I watched her walk over to the baby and reset his swing to continue rocking. I said, “Are you sure? It’s only 7:00 p.m.”
Lisa Leann strolled to the kitchen counter and began to prepare a bottle for Kyle; she glanced over her shoulder for a second. “When I was back at my office, I grabbed some invoices and such.” She opened the can of formula and reached for the scoop. “So, I think I’ll feed Kyle and get him situated, then get a little work done in our room, if you don’t mind.”
“All right,” I said as I pushed my chair back and reached for a couple of dirty plates.
Lisa Leann turned around to face me as she leaned against the sink while she twisted a nipple top onto a bottle. She turned to open the microwave. “Oh, and I’m calling a Potluck planning meeting for tomorrow night, as we’ve got a crowd to feed for the Founders Day festival the weekend after this one. I’m going to announce the menu and pass out the prep assignments to our team.”
I gathered the dirty silverware and stacked them on top of the plates. “Do you want the girls to meet here, instead of at your shop?”
“Let me think for a minute,” Lisa Leann said. I continued picking up as Lisa Leann tested the formula before walking back to the baby. She lifted him from his swing as he reached his chubby hands toward his bottle. “There you go,” Lisa Leann cooed as Kyle pulled the bottle to his lips with a contented sigh. She looked up at me as I carried the last of the dirty dishes to the sink. “Yes, we’ll meet here. Do you think we could serve the girls maybe a salad buffet at about 6:00 p.m.?”
“Sounds good,” I said as I scooped up the leftover pizza slice from my baking dish and wrapped it in cellophane. I placed the slice in the refrigerator. “I was planning to run to the grocery tonight to pick up a couple of things. I’ll grab a couple of heads of lettuce and a tomato or two while I’m there.”
Lisa Leann smiled as she retrieved her purse from the desk and then carried the baby to her bedroom. She paused at her door. “What would I do without friends like you?”
———
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the grocery store parking lot then climbed out of my car and stepped into the October chill, glad I’d brought my favorite blue sweater. I looked through the parking lot’s umbrella of light that showered from the streetlight above. I squinted past it, as if I could possibly see my lost dog out in the darkness that surrounded me. I walked past the cars and to the sidewalk that led to the grocery store. Instead of walking toward the path of light that spilled from the store’s open door, I stopped, turned, and took a couple of steps into the night.
“Chucky, here boy!” I called. Somewhere I could hear the bark of a dog. The sound felt like a sign that I was to continue to walk down the dark sidewalk, past gloomy shops and residential homes with their windows illuminated from the inside by flickering television sets. “Chucky!” I called.
I walked a block, circled it, then walked another. “Here, Chucky!” I searched for my friend for about an hour as I hugged myself against the night air while brushing tears off my cold cheeks. Finally I stopped and stared at the fluorescent sign of the Gold Rush Tavern, now just across the street from where I stood.
I couldn’t help but give a little sniff, not only for my lost dog but for my lost friend Doreen. To think that only a week earlier she’d been inside those walls, alive. I shuddered. What had happened to her? Had she met someone at the bar who had gone to her trailer and demanded her very life? I stepped off the curb just as a pickup truck lumbered past me with a loud blast of its horn. I jumped back, surprised at myself for being so caught up in my thoughts that I’d forgotten to check for traffic. I stopped, looked both ways, then ran across the street and up the steps to the tavern door.
I didn’t know what I expected to find inside. Maybe I just wanted to breathe the same air that Doreen had breathed, to see where she’d worked, and to find out what her last days had been like. Never mind that I’d never been inside an establishment of this sort before. The good Lord knows I don’t even drink.
When I burst through the door, the air was stuffy and filled with a sort of yellow haze as patrons leaned over tall glasses of beer, talking in low voices. I was surprised at how many people were inside. Maybe the patrons were all within walking distance, or had traveled here packed in the few cars that sat outside in the lot, or had ridden bikes like the one leaning against the building. I was suddenly aware I was the only customer who appeared to be alone.
