Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery)

by S. Dionne Moore

  “Thought he wanted your money.” Hardy straightened the steering wheel and mashed the gas pedal.

  “He was wanting my opinion.”

  Hardy let out a low whistle. “Michael? That is serious.”

  I ducked my head into the Goose long enough to get Hardy started on shredding some cheese and chopping some veggies for omelets, then headed on down to Michael’s office. If you can call it that. Narrow and cluttered, Michael reminded me of a mole when he stuck his head out of the piles of junk to bite out a greeting.

  “Came to throw money at me, huh?” Michael never, ever, cracked a smile. It had become my life’s work to remedy that.

  “I’d do anything if it would keep your trap shut.”

  He thumbed toward his decrepit coffee maker. “Want something to drink?”

  “No thanks, I’ve got to get back to the Goose.”

  Michael stretched and scratched his chest and stomach in long strokes, real slow, his mouth quirked to one side. Um-hm. I knew this look. Had seen it on the faces of my teenaged sons, on Hardy, and on almost any man who had a tidbit of news he exulted in sitting on.

  “I got your message this morning before Hardy and I left.”

  He sat up. “Ignoring my call, huh?”

  “No, just taking advantage of the answering machine. Had one foot out the door and I knew you’d wrap me up in your tongue and I’d never get anywhere on time.”

  Michael’s hands hovered over a few sticky notes on his phone. He plucked one off. “Chief told me to run this by you. Someone called and said Eugene Taser was being threatened.” His eyes raised to meet mine. “Wanted me to print it.”

  “Who’d it sound like?”

  His mouth drooped into a hard frown. “If I knew that, Chief wouldn’t have made me run it by you.”

  I shot him a huge smile. “Bruises your pride something awful.”

  He rifled the paper. “It came in last night, right before I left. You could tell they were trying to disguise their voice.”

  “Man or woman?”

  Michael opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. “I’m thinking it was a woman.”

  Another threat. Another woman making the call. With Aidan being dead and the whole hit man thing having died with him, who else would be a threat to Eugene. And why?

  I dug down in the pocket of my skirt and pulled out a few bills. “Anything else I should know before I hand over this money?”

  Michael pulled down a pad of paper and started scribbling my name and address. “I don’t have caller ID, and she didn’t stay on too long. What are you wanting in this ad?”

  I pushed a piece of paper across the desk to him. I’d worked on the wording of the ad the previous night. He unfolded the paper, added up the words, and told me forty dollars would do it.

  “I’ll run it in next week’s paper. Seems to be a lot of people running classifieds this day. Just got one in from Betsy. She wants to put her office for rent, and Flossie is selling the house and her furniture. Seems strange that Betsy will put an ad in for the office but not one for that land she’s so hoping to sell.” Michael shuffled through more papers, and ran a finger down a piece of paper. “Seems Aidan’s buddies are leaving, too, so that apartment will be for rent as soon as the police give me the okay.”

  Seemed half of Maple Gap was leaving. I wondered how Carl felt about Flossie selling the house he’d left her in the divorce. Maybe he’d buy it from her. And Betsy. After all the hot air about being her own woman, did this mean she was closing the doors on her real estate business and settling in to become the mayor’s wife?

  Somehow I doubted it. And why indeed had we never seen any marketing for that land for sale?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The Goose was rolling by the time I got back. William and Elizabeth were working together in the kitchen. Hardy had a collection of glasses on the back table. I read the names he’d scribbled on paper and slipped inside each glass to identify the owner’s fingerprints. Part one of his plot. If William or Elizabeth thought his glass collecting strange, neither said anything, but then, they were both busy and probably didn’t notice.

  Chief Conrad was nowhere to be seen. Flossie sat at a table by herself and Hardy was sliding a plate in front of her as I watched. No Betsy. No Eugene. No Lester. The latter two weren’t surprising, since the speeches would follow after breakfast. Betsy was probably at the office, or keeping a low profile after our head to head at Regina’s.

