Sour Grapes

by Jeff Shelby

  She nodded. “I hope you know that you’ll be doing me a favor, too. By investigating.”

  I frowned. “You? How?”

  She took a deep breath, and I immediately wondered if it was simply for effect. “The bank loaned them the money,” she said, her voice once again dropping to a whisper. Her eyes widened, adding a sense of urgency to her words. “You know what that means, right?”

  “Uh, no...”

  She rolled her eyes and blew out an impatient breath. “If the restaurant folds, we are back to square one with that building. They default on their loan, and we’re left holding the bag!”

  I didn’t know much about banking, but I was pretty sure Sophia Rey didn’t, either. Because I didn’t think that was quite how defaulted loans worked.

  But I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her, so I simply nodded and pasted a tight smile on my face. “Gotcha. Well, I’ll do my best. For you and Mikey. But, keep in mind. The restaurant is more than just a giant cow. Mikey's a great cook. They have a great plan. It's going to be a great place to eat.”

  She eyed me. “But you will try and help find the cow?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I will try.”

  She smiled with satisfaction. “Good. Because it is more important than ever that our finances are secure.”

  “Oh?” I arched an eyebrow. Maybe she was buying a bunch of product for her store, or remodeling their already gorgeous home.

  She nodded.

  I didn’t want to ask. It wasn’t my business, and I didn’t really care.

  But she’d whet my curiosity.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  She beamed a smile at me. “Because I’m pregnant!”

  SIX

  MY MOUTH DROPPED OPEN. “You’re what?”

  Her eyes were practically sparkling. “I’m going to have a baby!”

  “But...but...” I sputtered. “But you didn’t want kids...”

  She nodded. “I know. But I changed my mind!”

  I gave my head a slight shake, almost as though I were trying to clear it. I remembered vividly just how opposed Sophia had been to having children at this point in her life. Back in October, when money had gone missing from the Latney Ladies Society—and Sophia had been suspect number one—I’d found out all about how badly Walter had wanted a baby...and what lengths he was willing to go to in order to get his wife pregnant. And I remembered Sophia’s desperate bid to get back in the good graces of the ladies society, even offering to loan them the missing money, all the while knowing what it might mean for her if she borrowed the money from her husband.

  She’d come around a little on the subject of children after the mystery of the missing money had been solved, but even by her own admission, she wanted to wait a while before introducing children into their life.

  “You changed your mind?” I repeated.

  She gave another nod.

  It was my turn to be nosy. “Why?”

  She stroked Tallulah, a dreamy expression on her face. “I don’t really know. I just started having all of these vivid dreams about kids. Little girls with my blonde hair, little boys with Walter’s eyes. It was like every night when I went to sleep, babies filled my mind. Who am I to argue with a sign like that?”

  “So you got pregnant because your dreams told you to?”

  She frowned. “Well, no, not just that. But, you know, I’m not getting any younger...”

  I didn’t think she was a day over thirty.

  “Besides,” she said, her expression brightening once again. “I’ve done a fabulous job with this baby!” She kissed Tallulah again.

  I adjusted the basket in my hands. “You do know babies are a lot different than dogs, right? Taking care of them, I mean.”

  Sophia waved a hand in the air. “Oh, please. They both need love and attention. That’s it. And I can definitely provide that.” She buried her face in the dog’s fur.

  “What about the boutique?”

  She looked up at me. “What about it?”

  “Are you going to keep it open after the baby is born?”

  “Of course.” She was indignant. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I just thought it might be a little hard to do both. But I guess if you have childcare it wouldn’t really be difficult at all.”

  Sophia let out a little gasp. “Childcare? Why on earth would I pay someone to watch my baby?”

  “Um, so you can run your store?”

  “That’s absurd,” she said, shaking her head. “I will do no such thing. The baby can come with me to the boutique just like Tallulah does.”

  I stifled a chuckle. “You’re going to bring the baby to the store. Every day.”

  “What’s so bad about that?” she asked. “I’m not having a baby so someone else can take care of it. If I don’t put little Tallulah in doggy daycare, why would I put my own child?”

  I took a deep breath. It wasn’t worth arguing with her that raising a child was far different—in every way—than owning a dog. She’d already made up her mind.

  “Well, congratulations,” I said, trying to loosen the tight smile I was wearing, make it appear more natural, more genuine. “I’m very happy for you.”

  I really was. Babies were something to be celebrated, but it sure did sound as though Sophia didn’t have a clue as to what she was going to be in for. I hoped that wakeup call wouldn't change her to desire to be a mother when she no longer had the choice.

  Her pleasant demeanor returned. “I’m so excited,” she practically squealed. “I cannot wait to decorate the nursery! We find out in a couple of weeks whether it’s a boy or a girl. Once I know, I can get right to work on the room.”

  If she was having an ultrasound soon to find out the gender, that meant she was probably already four months along. I stole a quick glance at her stomach. There wasn’t a bump visible, much less a thickening of her waist. She was probably going to be one of those women who didn’t look pregnant until they were heading to the hospital for delivery. I, on the other hand, had looked like I was wearing a bowling ball the minute I found out I was pregnant with both Luke and Laura.

