“The girls and I are going to check on Stan at the hospital. They kept him overnight because they were afraid the scare affected his heart. We’re going to figure out a safe place for him to stay. I’m going to meet with Detective Owen this afternoon and talk to him about Stan and the case. Do you think they’ll put him in protective custody?”
I had no idea how that worked.
She shrugged. “Hopefully, I’ll get some answers today.”
I got out of the car and leaned down to talk to her through the open door. “I’ll just eat at one of the restaurants down here so take your time.”
“Thank you, Nikki,” she said, looking weary.
I closed the door and watched her drive away. I was worried about her—and all of the Grannies, really. What if the killer wasn’t just after Stan? What if he was knocking off the residents at the retirement village one by one? Who would be next? I shuddered and a chill ran up my spine. Suddenly, I felt a little paranoid. I looked around, but no one seemed to be watching me. I went into the store and locked the door behind me.
Around noon, I decided to take a break. I had just about finished everything on my list anyway. Another hour and our store would be ready for the grand opening…whenever that would be. Unfortunately, I didn’t have another hour’s worth of energy left in me.
As I walked outside and started to lock up, I glanced down the sidewalk and saw Les up ahead. I locked the door and hollered after him. He turned and looked, saw it was me and got flustered. I could tell he didn’t know whether to stay frozen or bolt. Honestly, at that moment, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he fell to the ground and played dead until I gave up and walked away.
I knew I needed to act fast if I didn’t want to lose him. “Wanna grab some lunch?” I yelled.
He started to walk toward me, then stopped. I was sure he was questioning whether he heard me right.
“Are you free for lunch?” I asked as I walked toward him.
“You want to have lunch…with me?”
“Yes! What’s good to eat downtown? The only place I’ve been is the coffee shop down the street.”
He thought for a minute. “Sally’s is good…if you like sandwiches.”
“I love sandwiches,” I said happily. “Lead the way!”
Our walk to Sally’s was a quiet one. I tried to make small talk, but Les either didn’t have anything to say or didn’t know how to communicate. At this rate, it was going to be near impossible to get him to tell me why and how he planned to build a condo next to Artie’s land.
Once we got to the restaurant and ordered, he seemed to relax a bit. We got our drinks and sat down at a table in the corner. The place was starting to fill up fast with the lunch rush. We had made it just in time.
Les set a notebook he had been carrying on the table next to him.
“What’s that for?” I asked him.
He started to get nervous again and it only piqued my curiosity.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I finally said.
He let out a breath and sat back in his chair, obviously relieved.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked, trying again to make small talk.
“Pretty much my whole life,” he answered. “We traveled a lot when I was a kid, but this was always home.”
“Oh! Traveling! That sounds exciting! Where did you go?”
“Mostly Miami. But we made several trips to Chicago and St. Louis. A few times, we went to Milwaukee.”
“To visit family?” I asked.
“No, it was for my dad’s job.”
“What did he do?”
Les fumbled with his napkin for a minute. He was really reluctant to share anything.
“Well, my dad’s a farmer,” I finally said. Maybe if I shared a little bit about my life, he’d open up about his. “And my mom was a stay-home-mom.”
“Farms are fun,” he said with interest. “Did you have animals?”
“Oh yes, lots of different ones. After I graduated from high school, I went to work for a wealthy guy in our little town that had show horses. I took care of them, trained them, that sort of thing. I got to live in a cute little house on his property.” Suddenly, I missed my little house and the horses…and Bo.
“You seem sad,” Les said, looking me in the eyes for the first time since we sat down.
“I am a little, I guess. I’m just trying to figure out my future.”
He sighed. “I understand that. I’m twenty-eight and I still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life.”
“What do you do right now?” I asked cautiously, trying to not pressure him.
“I own the record store across the street from your store.”
Oh, that made sense, since every time he ran away from me he ran in there.
“That’s exciting,” I said sincerely.
“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s just not what I really want to do, you know what I mean?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t even know.” He hung his head.
“Well, that’s okay,” I said brightly. “There’s nothing that says you have to figure it out today.”
He laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
“Do you have any family around here?” I asked, changing the subject to something hopefully less stressful.
“My parents moved away a few years ago,” he answered. “I don’t have any siblings.”
The waitress came over and brought our food. My roast beef sandwich with cranberry mustard looked amazing, as did his barbeque chicken sandwich.
Once we started to eat, Les finally opened up. We started talking and sharing our ideas about businesses. Then we got back to the subject of his family.
“My grandma told me your parents’ names are Sam and Aria. Aria is such a beautiful name. Is it a family name?”
He laughed. “Actually, when my parents met, my mom’s name was Samantha but she went by Sam, and my dad’s name was Aria. They decided to switch names when they got married.”
“You have to be kidding me!”
