Patriot's Passing: Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries, Book 1

by Summer Prescott

  “I think it might be a good way to meet some people,” his mother suggested.

  “Yeah. That’s what Kelsey said too. We’ll see,” he said noncommittally, heading for the kitchen. “Where’s Grandpa?”

  “I think he’s out talking to the guy who’s going to expand the outdoor patio. There are snacks and drinks in the fridge if you’re hungry, but don’t eat too much, we’ll be having dinner at home tonight.”

  “That sounds so weird… home,” Ryan commented, stopping and turning around to look at his mother.

  “I know. It all seems a little weird right now. Our lives have been turned upside down, but we’ll adjust. We always do,” she smiled sadly.

  “Yep. Always will,” he returned her half-heartedly smile bravely, then turned to go get his snack.

  Rossalyn had found a cute little house that was only a few blocks from the shop, which would make getting there wonderfully convenient, particularly on winter mornings, when the snow could make driving rather treacherous. She had a master bedroom suite, with a sizeable walk-in closet, and Ryan had a large bedroom with its own bathroom as well. There were hardwood floors throughout, and built-ins in the formal dining room. She loved the front porch, which came with a swing and would be perfect for her white wicker outdoor furniture. Her mother had proclaimed it perfect, and had promised to help Rossalyn paint and decorate it to her liking. Ryan had free rein to make his room into his own personal space however he chose.

  Hands on hips, Rossalyn surveyed the front area of Hawg Heaven and nodded in approval. She’d decorated with black and chrome motorcycle insignia, and had re-upholstered the bar stools in black faux leather, with chrome studs on the sides. Her dad had polished the tiny bits of rust from the chrome supports on the barstools, and the front bar had been painted black, which contrasted nicely with the stainless steel counter top. Lighted display cases had been set on top of the back counter, for items that were kept in stock, and everything was sparkling clean. The dry goods were in boxes in the back, waiting to be stored on gleaming chrome shelving units, and her first meat order would be in next Thursday, just in time for her grand opening on Friday.

  Menus would be in no later than Tuesday, and Rossalyn had plunged in with both feet, committing to be open from six in the morning until six in the evening. She didn’t want to go beyond those hours, because she wanted to have at least some time to be able to hang out with Ryan and have a life outside of the business. She figured she could always cut back on hours if she felt overwhelmed. Things were going so well, she wondered what might happen to derail her plans.

  “Hey guys, how’s it going?” she asked, opening the side door to the patio, where her father was chatting with a contractor regarding the expansion, which would be done just in time for the grand opening, even though it would be closed for the season shortly thereafter.

  Rossalyn had gotten the shop so cheaply, that investing in a patio expansion had been a no-brainer.

  “Great timing,” her father boomed. “We were just getting down to the facts and figures. You’ll want to sit in for this.”

  Rossalyn joined Brent and the local contractor Joseph Swanson. Joseph showed her the drawings that he’d made, and his concept was better than she could have imagined. There would be direct window access from the kitchen, so customers could pick up their food themselves if they wanted to sit outside, and there were plans for a condiment and utensil station which would make their experience even more pleasant. Lighting would be installed in the beams overhead, providing the option of staying open later in the summer months if she so chose, and the patio would be large enough to use as a dance floor or reception venue if requested, opening up even more business opportunities.

  “This is amazing Joe,” she nodded, poring over the plans. “It’s even better than I imagined.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” the contractor replied, handing her a clipboard with the itemized costs for the project. “How does the budget work for you?” he asked.

  Rossalyn appreciated his straightforward manner, and thought that the figures were more than reasonable, something she hadn’t expected.

  “It’s exactly where I need it to be,” she approved, signing the bottom of the quote. “Can you get it done by the time I open in two weeks?”

  “Piece of cake,” he assured her. “I’ll have my guys out here bright and early tomorrow.”

  “Perfect. Thanks again, Joe,” she shook his hand, as did her father.

  “You betcha. We’ll have it done in no time,” he assured her, heading for his truck.

  “Now, where’s that grandson of mine?” Brent asked, putting his arm around Rossalyn’s shoulders.

  “In the kitchen, having a snack,” she grinned, leaning into her dad.

  “Sounds like exactly where I need to be,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. “See ya inside.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” she promised, watching him go.

  Rossalyn walked across the deck and leaned against one of the railings, visualizing the new design, and was startled to hear a male voice behind her. She turned toward the sound and saw a young man with longish hair and raggedy jeans, who looked to be of Hispanic descent, approaching the deck. She eyed him warily and hoped that he spoke English, because, although she’d taken Spanish in high school and college, she was more than a bit rusty.

  “Hi,” he raised his hand tentatively in greeting.

  “Hi. Can I help you?” she asked, automatically tensing, trying to prepare for whatever he might want.

  “Uh, yes. Are you hiring?” he gestured toward the building, then put his hands in his pockets and smiled at her shyly.

  “Yes I am,” Rossalyn nodded. “I had planned on interviewing for a cook position next week, if you’re interested.”

  “Oh, sí. I mean, yes, I am very much interested, ma’am,” was the enthusiastic reply. “I can interview now, if it’s okay?” He smiled so hopefully that she didn’t have the will to resist.