  “That will be very fun,” I said.

  She nodded. Worry lines sprouted on her forehead, replacing the exuberance I’d just witnessed. “So you can sort of see why this missing cow is important. To me, I mean.”

  I stared at her.

  “The money,” she prompted. “The loan? This is the absolute worst time for the bank to suffer any sort of defaulted loans. Not when I have a nursery to decorate and a baby to buy for.”

  “Right,” I said, once again marveling at how little she seemed to know about her husband’s business and how they got paid. From what she was saying, she seemed to think the money sitting in the vaults was literally hers and Walter’s money.

  “I should let you go,” she said, finally pulling her cart away from my feet. She winked at me. “You have a mystery to solve.”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Thank you, Rainy.” Her smile was genuine, sincere. “You’re not just helping Mikey. You’re helping me, too. And I appreciate that. I’m so glad you’re concerned about this and willing to help.”

  “I’m not doing anything that others wouldn’t do if they were in my shoes.”

  Sophia pursed her lips. “You’d be wrong about that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Someone else does know about the missing statue,” she said primly. “And they don’t care at all.”

  That didn't make much sense at all.

  “The sheriff?” I asked. “You mean because Chuck called in the theft?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean Dawn Putnam.”

  SEVEN

  “Dawn knows about the missing statue?”

  Sophia nodded.

  “How?” I was beginning to think a town loudspeaker had broadcast the news about the stolen cow.

  “She was at the bank, too. Overheard the sheri
ff talking.”

  That at least made some sense.

  “Why do you think she doesn’t care?” I asked.

  Sophia leveled a look at me. “She actually smirked when she heard the news,” she said bluntly. “Is that something you would do if you were concerned or worried?”

  She had a point. I thought back to my brief conversation with Dawn at the Wicked Wich the previous day. She’d clearly been upset about losing Mikey, even though she would never explicitly admit it. But would she stoop so low as to steal the statue in front of his new restaurant to sabotage it, and him?

  Yes.

  I could see her doing it in a heartbeat.

  But I didn't want Sophia shooting off her mouth that I thought Dawn might've done it.

  “Dawn smirks a lot,” I said. “About nearly everything.”

  Sophia's lips twitched. “I suppose.”

  “I really should get going,” I said, not answering Sophia’s rhetorical question.

  “Oh, of course.” She steered the cart away from me. “Let me know as soon as you find the cow, Rainy. I have faith in you.”

  I mumbled a thanks and said goodbye, then hurried over to the dairy case to pick out my yogurt and creamer. I made a beeline for the checkout, paid for my groceries, then loaded them into the car and quickly made a decision.

  I was stopping at the Wicked Wich.

  I drove the couple of blocks to the restaurant and parked in a spot just outside the ice cream shop. There were a few cars parked in front of the restaurant, which meant I was probably seeing the latter half of what constituted the lunch rush.

  I left my groceries in the car, hoping my visit with Dawn would be brief. The clouds had completely dissipated and the warm April sun had the potential to curdle my creamer if left in the car long enough.

  The restaurant wasn’t humming with activity, but it wasn’t empty, either. Frank, Walter’s right-hand man at the bank, was seated at the bar, eating a plate of chicken wings. Becky and Megan, two members of the Latney Ladies Society, were seated at a table with glasses of iced tea and a salad in front of each of them. They said polite hellos as I made my way past them.

  And Dawn was manning the grill, flipping the burgers sizzling on the greasy surface.

  I strolled to the bar and took a seat, a couple of stools over from Frank. He acknowledged me with a nod and a smile, then continued to plow through the saucy wings on his plate.

  Dawn glanced in my direction and scowled. She turned her attention back to the grill, sliding the cooked burgers on to waiting buns. She slapped condiments on them, placed the top bun on each and then picked up the plates to deliver them to a trio of men seated at a booth in the back of the restaurant.

  I tried to be discreet as I watched her. The last thing I needed was for her to accuse me of spying or stalking.

  She returned from delivering the plates and strode over to me.

  “Back so soon?” she sneered. Her forehead was streaked with sweat and her t-shirt was splattered with grease stains. “Your favorite chef isn't here anymore. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again.”

  “So you said,” I replied dryly.

  She held an order pad in one hand, a pen in the other. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “Are you by yourself today?” I asked.

  She gave me a curt nod. “What’s it matter to you?”

  It didn’t, so I didn’t respond.

  She blew at her bangs. “Look, are you getting something or not? I don’t have time to just stand around and wait for you to decide if you wanna order something.”

  “Just a Diet Coke,” I said.

  She frowned and flounced away, returning seconds later with my cup of soda. She slammed it down on the counter, dropping a paper-wrapped straw next to it.

  “I don’t know why you’re so mad at me” I said.

  She narrowed her eyes and said nothing. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to discuss her emotions...or mine.

  “Today’s been a rough day,” I said. “For a lot of people.”

  “You’re telling me,” she muttered.

  When she didn’t say anything more, I continued, keeping my eyes on her. “My heart just sank when I heard the news about the missing statue. At Mikey’s new restaurant.”

  Her satisfied smile made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Yeah, a real shame,” she mumbled, but her words didn’t match her tone or her expression. “Alert the FBI.”

