by Maddie Day
I took a closer look at him. He looked familiar on top of the cuteness. “Are you related to Don?”
“One and the same. I’m his little brother.”
“You two have the same eyes.”
“And you’re Jeanine’s daughter, right? She used to babysit me back in the day, long time ago when she was dating Donnie.” He laughed—a delightful, low, rolling sound. “Boy, did I give her hell.”
When Mom was dating Don. So I was right about that. Maybe Don did have one of Mom’s pens.
Abe’s expression turned serious. “Sorry to hear about Jeanine’s passing. That must have been tough for you.” He watched me with the kindest gaze I’d gotten from a man in a long time. Maybe ever.
My throat thickened. I managed to swallow and say, “Thanks. I miss her. Boatloads.” I mustered a smile.
“And thanks to you all for coming in. I hope you’ll be back.”
“We will,” Abe said. “I will, anyway.” He kept those big browns on me until I turned away.
Chapter 14
I slid tea bags into three mugs as the clock chimed ten, filled them with hot water, and carried them to the table where Adele sat. She and Vera returned, as promised. Vera wandered the cookware shelves, picking up items and exclaiming. The restaurant was empty except for us and Danna, who hummed to whatever was in her earbud as she scrubbed the morning’s pots and pans. The air was warm and still held aromas of spicy sausage, sweet syrup, and old wood.
“How was the birding?” I asked as I sank into a chair. It’d been a busy morning, thank goodness, but my feet ached. I’d been so occupied I hadn’t had much time to worry about murder, but now it all flooded back into my brain.
“Decent. We never got the Carolina, although we heard him. So, what’s up? Has something to do with your mom’s pen, I guess.”
“Buck questioned me about it yesterday. Do you remember seeing me take orders with it Saturday morning?”
Adele shook her head. “I was pretty busy on the grill. Can’t say I do or don’t remember.”
“Someone who was in that morning must have stolen it and left it in Stella’s house. Either accidentally or to make it look like I was there. I didn’t even know where Stella lived until Buck told me on the night she was killed.”
“Hmm.” Adele fished the tea bag out of her mug and laid it on a napkin, then measured four heaping spoonfuls of sugar into the mug.
A giggle burbled up out of me. “My teeth hurt just watching you sweeten that thing up.”
She stirred, took a sip, and smiled. “I’ve always had a thing for sweet tea. But back to business,” which she pronounced as “bidniss.” “What we have to figure out is who wanted Stella dead.”
“That’s for sure. Believe me, my brain’s been heating up trying to sort that out. Corrine was in here yesterday, said Stella was blackmailing half the men in town. Think it’s true?”
“Could be. Wouldn’t surprise me one iota.” She tapped the side of the mug with her spoon. “She was a snoopy bi . . . broad.”
I laughed. “Go ahead. Corrine called her a ‘bitch.’ You might as well, too.”
“I’d always catch her listening at the door during the time when I was Madam Mayor. And it all got stored in her brain. Steel-trap memory, that one.” Adele glanced at Danna as she worked. She lowered her voice and went on. “’Course Corrine herself doesn’t exactly get along with everybody.”
“Do you think Stella was blackmailing Corrine?”
“Possible.” Adele nodded. “Coulda happened.”
“What would there be to blackmail her about?”
Before Adele could answer, Vera walked up, holding a cast-iron muffin pan, with a delighted expression on her face. “I’ve been wanting one of these for years. Who doesn’t love a corn-shaped corn muffin?” The heavy black rectangle featured indentations that looked like ears of corn.
“The muffins come out with nice crisp crust on them,” I said. “Oil the pan and heat it up as you preheat the oven. Oh, and here’s tea for you.”
“Sold.” Vera set the pan on the table and sat. “Hot tea’s perfect, thanks. A bit chilly out there.” She rubbed her hands together.
“Winter’s on its way.” I gazed out the front window as a gust of wind blew a collection of leaves sideways down the street.
Despite having a lineup of patties ready to cook and a red-skinned potato salad using local spuds on the Specials menu, lunch was slow. I finally sent Danna home at one o’clock. I could handle two customers here, one there, which was all we’d had since eleven-thirty. I hoped this was only a small Wednesday bump in the road and not a pattern.
