Gluten for Punishment

by Nancy J. Parra

“But I’ve got work to do—”

  “There isn’t anything you can’t do later.” Her expression was stern. “I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all day. . . .”

  Huh, I couldn’t remember eating. But then again, who would want to eat knowing there’d been a dead body a few feet from your table.

  “Wash up and grab your coat. We’re going to your cousin’s diner for dinner.”

  I threw a clean cotton cloth over the dough I had been working and washed my hands. “But you bought me lunch yesterday.”

  “And now I’m buying you dinner, but only so you can have a couple of drinks without passing out. Trust me, honey, you need a drink.”

  “Carrie isn’t here. Who’ll watch the store?”

  “Do you have any customers?”

  “No.”

  “Then lock up and put a ‘be-back-in-an-hour’ sign up.”

  She was right, of course. Besides, there weren’t any customers. Not now and probably not until the crime scene tape came down. Between that and finding a dead guy in the horse trough, I needed a drink. Any sane person would. I grabbed my jacket and tugged it on, then locked up, slapped a handwritten note on the door, slipped my arm through Tasha’s, and we walked the four blocks to Grandma’s Diner.

  When we stepped inside, the entire dining room went quiet. Everyone stared. I looked at Tasha. She looked at me and shrugged. Then we both grinned and grabbed the booth in the farthest corner.

  The diner’s interior was rustic. The walls were paneled wood. There were booths along the outer walls and tables on the inside and along the wide front window. The window curtains matched the checkered tablecloths. Every table had a red glass candleholder with a lighted candle inside. Then there was a stainless napkin holder, glass-and-stainless salt and pepper shakers, and a small bottle of ketchup. It could have been one of many diners across America, but to me it looked and smelled like home.

  My cousin Lucy came out of the back room. “What are ya’ll staring at? Eat something.” She shamed them into turning away, then walked up and gave me a big hug.

  Lucy was a little shorter than me with generous curves and bouncy blonde hair. I swear, not a strand of gray in sight. She had a turned-up nose, sparkling blue eyes, and the cute look that made men’s heads turn. “I was wondering if you’d come. You need to be around family after a day like today. I made gluten-free chicken-and-rice casserole.” She brushed at imaginary crumbs on the checkered tablecloth. Everything in her diner was pristine. “Tasha, how are you? How’s Kip?”

  “I’m good,” Tasha said. “I came as soon as I could get away. Kip’s with his developmental tutor for the next two hours and I stole Toni from her work. We’re here for a drink. What do you have?”

  “Honey, the bar is open.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “What’s your desire? It’s on the house.”

  “No, I can’t . . .” I protested. I know Lucy worked hard for any profit the little diner made. Happily married to her husband, Robert Brockway, for twenty-five years, Lucy laughed when I called her a child bride, but had been only seventeen when she and Robert got married. They had their share of ups and downs, but managed to still keep love in their relationship.

  I asked her once how she did it. She said they had made a promise to be brutally honest with each other always. Then she winked and said a good love life softened the blow. Robert was a local truck driver and worked long hours, but he was home on weekends and that was all that mattered. Right now I envied them their connection, their long-term partnership. It would be nice to have someone to lean on when a dead body showed up outside your door.

  “I’m buying,” Tasha said firmly. “We’ll have two gin and tonics, some of those great tortilla chips you make, and salsa.”

  “Coming right up,” Lucy said. “Toni, you call me if you need me. Emmi will be your waitress tonight, and the tab is on me. No protesting—” Lucy raised her hand to cut off Tasha. “We’ll settle things next book club.” She gave me another hug and was gone, checking on customers and urging her waitstaff to keep on its toes.

  Our waitress, Emmi, was a tall college student in her early twenties. She had long brown hair, which she wore in a ponytail at the back of her neck. The drinks in her hands were in tall glasses with ice and a lime slice hanging off the edge. She placed them down in front of us. “Chips and salsa will be right out. Lucy said you wanted the GF chicken casserole, right?”

  I nodded and wrapped my hand around the drink.

  “What are you having?” Emmi asked Tasha.