The bartender, an older gent, looked up from wiping down a glass. “Can I help you?”
I glanced around. “No, I . . .”
He stared down at me as if sizing me up. “Are you looking for someone?”
“An old friend once worked here,” I said.
He motioned for me to sit at the bar. “I’m new here, so I’m not sure I would have known him. What’s his name?”
I looked into the man’s dark eyes. They might have been blue, but in this light, they appeared almost black. The man was about my age, tall, with graying hair parted in an attempt to hide his balding head. He should have given up the practice of combing his last few strands of hair over his bald pate as more skin than hair shone in the dim light.
“Her, she was a her. Doreen McGurk, though folks around here called her Dee Dee.”
The man’s eyes lit with recognition. “Yes, ma’am. There was a Dee Dee that used to work this very shift, till her untimely murder a week or so ago. Heard an old friend done it.” He eyed me suspiciously. “That wouldn’t be you, would it? You being an old friend and all?”
I made eye contact with the man as I shook my head. “Heavens, no. It certainly wasn’t me. I’ve not even been accused.”
The man let out a breath. “Well, that’s good. What can I get you?”
“Do you have iced tea?”
“We’ve got a special blend from Long Island. Would that be all right?”
I nodded, still looking around, now at the mirror behind the man, where I noticed I could observe the bar’s patrons, including a couple of seedy men who seemed to be watching me. “That would be fine,” I said all matter of fact.
The bartender busied himself with my order. “How long have you worked here?” I asked to the back of his black tee shirt.
He answered without turning around. “Just since Dee Dee’s death. I’m just filling in till they find someone else, since I’ve got a day job too.”
The bartender brought me my tea and set it before me as he said, “I don’t believe I caught your name, Mrs. . . .”
“Westbrook. Vonnie Westbrook. And your name?”
His dark eyes glittered, and he stuck out his hand for a shake. “They call me Hoss.”
“You mean like Dan Blocker’s character on Bonanza?”
Hoss nodded. “Long story, but the name’s related to my bronco-busting days.”
I took a sip of my drink and sputtered. “Whatever did you put in this tea?”
He laughed good-naturedly. “This drink’s got a little vodka, gin, and bit of tequila, but no tea.”
I waved my hand over it and blotted my lips with my napkin. “Goodness! Take it away.”
Hoss looked a bit bashful. “Sorry for the mistake, ma’am. I didn’t realize you were a genuine teetotaler. You don’t meet many of those in here,” he said as he whisked away the drink.
“How about a Diet Coke instead?” I asked.
“That we have plenty of. Want me to put a little gin in it?” he asked, teasing me.
“No, thank you.”
When Hoss brought my new drink, I took a sip and smiled. “Much better.”
“I aim to please,” he said, slapping a dishcloth over his shoulder.
The man’s deep, honeyed voice made me feel comfortable, so I braved, “Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“Be my guest.”
“What do the people here at the bar think happened to Doreen? I mean, are they buying the story that the sheriff’s wife killed her?”
“Most do. But I’ve
heard a few rumors.”
I put my elbows onto the counter so I could lean in. “Like what?”
“Like, she may have been killed over lost gold. Have you heard anything about that, Mrs. Westbrook?”
“No. Though I don’t see how Doreen’s death and our many lost gold legends would coincide with one another. What exactly did you hear?”
Hoss shrugged. “Just that she’d come into some gold. Do you think that could be true?”
“I strongly doubt it.” I stirred my Diet Coke with my straw as the ice clinked against the glass. “Did you hear about any particular gold legend? We have a few, you know.”
“Well, I heard there was a stagecoach robbery somewhere north of here, in a place called Central City. Heard the robber, a fellow named Zeke, buried a chest of gold out by the church in the middle of the night.”
“You mean Grace Church?” I laughed out loud. “I hardly believe that. God would have surely led the good members of the church to find a chest of gold by now. Besides, think of all the good a chest of gold would do toward the Lord’s work, especially accounting for inflation and all.”
