Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery)

by S. Dionne Moore

  Chapter Ten

  Chief returned to the Goose within twenty minutes. I had hoped the tap on the alley door might be William with an explanation, but the chief’s presence on the steps deflated that hope. “Dr. Cryer vouches for you, Hardy,” he grinned. “He told me to warn you that when the medication wears off, you’ll be wishing you were home.”

  By this time I had the pork ready to go and was set to round up Hardy and head out. Hardy sat next to Chief at the prep counter. He’d been growing quieter, making me think his gums were feeling the bite of pain. His face was starting to swell too. All the more reason to get him horizontal. And quick.

  I cast a knowing eye over everything one last time and headed toward Hardy. I ran my hand over his head and gave his neck a little massage.

  “Feels good,” he arched his head forward, exposing the back of his neck and encouraging me to continue.

  “Now you don’t get yourself all relaxed in here. I need to get you home so I can head over to William’s.”

  Hardy cocked his head at me, eyes bleary. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You’d be snoring away in the car in no time.”

  “Might need me as protection,” he garbled. Words slower than normal. “Whoever done old Aidan in is on the loose.”

  “Don’t you think I can take care of myself?”

  Chief piped up. “I’ve got to get moving too. You two try to kiss and make up.”

  Hardy managed a grin. It was like looking at the face of a stranger with those swelling gums and temp teeth. “My favorite part.”

  I crossed my arms. “You pick arguments just so you can get to the making up part.”

  “My mama didn’t raise herself a dumb one.”

  Chief shook his head at that and slapped Hardy on the shoulder. “Keep her out of trouble.”

  Hm! “He’s nothing but trouble.”

  Hardy spilled off the stool to his feet. “I’m the sweetest trouble you’ll ever be in.”

  His grin scared me. “Can’t get used to looking at you with all those pearly whites.”

  Hardy shut his mouth real quick. I could see his tongue bulge under his lip as he ran it over the teeth. “Can’t get used to having them either. Maybe I’ll have doc put in one coated with diamonds. That should make me pure irresistible.”

  “To anyone over sixty.”

  “You’re sixty.” His gold-flecked eyes smiled into mine. “Got you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?”

  “It’s my hands wrapped around your neck that you need to be worried over.”

  “As long as you’re smooching me.”

  Hardy did some cajoling and I relented and took him along out to William’s house. He’d nodded off before I’d made it out of Maple Gap. As I turned the car onto William’s road, we began bouncing down the rutted lane.

  Hardy let out a low snuffle. “Stop shakin’ me, LaTisha.”

  “If you’d crack an eye open, you’d see that we’re almost there. Headed up the driveway.”

  He peered through one eye. “He needs to think on getting his driveway paved.”

  “Not on the salary we give him, he’s not. This thing has got to be a mile long.”

  I fully expected William to be here; we couldn’t find him anywhere in Maple Gap and he wasn’t at our house, though it had occurred to me that he might have hightailed it out of state. I doubted it. Wrapping my mind around the idea of William murdering someone just fell flat.

  “So Aidan’s the guy William saw in the men’s room?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. He sure looked scared when he laid eyes on Aidan this afternoon.”

  “What did he do?”

  There was no way I was going to tell Hardy about my attempt to jump the counter. You think I’m crazy? He’d tell the story for years to come to all our grandchildren and great grandchildren. He might even write it in his last will and testament. Testament to his wife’s foolishness.

  “Aidan came in to the Goose.”

  Hardy’s fingers massaged his lips, then the sides of his jaws. My guess is the anesthesia was wearing off. His words were becoming more garbled, like he was afraid to move his lips. “Never seen him in there before.”

  “Which is what I thought.” I went quiet as I maneuvered the car around a huge hole. “Man turns down my welcome-to-town lasagna, I’m guessin’ he’s not going to seek out my cooking in a restaurant.”

  “I think someone said he was a vegetarian.”

  “That makes him suspicious right there. What normal man eats bean sprouts and tofu?”

