The American Café

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  When she got to Liberty, she pulled into Johnson's garage, filled her car with gas, and bought a copy of the two-day-old weekly Liberty paper. By the time she got to the café, the regulars were already there, so she parked behind the café and entered through the kitchen. Emma had already arrived.

  “Good morning, Emma. What do you need me to do?”

  “I've got everything under control, honey. Get yourself some coffee and visit with the people. They like to talk to you.” Emma opened the oven and peeked inside. “You know, honey, I've been trying to clean out some of Goldie's things, and she had a bunch of Indian baskets and some other stuff I have absolutely no use for. You want to take a look at it? There's a beaded purse I thought you might want, you being Indian and all.”

  Sadie stared at Emma. She had made an extra effort to accept Emma just the way she was but she was growing tired of her racist innuendos. Emma's attitude toward Indian people in general seemed to be so deeply embedded, Sadie doubted she even knew how offensive she sounded.

  “Sure, when's a good time?” Sadie asked.

  “I tell you what, after we close today, why don't you give me a ride home? Then you can take a look at all of her junk and take what you want.”

  “Okay.” Sadie continued through the kitchen and entered the café with her newspaper under her arm just as one of the regulars returned the coffeepot back to its burner. He hurried to fetch a cup for her.

  She took the coffee and sat down at her favorite table near the kitchen door, thinking how unusual it was for her to be comfortable with other people helping themselves to her space. But it seemed to be working.

  She flattened out the paper and began to read as she stirred cream and sugar into the hot liquid. An article about halfway down on the right-hand side of the paper caught her attention: “MIA Soldier Laid to Rest.” She began to read:

  “The remains of an Oklahoma soldier killed in Cambodia thirty-six years ago finally came home last week and were buried at the Fort Gibson National Cemetery. U.S. Army Staff Sgt. McIntosh Yahola died when his unit's Huey assault helicopter took enemy fire in the Cambodian jungle west of the South Vietnamese border. Three other soldiers were able to exit and escape. Although it is believed Yahola died instantly, he was declared missing in action. The Cambodian government allowed American search teams into the jungles to search for missing comrades in the 1990s, and they eventually found a mass grave containing Yahola's helmet and some bone fragments. Recent DNA testing linked the bones to his only living relative, a brother, Eto Catuce Yahola. More than 1,800 Americans are still listed as missing in action from the Vietnam War, according to officials. Related story and picture on page 8.”

  Sadie could feel someone reading over her shoulder. She put the paper down and quickly turned around. When she looked up, Lance Smith smiled at her. His left arm rested in a sling wrapped around his neck.

  “Oh, wow, Lance. You look terrible. How are you?”

  “Thanks a lot,” he said, eyes twinkling.

  Realizing how her comment must have sounded, she tried to elaborate. “It's barely been a week. Are you sure you should be out and about?” She blew across the top of her coffee and sipped.

  “I had to suck it up and get back to work. Charlie and I delivered Deputy Dawg to the Tulsa County Jail last night.”

  Sadie almost spit out her coffee. “What happened? Here, sit down.” She jumped up and retrieved a cup of coffee for him.

  He waited until she returned before sitting. “The bank called the FBI and asked them to arrest Polly Gibson for embezzling. She managed to siphon off about fifteen thousand dollars before they caught her.”

  “It was from a dormant account, wasn't it?”

  “Yep. Evidently, she thought since the chief of police was involved, she would never get caught. Then you came along and turned over her applecart.”

  “Me? I didn't do anything. The internal auditors already knew there was something funny going on, and Tom knew she was stealing money out of her cash drawer. But that was just piddly amounts. I had no idea she was in that deep.”

  “Well, she and Stump thought you were on to them. That's why Stump pushed you in the vault.”

  “Suli,” she muttered and then translated, “the old buzzard.”

  “I guess he thought killing you that way would look like an accident.”

  “Killing me? He was trying to kill me?”

  “Yeah, Polly said he thought you would run out of air and suffocate. He really isn't very bright.”

