A Berry Clever Corpse

by WINTERS, A. R.

  Agatha’s knitting group filed silently out of the café, waving goodbye to me as they went. Agatha came and joined us at the grill’s counter.

  “The soup sounds nice. Perfect for a cold, winter’s day,” he said as Agatha slid onto the seat next to him. The newcomer glanced over at Agatha and then did a double-take, his smile growing with obvious interest.

  Agatha extended her hand in the way that a queen might. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I assure you, the pleasure’s all mine. My name’s Conrad Holt,” he said as he took her offered hand.

  “Agatha Rayans,” Agatha offered in kind. The air between them practically sizzled.

  Zoey and I looked at each other again, then I went and got Conrad a bowl of soup with a freshly toasted crostini. I also got Agatha a fresh cup of hot cocoa.

  “So you drove up all the way from Florida,” Agatha said.

  “I did. I knew I could have flown, but I’ve always enjoyed the road.”

  “And what brings you to town?” I asked.

  “Mmm, sad business. A funeral of an old friend.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “I’m so sorry. Might I ask who the old friend was? Maybe I knew them.” I didn’t want to offer up Mike’s name. If that’s who Conrad was here to see, I wanted to hear his name unprompted from Conrad’s mouth.

  “Mike Pratt. We went to college together.”

  I felt as though the heavens had opened up and beamed me down a present. No wonder Agatha was so attracted to him. He was an angel.

  “You and Mike were close friends?” I asked. I did my best to keep the overenthusiasm I was feeling out of my voice. I didn’t want Conrad to clam up because I’d done or said something to make him wary of me.

  “Not as close as we once were,” Conrad said. “We were roommates in college. Good friends. You know, the usual. Late nights at the bar followed by studying all night.” He laughed. “Those were good times.”

  “Did you lose touch?” Zoey asked, prompting him for more information.

  “For a time, then we reconnected over Facebook ohhhh… maybe ten years ago.”

  I didn’t want to be insensitive, but I needed to ask. “Do you, um, know anything about how he died?”

  Conrad nodded his head, his expression somber. “I do. Sad business, that.” The nodding shifted into a head shake. “What a way to go.”

  “Do you have any idea who might have done it?” Zoey asked.

  “Done it?” Conrad asked with surprise. “It was an accident. His scarf. It got caught in his shredder.”

  Zoey, Agatha and I all took turns looking at each other. Finally, Agatha covered one of Conrad’s hands with her own. “The police are looking into Mike’s death as a homicide.”

  Conrad’s mouth fell open and his shoulders slumped. “A homicide. Murder? They think he was murdered? Who would do such a thing?”

  “We were kind of hoping that you could shine some light on that question,” I said.

  Conrad’s gaze drifted around the room as if searching through his memory banks. Finally, he shook his head. “I’ve got nothing. Mike was a nice guy. Got along with everybody.”

  The Mike that Conrad had known was definitely not the Mike that Susie had known.

  “Do you know if he had a girlfriend?” I asked.

  Conrad snorted and smiled. “That man had a revolving door of ladies in his life, at least so far as I could tell. Here,” he said, pulling out his cell phone. “I’ve got pictures he sent me of his vacations. This one was of him and a lady named, um”—he tapped the phone’s screen with his finger—“Jessica. This one was Jessica.” She was a Catherine-Zeta Jones lookalike in a black string bikini lounging on the deck of what looked like an enormous yacht. No one else was in sight other than Mike. So most likely, it was a private yacht and not a group cruise.

  Conrad swiped his finger across his phone’s face. “This one is of him in the Alps on a skiing trip.” Again, there was with an extraordinarily beautiful woman by his side. If Halle Berry and Sophia Loren somehow managed to have a baby together, the woman in the picture could have been her. The lavish vacations went on for several more pictures, and each picture sported a different beautiful woman.

  “So many different beautiful women,” Agatha said.

  “Yet not one of them have anything on my present company,” Conrad said. He didn’t single anyone out with his words, but his gaze was locked on Agatha.

