When the Grits Hit the Fan

by Maddie Day

  A big black SUV with snow tires sat in the driveway, one of many such vehicles I saw these days. I flashed on the SUV that had slowed in front of my store and then driven off, but this kind of car was everywhere in the county.

  Nobody answered the door. I saw lights on indoors, so I gingerly rang again, and a minute later the door finally pulled open.

  Ron stood facing me, earbuds trailing down to a phone in his other hand. He wore a T-shirt and his feet were bare under a pair of jeans that hadn’t visited a washing machine in quite a long time. “Hey, Ms. Jordan.”

  “Ron”—I waited until he pulled out one earbud—“I brought you and your mom some food. Is she in?”

  He turned his head and yelled, “Ma!” He faced me and said, “One sec,” then ambled off down a set of stairs.

  Okay. The kid obviously didn’t have many manners beyond not calling me by my first name. He seemed to be over his sadness of yesterday, at least for now. It was cold, but I was dressed for it in a warm sweater and my tall black boots, plus a wool coat, hat, and gloves.

  Maude finally appeared in the doorway, holding a glass containing an amber-colored liquid in one hand. Her eyebrows went way up. “Robbie, what are you doing here?”

  “Ron didn’t tell you I was here?” I extended the bag. “I brought fresh homemade soup for you both. And a batch of cheesy biscuits to go with it.”

  She tilted her head to the side and smiled, just a little. “Well, aren’t you sweet, then. Come on the heck in.”

  “Thanks. I can’t stay long, but wanted to offer my condolences again.”

  Maude nodded without speaking as she led the way into the living room. I shut the door and followed. The room could have been in Better Homes and Gardens. If someone had tidied and cleaned it, that is. The tall windows in different geometric shapes let in slanting afternoon light that fell on cascading stacks of newspapers, used glasses next to crumpled napkins on the coffee table, an old sweatshirt thrown over the back of the couch, and visible dust on the end table nearest me. On the mantel stood a framed picture of a young woman in uniform in front of a large American flag.

  Maude sank into a recliner. “Take a load off.” She gestured toward the couch with her drink and then took a generous swig from it. Her voice wasn’t slurred—yet—but she seemed a lot more relaxed than she’d been any time I’d seen her previously, and way more than she’d been at the library yesterday. Her clothing was more relaxed, too. She wore a long red sweater, leggings, and shearling slippers. “You drink whiskey?”

  I perched on the couch after I set the bag on the coffee table’s only bare spot. “No thanks. I’m off to a dinner.”

  “Heard you’ve been dating Abe O’Neill. Good man, that one.”

  “He sure is.” Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that my romantic life was common knowledge. I pointed to the picture on the mantel. “Is that you?”

  Maude glanced at it. “Indeed it is. In my younger days, obviously. Decided to get my act together and serve my country at the same time.” She shrugged. “Did both, but I got out after one tour. No interest in being career military.”

  “So how are you holding up?” I asked.

  “Like crap, frankly. Whole town stares at me when I go out. Police aren’t worth jack. All my worthless son does is stay in the basement playing ridiculous games. I can’t focus on my work, and I have a big project I’m supposed to be designing. Things could be a lot better.” She drained her glass. “You’re actually the only person who has stopped by.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.” I was shocked to hear her refer to her own son as worthless. He’d just lost his father. And to say that to me, whom she barely knew. Then again, I had just shared a bunch of personal details with Zen. I was equally shocked that a near stranger like me was the only person to show Maude sympathy. “I know the police, at least Buck and Octavia, are working hard to figure out who committed the crime. It can’t be easy for them.”

  She blinked at me. “What do you know?”

  “I know they’ve been interviewing people. I’ve heard that a number of people, um, didn’t get along very well with Charles.” I wasn’t going to mention Lou or Zen by name.

  “I didn’t get along with him, either. That doesn’t mean I killed him.” Maude snorted. “That lady detective hauled me in there for an ‘interview,’ too.” She surrounded interview with finger quotes. “Like I would murder my own husband, my only son’s father.”