Hoss’s eyes sparked again. “Yeah, that is something to consider.”
I laughed. “I doubt very much that Zeke could have hidden a chest that hasn’t been found, not with all the tourists and treasure seekers scouring every nook and cranny of this county.”
Hoss nodded. “I see your point. But can you imagine the value of such a chest of gold? If it weighed more than sixty pounds, it could be worth up to a million dollars or more.”
“Well, if I find the treasure,” I said with a grin, “I’ll be sure to let you know. How’s that?”
Hoss winked at me as the door behind me opened. “Deal,” he said.
I rotated my bar stool just enough to see who’d walked in. “Velvet,” I said. “Come over here and let me buy you a Coke.”
Velvet stopped in front of me, a kind of wild look on her face. “Mrs. Westbrook, what in the world would make you come in here?”
I patted the seat behind me. “Dear, I’m remembering your mother. Care to join me?”
Velvet, who was dressed in a black tube top and a rabbit fur coat tossed over her shoulders, took a step toward me. “What would you know about my mother?” she asked, with a lilt of menace in her voice.
“Only that when she was about your age, we were dear friends.” I looked down at the rings of water my glass had made on the bar’s oak top and blotted them with my napkin before looking back at Velvet. “I’ve missed her.”
The hardness behind Velvet’s eyes seemed to crumble. “You and my mother were friends?”
She sat down beside me, and I signaled for Hoss to bring Velvet a Diet Coke, like mine. “We were, dear.” I reached over and patted her hand. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what happened.”
“That old bat Evie killed her,” Velvet said, almost through her teeth as Hoss plopped her Diet Coke in front of her.
“Do you really think so?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits. “I do.”
I pressed on while Hoss waited on another customer at the other end of the now-crowded bar. “But do you recollect if anyone else threatened your mom or made her feel unsafe, besides Evie?”
“You mean like one of her ex-husbands? Most of them were nothing but mean.”
“Oh dear,” I said. “Sounds like your mother had a pretty rough time of it.”
“You could say that, but she’s a survivor.” Her eyes drooped. “I mean was.”
“Have any of her exes ever come out this way lately, to Summit View?”
Hoss reappeared. “Need any peanuts, ladies?”
“No, thanks,” Velvet said before answering my question. “Not that I know of.”
Hoss went to fill another order, and Velvet’s face softened in a way that reminded me of Donna when she was a girl. She said, “Can you tell me what my mom was like, when you knew her?”
I finished the last of my Diet Coke and signaled Hoss to hit me with another. While he used a hose to spray it into my glass, I turned back to Velvet. “I’d be delighted.”
I described to her a younger Doreen and told stories about how we’d grown up together. Somehow in all the telling, I lost all track of the time. It wasn’t until Clay charged through the bar door that I realized it was getting late. “Mrs. Westbrook, there you are.”
“Why, Clay, I didn’t know you frequented this establishment.”
Clay blushed. “I’m not here looking for a drink, I’m looking for you.”
“Whatever for?”
“Well, when you didn’t come back home from the grocery store, Fred drove over there only to find your car—with you missing. He and Donna are out looking for you now.”
“Oh dear,” I said, glancing at my watch. It was almost 10:00. “I didn’t realize the time.”
“When you didn’t answer your phone, Donna called me and asked if I had seen you about town.”
“My phone!” I opened my purse and pulled it out. “Oh dear. I forgot to turn it on,” I admitted.
Clay grinned. “I can see that. Do you mind if I escort you back to your car?”
“Let me pay my tab first,” I said, looking around for Hoss. When he didn’t appear, Velvet said, “Hoss is probably on break, but don’t you worry about the tab. Tonight was special, and the Diet Cokes are on me.”
“Dear, are you sure?”
Velvet grinned, reminding me even more of Donna. “Absolutely.”
Velvet said her good-byes, and Clay and I hurried to his jeep before driving the few blocks to the grocery store. He asked, “Do you mind telling me why you left your car in the grocery lot?”
