5 From the Grounds Up

by Sandra Balzo

  The woman was amazing. She probably baked the bread herself before hopping into the truck toward delivering it.

  'How did he do here?' I figured a supplier might have the inside line on the bottom line of their customers. Our vendors--especially our bean roaster--were as close to us as family. Closer.

  'I think he was just making it,' Tien said, sticking her head around the corner to check out the area behind the ticket counter. 'I know he was hoping the commuter line would more than bail him out. He said it could be a "goldmine".' The light in Tien's eyes as she toured the place indicated she thought the same.

  'But then his lease wasn't renewed.' As I said it, I glanced toward the door where Sarah and Ronny stood talking. I wanted Tien to be able to be honest, without worrying about insulting the family.

  I already had gotten Art Jenada's side: Kornell had talked Sarah's Auntie Vi into not renewing Jenada's lease, figuring that if anyone was going to make big bucks at Brookhills Junction, it was going to be Kornell.

  And then Kornell died.

  'Leases, what a racket.' Tien shook her head. 'The tenant pays upfront to build out the space and outfit it, and then pays back-end again to rent it.'

  A bit of a sore spot for both of us. In fact, for anyone who had been a tenant of our former landlord, the late and unlamented Way Benson.

  'Until the owners decide they want you out,' I agreed.

  'You can take your equipment and all.' Tien was in the kitchen now, opening the cupboard doors, checking out the cooler. 'But sometimes it's more expensive to move the stuff and retrofit your new space to accommodate it, than to simply start all over.'

  She was at the stove now. 'Gas, that's good.' She colored up. 'I'm sorry. Here I'm acting like this is my kitchen and I don't even know what you have in mind.'

  'That makes three of us,' I admitted. 'But Sarah and I certainly have no use for the kitchen, other than as a place to store pastries and milk and such.'

  I showed her Ronny's plan with the long counter and office added.

  'So you have no interest in a full-service restaurant?' she asked, after looking it over.

  As enticing as the idea was, I had known too many wannabe restaurateurs who had embraced that siren song. Owning a restaurant meant getting up early and working late. And then doing it all over again the next day. And the next, and the--you get the drill.

  Coffeehouse ownership was no picnic, but when I finished at six or seven p.m., I was done. Might even have time for a date. Oh, rapturous day.

  'A full-service restaurant? None,' I affirmed. 'But I would be interested in having packaged takeout meals that people could re-heat at home.'

  'Sure,' Tien said. 'Like Jacque at Schultz's Market. I picked up their turkey meatloaf the other day.' She made a little face.

  'Not good?' I was surprised. Schultz's had a terrific reputation.

  'Not as good as mine,' Tien said, her smile lighting up the room. 'I think we could give Jacque a real run for it.'

  Even more reason to make the effort. Jacque Oui, owner of Schultz's, would benefit from being taken down a few notches.

  'I could even make pastries for you.' Tien had pulled out her checkbook and was making notes on the deposit slips at the back.

  Her enthusiasm was contagious. 'That would be great,' I said, thinking about our customers' reaction to getting baked goods still warm from the oven. 'And everything at night should be packaged and ready-to-go,' I said, 'so people can get off the trains—'

  'Disembark,' Tien offered.

  'Yes, disembark, grab what they want and head out.'

  'Convenience is everything!' Tien dropped her checkbook, practically clapping her hands.

  I held up my own, palms toward her. 'Now we need to take this one step at a time. I don't know how much we'll sell or how long it will take to catch on.'

  Tien didn't even slow down. 'We can have sandwiches, too, that people can take with them in the morning toward lunch at their desks. I'll make the bread and Kaiser rolls for the sandwiches and the soup, too. Maybe we can find cups that can go straight into the microwave at work.'

  She retrieved the checkbook and made another note, then skipped to the next deposit slip. Like me, she probably didn't have that much use for them these days, anyway.

  'Can you really do all this?' I asked. 'You're only one person.'

  A grin. 'Something tells me my dad might change his mind down the road.'

  'How far down the road?'

  'About half a block,' Tien said. 'He's going to love this idea.'

  'I thought he wanted to retire?'