  “I’ll have a club sandwich with fries, thanks.”

  I sipped the tall, cold drink and enjoyed the tang on my taste buds. The drink was light on the tonic and heavy on the gin. Lucy made it medicinal strength.

  “Oh, my, this is good,” Tasha said. “Drink up. I want to see the color come back into your face.”

  “I didn’t know the color had left my face.”

  She patted my hand. “Of course you didn’t. I bet you’ve been pushing yourself to work so you don’t have to think. Right?”

  Thankfully, at that moment Emmi brought over a large bowl of hot, fresh chips and two small bowls of salsa so I didn’t have to answer Tasha’s question. The second and third sips of gin and tonic went down easy and I relaxed a bit.

  “Now.” Tasha dipped a chip and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out the juicy parts.”

  I sighed and grabbed a chip. Munching, I realized I was hungrier than I thought. Armed with liquor and snacks, I told Tasha the whole sordid tale, adding how I’d had to give away coffee the first hour until Grandma Ruth showed up and helped move the crowd inside.

  I was halfway through my drink when Tasha stopped me with a hand to my wrist.

  “Oh, my, look who came in for dinner.”

  I looked over my shoulder to see the handsome rancher from the other night.

  “Yum!” Tasha whispered.

  “Hey, I thought you were dating Craig.”

  “I am but Sam Greenbaum can put his shoes under my bed any day.”

  “Sam Greenbaum,” I repeated. Huh, the handsome guy had a name. I watched him settle an old woman into a chair at a table next to the window. He noticed me and waved.

  I waved back. He moved in our direction and I ducked back into the booth. Tasha’s mouth hung open and her eyes went wide. “Do you know him? You must know him, you waved, and now he’s heading our way.”

  Discretion was not one of Tasha’s best qualities. The heat of a blush rushed up my cheeks. Being a redhead, I’m certain it showed like a glowing fire. Why could I never look calm, cool, and collected?

  “Hey,” he said, approaching the table. The man had a way of walking that could bring a tear to your eye.

  I swallowed hard. “Hi.” My drink was in my hand before I knew it and I sipped in a poor attempt to cool off. I might have even pressed it against my heated cheek.

  “You’re the bakery lady from last night, aren’t you?” His eyes twinkled—actually twinkled, mind you. I tried to keep from drooling.

  “Yes. How did your grandma and her friends like the sample platters?” Hooray for me for being able to make conversation when I was face to waist with the handsome hunk who was probably married . . . or gay.

  “She and her friends loved it. They took several of the cards to call you for catering jobs. I’d say that made it a success. I’m Sam, by the way.” He held out his hand.

  “Toni.” I shook. Darn it, his hand was big and warm and callused in all the right places. “Toni Holmes.”

  “Nice to meet you, Toni.” He squeezed my hand gently. His gaze made the blush on my cheeks that much hotter.

  “I’m Tasha,” Tasha said, breaking the silent admiration in his gaze. Or was that my gaze? Anyway, thank goodness for Tasha. “Tasha Wilkes, Toni’s best friend since grade school. But then you didn’t go to school with us, did you?”

  “Hello, Tasha. No, I’m from Towanda, originally. I went to school there my whole life. It’s probably why
we haven’t met.” He shook her hand as well, then turned his attention back on me. “I’m here with my grandma.” He turned to Tasha. “Grams moved into Oiltop to live in the assisted living center. I brought her here for some comfort food after being poked and prodded by her doctor.” He pointed his hand toward a table near the front door. Grandma peered at me through her thick lenses and I smiled and waved. I wondered if she knew Grandma Ruth. I almost asked Sam if she did, but thought better of it. Grandma Ruth was cool and quirky, smart and loyal, but her independent streak gave her a reputation some elderly ladies didn’t like much.

  Not that I wanted to make a good impression or anything. Or could, even if I tried. I tried not to sigh. My family always made the impression first. There was no way around it. Sooner or later, Sam would figure it out.

  “I wanted to stop by and introduce myself and thank you again for saving me.” Sam’s smile had my cheeks glowing.

  “Hey, anytime.” I watched him walk back to his table, admiring the way he wore his Levi’s.

