Biscuits and Slashed Browns

by Maddie Day

  “How are you doing, Noreen?” I asked in a low voice.

  She wore smudges of sleeplessness beneath her eyes, and her mouth trembled a little when she spoke. “All right, I guess. Phil’s been great.”

  He laid his dark hand atop her freckled one. “Nobody should have to lose their father so young, and certainly not to murder.” He squeezed her hand.

  “I’m glad Phil’s taking care of you,” I said. “I’ll give you guys a couple minutes to decide what you want to order. Coffee first?”

  They both nodded. “Thanks, Rob,” Phil said.

  On my way to the pot, I passed a man leaning close to his wife. “The authorities always look at family first,” he murmured.

  I slowed my steps and busied myself picking up a tissue someone had dropped.

  “Whaddya bet the girl did it?” he went on. “He was a big cheese professor, probably left her all his money.”

  What did he think this was, a Greek tragedy?

  “Albert!” the woman scolded. “Don’t you never.” She twisted in her seat to catch a glimpse of Noreen and then faced him again. “The sweet girl sitting over yonder? Why, I’d bet the pope’s purple pajamas she didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

  I inwardly giggled at the phrase. Did the pope have purple pajamas? And I moved on before I kicked the guy out for his outrageous suggestion. But was it? He’d planted the seed. I carried the coffeepot to Noreen and Phil and watched her as I poured. Could she have slashed her own father’s throat? And if she had, why? It made me queasy to even consider the possibility.

  I jotted down their orders and took the ticket over to Christina. She’d gotten her own share of stares since we’d opened. Word had also spread that she had been questioned, but she ignored the stares just as I was determined to ignore the idea Noreen had committed patricide.

  I kept bustling around the restaurant until Noreen’s and Phil’s orders were ready. “Here you go, kids,” I said, setting their food down. A tall banana-walnut stack with sausages for Phil, a veggie omelet with hash browns and bacon for her. After surveying the room, I decided I had approximately ninety free seconds to chat. “How did your visit with the detective go yesterday, Noreen?”

  The two exchanged a glance. “He’s not a very nice guy, frankly,” she said. “He was asking where I was Friday night, what kind of assets my dad had, who his professional enemies were. And a bunch of other questions, half of which I had no idea about the answer.”

  “Thompson made me go out of the room for their little chat, but I waited in the station,” Phil said. “And I happen to know she was with me all night long until she left for their brunch.”

  Whew. Phil wouldn’t lie about anything. And I’d guessed right about their relationship. Good. “Enjoy your breakfasts,” I said.

  Noreen glanced up at me. “Thanks. I don’t think I ate a bite all day yesterday. I’m finally hungry. I guess wanting to eat is a good thing, although it seems like a betrayal. Why should I eat when Daddy won’t ever eat again?” Her last words came out mixed with a sob. She sniffed.

  I remembered asking, “Why should I eat?” and “How can I enjoy myself?” after Mom died. The torment would lessen with time, but it didn’t diminish easily.

  “Come on, Nor. Eat. It’ll do you good,” Phil urged.

  I left them and headed back to the grill. She was lucky to have Phil at a time like this. At any time, actually.

  As I loaded up a tray with more ready orders, a couple approached Christina. “We just want to tell you how much we love the food at Hoosier Hollow.”

  “Thanks so much for telling me.” She threw them a smile. “I appreciate it.”

  “And we want you to know we don’t believe you had anything to do with the professor’s death,” the woman added. “We were in the Hollow when he was acting so badly the other night. He clearly had it coming to him.”

  Her husband bobbed his head once. “Right. It’s not Christian to say good riddance, so I won’t, but . . .” He cleared his throat. “It’s awful nice for you to be helping Robbie out like this. We come here for breakfast every Sunday before we go to church.”

  “Friends help each other out, right, Robbie?”

  “You bet. Thanks for coming in, folks.”

  As they slid into their coats near the door, Buck ambled in and held it open for them. I approached him.

