Read Murder at the Blue Plate Café (A Blue Plate Café Mystery) Online
Authors: Judy Alter
Tags: #Mystery & Crime
Murder at the Blue Plate Café (A Blue Plate Café Mystery) (8 page)
That day Rick Samuels came in for lunch. Coincidence? I wondered. Or maybe not. He was his usual gruff self—for just a minute the other day I’d penetrated behind that façade, but now it was back. Without greeting anyone, he ordered a meat loaf sandwich and a small salad.
“I’ll fix his plate,” I said to
Marj
back in the kitchen, “and take it to him. Watch me,” and I winked at her.
I fixed a special salad, adding grated cheese and wishing the greens from my garden were already grown. As it was, I was more generous with the slivered red cabbage we always put in for color and crunch and with the cherry tomatoes—we usually only added one per salad. The ticket said he preferred mayo on his sandwich and wanted it on wheat—conscious of his health, maybe?—so I slathered the bread with mayo, cut it diagonally, the way Gram had taught me rather than straight in half (“The corners fit in your mouth better,” she’d said), and sashayed out to the counter to set it down.
Marj
had served him sweetened ice tea.
“Better check for rat droppings before you eat,” I said cheerily.
Sandwich halfway to his mouth, he stopped and looked at me. “What?’
“You heard me. You reported rat droppings to the mayor.”
Slowly he put the sandwich down. “I did no such thing. I told her I couldn’t find a single violation. This place is as clean, really clean.”
Now it was my turn to be amazed, and I know I stood like an idiot with my mouth open. “Say that again?”
“I told her The Blue Plate Café could pass any inspection by a professional from Dallas. It’s really clean. Everything checked out.”
“Refrigerator and freezer temperatures?”
By now,
Marj
was leaning over the shoulder-height partition that separated kitchen from serving area.
“Just fine,” he said. “Now, can I eat my sandwich?”
“Sure,” I said slowly. “What about flies?”
He shrugged. “You got a few. Show me a restaurant in the summer that doesn’t, what with people banging in and out of that door.” He nodded his head toward the double screen doors onto the porch that doubled as a waiting room.
I leaned on the counter and took a big leap, calling him by his first name. “Rick, Mayor Thompson stormed in this morning and said she was closing us right away, for cooling temperature violations, open containers of flour, rat droppings, and flies. She was waving some papers in her hand, but she wouldn’t leave them with me. “
“Why aren’t you closed?” He had set the sandwich down again.
“I called her bluff, told her she didn’t have that authority as mayor, and I was entitled to an appeal to the city council. Actually, if anybody was going to close us, you’re probably the one with the authority. I used to work for a lawyer and I could ask him, though this is pretty far out of his realm.”
Rick had begun to eat again with the air of a man who was determined to finish his lunch. I wondered if I should offer him antacid after he ate.
Between bites, he said, “She wouldn’t leave the papers, huh? That’s because you’re right—you called her bluff, and it was indeed a bluff. I wonder if I could arrest her for falsifying information, even verbally.”
Suddenly I got the giggles at the idea of the chief of police arresting the mayor. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle the laughter, but tears were running down my cheeks.
“It isn’t funny,” Rick said. “She falsified what I reported. That reflects on my name and my honor.”
I didn’t know whether that got things out of proportion or not. I was worried about my café being closed, and he was worried about his honor. It tickled me, and I began to giggle again. Rick tried to look stern, but then I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.
“You know, I’m just going to pretend like it never happened, and see what comes next. Let me get you a fresh piece of peach pie, on the house,” I said.
“Sure I can’t be accused of taking a bribe?” He really did smile then.
“Absolutely not.”
I was still grinning when I came back and set the pie in front of Rick. By then, Steve
Millican
was sitting at the other end of the counter. When I approached to take his order, he asked, “What so funny?”
“Too long a story to tell,” I said, as Rick scowled at him.
Rick finished his pie, paid his bill, nodded at me, nodded curtly at Steve, who gave the barest nod in return. I sensed animosity between them and asked about it.
