by Lacey Baker
“Business is doing just fine tonight.” Sylvester came into the living room talking as if he were in the middle of a conversation as opposed to just starting one.
He wore his Sunday suit, the summer one, Michelle noted—a pale blue seersucker suit complete with navy-blue suspenders and red-and-white bow tie perfectly tied.
“I heard. The beef stew is going fast, too. Good thing I added a couple of selections to the menu,” Michelle said, moving to one of the counters to pick up another order off the wheel overhead.
Tonight she had five waitresses working the dining room with its twenty-seven tables. Two students she’d hired as interns from the culinary college she’d attended in Baltimore worked on preparation, and Tanya and Lisa Kramer were also working in the kitchen as they were home from college and ready to start their summer positions. She needed a sous chef badly and had been hoping to hire one this summer, but with the current situation she wouldn’t be able to afford one. Hopefully all the extra catering jobs she’d been picking up would help.
For tonight, Michelle had cooked most of the food, or at least started it when she’d come in around five this morning. She’d made the dough for her dinner rolls late last night when she couldn’t sleep and brought it in with her. Now, at only twenty minutes after seven, she was hustling back and forth trying to make sure everything was perfect for her own dinner celebration.
“I saw that,” Sylvester said. “Also saw you have that big table in the back set up. Got a party coming in tonight?”
“The Cantrell party,” she announced with a nervous smile. “I figured since we were all here it would be good to sit down for at least one meal together. Before they all leave,” she added a little more quietly.
“Good move,” Sylvester said with a sly grin.
Michelle really liked Sylvester. She figured this was exactly what her grandfather would have been like had he lived to see any of them. And her grandmother had liked him a lot, too, which was probably the real reason Sylvester had hung around Sweetland as long as he did. He was a drifter, as he’d told Michelle before. He hadn’t lived in any one place longer than it took him to get a few pieces of mail or impregnate some woman. The latter he’d done on three occasions. It was his youngest daughter whom he’d lived with after his stroke five years ago. The hospital had notified her and she’d come, much to Sylvester’s surprise. Then she’d taken him back to her house to live. It wasn’t for another four months that Sylvester figured out why she wanted him there. His Social Security check was proving to be extra income for her. He said he hadn’t squawked but gave her what money she asked for, figuring it was the least he could do for her since he hadn’t really played an active part in her life. But when her boyfriend moved in with them, everything changed, fast. In the end they moved to Atlanta and Sylvester wasn’t invited to go along. With his health almost 85 percent intact he set out on his own travels once more and ended up right here on the steps of The Silver Spoon. That was three years ago. He’d been here ever since.
“You’re invited to join us, Mr. Sylvester. You’re just like family, and Gramma would have wanted us to all continue to treat you that way.”
Sylvester was quiet for a moment, then simply nodded. “I’ll go and take my seat.”
She watched him walk out of the kitchen and smiled. Hopefully, her siblings would be so easy to deal with.
* * *
“Charlie still has his spot down by the pier,” Parker was saying to Preston, who sat to his right.
Quinn had just arrived and was pulling out his chair to sit on Parker’s left. They were the first three to arrive at Michelle’s special dinner. “And let me guess, you’re thinking of going down there to get drunk … legally, this time,” he said to Parker.
Parker was already grinning, rubbing his hands together. “You’ve got that right. You know when the last time was I’ve been able to unwind with a drink? Hell, man, I can’t even remember.”
“I hear you,” Preston added. “Business has been good, I’m not complaining. But I haven’t had much time to myself lately.”
“And by ‘business has been good’ he means that there’s been an increase in murders in Baltimore City so we’ve both been pretty busy. I swear if I have to knock on the door and tell another mother that her fifteen-year-old son has been shot and killed I’m going to lose it,” Parker said with a groan.
Tanya appeared then with her quietly pretty face and ready smile. She looked like she was in her early twenties, fresh and ambitious. Michelle had told Quinn earlier this afternoon—they’d been sitting on the front porch drinking lemonade and looking up and down the street instead of talking about what was really on her mind—that Tanya and her sister Lisa had been working here during their summer breaks for the last three years. Seeing her now made him wonder how many more summers she would walk around this old house, taking dinner orders, scrubbing floors, and making beds. How long before the eleven hundred occupants of this small patch of land started to suffocate her?
“Can I get you guys something to drink?” she asked.
“Rum and Coke,” Parker requested immediately.
“I’ll have whatever is on tap,” was Preston’s reply.
“I’ll have the same,” Quinn said. It appeared Parker was very serious about relaxing tonight.
When Tanya had left them, Preston related to what his twin had said. “And I’m defending the other fifteen-year-old who pulled the trigger. It’s getting so now I hate to watch the news at night because I know my phone’s going to ring first thing the next morning and it’s going to be some distraught mother begging me to get her son out of jail.”
“So switch to civil law,” Quinn suggested, toying with the napkin on his table.