  Emmi arrived to block the view and put china plates with generous servings of steaming food down on the table.

  “You’ve been holding out on me,” Tasha said as she grabbed a French fry from her plate and dipped it in ketchup.

  “There’s nothing to hold out.” I peppered my casserole. “He came into the bakery and needed some platters for his grandma’s poker tables. I set him up with several dessert sample platters.”

  “And gave him your card . . .”

  “It was purely business.” I lifted my empty glass at Emmi and she nodded and turned toward the bar. “I told you, I’m never going there again.” No matter how much my heart went pitter-patter. It’s what got me in trouble with Eric, and I was never trusting that feeling again. “You enjoy yourself with Craig.”

  “Oh, no, Sam Greenbaum is not easily ignored.” Tasha waved her glass Emmi’s way as well, jangling the remaining ice.

  “He’s probably married with five kids.” I refused to look at him again no matter how much I wanted to. It would be too obvious.

  “I happen to know he’s a widower with no kids.” Tasha wiggled an eyebrow at me. “You should ask him to come to the dinner party on Friday.”

  “What? No.”

  Emmi set down fresh drinks and took away the empty glasses. Now we wouldn’t look like lushes, although I was starting to feel like one as the gin buzzed in my head. “No. No. No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, for one, I don’t ask guys out. It’s a rule of mine because it sets a bad tone for the entire relationship. And B, I can’t date now, not with the dead guy and all. It seems kind of disrespectful. And three, I don’t have time. I have a business to get up and running, which takes every minute of my day and most of my nights, planning and baking and such.”

  Tasha narrowed her eyes and pursed her mouth. “We’ll see about that.”

  “And don’t you ask him either,” I said. “You promised not to set me up.”

  “Hell, why did I go and make such a fool promise, anyway?”

  “Because you’re my BFF. Cheers.” I toasted her and we clinked glasses. I took a sip of my drink and took a peek at Sam. His head was bent over the menu and he pointed out something to his grandma. His dark hair curled a bit around his collar and his smile was filled with love for the older lady. And yeah, I might have sighed a little.

  My divorce was less than a year old and it had been ugly. I don’t know how Grandma had done it after thirty years. Eric and I were married only five. Of course, I later found out he’d been sleeping with everyone and possibly their brother the entire time we were married. First I’d discovered he’d run through all our savings with his drinking. Then I found out about Mercy, his best friend’s wife. It’d been ugly, really. I’d left something at home and went back to get it only to find them knocking boots on the living room couch.

  I burned the couch, of course, after I tossed them both out on their asses. The hardest part was discovering my entire marriage had been a lie. While I thought Eric and I were soul mates, working partners moving toward future goals, Eric figured I was an easy paycheck and a dupe he could string along with his pretty eyes and to-die-for ass. When everything crumbles, when all your dreams are nothing but dust, it takes a lot more than a handsome face to make you want to date again.

  I sipped my gin and took one last glance at Sam. Eric had a grandma, too. It turned out his grandma and his mom came first. His wife, well, I was good for keeping the house clean, his clothes washed, and the checking account full. It would be a long time before I fell into that trap again. Happy hormones or no, I’d learned my lesson well.

  CHAPTER 9

  I couldn’t sleep. Even after Lucy’s dinner and Tasha’s company and three large gins with almost no tonic, I was a head case. I stared at the ceiling in my bedroom. Officer Emry’s words echoed through my head.

  “. . . Your alibi is a bit thin.”

  The identity of the man in the horse trough was pending notification of his family. No one had said a word about how he was killed.

  It had to be an accident. Right? I mean, he was probably drunker than a skunk, fell into the trough, cracked his head, and had a heart attack. All the chief would say was that it was an ongoing investigation. I’d even sicced Grandma Ruth on him, but, if he knew more, he wasn’t telling.

  To top it off, Carrie quit. I turned onto my side, pulling the pale blue-and-white checked comforter with me. When I asked why, she explained it was because her mother had said she couldn’t work where it wasn’t safe. She offered to let me talk to her mom, my cousin Liz, personally, but I turned down the offer. When Liz’s mind was made up there was no changing it, no matter how much Carrie loved the bakery.