Steve tried to brush it off. “We tangled over something the other day. It doesn’t matter. He’s the chief of police, not the monitor of morals.”
Giggles, once started, are hard to stop, and I could feel another attack, because I could see Rick Samuels assuming the role of moral arbiter, what with his concern about his own honor and over my so-called party-girl reputation. I fled for the kitchen.
Once I finally composed myself—cold water on the face—I asked Steve what I could get him. “Just some tea. I really came to ask if I could fix you dinner tonight.”
I hesitated. I liked him, but I didn’t know a thing about him. Rick didn’t like him (well, that wasn’t going to stop me!), and
Marj
had hinted at something in his reputation. Should I go home with a man I barely knew? Sure, I’d done it in Dallas—but this was Wheeler. It wasn’t so much that I thought he’d attack me. It was that gossip would surely follow.
He must have seen my quandary. “I’d like to fix it at your house, if that’s okay. Mine’s not much for entertaining. I share a pretty tiny place with Joanie, till we save up some money. But I can fix a mean meat sauce for spaghetti.”
Relieved, I said “Sure. I’d welcome a night off—and not cooking.” Mentally I was figuring out who would cook, handle the cash register,
etc.
“Could we make it tomorrow night, so I could be sure the café is covered?”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll be there about seven, and I’ll bring everything.”
“You’re a cook?”
“I try,” he said. No more explanation.
Of course it’s not unusual these days for a man to cook, but still I found I had questions about him—where he was from, why, really, he and his sister landed in Wheeler, what he did before that. Maybe I’d find out tomorrow night. And what had he tangled with Rick Samuels about?
As I stood at the counter, lost in thought, a loud crash in the kitchen, the sound of breaking pottery, brought me back to the present in a hurry. Gus, with a bewildered look on face, stood looking at a shattered mess of white café pottery. Tom stood behind him.
“Completely my fault,” Tom said apologetically. “I just flat bumped into him and jarred the plates out of his hands.”
“How’d you get in here?” I asked. “I didn’t see you come through the dining room.”
“I sneaked in the back,” Tom said sheepishly. “Just wanted to see if there was any pie left.” His grin made it all seem innocent, but I had ordered the back door to be kept locked. On the other hand, Gus went out it frequently for smokes and I’m sure forgot to lock it half the time.
Gus shook his head in disbelief. “I dropped them. I never done that in all my years washing dishes. It was like someone lifted them out of my hands and threw them on the floor.”
“No, Gus,” Tom said patiently. “I take full blame. I knocked them out of your hands.”
Gram,
I asked silently,
did you break those plates? If so, why? Are you trying to tell me something?
To my surprise, she answered, “Child, you’ve got to get smarter about what goes on around you. Pay attention.” I felt as though I’d been scolded.
I reassured Gus and Tom that accidents happen and went to get the broom. “Some of our plates are pretty old and chipped anyway,” I said. “We need to replace them. This is a good reminder.”
“I can get them for you wholesale,” Tom offered, but I countered that I could get them from a wholesale restaurant supply house and they’d match what we had.
Gus took the broom from me. “I broke them, I sweep it up. You go—tend to your papers.”
But Tom had other ideas. “Got time for a glass of tea?”
“Sure,” I said. I really did need to check the inventory against orders, but one glass of tea wouldn’t take that long. I poured two and asked Tom what kind of pie he wanted. He chose lemon meringue.
“I hear you think Gram was murdered,” he said, almost casually.
“I just think it’s funny that she died so suddenly. How did you know?”
“Donna told me that you hinted at it in the car one day. Now there’s no stopping her. She talks about it all the time. I know you’re both wrong.”
I thought it was really strange Donna had never mentioned it to me after the one time she wanted to help me investigate. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “I just do. Nobody would hurt Johnny. If I thought somebody had done that, I’d kill them myself. I’m sure you’re barking up the wrong tree, Kate. Gram just died. She was at the age where people have heart attacks. Let go of it.”
