by Jeff Shelby
“And you told me one time how badly your knees were hurting from all the walking,” Elsa said. Her voice was stronger, louder, now. “From the back and forth and having to go around.”
“You asked me one time about adding doors,” Bjorn said, rubbing at his chin, watching her. “To cut through. I told you I couldn't do it because of the kitchen, that it would've created a code violation in there.”
“So I'm lazy,” she said. “So what?”
“So if Bjorn had to close Big Mama's, the space would be available and you'd take it,” I said, putting all the pieces together. “And you were all over those rumors on the message boards about him already selling. Even when he had no plans to do so.”
She started to say something, then grimaced and waved a hand at Bjorn. “If you weren't so stubborn, I would've paid you a pretty penny for this place!”
“It's not for sale,” Bjorn said.
“I'm aware!” Wilma spat. Her face contorted into an ugly sneer, making her look like a sinister clown. “I'm aware! You and your stupid old tacos! Both of my salons smell like a burrito factory all the time!”
“It's not for sale,” Bjorn said, louder, more defensive than ever.
“Which is why I had to shut you down!” Wilma yelled.
Elsa gasped.
Ted stood up straighter.
Arnold turned to look at Bjorn.
Bjorn's hands were balled into fists, his jaw set firmly.
I just stood there, my mouth open, my eyes locked on her.
“You were too stupid to take the hint,” Wilma said, flicking her hand in his direction. “All the subtle hints I'd made to you about retiring early. I need this space. I need it! But you weren't getting the hint.” She patted her hair and took a deep breath. “So I had to take...some action.”
“So you poisoned me?” Ted asked, disbelieving.
“I didn't mean for it to go to you specifically, Ted,” she said, as if he was being ridiculous.
“Someone else then?” I asked.
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you people. No! I didn't target anyone! I was just trying to...stir things up.”
“By killing people?” Bjorn asked, bewildered. “In my restaurant?”
“Oh, please,” she said, flicking her hand at him again. “Don't be so dramatic. It wasn't going to kill anyone. Just upset their tummy a little bit.” She glanced at Ted. “Sorry about that.”
“So you did it?” I asked. “You did it so Bjorn would sell to you?”
“Yes, and he'd be a fool not to sell to me now,” she said, unapologetically. She pointed to the back of the restaurant. “This place is gathering dust. And I'll make you a fair offer, Bjorn. I really will.”
“Never!” he yelled. “Not ever to you!”
She frowned. “That seems foolish, honey. I'd rethink that.”
Ted moved Elsa to the side. “Wilma, I'm going to need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “You can’t be serious.”
He unclipped the handcuffs from his belt. “I'm afraid I am.”
“You're arresting me?” Her expression was one of unabashed disbelief. “On what charge?”
“You tampered with Bjorn's food,” he told her. “You endangered his customers. And you just admitted that you did it with an eye toward harming his business. Those are criminal actions, and I'm going to have to arrest you.”
She frowned at him. “That's insane, Ted. You know me. I'm not a criminal.”
“Said the criminal!” Bjorn yelled.
“I've got the cash,” she said to him. Despite everything that was going on and the trouble that she was in, she was still trying to close the deal. “I can pay cash.”
“Never!”
Wilma shrugged, trying to look nonplussed, but her lips were set tight and a muscle twitched in her jaw. She looked at Ted. “But I am most certainly not going to jail.”
“Wilma, please turn around and place your hands behind your back,” Ted said again.
She stared at him for a moment.
And then it finally hit her.
Panic seized her expression and she went rigid, looking at each us for help. “I...I just wanted my salon to grow. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. Surely, we can work this out.”
“Please turn around,” Ted said.
“I can't go to jail,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to run the salon. I'm not a criminal.”
“Wilma, please.”
“You'll never take me alive!” she said, shoving past me and lunging for the door.
I stumbled to the counter and turned around.
Everyone else was standing still, even Ted, unsure of what to do.
So I grabbed the box of greasy tacos Arnold brought.
And threw them toward her.
The box hit the floor in front of her, exploding the meat and cheese and grease inside, spilling it everywhere. Wilma's front foot hit the food and slid forward, taking her legs out from under her, like a cartoon character stepping on a banana peel. She rose up in the air and landed flat on her back, the taco shells crunching beneath her.
Ted hustled over and helped her up, reading her her rights as he did so. She got slowly to her feet, her hair now askew, a dazed look in her eyes.
Then she started sobbing.
“All of my dreams,” she blubbered. “Gone.” She looked around the restaurant. “Wilma's World would've been amazing. Amazing!”
Ted hooked the cuffs around her wrists.
She looked at each of us, saving her most vitriolic look for Bjorn as Ted ushered her through the door. “I'll never eat another taco as long as I live!”
THIRTY FOUR
“Well, this is different,” Jake said.