  “Oh, he didn't know about the air vent.” Sadie frowned. “Come to think of it, I didn't know about it either until I found the lights. That was scary. What about charges?”

  “They've already charged him, but there will be more.”

  “Like what?”

  “Charlie had already sent your radiator hose in to see if there were any identifiable prints on it. The lab found one good print but couldn't match it back to anyone in the crime record database. When all this came up about Stump, Charlie called and had them check it against Stump's CLEET records, and sure enough they found a match.”

  “Oh, my.” Sadie shook her head.

  “I can't believe he was that dumb. Anyway, we'll have to find out what the charges will be on that.”

  Sadie's eyebrows shot up. “The tape. He was on the tape, wasn't he?”

  Lance leaned back in his chair. “The tape was very useful.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “Nothing to see.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The camera was out of focus.” Lance laughed. “All you could see were shadowy figures. We never could identify anyone on it.”

  Sadie wrinkled her forehead. “I thought you said it was useful.”

  “It was. The FBI told Polly they had a tape from the cash machine and she spilled her guts.”

  Sadie took a deep breath. “Wow.”

  “I also came to thank you for coming to the hospital.”

  Sadie tried to hide her face behind her cup. “You remember?”

  “Actually, I don't remember a thing.”

  “Then how do you know I was there?”

  “I'm psychic.”

  “Yeah, right,” Sadie laughed. “Charlie McCord told you.”

  Rosalee came through the front door with a smile on her face. A man at the counter flirted with her as she grabbed a white apron and tied it around her waist, a signal to the regulars that normal café business was about to begin. She approached Sadie and Lance. “You all want anything to eat?”

  Lance nodded. “Yes, ma'am. I'll take a ham and cheese omelet with biscuits and gravy.”

  Rosalee took notes on a small green pad and looked at Sadie. “You want anything Sadie?”

  “No, I'll fix myself something in a little while. How are you doing, Rosalee? Did you make your meeting yesterday?”

  “Yes, I did and the trip there and back turned out to be very interesting. I gave John Mobley a ride.”

  Sadie gave her a questioning look. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah, I'll tell you about it later. And I want to talk to you about something else, too,” she added.

  “What?”

  Rosalee looked at Lance and hesitated.

  “What?” Sadie repeated. “He won't bite.”

  “I need a hundred dollars,” she whispered. “Do you think I could get an advance? John Mobley has agreed to give me a blood sample so I can get it tested to see if we are brother and sister.”

  “Ooh, your mom's not going to like that. Does she know?”

  “Not yet. I'm going to tell her this afternoon after I make sure I have the money and he's really going to do it. I'm afraid if I tell her here, she'll take a butcher knife after me.”

  “She's definitely not going to be very happy about it.” Sadie sipped coffee and thought for a moment. “I'll loan you the money and you can pay me back.”

  “Thanks.” Rosalee disappeared into the kitchen.

  “What's that all about?” as
ked Lance.

  Sadie explained Rosalee's dilemma of being adopted and how she thought Pearl Mobley might have been her mother.

  Lance rolled his eyes. “That's pretty far-fetched.”

  “Yes,” agreed Sadie. “But it's her journey to make.”

  Rosalee delivered Lance's breakfast to him and then rushed to wait on other customers.

  Lance peppered his eggs and began to eat. “You know, Sadie, Emma's a pretty good cook. Is she going to stay around?”

  “I hope so. She seems to really enjoy working here and I don't think I could ever handle this place on my own the way Goldie did.”

  Lance began to eat as Sadie turned the paper over and continued reading the article she had started earlier.

  The last paragraph read:

  “The ceremony for Yahola was punctuated by an unusual display of Native pride. When the honor guard folded the U.S. flag and presented it to Yahola's brother, he took it, laid it on his chair, handed them back another flag, and asked them to drape it on the casket. While they unfolded the flag of the Muscogee Creek Nation, a Native drummer could be heard singing in the distance. Members of the Creek Nation Red Stick Warriors Group gathered nearby to honor Yahola.”

  “What's a Red Stick Warrior?” asked Sadie.