  'He wants me to be in charge of my life.' She shrugged. 'I'll tell him I'm the boss and he works for me.'

  A laugh came from behind us. 'You've been the boss from the moment you were born, at least with that father of yours,' Sarah said, joining us in the kitchen.

  Tien put her finger up to her lips. 'Shh. He hasn't figured it out yet.'

  'Where did Ronny go?' I asked, peeking around the corner.

  'He ran over to Brookhills Manor to pick up the rest of Kornell and Auntie Vi's things. So, did you two come up with a plan?'

  Tien and I looked at each other.

  'Perhaps too many plans,' Tien said. 'But don't worry, I'll scale down what we talked about,' she patted her checkbook, 'and put together a "starter menu". Then we'll go from there.'

  'Do more of what works and less of what doesn't,' I said.

  Tien laughed. 'Got it.'

  From what I'd been able to tell, there was no rhyme or reason to the gourmet coffee business. Assume you'll sell hot coffee on a winter's day and you can be sure you'll run out of ice for the cold drinks.

  I was looking at the revised kitchen plan in my hands. 'Hmm.'

  'What?' Sarah asked.

  I stood in the center of the room and stretched my arms out wide. 'This is a pretty big room, but once we take out space for the office and a storeroom, it might get a little tight for all of us.'

  I nodded at Tien. 'We won't be in the kitchen for long periods, but we will need to be in and out. Is that a problem?'

  Tien tapped her pen on her makeshift pad as she surveyed the kitchen.

  'I've got it!' she said. 'You close at six, right?'

  'Well, we did.' I looked at Sarah apologetically. 'You and I haven't talked about this yet, but we may have to stay open later for the last train if we plan to sell the commuters an easy dinner.'

  'The last train is scheduled to arrive here at six thirty,' Sarah said. 'We could close at seven.'

  'Makes sense.' I turned to Tien. 'Why do you ask?'

  'I'll work nights. That way I'll have the kitchen to myself and all the food cooked and packaged when you get in the next morning.'

  Beautiful. In fact, everything was coming together perfectly. Even as I had the thought, though, I knew I was daring fate to, as Sarah put it so pithily, smack me in the ass.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The crash came not ten minutes later.

  Sarah was the first one to the front door. She stopped dead at the threshold. Tien piled into her and I piled into Tien.

  'What?' I struggled to peer over Tien's shoulder and around Sarah.

  And then I saw it. A car. Not just any car, but a Firebird. A 1975, lemon-yellow Firebird.

  It was nose-up on what was left of the porch steps, winged insignia not eight inches from where its owner was standing.

  Sarah cried like someone who didn't know how.

  The sobs were more like strangling noises. In fact, at first I thought she was having a heart attack as Tien and I edged around her to the side of the deck Ronny had repaired.

  He'd have to do it again.

  'Are you OK? I asked.

  'Call nine-one-one,' Sarah gasped.

  'What is it, chest pains?'

  'Not for me, you idiot. For him.' She nodded to the car. A little string of snot dangled from Sarah's nose like a syrupy icicle.

  'Sniff,' I said.

  'Sniff?'

  'You
've got . . . mucus coming out of your nose.'

  'I've got "mucus" coming out of my nose?' She advanced on me. 'My Firebird, the love of my life, is permanently planted in the depot.' She had me backed up against the wall and we were toe-to-toe. 'And you're worried about my nose running?'

  'I'll call nine-one-one,' I said, and slipped away, climbing over the rail and dropping to the ground four feet below.

  Abject terror makes fools of all of us.

  I landed hard on my hands and knees. I hadn't gone inside to call, partly because Sarah stood between me and the door, but mainly because the depot didn't have a working landline. And I had no idea where my handbag and cellphone were.

  I tried the florist shop next door.

  The 'Closed' sign was still up and when I peered through the window, the place looked deserted. Only a counter and, in the center of that counter, a planter shaped like a cow. The orange and green plants in it were still bright, the arrangement obviously artificial. And just plug ugly.

  'No wonder they went out of business,' I muttered.

  It wasn't good news that we had an empty storefront next to us, but I had a hunch it wouldn't lie fallow for long.

  But that didn't help me now.

