife who’d hurt Lucas.
Finally, Martha set down the knife. She looked at Talia through red-rimmed eyes. “I can’t take it anymore. Can we try calling again?”
Talia suppressed a groan. They’d been taking turns calling the hospital, trying to get a handle on Lucas’s condition. Each time they’d been referred to a police representative, and each time they’d been told nothing.
Nothing useful, anyway. Instead, the responding officer had asked why they were calling and insisted on taking their names.
“They won’t tell us anything, Martha. We’d just be torturing ourselves.” Talia went over and squeezed Martha’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but we have to be patient. For Lucas’s sake.” And his safety, she thought to herself.
The morning paper had reported that Lucas, the apparent witness to Norma’s brutal murder, remained in critical condition. Just seeing that word—critical—had sent Talia into another crying jag.
For the remainder of the morning, they made it through the usual tasks of peeling potatoes, preparing mushy peas and coleslaw, and whipping up the batter variations used for the different menu items. It was Lucas who usually peeled the potatoes. With his large hands, he made short work of the task. Talia smiled, remembering when she’d first hired him as a part-time employee. His peeling technique had been clumsy at best. Every day he’d dropped at least three potatoes. Once he got the hang of it, though, he could do it in his sleep.
Oh, Lucas, you have to get better. Talia sent him the silent message, along with a prayer to every deity known to the human race.
At eleven thirty, Talia unlocked the door and opened for business. After only a minute or so, Crystal came rushing inside. Her petite face was blotchy, and her eyes were puffy behind her ruby-tinted glasses. She whipped off her specs and with one fist scrubbed at her left eye.
One glance at Crystal’s forlorn face sent Talia over to give her a hug.
“Have you heard anything?” Crystal said through her sniffles.
“’Fraid not.” Talia shook her head. She knew Crystal was referring to Lucas.
“Molly is a mess.” Crystal plunked herself into a chair at one of the tables. “She blames herself for what happened to Lucas. If she hadn’t said she was cold, he wouldn’t have gone for a sweater. And then he wouldn’t have . . . have . . .”
“Crystal, don’t go there,” Talia said. “The only person to blame for Lucas’s condition is the creep who hurt him!”
“I know. I told Molly that, and so did her mother. Poor kid, she still feels like it’s all her fault.”
Talia blew out a sigh. In truth, she’d probably have felt the same way if she were Molly. Why was it that the innocent always wanted to take the blame for the guilty?
“Just a heads-up,” Crystal said, her voice taut. “The police have been questioning me repeatedly. They”—she swallowed—“they think I might have had something to do with the murder.”
“What? But . . . why? That is such nonsense!”
“I know.” Crystal looked away, her gaze unfocused. “They’ve already gotten a warrant to look into my finances. Which, I’m afraid, are not in the best shape.”
“Everyone has debt, Crystal. Besides, why would killing Norma—” Talia broke off, instantly answering her own question. “They figure you were second in line for the prize money, don’t they?” she said quietly.
Crystal nodded miserably.
Talia placed her hand over Crystal’s beringed left hand. “But that’s so crazy. It’s just . . . grasping at straws!”
“I know, but what can I do? I answered their questions as best I could, but . . .” Crystal slid her fingers underneath her glasses and blotted her eyes.
Talia grabbed some napkins from the speckled blue counter and shoved them at her. “Here, use these.”
“Thanks.” Crystal snatched up a handful. “And of course Audrey’s acting weirder than ever,” Crystal lamented, dabbing at her eyes. “I can’t even talk to her anymore!”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Talia said. Not knowing what was going on with Audrey, what else could she say?
“I actually came over to pick up some lunch for the three of us,” Crystal said at last. “Not that Molly and Audrey are hungry, but I told them they have to eat. As for me, that’s what I do when I’m worried: I eat.”
“It’s a natural reaction to stress,” Talia said, “so stop beating yourself up. Eating is good for the soul.”
With Martha’s help, she whipped up an order of fish and chips for Crystal, along with a selection of deep-fried appetizers. Talia knew Molly loved the eatery’s batter-fried meatballs with marinara sauce. She prepared an extra half dozen of them and stuck them into the take-out bag with Crystal’s order.
After Crystal left, lunch orders started to pour in. Talia hated having to refuse delivery, but with Lucas out of commission she had no choice. Her customers, fortunately, were more than understanding. Everyone expressed their good wishes for Lucas’s speedy recovery.
If he recovers, Talia thought glumly.
An elderly woman with soft white curls tottered up to the counter with her order. Her already rouged cheeks grew even pinker. “I’m so sorry, miss, but I ordered a side of coleslaw with this. I seem to have gotten these mashed peas instead. Not that I don’t like peas, mind you, but I was so looking forward to that delicious slaw. No one else makes it the way you do.”
Talia smiled at her. “I’m very sorry. Keep the mushy peas, and I’ll bring you some slaw right away.”
She knew Martha had messed up the order, but she certainly wouldn’t fault her for it. Martha’s heart was breaking for Lucas, as was Talia’s.