  “Aren’t you the charming one?” Agatha said with the hint of a giggle in her voice.

  Zoey and I looked at each other, then back at the pair. Agatha was at least twenty-five years older than Conrad, but their chemistry and connection was undeniable.

  “I’d love to learn more about this charming little burg that I’m in,” Conrad said. “Possibly you could keep me company and tell me all about it?”

  “I’d love to,” was Agatha’s reply as she guided her hand into his in a genteel fashion as she slipped off the tall stool.

  The two retired to one of the booths lining the café’s outer wall. Agatha sat on one side and Conrad sat on the other, but they leaned toward each other like a couple of high school kids out on their first date, both starry-eyed for the other one.

  “He’s scamming her,” Zoey said in a deadpan voice as soon as the two got settled out of earshot.

  “Nooo,” I disagreed. “They’re really into each other.”

  “Nope, he’s scamming her, and I’m going to prove it.”

  Zoey was making me nervous, and I took a step away. Her eyes looked ready to shoot laser beams at Conrad.

  “What are you planning on doing?” I asked. Angering Zoey was a little like angering the guy who knew the nuclear launch codes. What they could do was a lot.

  “I’m going to expose him for the conniving, scheming, manipulative, lying scab that he is.”

  “Gonna find dirt on the internet?”

  “Yep.”

  “While you’re doing that, think you could find out what properties Mike owned and maybe how much he was worth?”

  “Yep, the man is going down.”

  “Mike?” He was going down. Six feet under as of tomorrow.

  “Nope. Conrad.”

  Chapter 10

  It was Friday morning before dawn, and I was starting the day with a steaming hot bath. I was tired of bone-chilling showers that felt like I was standing under a waterfall of ice cubes. It had taken pot after pot of hot water heated up on the stove, but I finally got the tub full enough to immerse myself. It was heaven.

  I had a bear claw tub. The sides were high, and the top rim was curled. There, Sage sat, watching me. She slow-blinked her green-gold eyes and occasionally reached a paw out into space as if she could stretch it across the water’s surface to touch my face. She had considered trying to walk across the water, but a few pats of the wet stuff had convinced her not to try. For whatever reason, she didn’t simply walk along the tub’s curving edge until she reached where I was resting my head, and in the end she did what I was doing. She bathed her smoky tortoiseshell fur with long licks of her tongue. Well, I used a washcloth, but the effect was the same.

  When we arrived downstairs in the kitchen, the café was dark and cold. Too cold. With the boiler out, it seemed as if the very bones of the building had slowly lost all of their stored up heat until there was only the harsh absence of warmth.

  Brenda wasn’t going to be here today. It was just me and Sage. I got every burner of the six-burner stove lit and topped them with pots of hot water. I got the two ovens heating up as well, then I headed out into the café to shovel ash out of the Cozy Corner’s wood stove and get a crackling fire going. Next, I fired up the griddle-style grill and topped it with several pots of water.

  Even with all that work, the café hadn’t done a thing to warm up. I could still see the mist of my breath in front of my face.

  I heard a tap at the café’s locked front door and felt a sudden surge of hope and worry about the homeless peop
le that Zoey and I had met in the park near Mike’s house. Had they been outside all night? Suffering the cold and waiting for me to show up?

  I rushed to the front door, but the person standing on the other side was dressed from head to toe in thickly padded winter gear. He even had a ski mask over his mouth. His shoulders were broad and he was a head and a half taller than me.

  My hand went to the door’s lock, but my fingers didn’t turn the latch that would give him entrance. Was he here to kill me? Rob me? Was he here for an early breakfast?

  The man pulled the front of his ski mask down until it caught below his chin. “My name is Angus Wheeler,” he yelled through the door. “I do construction. Joel said you were needing a heater.” He shifted to the side and looked behind himself. I looked with him and saw a device that looked as though it belonged on a jet airplane as an engine.

  Joel.

