by Lorena May
“Which members of your staff have keys to the restaurant?”
“Most of them do. They sometimes lock up or are first in. So . . . Mona, of course. Hannah our pastry chef, Syd, our chef, the waiters and waitresses. They all have keys.”
“Did anyone besides Steve have problems with Gabe?”
Chloe laughs a mirthless laugh. “Anyone with a wife, daughter or girl-friend, I’m guessing.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“He was a player for sure. Just got back with his wife a few months ago.”
“Do you know them personally?”
“No.”
“What was your relationship with Gabe?”
Chloe’s jaw tenses. Her eyes become flinty. “I didn’t have a relationship with him. I avoided him as much as possible.”
Darby smiles, lowers her eyes, adopts an ‘I get it’ look. “And why is that?”
“My end of the business is mostly customer satisfaction.” Chloe brightens. “Staff relations, food and drink, atmosphere . . . those are my priorities. Steve and Gabe handle the financial side. And I guess Gabe just isn’t my cup of tea.” She tilts her head, looking for understanding. “Wasn’t.”
“He and Steve had a falling out?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Gabe wanted to sell part of his share to a guy Steve doesn’t approve of. Steve offered to lend him money instead. They were working it out.”
“I understand there was an altercation between Gabe and your head waiter, Tom.”
Chloe nods, her eyes flickering with disgust. “Yes. Just last week. Gabe had, apparently, come on to our waitress, Ana. Tom stepped in to defend her.”
“Have there been any incidents between Gabe and Tom or Ana since then that you know of?”
“No, they’ve stayed pretty well away from each other, I think. Tom is a puppy-dog, really.”
“Steve spoke to Gabe a few times on the phone Saturday. Were you there?”
“Once. They were just trying to work out the business logistics. I think in the end Gabe agreed to borrow money from Steve. I don’t know that Cam Cooke was out of the question, though.” She frowns. “Steve’s been very upset about it.”
“And you?”
“I leave all that up to them. I’m sure it’ll work out.”
Darby watches the young woman jiggle her foot, cross her ankles and pull herself together to stare coolly at the detective. What is she hiding?
“If there’s nothing else,” Chloe gives Darby a quick smile. “I should really be on my way.”
She rises fluidly, walking through the door, down the hall and across reception with a detached elegance that has everyone’s heads turning.
Chapter 32
~Grace
Grace is on cloud nine. And not in her usual way. Every morning, before taking the bus to Mama’s Kitchen, Sue’s homey little café, she stops at the clinic for her methadone injection. Once a week she attends group therapy. Others in the group have touched her heart: A teen-aged girl with the tell-tale skin sores and twitchiness of a crystal meth addiction comes with her care-worn mother. A young aboriginal woman, desperate to go straight and get her children back, sits next to Grace. An oil worker who has lost his job, his family and everything he owned . . . Drug addiction is a merciless master.
Working at the café is an exciting challenge. She’s messed up a few times: confused orders, forgotten one, given someone the wrong bill . . . But Mike has been there, calmly helping and fixing her mistakes; telling her they’re perfectly normal. Telling her she’s doing great. And, for the most part, she is. Patrons are forgiving – even encouraging. Most of them are regulars.
“You’re such a treat for our old eyes,” a wizened, elderly man croaks, his face lighting up when she approaches the table he regularly shares with his cronies.
As she laughs and kibitzes with patrons, scurries to take orders, serves and greets people entering the café, Grace feels charming and witty and esteemed. It’s almost like being high.
During her weekly stint at the soup kitchen she gets to mix with and help people like herself. A young hooker cried on her shoulder last week, describing a recent bad trick. Grace rubbed the girls’ back, murmuring, “It’s not your fault. I’m so sorry . . .” She is warmed by the young woman’s grateful, glistening eyes, her soft, “Thanks.” Grace knows well what a kind word can do when you’re down.
Mike has been a constant support. He’s shy and a little klutzy around her. Stumbling over his words. Blushing. Often she sees him looking at her from across the room, but when she makes eye contact he looks away.
Sue has said, winking, “I think my boy likes you!” Obviously he’s too bashful to do more than mentor her, though.