The last customer to come in, a blond woman on the far side of forty, sat alone with a book, reading as she ate. I moseyed over, pot of coffee in hand, to see if she needed anything. She glanced up.
“The potato salad is right delicious. What’re these small little goobers?” She used her fork to prod a caper. “They taste kind of like pickles.”
“Capers. You’re right, they’re pickled. I like the flavor,” I said. “And I’m pleased you’re enjoying the salad. Can I get you anything else?”
“You might could top up my coffee, if you don’t mind.” She wore dark pants and a tailored green jacket on her well-padded figure. Her hair color, however, came out of a bottle, and it looked like she did it at home.
As I poured, I said, “I feel like I’ve seen you around town, but can’t quite place you.”
“I’m Georgia.” She laughed. “I work at the library.”
“That’s it. It’s nice to meet you, Georgia. I’m Robbie Jordan, and I’m sorry for not remembering where I’d seen you.”
“Not a problem, hon. I’m no librarian, only an aide. But I love working there. I’m a reading addict.” She winked.
I didn’t think anybody younger than grandparents winked at people, but maybe I was thinking of California. I definitely wasn’t in California anymore.
“Say, heared you’re in a spot of trouble with this murder thing.” Georgia raised her thinly plucked eyebrows.
“I’m not in trouble, exactly. But it seems like someone’s out to make it look like I killed Stella.”
“The biscuit. And now your pin.”
By now I knew she meant “pen,” but I was a little bit astonished she knew those details. Not really, though. Everybody in South Lick knowing everything no longer surprised me.
“Too bad all this came up right about when you opened over here.” She shook her head. “I usually eat lunch with my girlfriends on Wednesdays. But they wouldn’t join me today when I said I wanted to try your place out. Said you might poison them.”
“Are you kidding me?” I stared at her. I guess I am in trouble. Deep doo-doo trouble, if potential customers are boycotting me.
“I told them they were being ridiculous.” She waved her fork in the air. “And they are. This lunch was the best I’ve ever eaten in town. I’m going to tell everybody to get their suspicious butts over here and make sure you stay in business.” Only a scrap of sesame bun remained from her cheeseburger and she’d done a good job demolishing the potato salad, too.
“I really appreciate that.”
“And it doesn’t even compare to what Eddie makes over in Nashville.” She wrinkled her nose. “I won’t eat at his so-called country store anymore, and it’s not only the lousy food. That man’s got problems.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s not Christian to speak ill of others.” She patted her hair. “But he should be arrested for sexual harassment.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with a dainty move of her napkin and stood. “What do I owe you, dear? I need to be getting back to work.” She stuck her book into an enormous yellow faux-leather handbag and pulled out a wallet.
I handed her the ticket. When she handed me a twenty, I fished in my apron pocket for change until she held up her hand.
“You go on and keep the rest. I feel bad for you, losing business for nothing. I’m going to tell everyo
ne I run into they should come eat here.”
“Thank you, Georgia. I appreciate that.” As she walked toward the door, I stacked up the dishes and silverware from her table. The bell jangled as I set them in the sink and turned on the water to rinse them. Man, if I was losing business over being questioned by the police, it could be bad. I whistled out loud, wet a cloth, and turned back to wipe Georgia’s table.
And then jumped about a foot off the ground at the sight of Jim standing directly in front of me.
“Eep! Don’t you know how to announce yourself?” I let out a breath and leaned against the counter behind me. He must have come in the door at the same time Georgia went out, or I would have heard the bell again.
He stuck one hand in the pants pocket of a well-tailored gray suit. He lowered his chin and gave me an abashed look over the top of his glasses. He wore a blue silk tie the color of cornflowers knotted over a black shirt, and kept his other hand behind him.
Recovering, I cocked my head. “You sure look like a lawyer today.”
“Been in court all morning. But I wanted to apologize to you. And I’m also starving. Any chance of lunch with a side of forgiveness?” He brought a compact white box the size of a brick out from behind his back and extended it to me.