  “Sorry, Buck, your usual table is full. You want to wait, or sit somewhere else? It looks like he’s going to be a while.” I gestured to the table in the back, where a man sat reading the paper. From the thickness, it was the Indianapolis Star, not the Brown County Democrat.

  “Heck, I can sit anywheres. I’m too hungry to wait.” His gaze strayed to Christina. “How come she’s here? And working, by the looks of it.”

  “We were talking earlier. Since I’m shorthanded, she offered.”

  “Huh. I know you said Danna’s out. But I thought young Rao was working for you. Where’s he at?”

  I gazed at Buck. He must know Sajit was missing. “He was under the weather this morning,” I lied. “I told him to stay home and feel better.” Actually, it wasn’t really a lie. I was positive Turner wasn’t feeling well, just in a different way. And I doubted he would improve until his father showed up. Or was found.

  “I ’spose you know Oscar was questioning Ms. James last evening.” He tipped his head in Christina’s direction.

  “Yes.” I spied a customer waving her ticket in the air and another holding up his coffee cup. “I have to get to work, Buck.” I lowered my voice. “And you need to tell Detective Thompson he’s barking up the wrong tree if he believes Christina killed the professor.”

  “Actually, I telled him so, Robbie. Yes, ma’am. I surely did.”

  “Didn’t have much effect, did it?” I set my fists on my hips. “He needs to look elsewhere.”

  Buck raised one sandy-colored eyebrow. “Like at Sajit Rao, maybe?”

  Chapter 16

  By noon I was holding it together, but barely. The rush had hardly let up even during the hours when most people attended church. Between the festival, the locals, and the scandal of another murder, every table was full and a crowd of a dozen was waiting for one to free up. I was beat after only four hours open. With another three to go.

  Christina had excused herself at nine-thirty, tossing her apron into the bin even as she yawned. “I’m sorry I can’t stay, Robbie. But I really have to get home and rest up for my shift tonight. The restaurant is already fully reserved and I need to show up early to get things under way.”

  “No worries. I’ll be fine.” I’d crossed my fingers behind my back. If I had to be fine, I would be. “You’ve already been a huge help. Thanks again for saving my bacon. So to speak.”

  “I’d do it again in a minute. Just ask.” She’d given me a hug and headed out the door.

  Now I was starving, my feet hurt, and if I didn’t pay a visit to the ladies’ room soon, I was going to be in even bigger trouble. Worse, diners were becoming upset with me and the quality of my cooking was suffering, too. I couldn’t keep this up much longer. But I’d still received no word from Turner, despite his knowing I’d be working alone. Not even a text. And I couldn’t even fault him. His father had to come first.

  When Adele and Samuel strolled in a few minutes later, they stopped short and stared at the chaos of impatient diners and even more impatient hungry customers milling about. I threw my hands in the air in a “What can I do?” gesture. Adele marched straight to the grill, nearly dragging Samuel behind her, not that he looked like he minded.

  “What in heck’s going on here? Turner didn’t show?”

  “No. Or call, either. I’m dying here.” Oops. Poor choice of words, but they were out now.

  “We’ll help. Won’t we, Samuel?” Adele grinned.

  “Of course we will.”

  “Now you move aside, Ms. Jordan.” Adele set her hands on her hips in her best former-mayor stance.

  I stared from one to the o
ther. “If you had any idea what angels you both are.”

  “We came straight from church, so I guess we were inspired.” Samuel’s chocolate-colored skin crinkled around his eyes. “Looks like you need a break ’long about now. Go, missy.” He quickly washed his hands, grabbed an apron from the box, and tossed another to Adele. “We got this.”

  I tore off my own apron. I thanked them and walked as fast as I could without breaking into a run toward the room labeled SHE ALL, a goofy touch Phil had painted on the restroom door before I’d opened the place last fall. I changed my mind and instead scooted into my apartment, locking the door behind me. I desperately needed a break, and I knew between them they could handle the place for a little while. I freshened up, downed a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk, and sat on the couch playing with Birdy for a few minutes. After ten minutes away from the furor, I felt human again.

