Marion, who had wanted to sell the building but couldn’t because of its historical status, had received her wish for it to be taken off the historical list posthumously. But when finding her murderer also uncovered a hidden treasure of historical status, the council reinstated the historical status. Everyone got uptight about the whole thing.
Mayor Eugene Taser had shed some salt for the crowds of angry citizens who wanted it to remain a historical site, but he sure was quick to get the building torn down and build a new strip mall after the judge’s ruling.
We now have a brand new strip mall with a jewelry store and two vacant storefronts.
“What does Maple Gap need with a jewelry store?”
Lester scraped his salad plate and stabbed another bite. “Now, LaTisha, that new building is generating more taxable dollars to help the school not feel such a pinch. You know what a soft spot you have for the local school.”
I got rather obstinate on this subject. “And I’m sure there are other ways to raise money without stripping the town of its history or moving a landfill in here. A subdivision would be a better solution. Bring in taxes and children.”
Lester’s eyes took on a gleam. “I don’t disagree, but your passion is one of the reasons you’d be a good candidate for the council. Think about it. You could generate a lot of great ideas. We need you.”
Hardy and I drove out to William’s place after we closed the restaurant. Somehow Lionel had managed to work his magic on Old Lou and got her chugging again. She still had real issues, issues she reminded us of with every grump and groan as we traveled the unpaved roads to William’s house.
We’d been swallowed up by trees half a mile back. Not that I minded. The woods had a presence all their own, a certain serenity that softened the hard edges of life. Though I much preferred being around people.
Hardy pulled the car up to the house and stopped. William’s motor scooter let us know he was home. Boy never owned a car as far as I knew. I did wonder how he carried groceries and things though. Those saddlebag thingies on the back of the scooter didn’t look like they would hold much.
Hardy and I stood next to each other looking over William’s cabin. “It’s creepy if you ask me,” Hardy whispered. “You don’t reckon he’s dead in there, do you?”
“Sh!” I hissed at him. “You’re talking crazy.”
“It sure is quiet.”
His house was small. A log cabin. Kind of what you’d expect from someone like William. I could hear the scratching and low clucks of chickens.
I gulped. Hardy might be on to something. What if William’s hit man had already found him? Those guys had to cover their tracks and mercy wasn’t a quality they were known to have in great abundance.
I glanced at Hardy. His steps had slowed, and I saw the whites of his eyes as they darted around the yard, then over at me.
Mwwwoooo!
Hardy and I jumped into each other’s arms, hearts pounding against one another. I waited for something to happen. Something bad. When nothing did, I opened my eyes; Hardy still had his shut tight.
I shook him off and stood up. “This is pure foolishness. If he’s got chickens, he’s probably got a cow. Get on up there and knock on that door.”
His eyeballs peeled open and he smacked his lips together. “Momma taught me to let age come before beauty, so you first.”
I thwacked him a good one on his shoulder. “You best move that body up those steps real fast before I start giving you your last rites.”
Hardy leaned in, got up on tiptoe and landed one on my cheek. “That’s the only last rite I want. If there’s a body in there, I’m gonna die for sure.”
He bounded away from me and up the steps, lifting his hand to knock. No creaky hinges for this door to go along with the horror scene Hardy and I had worked up in our minds. We both sure were glad to see William standing in the doorway, though. His eyes roved the yard in back of us. I could almost smell his fear. He didn’t crack a smile, but motioned us inside. Not that he smiled a whole lot anyhow, but it might have been nice if he’d squeezed one out for company.
The quiet of the place gnawed at me. Hardy stood staring up at the mounted head of a bear, a deer, a wild boar, and what looked like an elk or moose or something. Made me dizzy to have my head cocked back like that, so I turned my attention to the kitchen. William’s momma never had been one much for company, and despite my food run that one time she’d been ill, I’d never seen the inside of the house before. I’m always curious about a person’s kitchen. You can learn a lot by the decor and the way an individual organizes his space.