  There really wasn’t much of anything else that she had to accomplish today anyway… why not conduct an interview?

  “Sure, come on in,” she replied, heading inside and holding the door open for him.

  He trotted up the steps to the deck and followed her in. When they came inside, no one was in the front area, so she sat on one of the barstools and gestured for him to do the same.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “José. José Lopez, ma’am.”

  “You don’t have to call me ma’am, José. My name is Rossalyn,” she smiled kindly.

  “Thank you, Miss Rossalyn.”

  “So do you have experience as a cook?”

  “Sí, I have cooked in my uncle’s restaurant in Mexico, but it closed, so I came back to my family in the United States,” he explained earnestly.

  “Oh, I see. I’ve been to different places in Mexico on vacation a few times. Where are you from?”

  “Cleveland,” he gave her a contagious grin.

  “Okay,” she chuckled. “What kinds of things can you cook?”

  “I can cook anything you want. I make all kinds of different foods, you name it. I even make a good hamburger for you.”

  “Good to know. How are you with bacon? And sausage?”

  José rubbed his stomach and smiled even more broadly.

  “Oh, Miss Rossalyn, you’re making my day! I love bacon and sausage. I can do them with some spicy eggs and potatoes with peppers, like you’ve never had before. You’ll love them, I promise.”

  “That sounds delicious. I’m going to be honest with you, José, I can’t pay very much because I’m just starting out and I don’t know if I’ll be successful or not,” she shared honestly.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” his eyes were serious. “I live with my mother and sisters, and we all work to help each other. I need a job and if you don’t pay so much, it’s okay. I just need a job,” his eyes pleaded with her.

  “Well, I open in two weeks. When would you be able
to start?”

  “Now,” he replied, with no hesitation whatsoever.

  “I like your style, José,” Rossalyn chuckled. “Do you have a few minutes to fill out some paperwork?”

  “Yes, of course,” he nodded vehemently. “Does this mean I got the job?”

  “It sure does. Make sure you put your contact information on the paperwork. I’ll probably call you in to try out some recipes and get a feel for the kitchen a few days before we open.”

  “I’ll cook so good for you, Miss Rossalyn, thank you so much,” he shook her hand, and she felt the many calluses.

  Clearly José was no stranger to hard work. She dug around in her office for the forms that she’d printed, and put together a packet for the eager young man, thankful that somehow, things already seemed to be working out much easier than she had anticipated.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  José had pulled his glossy black hair back into a man-bun, covered it with a hair net and stood, gloved hands ready, taking in all of the ingredients in front of him. Rossalyn had three dishes for him to try cooking today. She planned to start off slowly with the menu, adding daily specials and new dishes as she went along. Her mom and dad were coming down to sample the food, and she’d invited José’s family to come over too. It would be the first time that food had been served in the building since it was the Sugar Shack, and Rossalyn wanted to make an occasion of it. It would also give her and José the opportunity to try out all of the equipment in the kitchen.

  She’d divided up the recipes so that they could each work on side dishes, then work together on the meat, with José cooking and Rossalyn watching cooking times to make certain that she knew exactly how much time, including prep time, that each item took to prepare. Today they were creating ground pork burgers with bacon jam, pulled pork with spicy honey barbeque sauce, and finally, bourbon-glazed ham. The sides would be creamy macaroni and cheese, hot fluffy cornbread, whipped potato salad, and pit beans with just a touch of hickory-smoked pork belly. Rossie’s stomach growled just thinking about it, and the two of them dove into the process with gusto.

  José’s mother, Consuela, who spoke almost no English, arrived with his sisters, just as they were putting the finishing touches on the food, with Margo, Brent and Ryan already there to welcome them. There was a long folding table set up in the front part of the shop, and Brent had brought folding chairs so that they’d all have a place to sit. The tablecloth was plastic, as were the eating utensils and cups, and the plates were paper, but the food was beyond delicious, and a good time was had by all. Margo seemed to particularly enjoy drawing out sweet smiles from José’s shy sisters, and Ryan got to practice his nearly-fluent Spanish with Consuela, who was delighted to feel so included and comfortable.

  Everyone in the room jumped when the front door was suddenly flung open, revealing two men who looked as though they were related. One had a large, bushy mustache and a stained tee shirt, the other wore a plaid flannel shirt and had a pointed goatee. Both had unkempt mousy brown hair and scowls on their faces.

  “Thought so,” the larger one in the tee shirt growled. “Had to come see it for myself though,” he sneered, clearly disgusted about something.

  Rossalyn’s dad started to stand and Margo put a hand out to stop him.

  “Can I help you?” Rossalyn raised an eyebrow, clearly not pleased with the rude interruption.

  Plaid shirt stepped forward, standing behind the other guy, the door slamming shut behind them.

  “Yeah, you coulda helped us. You coulda gave us a job, or at least a chance at a job, but instead you hired Pedro over there,” he jerked his thumb in José’s direction.

  “Okay, I don’t know who you are, and I don’t particularly care, but you need to leave, and I mean now,” Rossalyn rose, furious.