  “Will you be holding a service for Charles any time soon?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know when they’re going to release his body. Who would come to his funeral, anyway? Nobody liked him. My own mother didn’t like him.”

  Ouch. “Does he have family in the state?” I didn’t know anything about Charles or where he was from, except I thought I’d heard he grew up in South Lick.

  “He and his brother weren’t on speaking terms. Parents are gone. Me and Ronnie were pretty much it for him. And those IU folks. But they didn’t like him, either.”

  “How about your family?” Jo had said they’d adopted Maude, but maybe there were other siblings I didn’t know about, or other relatives.

  “No siblings. A few cousins out in Connecticut apparently are too busy to come and pay their respects. No, all I have is Mom.” She pressed her lips together.

  “Well, do let me know if you arrange a service. I’ll make a point of being there.” I suspected the town would turn out en masse, in fact. Not out of caring for Charles particularly, but because of the notoriety of his being murdered. “This house is lovely,” I went on. “Did you design it?”

  She sat up straighter. “I surely did. Charlie and I figured out what we wanted, and then I implemented it.”

  I must have looked surprised when she said Charlie.

  “People in town called him Chuck, but he hated that nickname.” Her voice took on a sad tone. “We finished the house right before the baby was born. Those were happier days.” She stared out the front windows.

  I thought back to what Jo had said, that Charles gave Maude a hard time, and Ron, too. Of course, the early days of a relationship are often happier ones, especially if you close your eyes to warning signals, like I had with my ex-husband before he became ex.

  It was time for the hard part. I didn’t want to confront her about Georgia, except that I’d promised I would. “Maude, about Georgia LaRue. I heard what you said to her at the library. You don’t really think she killed Charles, do you?”

  Maude’s mood changed from nostalgic to stormy in a flash quicker than lightning. She stared at me with narrowed eyes. “She sure could have killed him. Drugged him and stuffed him down that ice hole. I told the police as much. She accused me of lying and cheating, and she wants revenge because I refused to go along with her fake story. She’s the liar and the cheat. If you ask me, she’s a murderer, too.”

  Chapter 28

  Abe’s kitchen smelled tantalizing, almost like Thanksgiving, when I walked in. I was a few minutes late, but I hadn’t wanted to cut Maude short. After she’d accused Georgia again, Maude had brightened and seemed to want to tell me about her latest design project, so I let her, even though listening to the things she’d said about Georgia had left an acrid taste in my mouth.

  I sniffed. Sautéed onions, for sure. Roasting meat, maybe. And a touch of cinnamon? The bad taste was going away fast. Abe came back in from hanging up my coat.

  “What’s cooking? It smells fabulous in here.” My lunchtime sandwich was a faint memory, and I was glad I hadn’t accepted a drink from Maude. With no food in me, it would have put me over the tipsy edge. “Didn’t you work today?”

  “Early shift. Five to three. Been cooking ever since I got home.” He leaned over and hit a key on a tablet propped up on the counter.

  “Watching a movie while you cook?” I asked.

  “An episode of Race to Escape. Ever seen it?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “It’s a new type of game show. Two teams are in
identical locked rooms and they have to figure out how to get out in an hour. It’s really smart. They have to solve all kinds of puzzles and work together. We should watch together sometime.”

  “That’s my kind of game show. Solve the puzzle to get out of the room.”

  He smiled, deepening the dimple that left me weak in the knees, and pulled me in for a long hot kiss. “Hungry?” he said when we detached.

  “Of course. In more ways than one.” I pulled back a bit. “But I have to be up bright and early tomorrow.” My stomach gurgled out loud.

  He laughed his delightful rolling laugh. “I get the message. I have another fiver tomorrow morning, too. Let’s eat.”

  A couple of minutes later we sat across from each other at a small antique table in his combo dining-living room. His cottage was laid out almost exactly like Jo Shultz’s, both inside and out, with the same open pass-through from living room to dining room, and the same wide covered porch and roof line. Abe had added a dormer on the back and a basketball hoop on the driveway for his son.