  I continued my scan of patrons. That’s when I landed eyes on the table for two—table fourteen. Sasha Blightman and Lionel. Eating breakfast. Together.

  “Kind of makes you wonder if the world’s coming to an end,” Elizabeth whispered next to my ear.

  “You seat them?”

  She shook her head and put a glass under the iced tea dispenser. “Hardy did. I’ve been back there helping William. For being able to talk, he doesn’t do it much.” The glass filled, she repeated the process with another glass. “He reminds me of that boy who graduated ahead of Shayna.”

  A mental parade of past graduates and townspeople marched through my head.

  “You know,” she prompted. “The parents moved to Baltimore right after he graduated. Brown hair, hazel eyes, a little chunky, wasn’t much for talk, but he made that windmill for his science fair project.”

  The windmill that powered LED lights to forty watts, and with that memory, the boy’s face finally popped into focus. Dr. Cryer had consulted with several of his colleagues before they’d diagnosed the highly intelligent boy with . . . “Asperger’s.”

  Elizabeth snapped her fingers. “That’s it.” She lifted the glasses and headed toward the doors to the kitchen. “William’s getting thirsty.”

  “You tell George about the fund-raiser?”

  She paused. “I did. I think he was relieved but embarrassed too.”

  “Are you two okay?”

  Elizabeth set the glasses down and swiped her hands on her apron. “He wanted to refinance our house, rolling the medical bills into it. I didn’t want him to. The house is almost paid off. Betsy kept pressuring him to do it.”

  I could see the problem. “Someone said they saw them together coming back from Denver.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “She was doing her best to interest him in buying another house. Telling him there were too many memories in Maple Gap, etcetera. He looked at a few but realized he wanted to stay here. With me, LaTisha. You don’t have to worry, we’ll be okay. We just have to fight our way through the bills.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “I was worried. Then when you said you were disagreeing.”

  “We really talked things out. The fund-raiser helped convince him to hold on. And this job too.” She picked up her glasses and raised them. She winked. “And you haven’t asked me, but I think Lionel would be good for Sasha.”

  My heart rejoiced. Pad in hand, I spotted Hardy bussing a table and hip bumped him to get his attention. “Listen up. I’m headed over to Sasha and Lionel.” I jerked my head toward the kitchen. “That’s a fine collection of glasses you’ve got in there. Why don’t you get started on them before we run out of glasses?”

  Hardy shot the plates into the tub, followed by the clatter of utensils. For the first time, I noticed he was wearing gloves. His hand shot out and collected the two glasses, which he placed in one corner of the tub.

  Flossie sat staring off in the distance, not even bothering with the omelet Hardy had served minutes before.

  “Food okay, honey?” I asked, tucking a pencil behind my ear.

  Slowly, she turned from the window overlooking Gold Street. Dark circles ringed her eyes and when she picked up her fork to cut a piece of the omelet, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of enthusiasm in her actions. Maybe the threat of Betsy closing up office was getting to her. “Everything is fine.”

  “Heard Betsy was closing down her offices, can’t Carl take you on full time?”

  Flossie blinked up at me, eyes empty of light and
hope. Her chair screeched backward and she threw her napkin on the table. “I need to get over to Carl’s.”

  Without trying to be obvious, I concentrated real hard on the drama playing out before me. “I can box that for you,” I offered. “Carl would eat it if you don’t. He likes my cooking.”

  She stilled, hands pressed together. Like background music turned low, I could hear the patrons voices grow quieter and knew people were watching, entranced by Flossie’s little scene.

  “That’s okay,” she pushed the words between stiff lips. Thawed from her frozen posture, she plunged a hand deep into her purse and fished out a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

  I watched her almost run across the floor. The door rocked back on its hinges as she made her exit.

  Hardy came up beside me. “And I thought you were the drama queen.”

  A light wave of laughter from surrounding tables answered his jibe. I lasered him. “You shut your trap, Hardy Barnhart. If I’m the queen, you’re the king.”

