by Jenny Kales
“Try standing on it,” Callie said as she scooped coffee into the automatic coffeemaker. Olivia stood up slowly, clearly enjoying the attention and drama she’d caused. “Well?” asked Callie, removing the waffles from the toaster, whisking them on a plate and setting them on kitchen table. Koukla sat at Callie’s feet and watched her every move, hoping that Callie would drop a crumb, or better yet, an entire waffle, on the floor.
“I guess I’m OK,” Olivia finally pronounced, sounding slightly disappointed.
“Thank goodness,” Callie answered, stirring her coffee and adding more milk. “I couldn’t handle a trip to the ER today, not after last night.” Darn. She could have bitten her tongue. Olivia didn’t know yet about Drew. Well, she was going to have to tell her before half of the school told her first.
“What happened last night?” Olivia asked, right on cue, pouring a small lake of pure Wisconsin maple syrup onto her waffles. Frozen waffles with gourmet maple syrup: that made about as much sense as everything else going on right now.
Callie inhaled the steam of her coffee deeply before taking a sip, buying herself some time. She just couldn’t bring herself to tell her daughter that Drew had been murdered. Anyway, as far as Olivia knew, Drew was just a colleague. She hadn’t told her daughter that she was dating anyone – Olivia had suffered enough and Callie wanted to spare her in case anything went wrong. Boy had something gone wrong. She took another fortifying sip of coffee and addressed her daughter. Keep it simple.
“OK. I have some bad news. You know Drew Staven? He owns that nice bistro in town?” Callie stalled. This was harder than she’d thought. Struggling to keep her voice steady, she forged ahead. “He died. Last night.”
“Oh.” Olivia looked nonplussed. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she finally said after chewing and swallowing a huge bite of her breakfast. “But wait – how do you know? Did Samantha call you or something?”
Her daughter’s curiosity was generally considered by Callie to be a bonus, but not right now. “Uh,” she stammered and decided to just tell the truth. “I found him, honey. I went to his house and he was dead when I got there so I called the police.”
Olivia’s eyes widened over the glass of milk she was drinking and when she heard this news, she stopped short and pulled the glass away from her mouth so quickly Callie was afraid she’d choke. Oblivious to her milk mustache, she asked a little too loudly, “What were you doing there, Mom?”
“We had a date,” Callie blurted out. Well, she was going to find out eventually. “But listen,” she said as Olivia started to make a face of disgust, what was generally known around the Costas home as her “Ewwww,” face. It normally only came out when her daughter was told to clean Koukla’s leavings out of the yard. Before her daughter could protest, she begged her, “Don’t tell Pappou about Drew. Not just yet. Or Grandma Viv. I’ll tell them myself. OK?” Thank goodness George had only dropped Olivia off last night and not come into the house. He must have been tired; usually, George would want to sit down and chat.
Olivia shrugged again. What was with all of the shrugging? Wasn’t that only supposed to happen with teens? “OK,” Olivia agreed. “I’m really sorry, Mom,” she said again. “Were you in love with him?” She made that prospect sound as disgusting as picking up after Koukla.
Callie sighed. “None of your business, Livvie. Don’t worry about that.” She gave her daughter a small smile to soften her words.
Olivia got up out of her chair and stood in front of her mother, looking solemn. Callie hugged her daughter tightly. “It’ll be OK,” Olivia informed her and Callie looked at her daughter with surprise. Kids were resilient. Then again, could her young daughter really grasp the cold reality of death?
* * *
After consuming copious amounts of dark roast coffee, Callie saw Olivia off to school, fed Koukla her ration of kibble (with a few pieces of waffle thrown in for good measure) and straggled into the shower. The combination of hot water and caffeine had a restorative effect and Callie parked her car nearly a block from her shop, frustrated by the unusual lack of parking spots. A heartbreakingly beautiful blue sky highlighted the changing colors of the leaves. The contrast between bright blue and the brilliant oranges, yellows and reds of fall was so vivid, that Callie was reminded of the construction paper leaf cut-outs that Olivia used to make in preschool.
