“Hey,” I said.
“Gosh, what happened? What did he say? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
That was because I had.
Chapter 14
I put the tray on the counter in the Burger Bar and tapped my heel in time to the upbeat pop song which jammed through the speakers overhead, low enough encourage conversation but loud enough to be enjoyed. I had to act natural.
Griselda had been wrinkling her brow at me and pouting all morning. I’d told her what’d happened with the detective the night before and extricated myself from her probing questions before midnight.
“Order up,” Grizzy said, and placed the Double Thick Choc Malt Milkshake on the tray. “How are you feeling?”
I whisked the shake off the counter without replying. In truth, I was fine. I was a little freaked about the picture but I hadn’t had the nightmare last night. I’d expected it after seeing her face again.
Whenever I went through a rough patch, emotionally or physically, that nightmare would crop up again. The darkness, smoke, the house burning, and sirens whooping through the night. And I’d be there, eighteen and unable to help. They’d hold me back and I’d scream for her, over and over again.
“She’s dawdling past our table,” a voice said, loudly. “This new girl needs work.”
Missi’s glare cut right through my melancholy. I backpedaled and placed the shake in front of her. “And good morning to you, Mississippi.”
“Oh, you’ve got a smart mouth on you,” she said, and stripped the paper off her straw. She hated it when people called her by her full first name.
“How are you this morning, dear?” Virginia asked. “Griselda tells us you had a bit of a scare last night?”
“No scare,” I replied. “I’m fine.”
“Ah, the mantra of the clinically insane,” Missi said, between moist slurps. “Or was that the clinically depressed.”
“Somebody didn’t get her sugar rush this morning.” I winked at the elderly woman. It’d been a week, but we’d already fallen into a comfortable routine of hazing each other.
“Well, you’ve been dawdling around all morning with that long face, it’s no wonder I’m cranky.”
“Reign it in, dear,” Virginia said, and patted the table. She never lost her temper but I didn’t want to be around the day she did. She seemed like the type who bottled it up for years until she exploded one day.
“Nice chat,” I said, and checked the clock. I had a short break coming up when Martin, Grizzy’s second assistant, finally turned up. “But I’ve got to get back to work. Do you ladies need anything else?”
“No thank you, dear,” Virginia said.
I swept off to the next table, and the next, taking orders and delivering them to Jarvis. Each Mexican Fiesta Burger received a shake of the maracas and extra jalapenos. People loved them. They couldn’t get enough of the spicy tang, the juicy patty, and the stringy cheese.
My mouth was a water fountain at work thanks to the smells and sights. Jarvis outdid himself every time.
At 10 am, Martin trundled into the restaurant. Short but handsome, dark skin, neat uniform with the Burger Bar logo, ironed, not a crease in sight. He took pride in his work.
“Morning,” he said, and grinned at me. “How are you today?”
“Great,” I said. “In need of a break.” He didn’t look a lot like Jarvis and he didn’t speak like him either. Martin’s parents were from NYC, but his grandparents still lived in Jamaica.
“Your wish is my command,” Martin said, and slipped on his apron.
I stripped mine off at the same time, then dumped my tray next to the mixer.
“Break?” Griselda asked, though she already knew that.
“Yeah,” I said, and handed her my apron. “I’m going to catch some fresh air. Maybe get a coffee from the café down the street.”
“We’ve got a coffee machine,” Griselda said.
“Fresh air,” I replied, and smiled at her.
Grizzy’s expression crumpled from concern to suspicion. “Christie –”
“Be back later.” I waved and made a beeline for the exit. So, I wasn’t the best actress in the world. I’d spent all morning turning the evidence and facts over and reached one conclusion.
I had to get back to Pete’s house and find out if he had anything which connected him to my mother. Paul had stayed in his house before he’d been killed. That made Pete suspect number one, and the fact that he wanted money didn’t better my opinion of him.