Finally, one morning at Mama’s Kitchen while Grace is helping cut vegetables for the cook Mike walks through the back door, fresh from roto-tilling a neighbor’s garden. She watches his long, muscular back as he washes his hands in the sink, his shaggy hair falling into his face.
Grace stops her work and looks up at him. “Thank you!”
He smiles. “For what?”
“For this. I’m loving this work, and you’ve been so patient. So good- about my screw-ups.” She laughs a little trilling laugh.
He dries his hands on a towel, and gives her a lop-sided grin. “You’re a natural. Business has doubled since you came. Mom and I are in your debt.”
Her eyes gleam. She’s at a loss for words.
He’s blushing now, clearly wanting to say more. Tongue-tied.
She flips her pony-tail. Regains composure. “Maybe we could go to a movie or something sometime?”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he smiles broadly. “Are you busy tonight after work?” He blushes, looking ready for rejection.
“I’d like that,” Grace grins.
MIKE MAKES A STIR-FRY from the day’s unused vegetables and meat, and they sit at the tiny table in the back of the restaurant.
Grace can’t believe her appetite, suddenly. “This is delicious! Your mama taught you well.”
“Taught me to eat, drink, cook, swear . . . Not a bad mom, all in all.”
“She’s the best. Reminds me of a foster mom I once had.”
He nods, intent, clearly wanting her to continue.
“Her name was Lyn. That’s what the ‘L’ stands for.” She shows him the tattoo on her wrist. “She made me feel – I don’t know.” Grace shrugs. “She made me feel like I was worthwhile.”
His eyes flare. “You don’t know that?”
“I haven’t always.” Grace stares at the orange and yellow flowered oil-cloth that covers the table.
He clears his throat. Is silent. Looks at her. Opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His words come slowly. “You just never know how or why people feel the way they do.”
She cocks her head, looks at him with questioning eyes.
‘I mean – when someone as beautiful and intelligent – a people person like you - feels that way . . .”
Butterflies leap around her stomach. Me? She changes the subject. “So, what makes you want to see The Joker besides the fascinating performance by Joaquin Phoenix?”
His eye-brows furrow. “I guess when I heard Michael Moore say that it raises some profound issues and gives us a mirror to look at our society today.”
“Ha! Your mother’s son.”
He smiles. “And I like Marvel movies.”
He looks at his phone. “But the only movie in town tonight is ‘What Men Want’”.
Ugh! I’m sick of what men want, she thinks. She says, “Ah, well.”
Sue pokes her head into the kitchen. “You kids eat and run. I can finish up here. The movie starts at 9:00. Have fun!”
THEY TALK NON-STOP all the way to the theatre, shaking off their insecurities like a Labrador retriever sheds hair. They eat pop-corn and drink pop. “I can’t remember when I’ve had this much fun!” Grace says, looking up into Mike’s beaming face as they leave the theatre.
He drives her to her
run-down apartment in the skids, showing no sign of disapproval. They sit in the car, looking at one another, both bashful again.
“Thank you for a great evening,” Mike says.
She tilts her head, and smiles. His kiss is soft and sensual. Who would’ve known she could feel this way?
Chapter 33
~Darby
Astride her horse, Darby tilts her head back and breathes in the smell of spring. A hazy, late-day sun warms her face. She closes her eyes and revels in it, listening to the gentle drip-drip of water trickling through rocks. “Ah, Bo, this is heaven.” She strokes his sweaty withers.
Hoof-beats break her reverie, and Jim, on his big, black gelding, canters up beside her. “I’ve missed this,” he calls out.
“Nice to have company!”
They head back to the corral to cool, feed, water and untack their horses. Darby leans her head into Bojangle’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Buddy,” she says, turning to watch Jim rubbing Duke down.
Later, they sit in Grillers Pub nursing beers.
“Aaah! Perfect way to destress.” Darby leans back in the chair, stretching her long legs out.
“How’s Gabe’s murder investigation going?” Jim cocks his head.