It was two days later. Wilma had been arrested and charged. Word about her arrest had circulated around town like wildfire. The message boards on the Internet exploded with the story, and people had rallied around both Bjorn Born and Big Mama's. He'd called earlier, asking Emily to come in to work an extra shift as they were so busy. She'd hustled in and we'd gathered the kids a little later to walk over for dinner.
The line out the door of Big Mama's was at least thirty deep. My heart swelled at the sight.
“Oh my god,” Will lamented. “We're never gonna get food.”
“We'll be fine,” I told him as we crossed the street. “We can wait a little bit.”
“Can I go find Emily?” Grace asked. She was bouncing on her toes, eager to take off.
“You can go find her, but don't bother her,” I said, a warning that I was sure had fallen on deaf ears.
She pulled on Sophie's hand and they scurried around the line and disappeared into the restaurant.
“Bjorn called me today, too,” Will said.
“Really?” Jake asked. “Why did he do that?”
“I applied online,” he said. “To wash dishes. He interviewed me over the phone. He wants me to start next week.”
Jake held up his hand and Will slapped it.
“Emily's gonna be thrilled,” Will said, grinning.
“Please tell me you did not just take this job to make her unhappy,” I said.
“No, that's just like an extra benefit,” he explained. The grin was still on his face. “It's like getting a bonus before I've even started.”
I shook my head.
“Looks like Wilma's all done,” Jake said, nudging me.
I turned to look in the window of the nail salon. The lights were off and a sign indicating they were closed indefinitely hung against the glass. I'd seen the same thing on the other side of Big Mama's in her hair salon.
I shrugged. “Karma has a way of biting back at you.”
Jake nodded.
I didn’t feel bad for Wilma. She’d made some poor choices, and had let her aspirations and ambitions cloud her judgment. I still couldn’t believe that she thought poisoning Bjorn’s customers was the best way to get her hands on his busin
ess. It had been dangerous, obviously, but it had also been reckless and just downright foolish. I didn’t want to consider the possibilities of what might have happened: if Ted had died, or if someone else had eaten the poisoned food and died. If the restaurant had closed and been sold, putting Bjorn out of business and my own daughter out of a job. But more importantly, forever altering Moose River’s downtown.
Moose River’s downtown had still been altered, of course. Everyone knew what had happened. But instead of tearing the community apart, the revelation of what really happened, along with Wilma’s arrest, had brought the community together.
Now that was the kind of karma I could get behind.
A small cheer went up at the front of the line and Bjorn emerged from the crowd with a serving tray of mini- tacos, encouraging the people in line to take one while they waited. His eyes lit up when I waved at him and he made his way down the line to us.
“Daisy!” he exclaimed. “So lovely to see you!”
Gone was his dejected countenance, replaced by an enthusiasm I wasn't sure I'd ever seen from him.
He smiled at Will. “And my newest employee!”
Will held up a hand in awkward greeting. My confident, outspoken son looked almost bashful.
He pushed the platter in our direction. “Eat, eat. I'm sorry you have to wait.”
Jake and I each took one of the mini-tacos.
“It's fine,” I told him. “It's a good thing, right?”
He nodded. “It's a great thing. A wonderful thing. I've never seen this many people in my restaurant. Thank you for helping me. I owe you a great debt.”
I held up the taco. “Just keep making these and we're even.”
Another small cheer went up from the front of the line and someone else emerged with another plate of tacos.
Arnold Eck was the last person I expected to see.
He came down the line to join Bjorn. “Did you tell them, Bjorn?”
“Tell us what?” Jake asked.
“That Bjorn and I are now working on a joint venture,” Arnold said, smiling.
“I have been a bit stubborn and perhaps dumb in my anger toward Arnold,” Bjorn confessed. “We have...decided to work things out.”
“How so?” I asked.
“I was contacted by a lawyer yesterday,” Arnold explained. “Representing the salons. They are for sale.”
“Already?” I asked.
Arnold nodded. “Apparently so. Wilma was deep in debt. She couldn't have bought Bjorn out anyway. With the legal fees she’s facing, she needs money and so she's selling her businesses.”
“So what does that have to do with you guys?” Jake asked.
I wondered the same thing. Were they going to open up Wilma’s World of Nails and Tacos?
“I came to tell Bjorn,” Arnold said. “I didn't feel right buying the salons. I think her lawyer thought I'd want to buy them to compete with him. But it didn't feel right. That's never what I wanted.”
“So I am buying them,” Bjorn said. “And we are going to partner together.”
“The two of you?” I asked, my eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Partners?”
Bjorn nodded. “Yes. As I said, I was being stubborn. Arnold came to tell me about the salons being for sale and we started talking. The truth is, I miss having Arnold around and he is an excellent cook. So I am going to buy the salons, we will knock down the walls and redesign everything. And Arnold and I will be equal partners in MP Tacos!” He paused and then added for clarification, “That stands for Mama and Papa’s Tacos, you know.”
They clapped each other on the back.
I marveled at the announcement. Wilma had done more than bring people back to Big Mama’s. She had done the impossible. She'd brought peace to Bjorn and Arnold. Maybe something good had come from what she'd done after all.