  I decided to be blunt. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

  She stared at me, her expression hard. “What would I know about it? That restaurant—and its stupid missing statue—isn’t any concern of mine.”

  Before I could say another word, she pivoted and stalked back to the grill to throw more burgers on.

  I stared at the soda in front of me and replayed her words in my mind. There was nothing else to do in that moment considering she’d walked away from our conversation. I could absolutely see Dawn trying to sabotage the restaurant—after all, she’d almost tried to run me over when she thought I was having an affair with her husband—but I couldn’t discount the fact that she was also the kind of person to completely wash her hands of a situation. Yes, she could be vindictive, but with Mikey gone, would she really expend the time and energy to ruin his restaurant?

  I still came back to yes.

  But I really wasn't sure if she had the other things needed to take a giant cow statue.

  The space to hide it. The muscles to move it. The time away from the Wicked Wich to make it happen.

  I really thought she could be responsible.

  I just didn’t have any proof.

  The scent of floral perfume filled my nostrils and I turned to my right. Mabel Wilson, the ancient powerhouse singer from St. Simon’s, was attempting to seat herself at the stool next to me.

  “Mabel,” I said, smiling.

  She smiled back, a smile so bright, it almost made the wrinkles in her powdery skin disappear. “Hello, Rainy, dear.” She set her hands on the bar and tried to position herself on the stool.

  “Maybe a table would be more comfortable,” I suggested.

  She shook her head, her tight white curls bouncing like springs. “I’m fine.”

  “Can I at least help?” I offered her a hand.

  She ignored it. “I’m sitting at the bar today,” she announced. “And I am ordering a celebratory drink.”

  “A celebratory drink?” I stared at her. “Did you...did you sell a record?”

  Mabel had been trying for years to get a recording contract. She’d squandered most of her life savings pursuing one avenue after another, all scams that promised to magically turn her into a star. Her granddaughter, Zoe, had tried to intervene, but with her back at school now, I had no idea if Mabel had reverted to her old ways. I knew she was still performing at St. Simon’s, and she always seemed to be the headliner at any local events in town, but I’d hoped that she’d decided to table her larger aspirations.

  “No,” she said, huffing out a breath as she finally made her way onto the barstool. “I did not sell a record. Not yet, anyway.”

  I bit back a smile. “So what’s the good news?”

  Her gaze behind her thick glasses was shrewd. “I thought you of all people would know.”

  I tried to hide my confusion. Was this about Mikey opening up his restaurant? Maybe she hadn’t heard the news about the missing statue, and didn’t realize that the good news had dampened a little.

  “Me?” I pointed to myself. “What would I know?”

  Dawn appeared, her expression much less dour as she greeted Mabel and asked if she wanted to order something.

  “I will have a beer,” Mabel announced.

  “A beer?” I echoed.

  “What’s wrong with me ordering a beer?” She frowned. “You think I got to this age being a teetotaler?” She made a clucking sound. “Back in my younger days, there wasn't any man around who could put a
way more beers than I could. You can ask around.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you ordering a drink,” I said quickly. “I was just a little surprised.”

  “Well, I want to celebrate.”

  Dawn asked the same question I’d posed only a minute earlier. “Celebrate what?”

  Mabel beamed. “I can’t believe you two haven’t heard. Pastor Declan is coming home!”

  EIGHT

  I almost fell off my barstool.

  “What?” I managed to ask.

  Mabel was still smiling, but the shrewd look in her eyes was back. “Declan is coming home,” she repeated. “He’ll be back sometime this week.”

  “Well, this should be interesting,” Dawn said with a smirk. She looked beyond me and nodded at someone, and I felt a surge of relief as she left the bar area to deal with the table by the window.

  I laid my hands flat on the bar, mostly to keep myself anchored.

  Declan was coming home?

  Conflicting emotions warred inside of me. I was thrilled that one of my best friends was returning to Latney, but I immediately thought of Gunnar and where I was at with my relationship with him. Heat rushed to my cheeks and I couldn’t fight the butterflies rising up in my stomach.

  I stole a glance at Mabel. Dawn had delivered a tall glass of beer and Mabel was holding it with shaky hands, guiding it to her lips.

  “Where did you hear this?” I asked, trying to keep my tone as neutral as possible.

  “Pastor Murray,” Mabel said. A speck of foam dotted her lips. “The interim pastor.”

  I knew who Murray Killeen was. He’d come to town back in February, and Declan had spent a significant amount of time introducing him to the members of the congregation and helping him learn the lay of the land. He’d arrived a month before Declan’s departure, but as Declan explained it to me, this was because plans in Brazil were fluid and he needed to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.

  “So Pastor Murray told you Declan was coming back?”

  “Well, he didn’t tell me directly,” she admitted. “I overheard him talking.”

  I gave her a skeptical look. Mabel was almost a hundred years old. She was still sharp as a tack, but it wouldn’t surprise me if her hearing had started to go. After all, she’d spent a significant portion of her life singing and playing music, and she watched all of her instructional videos with massive headphones covering her ears. Maybe she’d suffered some hearing damage along the way.