  I knew my bank account would be happy, but man, working mostly solo was tough. And it would have been a lot worse if Christina hadn’t helped out for the first couple of hours. As long as I had assistants, I was fine with this life I’d built. If I didn’t, the whole thing could collapse in a hurry. I ran a quick Internet search to see if I could find a temp agency anywhere in the area who could supply an emergency restaurant worker to an employer in need. Like me. I struck out. The only agency around was in Bloomington, and they specified right at the top of their Web site they only supplied white-collar workers.

  At least tomorrow and Tuesday I’d be closed. In the winter I’d gone down to being open only Thursday through Sunday, but just this week I’d restarted Wednesday opening. I’d been able to mostly because I’d hired Turner. Turner. The sooner we could find Sajit, and presumably help him prove his innocence, the sooner my helper could get back on the job.

  When I reentered the store, Samuel was chatting up Sonia, who must have come in right after I’d fled the scene. She’d tucked her hair back in a French braid, black-rimmed glasses sat on a makeup-free nose, and her fleece hoodie and well-washed jeans were pretty much my own day-off outfit. She looked a lot more like a professor on a non-teaching day than her sultry alter ego at the bar last night had. I was curious about her relationship with Nick, but I wasn’t about to ask. None of my beeswax, as we used to say when I was a kid.

  Samuel hailed me. “Sonie here has a question for you.”

  Sonie? I must have shown my surprise.

  He laughed. “I’ve known this girl since she was a tiny little thing.”

  Ah. “Good morning, Sonia. Or, I guess it’s afternoon. What can I help you with?”

  Samuel excused himself. I studied him as he headed off to clear our largest table, moving bent forward a little at the waist. His back must be hurting. Nothing ever seemed to stop him, though.

  “Detective Thompson said you told him about my argument with Warren Connolly.” Sonia tapped the side of her coffee mug, which sat next to a phone in a zebra-striped case. The corners of her mouth pulled down even as her lips protruded. “He called me this morning, wants me to go into the station and be questioned. Thanks a lot, Robbie. You just ruined my day.”

  Ruined her day. As if. Ask Noreen Connolly how her day was going. I stared at her. There went my brief moment of calm. “It’s never fun to be questioned by the police. Believe me, I know. I’ve been there.” I kept my voice low. “But I had to tell him what I saw.” I put both palms on the table and leaned down. “You didn’t kill Connolly, did you?”

  “Of course not!” Her face took on a horrified look. “What a terrible thing to ask.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about.” I watched her. “I mean, you had public disputes with him. Other people than me must have told him you disagreed with Connolly, or will soon enough. When Thompson asks, you tell him the truth about where you were during the hours the professor might have been killed. It’s simple.”

  She narrowed her eyes, not meeting mine, and continued to tap the mug with her long, nearly black nails. “It’s not as easy as you might imagine.”

  “Why not?”

  Samuel moseyed up with a hamburger, a dish of fruit salad, and one of Phil’s brownies. “Here you go, hon.”

  “Thanks, Mr. MacDonald.” Sonia added ketchup to her hamburger and took a big bite, holding it over the plate with her left hand as she paged through something on her phone with her right index finger.

  I was apparently dismissed. I didn’t care. I had work to do. And who knew, maybe other people’s days to ruin. I followed Samuel back to the grill, where Adele was already sweating.

  “Feel better, sweetie?” she asked.

  “I certainly do. But let me take over the cooking, Adele. If you two split the table work neither of you will have as much of a burden. And I’m used to solo cooking.”

  “You got yourself a deal,” Adele said. While Samuel headed off with two arms full of plates, she showed me which orders were on and which were waiting to be prepared.

  “Do you know Sonia Genest very well?” I murmured as I poured out a disk of beaten eggs, topped it with sautéed onions and a handful of cheese, then set two turkey patties to grill.

