When the Grits Hit the Fan

by Maddie Day

  Roberto ended by saying he and Maria wanted to come and visit in the spring. I clapped my hands at the thought. I would welcome them with arms wide open. Which meant I’d better get the rooms upstairs done in a hurry. The new space would be perfect not only for paying bed-and-breakfast customers, but also as a guest suite for my stepmother and Babbo. My father.

  Chapter 9

  Awful as the idea was, a murder in town was clearly the antidote to the recent winter slump at my restaurant. Danna and I hadn’t been this busy since before Christmas. The restaurant had been full up, with more than a dozen people waiting at any given time, ever since I’d unlocked the doors at eight.

  The old wall clock chimed nine as my friend Philostrate MacDonald pushed his way in the door. He whistled, sidestepped the hungry group in line for tables, and sauntered to my side at the grill. “Looks like you could use a bit of extra help.” His amazing blue eyes shone in his dark face. He leaned in and added, “It’s too bad, but murder sure gets folks up on a Sunday morning.”

  “Shh. That’s a terrible thing to say, not that I haven’t been thinking it,” I whispered, glancing around. No one seemed to have heard, thank goodness. “We’d love your help, thanks,” I said in a normal voice. “You know the drill?”

  “Of course.” He headed to the sink. “Wash up, apron up, clean up.”

  “At least for now. You can swap out serving with Danna, or even take the grill for a while. Plenty of work for three.”

  Phil, Samuel’s grandson, was a good friend. He also baked the brownies and cookies on my lunch menu when he wasn’t at work as the IU Music Department secretary or rehearsing his latest part in an opera or musical comedy. He was a few years younger than me and I could barely remember how we’d met. Somebody must have introduced us. Didn’t matter. He’d saved my bacon, almost literally, by pitching in a few times, and I’d gotten to at least try to return the favor when he was accused of the murder last November.

  I flipped open the lid to the waffle maker and gently lifted out all eight waffles in one piece, then separated them. Two went on a plate ready with bacon and one egg over easy, and the rest I slid into the warmer. They wouldn’t stay there long. I dinged the bell for Danna and closed the lid to the waffle iron so it could heat up again.

  “Want to switch?” I asked her. I’d been cooking for an hour, and I liked to get out and schmooze with my customers.

  “Sure.”

  We donned clean aprons before I carried the waffle order and one with a Kitchen Sink omelet and hash browns to a table of two gentlemen, one thin and white-haired, one stout and bald.

  “The waffles?” I asked. When Bald raised his hand, I set down his order and then the other. “More coffee?”

  “No thanks, hon.” Thin looked at me. “Quite the discovery yesterday, young lady. Stilton dead on the lake. Have you recovered?”

  I swallowed. “I feel very bad for his wife and son.”

  Bald snorted. “Not sure the son feels so bad.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “Them two got along about as well as two weasels in a sack,” Thin said.

  “Yup,” Bald agreed. “They was shouting at each other in public last week. Showed poor taste, if you ask me. No disrespect to the deceased, you understand, but airing your dirty laundry like that? Should oughta’ve taken their quarrel inside where it belonged.”

  I was dying to ask what they’d been fighting about, but Danna had dinged the bell and I had no business lingering. “Enjoy your breakfast now,” I said before heading for the grill, wondering what Charles and Ron had been fighting about.

  Phil was busy busing—clearing tables, cleaning them, setting them for the next round of customers—and loading the dishwasher. He whistled a melodic warbling tune as he worked. With his help, the tables started turning over faster at the same time fewer customers streamed in. We usually, at least in the busier season, got a second rush on Sundays after church services let out, with folks still wanting breakfast at eleven or even twelve. But it wasn’t even nine-thirty.

  I delivered four more plates to two couples who were regulars on Sunday mornings. One couple was Sue and Glen Berry, whose adult daughter I’d found murdered in November.

  Sue looked up at me with worried eyes. “Robbie, we heard what happened. How terrible for you to . . .” Her voice trailed off and she studied the table, kneading her hands on top of it.

  “I’m okay, Sue. I mean, it’s not okay Professor Stilton is dead, of course.”