“I can’t.” I shook my head.
Gram had a long talk with me that night. Well, really, it was a lecture. My “talks” with Gram were pretty one-sided, and she seemed to fade away when I asked questions. But tonight, as I lay in bed, her words were, “Kate, look for trouble where you least expect it. And don’t give up. You’re on the right track. But remember to watch your back. You could be in danger.” Watch my back? Where had Gram learned that phrase?
Well, that wasn’t a new thought, thanks to Rick Samuels, but to hear it coming from Gram was a whole different thing. “Danger? From what? Who?” I almost screamed the words, but as usual Gram had said all she was going to.
I lay awake a long time and then drifted off into a fitful sleep. Sometime in the early morning, when it was still dark, I heard a loud commotion—such a mixture of noises that I couldn’t sort them out, but it sounded like cars racing through town, and maybe a gunshot—or was it a backfire? And that same sound of breaking crockery that I’d heard in the café that day. By the time I got to the front window and looked out, of course, I could see nothing. I stared a long time, and then I saw red flashing lights. Rick Samuels was driving his car fast into town from the small house he rented on the edge of Wheeler—and he stopped in front of my house. Well, really, across the street, by the nursery. I watched fascinated for a long time. Rick turned off his flashing lights, but all I could see were flashlights and shadowy people moving through the nursery. The temptation to run across the street and find out what happened was strong, but Gram held me back. “Child, keep your place.” Besides that, I could imagine Rick Samuels’s displeasure at seeing me, in pajamas, at three o’clock in the morning. I went back to bed, sure I wouldn’t sleep a bit, but I slept soundly until the alarm went off at six.
Instead of slipping behind the house and into the back door of the café, I deliberately went around the front to look at the nursery. The latticed wood was shattered, and it looked like there were tire tracks right through the middle of the nursery. The windows of Joanie’s store had already been covered with sheets of plywood, but the whole place looked like a disaster. I stared for a long time, but there seemed to be no one there, and I had to get those sticky buns started baking.
Marj
asked what had happened, and I told her the little I knew. The morning rush and the baking kept me busy until about ten when I untied my apron, tried to dust the floor off my clothes, rinsed my hands, and announced I was headed across the street.
“Tell me what happened,”
Marj
said, eager for gossip.
I found Steve
Millican
wandering through the remains of his nursery, picking up this shattered piece of pottery and that, retrieving a plant here and there, and then setting it down again. He was apparently bewildered about where to begin. The damage was devastating. Plants on the edges of the nursery seemed untouched, but the center had been decimated.
“Steve?” My greeting was tentative.
“Hi, Kate. I don’t think I can cook dinner for you tonight.” He looked around ruefully.
“What happened?” I asked, a dumb question if I ever heard one.
“Someone drove a pick-up through here last night. And shot out Joanie’s display windows.”
“I watched from my house after I heard the noise, but I didn’t see the people who did it. And I didn’t think I should come barging across the street. But why? Why would anyone do anything so senseless? It’s vandalism for no cause.”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t want to talk about it. I’m waiting for the insurance investigator, and then I guess I’ll begin to clean up. I honestly can’t decide whether to try to salvage this business or move on.” Then he got a look of fierce determination on his face and said, “I can’t let them beat me again. I didn’t think they’d find me.”
There was nothing I could say to that, no question I could ask. I almost thought maybe he was in a witness protection program, but that was ridiculous. I cast a glance at Joanie’s store, and he read my question.
“Joanie’s doing fine here, and she might be better off without me around. She really came to Wheeler only to be supportive of me. She actually owns a dress shop in Dallas, like this one, that’s doing pretty well. She could leave, or she could run both stores.”
A thousand questions raced through my mind, but I didn’t think I could ask any of them. Steve seemed to feel it was his problem and that he was the cause—but why?
Marj
hinted that there was something in his background that he kept hidden. How was it connected to this?