  Him saying Joel’s name was like saying the magic words open sesame. I popped the lock and pushed open the door. Angus wheeled the white, wheel-mounted, cylindrical device in. It was at least four feet long.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Angus said.

  “Oh, no worries.” A total lie. There had been worries. “You know Joel?” I prompted him. I needed a bit more information before I could feel at ease in this situation.

  “Oh, yeah. We go way back. Played football together in high school. I do construction now, and we use these blowers to keep construction sites warm during cold weather. He said you were in need of one and asked if I could drop by a loaner.”

  I gasped my delight and surprise, which resulted in a billowing cloud of cold mist.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughed.

  He got the thing plugged into a wall socket near the entryway into the grill and kitchen. He then rolled it several feet away from the wall and pointed the business end of its cigar shape away from everything. He flipped a switch. There was the tiniest of whirring sounds, and then WOOSH! The jet engine came to life, spewing instant heat out its front.

  I moved to stand several feet in front of it, enjoying the push of warm air it blew toward me. But it was very loud.

  “This is amazing!” I yelled over the sound of the heater.

  “Give it fifteen or twenty minutes, and it will have this whole place heated up to a comfortable temperature,” he yelled back. He demonstrated a knob on its side that could be used to cycle the thing on and off with the help of a built-in thermostat.

  Angus left, and as the café heated up, I marveled at how Joel had yet again managed to take care of me. He was so low-key in his approach. He never made a fuss over what he did for me, and he never made helping me about creating a situation to garner congratulations for himself.

  That earlier image of me sitting on the Cozy Corner’s loveseat with one of my suitors was quickly coming into focus with Joel by my side.

  Leaving the heater to do its work, I headed back into the kitchen. I needed to get to cooking… something.

  I closed my eyes and imagined what would be a good breakfast on a cold winter’s morning. I frowned. My mind was a blank.

  I got out my phone and surfed Google for ideas. And then, I hit on a good one.

  “Biscuits and gravy!” I whispered. I felt like I’d found the holy grail. I did some Googling just to be sure. Yep, it was definitely known as a southern dish.

  I looked up some recipes. I had all of the ingredients, but I was completely unsure of my ability to pull it off.

  “Won’t know until I try,” I said to Sage. She was staying way clear of the loud blower set up in the body of the café. She peeked around the corner a couple of times at it only to sit back down, look at me and meow.

  “I know, sweetie. It is pretty intimidating.” But I could already feel a difference in the café’s warmth. I turned off the stove, ovens, and grill, then emptied the pots of water, dried them and put them away.

  Next I laid out all the ingredients to make homemade biscuits. Just like on all the cooking shows I’d taken to watching, I measured out all of my ingredients in advance and put each ingredient in its own little bowl. I even put Post-It notes on the bowls to label what they were.

  It took me far longer than I was sure it had taken anybody ever to make homemade biscuits. Pulling a tray out of the oven, I held my breath as I eyed the many golden mounds. Then, picking one up, I pulled at its top to split it in half. I breathed deep its steamy goodness, and my eyes rolled back in my head.

  I turned to Sage. “I did it! I really did it!” I took a bite. It was delicious! I slathered it with butter and took another bite. My hand slapped the countertop as I chewed. It was the only thing that I knew to do with the overwhelming pleasure of just how good that biscuit was.

  While the biscuits had been in the oven, I’d started on the gravy. I’d already thrown two batches out and was on my third batch, but I was feeling good about this one. I even had some bacon cooked up good and crispy.

  “Anybody here?” I heard a man’s voice call. Even over the noise of the loud, blowing heater, I recognized the voice as Brad’s.

  I rushed out into the café to find him kneeling next to the jet engine contraption. I leaned down next to him to turn its temperature dial down, and the loud, hard-blowing heater powered off.

  “Where’d you get this thing?”

  “Joel arranged it. A guy dropped it off this morning.”

  “Joel…” Brad said, but he didn’t say it in a nice way. He said it more in a Lex-Luthor-you-are-my-nemesis kind of way.