William’s kitchen both surprised and pleased me. When he saw what I’d laid my eyes on, the smile cracked through and he nodded his encouragement. Stainless steel refrigerator, small, but what do you expect for one person? A propane cooktop and professional-looking wall oven. William even had flour sprinkled across his counter and bread dough rising in some sort of basket thing. Had a fancy dishwasher too. Not that I knew much about brands, but I knew good quality when I saw it. That’s why I’d married Hardy.
William pulled out a chair for me at the table and crossed the kitchen. He tucked a towel around the dough in the basket.
“What you got there, William?”
His eyes traveled the room before settling on me briefly. He seemed nervous. Whatever caused him not to want to talk out loud stoked my compassion, but also tested my patience. “Talk, boy, it’s just Hardy and I.”
“I’m a little rusty.” His first words came out squeaky and grinding, reminding me of someone working an unprimed pump handle. “I-I don’t like to talk much.” He swallowed hard and licked his lips, taking a serious swallow of his drink. I’m guessing the pump needed to be primed a bit after not being used for so long.
“Well it’s a lot easier than getting arthritis doing all that writing.” I tilted my head at the dough he’d just tucked in. “What’s up with that?”
William’s eyes crinkled though the smile didn’t reach his mouth. “Artisan bread making.”
“Come at me again?”
“Art-i-san bread making. Have you ever baked your own bread?”
“Big Sky Grocery is my bread emporium.”
William shook his head and pulled another towel covered something or other toward him. He pulled out a large serrated knife, tossed back the cloth, sawed off a slice of bread, and held it out to me.
“You know I can’t eat that stuff.” I held the slice feeling like apostle Paul when that snake squiggled out of the fire and bit hold of him. Diabetic classes had pounded in the horror of white flour.
“It’s whole wheat,” William murmured, never taking his eyes off the just sliced loaf.
Ah, wheat I could do, so I nibbled the edge, then took a nice big bite. “Good bread. Why not buy it?”
William covered the loaf and slid it back into its place. “It helps me relax, and there’s nothing like homemade bread.”
“Big Sky works for me.”
His brows rose, though he didn’t make eye contact. “Have you ever looked at ingredient labels? With this, you know what you’re getting.” He tapped the newly snugged bread dough. “This will be a cinnamon raisin oatmeal.”
Whatever problems he had talking before, his pipes were primed and flowing now. Being passionate had a way of doing that. I took the last bite of the bread. It truly was delicious. “Why don’t you open a bakery?”
William’s eyes, focused on the counter, grew round. I could see his Adam’s Apple bob. “I could never do that. It’s expensive.”
“You start baking a storm for the Goose and see how it goes.” I could tell he liked the idea by the way his entire expression sparkled. “One thing though-”
“It has to be healthy.”
I beamed sunshine. “That’s right.”
We needed to get on the subject of the hitman. I wanted to know everything. William must have sensed the change in topic coming, because he pulled out a fancy coffeemaker and motioned me t
o a chair. A couple of trips to and from the refrigerator and the thing started whirring. William was a true foodie, not that I’d missed that after tasting his béarnaise sauce, but it hadn’t crossed my mind for one second that he might have such an elaborate setup in his own home.
When he delivered a steaming cup of something that smelled delightful, I frowned. I was pretty sure he knew I didn’t drink coffee. Or tea for that matter. Makes me burp.
William pointed at the cup he’d set in front of me and motioned for me to take a drink. I did. Hints of chocolate melted on my tongue and swirled with sugar and the mellow taste of coffee. A mocha. And this one made my taste buds groan with pleasure. Guess it wouldn’t do any good to remind William that chocolate and sugar weren’t on my list of could-have foods. He was showing off, having fun, even if his expression showed no emotion. I sipped again. The flavor was far beyond my own mix. I sipped sparingly and smiled my pleasure. Whatever it took to get this boy to sit down and start spilling his story.
