“Are we done working here today?” Lindsey interrupted. “Because, if we are, I have other things I’d rather be doing.”
“Oops, sorry.” Sophia turned back to the work counter behind her and popped a baking sheet of sweet potatoes, drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with herbs, into the oven.
“You’re such a grouch,” Jesse said as she took the order sheet Lindsey extended and began to assemble the plate. “Are you doing the…”
Lindsey slid an omelet onto the green-and-white Art Deco plate Jesse was preparing. “It just needs the finishing touches,” Lindsey said.
“Well, consider it done.” Jesse added fresh mint leaves to a fruit salad with a hint of balsamic vinaigrette, put a crispy slice of freshly baked sourdough on the edge of the plate and handed it to Lindsey. “Is this for the lunch counter?”
Lindsey gave her head a swift, negative shake. “Don’t look now, but everybody’s favorite sheriff is at a table on the side porch. He called his order in ahead of time, so I was bringing it out to him. Besides, rumor has it that he loves my coffee.”
“Yeah, I heard that rumor. So now I guess he’ll love your omelets, too.”
“Well, I do make killer omelets,” Lindsey agreed. “In all modesty, if I do say so myself.”
“You make killer coffee and decent omelets,” Jesse corrected. In spite of her best efforts, she found herself peering around her co-worker for a glimpse of the man she had had a love/hate relationship with almost from their first meeting. Well, not love exactly. She wouldn’t go that far. And not exactly hate either.
But the two of them had certainly had a rollercoaster ride of friction and not exactly attraction, either—that was too strong a word. It was more like an uncomfortable tolerance that was tipping toward friendship, on a good day.
Beyond the row of windows along the side of the main dining room, Jesse found Sheriff Joe Tyler seated next to the wall on the screened-in dining porch. As if he had been waiting for her to look, he lifted his coffee cup in salute and locked his gaze with hers while he slowly took a long, savoring drink.
“Maybe I should take that plate to him,” Jesse said without looking away.
Lindsey drew the plate back out of reach. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, good grief. I’ll take him his lunch.” Sophia stepped between the two and took the plate from Lindsey’s hand. “He’s at least ten years too young for me to think about, and I would guess he’s a little too old for you, Lindsey, dear.”
Spinning on her heel, Sophia started around the end of the counter where Lindsey held reign as their barista and away from the kitchen where they all took turns cooking.
Unfazed, Lindsey winked at Jesse. “Doesn’t stop him from being sexy as hell, though, does it?” With a laugh, Lindsey turned back to her coffee making. “In a kind of rugged, cowboy way,” she added over her shoulder as she went.
“What’s gotten into you?” Jesse muttered. Normally Lindsey fought like a cat threatened with dunking if you pushed her toward a man. If she kept this up, pretty soon she’d be wearing makeup and getting her hair done, and they’d all be wondering what aliens had snatched the real Lindsey.
“Excuse me,” Winnie insisted from the corner where she was hovering, “but what are we going to do?” She held up the phone again for emphasis.
Jesse glanced from the phone back to the screened dining porch where Joe Tyler watched her through the window. As Sophia arrived with his lunch, he made a disappointed, pouty face at Jesse, something she wasn’t aware he was capable of. Then as he took another drink of his coffee, he turned his attention to his self-appointed waitress.
“Excuse me!” Winnie demanded.
“Do about what?” Jesse asked, her brain fogged by images she would rather not have. Had he been flirting with her? Because he certainly wasn’t making that face at her mother.
SueAnn leaned over from the other side of the counter and handed Jesse another order. “Merry Christmas,” she said brightly. “They must have really missed us while we were closed yesterday.”
“It’s April,” Jesse corrected, taking the order.
SueAnn shrugged. “Feels like a Christmas rush to me. Or Thanksgiving. Maybe it’s more like a day-before-Thanksgiving rush.”
“How long till we close the doors?” Jesse stared at the order and heard the oven ding. Whatever was in there was ready.