  Hardy held on tight to the dashboard as we continued to bump along. Old Lou’s shocks had sprung their springs long ago. Hardy bounced harder than me on account he was a stick and I was a log. Finally, he released the dashboard and slid to my side. I slipped one arm around his shoulders and, with the other hand guiding the car, tried to avoid as many potholes as I could.

  “They give you some samples, you should take them,” I admonished, pressing a kiss to his head. “Should have made you go home.”

  “Aidan . . .” he prompted me to continue.

  “Lester was in there this afternoon when Aidan came in. Started talking Aidan’s ear off first thing. I was talking to William when all the sudden his eyes got real big. Didn’t take much for me to see the drift of his gaze and I knew Aidan must be the man.” I eased up on the gas pedal in preparation for a serious dip.

  “I’m not feeling too good,” Hardy moaned.

  “We’re almost there. You want to hear more?”

  He put his head on my shoulder. Our girls both had his tendency to get car sick, though Hardy hadn’t complained of it for years. I thought he’d grown out of it.

  “What did William do?” he asked, turning his face into my shoulder.

  “He went out the back door.”

  “Was that before or after you got your leg stuck?”

  I cast around for someone to blame for the leak. If it was Lester, that boy might have just lost his staunchest supporter. “Who told you about that?”

  He peeked up at me, looking cuter than a kitten, even with puffy jaws. “Lester told me on the phone. He couldn’t stop laughing.”

  “I’m going to have to burn that boy’s toast in the morning.”

  I pulled up in front of William’s house; no sign of the scooter. The stillness after such a bumpy ride was a welcome relief. Hardy scooted over to his side of the car and hopped out faster than it took for me to get my seat belt unbuckled. I gave him a good once-over. “You feeling okay?”

  He didn’t get a chance to answer before the door swung open. William motioned us in with a rapid, sweeping gesture. I caught him scanning his front yard before I squeezed past him. My dress got caught on a nail, the rend of material loud in the stillness. I bent and yanked. No use worrying over it. It’s not like I wore my Sunday best to work anyhow.

  I turned to face my employee. “You ran out on me right when I needed you most.”

  Hardy did a funny little choked sound. “Sounds like a line from a bad country song,” he muttered through his swollen mouth.

  I frowned at Hardy, then returned my attention to William. “Where did you go?” I’d already thought it through and knew I shouldn’t start off with the news of Aidan’s body. If William had done the deed, it would show. He’d be nervous, for one, and I doubt a killer would have opened the front door for us. His glances around before he’d shut the front door seemed in keeping with the idea that he had no idea Aidan was dead. If he thought Aidan alive, might be he expected the man would turn up in his yard any minute.

  Hands on my hips, I gave William my best dictator look. “You’d better start spilling. Now.”

  William sank onto the sofa opposite where I stood. Either he sank or his knees buckled, I wasn’t sure which. I noticed he no longer wore the clothes he had on earlier, and his hair was wet. By itself, that didn’t bode well, but a good investigator didn’t let that spell guilt. It could be that he was in the habit of showering after
work. Not unusual since he slaved over steaming pots and sizzling griddles giving off all kinds of odors.

  He held his head in his hands and remained quiet for a full minute. Because of his reluctance to speak, generally speaking, I decided not to push. He’d gotten the message.

  “I got real scared. I ran down the alley, thinking I was going to feel a bullet any minute. I hid.”

  Something about the way he said those two little words. Like he knew it was cowardly and was ashamed of it. “I would have hid too.”

  “Where’d you hide?” Hardy mumbled, his words seeming even more slurred, though he appeared alert otherwise.

  William sat up. “In the Dumpster.”

  My mind scurried to recall the mental picture I made of that alley and the position of Aidan’s body. There were three or four Dumpsters back there. It was my guess that the crime scene techs would crawl through all of them looking for evidence.

  “Which one?”

  William ran a hand over his wet hair. “The green one behind Regina’s.”

