by Maddie Day
Her head wasn’t covered, and her husband didn’t wear a cap like Marcus did, but there had to be variations in how people expressed the tenets of their religion.
“Yes, ma’am. South Lick is a safe community. Don’t you worry about a thing now.”
“And we have the best police department in the county,” I added. Plus a county detective or two. Octavia wasn’t my favorite person, but I had to admit she was good at what she did, and so was Buck. I hoped they would be in this case, too.
Chapter Twenty
The rest of the morning proceeded with a lot more calm, although the bits of conversation I picked up here and there often included either Toni’s name or Geller’s. Buck had eaten at Marcus’s table, but I’d seen the occasional chuckle, so it looked more like a get-to-know-you meal than an interrogation. Both had left apparently peaceably. I knew in Buck’s case that could be misleading. His intelligent brain was always at work behind his country hick, aw-shucks manner.
A number of people also asked me about the sign I’d added to the door for tonight’s Bible and Brew event.
“Samuel MacDonald is organizing it, but it’s open to the public,” I responded. “Bring your own brew and your own Bible. There will be a small cover charge to get in. It’s from six-thirty to nine-thirty and that’s pretty much all I know.” We didn’t have a brewpub in South Lick and, as I didn’t have a liquor license, Indiana allowed customers to bring their own. Samuel had commissioned me to make up a few hot appetizers, too. He’d wanted to pay me for my time and I’d told him no way. It was always good to have bodies in the store, so to speak, especially at this time of year. I imagined holiday shopping would be part of the evening. Maybe we should call it Bible, Brew, and Browse for Baubles. Or cookware, as the case may be. “We’ll have munchies, too.”
“So folks are going to talk Jesus over beer tonight?” one middle-aged man asked. “Sound like my kind of evening. I’ll be back for it.” He glanced at his wife across the table. “What do you say, hon? Sound like fun?”
“You know I don’t drink beer, sweetheart. You go on ahead and BYOB. I’ll put up my feet at home and read a good mystery with a cup of doctored tea.”
He rolled his eyes at her, but in a fond way.
Samuel and Adele came in at a little before eleven. It was our lull period before the lunch rush. We were sitting taking a break, at least Danna and I were. Turner was prepping his spiced Indian roasted potatoes for a lunch special. Danna frowned at her phone at the next table.
I waved at my aunt and her main squeeze. “Come on over.” I popped in my last bite of sausage and drained a glass of milk.
Adele and Samuel sat across from me. “Is everything set for tonight, Robbie?” he asked.
“Yes, and a number of breakfast customers seemed excited about Bible and Brew.”
“Good,” he said. “Thank you for agreeing to host it. I heard about a group in Fort Wayne putting on an event like this, and it piqued my interest. Of course, they’re doing theirs at a brewery. For ours, bringing bottles will work just as well. What are you planning to serve for food?”
“I’m going to do mini pizzas, Buffalo chicken wings, and little meatballs. Plus bowls of pretzels. That’ll be enough, right?” I’d be working all afternoon getting the apps ready, but that was okay. The weather, while not raining—or snowing—today, was cold and miserable. I might be able to fit in a quick half hour spin on the exercise cycle in my apartment if I worked fast.
“Perfect,” Adele said.
“Are you going to be able to come?” I asked her.
She stroked Samuel’s weathered, age-spotted hand. “I don’t care too much about the Good Book, as this man well knows. But I want to keep my sweetheart company and figgered you might could use a helper. So, yes, I’ll be here for the duration.”
“You’re right, it’ll be a lot easier with two of us.” And it would. I hadn’t even thought of asking for help. “Thanks, Adele.”
“We’ll come early and assist in the setup, too,” Samuel said.
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Quite the commotion in town lately, wouldn’t you say?” Samuel observed.
I bobbed my head in agreement. “Plus this morning, William Geller accused Marcus of being a terrorist and murdering Toni.”
“He did not.” Adele stared at me.
“He sure did,” Danna piped up. “It was awful. Luckily, he stormed out and said he wouldn’t be back. Fine with me.”