  He tucked the tub full of dishes closer to his side and gave me those sad eyes, like I’d cut him to the quick. Talk about drama.

  “Got my crown when I married you.”

  “Um-hm. Now get those dishes back there.”

  Turning back to the room, I cast a glance in the direction of Sasha and Lionel. Sasha’s long denim skirt and light silk blouse with a sweater tied around her shoulders made her look like a fashion plate. Lionel seemed to notice, though he also appeared very relaxed, which surprised me. No use playing guessing games, I could figure things much better by chatting them up.

  I strutted over, acting as if I didn’t notice a thing, though I turned my head in profile to Lionel and favored Sasha with a huge wink. “What can I get for you two this morning?”

  “One bill, LaTisha,” Lionel spoke up. “I’ll take it.”

  “You really don’t have to, Lionel,” Sasha protested.

  “Let him, honey,” I reasoned. “It’s the least he can do to get a pretty lady to eat with him.”

  Lionel lowered his head and blushed. Blushed! Crushing hard, this boy was. I’d have to back up and hold off. Who would have known he had such a tender heart where Sasha was concerned.

  I did some fast repair work. “Lionel’s my favorite customer. Always polite and always kind.”

  He perked up a bit, though his blush grew a bit deeper. Sasha, for her part, was enjoying seeing this side of Lionel. By the look of that gentle smile she sent him, she was charmed. Praise the Lord!

  “I’ll take the eggs and turkey bacon,” Lester declared.

  Sasha frowned a bit. “Remember what Dr. Cryer said, more fruits and veggies.”

  His expression grew serious and sighed. “And give me some of that fresh herbed fruit you serve.”

  Sasha ordered the fruit and a toasted wheat bagel. I exalted the rest of the way to the kitchen. If she knew about his health, then swapping stories of prescriptions, pending hip replacements, aches and pains, and phone numbers, wasn’t far off.

  When I passed Hardy, he was bussing Flossie’s table. I saw him take real care with the almost untouched omelet and the glass, of course. As I filled drink orders for Sasha and Lionel, I watched Hardy return to the kitchen, scrape the omelet onto a clean plate, and set yet another glass with his collection. He cast an eye over William and Elizabeth’s direction, thinking no one was watching, and settled down at the table to suck up that omelet like it was water and he was a fish.

  At ten o’clock, I flipped the sign to Closed. William and Elizabeth were whipping things together in preparation for reopening at lunch, both casting strange glances at Hardy. Slumped over the desk, his glasses lined up in front of him, gloves still on his hands, he had already lifted one fingerprint and was brushing the powder over the next glass.

  “I’m headed out to Carl’s,” I whispered.

  By the crease formed between his brows, I knew his concentration level was at full peak. He looked that way when he worked at a piece on his piano. “Got a clear print on Lionel.”

  I stroked my hand over his head. “Good for you.” I glanced behind me, then back as Hardy transferred another print. If Susan or William asked what Hardy was doing, it wouldn’t do for Hardy to be vague, it was real obvious he wasn’t washing the glasses by hand. I decided to leave it to Hardy how he’d handle it. Besides, I was late.

  Taking Old Lou cut off some time and I managed to make it only two minutes past the hour. Chief sat out in the waiting room of the funeral home. I sure was glad not to have to sit and be staring at someone’s loved one all laid out for viewing. Settling into a nice, deep blue armchair, I told him about Hardy’s idea.

  “Hardy’s got genius in his blood.” I started the conversation.

  Chief grinned. “I’m impressed. Good thinking, though it wouldn’t stand up in court.”

  “No, but if you catch the person and fingerprint ’im yourself, I’m thinking the fact you caught ’im will be sufficient.” I switched positions in the narrow chair, a little miffed that my body hadn’t shrunk to fit comfortably into an armchair. “You talked to Carl yet?”

  Chief scanned the leaflets beside him, thumbing one on comforting children. When he scanned the contents without answering, I paid closer attention. He set the booklet aside, his profile showing intense concentration. That’s when I heard the higher pitch of a woman’s voice, and the lower register of a man’s. Carl. Probably Flossie.