  If they found something that connected William to the crime scene, he’d really be looking guilty. But Regina’s Dumpster was further down the alley from the Goose. Aidan’s body had been halfway between the mouth of the alley and the Goose.

  “And then?”

  “I realized I couldn’t stay there forever; I got out and came home.”

  The logical question popped into mind. “How long were you in there?”

  “I don’t know. Twenty minutes.”

  “Why did you change your clothes?”

  Something in William’s eyes went cautious. I was sure he was wondering why so many questions. It was time to tell him.

  “Aidan was found shot to death in the alley behind the Goose.” I kept going, not wanting to give him time to line up excuses. “Did you see or hear anything during your time in that alley?”

  I watched him good. He blinked, then blinked again, then a smile curved his lips and he spit a giggle. “I don’t know. No. I-I heard some talking, but I didn’t look to see who it was. Who shot him?”

  “That’s our question, and one the chief will want you to answer for him. Did anyone see you?”

  William was following my thinking. “You mean, can anyone verify I was near the place where the murder occurred? Are they thinking I did it, LaTisha?”

  “There are a lot of tests they have to conduct first.”

  “What if I don’t have an alibi or witness?”

  “Then your goose is cooked.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m disappointed,” Hardy said, working his mouth back and forth, as we pulled out of William’s driveway.

  His words barely registered in my brain. William admitted to being in a Dumpster in that alley. Time of death was a critical factor in deciding whether or not the murder had occurred while he was in the Dumpster. The medical examiner would have a good idea within a few minutes of examining the body. We’d have to play the waiting game.

  “Me too. I wish I’d had more information going into that interview.”

  Hardy slapped his knee and sounded like he was choking. I slammed on the brakes and pulled him upright to check his breathing.

  His eyes twinkled.

  “What are you doing scaring me like that? I thought you were choking. And why are you laughing like two kinds of hyena?”

  “I said I was disappointed,” he paused and ran a finger over his lower gums. A little groan escaped. “I meant because he didn’t offer us another one of those nice mochas he gave us last time.”

  Come to think of it, a hot mocha would have been nice. Off diet, like the spaghetti, but nice. “We’ll get you one at home. Since when are you hooked on mochas?”

  He shrugged and sagged in his seat, bouncing up and down as we bumped our way out of William’s driveway. “At least we won’t have a house guest anymore,” I pointed out.

  “William doesn’t seem quite right,” Hardy said in a low voice, like it pained him to make such an observation. Knowing his tender heart, it did.

  “I’ve noticed.” I pulled out onto smooth pavement. Hardy was rubbing his jaw again and I knew all the novocaine and whatever else they had given him was gone for good. I pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

  Our house seemed like a distant memory after the events of the day. I opened the side door, greeted by the smells of a breakfast omelet, hash browns, and toast. Hardy inhaled deeply, and I knew if he’d been feeling perkier, he’d be rubbing his belly and trying to figure out what he could eat.

  I glanced at my kitchen clock, a collage of the faces of my babies, a present from three, maybe four Christmases ago. Outdated now that I’d added so many grandbabies but still my favorite present. Well, one of my favorites. For my college graduation, my children had given me a fingerprint kit. Hardy and I had fingerprinted the entire family and I had to order refills.

  The clock was more practical, reminding me of the time, and of all those whom I loved and loved me in return. I still had time to fix Hardy up before beating it back to the restaurant. Following up on the whereabouts of the mayor after he left the Goose would have to wait, unfortunately.

  I pulled out a frozen portion of my chicken soup, minus veggies, since I knew I’d better prepare for Hardy’s mouth to be sore, and popped it in the microwave to defrost. I ushered Hardy into the living room and he popped the pills and gulped them down with a splash of water. Didn’t take much prompting after that for him to stretch out on the sofa. He’d be asleep in minutes. Covering him with a fleece blanket, I made up an ice puppy for him to put on his mouth if he needed it, sealed it in a plastic bag and set it on the table next to the sofa.