  “Hey,” I said and tapped Brad on the shoulder. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Biscuits and gravy.”

  “Really? No kidding me, now. You’re not teasing? Real biscuits and real gravy. Not that stuff out of a jar.” Brad stood up.

  “Real biscuits. Real sausage gravy. Everything from scratch. I’ve even got bacon made, and I can make some scrambled eggs, too.” It was my single best solo accomplishment.

  Brad was smiling from ear to ear, and he tucked his thumbs into his uniform’s belt. “Joel might’ve gotten you a snazzy heater, but I know who you like.”

  I laughed and slapped him on his arm with the back of my hand. “You sit. I’ll get a breakfast plate made up for you.”

  “I’ll get the coffee made while you do that.”

  I was sure that Brad sprinkled pixie dust in the coffee every time he made it. It always turned out better than mine.

  Between the two of us, we got him set up for a breakfast fit for a southern king. When I put the plate in front of him, he said, “No, no. Get you a plate and eat with me. I’ll wait.”

  I was surprised. I didn’t know quite what to do with myself. I’d made breakfast or lunch for Brad a few dozen times now. He was my most faithful early morning customer. He’d suffered through every concoction imaginable and had still come back the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

  Like lightning striking out of the blue, everything I’d thought I’d known changed. While it was true that Joel had quietly been there for me when I’d needed him, doing things to help my life go smoother, Brad had been walking the marathon. He’d been here every day that the café had been open. He’d eaten everything I put in front of him. He’d come back time and time again, and I knew that it wasn’t for the food. It was for me.

  That image of me sitting on the couch with Joel morphed. Instead of Joel, Brad was sitting right next to me. Settled in. Ready to stay a while.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, feeling slightly humbled and a little shy.

  I ran back into the kitchen and scrambled up a couple of eggs. Loading a plate with a few slices of bacon, then I pulled one of my beautiful biscuits apart before ladling creamy sausage gravy over it.

  As promised, Brad was waiting on me when I got back to him. He hadn’t eaten anything yet.

  Along with my plate of food, I’d brought back with me a small plate of extra biscuits and some strawberry jam I’d found in the walk-in cooler.

  Wa
lking around to the customer side of the grill’s counter, I sat down on the stool next to Brad’s. That’s when he slid a cup of coffee over to me.

  “Made you a cup,” he said.

  I looked at the coffee, then I looked at him. Without giving myself the chance to over think it, I leaned over and gave Brad a kiss on the cheek.

  Brad didn’t say anything. He just smiled down at his plate as he dug in. He groaned as soon as he took his first bite of biscuit. “Oh my God. Can you make this tomorrow? Can you make this every day—for the rest of your life?”

  I laughed. “I’m not sure about every day, but I can promise to make it at least once a week.”

  “I’ll be here!”

  Yes, he will, I thought as I watched him eat. He really will.

  Chapter 11

  Brad had long since gone, along with a few others who had dropped in for breakfast. Everybody raved over the biscuits and gravy, and I made a note in my little notebook to make it a signature dish for the café.

  Every time the café emptied out of all its customers, I cranked the heater up and let it blow hot air throughout the space. As soon as a customer walked in, I turned it off. Nobody complained.

  It was after ten by the time Zoey walked in. She was dressed in a thickly padded parka and fishnet stockings atop boots that looked as though they belonged on a construction site with Angus. Her thick black hair was in an extra messy half-updo—that is to say that the upper half was pulled into a messy bun near the nape of her neck and the rest was left to fly wild.

  I could take all of that in stride. It wasn’t that I’d seen her in that outfit before, but it was Zoey-esque, nonetheless. What I was surprised to see—and that I hadn’t seen before—was a pair of Jackie-O sunglasses that covered up most of Zoey’s face. They were the kind often worn by women trying to hide a black eye.

  Zoey stomped her way over to the grill’s counter, plopped down on top of one of the stools and slouched.