  “Creeks.” Lance took a bite of food.

  She waited for a better explanation.

  “Haven't you ever heard of the Battle of Horseshoe Bend?”

  “Yeah, that's when we should have killed Andrew Jackson and we didn't.”

  Lance laid down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I think if you study history you'll find that some of the Cherokees were fighting on Jackson's side that day. We, meaning us Cherokees, were trying to protect him. Bad move on our part. Our ancestors were naive enough to believe Jackson would stand behind his word. He'd promised if we'd fight for him he wouldn't take any more Cherokee land. So, in all our wisdom, we nearly wiped out the Red Sticks.”

  “What's that got to do with it?” Sadie sounded perplexed.

  “The Creek warriors were fighting against Jackson and the Cherokees. If the Red Sticks had been successful and killed Jackson, there might not have been a Trail of Tears for any of the five tribes.” Lance grinned mischievously. “We ought to apologize to the Red Sticks.”

  Sadie rolled her eyes. “I don't believe that, but I'm going to let it slide. So why are they called Red Sticks?”

  “I'm not exactly an expert on Creek history, but I know they had upper towns and lower towns—white towns and red towns—white for peace, red for war. Supposedly, the warriors from the red towns carried sticks dipped in red paint. When they sent a bundle of sticks to the War Chief, the number of sticks determined how many days were left until they went to war. I'm sure it's a lot more complicated than that. Red should be able to tell you.”

  Sadie took the paper and studied the adjoining photo. “Oh, my gosh. This is Red.” She handed him the newspaper. “Lance, look.”

  “Let's see.” Lance skimmed the article. “Hmmm, I wish I'd known about this. I heard they'd found this guy's remains, but I didn't know they had already been returned.” Lance shook his head. “That war sucked.” He continued to read for a moment, then looked at the picture. “Yeah, that looks like Red. Must have been his brother. Look at this member of the honor guard.” He handed the paper back to Sadie and continued to eat. “That's Mobley all decked out in his dress blues.”

  Sadie squinted and looked at the photo again. “Are you sure?”

  “Looks like him. I know he's a Marine. Must be part of the local honor guard around here.”

  “Rosalee, come here,” Sadie said.

  Rosalee brought the coffeepot to warm Lance's coffee.

  “Look at this picture,” Sadie said.

  Rosalee set the pot down on the edge of the table and stared at the photo.

  “Remember when you went to see John Mobley and he was all dressed up in his military uniform? Looks like he's part of the honor guard.”

  Rosalee's eyes got big. “Good grief. He scares me to death.” She picked up the coffee and walked off.

  Lance finished eating and Sadie cleared his dishes.

  “Where's my check?” he asked, as he pulled out his money clip.

  Sadie returned to the table and wiped it off with a clean cloth. “Forget it, Smith. Your money is no good here.”

  “You know in some circles that could be deemed a bribe of sorts.”

  “Well, in my circle it's just good business to keep the local lawman happy.”

  Lance dropped several dollar bills on the table. “Here's a donation toward Rosalee's pursuit of finding out who she is.”

  “Thanks, Lance.” Sadie walked with him to the door and out onto the sidewalk. “When you feel like you're up to it, why don't we go for another horseback ride?”

  Lance nodded. “We'll have to wait for this shoulder to heal.”

  A man and two boys came out of the café, and the youngest one almost collided with Sadie. It was Matthew Littledave and his sons.

  “Oh, hi,” exclaimed Sadie. “I'm so sorry, I didn't see you inside. I told you I would buy your meal.”

  “Oh, don't worry about that, ma'am,” the father replied.

  Sadie introduced the Littledaves to Lance, and he shook hands with all three.

  “It's nice to meet you,” the father said to Lance, “and nice to see you again, ma'am. We're on our way to Tahlequah to pick up some parts, and we've got to get going.” They climbed into their truck and started to pull away when little Matt pushed his elbow out the open window. “Tell Mrs. Ray the food was as good as she said it would be.” And then they were gone.

  Lance wrinkled his forehead. “Mrs. Ray?”