Darby’s brow furrows. “Frustrating. The lack of physical evidence . . . And we’ve been busy with home invasions, drug stuff, a spate of store robberies . . . This murder . . . How well did you know Gabe?”
“Went to school with him. Saw him around. But we weren’t friends.”
Darby straightens. “What can you tell me about him?”
“Probably nothing that you don’t already know. He was a cocky kid. Rich. Athletic. Kind of a jerk.”
“In what way?”
“He was a lady-killer. Good looking, charming. A love ’em and leave ‘em type guy. Arrogant, self-centered. Can you tell I didn’t like him very much?” he says with a lopsided grin.
“Ha.” Darby tosses her head. Love ‘em and leave ‘em! “I hate him!”
“I love the way your eyes flash when you’re angry.” The corners around Jim’s own eyes pucker as he reaches to touch her hand. His hands are wiry. Strong, Reassuring.
Her breath hitches. She smiles and is silent. Then, “Did you know his partner, Steve? Or anyone else who works with him at the Ritz?”
Jim, rubs his finger along her wrist. “Vaguely. Steve’s mom is a friend of Rose’s in the lodge.” He looks up. “You’ve seen her. The white-haired woman with wire-rimmed glasses. Pretty woman.”
Darby laughs. “White-haired? Really!” Playfully, she moves her hand to punch his arm. “That narrows it down to pretty much everyone there. What’s Steve like?”
“He seems nice. Hey! Why don’t we go to the Ritz for dinner?”
“Dressed like this?”
“Sure. Why not? See if they let us in.”
SOFT CHATTER, THE CLINKING of dishes, mellow lighting and delectable smells greet them as they walk through the door.
“Sergeant Greer! Welcome.” Ana stands at the entrance, wavering only slightly when she sees Darby. “Do you have a reservation?”
“No, we thought we’d try our luck,” Jim says.
“I’m sure I can find a table. Just give me a moment,” Ana says, craning her neck to look further into the restaurant. They stand, watching happy diners immersed in conversation.
Darby looks down at her jeans, boots and casual shirt. “I feel a little under-dressed.”
They look around. Jim points out a number of people wearing jeans. “Lady, you shine!”
Darby feels herself flushing. I don’t blush!
She sees Tom waiting tables at the far end of the restaurant, and Mona strutting her stuff, smiling, nodding, waving and chatting with tables full of cheerful customers.
Ana comes back with menus and a perky smile. “We’ve a table by the window for you. Follow me.”
The wine list is large and expensive, and Darby finds herself scanning the prices. “How about the pinot?” she asks. It’s the cheapest. “They all taste good to me . . .”
“Sure. I’m no connoisseur,” Jim smiles.
“Hello, Sergeant Greer.” It’s Tom, standing by their table.
Darby smiles up at him. “Hi, Tom. How are you doing?”
A flash of unease crosses his face. “I’m okay. Any new developments?”
“We’re working on it,” Darby says, wishing she could reassure him. “This is my friend, Jim.” She tilts her head toward the waiter. “Tom Starkie.”
Jim smiles at the young man. “Your folks farm near mine. My dad’s John Doherty.”
They launch into a conversation about close neighbors, this year’s crops and the recent unpredictable weather. Tom seems so much more comfortable than he did the last time she saw him. A nice, wholesome farm kid.
The food is delicious, the company enjoyable. For hours, Darby and Jim are lost in their own little world, surrounded by dim lighting, warmth and chatter. Jim talks of his childhood on the ranch where he grew up, telling stories of his rodeo days and some of his mishaps. Like the time he rode a bull, was bucked off and booted right into the stands. He describes it like a video replay. They laugh.
It reminds Darby of the time she fell, skating on the Rideau canal, and her brother ran into her, knocking her into the air to thump back on the ice again. Not as funny.
Darby looks around, breathing a small sigh of relief. They’re almost the only ones here, but two other couples are still eating. A few waiters and waitresses are cleaning tables in the corner, furtively, glancing at patrons. Hoping we’ll leave! I don’t blame them. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye Darby watches Tom dash from the staff-room to grab Mona’s shoulder and whisper in her ear. Darby’s full-on watching now. Mona stands stock-still a moment, then rushes through the staff-room door, followed by the harried-looking waiter.