Talia delivered a large helping of slaw to the woman’s table and was rewarded with a grateful smile. By two thirty, the bulk of the lunch customers had trickled off. Martha sat down at the circular table that was tucked out of sight at the back of the kitchen.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Talia poured herself a cup of coffee, dumped in a dollop of half-and-half, and joined her.
Martha shook her head. “Can’t. The thought of putting food in my mouth makes me want to vomit.” Her fierce gaze met Talia’s. “You have to do something, Talia. You have to figure out who did this to Lucas.”
Talia’s insides churned. “Me? I don’t work for the police. How can I help?”
“Seriously? You solved two other murders for them, didn’t you? I was only here for one of them, but everyone in town knows you were the star investigator.”
Inwardly, Talia groaned. “Martha, you’ve got it all wrong. Both times it was just happenstance. Sheer serendipity.”
“Yeah, right.” Martha curled her lip. “I’ve heard you say it all before. Right place, right time. Or wrong place, wrong time . . . whatever.”
“Yes—exactly!”
“Well, if you think I believe that for even a second, then you can kiss my a—”
“Martha.”
“I was going to say ‘my aunt Fanny.’” She gave Talia an indignant look.
“You know what’s really sad?” Talia shot back. “All we’ve talked about is Lucas, but an elderly woman was murdered. Right here, in this lovely, quiet little town, where I grew up feeling safe and secure. It’s an outrage, all of it!”
Martha paused and then sat back and gave Talia a smug loo
k. “You’re quite right,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. The challenge in her gray eyes was unmistakable. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Talia wagged a finger at her. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to trick me into investigating the murder.” She thought about Detective Prescott’s warning. “Besides, I’ve already been cautioned by my favorite detective against sticking my nose into other people’s business. She said she’d better not hear about me asking any questions, or she’ll have my butt thrown in the pokey.”
Martha sat back and gave her an enigmatic smile. “So? Who says she has to hear about it?”
• • •
A little after three, Molly poked her head inside the door and glanced around. “Oh good, no one’s here,” she said, stepping inside.
Talia smiled from behind the counter, where she was tidying up the workstation. Martha had asked Talia if she could walk over to Saint Agatha’s Church to say a few prayers for Lucas and maybe light a candle for him. Naturally, Talia had said yes. “Well, it’s not actually good that I don’t have customers,” she joked, then turned serious. “You holding up okay?”
“I guess so.” Molly gathered up her loose hair and tossed it behind her. It was the first time Talia had seen her without her pretty French braid. The young woman’s eyes were puffy, and her face was pale, save for a few peeling remnants of sunburn on her nose. She went over to the blue speckled counter and leaned her elbows on it.
“Why don’t you help yourself to a root beer?” Talia dipped her chin toward the cooler near the front of the eatery. “My treat today.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll take you up on that.” With a solemn look, Molly went over and pulled a bottle of her favorite drink from the cooler. “I just came over to get away for a few minutes. Between Crystal and Mom, I was going a little cray-cray.” She twisted off the top of her drink and took a long swig. “By the way, thanks for the meatballs. They really hit the spot earlier. I’m gonna miss this place once I’m back at school.”
Talia smiled. Though it made her feel like a grade-schooler, she couldn’t help being pumped when someone praised her food.
Molly’s expression darkened, tears forming on her lashes. “I can’t stop thinking about Lucas, Talia,” she said in a shaky voice. “He’s in that hospital bed because of me! If he hadn’t gone out to his car to get me a sweater—”
“Molly,” Talia said, in a gentle voice. “What happened to Lucas was not your fault. The person who hurt him is to blame, not you.”
“In my head I know that, but . . .” Molly shook her head. “Oh God, I wish I could rewind the clock. I wish I could go back to that moment when we were sitting on the bleachers. I never would’ve let on that I was chilly.” She sniffled. “Worst of all, I knew he had a crush on me. Even though I know he’s too young for me, I was having fun flirting with him. I’m a terrible, terrible person, aren’t I?”
“You are a kind and caring person, so stop beating yourself up.” Talia heard the door open and glanced up.
“There you are,” Audrey said, striding over to her daughter.
Molly rolled her eyes at Talia. “What did you think, I ran away?” she snapped at her mom.
“There’s no need for attitude, young lady.” Audrey twisted her hands. “I just wanted to be sure you were all right.”
Molly slugged back another gulp of root beer. “Thank you for the drink, Talia. I’m going to head back to the shop to help Crystal.”
She left without another word. Audrey closed her eyes for a moment and then looked at Talia, her expression a combination of bewilderment and sorrow.
“I’m sorry, Talia. You shouldn’t have to listen to our family squabbles.” She smiled, but tears perched on her lashes.
Talia went over and gave Audrey a long hug. “She’s hurting, Audrey. She blames herself for what happened to Lucas.” And you’re hurting, she wanted to add. “What’s really wrong, Audrey?”
Audrey swallowed. “I know how people talk, so I wanted to tell you something before you heard it from someone else.”
Talia waited. She could see that Audrey was trying to work up the courage to reveal whatever it was she had to say.