“Me too, actually,” I said. “He was pretty outrageous.”
“He was.” Adele regarded Danna. “Did your mom get a chance to meet her boy yet?”
Danna stood and stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “She sure did, and Josie did, too. Last night. It’s kind of mind-boggling, you know?”
“You have a lot to take in all of a whipstitch,” Samuel said.
Adele agreed. “It’s quite the afterclap, hon.”
“Afterclap?” I asked. I could usually figure out Adele and Buck’s jargon, but not this one.
“You know, something new that happens after you think a matter is closed, all buttoned up,” my aunt explained.
Having a birth son, brother, grandson show up twenty-five years later definitely qualified as an afterclap.
“Adele, Danna and I were talking about Shirley Csik, what was it, yesterday?” I looked to Danna for confirmation.
“Right,” Danna said.
“Do you know if there’s some reason she stays in South Lick?” I asked, looking at both Adele and Samuel.
“Other than that it’s God’s prettiest pocket in the whole world?” Samuel asked. “Or at least in Indiana.”
“Yes, other than that,” I said. “I mean, working a retail job in a gift shop? Seems like she could do better.”
“And she’s a super-talented soccer player,” Danna added.
Adele and Samuel exchanged a glance.
Danna picked up on it. “You two know something.”
Samuel opened his mouth to speak, but Adele beat him to it. “Her big brother Zeke is incarcerated at the Brown County jail,” she said. “He’s not too bright—”
“What we used to call slow,” Samuel chimed in.
“Exactly.” Adele nodded. “It’s a pretty sad story. He was working at the market, but he upped and stole a car a couple few years ago and they nabbed him. He had a prior, too, so he got six years. Anyhoo, Shirley sticks around for her brother. He only gets a one-hour visit every week, and that girl is there regular as clockwork.”
“Where are their parents?” I asked.
“Their daddy’s in federal prison up in Terre Haute, and the mother died of cancer when the kids were teenagers,” Samuel said. “Shirley’s all Zeke’s got, and vice versa, purt’ nearly.”
“What a sad story.” I shook my head.
“So that’s why she doesn’t move to Chicago to play pro soccer.” Danna rested her chin on her palm, looking pensive. “I guess if I was all the family Marcus had, I wouldn’t move away from where he was, either. Especially if he needed me.”
“Family counts for a lot,” Samuel said.
Adele winked at me. For a couple of years after Mom died, she was all the family I’d had, or so I’d thought.
The bell jangled. “Speaking of family.” Adele pointed to Phil, who once again was backing in with arms full of desserts.
I hurried over to help him. “Thanks, my friend. Do you have time to join us?”
“Sure.” He slid the brownies onto the counter and lifted the cover on a wide shallow box. “Made something special to kick off the season.”
“Gingerbread men!” My smile split my face at all the brown grinning figures. “Thanks, man. That was a lot of work.”
“It’s okay. I Netflixed and iced.”
Turner snorted.
“Check out the second layer,” Phil instructed.
I lifted a layer of waxed paper. “And women. As it should be. These are going to go fast.”
“It w
as fun. Dude, those potatoes smell like heaven,” Phil told Turner.
“They pretty much are.” He slid a pan into the hot oven. “But you’ll have to wait a half hour to taste them.”
I followed Phil as he sauntered over to the table in an easy athletic gait that always reminded me of a certain African-American president we’d had not too long ago. Phil’s ears stuck out the same way, too. He gave Adele a kiss on the cheek and hugged his grandfather before sitting.
Danna shoved her phone in her pocket and stood. “Can I fix you all lunch before we get busy?”
“A hamburger, please,” Samuel said. “Do you have any of the peppermint muffins left?”
“I’m pretty sure we do. One of those, too?”
“Yes, dear,” he said.
“Bowl of soup, hon, and some of them taters when they’re done.” Adele smiled at Danna.
“I’ll help myself, Dan, but thanks.” Phil looked at Samuel. “You looking forward to tonight?”
“I am, son. In this holy season, we can all use a little more focus on the sacred instead of the profane.”
Adele rolled her eyes. “By profane, he means shopping, not swearing.”