Preston had gone to the University of Maryland and the University of Baltimore School of Law. He’d practiced as a prosecutor for five years and for the last two years had run a very successful defense firm with his former classmate and now partner, Joseph Baskerville. Preston had been talking about becoming a lawyer since he and Parker were sixteen and were pulled over on their way home from Ocean City. He’d argued for weeks that they shouldn’t pay the ticket; they should go to court instead, especially since the officer had reeked of alcohol. In the end, Gramma had sent a check to the court for the ticket and Preston had vowed to fight the good fight for the wrongly accused. Now, Quinn thought with a frown, his younger brother seemed to be growing tired of that fight.
Preston shrugged. “I just might do that,” he said.
Their drinks arrived and Parker finished almost half his glass before saying, “So what’s your advice for me, big brother? Should I quit the police force?”
Younger by five minutes, Parker had always been the true wild child of the Cantrell family. Headstrong and reckless were words people in the town had used to describe him. Quinn saw something different. He’d always seen a young man trying to find his way, to make his mark on the world. And truthfully, Quinn had been a little envious of Parker growing up because even though he was younger Parker always knew what he wanted and how to get it. He also knew how to live life to its fullest without worrying about recriminations or repercussions. Quinn had always worried about how what he did would affect others, almost to the point of distraction. That hadn’t changed over the years, and he was beginning to feel the strain from it all.
“You don’t want to be a cop anymore?” Quinn asked in an attempt to remain focused on his brother’s life and not his own.
“I want to stop spending every waking moment staring at death. It’s depressing.”
Quinn could certainly relate to what Parker was saying. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “What else would you do? I mean, the force fits everything about you. They allow you to carry a gun and get into people’s faces legally.”
There was a joined chuckle as the brothers continued to wait for their sisters. Each of them looked around the dining room, watching as people came in, took seats, ordered food, and were served. Quinn couldn’t speak for t
hem but what he saw was a pretty smooth and profitable business.
“What about you?” Preston asked. “Everything going okay with you at the cancer center?”
Of course the conversation would eventually shift to him; the Cantrells liked to know what was going on with one another. That was a family thing, he knew, and he really shouldn’t have been put off by it. Truth was, Quinn simply wondered how to answer the question when he wasn’t totally sure himself. He’d been working at the Mark Vincent Cancer Center for five years as their chief medical oncologist. He watched his patients come in for treatment after receiving the worst news of their lives; some would die, and some would go into remission. Quinn refused to have a feeling at either outcome. He simply did his job. Day after day.
“Everything is okay,” he answered but not with total honesty. He didn’t think either of his brothers would pick up on that.
And as if he’d personally summoned something to change the subject from him and/or his career, Raine and Savannah arrived. Savannah wore a long yellow dress with earrings as bright and as big as the heels on her shoes and Raine, very understated white linen pants and a lavender blouse. Quinn could tell a lot about a woman by the way she dressed. He’d had ample practice watching his three sisters argue over clothes and giving their endless opinions about what the others were wearing. It had provided him wonderful insight for his future. Unfortunately, he rarely used any of the knowledge he had about women. Not since Sharane.
“So have we ordered? I’m starving,” Savannah said, reaching for a menu.
“I think your sister has a special menu planned for you tonight,” Sylvester told her as he took a seat at the end of the table. “And she’s a fine cook so I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”
“I want seafood,” Savannah insisted, Sylvester’s comment notwithstanding.
“That beef stew is smelling mighty good,” Preston offered.
Raine shrugged. “Whatever Michelle cooks will be fine. I really like what they’ve done to this place.”
“It’s a good establishment,” Quinn said, grateful for the change of subject both verbally and mentally. “Michelle gave me the rundown this afternoon on how things have been working over on the restaurant side. And from the look of the last financial statements, they’ve been operating in the black for quite a while.”
“That’s good. Daddy would have been proud,” Raine said.
“Your grandmother certainly was.” Sylvester lifted his glass of water to his lips and drank. “She loved this house and this town. But mostly she wanted to leave you kids something. A piece of your heritage.”
“She could have left out those danged dogs,” Savannah said with a groan.
“Speaking of which,” Preston offered immediately, “I’ve listed my puppy on one of those websites. My secretary is an animal lover so she knows about all this stuff. When I emailed her about the will she suggested I give this place a try since there’s no way I can take care of a Lab puppy working the hours I do.”
“That’s a great idea,” Savannah said with a smile. “What’s the web address so I can get my little hellion listed on there, too?”
“So nobody’s interested in keeping their dog?” Raine asked with a frown.
“I’m on the streets for twelve, sometimes twenty-four hours straight. I barely remember to go to the grocery store to buy my own food, let alone remember to feed a dog.” Parker had signaled to Tanya for another drink.
Quinn watched the girl’s hesitant look and figured she’d probably serve him a much more watered-down version this time.
“I just thought since Gramma wanted us to have them,” Raine began. “I mean there has to be a reason she’d call us all back here and give us these dogs to take care of.”
“It’s a simple reason,” Michelle said, finally joining the rest of them and taking her seat at the head of the table. “Gramma wanted you all to come back to Sweetland to live. I need you all to come back to Sweetland to help save The Silver Spoon.”