I passed the morning shoppers and folks like me who’d caught a quick break from work. I waved at the florist, Nelly Boggs, and she grinned back at me and pushed her glasses up her nose, fingers hidden by a fuzzy sweater.
Only a week, and the folks I remembered from high school, the ones who hadn’t left Sleepy Creek, greeted me like I’d never left. It gave me a warm, cozy feeling inside which was unfamiliar to me.
Small town living had its ups and downs. Warmth and welcome versus gossip and, now, murder. I took a left, then a right, working out the quickest route to Pete’s cabin in the woods. I reach Old Dirt Road within fifteen minutes of exiting the Burger Bar.
I’d made good time, considering Griselda would expect me back by 11 am at the latest. I took the path through the woods like last time and hovered behind the trees, surveying Pete’s place between the branches.
The patch of grass in front of the cabin was empty of cars. A good sign. I was in with a chance here.
“Take it easy,” I said.
A twig cracked behind me and I spun around, heart pounding. Nothing but woodland greeted me. The sibilance of wind, whispering through the long blades of grass. Nothing made me jumpier than the prospect of finding evidence which related to my mother’s murder. It brought gravitas to the case which hadn’t been there before, not on a personal level.
I manned the heck up – or ‘womaned’ up – and slipped out of the forest, high-tailing it across the lawn toward the front stairs. I took them two at a time, then came up short. The front door was locked, of course, and I wasn’t about to break, enter and leave a trail behind.
But Pete struck me as the type of guy who kept a spare set of keys hidden somewhere around here.
His worn welcome mat yielded nothing but dust and a sneeze, and there wasn’t anything atop the lantern fixed to the wall, either.
“Shoot,” I whispered. I couldn’t turn back now. I’d already committed to this as much as it was possible to commit to an illegal investigation.
I vaulted the balustrade and landed in the dirt because why not pull out the cop moves? I needed to stretch those muscles or they’d atrophy and I’d be the laughing stock back in Boston.
I circled the house to the back stairs.
“What?” I whispered. “No way.”
The back door’s jamb had splintered, and cold wind rattled through the gap. Pete must’ve broken it during his argument with Frances Sarah. He’d sure been angry enough.
I didn’t waste another second. I hurried up the stairs, tried the back door, and suppressed a rush of triumph when it opened.
I entered a dingy kitchen, no stove, but a microwave on in the corner and a bar fridge beside it. I walked around the kitchen table, wood stained by heaven alone knew what, and into the living area.
“Rooms, Chris, find the rooms,” I muttered.
The cabin wasn’t exactly the Ritz. I didn’t have too many directions from which to select, so I chose the doorway on the left and entered a dingy hall. The first room was a bathroom, faucet dripping in the sink, the next one, a well-lit bedroom, queen-sized bed unmade, and the third…
“Jackpot.” I entered the gloomy room with the single bed and twitched the curtains apart, allowing a sliver of light through the dusty pane. It slanted across the floorboards.
This had to have been Loopy Paul’s bedroom while he’d stayed with Pete. A desk in the corner curried my intrigue. I strode to it, checked the time and almost had a heart attack– Grise
lda would expect me back in twenty minutes – then rifled through the drawers.
The top and middle yielded nothing. I clunked open the bottom one and felt the wooden base. It rattled. Loose? Could this be a secret compartment? I pinched my fingers around the edges of the base and caught the corner. I lifted a length of thin plywood. It wasn’t a secret compartment, after all. It was a false bottom.
I contained my hopes with great effort and felt underneath the plywood. Skin brushed paper, and my insides jolted. I drew out a letter, yellowed with age. “Please be relevant,” I whispered. I let the plywood scrape back into place, then backed away from the desk to read by the window.
Dear Paul,
I understand you’re concerned for my safety but there’s not much I can do right now. I’ve always appreciated your help but I have to deal with this on my own.
Let me be clear, it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to get involved, no matter how much you want to help. My cases are mine alone.