  On the other side of the street was PartyPeople. I stepped out to cross, and almost became the hood ornament for a Lexus SUV. I would have asked the soccer mom driving it to call for help on her cell, but she was already busy texting. She did a double-take as she passed the Firebird on the steps to the station, but drove on.

  Art Jenada didn't answer the door when I pounded. No hours were posted, but I assumed his work as a caterer didn't require regular 'open' hours for the public.

  As I stepped off his front stoop, Rebecca Penn jogged across the road from the direction of the florist shop. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and had a bottle of water in her hand. Despite that, the woman didn't seem to have broken a sweat.

  Disgusting.

  'What happened?' she called, dark ponytail bobbing as she pulled up in front of Penn and Ink. 'Is everyone OK?'

  As I opened my mouth to explain, Jenada pulled open his door, finally. 'I'm in the middle of baking one-hundred-fifty dinner biscuits,' he said, smacking flour off his hands. 'What do you want?'

  I pointed to the depot and Jenada stepped out. 'Whoa. What happened?'

  'The parking brake on Sarah's car must have given out.' I said. 'Our phone isn't working. Can somebody call nine-one-one?'

  'I will,' Rebecca volunteered and disappeared into her studio.

  'Don't you need to get back to your baking?' I asked Jenada, who hadn't budged.

  'Hell, no,' he said. 'The biscuits'll keep. I've got to see this.'

  We crossed back to the depot. Sarah and Tien were nowhere in sight.

  'Jesus,' Jenada said, surveying the damage. 'Where did she have the thing parked, on the tracks?'

  'Got me.'

  But I saw what Jenada meant. To fit the trajectory the car had taken, it would have had to come from the artificial rise supporting the train rails on the other side of the street.

  Craning my neck, I could see that there was a gravel apron on the crest between Christy's piano studio and the railroad bed. I wouldn't put it past Sarah to have snugged her beloved car up there rather than risk parking it on the street.

  As Art and I approached the porch, he took off his flour-covered apron and hung it over the rail. Then he stepped back to survey the scene, hands on hips. 'Holy shit, you're going to have to repair this whole section of porch. That's after you get a tow truck in here to pull the car out. It'll cost a fortune. '

  He said it with a little more delight than I'd have liked.

  I left him there and carefully climbed the stairs on the side where they were still somewhat intact. Inside the depot, I found Sarah sitting on a chair, breathing into a bag.

  Tien was standing over her. 'She started to hyperventilate, poor thing.'

  'Isn't that supposed to be a paper bag?' I indicated the plastic grocery bag, which was going in and out each time Sarah breathed like an ICU prop from a TV medical show.

  Sarah pulled it away from her mouth. 'Give me a twist tie and I'll finish the job,' she snarled.

  'Don't tempt me,' Tien muttered as Sarah returned to the bag.

  Then, more loudly. 'You have to relax, Sarah. It was just a car.'

  A long inhalation, that sucked the bag up against Sarah's face like she'd been laminated.

  I snatched it away. 'Stop it! The police are on their way and you have to talk to them.'

  It wasn't true so far I knew, but as soon as I said it, sirens started to wail in the distance. First I'd anticipated the crash and now this. I should be a fortune-teller. Or the Prophet of Doom.

  Sarah stood up, but grabbed the back of her chair as she wobbled a bit.

  Art chose that moment to finally come in, followed by Ronny, back from Brookhills Manor with his father and Vi's things.

  'What happened?' Ronny asked, setting the two Schultz's bags down to steady Sarah. 'Are you hurt, Cuz?'

  'Hurt?' Sarah snapped. 'Of course, I'm hurt. Deeply. Did you see my car?'

  'She wasn't in it,' I told Ronny. 'We were in the kitchen with Tien when we heard the crash. The parking brake must have given out.'

  'All his brakes were fine,' Sarah said, tearing up again. 'He was fine. We both were.' She collapsed into the chair again, sobbing.

  'He?' Jenada asked.

  'The Firebird,' Ronny told him as he awkwardly patted Sarah's shoulder.

  'They were very close,' I added.

  'Right.' Jenada cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Well, umm, I'm going to go. The police will take care of things from here.'

