by Gayle Leeson
“Thank you,” Nadine said, taking the cake and placing it in the refrigerator. “Big Harry and Harry Junior will be tickled to death.”
“I’m glad.”
Nadine motioned toward the table. “Clear you off a chair and sit down. I’ll have this squash in the oven in a couple of minutes, and we can chat.”
I felt uncomfortable doing so, but I picked up a stack of magazines and placed them on the table atop another stack of magazines. Beneath the periodicals in the chair were a pair of binoculars. I noticed that the initials LP had been sewn into the strap. I carefully balanced the binoculars atop the magazines. At the bottom of the chair, there was a seed catalog. I moved it onto another chair that contained a mound of mail, and then I sat.
While I’d been finding the chair cushion, Nadine had been cutting the squash into rings with an electric knife. Now she unplugged the knife and began removing the seeds with a spoon. “Sorry about that. That woman on television who hates clutter would have a field day with my kitchen, wouldn’t she?”
I gave a little laugh. “I don’t think anybody is as neat as that woman.”
“I know there’s more than one way to make spaghetti squash, Amy. How do you make yours?”
“It depends on how much time I have, but I like to cut the squash in half and roast it cut-side down.”
“Cut-side down, eh? Why’s that?”
“The moisture ends up on the pan rather than in the squash,” I said.
“Huh. I’ll have to try that next time.” After Nadine had put the squash in the oven, she cleared off the chair opposite me and sat down. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re hosting the farmers’ market every Saturday for the next few weeks. Big Harry and I enjoyed being there, meeting people, selling our produce, and getting exposure for the corn maze. It’s awful that the day ended in tragedy, but the farmers’ market was nothing short of a blessing to us.”
“I wish I’d been able to shop. I underestimated how hectic the café would be.” I shrugged. “Hopefully, I’ll have more time this coming Saturday to look around.”
“Well, you can shop from us now, if you’d like,” Nadine said.
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” I nodded toward the oven. “And I certainly don’t want to cause you to burn your squash.”
“All right, but you’re getting first dibs on Saturday morning even if I have to go inside and oversee the café while you shop.”
I laughed. “Deal.”
“Even though we’ve been in Winter Garden for a little less than a year, we’ve been here on the farm almost all the time. We haven’t been out in the community like we were on Saturday. I enjoy farm life, but it can get lonely.”
“I imagine so,” I said. “I really should be going. I wanted to come by and bring you the cake and...well, maybe...give you a warning.”
Nadine stiffened. “About what?”
“Malcolm Pridemore.”
“Oh, him.” She relaxed back into her seat. “We’ve had the...I can’t say the pleasure because it sure wasn’t.”
I lifted my hands. “You don’t have to tell me. I had the displeasure myself this morning.”
“Isn’t he a piece of work?” she asked.
“That’s putting it mildly. He told me up front that if his breakfast wasn’t prepared to his exact specifications, he’d refuse to pay.”
Nadine gaped. “What did you do?”
“I did my best to have the food meet his exacting standards. Then, I turned him over to Jackie—my cousin—who was working the register at the time. He tried to get her to reduce the price because his bacon wasn’t quite as crispy as he’d have liked.”
“What did Jackie do? Did she give him the discount?”
“Nope.” I grinned. “She told him, ‘you ate it, you pay for it.’”
Nadine slapped the table and laughed. “I love it. Maybe I can hire her to deal with him the next time the old grouch comes around here.”
“Has he been pestering you and Harry to sell him the land?” I asked.
She raised her brows. “He sure has. How’d you know?”
“He was talking about wanting to buy his sister-in-law’s property while he was in the café today.”
“He was here yesterday. Poor Ms. Pridemore isn’t even in the ground yet, and he’s trying to get his hands on her land.” Nadine shook her head. “The will hasn’t been read or anything. I don’t know how he thinks we can possibly do anything right now.”
“Did Malcolm Pridemore visit his sister-in-law often?”
