Mousse, Moscato & Murder

by Jamie Lee Scott

  Speaking of the sheriff, John Waters had been dating Hattie, and I’d hoped he’d become Peter’s stepdad, but they had cooled things off. I hadn’t seen him around the vineyard since before Christmas.

  I liked John and missed talking to him, although I was glad we hadn’t crossed paths in quite a while when it came to police business. I’d seen enough of him in his professional capacity, and I’m sure he felt the same. Two dead bodies were more than a person should find in a lifetime.

  Becca brought me a flat white coffee and my oversized cupcake, deftly placing them on the table while balancing a full pot of coffee on her tray. “Anything else for you today?”

  I grabbed my coffee and took a sip. “I’m good. You seem very cheerful today.”

  Becca’s face lit up. “I am. I’ve been stressed with school, and I just got my grades for last semester.”

  “You’re in school?” I wondered how she worked at the bakery and went to school.

  “Online university. And I’m trying to fit it between two waitressing jobs.” She looked embarrassed at saying it was an online school.

  “That’s great. And kudos to you for continuing your education while working so hard.” I didn’t envy her. She probably barely slept.

  “I have to. I don’t want to wait tables forever, even if the money is good. And if I want to continue to be independent, I have to work two jobs. California is stupid crazy expensive.”

  I had pulled the wrapper off my cupcake and was cutting it into pieces. Yes, a weird way to eat a cupcake, but I liked to spread the frosting on all pieces and not just have it on the top. “If you’ve never lived anywhere else, it’s normal.”

  “I’ve only lived with my mom.”

  “Is your family from Pear?” I wondered if I might know her mom.

  “Santa Rosa. I needed to get away.” She laughed. “I sure didn’t get very far.”

  “You have to spread your wings sooner or later,” I said, in awe of her taking on responsibility.

  “I’d be at home still if it was a good environment, but my sister and I were about to kill each other. So I got out.”

  “Sorry about you and your sister. Were you close before?”

  Becca looked around the dining room to make sure none of her tables needed attention. “We still have a landline at home and one night a few months ago, the phone rang. My sister and I picked it up at the same time. She told me she got it, but I didn’t hang up. Turns out she’d been hooking up with my boyfriend for months. We’d just broken up about a week before I overheard the call. That’s when it all blew up.”

  I almost choked on my cupcake. How horrible. “I’m so sorry. That had to break your heart.”

  “It really hurt. My mom thought I should move on. Let Ivy have Randy and move on. So I did. I moved on. Literally.” She adjusted the tray in her hand. “And I’ve never been happier.”

  “Have you and your sister made up?” The romantic in me wanted a happy ending. I hoped she’d tell me Ivy dumped Randy and they were loving sisters again.

  She moved the pot of coffee off her tray and set it on my table. It smelled divine. “We communicate sometimes. I think I’m over it, but I’m not sure she is.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded her head vigorously. “At first, I really tried, but she wouldn’t answer my calls. And she responded to my texts only after I was asleep. It’s like she knew I had crawled in bed and fallen asleep. I’d see the response in the morning. It was usually terse.”

  I raised my coffee cup to her in a toast. She clinked the coffee pot lightly against my cup. “Here’s hoping you work things out soon.”

  She said, “Me too. I always thought blood was thicker than water.”

  “If only.” I knew all too well how things could go terribly wrong.

  Putting the coffee pot back on her tray, she said, “We’re communicating more now. I think it will all blow over.”

  Her smile made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.” She looked around again. “I’d better get back to work before Vicki gives me her look.”

  She walked over to Bob’s table and refilled his coffee cup. He pretended not to notice her or deliberately didn’t look at her. But as soon as she turned away, he stared after her. I watched this play out as I sipped my coffee.

  I told myself Bob was a writer. He had a writerly look about him. Maybe he had a telecommuting job, or something that allowed him to sit in the café for hours on end. Perhaps he had a night job or worked the swing shift.

  He looked bald, but when I walked by his table the week before, I realized he just had very short, very blonde hair. I never got a good look at his face, but I thought he was between thirty-five and forty-five years old. His skin was tan, but not suntan. He looked like it was a natural skin color, but it didn’t mesh with the fair hair. He always wore plaid button up cotton shirts with a white tank T-shirt underneath. Some days he wore khaki colored shorts, but mostly he wore faded blue jeans. I didn’t notice a ring on his wedding ring finger, but the way he sat obscured his left hand, so maybe he did have a ring.

  As I enjoyed my coffee and cupcake, I watched him. This had become a habit for me, and I wondered if I was coming to the shop for the food or to watch him and make up stories in my head about who he was. I’d fancied him a professor, then a writer, and even once I had it in my head that he was a fugitive, hiding out in a small town. My imagination had run wild in the last few weeks, when it should have been thinking up new ideas for the blog and chasing down sponsors for sponsored posts.

  Maybe I’d get up the nerve to walk over and introduce myself. “Hi, I’ve seen you in here every day for weeks. I’m a regular, too. I’m Willa Friday.”