  Like he had been such a big help up to this point, gawking and exclaiming. Nonetheless, I stuck my hand out to him. 'Thanks for your help, Art. I'm looking forward to being neighbors.'

  'Yeah. Me, too.' Art shook my hand and took his leave.

  'He didn't sound like he meant that,' Tien said. She was jotting more notes on her checkbook's surplus deposit slips.

  'He doesn't.' The handshake had transferred flour from Art's hand to mine and I was looking around for something to wipe it on. I didn't find anything, but I did spot the handbag I must have dumped in the corner of the room. Since the bag cost more than my denims, I wiped the flour on my jeans and retrieved it.

  As I reached through the ticket window to set the bag down out of sight, I saw the plans I'd worked on after Sarah had left the night before.

  I beckoned Ronny over, just as the sirens cut off outside. 'Can you and Tien take a look at these? I made a couple of changes and maybe she'll have some more ideas.'

  I nodded toward Sarah, who was standing at the door, looking out. 'Your cousin and I should talk to the police.'

  The two of them obediently took the papers and went off to the kitchen. I joined Sarah .

  'Two fire trucks, an ambulance and two squad cars.' She turned back to look at me. 'You're in luck--they're town.'

  Both the municipal police and the county sheriff's department had jurisdiction in Brookhills. Manpower, the type of call and exactly where it was located all had a bearing on which entity responded.

  If the Brookhills Police were here, that meant I didn't have to worry about Pavlik showing up.

  'Good,' I said, hustling Sarah out. 'Let's get this over with.'

  'Hellooo.' I waved at the two uniformed officers. 'Car owner? Right here.' I pointed at Sarah.

  'Thanks, friend,' she muttered, but picked her way down the steps to speak to them.

  I remained on the porch to one side of the Firebird, trying to stay out of the way of the firefighters, who were charged with figuring out how to extricate Sarah's car from the superstructure of the depot. The discussion, though, seemed to center more on how it had gotten there.

  'You're telling me nobody was driving this buggy?' A firefighter, dark shaggy hair streaked with gray, thumped the fender.

  'Hands off,' Sarah snapped from down be
low. She'd been in deep conversation with the police officers, so I could only assume she had a telepathic link to the Firebird. Maybe she was the Prophet of Doom.

  'Hey, lady,' the firefighter said, holding up his arms. 'I'll be happy to, but I hope you have decorating ideas for this baby, because it's not coming out without some help.'

  'Let them look,' I heard one of the cops advise Sarah. 'If there's a way to get your car out without damage to the structure, they're your best bet.'

  'Structural damage?' I chirped from my perch.

  Startled, the cop looked up. 'Right. If there's damage to the building, no one will be going in or out until it's repaired and you get a new permit.'

  'Touch it all you want,' I called to the shaggy firefighter. 'Do you need help? A crowbar maybe?'

  The firefighter waved me off, but I did get a grin out of him. I sidled over. 'Is this something you guys can really do?'

  My thinking: Is this something that won't cost Uncommon Grounds II anything? In other words, our tax dollars at work.

  But he shook his head. 'We just advise. A tow-truck will do the actual work.'

  He looked at the hole in the deck the Firebird's front wheel had made. 'And it'll have to be the Godzilla of all tow-trucks.'

  'Hey, Brady,' a younger firefighter called. 'Check this out.'

  My guy--Brady, presumably--joined his colleague at the driver's side door. The younger firefighter was pointing at something. Then he licked his index finger and ducked into the Firebird. When he came out he sniffed his finger and waved it in front of Brady.

  Before the junior G-man could taste it, Brady grabbed his hand. 'Heckleman!'

  The police officer I'd spoken to looked up.

  'Got something here,' Brady said.

  I exchanged looks with Sarah as Heckleman climbed the stairs. He leaned into the car, then beckoned for his fellow officer to join him.

  I was on the far side of the Firebird and since the car was sitting at an angle--one tire lodged into the aforementioned hole in the deck--I couldn't see what they were looking at.

  Finally, the officers conferred and then made their way down the steps to Sarah. Heckleman took out his handcuffs. 'I'm sorry, Ms Kingston, we're going to have to take you in.'