“Fifteen minutes,” SueAnn answered.
Sophia breezed by, humming a tune, and Jesse was pretty sure her mother had just been flirting with the sheriff.
“Your oven dinged,” Jesse informed her cheerful mother. “You wouldn’t by any chance have sweet potato fries in there, would you?”
“Yes, I would.” Sophia grabbed an oven mitt and withdrew the sizzling, roasted sweet potatoes that had been cut in long, narrow strips like French fries.
Some had charred tips, guaranteeing a sweet, crispy treat that was one of Jesse’s favorites. She handed the order slip to her mother. “You’d better put the plate together. I’d sample too many of them on the way to the plate.”
“Fifteen minutes until you close the doors,” Winnie repeated. “How long after that until you’re free? We need to figure out what we’re going to do.”
Turning her attention back to her impatient friend, Jesse said, “Give me an hour and a half to get out of here, and meet me at Vivian’s. She’ll want to know about this.”
“Then what are we going to do?” Winnie sounded worried and her face was puckered in a frown.
“Forward the email to me, and we’ll begin by studying the list.”
Winnie’s frown deepened, and she stood staring back at Jesse, clearly waiting for more.
“Don’t worry,” Jesse urged. She laid a reassuring hand on Winnie’s arm. “This sudden trip probably means nothing. And most of the people on the list should still be here in Myrtle Grove. Maybe we can get out there today.”
“Okay.” With an impatient sigh, Winnie turned and left.
Only after she was gone did Jesse realize she hadn’t even asked about the funeral preparations. Poor Winnie was dealing with so much right now, and all Jesse had to worry about was the lunch crowd.
“Darn! I have classes until seven tonight. I’m going to miss everything.”
When Jesse looked up, SueAnn stood across the counter with a disappointed scowl on her face.
“Your school comes first, hon,” Jesse reminded her. “You can’t let this foolishness interfere with that. And everything Bethany’s worried about right now is just imagination at this point. You’re not missing anything but a bunch of talk.”
“As Vivian would say, ‘pish posh, Jesselyn.’ Besides, you and I both know I’m the best you’ve got at digging up background on the internet. And that’s what you need right now.”
Jesse nodded. That fact was true. The rest of them had practically no computer skills. But she wasn’t letting their little whatever this was get in the way of SueAnn’s education.
“Tell you what,” she offered, “as soon as I get it, I’ll forward that email from Bethany to you. You can download the attachment, and when you have a minute, you can start digging up whatever you can find on the names Bethany listed. How’s that?”
“Fantastic! And since this is part of what I’m studying in school, maybe I can get some class credits on it.” SueAnn flashed a big smile, took the prepared tray Sophia handed her and headed back out into the dining room.
“You handled that well, dear. Do you really think this surprise trip is nothing to worry about?”
“I think there’s nothing we can do about it either way. So I sure hope it doesn’t mean anything. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’re going to be too little, too late.”
“Well, not to add to your troubles, but it would appear that our worrisomely pleasant sheriff would like a moment of your time.”
“Now?” Taking him his lunch order was one thing. Answering his summons was another thing entirely. Jesse was horrified.
So
phia nodded apologetically. “Afraid so.”
“Did he seem upset?” Jesse glanced across the variety of farmhouse tables still crowded with people to the antique mirror on the opposite wall.
“Why?” Sophia asked. “Have you done something recently?”
“I don’t think so.” Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Jesse wished she could find a good reason for her nervousness. “With him, it’s kind of hard to tell.”
“He probably just wants to see how you are. After all, you were just involved in another murder investigation, and the two of you have never really talked about it.”
“Because the only thing Joe Tyler was focused on was arresting Winnie,” Jesse said indignantly. She jerked the elastic tie from around her ponytail and raked her fingers through the thick waves that were a blend of light brown and two-toned gold streaks.
She was usually too busy to fuss with her hair, so she avoided mirrors as much as possible. The neat bob she had gotten the previous year was a manageable shoulder length but would need trimming again by summer.