  It would be my luck that he’d stare at me blankly for a moment, then go back to his reading without responding. A slight bit of anxiety filtered through me as I imagined a negative situation. No, I didn’t think I’d introduce myself just yet. “Maybe tomorrow,” I said to myself.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” Becca had approached from behind me.

  I had been so caught up in my thoughts that I jumped when she spoke to me. “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking out loud.”

  She leaned against the booth seat across from me. “I do that all of the time. Are you doing okay? More coffee?”

  I tilted my cup, which had maybe one more sip in it. “Not today. I’m probably going to switch to decaf.”

  “You know that’s a dirty word in a coffeehouse?” She stepped away from the seat. “But because I like you, I’ll go get a pot started. Want a little fully leaded stuff until then?”

  “Please.” I pushed my cup toward her.

  I laughed as she walked away. I really didn’t need more coffee, but it helped me work. I tore the top off of a vanilla flavored creamer and poured it in my cup. It still looked dark, so I tore the top off another container and added it, too. I picked up the spoon and stirred. I should have just ordered another flat white, but I didn’t need the espresso.

  I pulled up the article I’d been researching. I was thinking about writing an informational article on the time and cost savings of meal prep. Tommy and I had planned a 30-day meal prep challenge, and it had been a hit for the holiday season. I thought the article would make a nice follow-up, even though the challenge had ended a month earlier.

  I’d finished the recipes and photography for the meal prep challenge on the day before it went live. Thirty recipes and tips in thirty days. Now I was learning Adobe InDesign so I could make some recipe cards for bonus content. I was an old dog as far as anything techy was concerned, and learning a new program was giving me headaches.

  I’d been staring across the dining room for a few minutes, trying to decide what designs to use for the printable recipe cards and found myself looking at Bob again.

  Becca came and refilled my cup with decaf.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I said.

  “Sure.” She
placed the coffee pot on the table like before.

  “Who is that guy?” I looked at Bob.

  Becca stiffened.

  Chapter Two

  Becca went from stiff and almost frightened back to relaxed in a millisecond, but I saw it. There was something there. And she hadn’t even turned to see who I was asking about.

  She shrugged. “He’s just a regular. Been coming in for about a month. He doesn’t say much.”

  I raised my brows. There had to be more to it than that. “Really? Just another customer?”

  She gave a slight nod. “Sure. Same booth, same order, same tip, every time.”

  I tried to make light of the question. “I hope he tips well.”

  “He tips okay. But he pays cash, so it doesn’t show for my taxes, so that’s good.”

  “Do you ever talk to him? Ask him questions?” I asked.

  “I did at first, but he seemed reluctant to have a conversation. Not like you at all.”

  I didn’t know if this was a compliment or a dig. It didn’t seem like she was going to tell me much about him, so I let the subject drop. “That’s it for me today. I’ll just take the check when you have a chance.”

  “Have a good day, Willa. See you tomorrow?”

  “Most likely,” I said. “And I hope you work things out with your sister.” And I meant it. Nothing so silly should come between family, even if what her sister did was pretty crappy.

  Becca smiled and left the white paper receipt on the table. “Thanks.”

  I decided recipe and design ideas were better tackled when I was in my office. So instead, I read the online articles I’d saved and jotted notes the old-fashioned way, on my college-lined binder paper. Between the five articles I read, I had enough information to tell my readers why meal prep was smart and time-saving. It’s not like I didn’t already know, but I wanted to be able to reference other sites to drive the point home.

  I heard a scuffle and looked up.

  Becca was shaking her head and waving her arms at a girl wearing a navy-blue hoodie and short shorts. She untied her apron and held it in her fist as she punched at the air. I watched her stalk out of the restaurant without looking back. The other girl headed toward the bathroom. Employee fight?

  Bob scooped up his MacBook, tossed money on the table, and dashed out the same door Becca had used.

  When I looked back to his table, I noticed he’d left the book he’d been reading on the seat.

  I wanted to follow Bob out of the restaurant, but instead I looked around, then stood and walked over to his booth, leaned in and picked up the book. It was a paperback, Harlan Coben’s Tell No One. I loved that book. I bought it when it first came out in hardcover.

  I walked to the counter to pay my bill, since I hadn’t seen Becca return.

  The owner, Vicki, was at the register. “Hey, Willa, how was everything?”

  I handed her the bill and a twenty. “Delicious as always.”

  Vicki took my money and deftly counted back my change. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to lose such a regular guest.”

  I peeled off a five-dollar bill and handed it back. “This is for Becca. Is everything okay?”

  Vicki rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. “I love that girl, but I swear her family drama is going to be the death of me. She and that sister of hers are giving me fits.”

  I frowned. “Ivy?”

  “You know Ivy?” Vicki’s eyes went wide.

  “No, but I was just talking to Becca about her today. She said things weren’t good between them.”

  Vicki rolled her head around, making a cracking sound with her neck. “It’s complicated. But whenever Becca ignores Ivy’s messages and texts, Ivy calls here. Becca’s lucky she’s a crew leader and my best girl, or she’d be on probation, if not fired.”

  I winced. “That bad? What’s the deal with them?”

  Vicki shrugged, then looked behind me.