  “Of course not,” Glen said. “I think it brings up sad memories for us both.”

  “I’m sure it does,” I said. The murder had hit their family hard, and at a time when their other daughter was well along in a pregnancy.

  “I always said Stilton was going to come to no good, though,” Glen went on. “Chuck was not easy to like.”

  “God rest his soul,” Sue added in a hurry.

  “Chuck?” I tilted my head at Glen.

  “Everybody around here called him Chuck. Always did,” Glen said. “Once he started over at the college, he said he was Charles. As if.”

  “In what ways wasn’t he easy to like?” I asked.

  “Went around acting like he was in charge. Because he was a professor and some of us in South Lick never even went to college, maybe. I’ll bet I earn four times as much in my business than what he got over there at the university, and my only degree is a high school diploma,” Glen said.

  The man of the other pair bobbed his head up and down like he completely agreed. “Chuck grew up right here in South Lick. He wadn’t no better than the rest of us. We all put our pants on one leg at a time.”

  “That time he tried to tell me how to draw in more customers,” Glen said, shaking his head. “I said I could manage fine on my own, thank you very much.”

  “Now let’s not speak ill of the dead.” Sue laid her hand on her husband’s.

  I cleared my throat. “How’s the grandbaby?”

  Sue brightened. “She’s a real dear. Nursing like a little champ despite being born a couple three weeks early. Paulie’s real happy to have her, you know, after everything that happened.”

  “Named her Susannah, after Sue here.” Glen’s pride was written all over his face.

  “I’m really happy for you guys.”

  Sue beckoned me closer. “I heard a student in Charles’s department is under arrest for the murder.” Her eyes widened and her eyebrows went way up, almost like she was excited about the prospect.

  “No, that’s not right.” I shook my head fast. “The student is my friend Lou. She was with me when I found Charles on the lake, but she’s not under arrest. The authorities questioned both of us last night. And we were each released to go home.” I cleared my throat. Except all I really knew was that her car was gone this morning. She hadn’t come in to talk and I hadn’t stopped to call her yet this morning so I had no idea what had gone on in her interview. Surely if she’d been arrested her car would still be out front. “Now, who has the waffles?”

  If gossip like Sue’s spread, the town would have Lou locked up for the murder in a New York minute. But only in their minds, thank goodness.

  The next time the cowbell jangled I saw Buck coming through the door, his uniform looking more rumpled than usual once he removed his coat.

  “It’ll be a couple minutes yet, Buck,” I called out.

  Phil gave a quick rising and falling whistle like a cardinal’s and pointed. At the far end of the restaurant was a small table, all cleared and set.

  I laughed. “I was wrong. Right over there, Buck. Thanks, Phil.”

  Buck ambled to the table with his hat in his hand, greeting townspeople as he went. I wanted to ask him about Lou, but I was way too busy. I took a few more orders, made change for a family, and delivered two plates of biscuits, gravy, sausages, and scrambled eggs before I had time to get to Buck.

  I carried the coffeepot over and poured when he nodded. “What can I get you?”

  He glanced a
t the Specials board. “Double order of waffles, please, and three eggs over easy with bacon. Can I get a side of biscuits, too?”

  The guy was so tall and skinny I thought his foot might leak food. I’d never served him anything smaller than a meal that would double my weight if I ate that much.

  “Coming right up. Hey, any idea how long Octavia kept Lou last night?”

  “It was purt’ late. Maybe midnight?” He stretched his legs out halfway to Kentucky and yawned, bringing his long thin fingers to cover his mouth. “That Octavia is one taskmaster.”

  “I don’t get it. Why in the world would Octavia think a smart grad student would kill her professor? Lou would never do something like that.”

  “How long you knowed this Louise, anyway?”

  “I met her in the fall.” I scrunched up my nose. “We go cycling together once in a while. And she helped me find my father.”

  “Not exactly a lifetime acquaintance then, you two. Being able to ride a bike ain’t much of a character reference. Who don’t know how to ride a bike?”