“Can I help clean up?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to do anything until the insurance guy gets here. And then…well, it’s something I have to do. But thanks.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
He laughed ruefully. “Food is the last thing on my mind. I may come for a sandwich, depending on when the inspector comes.”
“What about Joanie?”
“She’s in there, figuring out the damage, but it’s not anywhere as severe as this. She’d probably welcome a shoulder to cry on. I…I just haven’t been able to give it to her.”
So I went to see Joanie, who was sitting behind the cash register, her eyes red from crying. I simply went over and hugged her, and the hug I got in return was almost fierce. Looking about the store, I saw little damage except at the front where the mannequins that had been in the windows lay like dead bodies, making me shiver for a minute as though someone had walked over my grave. Their clothes seemed strangely intact, and the interior of the store looked pretty much okay, until Joanie pointed shotgun pellet holes in the far walls, some clothes that were torn by passing birdshot, and the shattered display case that held costume jewelry.
“The police chief said he’d get ballistics people in here to see what kind of gun was used, but I don’t know what good that will do. Everyone in this county and all around has a shotgun in his pickup.”
Why would someone with a shotgun shoot up a women’s clothing store?
“Do you have any idea who did this?”
She shook her head. “Steve probably does, but he won’t talk about it. This was his big new life, and now I don’t know what he’ll do. I’m afraid for him.” She began to cry again.
Boy oh boy, there was a story there someone wasn’t telling—and I wasn’t about to hear.
Back at the café, everyone was talking about the trouble overnight.
Marj
of course immediately asked me for the inside story, and I simply told her that someone had driven a pickup through the nursery and used a shotgun on the boutique.
“Why?”
“I have no idea,” I answered honestly. We got busy with lunches and I put Steve and his problems out of my mind. Rick Samuels came in and sat stoically at the counter as usual. I took his order—he sure was fond of meatloaf. When I put his plate down, I couldn’t resist saying, “I saw the excitement last night.”
He was instantly alert. “What did you see? Did you see the pickup? Get a license?”
I shook my head. “No, it was long gone by the time I got to the window, but I saw you drive up, and this morning I talked to Steve and saw the destruction. Was it kids bent on meaningless vandalism?”
Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think there’s more to it. But stay out of it, Kate. I don’t want you in danger.” He smiled just a bit, that funny thing he did when the corners of his mouth turned up. “Have I said that before?”
Danger? I knew he thought I could be in danger for investigating Gram’s murder, but how could I be in danger just trying to help people that I felt sorry for? I huffed away from him, and he ate placidly, as though nothing had happened.
When I ran home late in the afternoon to check on Wynona, Gus was taking a cigarette break. “Miss Kate,” he beckoned me toward him, and I went to where he was sitting on an old tree stump. “Don’t you mess with that trash across the street. You find out what happened to Miss Johnny. You hear me?”
As I nodded yes, I wondered if Gram was channeling Gus too and thought I’d forgotten. I hadn’t and I never would, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what to do next. Why would anyone want Gram dead? The only people who profited were Donna and me, and, now I knew, the town of Wheeler. But since I was in Dallas, that left Donna as a suspect, which was absolutely unthinkable, or someone in town, like the mayor. Donna had taken such an interest in the money and now in the possibility of murder, and the mayor seemed hell-bent on buying the café. Was that her only interest? I brushed those thoughts aside as too ridiculous.
Donna came into the café the next day—a rare occurrence these days. She was followed by a man probably at least fifteen years older than we were. He was shorter than either Donna or me, but trim for his age, and he wore crisply creased jeans and a pale denim shirt—I pegged him as a
Dallasite
who wanted to look like he lived in the country. His Rolex must have cost more than the café made in a month.
Gushing is the only word I can think of for Donna’s behavior. “Kate, this is Irving
Litman
from Dallas. He’s our new neighbor—well, sort of. He’s bought some property out in the country, and now he’s interested in investing in my B & B. He’s going to be my managing partner. Isn’t that wonderful?”