  Green candles softened the light and a steaming bowl of food in front of me sat on a vintage tablecloth decorated with what looked like Jell-O molds and flowers.

  I leaned over my bowl, wafting the flavors upward with my fingers. “Mmm.” I spied meat, carrots, fat green olives, a slice of lemon, and other delectables, all in a rich brown sauce.

  “Lamb tagine.” Abe lifted his glass of red and extended it toward me. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers. And buon appetito.” I clinked then took a sip. “I thought I smelled something like cinnamon in the kitchen.”

  “Good nose. Plus saffron, cardamom, and ginger, and a bunch of other spices, too.”

  “On couscous, which I love.” I tasted a bite. “This is really nice. You learned to cook from your father, didn’t you tell me?”

  “Exactly. Mom preferred tofu and tempeh. Yuck. And I was always hungry because I was such an active kid, so I asked Dad to teach me how to cook meat, stews, things that stick with you.” Abe savored a bite, too. “Robbie, next Sunday I want to take you to meet the folks. They’ve been asking about you. Can you come down to their house for dinner after the restaurant closes? I’ll drive us.” He reached his right hand across the table to my left.

  Meet the parents. I swallowed hard. Was I ready? “Of course, Abe. I’ve heard so much about them. Will Sean be there, too?”

  “Yep. He’s going to spend the whole weekend with them.” He sipped his wine. “They’ll be glad you can make it. And I’ll make sure there’s no tofu in sight. Now tell me about your day. Did you finish tearing out the front wall?”

  I finished chewing a bite and swallowed. “I had quite the day.” I told him about finding the tunnel and exploring it with Buck, about the dust-free ladder, about the noise I’d heard. “I hated going through the passageway, especially when I had to come back through alone.” An involuntary shudder rippled through me.

  “I’d think it would be fun. I’ve always loved caves and tunnels.”

  I stared at him. “Not me. Something terrible happened to me in high school.” My stare dropped to my plate, remembering.

  He reached across and touched my hand. “Want to tell me about it?”

  I looked up. “I guess. I was fascinated by caves when I was a kid. My friend and I found some to explore in the hills. The summer I was fourteen I went by myself, and the passage kept getting narrower and narrower. Because I was fourteen, I forgot to bring extra batteries for my head lamp. When it gave out, it was so, so dark in there. I just froze for a while. I had to force myself to scooch out backwards and then feel for the entrance until there was light from the outside again.”

  “You were brave.”

  “Stupid, more like it. I could have gotten lost in a side tunnel and died. Ever since, well, I don’t do well in dark tight places.” I shook off the memory of my last cave.

  “I’ll just have to go spelunking alone, I guess.” Abe grinned, then sobered. “But it’s worrisome that somebody might know about that passageway from your barn to the store.”

  “It was definitely spooky thinking an intruder might have snuck into my space. Now there’s a good padlock on the barn door, and I left my heavy table saw pushed up against the entrance on the second floor.”

  “Who would want to get into your store uninvited? A robber, maybe, who hoped to find where you keep your money at night?”

  “No idea. I have a good safe in my apartment, and I try to get the money out and to the bank regularly.” I sipped my wine.

  “You know, I’ve heard about other tunnels to barns. I’ll try to remember where.”

  “For tending animals in the winter, I’d assume. But why not build an extension to the house that reaches the barn, instead?”

  “Not sure.” He shook his head. “That’s definitely what they do in New England. I saw all kinds of linked structures when I drove around Vermont the one time I went there. It must be colder there than here.”

  “Seems like an aboveground structure would be a lot easier to build than a tunnel. I also talked with Georgia from the library, and Lou and Charles’s department head today, Zen Brown. They both were questioned by Octavia about the murder. I don’t think she has a clue about who killed Charles. Buck told me Charles didn’t drown. He was dead before he entered the water.”

  “Interesting. No water in the lungs, I guess.”

  “How’d you know about that?” I asked.