  She readied three plates with pickle spears and small dishes of coleslaw. “I told you I knowed her since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

  “I mean recently. She seems like a ball of contradictions to me.” I glanced in Sonia’s direction but she was too far away to hear and was still absorbed in her phone. I didn’t need to go into the details of how Sonia exhibited different personalities. Before this week, when she’d come into the restaurant to eat she’d always been friendly, well spoken, professional. Friday morning with Connolly, she’d been irate and furious. At the bar last night? Seductive and risk taking. And today, furious again. Upset with me for telling Thompson about her altercation with the professor, but unwilling to acknowledge where she’d been. On the other hand, maybe everybody was multifaceted like that. I sure didn’t behave the same with everyone in my life and with those on the periphery. And she didn’t owe me any answers.

  “What do you mean, contradictions?” Adele filled two glasses with ginger ale, another with root beer, and one with milk. She topped the last with the lid-with-a-straw we provided for child diners.

  “She appears to have a problem telling the detective where she was the night—or morning—the professor was killed,” I said in a low voice. “If she didn’t do it herself, which she claims she didn’t, why wouldn’t she just tell him?”

  “Sometimes there’s no explaining folk, Robbie. You should oughta know that by now.”

  One thing I did know? Sometimes people lie.

  Chapter 17

  After closing at two-thirty and cleaning up, I was beat. I couldn’t be more grateful for all my rescuers today. Despite their help, exhaustion was the name of the game. I lay down on the couch in my living room, where Birdy promptly jumped up and nestled onto my stomach. I intended to check texts and e-mail on my phone but I must have fallen asleep right away. When I awoke, my phone lay on the floor next to my left hand, which dangled near it, and a drop of drool trickled down from the corner of my mouth. At least it was still light outside, so I hadn’t pulled a Rip Van Winkle. I grabbed the phone. Good. It was only four-twenty.

  I hadn’t been outdoors once today. It was time to remedy my fresh air situation. First I checked my messages, what I’d planned to do before I’d slid into dreamland.

  The first text message brought a smile.

  Abe had written Is tonight soon enough?

  I tapped back Sure. Your place or mine?

  He answered right away. How about I come there, but I’ll bring dinner?

  Twist my arm, baby, I wrote in return.

  Had to work today. Be there at seven.

  K. I sent the message but kept smiling the smile of a fool at the phone. Well, a happy fool.

  I found an e-mail from my Italian father—my only father—which also made me smile. He wrote saying how much he and Maria were looking forward to thei
r visit in June. I stole a glance at the ceiling. I still hadn’t finished the second floor of the store, which I was turning into bed and breakfast rooms. And I’d invited Babbo and his wife to stay in one of them. At this rate they’d be my first guests. I could work on the upstairs project for the next two days.

  A bike ride would clear my head like nothing else. But so would getting Turner back to work. And to do that, I had to help him find his father. A quick check of my indoor-outdoor thermometer showed a brisk fifty degrees out, and it was only getting colder as evening approached. I added a sweater to my work clothes, laced up my hiking boots over wool socks, grabbed outerwear, bag, and keys, and headed for my van. The Rao farm wasn’t far. Even if Mona had checked the cabin, maybe Sajit had gone there afterward. Maybe he was there now.

  It was kind of stupid, going by myself out into woods I didn’t know. Connolly’s killer was roaming the county somewhere, if he or she hadn’t left the area. So I wouldn’t try it alone. I wished I could get Abe to accompany me, but he was working. Instead I’d go to the Rao house and make sure somebody in the family came with me to the shed. That way I wouldn’t risk getting lost.

  Letting the old Econoline warm up, I checked a maps app for the Rao property. Mona had said the run-down hunting cabin was on the outskirts of their property. I just hoped she or Turner would be home so I could convince them to lead me to it. I didn’t know why, but I had a strong sense the shack and Sajit were intertwined. And usually when I felt this kind of sense, it paid for me to listen to it.

  I called Turner with no results. Not even his voice mail kicked in, so I sent him a text saying I was heading out there, hoping it didn’t spook him.

  But it must have, or else they were all out. When I arrived at the house, I couldn’t see any lights on inside and no cars seemed to be parked anywhere on the property except for the black Jetta. Shoot.