“Is it okay if I sit for a minute?”
“Of course it is.” Talia led her over to one of the tables, and they both sat.
Audrey folded her hands in her lap. “I knew Norma, you know. From way back.”
“You did?”
Audrey nodded, her gaze unfocused. “She worked in the cafeteria when I was at Wrensdale High. You’re about five years younger than me, so she might’ve been gone by the time you were in high school. Anyway, she was a horrible woman. All the kids hated her.”
Talia frowned. “What was horrible about her?”
“Oh, she was always spreading gossip, pitting one kid against another. I think she wished she was a teenager herself, so she tried to act like one of them, you know?” Audrey swiped at her eyes. “She’d pass notes to kids over the cafeteria counter. Snitch on them. Stuff like that.”
“What kind of snitching?”
Audrey’s eyes took on a hard sheen. “Oh, you know, if she saw a girl flirting with someone other than the guy she was going steady with, she’d pass a note to the guy over his chili con carne and squeal on her.”
Childish, Talia thought, but not exactly earth-shattering. “It sounds like pretty minor-league stuff,” Talia said, “even though it was mean.”
“It hurt a lot of the kids’ feelings,” Audrey said. “The more trouble she could cause, the better she liked it. It got so everyone hated her.”
Talia was surprised at the revelation. Norma had given the impression of being afraid of her own shadow—a scared little mouse that shrank into the shrubbery to avoid being noticed. Still, she didn’t see Audrey as the kind of person who exaggerated. She’d always been pretty straightforward.
“Audrey, did you notice Wesley Thurman’s reaction when Norma stepped onto the stage? He looked . . . almost enraged. It was like he recognized her from somewhere.”
Audrey flushed to the tips of her delicate ears. “No, I wasn’t really paying much attention. The whole thing bored me, to tell the truth. I was only there to support Crystal, and you. Plus, Molly would’ve been ticked if I hadn’t gone.”
“So you don’t know why Wesley would have reacted that way?”
“No.” Audrey gave her a cross look. “Why would I know?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be pushy. I just think the police should be focusing their investigation on him, not on—” She broke off, remembering Prescott’s warning not to discuss anything with anyone. “Not on the other people who finaled in the competition,” she finished.
“I agree,” Audrey said, “and I’m sorry I sniped at you.”
“Audrey,” Talia said gently, “I’ve been sensing that you’re under a lot of pressure. I don’t want to pry, but if there’s anything I can do—”
“You don’t want to pry?” Audrey barked out a laugh. “Please. From what I hear, you’re quite a pro at it.”
Ouch. That stung. Talia tried to think of a retort, but nothing would come out. Nothing polite, anyway.
“Oh God, Talia. I’m so sorry. You’re the last person I should be taking out my frustrations on. You’ve been so wonderful to Crystal and me ever since we opened the cooking store.”
Talia felt mildly pacified, but the remark still hurt. “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. I can tell you’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
Audrey nodded. “Molly and I have been arguing a lot. Mostly about dumb things. She’s going to be a senior in college this year. I can’t help feeling that she’s slipping away from me.”
“My folks felt that way about me, too,” Talia said. “It’s a normal feeling.”
“And look at you today.” Audrey smiled, and her pale brown eyes glistened. “Thanks. I feel a little better. Guess I should head back to see if anyone needs me. Although, truth be told . . .” She shook he
r head.
“What is it?” Talia asked.
“We . . . haven’t had a single customer today. Crystal thinks it’s because of her, that people think she might’ve killed Norma.”
“For the prize money?”
Audrey shrugged. “I guess so. Or maybe they just think the shop is bad luck.”
Talia remembered Martha’s warning about the place being cursed.
For the first time, Talia wondered if she was right.
6
Martha returned shortly after Audrey left. With her drooping shoulders and mouth turned down in a frown, she looked more forlorn than ever.
Orders started to come in, and the tables began to fill. Ever since the July Fourth holiday had rolled around, Talia had noticed an uptick in customers. Summers in the Berkshires were lively with visitors. The area was famed for summer theater, as well as for the fabulous concerts—both classical and contemporary—held at Tanglewood in Lenox. It wasn’t unusual to spy the face of a legendary music star—some of whom had homes in the Berkshires—prowling the shelves of a local gift shop or enjoying the daily special at the diner.
The Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge also attracted scads of tourists every year and even held painting workshops for aspiring artists. The outlet shops, located a stone’s throw from the turnpike, didn’t hurt, either.
All of it translated to new business for Fry Me, which was why Talia forced herself to put on a happy face, no matter how sad the face inside her heart felt. As for Martha, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make herself smile at the customers. Talia tried to make up for it by pasting on fake grins for everyone, but she felt like a clown doing it.
At quarter to seven, Talia’s phone buzzed with a text from Detective Prescott. She wanted to stop over around closing time to have a little confab with Talia.
See you then, Talia texted her back.
“Try to get a good night’s rest,” Talia said to Martha as they were closing up. It was a hollow statement, but she didn’t know what else to say.