  “Evidently, Goldie had done some business there in the past and invited them to the café. He doesn't know she's dead.”

  Lance nodded, then he climbed into his police car and drove off.

  32

  That afternoon, Sadie and Emma closed the café, climbed into the Explorer, and drove toward Emma's. Sadie looked forward to seeing more of Goldie's collection of Indian artwork and baskets.

  Emma leaned back and rested her head on the headrest. “Whew, this has been a long day.”

  “Emma, I should help you more in the kitchen since Rosalee has been doing so well managing the front by herself.”

  “It's a habit I have, liking to do everything myself. I guess I just want to prove to myself and everyone else that I can run that place as well as Goldie did. And, you know, I think I could have if she'd have just given me a chance.” A look of satisfaction appeared on her face. “Besides that, it feels good to be tired. I sleep better when I'm tired.”

  “Well, we haven't had much of a chance to talk today. Did you hear what happened to George Stump?”

  “Land o' living, I guess. I don't know why people can't figure out that having an illicit sexual affair like that is going to get them in trouble. Always has, always will.”

  “It's hard to believe the chief of police was in on an embezzlement scheme, though. Not to mention, they proved he's the one who pushed me in the vault and then a few days later sabotaged my car. I think they are actually looking into the possibility he may have had something to do with Goldie's murder.”

  A look of surprise covered Emma's face. “I thought they said Pearl killed Goldie.”

  “I don't think they were ever able to prove anything.”

  Anger swelled in Emma's voice. “I thought she confessed. I thought it was over.”

  “I think I may have spoken out of turn, Emma. I'm sorry. I'm sure if something else comes up about—I'm sure Lance will let you know if anything changes about that.”

  Sadie parked in front of the house and the two women got out and went inside. Sadie could see where Emma had been boxing up many of Goldie's things.

  “Just make yourself at home, honey,” said Emma. “Some of the baskets are piled up in that corner. The beaded bag is in that box with the pictures.” She p
ointed at a cardboard box on the sofa. “I'll get the rest for you.”

  The framed photos once displayed on top of the piano had been stacked haphazardly in another box on a nearby table. Sadie picked up the top picture, a very old photo of Goldie and her boyfriend. She dusted it off with the palm of her hand and looked closely. An envelope that had been taped to the back of the frame came loose in her hand. The outside of the envelope was addressed to someone named Skye. She turned the picture back over and stared at the young man.

  “Emma?” Sadie raised her voice hoping Emma could hear her.

  “I'll be right there,” she called from a back room.

  “Do you know what Goldie's boyfriend's name was? The one that went off to the army?”

  Emma carried a beaded gun sheath into the living room, dropped it on the floor, and wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist.

  “Oh, Emma. This is awesome.” Sadie placed the picture and envelope on the table and hurried to retrieve the suede cover. “Let me help you.”

  “No, this is it, for now. What did you say?”

  “Oh, nothing.” Sadie fingered the beadwork and noticed the initials. “I just wondered what Goldie's boyfriend's name was. He looks familiar.”

  “Nick, or Mick…Mickey, I think. He was Indian.”

  The tone of Emma's last three words washed over Sadie, and she instantly shot back before she could stop herself.

  “Did you not like him just because he was Indian, Emma?” Sadie asked.

  “He was okay, I guess. Goldie could have done better.”

  Sadie bristled. “You seem to have forgotten that I'm Cherokee.”

  “It's one thing to work with an Indian, but I'd never marry one.”

  “With your attitude I doubt an Indian would be interested in marrying you, either.”

  Emma glared. “Well at least I don't live off the government like they do. It's our tax dollars they get in those checks every month.”

  Sadie's anger flared. “Let's just nip that lie in the bud right here. I know a lot of Indians, and the only one who gets a check from the Bureau of Indian Affairs gets it because there is a gas well on his restricted land. The BIA manages it for him because he's Indian. Haven't you heard about the lawsuit where the Indians are suing the Federal government for losing billions of their dollars? That's Indian money they lost, Emma, not government money.”