As usual she peeked inside Minette’s Chocolates as she passed by, expecting her college friend and fellow food worker to be bustling around inside the store with her husband and co-owner, Jeff. Instead, Callie was shocked to see Minette’s Chocolates dark, no sign of life and the words “Going out of Business” emblazoned in red paint across the front window. Another casualty of the economy? It made Callie’s heart ache for Minette and Jeff, since the couple had been her friends for more years than she wanted to count. She’d have to call them later and find out what happened.
Approaching Callie’s Kitchen, she saw that she had other, more immediate problems to worry about. There was a line outside the door and people were growing impatient to judge from the jostling of would-be customers as they waited to enter the shop.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” she murmured to customers who parted for her with whispers and sideways glances before swarming back into the doorway. Steve Willoughby, Jane’s husband, was leaving as she came in. “Hi Steve,” she said, but he only patted her shoulder and kept moving, apparently in a rush to get to the office. As she forced her way inside the building, the sight of so many customers lifted her dreary spirits, but only momentarily. The previous evening had thoroughly drained her. Each step felt odd to her, almost as if she were sleepwalking. Nothing seemed real.
Still, even despite her exhaustion and grief, Callie’s Kitchen was the same warm and welcoming space she’d worked so hard to create. Geometric chairs in blue and white (in honor of the Greek flag) were paired with gleaming stainless steel tables, while bright crockery nestled alongside chrome and stainless-steel display stands. Her friends and family had contributed wall art including two of her favorites, a painted sign that read: “We’ll always be friends: You know too much,” (from Samantha) that hung next to a small Greek icon of St. Basil (he was known, among other things, for working in a kitchen). The icon was a gift from George.
Warm smells of honey, cinnamon and frying dough for the Greek doughnuts, loukoumades, wafted from the kitchen along with the soul-soothing aroma of fresh-baked banana bread and Greek yogurt coffee cake. Callie inhaled the reviving scents deeply for strength before delving into the fray.
Max was behind the register answering customers’ rapid-fire questions in a weary monotone: “I don’t know anything about it, no she’s not here yet” and versions of the same while simultaneously filling orders for coffee, muffins and breakfast breads. He made a striking figure with his spiky hair, piercing blue eyes, a “sleeve” of tattoos and muscular physique. Callie suspected that much of her female (and a few of her male) clientele were attracted to more than the food Max helped her to create. While she could appreciate his edgy good looks, he was much too young for her. That was why she’d been so happy to connect with Drew, an attractive guy her age who was into food. Drew.
Callie swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped behind the counter to help Max fill his orders.
“What’s going on?” she said under her breath while offering a reassuring nod to her customers. “They heard about Drew,” Max whispered back. “And the Taste of Crystal Bay contest. I’m sorry for this zoo in here. They’re asking all kinds of questions and I don’t know what to do.”
Everybody knew she and Drew were competitors as well as colleagues at the Chamber. Plus, while she’d been able to keep dating Drew a secret from her father and daughter, most of Callie’s friends and Max knew that they had been seeing each other. That fact made Callie feel a bit like a 14-year-old with strict parents but she had to at least attempt to protect her privacy from her well-meaning but overprotective father.
“And I thought the crowd
was here because you were offering half-price pastries and a date with you,” Callie answered with a lame attempt at humor. Max blushed and smiled. “This is crazy. I’ve never seen anything like it. Not that I mind having a lot of customers, but it’s difficult to face so many people today. Maybe I should have stayed home. Besides, something tells me these people are after more than food this morning.”
Max continued to look worried while he poured coffee and boxed up Greek yogurt-and-cinnamon coffee cake. Callie noticed that frowning made his eyebrow ring bulge. “The local newspaper called right before you came in,” Max whispered out of the side of his mouth. “They said you found Drew. I guess Mrs. DeWitt told them, at least according to the reporter I spoke with. I told them I was only your employee and didn’t know anything but they didn’t care, so I hung up on them.”