  “I trained as a paramedic at one point. Thought I wanted to join the fire department. Decided not to, but I stay certified in CPR. Comes in handy when you work with loads of electricity like I do.”

  I shuddered. “You take all kinds of precautions about not getting shocked, I hope?”

  “Of course.” Abe peered at me. “Hey, don’t worry. I like this life of mine way too much to get careless. Especially the part that includes you.” His look was warm verging on hot.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” I frowned then.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I took soup and biscuits over to Maude and Ron Stilton on my way here tonight.”

  “How’d that go?”

  “Her house, while nicely designed, is kind of a wreck inside. She must really be grieving for Charles and she seems so all alone except for her son and her mother. Why doesn’t she have friends around here?”

  “From what I know of her, she can be prickly.” Abe said. “Could be it’s hard for her to get close to folks.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “Are they holding a service for Charles?”

  “Not yet. She said she wasn’t sure anyone would come.” I grimaced. “Maude was heavy into the whiskey at five o’clock. But I should talk. I’ve certainly been known to have an afternoon whiskey, myself.”

  “Right, but you taste a small glass to relax and then you leave it. I’ve never seen you crocked.”

  “True.” I told him about Georgia asking if I could help with getting Maude to reverse her accusation. “It didn’t go so well. Maude said she thinks Georgia’s lying about the project and that she killed Charles as a form of revenge.”

  Abe exclaimed, “Good thing the police are on the case.”

  “Agreed. While I’m curious, I’ve done what Georgia asked me to, and it’s not my business, really. Not my puzzle.”

  “I like your attitude. Now eat your dinner and let’s not talk about death. Deal?”

  I smiled. “Deal.”

  Chapter 29

  “Robbie, where are you? I’ve asked you three times if we should make more grits.” Danna gave me an exasperated look.

  My cheeks warmed, but not from the heat rising from the grill. I’d been thinking about my evening with Abe. He’d asked me to stay, but I’d reluctantly gone home after dinner. I knew I’d be worthless this morning if I slept over, no matter how attractive the proposition and propositioner were.

  As I looked over the crowd an hour after sunrise on a cloudy, windy day, I knew I’d made the right
decision. Danna and I had been working for an hour before the sky started to lighten, and it looked like it was going to be another busy day at Pans ’N Pancakes. We’d made grits as a special again, this time baked with sausage, cheese, and eggs. The dish was moving well. I ordered stone ground grits from the Original Grit Girl. She used only unbleached corn and the flavor was outstanding.

  “Making more is a good idea,” I finally said to Danna. “But when will we get time to cook the grits? Anybody’s guess. We should have made double earlier.”

  “I know.”

  A couple of minutes later I had a brief respite between tables ordering and the food being ready, and reflected yet again on how lucky I was to have Danna as my assistant. Co-chef, really. I hurried to put a covered pot of water on a burner. Once it boiled, she could stir the grits from time to time when she wasn’t flipping pancakes or omelets or turning bacon and sausage.

  Phil came whistling in carrying brownies for the next couple of days. When he saw how busy we were, he stashed them in the cooler. “Sorry I can’t stay to help. The paycheck calls. Come by the farm one of these days and catch up, okay?” He grinned at me.

  “Absolutely.” I waved before he went out the way he came in. He was staying at Adele’s farm while she and Samuel did their service work in India. Sheep needed tending twice a day, and it gave Phil a break from the apartment he shared with a few other guys.

  Danna and I bustled about for the next half an hour until the clock chimed eight, doing what we did best—a kind of orchestrated cooking/serving/ cleanup dance. I glanced up the next time the cowbell jangled to see Ron Stilton shuffle in with two other boys his age. They seemed to be in a heated discussion, but looked at me long enough to see me wave them to a table.

  I carried over menus and a pot of coffee. “Hey, guys. Coffee?”

  A pasty-faced dude to Ron’s left looked up with bleary eyes. “Yes, please, ma’am,” he said, his soft round face looking like he still didn’t need to shave.