William grabbed another cup for himself and one for Hardy, who ambled in and slid into the chair beside me. While William poured two more cups, Hardy put his hand behind my neck and started to massage. His warm fingers felt good. Real good.
“You’ve got yourself and nice place, William.”
William slid a mug in front of Hardy, then settled in his chair, took a sip of his drink, and fidgeted.
“We’ve got to report what you’ve heard to the chief. He’ll know what to do.”
His head was shaking before I ever finished the sentence. “No. Please. You figured out the whole thing with Marion, now you’ve got to help me. Just you.”
I huffed a breath, not liking this at all. But William wasn’t someone who trusted easy, I could tell that. Even without the pressure of what he’d witnessed, I knew him to be an anxious sort.
Hardy and I exchanged a look. He was trying to warn me to go gentle.
I leaned forward a bit, studying the slow rocking of William’s body, wondering how best to approach the subject. Best to just come out with it. “What did the man look like?”
William squeezed his eyes shut, his rocking stopped. “It’s muddled.” I wondered if he was trying to block out the mental image. That’s when his leg got to cranking. “He was wearing black or dark brown. His shoes were fancy. Loafers, I think they call them. He looked mean and mad. No one I recognized.”
That William would focus on the man’s feet didn’t surprise me. “What color eyes?”
His leg bounced faster, then stilled. He shifted in his chair. “Dark,” he shrugged. “Black, maybe brown.”
The trauma had either robbed him of his memory, or he truly hadn’t focused enough on the man to supply an accurate description. This wasn’t working too well. My brain hurt as I considered and rejected ways to pull more concrete answers from him. To concentrate.
He rubbed his hands together and put them between his legs, starting the gentle rocking motion again, a different man than the one exalting over bread dough. “Hired men don’t take chances,” he mumbled. “What’s to stop him from killing me?”
That’s when the idea popped into my head. Hardy cleared his throat and I met him eyeball to eyeball. For years we’d communicated this way, knowing what the other was thinking without ever having to say a word. He gave a little nod to me, and I knew he and I were chugging on the same track this time too.
Chapter Three
It took us an hour of feeding the cow and chickens and waiting on William to pack before we were able to leave his house. He remained quiet the entire trip. Pensive. I wanted so bad to take that boy in my arms and reassure him, but a little warning voice told me to give him space.
We got William settled in my office, slash, guest room, just as the phone started ringing. Our weekly check-in with our grandbabies always resulted in a lot of babbling idiocy from Hardy. Not that I didn’t engage in the same foolishness—anything to coax a smile or hear a giggle. Then Hardy set the phone on the table next to the piano and played a Bible song while I sang to Arianna. After Arianna came Bryant, then Jack. “We’re going to have some great ball games at reunions,” Hardy declared.
I rolled my eyes. “They’re barely walking and you’ve already planned a tournament.”
We called the two who were still single and the other who was getting close to the altar. Shakespeare didn’t answer his phone, and we left a message with Lela.
Caleb answered, though. “I’m headed out, momma. Mahry and me are going for pizza.”
“That’s good. You take care of my future daughter-in-law.”
“Momma!” Ah, the power of being the one person who can make her boy blush.
As I hung up the phone from that conversation, I sagged back in my armchair in blissful silence. Hardy plucked out a happy tune on the piano that flowed into a slower beat. I rested, my eyes shut, running over the prospect of enlarging our family yet again. Now to get Shakespeare and Lela happily settled and my momma’s heart would be content.
The music stopped. Hardy plucked up the cordless phone. “Need to talk to Bryton.” He puffed out his chest. “Man talk.”
“You’re one man short.”
Hardy shriveled, but his eyes sparked. “You know Bryton wouldn’t like you talking about him like that.”
Having said his piece, he left the room. Curious, Hardy wasn’t the type for solo conversations. Maybe he still had basketball games on his mind.