  I’d lost my extra help. The thought made me punch my pillow. Punching didn’t make the pillow any more comfortable or stop my mind from racing. Even the lavender scent I spritzed in an attempt to create a calm environment didn’t calm the panic in my gut. How was I supposed to run a bakery without even part-time help? I didn’t suppose putting a HELP WANTED sign in the window would work either—at least not until the crime scene tape was taken down.

  Ugh.

  I flipped onto my other side, getting my legs tangled in the sheets in the process. Great. I straightened out the blankets and wished my life were so easy to set right. I needed to find a way to get people back into the bakery. Well, it was October. People put crime scene tape up as decorations all the time for Halloween, right? Maybe I could somehow leverage that.

  I tossed to my other side. The sheets tangled, again, and I comforted my frayed nerves with the reminder that I still had the online orders. They were the real bread and butter of my shop. Thank goodness the shipping guy wasn’t afraid to come to the bakery. I could count on those lovely brown boxes going out on time.

  Maybe I could contact Pete at the chamber and get him to rustle me up a catering job or two. After all, Halloween parties were coming up. Nursing homes and schools were great places for gluten-free goodies. I’d even said so in the newspaper interview.

  That was it then. I decided to make up some fliers in the morning presenting holiday party options. Now if I could get some sleep . . .

  Yeah, right. Sleep was highly unlikely. Let’s face it: the only thing more terrifying than the possibility of being an out-of-work murder suspect was the idea of going back to work in the early morning . . . alone . . . with a killer on the loose.

  • • •

  “Good morning.”

  “What are you doing here?” I tried to blink the grit from my eyes without disturbing the makeup I’d troweled on, and for a brief moment wondered if I was still in bed dreaming.

  Nope. Grandma Ruth stood in my kitchen making coffee at 3:45 A.M. “You know us old people.” She poured cream into her espresso and then put the pint container back into the refrigerator. “We’re up at the butt crack of dawn. By the way, you’ve got like twelve messages on your answering machine.”

  I
glanced at the offending device as I grabbed a thick mug from the cupboard beside the sink. “It’s probably Rosa and Joan checking on me.” Tim and I were the only two who still lived in Oiltop. My sister Joan lived in Kansas City and Rosa lived in Wichita in fancy houses with fancy friends.

  Eleanor wouldn’t call. Between the family vacation at Disneyland and the fact that she lived in San Francisco, it would take a week before she found out. And by then the murder would be solved. As for my oldest brother, Richard, he would only get involved if Rosa bugged him and then he was more likely to e-mail than call.

  I shrugged off the messages. Most likely Rosa and Joan wanted nothing more than the inside scoop so they could gossip with their friends. I didn’t have time for that right now.

  “Tell me the truth, Grandma, you’re here because you didn’t want me in the bakery alone, did you?” I added cream to my coffee and took a sip.

  Grandma shrugged. “Like I said, I was up.”

  I glanced out the window. My van was the only vehicle in the driveway. “Did Bill drive you?”

  “I drove myself.”

  The state had taken away Grandma Ruth’s driver’s license last year after she totaled a car for the third time. She was angry at the time, but had gotten over it and bought herself a scooter. Now she drove the scooter down the middle of the road. Tim had equipped it with lights and a large orange flag on a pole tall enough so that drivers could see her when she came around corners.

  “You drove the scooter? You know, one day the police are going to give you a ticket for driving an unauthorized vehicle down the street.”

  Grandma shrugged. “This time of night, no one’s around to complain. I have my cell phone should I get into trouble.”

  I made a face. “Even if you think you can afford to pay the fine, I don’t want to have to attend your funeral when some drunk runs you over.”

  “Kiddo, either way one of these days you’ll be attending my funeral. Besides, freedom of movement is a constitutional right.”

  “Humph.” It’d been a while since I took American Government, but I highly doubted our forefathers had Grandma Ruth’s scooter in mind when they wrote it. “Come on. I’ll load the scooter into the van and we’ll get going.”