“Never. As far as we know, the first time that man had darkened her door in the time that we’ve been here was two weeks ago.”
RYAN PULLED INTO MY driveway right after I did. He’d been traveling in the opposite direction—coming from town—and he stopped and waved me across in front of him before parking his police cruiser behind my yellow Bug.
I hopped out of the car with a wide smile on my face. “This is a nice surprise. Did you stop by to remind me of how handsome you look in your uniform, or are you here on official business?”
Instead of the cute remark I was expecting, Ryan said, “I simply wanted to stop by and see you for a minute.”
He was serious. He was standing stiff as a board rather than leaning casually against his car. He hadn’t kissed me hello. Something was wrong. I quickly looked toward the big house.
“Ryan, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”
I turned back to examine his face.
“Sheriff Billings is concerned about you,” he said. “And after seeing you arrive from the direction of Gladys Pridemore’s house, so am I.”
“I took a pound cake to Nadine Ostermann and expressed my sympathy.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Since when is my having good manners something for you to be worried about?”
“Good manners are one thing. Sleuthing is something else entirely.”
I could feel the color rising in my face. “Following your boss’s orders to tell me to stop sticking my nose into his investigation is one thing. Agreeing with him is something else entirely.”
“I didn’t say I agreed with him.”
For some reason, Ryan’s calm, rational “Deputy Hall” voice irritated me more than if he’d shouted.
“You didn’t have to say it,” I said. “I asked Sheriff Billings about Gladys Pridemore’s funeral when he was in the café this afternoon because I was saddened that the only family member she might have there is a brother-in-law who came to Winter Garden for the sole purpose of getting his hands on her land.”
Ryan started to speak, but I held up my hand.
“I even considered going to her funeral myself because I wanted there to be someone there. From the way her obituary reads, the poor woman had no one,” I said.
He put his hands on his hips. “From everything we’ve learned during this investigation, solitary is precisely the way Gladys Pridemore wanted to be. The woman wasn’t the sweet, little old lady you’re imagining.”
“Whatever.” I fluttered my hand. “You can go back and tell your boss that I apologize for taking an interest in the woman Jackie and I found unconscious three days ago.”
I turned to walk toward the house, and Ryan fell into step beside me.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just...I know how you are.”
“Right.” I refused to look at him. No way would I let him see the tears glittering in my eyes. “Goodnight.”
“Amy—”
The police radio squawked.
“I think that’s your cue to go,” I said.
Waiting until after I heard Ryan’s car drive away, I walked through the house, out the back door, and stormed up to the big house. Mom and Aunt Bess would surely commiserate with me. Little did I know I was about to be in for the second rude awakening of my day.
“I agree with Ryan and Sheriff Billings,” Mom said, after I’d told her all about my argument with Ryan. “You
have no business trying to figure out what caused Gladys Pridemore’s death. You’re treating it as if she were murdered, but you have no proof of that.”
“Mom, I can feel it. And the police aren’t coming right out and saying so, but they believe it too.” I looked at Aunt Bess.
She screwed up her mouth and said, “As much as I’d like to have something new to add to my Crime Scenes board, it appears to me that Gladys just fell over dead. I mean, they didn’t find poison in her body or anything, did they?”
“I don’t think the autopsy report has come back yet, but I’m positive it will show that Ms. Pridemore was murdered.” I huffed. “But that’s beside the point. I truly do feel sorry for Ms. Pridemore because she seemed to be so alone. According to Ryan, she preferred it that way. But come on—who wants to be alone?”
Aunt Bess shook her head. “I already told you how she was in school...acting like she was better than everybody else. Maybe—other than her husband—she never found anybody else who she felt was good enough to hang around with...the old thing.”
My jaw dropped. “Aunt Bess!”
“I meant to say, bless her heart.” She lifted her chin.
I decided my best bet was to change the subject. “Jackie, Sarah, and I are planning a fantastic girls’ night for us tomorrow, Aunt Bess. We’re going to be playing cards and—”
“What are we eating?” she asked.