  Now Chief might have been content to sit still, but I wasn’t. I got to my feet and weaved my way past an open viewing room and down a narrow hallway that led to the restrooms, and Carl’s office. I stood still for a full minute, the voices louder now. I strained my ears. Still, the words were nothing more than my grandbabies’ incessant babbling. In my head, the floor plan of the funeral home unrolled. I realized fast that the ladies’ restroom backed to Carl’s office. Without hesitation, I did a quiet swinging of the door, and tippy-toed as best a woman my size could do. I stood stock-still and crouched, searching for telltale feet in the stalls. No one else was present. I had the bathroom all to myself.

  It took me a minute to find the best spot to listen in on the conversation, that being the back stall.

  “I don’t have the money.” Carl’s voice.

  “Betsy’s good. She could work the details.” Flossie.

  A heavy sigh, some expletive I couldn’t quite comprehend, then Flossie again. “You loved that house.”

  “I loved you, Flossie. Loved being married. You’re the one who went all skittish and distant.”

  “You were never home.”

  “We’ve been over this before.” Carl’s voice, resigned and sad.

  “Will you buy it or not? I just want out of here.”

  “Then leave. Let Betsy or whoever handle it for you and send you the check.”

  Flossie’s voice came out a screech. “You don’t understand, I need the money. Now.”

  “So that’s the problem. It isn’t anything about me loving the house or you not wanting to see the house sold to someone outside my family, you just need the money.”

  For a minute, nothing, and I wondered if the conversation had turned into a cry-fest for Flossie.

  A little thud and fast footsteps, plus Carl’s anxious, “Flossie!” let me know she was headed out before the door to the office flew open. I crushed myself into the corner, fully expecting Flossie to make her entrance into the bathroom. Nothing happened.

  I waited a full minute before leaving the stall. Chief’s voice floated toward me.

  “. . . seemed upset.”

  Carl’s reply. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

  I knew I was safe when Carl’s door shut again, Chief’s voice releasing me from my need to stay hidden. Flossie had left, obviously upset. It was time for me to enter the conversation next door.

  I considered flushing the toilet, but who was I kidding? Chief knew my leaving so sudden wasn’t because I needed a bathroom break. Straightening, I crossed the r
estroom, pausing long enough to pat my hair and shake the wrinkles out of my dress. Looked pretty good. Not Sasha Blightman thin, but getting there.

  Within seconds of leaving the restroom, I was seated comfortably in a nice, cushy club chair that actually fit my backside. Finally, a chair not made for a petite lady. Chief was busily explaining how I was helping him in the investigation into Aidan’s death. A consultant, he called me. Was sounding better and better all the time.

  Carl’s reaction didn’t seem put off at all. “After the way she unraveled the mystery surrounding Marion’s death, I can see why you would ask for her help.” His head bobbed in silent approval.

  “We were investigating late last night and saw the light on in the room by the back exit. Were you working late?”

  Carl’s eyebrows rose. “I was at home last night.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I’ll give it to the chief, he didn’t let his surprise show. Smoothly, he kept right on task, peppering Carl with more questions. For his part, Carl seemed to retreat into himself, his answers coming slower, with more thought. “Flossie has a key.”

  And she needs money, though I had no way of letting Chief know that tidbit without tipping my hand. Or maybe I did. “Michael Nooseman said Flossie has your house on the market. Mentioned that she’s trying to sell the furnishings too. Is she moving?”

  Carl stalled. He picked up a paper clip and began unbending it. “Flossie is restless.”

  “Would she have any reason to be here that late?”

  He didn’t have to say another word. Carl’s expression showed agony, and I knew the boy was still in love with his ex, which also explained why they were together so much. Not Flossie’s doing though.

  Chief leaned forward, hands clasped. “You know, Dr. Cryer has accused you of stealing jewelry and making copies.” I watched Carl hard. “Betsy was in for questioning last night and mentioned Flossie acting strange.”

  This was news to me.