“I couldn’t resist the temptation to hunt for Chucky.”
Clay’s eyebrows arched. “In the dark?”
“It’s the thought that little Chucky might be out there and that I might find him that caused me to throw caution to the wind, I guess.”
Clay looked amused. “So, did you think he might be in the tavern?”
I felt warmth kiss my cheeks. “No, ah, I just wanted to be where Doreen was the last day of her life. She was my friend once, you know.”
“I see.”
When Clay pulled next to my car, I climbed out of the jeep as Clay leaned toward me. “Mrs. Westbrook, there’s been a lot of strange occurrences around town these last few days, and, well, I wouldn’t really recommend that you wander off searching for your dog after dark. I’d hate for anything to happen to you too.”
“Thanks for your concern, Clay.” I practically giggled. “But who would want to hurt me?”
“Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
I walked over to my car as Clay called out, “I’ll call Fred, David, and Donna and let them know I found you.”
“Sure, and thanks.” I fired up my engine and turned on my lights, the signal Clay was waiting for as he pulled his jeep onto the street. But before I could follow him, I noticed an envelope tucked under one of my wiper blades. I watched Clay’s lights disappear as I turned off the ignition and stepped back into the night. I picked up the envelope and opened it and pulled out a piece of typed white paper, which I read under the streetlight.
MEET ME BEHIND THE CHURCH SUNDAY NIGHT AT MIDNIGHT ALONE—
THAT IS, IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR DOG AGAIN.
Donna
30
Gnawing Doubt
I was glad Vonnie was safe at home this morning. She’d given us quite the scare when she’d disappeared from the grocery store parking lot. I still hadn’t heard where Clay had found her.
I stood at my kitchen counter, looking out my window in the direction of Mount Paul. From the way the sun lit the pines gilded in frost, it looked like this would be a perfect October morning, despite my personal storms.
I turned to look at the pumpkin that adorned my counter and gave it a pat. Ms. Betty’s class had given it to me yesterday, my gift for dropping by for career day with Pete, Wa
de’s 12-year-old nephew. I still cherished my friendship with the boy after all we’d been through last spring. So, it was good to see him and his family back in town and reunited, save for his dad. I have to say I missed the late-night chili invitations he and his uncle Wade would call in whenever I worked the late shift.
I gave the pumpkin another pat. It would be perfect to cook in my crock-pot today. That seemed like a good idea with the emergency meeting of the Potluck Catering Club tonight at Vonnie’s. I smiled as I thought of surprising the girls with my mother’s steaming pumpkin soup. I pulled out my mother’s recipe card from the wooden recipe box I’d bought at Walmart and studied it for a moment to make sure I had all the ingredients. When I saw that I did, I picked up the smooth, orange pumpkin and rinsed it in the sink before placing it on my old wooden cutting board. I selected my largest butcher knife, cut the gourd in half, and scooped out the seeds. I chopped its pale orange flesh, skin still attached, into large chunks before adding it to my crock-pot. I added the rest of the ingredients before setting the pot to high. Then I made a mental note to stop at the store to pick up a loaf of garlic bread and a carton of sour cream before I came home from work.
Now that my morning routine had been interrupted by a pumpkin, I scurried to get ready for work. I was just climbing into my Bronco when my cell phone chimed with a text. It was David: Bak on days. Meet me at cafe 4 lunch @ 12.
I couldn’t help but smile. It was about time he got off the night shift and joined me for some daylight time. Though I hadn’t totally released him from my grudge over Bobbie Ann, I’d missed our phone calls as well as our midnight lunches behind the bank. I texted back: C u there.
The morning flew by as I continued to follow up on leads concerning my mother’s murder, knocking on doors at her trailer park, talking to whatever resident I found home. But every conversation fell short. One elderly woman in a faded cotton housedress put it this way: “I didn’t have on my hearing aids that afternoon, so maybe that’s why I didn’t hear anything till Velvet got home. My, what a ruckus that was.”
Bake Until Golden: A Novel (The Potluck Catering Club) Page 23