Before the grumbling could start Michelle raised a hand that silenced everyone … at least for the time being.
“Let me just say this all at one time then we’ll open the floor for questions and comments.” She took a deep breath. “About two months ago Nikki came to me with a tax bill for more than fifty thousand dollars. Gramma hadn’t paid the taxes in a couple of years, and with all the penalties and interest the amount continues to grow. The town council is now threatening to foreclose on the property.”
“What? Why didn’t Nikki pay the bill? I thought she was doing the managing thing?” Savannah asked right after she’d slapped a hand down on the table.
“Nikki went over the books but Gramma continued to write the checks up until the day she died,” Michelle answered quietly.
“So we have to come up with fifty thousand or this place goes to the town,” Quinn stated slowly, shock still resonating through his mind.
This was almost as much of a shock as his grandmother dying.
“Who has that type of money?” Raine asked almost in a whisper. “If we lose this place it’ll be a disgrace. All Gramma worked for will be gone.”
“That town council must be a bunch of asses!” Parker raged. “Gramma helped build this town. Our great-grandfather was even the mayor at one time,” he went on, as if they all hadn’t already heard the history about the Cantrells in Sweetland.
“It was almost a hundred years ago that Cyrus Cantrell was mayor. And since then the Fitzgeralds have been firmly in that seat at city hall,” Preston argued.
Michelle shook her head. “And before Liza they’d all been hell-bent on stopping progress and keeping down anyone who disagreed.”
“Sweetland is a democracy, Michelle. The Fitzgeralds may think they own this town because good ol’ Buford was the founder. I would think the town council and the voters would be interested in preserving its history,” Quinn stated.
“And didn’t Nikki say that the current Fitzgerald mayor is working for the growth of the town?” Raine asked.
“First, Liza married into the family so she’s not crazy. Yet. Also, Hoover and Inez King are still sitting council members. With only dollar signs in their eyes, they’re still rallying support to sell chunks of Sweetland property to some big-shot developer. On the days that Hoover’s sober enough to negotiate,” she added.
Hoover King had been the man Quinn pulled off Nikki last night. Now that Michelle had said the name and mentioned the liquor, he remembered the man and his intoxicated antics clearly.
“So what? Now progress means we’re going to lose this house? And if they sell it to a developer, it will undoubtedly become something like a huge resort or maybe a casino. Both of which will bring considerable money to the town,” Preston said.
Michelle was already shaking her head. And Quinn immediately felt bad for her. She had been burdened with the task that their grandmother could not complete. But he also understood where the rest of them stood. Gramma had always told them to live life to its fullest and to be the very best people they could be. Well, unfortunately for them, that life wasn’t centered on Sweetland.
“Giving us a puppy wasn’t going to be enough to make us stay here. Gramma had to know that,” Quinn said, his tone low and consoling so as not to upset Michelle further.
“What are you saying?” Michelle asked.
He didn’t want to say, didn’t quite like the sound of it even in his head, but he didn’t hold back. “I’m wondering if this isn’t another one of her life lessons. Puppies wouldn’t keep us here, but the threat of losing this house just might. At the very least it would bring us all together to figure out what to do next.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Michelle interjected, but she didn’t sound like she was even convinced of that fact.
“What I’ve been wondering since Michelle called me about Gramma is how she really died,” Preston added, resting his elbows on the table, fingers steeped to rub along his chin. “I mean, how did it happen?
Who found her? Had she been sick?”
Quinn could see just where his brother’s lawyerly mind was going. He didn’t like it. Hell, he was beginning to hate this entire situation, but he could see Preston’s line of thinking as plain as day.
“I went looking for her when she wasn’t up getting ready for the day like she normally is. We used to have our first cup of coffee together right on the back porch,” Sylvester said grimly. “I went to her rooms and knocked and knocked. Finally, I just opened the door and there she was, lying in her bed like she was still sleeping. Only I knew she wasn’t waking up.”
Michelle cleared her throat. “Sylvester called me and I came down immediately. We called the coroner right after that.”
“But how had she been feeling?” Preston pushed on. “Was she okay the day before? Did you talk to her about the taxes before she died?”
Michelle shook her head. “I didn’t and I don’t know why,” she told them. “You know how Gramma was, Pres. She never complained, never wasted time on things she couldn’t change. Said God had a plan for her and for all of us.”
Preston sighed. “So you thought this was somehow a part of God’s grand plan? For her to lose this house and then to die without any of us knowing why?”
Quinn didn’t know what to believe at the moment. What he did know was that getting into a heated debate and turning on one another wasn’t going to help.
“I agree with Preston, we need to know if there was a medical reason for Gramma’s death. As for the taxes, we’re going to have to come up with something. I don’t know what right now and I don’t know if that means we’ll all have to stay here. What I do know is that Gramma loved us beyond all our faults, and she believed in us until the very end. We owe it to her to at least try to find a solution.”
“Michelle, who was Gramma’s doctor? I’ll give him a call to see if there was anything going on we should know about.”
“Why?” Michelle asked. “Can’t we just let her rest in peace?”
“There are too many questions, that’s why,” Preston argued.