“Jim, something’s going on.” Darby looks around. The restaurant is emptying, and no one else seems to have noticed. “I’m going to go take a look.”
Jim gives her an incredulous look, and stands to follow.
She opens the door marked ‘Staff Only’. Empty mugs, papers, bits of food and bags lay on the table. It looks like a regular staff-room tonight. Lying on the counter, where Tom and Mona stand, is a pipe wrench. Darby and Jim stare as Mona walks toward them.
Her voice is shaky. “Sergeant Greer, Tom has just found this.” She extends her arms toward Darby. In both hands she holds something wrapped in a towel.
Darby takes it, and lets the towel fall open. It’s a gun with a silencer.
She feels her adrenalin spike. “Where was this?”
Tom stands by the sink, looking aghast. The color has drained from Mona’s face. “The sink was plugged. I had Tom fix it. That was stuck behind the pipe under the sink.” Her voice is shaky and halting.
IN THE BACK OF THE cab on their way to the precinct, Jim says, “Well, looks like you might finally have some physical evidence.”
With furrowed brow, Darby stares at the lump on her lap, still wrapped in a towel. “It doesn’t make sense, Jim. I know our people. If it had been there that Sunday they would’ve found it.” She chews her lip. “Somebody must’ve planted it. But why?”
Chapter 34
~Grace
Mike gives Grace’s arm a mischievous bump as he ladles gravy onto mashed potatoes.
“That looks like a love-bump to me.” Quips a worn-out gentleman , hungry eyes on the plate, winking and chuckling merrily.
Grace grins as she pops a slice of meat-loaf beside his potatoes. “He’s picking on me!”
The place is buzzing today. A hive of activity. When everyone has been served their meal, the volunteers dish themselves and go to sit amongst the clients.
Grace slides in beside a grizzled, sad looking, middle-aged fellow who introduces himself as Dustin. She gives him a perky smile. “Hi, I’m Grace.”
He nods, chewing with the few teeth left in his mouth. “Good food!” he says, looking at her t
hrough watery eyes.
“Mmm. It is.” She smiles. “Nice to meet you.”
Later, heartened by a friendly face and a nourishing meal, Dustin tells his story, his voice muted. He drove a forklift for fifteen years, but had problems at work and lost his job. Drugs, he supposes. Dustin collects bottles now, and sleeps in a tent. He hasn’t seen his son or any family for years. A tear slides down his cheek.
Across from Grace a harried-looking young woman, her hair lank and uncombed, holds a baby in her arms, spooning food into his mouth. “Quiet!” she barks at two youngsters bouncing around beside her; a boy and a girl, lively and bright-eyed.
“Mary.” She nods when Grace introduces herself. Her husband, she tells Grace, works at Walmart. They’ve been evicted from their apartment. The rent is too high. Now they live in a camper. She doesn’t know what they will do when the weather turns cold. Maybe she and hubby can find jobs with alternate shifts. They can’t afford child-care. She kisses her baby’s head, and looks at Grace with a face that carries the weight of the world.
Grace murmurs, “I hope something will turn up for you,” and plays peek-a-boo with the children across the table, dipping her head below it, behind her hands, behind Dustin’s shoulder...
She watches Mike eating and chatting with two skinny, whiskery men. They interact like old friends. When they rise to leave, Mike saunters over to stand behind the little girl that sits across from Grace, and tweaks her ponytail. She looks up at him, giggling. He gives her his winning smile.
Finished her meal, Grace rises to join him in cleaning up. “One of the things I love about you is the way you treat these people as equals,” she tells him.
He raises his eyebrows. Cocks his head, grinning, “One of the things . . .?” Then he turns serious. “They are equal. If I’d had the hard knocks most of these people have had, I don’t know if I could’ve survived.”
They busy themselves picking up plates and wiping tables. It’s a wonderful, companionable feeling working alongside Mike. Hands full of dishes, they’re walking side-by-side toward the kitchen when a slump-shouldered man approaches Grace, smiling broadly. She gasps inwardly.