“I thought we’d have pigs in a blanket, fried pickles, slow cooker party mix—if Mom will man the slow cooker for me tomorrow.”
“Of course, I—” Mom began.
“You’d better believe she will,” Aunt Bess interrupted. “You just bring it up here before you go to work in the morning and tell her what to do.” She gave Mom a reproachful glare. “That’s the least she can do after making plans to go out with a man none of us have ever even laid eyes on and leaving me here to fend for myself.”
I opened my mouth to remind Aunt Bess that she wasn’t having to fend for herself and that she was the only one of us who hadn’t met Dr. Bennett yet, but Mom gave a slight shake of her head. She was right. Best not to argue with Aunt Bess.
“What else are we having?” Aunt Bess asked.
“I thought we’d have a crudités platter and some cookies.”
She clapped her hands together. “I do love cookies.”
With a smile, I bent and kissed her cheek. “I know.” I kissed Mom’s cheek too, and then I told them goodnight and went home.
I’d left my phone on my kitchen counter before leaving out the back door to go up to the big house. When I checked it, I saw that I’d missed three calls from Ryan. He hadn’t left any messages.
I texted him: “Let’s please not argue. You were right. I’m really tired, so we’ll talk tomorrow.”
With a sigh, I plugged my phone into the charger and went to take a bath. I hoped everything would be all right between Ryan and me. He was truly the sweetest man I’d ever known. I didn’t want a murder investigation to ruin our relationship.
{ }
Chapter Seven
W
hen Homer arrived at the Down South Café for his sausage biscuit the next morning, he could see right away that something was off. As much as I hate to admit it, I was so distracted that I neglected to ask him to tell me his hero of the day.
I’d poured his coffee and was turning to go back into the kitchen to prepare his breakfast when he said, “My hero today is H. Jackson Brown, Jr., Amy.”
I gave him a half smile and tried to pretend I was interested. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the name.”
“Mr. Brown wrote Life’s Little Instruction Book. One of his quotes is, ‘Don’t forget, a person’s greatest emotional need is to feel appreciated.’ I truly appreciate you, Amy.”
Unable to speak due to the knot that formed in my throat, I merely nodded. And despite my valiant attempt to hold them back, two fat tears rolled down my cheeks. I patted Homer’s hand and ambled into the kitchen.
Safely tucked behind the closed door, I took a steadying breath and used a napkin to wipe my eyes. I went over to the sink and washed my hands before slipping on a pair of gloves and putting Homer’s sausage patty on the grill.
Jackie burst through the door, blue eyes blazing. “What’s going on?”
“I’m making Homer’s sausage biscuit. What’s going on with you?”
She crossed her arms. “You know what I’m talking about. I want to know why Homer is out there giving Ryan the third degree.”
I nearly gave myself whiplash snapping my head around to look at Jackie. “Ryan’s here?”
“Yeah, and Homer is about to challenge him to a duel or something. Tell me what’s going on. Do I need to go kick Ryan’s butt myself?”
“No.” I looked up at the ceiling to stem the tears that threatened again.
“That’s it. I’m going out there and—”
“Stop!” I caught her just before she got to the door. With her long legs, she had no trouble outpacing me.
Jackie turned and stared me down.
“Let me get Homer’s sausage biscuit ready, and I’ll tell you everything.”
“All right.” She returned with me to the grill, and I told her what had happened yesterday.
By the time I’d finished relating my version of the previous evening’s events, Homer’s biscuit was ready. I looked at Jackie and could tell she was struggling.
“You’re with them, aren’t you?” I asked. “You think Ryan, Mom, and Aunt Bess are right.”
“Not necessarily. I’m always on your side—you know that. It’s just that I’m not sure this battle is one worth fighting.”
“It isn’t. I came to that conclusion last night.” I took a deep breath. “But I don’t want to go out there and look like an idiot in front of everyone.”