  I stared at him. “I’ll put your order in.” I turned around way too fast without looking and bumped smack into Phil with a tray full of dirty dishes. The sound of them crashing to the floor echoed the crashing of Lou’s life and the disturbance, once again, of our peaceful little town.

  Chapter 10

  As full as the restaurant had been, at ten-thirty it suddenly was equally as empty. The cowbell jangled as Buck followed the last customer out, and then the only sounds were the quiet churning of a full dishwasher and two last pieces of bacon sizzling on the grill in front of Phil. The air held the aroma of toasted waffles, sweet strawberries, and grilled fat. It was the smell of a dream come true—my dream—which was not supposed to include mystery and mayhem. Once I’d calmed down from Buck’s implied accusation, and after I’d helped Phil clean up the broken dishes, I’d tried once more to convince Buck of Lou’s innocence. He’d said only that it was Octavia’s job and he was letting her do it.

  I took a moment to text Lou, saying I hoped the experience at the station wasn’t too awful, and that I’d call her after the restaurant closed this afternoon.

  “You were right, Phil,” I said. “A murder does bring them out. It’s an awful reason, but it’s true.”

  “I’ll bet we get a lunch rush, too.” Danna swiped a table clean and set it with new paper placemats and silverware rolls in the blue cotton napkins I’d splurged on. She moved on to the next table, which was cleared but not ready for customers.

  Danna and I had talked about the murder only briefly before we’d opened the doors. She’d uncharacteristically shown up for work late, at only a few minutes before eight. She’d apologized but not explained her tardiness.

  She glanced at me with a sympathetic look. “Too bad you had to find another body, Robbie.”

  “You can say that again.” I straightened the pile of paid tickets on the counter and set the miniature cast-iron skillet I used as a paperweight back on top. I dug into my apron pocket, extracted a pocketful of change and small bills I’d cleared from tables, and dumped the money into the TIPS jar next to the antique cash register.

  “Was it totally bad?” Phil asked as he flipped the bacon onto a plate.

  “Sure it was. I saw him through an ice fishing hole when Lou and I were out snowshoeing on the lake. He was floating right below the ice.” A shudder rippled through me like a California earthquake aftershock and I hugged myself.

  Danna shuddered, too.

  “Sorry. So did anyone else hear gossip about Charles?” I asked. “Seems like everybody in town had something bad to say about him this morning.”

  “Well, yeah. Nobody liked that guy.” Danna stretched her arms over her head, then stifled a yawn. “And his son Ron? He must have inherited the unpleasantness gene or something.”

  “You know Ron?” I asked Danna.

  “I went to school with him from kindergarten until we graduated last year. He was always getting in trouble.”

  “You two sit down,” Phil said. “I have to run soon, but can I make you a bite to eat while I’m still here?”

  “I’d love a couple scrambled with some hash browns. And that bacon.” I poured myself a mug of coffee and sank into a chair next to the kitchen area. I was suddenly famished and exhausted. “We really needed your help this morning, Phil. I owe you one.”

  “Thanks, dude,” Danna said. “Got any waffles in the warmer?” She cleaned and set the last table, grabbed a tall glass of orange juice, and then joined me.

  “Coming right up.” He busied himself at the grill, singing what sounded like a bit of opera.

  “What sort of trouble did Ron get in?” I asked Danna.

  “You name it. Rude to teachers. Got in fights with other boys. Stole a couple beers from the market when he was fifteen. He barely stayed out of jail for that one, but Officer Bird let him off.”

  I sipped my coffee, which went down hot and dark, exactly how I liked it. I stocked only a good French roast in caf and decaf. None of those mild breakfast blends for me. So far, I hadn’t heard any customers complain. “Somebody this morning mentioned that Ron and Charles were arguing in public only last week.”

  “They butted heads big time,” Danna said.

  “Do you know what Ron is doing now? Is he in college?” I asked.

  “I think he’s taking classes at Ivy Tech, but I don’t know what in.” Danna retied her scarf.

  Phil brought our plates over and set down one for himself—a cheese omelet and a couple of pieces of wheat toast. We each tucked into our meal like we’d been in the wilderness for days. Working on our feet at such a pace burned up calories like an intense three-hour hill ride on my road bike.