When Danna disappeared into the restroom, I murmured to Phil, “She introduced Marcus to Josie and Corrine last night. Well, reintroduced him to Corrine.”
“How’d it go?” Phil asked.
“Very smoothly,” I said. “Joyously, you could say. But I wanted to ask if you know anybody in library science at IU, which is where he’s in grad school, or any Quakers in Bloomington.”
“Why?” Phil asked. “To see if he’s an honest, upstanding citizen?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is he a Quaker?” Adele asked.
I bobbed my head. “He was raised in the Society of Friends, yes. But he’s also a convert to Islam.”
“As so many brothers and sisters are,” Samuel added.
“Interesting,” Phil said.
“Phil, you said he might be the guy from karate. I know he does practice it. He said so when he ate lunch with Toni the day before she died.”
“Does he have curly gold hair and a beard like this?” Phil traced the line of his jaw and chin. “Taller than six foot?”
“That’s him.”
Phil drew his brows together. “He’s got a pretty quick temper. I saw him way overreact one time to a dude who bumped into him accidentally.”
Marcus had reacted strongly to Geller, too. But who wouldn’t, at being treated like the doctor had treated him?
Danna emerged from the ladies’ room.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Phil said softly. “Don’t worry, Robbie. He’s probably cool. Lots of people fly off the stick when they shouldn’t. It doesn’t make them bad.”
Or murderous.
“But I’ll ask around,” Phil continued. “To be sure.”
Greeted by the delectable aromas of frying beef and potatoes roasting in cumin and cardamom, a half dozen white-haired women pushed through the door.
“Oh my stars and nightgown,” one exclaimed with a big smile, holding her hand to her heart. “Would you smell that, girls? I think I’ve died and went to heaven.”
I stood. Investigations notwithstanding, I had a store to run. “Welcome to Pans ’N Pancakes, ladies.”
Chapter Twenty-One
By three-thirty I was cooking with gas, as Adele said. Which was also literally true, since my kitchen was fueled by natural gas. I’d let Birdy into the store to keep me company, since I felt like I’d been ignoring the little guy the last few days. Right now he was weaving around my feet, purring and hoping for more bits of falling pizza cheese to snack on. I’d started my operatic favorites playlist going on my new wireless speaker, which had great sound for such a small object. And since I was the only human here, I cranked it up so the gorgeous arias soared in the quiet store.
We’d had a busy lunch rush, but nothing the three of us couldn’t handle. Blessedly there had been no more wild accusations leveled or diners hauled away for questioning. Buck had come in, eaten, and left without either of us talking about murder. My helpers had made short work of the cleanup and left early with my blessing. I wanted to get to the bank, but they were open until six today.
Now I worked steadily spreading dozens of three-inch mini–pita bread rounds with a dollop of sauce and a sprinkling of my grated mozzarella-Romano blend. For toppings I scattered on sliced olives, minced green peppers, or slivered pepperoni. I’d laid out the pitas on rimmed baking sheets, and when I was finished I stretched plastic wrap over the pans and set them in the walk-in, ready to blast with a hot oven right before or during the event.
Luckily I had lots of large shallow pans. Next, I set to work on the Buffalo wings. I pulled two pans of quick-roasted chicken tenders and wingettes out of the oven and dumped them into a big bowl of my homemade Buffalo sauce. I let them sit and cool in it as I scrubbed the pans. And thought.
I supposed I’d been rude to Octavia yesterday, which I regretted. I knew she was only doing her job. I hadn’t seen her again since she left with Shirley, who hadn’t been back in, either. My brain meandered on to Jamie Franklin. He’d been suspicious about Toni’s motivation for marrying his dad in the first place. Adele had said Toni and Tug had loved each other, though. And Jamie had sounded extremely bitter about Toni’s inheritance. He must also hate her for squandering what he felt should have been his, both the money and his childhood home. What had he called her? Evil. That was it. Maybe he felt strongly enough about her to kill her.
Or maybe Octavia had evidence that Shirley had done the deed, and that was why the detective had insisted on taking her into the station for fingerprinting. I’d been too busy to even check news. Shirley, living in the same house, must have had a way to get into the other side.