“Homer and Ryan are the only two patrons in the dining room right now,” Jackie said.
“All right.” I picked up the plate with Homer’s biscuit.
Seeing that my hand was shaking, Jackie took the plate. “I’ve got the biscuit. You go make up with your man.”
I hesitated.
“Go,” she said firmly.
I walked ahead of her. My eyes locked on Ryan’s, and then I quickly scanned the dining room to see that Jackie had been right—only he and Homer were in the dining room at the time.
As Jackie placed his biscuit in front of him, Homer elbowed Ryan in the ribs and said, “Remember what Mr. Brown said are the nine most important words of any family.”
“I love you, you are beautiful, please forgive me.”
Ryan rattled off the words mechanically, and I laughed.
He grinned. “I’m sorry, Amy. I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m sorry. I overreacted to your concern.”
Before Ryan could say anything else, Homer spoke up. “Let’s put this whole ordeal behind us and eat.”
“Good idea,” I said with a smile.
AFTER CLOSING THE CAFÉ, I stayed behind to clean the doors and windows. Jackie had offered to stay and help, but I asked her to choose a cookie recipe from Aunt Bess’s Things I’d Like to Eat board and either make the cookies or ensure we had all the ingredients at the big house to bake them later. She’d happily agreed to leave then.
I was alone. The front door was locked, and the Closed sign was in the window. Cleaning the windows was peaceful, mindless work that allowed my thoughts to wander.
I remembered how sweet Ryan had looked this morning when he’d recited those nine words essential to families. What were they again? Forgive me. No. Please forgive me. You are beautiful. That was six. I love you. Nine words. Yep, I’d say they were essential.
I love you. Ryan had never said those words to me before...and I hadn’t said them to him either. Of course, I realized the only reason he’d said them this morning was because Homer had encouraged—practically forced—him to do so. It was a joke...an icebreaker. And it had worked. He’d made me laugh, and the tension betw
een us had dissolved.
I didn’t kid myself that Ryan was in love with me. We’d only known each other for a few months.
Still...I was falling for him. It would be wonderful to believe he felt the same way.
I heard a car door shut, and my first thought was that Sheriff Billings was running awfully late today. He hadn’t been in for lunch either.
But it wasn’t Sheriff Billings who was standing at the door. It was a diminutive woman wearing a black crepe dress, black shoes, and a black hat with a white ribbon band, and she was cupping her face against the glass to see inside.
I unlocked the door and stepped outside. “I’m sorry. The café is closed. Everyone has gone home except me, and I’m cleaning the windows.”
“Oh, shucks.” The woman’s voice was reedy and tired sounding. “I was hoping to speak with the owner about setting up a booth at the farmers’ market this coming Saturday.”
“That’s me,” I said. “I’m the owner.” I put out my hand. “Amy Flowers.”
She delicately shook my hand. “Hilda Dinsmore. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And I’m glad to see you’re the kind of business owner who’s not afraid to roll up your sleeves and do the tough stuff.”
“Thank you.” I opened the door. “Come on inside, and I’ll get you a vendor form, Ms. Dinsmore.”
“Call me Hilda,” she said. “I suppose you could even call me Hil if you like. It’s what my friends call me—what few I have left anyway.”
Having no idea how to respond to that statement, I merely smiled and said I’d get her that form. I went over to the counter and took the form from the stack beneath the cash register. Hilda slowly followed and sat on one of the stools.
“Please don’t think I’m batty...or morbid,” she said as I handed her the vendor form and a pen. “I’m feeling sad today. I’ve been to my friend Gladys’s funeral.”
“Gladys Pridemore?” I asked.
“Yes. Did you know Gladys?”
“I didn’t. In fact, the only time I ever spoke with her was last Saturday.” I explained to Hilda Dinsmore that Ms. Pridemore had called and ordered some food and that Jackie and I had found her unconscious when we’d made the delivery. “I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner.”