  “Or what, sweetpea?” stained tee shirt drawled. “There’s folks out of work who lived their whole lives here. You come in with an open job and fill it with that. It ain’t right. It ain’t right at all.”

  He took the “We’re Open,” sign and flipped it across the room.

  “Get out,” Rossalyn’s jaw was clenched in fury.

  “What’re ya gonna do? Call the cops?” plaid shirt mocked. “The sheriff’s my cousin, Miss Priss. See how that works out for ya.”

  Brent Moberly had had enough. He stood angrily and turned around to face the intruders.

  “Look, boys…” he began.

  The calm of the evening outside was suddenly shattered by the aggressive rumbling of what sounded like an army of large motorcycles. The two men glanced quickly at each other, darted past the table, beside the counter and out the side door.

  “Hey!” Rossalyn yelled, red-faced with anger.

  “Let them go, honey,” her mother warned, while her father went to look out the door to see what the commotion out front was all about.

  Ryan’s eyes were big as saucers as he glanced from his mother to his grandfather, fork still in his hand.

  “Couple of motorcycles,” Brent commented, looking through the glass window in the front door. “Looks like they just used the parking lot to turn around. Sure scared those two yokels out of here though,” he mused, coming back to his seat at the table. “José, do you know who those boys were?”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Brent,” he nodded, a look of contempt on his otherwise pleasant face. “They’re the Willis brothers, Jasper and Merle. They cause trouble around here sometimes. They’ve broken things in the tavern after they drink, and they threaten people sometimes,” he glanced briefly at Rossalyn, seeming concerned. Brent and Margo exchanged a look, and Consuela sat with her hands folded quietly in her lap.

  “Where do they live, José?” Rossalyn asked.

  “Don’t even think about it, young lady,” Margo piped up, knowing her daughter well. “You are not going to antagonize those awful men. You’re going to leave them alone and focus on your business. Things are different in these small towns, honey. If they weren’t lying, and they’re related to the sheriff, they can probably get away with whatever stunts they pull. You need to be careful. Don’t poke that bear,” she warned.

  “They weren’t lying about that,” José confirmed quietly. “They do awful things and don’t have to pay for them.”

  “I wonder why they ran off when they heard the motorcycles out front?” Rossalyn mused.

  “Sometimes the gangs come in from the highway,” José shrugged.

  “Gangs? Crooked sheriffs? Maybe there should have been a bit more research done before jumping into this venture,” Margo worried.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom,” was the grim response.

  Ryan looked up at the sign he had made and nodded. “We’ll be fine.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  * * *

  Rossalyn didn’t get much sleep the night before her grand opening. She mostly laid awake, missing Will like crazy, staring at the ceiling, and going over and over the details of her first morning in her mind. She arrived at Hawg Heaven just before five-thirty, after leaving a note for Ryan and packing his lunch, and found that José was already there, shivering a bit in his thin tee shirt, leaning on the newly-painted red siding, next to the door.

  “You’re going to freeze in that, José,” she chided him, unlocking the front door.

  “Nah, it gets very hot in the kitchen when I am cooking,” he assured her.

  “Well, I can at least get some coffee in you before we open.”

  “Sí.”

  The next half hour was a blur. José moved through the kitchen like the pro that he was, getting his prep work done in record time, and taking sips of coffee in between his tasks. Rossalyn kept glancing out the window, hoping to see a line of folks waiting to get it, but knowing better. She told herself that if she even had ten customers today, she’d count it as a win.

  By ten o’clock, things were beginning to get depressing. She’d had four customers stop in for coffees to go, and had sold a couple of maple donuts with bacon crumbles, b
ut her customers had all been travelers who were just passing through. It would have been nice to see at least a handful of people from Chatsworth come by, and she fought hard against the self-doubt that was trying so profoundly to creep in.

  “People work in the morning. Lunch will be better,” José tried to reassure her.

  “I certainly hope so, José,” Rossalyn bit her lip, and vowed that her third cup of coffee would be her last. She definitely didn’t need any more jitters to worry about.

  By 11:30, she didn’t have time to even think about how slow her morning had been. Every seat at the counter was taken, and there were even tables occupied on the patio. Customers from town, and those who had stopped in from the highway, mowed happily through mounds of pulled pork, stacks upon stacks of burgers, and nearly wiped her out of bacon, with several men buying “bouquets” of bacon roses to take home to their wives.

  Rossalyn checked in with José regularly, and was delighted to see that, not only was the hardworking young man clearly on top of all of the orders flooding his way, but most of the time he was grinning, humming, or singing as he scooped and flipped and plated. There was only one incident which occurred that marred a nearly flawless lunch hour.

  Rossalyn was at the cash register, having accepted payment from three satisfied customers in a row. There were two orders sitting in the window, ready to be delivered to the counter, and José was busy cooking several more orders. The door burst open with what seemed like far too much force, and a mountain of a man entered, wearing motorcycle boots and a leather vest which indicated that he was part of a biker group. His beard was full and shaggy, as was his medium length hair, and his blue eyes surveyed his surroundings critically.