“What’s this?” I accepted the box, holding it in both hands.
“I took a wild guess and got you dark chocolate fudge from the Nashville Fudge Kitchen.”
“Jim. You didn’t have to do that.” Now I was the sheepish one.
“No, you were right. I should have told you Monday night. I don’t think anything could have spoiled that evening.”
I cocked my head, regarding him, set the box down, and extended both arms toward his shoulders. “Hug and make up?”
He wrapped me up tight as I leaned into the smooth cloth of his suit jacket. I inhaled him as his heart beat beneath my ear. He stroked my hair with one hand, a touch that felt as intimate as if we were naked. I didn’t want to surface, ever, but I had to. Customers could come in at any moment.
I pushed away, smiling up at him. “What was that about lunch?”
He sank into the nearest chair and set his chin in his hand, elbow on the table. “You’re a lot easier on the eyes than Judge Zimmer.” Using his other hand, he rubbed the tips of his fingernails with his thumb.
I laughed, but I was glad I’d worn my favorite skinny jeans with a deep peach-colored shirt that set off my skin. “Poor judge. Now tell me what you want.” I pointed to the blackboard and told him about the potato salad.
“That and a mushroom veggie burger. And a glass of lemonade.”
“Coming right up.”
As I worked, he sauntered over and leaned against the sink. “Quiet in here today.”
I pursed my lips. “Yeah. Not any lunch rush to speak of. A woman named Georgia came in, said her friends stayed away because they thought I might poison them.”
The smile slid off Jim’s face. “That’s outrageous. I suppose they heard about Buck’s questioning you.”
“Who hasn’t? Maybe I should have bought a store in Nashville, or even in Bloomington. A town this small—well, it’s good and it’s bad.”
“You got that right.”
“I feel like I should post a big sign in the window saying, ‘The Cook Is Not a Murderer.’” I shook my head. “Anyway, a guy came in this morning. Don O’Neill’s brother.” I ignored the teeny-tiny pang of guilt stabbing me for having thought Abe more attractive than the common bear. Or the common Hoosier, at least.
“Abe?”
“Right. He said Don used to date my mom. So Don might have one of her pens. And, apparently, everybody knows Corrine and Stella didn’t get along.”
Jim picked up a spoon and tapped the sink.
“Do you know what kind of dirt Stella might have held on any of these people?” I asked. “Corrine? Don? Ed? Or anybody in town, for that matter.”
“I was away at school for quite a while, what with undergrad at IU and law school in Massachusetts. I’ve only been back for about five years, so I’m sure I missed lots of news. Or secrets, as it were.”
I flipped his burger and stirred the sautéing mushrooms around on the grill. I reached for a clean plate, laying a pickle and a big scoop of potato salad on the blue-and-white concentric stripes. I opened a bun onto the grill as I thought.
“I wish I knew what happened between Don and Mom. I don’t think he’d tell me even if I asked.” I assembled the burger and laid it on the plate. “Come on, eat your lunch. I’ll get the lemonade.”
He took the plate and sat. He managed to squeak out a “thanks” before chowing into his burger like he hadn’t eaten in a week. After I brought his lemonade,
I realized I hadn’t eaten in a long time, either. I dished up a scoop of potato salad for myself, grabbed a couple of leftover sausages, and took the seat next to him.
“News and secrets,” I murmured as I chewed, not seeing my plate, not tasting my food. “Secrets and news.”
“What?”
I glanced at Jim, who looked like he was waiting for an explanation. “Oh, I was just thinking about this puzzle.” I fell silent for a moment. When my puzzle brain is engaged, I can barely carry out normal interaction. I forced myself to focus on his face and went on. “You mentioned missing news while you were away. I think I might hit up the library, see if I can find newspapers for the time right before Mom moved out West.”
“Good idea. I’m not sure the South Lick Public Library has much of an archive. But Nashville will if they don’t.”
I scrolled through the archives of the South Lick Sentinel after Georgia happily set me up with the microfilm from a couple of decades earlier. I sat ensconced at a desk in a carrel on the second floor of the small but decent library, which was housed in a renovated boardinghouse built in the late 1800s.