“Well, he’s over that now. Just try not to irritate him too much.” Sophia sounded a bit hesitant.
“It’s not like I do it on purpose.” Jesse turned away from the mirror before someone noticed her primping, if it could be called that. “I can’t help it if he’s naturally irritable.”
“If you say so.”
Her mother’s voice sounded dubious, and Jesse was sure she would see an eye roll if she looked over. So she didn’t.
“Okay.” She tried not to sound defeated as she reached behind her to untie the recycled cotton apron she wore when she worked.
Complete with ruffled edge and heart-shaped pocket, it fit the tearoom’s atmosphere, but wasn’t the image she wanted to project to the sheriff. Neither were the tee shirt and cutoffs she wore under it, but she couldn’t exactly run upstairs and change clothes. Or could she? No, no she couldn’t.
“Okay,” she said again, “here goes.”
“He’s a man, not a firing squad,” her mother answered. “Just keep telling yourself, ‘I have great legs’ and you’ll do just fine, honey.”
Jesse laughed and slid a reprimanding glance toward her mother. “Everything that’s ever been wrong with me comes from you. You do know that, don’t you?”
“That’s a burden every mother bears, sweetie. Now go make goo-goo eyes at the nice sheriff.”
~~~~~
“I have great legs. I have great legs,” Jesse repeated inside her head as she crossed the dining room on her way to the screened porch and its half dozen wicker tables. And while her legs might not win any contests, they were long, and she was relatively slim and in pretty good shape, so while it might have been an exaggeration, it wasn’t an outright lie.
“You’re pretty pushy, you know that?” she said when she reached Joe Tyler’s table.
“And good morning to you, Ms. Camden.” He set down his coffee cup. Mug, actually.
Jesse would have felt better had it been one of the tearoom’s vintage Royal Albert cup and saucers, just so she could watch him struggle. But she had gone out of her way a year earlier to expand her china collection to include antique porcelain mugs for the male customers. Apparently, they were having trouble getting their big fingers through the small holes on the more fragile tea cup handles. The mugs were still petite. Still china. Still pretty florals, and still delicate. But they were mugs, and the male patrons seemed happier.
“Would you care to sit down?” he invited. When Jesse hesitated, he smiled and his dark eyes danced. “Although, if you’d rather stand, that’s fine, too. I don’t see you out of blue jeans very often.” His gaze moved down as far as the tabletop would allow. “Nice view.”
Jesse pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down before he could see her kneecaps blushing. She’d just been manipulated, and she knew it. That was one of the things about him that irritated her most. He always seemed to get his way. Pushy, just like she’d said.
“So, I’m here.”
“How’s your friend?” He leaned back on his sturdy, white wicker chair, looking relaxed while keeping his voice low, just between the two of them. “Things have to be pretty rough for her right now.”
“She seems to be taking everything in her stride.” Jesse began to relax as well. Something else the damned man always did. Just when she was ready to be mad at him, he ended up being so much more human than she expected. “I’ve really been impressed so far,” Jesse continued, then started to smile. “You’ll never guess who’s helping her with the funeral arrangements.”
“From the look on your face, it sounds interesting. You’re not actually going to make me guess, are you?”
“LaDonna Stroud.”
“LaDonna…?” He looked puzzled. Then the light slowly dawned. “The girlfriend?”
“Yes!” Jesse laughed, gratified by his surprise. “I’m just so proud of them both. Wouldn’t it be the darnedest thing if they actually became friends?”
“I’m amazed either one of them want to have anything to do with old Roy Lee, much less give him a decent burial. But I’m glad to see Mrs. Rogers is doing okay.”
“Well, at least she’s finally through with him. So, is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” This wasn’t as painful as she had feared, but she hated leaving the tail end of the lunch rush to everyone else.