  I checked the soup and decided it was thawed enough to give it full power and let it rotate to a boil. Within minutes I had a steaming cup of chicken broth for Hardy. He was fast asleep when I set it on the dark walnut coffee table we’d had since our third anniversary. His nose would pick up the scent and he’d be at it in a few minutes. I beat it out the door.

  At this rate, we needed to hire someone to help us out at the restaurant. I was wore out. For the first time, I considered this business might not be what I wanted to do after all. Loved, loved, loved working to bring people good food. Healthy food. But another day like today, with William leaving me to foot the lunch rush—or leg it, as Lester would no doubt remind me—and Hardy in the dental chair and out of operation, and I just might put the Goose up for sale.

  When I walked into the restaurant, I smelled the pork, and my ideas about selling the place blurred. All I wanted to do was to hurry up with the sauerkraut and mashed potatoes, not to mention the gravy. Healthy gravy. William had left some bread in the freezer, so I took it out to let it thaw.

  Within an hour, I had things under control and it was time to open. The bell rang, signaling my first customer. I slid the lid back on the roaster full of pork, then peeked to see who was in line. Elizabeth Buchanan stood at the podium, waiting patiently.

  One thing I’ve discovered is that there are two types of customers, those who will wait patiently, resigned to their seating fate, and those who demand certain tables or views and are just egotistical enough to force the issue to get their way. Betsy Taser is a case in point.

  But Elizabeth’s tired eyes and thin body were a reflection of the tough months she’d just come through. With the death of her little girl, she was a ghost of the woman she used to be. Hope deferred maketh a heart sick, I believe the Bible says. Elizabeth’s hope for healing was deferred. Permanently. At least until she got to heaven. It made my heart bleed to think on all the special times she’d never get to see. No watching her girl fall in love. No bridal showers or damp hankies at a beautiful wedding ceremony. No grandchildren. Ever.

  Elizabeth and I didn’t even bother with words. I spread my arms and tucked her right into my embrace, stroking her head and letting the Holy Spirit whisper the prayers for this woman, because I had no words. There is no verbal balm for a person who
has lost her only child, only the hope of time’s healing.

  When we finally parted, she was dry-eyed, but shadows were there. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you, LaTisha.”

  “None of that now. Will George be joining you?”

  Elizabeth hesitated, and I caught a glimpse of sadness. “He’s working.”

  “Counter or table?”

  “I’ll take a table, and a nice plate of whatever smells so heavenly.”

  I filled her plate to the rim and paired it with a nice sweetened iced tea. When I brought it to her table, I offered, “Can I bring you a crusty loaf of bread to go with that?”

  “This is enough for me.” She paused, head bowed over her plate. I watched for a second, some invisible string tying me in place, sensing how deflated of life she appeared. I was glad I stayed put when Elizabeth raised her eyes to mine. Fat tears were swelling.

  Sometimes I don’t wait for an invitation. “Honey, whatever it is, you talk to LaTisha about it and we’ll pray.”

  She blinked, releasing the salt to roll down her face. “George isn’t coming home.”

  Now, I’ve got myself two ears and one mouth. God equips everyone like that, and I’ve heard said from a very reliable source that God designed us this way so we can listen twice as much as we talk. It wasn’t hard for me to figure that this was one of those listening times.

  Elizabeth took a long drink of her tea. “He’s been working overtime to pay off some bills.” She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin and fork-cut a piece of the tender pork, but the bite never made it to her mouth and the fork sank back down to the table. When she stared down at her lap, I knew what was coming.

  Nothing moves me faster than the pain of a crying heart. I scooted a chair around and sat, pulling her to me as her sobs worked their way to the surface. Instinctively, I knew these were not the sobs of her grief over Sara.

  That’s when the doorbell let me know a new patron had arrived. I pulled back from Elizabeth and hollered out. “Grab a menu and seat yourself, I’m short-handed tonight.”