“Max, thanks. Hanging up was exactly the right thing to do. Let’s just get everybody served and out of here.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Not quite able to paste a true smile on her face, Callie thanked her customers for waiting and continued to fill orders as rapidly as her tired bones would allow. Some of her regulars gave her a sad, respectful distance, but others were relentless in their speculation. The hubbub grew in volume until finally, a short blonde woman in a navy tracksuit sidled up to her and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Who’d want Drew dead?” she asked. She leaned in closer and Callie took a step back. “Does it have something to do with the food contest?”
Suddenly, Max noticed the blonde and took a huge step so that he was standing between the two women. “Nice try, Marcy,” he said to the woman over her protests. “I told you, no reporters!” He took her gently but firmly by the elbow and led her toward the doorway, calling over his shoulder to Callie: “No worries: Just a former Crystal Bay High classmate-turned small-town reporter. She thinks she’s the new Katie Couric.”
This was getting out of hand. Callie decided to address the crowd herself.
“Welcome to Callie’s Kitchen, everybody. If you’re here for food, we’ve got lots of that to choose from. If you want gossip about the tragic death of my friend, Drew Staven, sorry, but that’s not something we can help you with.” Callie said, raising her voice a bit so that all the customers could hear her. The din began to quiet as she spoke. “I’m very sad about this loss. That’s all I can say right now. I’m happy to serve all of my customers, but I can’t talk about Drew. Thanks for your patience and understanding. Now who wants a cup of coffee … on the house?”
That proclamation silenced the room but it was only for a moment. Almost immediately a determined few resumed the chatter, while others surged forward to accept their free dose of caffeine. A tall woman Callie had never seen before smoothed bouncy spiral curls out of her face before addressing her in a nasal tone: “I heard you found the body.”
“That’s enough!” This was from Max, back from his role as bouncer. “A man is dead, people!” Some of the regulars agreed vociferously while other customers made their way to the door, grumbling, but not before grabbing paper cups of steaming coffee to go. Eventually, just a few customers remained, some seated at tables and others checking the refrigerator for ready-to-eat meals. The door chimes rang again and she looked up and Callie braced herself for further interrogation, but it was only Minette and Jeff. Callie found herself smiling with gratitude at the sight of their familiar faces.
Minette’s fair complexion was whiter than usual. She embraced Callie while Jeff gave a sad little wave.
“What are you two doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I saw the going out of business sign. I’m so sorry,” she stammered, feeling flustered by their obvious concern for her despite their own troubles.
Jeff started to say something but Minette gave him a look and he was silent. She smoothed her disheveled pixie haircut but it didn’t do much to help tame the errant blonde spikes that were sticking out every which way. “We only came to tell you we heard about Drew. It’s just…I can’t believe it.” Minette seemed at a loss about what to say next and started twisting the bottom of her sweater, wringing the fabric over and over again as if it were a dishrag.
Jeff nodded, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Truly, we are sorry. I mean, you two were an item, right?” He seemed embarrassed by his own question as Minette shot him a look and frowned.
“Yes,” Callie said. “I mean, we’d been seeing each other for a couple of months.” She exhaled noisily. “The whole thing seems like a nightmare, only I can’t wake up.” To her mortification, she felt her face starting to crumple. “But truly, it’s a loss for all of us,” she continued in a low voice. “His colleagues, his … friends. The Chamber. Crystal Bay. He was a great guy,” she said softly, struggling to control her emotions.
“Oh Callie,” Minette said. “Was Drew really murdered? It just doesn’t seem possible!” She grasped Callie’s forearm tightly.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Callie said. “It’s true.” She felt the sting of hot, unwanted tears and loosened her arm from Minette’s grip to wipe her eyes.
“I’m sure it was a terrible thing for you to experience,” Jeff soothed. “We don’t want to make you re-live it. Do we, dear?” he asked his wife. He squeezed her shoulder.