  “Ivy Tech. That’s the community college, right?” I asked. “I thought the closest locations were Bloomington and Columbus.” Columbus was only a few miles farther than Bloomington was from here, but it was due east instead of west.

  “They offer classes in Nashville, but not administration and other stuff, I think,” Phil said.

  Nashville, the county seat, was only about five miles from South Lick. “That’s got to be a much more convenient location than either of the other campuses. Any word from Samuel lately?” I asked Phil.

  “Radio silence. I’m not worried. He’s doing work he loves, in a place he loves, with the lady he loves. It’s all good.” Phil wiped his plate clean with the last piece of toast and popped it into his mouth. He stood. “I’m outta here. Have a rehearsal at noon. You girls stay out of trouble, now.”

  “We’ll try.” Although if I needed to get into trouble to clear Lou’s name, I would.

  Chapter 11

  Sure enough, the lunch crowd rushed in on us like a gaggle of teenage boys—hungry by definition. They were hungry for food and news, or maybe gossip was more like it. Word of my involvement in Charles’s death must have spread during the churching hours.

  Danna and I repeated the morning scene, but we didn’t have Phil to ease our burden. Instead of clearing and serving, I spent much of my time fending off questions. Saying yes, the police had the situation under control. Telling the townspeople fixing their curious eyes on me that I’d been asked not to discuss the details of my discovery. Asserting that no, Louise Perlman wasn’t a killer.

  I was grateful Danna and I had eaten during the lull. We hadn’t had a minute free since. And right when the lunch crowd seemed to be lessening, the bell jangled again and I groaned silently.

  “Yo, Jordan.”

  I glanced at the door and relaxed. My pal Christina James stood in the entrance with her girlfriend, Betsy.

  “Look who the cat dragged in,” I called, then thought how I was starting to sound like a native. “Come in, both of you.” I gestured with a big smile and hurried toward the door.

  Christina, a chef at a new restaurant in South Lick, was a good friend. Our schedules had overlapped so she’d never had the time free to eat at Pans ’N Pancakes. The color was hig
h in her cheeks and for the first time since I’d met her, she wore her long light hair floating loose on her shoulders instead of in a ponytail hanging out the back of a ball cap. She wore a streak of purple down one strand of hair, also new for her. The two women made their way in, Betsy holding the door for the person behind her as she said something over her shoulder.

  I greeted Betsy. My eyebrows went up when I saw who she was talking to.

  Zen Brown came in, followed by another woman, and waved to me. “Told you I’ve been wanting to come here for breakfast.” Her tone was friendly, but she didn’t smile. New lines had deepened around her eyes that I didn’t think I’d seen Friday night.

  “Glad you could make it,” I said. Had she heard about Charles’s death? Bloomington with a university population close to fifty thousand, plus the additional thirty thousand other people who lived and worked in town, wasn’t exactly the village South Lick was. On the other hand, an academic department could serve as a village. I’d bet it had the similar ability to play the telephone game, passing news from one person to another and misrepresenting it anew each time.

  “This is my . . . friend, Karinde,” Zen said. A Nordic-looking woman, tall with two long white-blond braids, raised a finger in acknowledgment.

  “Welcome. I’m Robbie Jordan. I own the place.” I looked from Zen and her friend to Christina and Betsy. “Wait, do you all know each other?”

  Christina laughed. “From way back. We’ll take a table for four if you have one.”

  I surveyed the place. “People are leaving that one over there. Give me a minute to clean and set it. You can check out the cookware if you want or take a seat on the bench.”

  “Cookware.” Christina strode in the direction of the shelves.

  Betsy, a lean woman who worked as a welder, followed her. “Always the cookware.” She rolled her eyes and tossed back curly black hair but looked fondly at Christina.

  Before I turned away, I saw Zen murmur something to Karinde, who pursed her lips and shook her head.

  A few minutes later when the table was ready, the four of them headed that way, Christina and Betsy holding hands. Two silver-haired women stared as they walked past.