Then there was the whole question of the skeleton in the attic. I mused on that as I used tongs to array the coated pieces of chicken back in the shallow pans. I would warm them later on, too. Smelling made my stomach growl, so I used a fork to grab one tender and popped it in my mouth. Sheer yum. I covered the pans and stashed them in the cooler. I still had to make the blue cheese dipping sauce, but that was easy to whip up with sour cream, mayo, and blue cheese.
I emerged from the walk-in with arms full of ground beef and a carton of eggs. Meatballs were fun to make, and easy. I smooshed together the meat, a few eggs, bread crumbs, and seasonings like oregano, salt, and pepper. I threw in a dash of soy sauce and another of hot sauce and called it mixed, then perched on a stool to roll out Ping-Pong ball–sized spheres, laying them on a wire rack on yet another rimmed baking sheet.
Birdy butted my foot with his head and whined about not getting any raw meat. But he didn’t try to jump up on the counter and help himself. He could have a treat.
“Okay, buddy.” I rolled an extra-small meatball and set it in a little dish on the floor for him.
Could anyone other than William have killed Kristina and left her in the attic? Sure. The doctor worked half an hour away in Columbus. She could have been attacked in her own home and dragged up there. But by whom? Or maybe she hated her life and killed herself in the attic. Or had fallen and hit her head with fatal consequences. I wondered if they’d found her purse or anything else with her to provide a clue.
I frowned at the finished pan of meatballs. I had too many things to heat up at the last moment to bake these, then, too. The oven was still hot from the chicken, so in went the meatballs and on went the timer. They would be fine served at room temperature with toothpicks. Everything I was going to serve was finger food by design.
Too bad a murder—or two—didn’t have such a neat solution.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nashville sure knew how to decorate for the holidays. At five o’clock, dark was coming on fast, but the white lights twinkling everywhere upped the Wonderland quotient. Lampposts were swathed in greens and red ribbons, and store windows featured all manner of country holiday scenes. Carols f
loated on the air next to Santa’s workshop, where a sign advertised that he welcomed young visitors every Saturday afternoon until Christmas.
After I’d finished my appetizer prep, I’d decided to not only hit the bank but also drive over and pay Shirley a visit in her gift shop. I hadn’t quite come up with an excuse yet, but I was curious about her relationship with Toni as well as about how her visit with Octavia had gone yesterday.
Except the artsy county seat had a gift shop on nearly every block, it seemed, and I didn’t know where she worked. I parked and made my rounds past fudge shops, restaurants, art galleries, and women’s clothing boutiques. I hit pay dirt when I peeked my head into the Covered Bridge Bazaar—which had a working train set circling through a tiny Nashville in the window—and spied Shirley behind the counter. I wove through shelves of country-themed gifts. Carved wooden signs with cute sayings. A bin of rainbow-hued saltwater taffy. Silk scarves painted with scenes of covered bridges. Flour sack dishtowels stenciled with whimsical grinning vegetables. Crocks of handmade wooden utensils and much more. I appeared to be the only shopper.
“Let me know if I can help you with anything,” Shirley called.
“Thanks.” It didn’t seem like she’d recognized me, but I was half hidden behind the shelves.
I paused in front of a display of T-shirts emblazoned with pictures of dogs. Flipping through, I found a green shirt with an adorable black Labrador. It would be a perfect gift for Sean, and they had a men’s medium.
I took it to the counter. Shirley stood at the end with her back to me, straightening a rack of magnets. Her thick hair was loose on her shoulders, and she wore a long green sweater over leggings with low black boots.
She glanced over. “Oh, Robbie. I didn’t realize that was you.”
“Hi, Shirley. This is a great store.”
She gestured with one hand. “It’s kind of kitschy, but hey, it’s a job.” She looked at the shirt. “Aren’t those fun?”
“I know a teenager who has a black Lab. He’s going to love it.”
“Let me ring it up for you.” Shirley went around to face me over the counter. “Is this for Sean O’Neill?”