Minette hung her head. “Forgive me. It’s just that I can’t believe this happened, right here, in Crystal Bay. Who would have ever thought it?” Gently she disengaged herself from her husband’s grip, as even this small amount of PDA was too much of a display to a bereaved woman.
Callie couldn’t pursue the topic of Drew any further without breaking down completely. She knew her friends meant well but it was time to change the subject. “Thank you both,” she said. “Regarding your business please let me know how I can help. If you want to sell anything at Callie’s Kitchen, I’d be happy to do that. I wouldn’t charge a fee – I’d give you full profit until you get back on your feet.”
The couple exchanged glances and then looked back at Callie. “You’re a good friend,” Minette said thickly. “We don’t want to overstay our welcome. I’ll call you later.” The two said their goodbyes and walked out side by side, wife clinging to husband.
Callie felt bereft watching them go. If only she had someone to lean on, physically as well as mentally. Well, in a way, she did. She glanced at Max who was bustling around, pretending not to have heard the exchange. What a loyal employee he was. If her customers found out she’d been questioned at the police station, would they stay away? Not only she would suffer, but Max would, too. Shaking off that thought until later, she turned to him.
“Thank you for sticking up for me today,” she said to Max as he paused to wipe a countertop. “I don’t think I could have taken anymore. The good news is that we sold out of just about everything, but for all the wrong reasons. Customers clearly thought they were going to get the inside scoop on a murder along with their banana bread and loukoumades.”
“That’s why I set them straight – how can people behave that way?” Max was fuming. “Drew was murdered. And you found him! I can’t imagine how bad that must have been. Oh, sorry!” he said when he saw Callie blanch. Max folded his muscled arms in front of his chest, offering a colorful view of his many tattoos.
Callie closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. It was bad all right and the ouzo hadn’t helped matters. Her head throbbed. The bell over the door jingled again, but Callie couldn’t field any more questions from customers, reporters or even well-wishers right now. Max would handle this particular newcomer. She turned around and busied herself by straightening the glass jars on the shelf behind the cash register, trying to breathe deeply in the hopes that additional oxygen would help get rid of her mental fog. Darn ouzo. She knew better than to drink that stuff.
“Good morning!” said a familiar voice. Callie whirled around to find Detective Sands standing before her.
“Hello?” it came out as more of a question than a statement. Max had materialized next to her as q
uickly as a cat. He bounced on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting from Sands to Callie and back again, like it was a tennis match and he had his money on the more inexperienced player.
“Hey buddy,” Max said to Sands, looking him over from head to toe. Sands was smartly dressed today in a suit and tie with a tweed overcoat. Before Callie could speak, Max all but growled at the detective. “We’re not answering any questions from reporters.”
“Wise choice,” Sands remarked handing Max his card and staring him in the eye. Max was tall, slightly over 6 feet, but he had to look up a little bit to meet the detective’s gaze. They locked eyes and Callie could sense Max spoiling for a fight. He glanced at the card Sands had given him and looked up, shaken. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, before retreating to the back of the shop where he began noisily moving large boxes of baking ingredients.
“We’ve been having a bit of trouble here this morning,” Callie offered by way of apology. “Naturally, everybody is very concerned and looking for answers – including reporters. Apparently, Mrs. DeWitt let it slip that I found Drew. Now what can I do for you?”
Sands cleared his throat. “I’m surprised to see you here today. I stopped by your house first, but a neighbor said you’d left for work. I need you to return to the station with me. There are just a few more things I want to clear up.” Sands sounded friendly, but firm.
“Didn’t we cover everything last night?” Callie fretted aloud, thinking about all the baking and meal prep she’d missed yesterday. Of course, she wanted to help the police but this was a lot to ask of Max – two days in a row. And let’s face it, she thought, I don’t want to think about this right now. She’d just about submerged her grief in work chaos and this was going to bring the pain right back to the surface again.
“I’m afraid we didn’t,” Sands replied. He eyed Max, giving his eyebrow piercing, tattoos and tough-guy build a thorough once-over. “Can’t your bodyguard take over for you?”