I hope you and your sister are well.
Warmest Regards,
Detective Watson
It was from my mother. I massaged my chest, right over the heart, and exhaled. “Focus on the contents.”
My mother had been friends with Paul. I’d never seen him at our house in my entire life. Not once. Unless he’d been a colleague? She’d never mixed work with home life and she hadn’t spoken about her investigations before or after we’d arrived in Sleepy Creek.
If her murder had been linked to an old case, and Paul’s murder was linked to hers then –
“Are you crazy?” A woman asked.
I jumped and threw the letter into the air.
Grizzy stared at me from the bedroom door, arms folded. It was as if I’d teleported back to the Burger Bar. “Have you lost your mind?”
“What are you doing here?” I hissed, and snatched the letter from the boards. I folded it up and tucked it into my back pocket, palms slippery with sweat. “Did you follow me here?”
“Heck yes, I follow you here. I knew you were going to do something stupid, Chris, but this? Breaking and entering? Are you trying to get yourself fired? Are you –?”
A car engine growled outside, and we both froze. Doors slammed. Voices rose and carried through the tiny house. Nowhere to run or hide. Not even a closet.
“Go, Griselda,” I whispered. I worked my fingers under the bottom rail of the window and forced it up. I winced at the scrape of wood on wood, then leaped out of the opening, and crashed onto the grass outside.
I ran a few paces, crouched over, then turned back to watch for Griz.
Except she wasn’t inbound. She was stuck, the top strap of her apron hooked on the window’s latch.
“Grizzy!” I ran back to her.
She shook her head.
“What the heck?!” Someone yelled inside the house.
“Go,” Griselda hissed, burning rage in her gaze. “Just leave.”
I didn’t have a choice.
Chapter 15
I paced back and forth in front of the desk at the police station, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. “How much longer is this going to take?” I asked.
“She’s being processed,” the receptionist said, in a nasal whine. She pushed horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. “It won’t be much longer now. Please take a seat.” She sounded perpetually bored.
“Listen, Glenda, I’m a police detective myself and –”
“I wouldn’t throw that around in here, Watson. It doesn’t hold much weight, right now.” Detective Balle strode out of his office, the top button of his shirt undone. Messy. Very unlike him. He was stressed out and I had a hunch why that might be.
“Detective,” I said.
“Miss Watson,” he replied. “Care to explain how your best friend wound up in a current suspect’s house, hanging from one of the window latches?”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“No.”
“Good, because it’s not working,” I said. I was in a terrible mood. Between the letter I’d found and Grizzy’s arrest, I didn’t need the added pressure. This was all my fault. When the residents of Sleepy Creek found out Griselda, the sweetheart of the town, had been arrested they’d want to blame someone for it.
Naturally, that someone would be me. And they wouldn’t be entirely wrong about that. If I’d kept my nose out of police business this would never have happened. But my mother was involved. My mother!
Balle folded his arms and bore down on me, using all six somethin’ of those feet to make his presence known. “What did you do, Watson?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I did nothing except come to collect my friend.”
“You expect me to believe this is a grand coincidence? That your friend happened to be at Pete’s house, in Paul’s old bedroom, and –”
“She was in Paul’s bedroom?”
“Don’t play dumb, Christie,” he thundered.
Glenda sniffed and crinkled the pages of her lifestyle magazine.
“Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” I asked. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
Liam deflated somewhat. “I – uh, sorry. Sorry. I’m frustrated. This is the first murder we’ve had in Sleepy Creek in years.”
He didn’t say, “Since your mother’s.”
“Who was the last one?”
“It was a case of self-defense. Two fishermen got into a fight and – listen, that’s not the point. I need an assurance from you that you’re not trying to investigate this case. I don’t need a big city cop barging in with high and mighty intentions of solving the crime.”