William ambled into the room, his hair disheveled, his eyes downcast. “Could I get a drink?”
I pushed myself vertical. “No need to ask. You help yourself to whatever’s in that refrigerator.” I led the way into the kitchen and yanked on the freezer door to reveal individual containers of soups, clearly labeled. “Hardy has a dentist appointment for some new teeth, so I’m stocked up on soups that will be easy for him to eat. You help yourself.” I slammed the freezer and cracked open the refrigerator. “Don’t need to feel any shyness about raiding the refrigerator, just try to beat Hardy to the kitchen and you’ll be sure to get a bite.”
I opened various cabinet doors to show him plates, glasses, then waved a hand at the stove. “It’s all yours.”
William assessed my kitchen with a longing I understood, wringing his hands together as his eyes darted this way and that.
“Why don’t you show me your bread making skills? I’ll get the oven to heating.”
If there had been any hesitation, William lost it. As soon as I landed the flour on the counter, he shook his head. “We need unbleached flour. Whole wheat. Maybe Shiny has some high protein.”
I let him take control, prompting him to write up a list. When Hardy reappeared, I sent him to Big Sky. “And don’t be taking all night to get back.”
“I won’t. I look forward to keeping you warm tonight.” He flashed his tooth. I swung a swat at his bottom but missed when he scooted fast and shut the door.
Hardy got back within a half hour, set his sacks down and retreated to the piano. By this time, William had lined up all the things he needed to get started, modifying when I didn’t have an oven peel, though parchment paper had been on Hardy’s list.
As William stirred up his poolish, which I figured to be the basis for his bread, I noted his complete concentration on the task. I had to stop him to ask him to explain. I wanted to throw in a few questions about the mystery, but hated to see him tense up, so I let him play with the dough and knead it into a silky ball. As it rested, William sat down at the table, his eyes on the clock. It was getting real late.
“You feeling better now?” I slid out the chair across from him and sank down, reaching to yank up a knee-high that was sagging.
William tapped the side of his water glass. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. What if he comes after you and Hardy?”
I slid out from underneath Hardy’s arm in the night and sat up in bed, churning over the events of the day and the prospect of a mystery to solve. Hardy snuffled and turned on his back, usually a position that mea
nt he’d start snoring, but he surprised me when he blinked awake. “What time is it?”
“Not time to get up, that’s sure and certain.”
He propped himself on an elbow. “What’re you doing awake?”
“I’m awake because I’m not asleep.”
He wrapped his hand around my upper arm and tugged. “Come here, baby.”
I slumped down beside him, breathing in the scent of his warm skin and wondering for the umpteenth time what I’d do without him.
“Missing Lela?”
Our youngest. She’d come home briefly after being fired from her dream job a few months back. Dream job gone nightmare. But she’d posted her résumé and e-mailed everyone she thought might have a lead for a good job, and finally landed one. She’d moved out a few months ago.
“No. Guess I got all the missin’ out of my system when she left for college the first time. I’m thinking too much about this whole thing with William.”
“He seemed to relax some tonight.”
I burrowed down deeper in the covers. “Your playing always does that. Never heard that song before, you make it up?”
“It’s a new one I’m working at.”
I sighed. “Who do you think hired the hit on Mayor Taser?”
“Half the town could have. Kind of useless for him to run for mayor again. No one likes him.”
“Our undertaker does,” I reminded him. “They’ve been good friends for years.”
Hardy shifted around and settled his head into the crook of my arm. “You think William will cook breakfast for us?”
I chuckled and ran my hand over his head. Hardy thought of his stomach 24/7. “I’m not letting that boy do the cooking for me. He can move in here, but I’ll make my own meals.”
He snuggled closer. “Good. I’d miss your cooking.”
We fell into silence, Hardy’s breathing deep and even. I thought he’d fallen asleep when he piped up. “His description of the hit man could have been any man with dark eyes and hair.”
Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 2