“Nope, they are both creative types and they thought Aria fit my mom better as an artist and Sam fit my dad better as a comedian.”
“Your dad is a comedian?” I asked, surprised.
“He was.” Les wiped some barbeque sauce off his face. “Now my parents own an art gallery in downtown Austin.”
“That’s cool! Is your mom’s artwork in it?”
“Yeah, and other local artists. They have art shows there and crazy dinners with food no one has ever heard of before. They love it.” He stopped for a minute and was lost in thought. “I want to do something I love too. I just don’t know what that is. Life is so much more meaningful if you’re doing what you love, don’t you think?”
I had never really thought about it before.
“So how did you get the name Les?” I asked. “Is that like your grandpa’s name or something?”
Les turned nervous again. What was with this guy?
“No,” he said slowly. Then he sighed. “I might as well tell you. My name is actually Lesus.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, sticking a house-made potato chip in my mouth. Those things were addictive.
He took a deep breath like he was going to tell me something that might possibly blow me away or make me go running for the hills. What it actually did was make me laugh and choke on my chip.
“Are you okay?” he asked, jumping up and running over to my side of the table. I took a drink of my soda.
“I’m fine,” I coughed.
He sat back down, his face red in embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t expect you to say Moore. Why would your parents do that to you?”
He shrugged. “They are the artsy type. Always thinking outside the box. They believed in a minimalist lifestyle—probably because in the beginning, they couldn’t afford much—and that was their saying. Less is more. When they decided to have kids, they o
nly wanted one. They decided to go for quality over quantity, I guess.” He let out a little chuckle. “So, when I was born, they named me Lesus Moore.” He looked down at his half-eaten sandwich. “So there, now you know my deepest embarrassment.”
“I’ve been married six times,” I blurted out. “Now you know mine.”
He looked up at me and at first, I thought he thought I was kidding. “Really?” he asked.
“Really. I don’t ever tell anyone that so don’t go blabbing it around town. Actually, I’d prefer it if you kept that little tidbit to yourself.” Why did I just share that with him? I definitely didn’t want that to get around.
“I won’t tell a soul,” he said, and I believed him. “Since we’re sharing secrets, I’ll tell you what’s in my notebook.”
I sat up straight. Finally!
He reached over and pushed it toward me. “Don’t laugh,” he said and I promised I wouldn’t. “I write poetry.” His face flushed a little. “I’m not like my parents. They love the spotlight and both love to entertain. I’m…quieter. But I like writing because I can put down all of my emotions and observations. It’s kind of a like a conversation with myself.”
“May I?” I asked, glancing at the notebook.
“Sure,” he said, nervously removing his hand from the cover.
I opened it up to the middle and started reading aloud quietly.
* * *
In A Tree
Does she see me,
Do I dare.
Does she notice,
When I stare.
In the branches,
End of day.
She turned the lights out,
I sneak away.
* * *
Les grabbed the notebook from me, his face so red it was nearly purple. “Uhhh, forget that one,” he stammered. “Read a different one.”
He flipped through the notebook and handed it back to me. “Try this one.”
I narrowed my eyes at him while I took the notebook. This one had better be a little less stalkerish.
* * *
Too Soon
I saw you today, laying on the sidewalk,
Once so full of life, dancing in the wind.
Oh so green, so tall, so straight,
Never to break, only slightly bend.
I knelt down, and picked you up,
Brown and brittle.
Cut too soon from this life,
Oh blade of grass, you were so little.
* * *
I laughed. “Okay,” I admitted. “That one’s cute.”
He smiled. “I like to write about everyday objects. The things that are truly amazing but everyone takes for granted or just ignores.”
I had a feeling he was talking more about himself than grass at that moment.
“So, do you go to, like, poetry readings or anything? Some place to read your poetry in public?”
“Oh no!” he chuckled as he took the notebook away from me. “That’s not really my thing.”
“Well, I think you should!” I encouraged. “Your poetry is really good.”
He shrugged. “Maybe one day. I’d really like to get my poems published. That’s kind of my dream.”
“Well, there you go!” I said excitedly. “So, you know what you want to do with your life after all!”
He smiled. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
We took another bite of our sandwiches and I tried to figure out how to ask him about the condos. He really didn’t seem like the kind of guy that would have the funds to do that kind of thing.
“So,” I said, still not sure how I was going to word this. “After my grandma and I get our new store up and running, we were thinking about getting into the condo business. Maybe building some on the edge of town.”
“Really?” he asked, surprised. “I’ve only met her a few times, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would do that?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, worried that he offended me. “I don’t mean anything bad by it. Just that I thought that was something investors did. Ya know, people with a lot of money to spend…or risk.”
“My grandmother has plenty of money to spend.” Now I was offended.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I just picture mysterious people who live far away from here who pay someone else to scope out the area but they never actually visit themselves. But that’s probably just my imagination getting the best of me again.”