“That's wonderful to hear,” I told them both. “Congratulations.”
“It will take some time, of course,” Bjorn said. “But by next year?” He waved at the line. “There will be enough seating for all of these people!”
He and Arnold laughed, put their arms around each other's shoulders, and headed back inside.
“Wonders never cease,” Jake said, shoving the remainder of his taco into his mouth.
“This place is gonna be huge,” Will said. His look was cool, calculating, as he surveyed the crowd around us. “I'm gonna ask for a raise.”
“You haven't even started yet,” I reminded him.
He shrugged. “Aim high, right?”
“I will eat here every night if Arnold is doing the cooking,” Jake said dreamily. He pointed at my taco. “Those are amazing. Are you going to eat that?”
I handed it to him. “Every night? Don’t you remember where this conversation went the last time we talked about this?”
“I'm thinking of you,” he insisted, studying the taco before biting off half of it.
I cast a dubious glance at him. “How's that?”
“If we eat here every night, then that's less work for you,” he said. “No cooking, no cleaning up. And delicious tacos.”
“I still think I'm offended.”
“Don't be,” he said, finishing the other half of the taco. “Be flattered that I love you so much that I'm willing to eat tacos every night for you.”
“That feels self-indulgent.”
“It’s not,” he assured me.
But the twinkle in his eye and the wink that followed told me otherwise. I elbowed him and he wrapped me in a bear hug. His breath was hot in my ear when he whispered, “I would do anything for you. I would even not eat tacos ever again if that was what you wanted.” He nuzzled my neck.
“Now that’s a true testament to your love for me,” I said, smiling.
“Can I post that on the bulletin boards?” Will asked.
“Post what? That Jake just offered to never eat another taco again?” I nodded. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Written documentation.”
Jake squeezed me and nibbled my ear in protest.
“No,” Will said, rolling his eyes at me. “The fact that Bjorn is buying the salons.”
“I would ask him first,” I told him. “Don't just put it out there.”
“I'll go find him,” he said, charging off into the crowd. “I wanna be first to post it.”
We watched him get swallowed up by the line of taco-hungry customers.
“He'll probably end up running the place,” Jake said.
“Who? Arnold?”
“No. Will.”
“Ah.” I thought about this. “Always a possibility.”
“That would be a great thing,” Jake said.
“Running a restaurant at his age?” I said. “Well, yeah. Duh. All that experience. It would be amazing for a resume and for college.”
“That's not what I was talking about,” Jake said, shaking his head.
“You weren't? Then what do you mean?”
My husband grinned at me. “Guaranteed free tacos for life!”
THE END
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ONE
“Tell me you hate it.”
My hand tightened around my phone.
“Mom?” A pause. “Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” I said, a little guiltily.
Marcia McAdams, my real estate agent, stood next to me, the expectant smile on her face unable to mask the puzzlement in her expression. She held a thin manila folder in one manicured hand, a black leather briefcase in t
he other.
“Well?” Laura said.
I was standing in the middle of a one-hundred-year-old farmhouse. In the middle of five acres consisting of pasture, forest, and even a small pond. In the middle of Latney, a small, picturesque town tucked in the rolling hills of Central Virginia.
It was as far as I could be from my row house in Arlington. Far from the cramped and crowded streets of my old neighborhood, far from the clogged arteries of the Beltway, far from the hustle and bustle of DC.
And far from my adult daughter, who was currently quizzing me about my whereabouts.
And my intentions.
“Rainy?” Marcia stage whispered to me. She waved the manila folder that held the printouts of the properties she’d scheduled us to see.
I nodded and held up my finger, trying to buy a few minutes.
“Mother?”
“I’m here,” I repeated. My voice was laced with irritation this time, and Laura knew it.
“I just want an update,” she said. “Since you’re planning on moving hundreds of miles away from me.”
“It’s a hundred miles, not hundreds,” I told her. “And I haven’t made any decisions yet.” I glanced at Marcia, who was trying her hardest to not look like she was eavesdropping. “I’m just looking.”
Marcia’s shoulders stiffened a little.
“Where are you now?” Laura asked. “What property?”
I glanced around as if for confirmation.
Marcia and I were in the middle of the living room of the old farmhouse. Honeyed wood plank floors, weathered and scratched with age. White plastered walls, a beautiful brick fireplace. The windows were thick planes of glass, with old-fashioned cranks to open them, and the doors were still outfitted with skeleton keyholes. We’d walked through the rest of the house—the large, airy bedrooms upstairs, the bathroom with its claw-footed tub and ancient pedestal sink, the kitchen with surprisingly modern touches like a dishwasher and newer tile countertops—and had just decided to tour the other buildings on the property when Laura called.
“It’s one of the farmhouses,” I said.
“Well, duh.” I could almost see Laura roll her eyes. Brown eyes like her father’s that fired black when she was angry or upset. “All you’re touring are farmhouses. Hundreds of miles away from me.”