“I’m not doing anything like that.” But only because I wasn’t technically a cop while I was on sabbatical.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“You were the one who wanted assurances,” I said. “How much longer is this going to take? I need to get Grizzy home.”
“She’ll be out in a second,” Liam replied, but he didn’t relax an iota. “You’re lucky Pete decided not to press charges.”
“I’m lucky?”
“Yes, you. You can bet that everyone in this town would blame you if their favorite restaurateur wound up behind bars,” Liam said.
“But I wasn’t the one –”
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter to them. There are already whispers about you around town.”
“Mmhmm.” That came from Glenda. She lifted her Cosmopolitan and hid behind Rihanna.
“What whispers?” I asked. I’d never been one for gossip but this was different. If folks around here suspected me of anything it wouldn’t bode well for my best friend or her business.
How had everything gone down the tubes this quickly?
“The kind I don’t care to repeat,” Balle said, and adjusted his belt. “Miss Watson, stay out of trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble.”
“Not yet.” He sauntered off before I could reply, giving me a view of his broad back and narrow hips. That provided a brief distraction, but no relief from the churning in my stomach. What would Griselda have to say when she got out? Would she blame me for everything?
A commotion at the end of the hall drew me from those unsavory ruminations.
Grizzy had finally appeared and every ounce of guilt I’d held back slapped me in the face like a two-week old trout. Schlap. All my fault.
Griselda carried her apron over her arm, neatly folded, of course, and readjusted her cardigan. Arthur Cotton came with her, pausing every other second to peer at her. They didn’t speak.
Grizzy walked right past me and headed for the station’s exit.
“Thank you,” Glenda said, and waved with her magazine. “Come again!”
“Glenda,” Arthur grunted. “Get it together.”
I ignored the peanut gallery and sprinted after my friend. I crashed out of the police station, but Griselda hadn’t waited for me. She was already halfway down the street, headed in the direction of Sleepy Cree
k’s suburbia. Her house wasn’t too far, ten minutes’ walk, and Grizzy didn’t have a car.
I ran after her. “Wait! Griselda, wait.”
She didn’t. She raised her chin.
I caught up to her and grasped her forearm. “Grizzy, please. I’m so sorry.”
She wrenched out of my grip. “No.”
“What?”
She stopped and glared at me. “You don’t get to say that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re not sorry. Don’t lie to me, Christie. You’d sneak off and do the exact same thing all over again given half the chance. And don’t tell me you’re going to stop investigating this case because I know you won’t.” She trembled, strings of her blond hair falling from her messy bun. “Don’t lie to me anymore. I can’t stop you from doing any of this and no, I won’t kick you out of my house, but I need you to be honest with me.”
“I have been –”
“Christie!”
“Fine,” I said and slapped my hands against my thighs. “I was trying to protect you by keeping it a secret. But I told you I was checking it out. You said it was my choice.”
“Rubbish,” she replied. “You knew it would make me angry if you broke into someone’s house, and that’s why you kept this stuff to yourself.”
“You’re making out like I’m super selfish. I did want to protect you, and yeah, I also didn’t want to make you angry. Can’t it be both those things? Grizzy, I hardly expected you to follow me to Pete’s place.”
“I had to catch you,” she replied, and tapped her heel. “I knew you wouldn’t tell me anything real until I caught you red-handed. It wasn’t my best idea, but I guess that’s why we’re friends. We’re cut from the same cloth when it comes to dumb ideas.”
We fell silent for a minute but neither of us laughed at the lame joke. Grizzy started off again, and I matched her pace.
“I’ll go to a motel,” I said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You don’t want to know about the case.”
“I don’t,” Grizzy said. “But I do. I want to understand why you’re doing this. I know your mom is involved, but I didn’t expect you to go to these lengths. That was dangerous. I guarantee you Pete wouldn’t have dropped charges if he’d caught you. You’re an outsider.”
The Fiesta Burger Murder (A Burger Bar Mystery Book 1) Page 7