Actually, that was how I pictured it too.
“So, you would never build a condo?” I asked.
“Oh no. That’s not my thing at all.”
Hmmm. Either he was lying or the Grannies were mistaken.
I dropped the subject and we finished our lunch, talking about our childhoods and our parents. He was surprisingly easy to talk to and it felt good to have a conversation with him. I had talked to Joe plenty of times, but we never really talked about anything deep like Les and I did.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out. Grandma Dean sent me a text and said she would be by the shop to get me in about an hour.
“I hate to cut our lunch short,” I said to Les. “But my grandma is going to pick me up in an hour and I still have work to do.”
“Cut it short?” He laughed. “We’ve been sitting here for nearly two hours!”
I looked around and was surprised to see that we were one of the few people still in the restaurant. “Wow!” I said, pushing my chair back to get up. “Time flies when you’re having fun!”
“I had fun too,” he said sheepishly. “Maybe we could do this again?”
“I would love to! And maybe you’ll let me read some more of your poetry.”
“It’s a date!” he said, then quickly backtracked. “I mean, it’s a…”
“That’s alright, Les,” I said, clapping him on the back. “I know what you mean.”
When we left the shop, I went my way and Les went his. I couldn’t help but think about what he said about the condo. Why would he lie about something like that? He shared all kinds of things with me at lunch, so why not that? I wanted to talk to someone about it but I knew I couldn’t talk to Grandma Dean. She didn’t think he could ever do anything wrong, and honestly, I didn’t either. But this really bothered me. Then it dawned on me. If there was one granny I could talk to about this, it was Greta. She seemed to be on my side about Les from the beginning. Now if I could just get her alone to talk to her. That might be more difficult than it was to get information out of Les. But I had to try. Stan’s life might depend on it.
Chapter 10
When Grandma Dean picked me up a little over an hour later, she was clearly irritated.
“Would you believe the police aren’t going to put Stan in any kind of witness protection program? Someone tried to kill him and they are just sending him back home!”
“Really?” I asked with surprise. “They aren’t even putting an officer on him?”
“Well,” Grandma said, turning toward the retirement community. “They said they would do that, but the poor guy is terrified to go home. Plus, his window isn’t even fixed yet. So, yet again, we had to take things into our own hands.”
Uh oh.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“He’s going to be staying with Hattie until we solve this. That way he won’t be alone.”
“Hattie?” I burst out laughing. “Well, who’s going to save him from her?!”
“What does that mean?” Grandma asked.
“First of all,” I pointed out, “I think Hattie has the hots for him. Secondly, she’s a nutcase! Out of all the Grannies, why would you let him stay with her?”
“I’m not so sure she has the hots for him,” Grandma corrected. “I think she’s just lonely. And she was the first one to say he could stay with her. What was I supposed to do?”
I shrugged.
“What’s done is done,” Grandma said, pulling into the parking lot of the
retirement village. “We’re meeting at Hattie’s house. Everyone is already there. Do you want to come with me?”
I was honored to be invited. I thought my date with Larry had really proved my worth to the group—or at least the depths I would go to for them.
When we walked into Hattie’s house, I was instantly taken back by how hot it was. Grandma must have seen my reaction because she leaned toward me and whispered, “Hattie keeps her thermostat set to ‘Hell.’ Make sure you drink plenty of water so you don’t dehydrate.”
The Grannies were already sitting at the table with their tall glasses of ice water. Grandma snuck into the hallway to turn on the air so no one passed out from a heatstroke.
Hattie’s apartment had the same layout as Grandma Dean’s, but hers was decorated very differently. Grandma’s style was very modern while Hattie’s was more…seventies. The walls were a pale yellow, either from paint or from time, and the accents of avocado green and burnt orange dated the place even further. But still, it had a cozy, lived-in feel that was comforting.
From my place at the table, I could see Stan, sitting quietly, lost in his thoughts in a beat-up recliner in the living room.
“Stan,” Virginia said to him. “Would you like to come in here and sit with us so we can talk to you?”
He shook his head no. “The killer might see me through that window.” He pointed toward the large kitchen window next to the table. “I think I’m safer in here.”
“There’s a policeman right outside the door,” Grandma assured him as she emerged from the hallway. “I think you’ll be safe.”
Stan clearly wasn’t budging.
“We’ll just sit in the living room,” Hattie said, getting up and walking in there. All the Grannies followed her and took a seat either on the couch or the loveseat. There wasn’t any room left so I sat on the floor.
Grandma filled him in on her epiphany from the night before. “Stan, we got to talking about things after…” She motioned toward his arm, not wanting to say the word “shooting” and get him all upset. “And we think we came up with something. What if Artie wasn’t the target this whole time…but you were?”
The Root of All Evil Page 6