Georgia watched me work for a minute. “We also have Nashville’s paper, the Brown County Democrat, online.” She showed me how to access it.
I thanked her, but I kept my gaze on the screen. My puzzle brain had taken over again and I didn’t want to engage in small talk. I was glad Jim had been wrong about the South Lick library archive, though. They seemed to have everything I needed, and I’d been able to walk the three blocks here.
Mom had moved to the Santa Barbara area before I was born, but I wasn’t exactly sure how long before. Was she pregnant when she left her hometown? Had she met my birth father in California? I couldn’t believe she’d never told me, although we hadn’t really talked about my father. I’d had a brief flurry of curiosity after I started elementary school and realized other kids had dads at home and I didn’t. She’d told me the man responsible for my hair and coloring was a decent man, but he wasn’t able to be in our lives. After that, I was so happy with only the two of us I didn’t really care. But living in South Lick, seeing Don’s reaction to realizing I was Jeanine’s daughter, and now the business with the pen had my interest in the past rekindled, and that fire wasn’t getting doused by anything but the truth. I could have asked Adele, but I didn’t want to interrupt my train of thoughts to step out and try to call her now.
I brought up issues of the paper from twenty-eight years ago. I was twenty-seven, so I’d start there and go backward in time. I scrolled through page after page, but had no idea what I was looking for. No, I knew what I wanted to find—any tidbit involving Don and my mom, or even her and a dark, curly-haired mystery man. A picture, maybe, or something newsworthy. But that was too nebulous, and the software didn’t let me enter a search term. Heck, if I had a search term, I could have just used the Internet.
The Sentinel was a weekly paper. After an hour I’d browsed about three years of papers with no results. I stood and stretched, trying to unglaze my eyes. I strolled over to one of the many tall, graceful windows, and passed a wall clock with the hour hand just reaching four. I needed to prep for tomorrow, but I thought I’d give the search one more hour. As I looked at the street below, an unmistakable
Corrine Beedle strode along the sidewalk, with an equally unmistakable Roy Rogers at her side. He seemed to be haranguing her, throwing his hand in the air and facing her as he walked. He tailed her when she marched up the steps to the front doors of Town Hall, but he remained outside after she pulled the door open and disappeared through it. He stood there for a moment. Then he rubbed his face with one hand and stomped down the stairs.
I didn’t know what that was about, but my priority was right here. I returned to the carrel. This time I brought up the Brown County Democrat, the local daily paper for a century. I supposed local Republicans might not like the name much—and they were a major force in this part of the country—but the Democrat it remained. Once again I started with an issue from twenty-eight years ago, although the going was a lot slower, both with it being a daily paper and one serving the entire county.
I was up to March 10 when I caught my breath and stopped scrolling. On the screen in front of me was a grainy photograph of Don O’Neill, my mom, and another man. The arms of the three were draped on each other’s shoulders as they grinned into the camera, with Mom in the middle. The caption read: Locals welcome Rotary scholar from Italy, Roberto Fracasso. I squinted and leaned in to examine it. Roberto’s dark hair curled over his collar. He was Mediterranean. I’d never seen him before, but his smile looked familiar, like I’d seen it in the mirror.
Chapter 15
I sat at my kitchen table and stared at the printout: Locals welcome Rotary scholar from Italy, Roberto Fracasso. I’d been so stunned at the library, gazing at a picture of a man who looked just like me, all I managed to do was send that page to print and walk home with it. I’d forced myself to work in the restaurant prepping for tomorrow until I was done, but my mind was racing the whole time.
I sipped from a Cutters beer and read the article for the umpteenth time. It said Roberto, twenty-four, was a graduate student sponsored by the Rotary Club of Brown County, and the O’Neill family in South Lick were making room for him in their home while he studied the geology of the area. And then the story frustratingly veered off into what sounded like an advertisement for the Rotary and their international scholarship program, a story probably taken from a press release they’d sent out. Birdy munched a bite of food, jumped up onto the chair next to mine, and proceeded to wash.