She already didn’t put in as many hours as the others did, since she also had to work at the Gilded Lily Antiques Shop, which occupied the other side of the Victorian’s downstairs and was co-owned with her friend Connie Oliver. The vintage dining furniture in the tearoom was supplied by the antiques shop. The early 1900s English china that was the tearoom’s hallmark came from Jesse’s own collection.
The sheriff’s chuckle was a low rumble as he lifted his hand-painted china mug by the rim between his thumb and index finger. Shaking his head, he took a sip and set it back down.
“No, Jesse, it’s not. You found a dead body. You supported a childhood friend through what had to be the worst hours of her life. And you helped a poor, sick old man find some dignity when his life was spinning out of control. So my question is—how are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said without hesitation. Or thought. Because she really wasn’t fine at all. She still mourned her grandfather who had been gone for two years. And every new death she encountered was like salt in a wound that was still raw.
“Are you?” Joe asked, almost as if he could read her mind. “Because I keep seeing you take on everyone else’s problems. But you never let anybody help you.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. She was starting to feel like a parrot, but, really, she was as okay as she was going to be any time soon. And why wasn’t he fussing at her for interfering?
“You can’t keep doing this, Jesse. When you were poking around in Harry Kerr’s death, you could have ended up in big trouble. I was right behind you, but I wasn’t close enough to save you if anything had gone wrong. And this last time, you had no idea what would happen when you went out to talk to Hansen Rogers by yourself.”
“Nothing happened,” Jesse protested.
He snorted. “Yeah, right. And then you just kept running around confronting people! What part of already killed one person don’t you understand?”
Ah, yes, this was what she had dreaded. She looked around and saw big, round eyes and expressions ranging from avid to uncomfortable at the surrounding tables.
“Sorry,” Joe said in a calmer tone. He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his attention to her. “Okay, it’s over. It’s done. And you’re still alive. What are the chances it will ever happen again, right?” He waited, looking at her across the table, growing more impatient by the second. “I said, right?” he asked again.
Jesse bit her tongue and nodded. If he found out about Bethany, he would have a fit. A real fit, not like the little one he had just had.
“Say it,” he demanded through gritted teeth.
“Won’t happen again,” she said.
“If someone falls dead at your feet, you will just keep walking,” he insisted.
“If someone falls dead at my feet, I will just keep walking,” she repeated.
“You’re lying.”
“Well, that is a bit extreme,” she said. “I mean, if someone actually falls dead at my feet, I can’t just keep walking. Really.”
“But you will call the police and not immediately begin to question suspects.”
“Yes, no problem. That’s reasonable.”
“Go ahead. Go.” He waved his hand, shooing her away. “If I keep talking to you, I’m going to get indigestion.”
She jumped up, eager to be gone, but hating to leave. Why did they have to be at loggerheads so much of the time?
“Jesse.”
His voice caught her and turned her around to face him again.
“Yes?”
“Are you doing anything Saturday night?”
She shook her head, confused. “No.”
“Would you have dinner with me?”
“Dinner?”
“You know, this…” He indicated the table in front of him. “Only with more food. And maybe some wine. Do you drink wine?”
“Yes.” She felt like she was in a dream, and wasn’t sure which question she had just answered. “And, yes.” There, that took care of that.
Turning again, she left. And this time he let her go.
Chapter Four
“What did he want?” Sophia asked in an undertone when Jesse returned to her tasks in the kitchen.
“Just to talk,” Jesse answered. “You were right. And he wants to talk again when we have more time.” She held her breath and hoped for the slim possibility that the conversation would end there.
“When?”
And, of course, it didn’t.
“Saturday.” Jesse let the word drop while she focused on the salad she was preparing for a table of three to share. Chunks of roasted chicken breast, grape halves, celery and walnut pieces over romaine with a very light herb dressing, and the barest hint of blue cheese. It was the Tuesday special.
“Saturday?” Sophia stopped in the middle of her sandwich preparation to turn and stare at her daughter. “Saturday? That sounds more like a date than a conversation.”
Murder on a Silver Sea (Myrtle Grove Garden Club Mystery Book 3) Page 3