While marveling to myself at this strange turn of events, I held out my hand and said, “Hi, I’m Kate. The other twin.” So this was the partner she had mentioned. My radar went up, and several thoughts were going through my mind, one that it was good Donna had someone else to handle finances, but the other was that I thought Tom was already her partner. And managing? Was Donna turning over money to someone none of us knew a thing about?
His handshake was firm and his smile seemed genuine. “Call me Irv,” he said. “I’ve eyed this place, hear it has the best food in town.”
Since we had the only food in town, that was hardly a compliment, but I thanked him. After I showed them to the corner table—something clued me in that they wanted privacy, to talk about the B & B of course, nothing more!—I gave them menus, took their drink order. Irv asked for Pellegrino, and I had to tell him we didn’t even have soda water. Coffee, iced tea, water or soft drinks: that was it.
“No problem. I’ll take iced tea,” he said.
Donna lowered her eyes flirtatiously and said, “Me, too. I do love Pellegrino though.”
I wondered if she’d ever tasted it.
They ordered chicken salad plates. Somehow I knew he was the kind who would be watching his waistline and avoid chicken fried steak or meatloaf and mashed potatoes. They had come in late and the restaurant was almost empty when I served them, so I asked if I might join them. They both agreed heartily, and so I sat down.
Donna began to explain at length that Irv was going to help finance renovation of the house she’d bought. “We’ll redo the house—it can provide three guest rooms plus I’ll have a kitchen and dining room—and then we’ll build two small but modern cabins. The house sits on two acres, so there’s plenty of room. Irv says it can be done inexpensively, and it will give city folks the real country experience.”
Surely it would cost more than the B & B would earn back in the conceivable future, I thought. I had suspected all along that somehow Donna missed out on that lesson about B & Bs being a lot of work for not much profit, but this guy should understand.
Feeling like an inquisitor, I asked as casually as I could, “What business are you in, Irv?”
Donna looked alarmed, but he smiled charmingly and said, “Financial planning. Investments. Entrepreneurial projects. I made a lot of money in Austin before the dot-com crash, and now I make my living investing it. So far, I’ve had no bad choices. And I handle other people’s money for them—I’m good at it. I may have to rein Donna here in a bit”—he patted her arm affectionately, which gave me pause—”but I think the B & B is a good idea.”
“Irv knows a contractor in Dallas, and he’s brought him out here to bid the job—is that how you say it?” She turned her naïveté on Irv, who replied, “That’s it.” He smiled benevolently at her.
These two were beginning to give me the creeps. “When do you plan to start work?
“Soon as I get the bid and the necessary permits,” Irv said. “I agree with Donna. We’ve got to beat the competition, bigger, better, and a unique experience.”
“I’ll supply each cabin with breakfast makings—juice, bread for toast, coffee,
etc.
Of course, we’ll have to stock them with bare bones essentials, but I can get cheap crockery and pans at Wal-Mart.”
Before I knew my mouth was open, I said, “I can get those things for you cheaper from a restaurant supply house.”
Gram, quit volunteering me when all I want is to keep my distance.
Gram was a sucker for anything her girls wanted. Yeah, she saw through Donna, but it didn’t diminish her love one bit. If Donna wanted something, I should help her get it. “Gram,” I said silently, “we’re going to have a serious talk tonight.”
Donna looked like she’d never heard of such an idea, but Irv clapped his hands together and said, “Splendid. Better quality at a good price. Thank you, Kate. Donna, why don’t you draw up a list of what you’ll need for the main house and two cabins?” Looking at me, he said, “If it does as well as I think, we’ll build more cabins. There’s a small lake on my property, and guests can drive out there to fish. We’ll have paddleboats.”
His use of “we” was beginning to unnerve me. There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask: had they paid off the lien against Tom’s store? Had they drawn up some kind of partnership agreement? How was Tom involved in this deal? I reasoned those were impertinent, none of my business, so I asked, as casually as I could, “Do you have a family, Irv?”