  I looked back. She had another customer ready to pay their bill.

  I put up my hand and waved. “Oh, sorry. See you tomorrow.”

  Vicki smiled, then when on to wait on the next customer.

  I went back to my table and gathered up my things, then walked out to my car, wishing I’d been parked behind the restaurant so I could scope out the parking lot and see if Becca, Ivy, or Bob were out there. Instead, I went to my car and did a quick drive by. I didn’t see any of them on the lot.

  I thought to myself on the way home, What would I have done if I had seen them? It wasn’t my business.

  And speaking of business, I got a text message when I was at the stoplight. I pressed the button on my steering wheel and my car read the message to me. Did I mention how much I loved the new car Hattie had bought me? The reason she bought it for me was a whole other matter. The message was from Jacob.

  Have you decided on what you’re doing for Valentine’s Day?

  It was a weird question. Why did he care what I was doing for Valentine’s Day?

  Another message came through. I had my car read it to me again.

  I hit return too soon. I meant for the blog. Cuz I was thinking a series of chocolate articles would be so cool.

  Sort of freaky that I heard Jacob’s voice even though my mechanical car person’s voice sounded nothing like Jacob.

  My mind went into chocolate mode for the rest of the drive. As soon as I pulled into the parking lot of my studio, which was located on my ex-husband’s family vineyard, I grabbed my phone and sent Jacob a text.

  That is brilliant. I have a few ideas, but I’d like to hear yours.

  Jacob texted back:

  I’m done at the restaurant around two today. I’ll stop by.

  I unplugged my phone and turned off the car, then got out, walked around to grab my laptop bag and purse from the back seat. Lugging everything to my studio, I put the key in the lock and opened the door.

  I jumped when I opened the door, not expecting to see anyone in my studio. “Hattie, what are you doing here?”

  She had let herself into my studio. Since it was her property, I guess she had every right to be there. However, I did pay rent, so a warning should have been given. But this was Peter’s mom, so I wasn’t going to fuss. Too much, anyway.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I nearly peed myself. I have to go so bad.” I put my things down on the counter near the kitchen sink and went to the bathroom.

  When I returned, still drying my hands, Hattie was still sitting near the front window of my studio. It was my favorite place to take photographs in natural light.

  “What’s going on?” Hattie had never helped herself to my studio before.

  She stood and walked away from the window. “I needed a place to hide and watch.”

  I walked up to the window where she’d been looking out. “Watch what?”

  “There’s been a guy hanging out near the back of Hats Off. He’s been there off and on for a couple of days. I think maybe one of my employees is stealing and he’s the getaway guy.”

  Pffffft. I thought she was being paranoid.

  She pointed to the beat up red Pontiac Sunbird. “See that guy? First, he’s in the car, then he gets out and smokes a cigarette while he leans against the fender. He walks around a bit, then right back into the car with the windows rolled down.”

  “He could just be waiting for someone,” I said, even though the guy did look suspicious. It reminded me of Bob, though this was a young guy and didn’t look anything like Bob. This guy was tall and thin with his clothes hanging off of him and his boxers showing. Even from this distance, he looked dirty.

  “When I told Peter, he said someone was hanging around the back of Vendredi’s, too. He wasn’t sure who it was, but one of his employees mentioned it. I’m going to talk to his employee about it tonight.”

  “Why don’t you just call John and have him run the license plate?” Seemed logical to me. Besides, this was private property and the guy was loitering, or maybe eve
n trespassing.

  Hattie shook her head, but never took her eyes off the sight just outside my window.

  I should tell you, Hattie isn’t paranoid or senile. She may be seventy plus years old (no one knows her exact age), but she’s a firecracker and sharp as a tack. And she’s a slick businesswoman. Her husband died more than twenty years ago, and Hattie had been the head of Vendredi LLC ever since. Some say she was the matriarch even when her husband was alive.

  Hattie’s cell phone rang. “Ruth, he’s here again. Did you get my text?”

  I could hear Ruth, one of Hattie’s best friends, loud and clear, even though she wasn’t on speaker.

  “Hattie, stop being a stick in the mud. Call John. You don’t have to be there when he arrives. Or maybe you should. Honey, when is a girl your age ever going to find a young hottie like John, who is also good in the sack?”

  I giggled.

  Hattie looked at me and blushed. “Now, Ruth, that’s not something a woman talks about over the phone. Stop that.”

  “Whatever, you stubborn old bat. Let that guy keep scoping out the place, so he can rob you blind,” Ruth’s voice sounded fed up. “You’re a stubborn fool.”

  Hattie sighed. “I have security cameras.”

  Ruth let out with a hardy laugh. “Lot of good that does. ‘Oh, look, we were robbed. Hopefully the police can identify the perp from this crappy video.’”

  “My system is not crappy,” Hattie insisted. “But you’re right. I’ll swallow my pride and call him.”

  I smiled. I liked John.

  Hattie hung up after Ruth said she’d be at the bed and breakfast as soon as she could.

  Ruth didn’t work. She never had a job in her life that I knew of. I didn’t know too much about her, other than she was the only person who Hattie listened to most of the time.