The Calamity Café

by Gayle Leeson

  “Did you ever find anything?”

  “Poison ivy a time or two. Like as not, every cent of that money—if there ever was any—went for liquor or was gambled away two weeks after they got it.”

  I bobbed my head in a way that couldn’t actually be called a nod. I didn’t want to be mistaken for being in agreement with Pete when I knew full well that the money was in evidence at the Winter Garden Police Department.

  “So what kind of tall tales did your grandpa tell you?” Pete asked.

  “He mostly told us about working in the coal mines. And, with every story he told, I became more convinced that I never wanted to work in a dark, scary mine.”

  “I heard that.”

  Roger and his crew pulled into the parking lot.

  “There’s the boss,” I told Pete. “Time to get to work.”

  “Thanks again for letting me look at the place. It’s nice. Momma would be proud.”

  I knew that was a lie he could’ve kept from telling, but it was nice of him to say so all the same. “Thanks, Pete. Stop by anytime.”

  * * *

  I brought out the warm doughnuts and hot coffee, and they were enjoyed by all. Homer still liked his ten-o’clock sausage biscuit, but he wouldn’t turn down a warm doughnut at six thirty.

  Homer’s, Jackie’s, and my job today was to tear out the old floor. We had heavy gloves and chisels.

  “Who’s your hero, Homer?” I asked.

  “James Arthur Baldwin. Have you heard of him?”

  “He wrote essays, right?”

  “Novels too. And poems . . . plays.”

  “Sounds like an accomplished guy,” said Jackie.

  “Indeed he was.”

  “Pete stopped by today,” I said. “He told me he was glad Chris Anne didn’t let him throw out all of Lou Lou’s things from the office.”

  “Yeah, I guess he was when he had time to stop and consider it,” she said.

  “Any word yet on who killed Ms. Holman?” Homer asked.

  “Not yet.” I pushed my chisel under a particularly well-glued stretch of linoleum. “I wish they’d find whoever did it, though. I’d love to know what the crime scene technician found.”

  “Let’s think about who Lou Lou’s enemies were,” Jackie said.

  “Mr. Baldwin said that people who treat others as less than human must not be surprised when the bread they’ve cast upon the waters comes floating back to them poisoned,” said Homer.

  “That guy had a good point.” Jackie stopped in midscrape. “Lou Lou alienated almost everyone who’d ever met her.”

  “Even Pete said this morning that his mother could be ornery sometimes,” I said. “But he said he knew she always had his best interests at heart.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that,” said Jackie. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she thought she was doing the right thing for him, but she was actually smothering him.” I frowned. “Is that the right word?”

  “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘overbearing,’” said Jackie. “But ‘smothering’ fits too. All the psychology and parenting articles warn that being too controlling really screws up your kids.”

  I dropped my chisel. “You’ve been reading parenting articles?”

  She put the chisel back into my hand. “No. I mean, I thumbed through some when I was still in school and babysitting to pick up some extra money. And I did take a psychology course at the community college when I was taking secretarial classes.”

  I remembered that now. Jackie had dropped out of college after one of her mother’s visits to Winter Garden. It was the first time Renee had been back since she’d left Jackie with Aunt Bess, and Jackie had been devastated when her mom had left again.

  “It shouldn’t take a trained therapist to see that Pete’s relationship with his mother was messed up,” said Homer. “The man’s forty and seemed to be afraid to tell his mother he had a serious girlfriend.”

  “No words of wisdom from Mr. Baldwin?” I asked.

  “Only this—and I’m paraphrasing, of course. People pay for what they do and for what they’ve allowed themselves to become, and they pay for it by the lives they lead.”

  “Oh man, you’re right. I never stopped to consider it, but Lou Lou must’ve been miserable,” I said. “Maybe that’s why she treated us all so badly.”

  Jackie stabbed her chisel into the linoleum with a vengeance. “I refuse to make excuses for that woman. She was wicked. I only went to the funeral because I felt sorry for Pete. After all, wasn’t it ultimately her choice to be miserable?”

  “Jackie, that’s an awful thing to say!”

  “I understand exactly what you mean, Jackie,” said Homer. “Despite Ms. Holman’s hardships, it was she who chose to wallow in self-loathing or self-pity or whatever other destructive emotions she was filled with rather than rising above them and making a better life for herself and her child.”

  Jackie smiled. “Homer, you are one deep dude.”

  “Thank you. I have my mom to thank for that . . . and my heroes.” He smiled and went back to tearing up the floor.

  “You grew up around here, right, Homer?” I asked.

  “Nearby.”

  “Did you ever hear any stories about the Holmans? Aunt Bess told me that it was rumored that Lou Lou’s grandfather and uncle robbed a bank in North Carolina once. Have you heard that story before?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Must’ve been before my time. The only stories I ever heard about the Holmans was that Lou—the original owner of this café—was a very hard man. He was said to have been rough on his wife and daughter. I always heard that he doted on his grandson, though. It seemed he’d wanted a boy when Lou Lou was born.”

  “So Lou Lou has no siblings,” Jackie said.

  “No.” He looked at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock.”

  I gratefully put down my chisel. “Let me get that sausage biscuit for you.”

  It did strike me odd, though, that Aunt Bess had believed Lou Holman to be such a peach of a guy when Homer had heard the exact opposite.

  * * *

  I didn’t get a minute alone with Jackie until she and I were in the kitchen making sandwiches for everyone’s lunch.

  Speaking in hushed tones, I asked, “So?”

  “So what?” She opened a loaf of bread and made a row of slices across the countertop.

  I rolled my eyes. “How was your date with Roger?”

  Jackie lowered her voice too. “I don’t know that I’d classify it as a date. I mean, it was dinner with Roger. We’ve had dinner lots of times.”

  “Not by yourselves. Come on. His telling you about . . . the thing we found . . . was just an excuse for the two of you to go out.”

  She tried to hide her smile. “Okay, okay. It was . . . nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “It was Roger.” She huffed. “We’ve known each other practically all our lives.”

  “But not like this. Not as dates. You’ve known each other as friends.”

  “I’d like to think we’re still friends.” She put mayo on half the slices she’d laid out and mustard on the other half.

  “Jackie!” I wailed.

  “Shhh!” She smiled. “It was nice. Maybe a little better than nice.”

  I squealed. “I knew it! You guys have liked each other for so long.”

  “Keep your cool. He might’ve had a lousy time.”

  “I’ll do some recon later,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’ll know we’ve been talking about him . . . about our date,” she said.

  “As you pointed out, he’s known us most of our lives. He already knows we’ve been talking about him and your date. He also knows I’m goin
g to ask him about your date and that I’m then going to report back to you.”

  “Fair enough. But you know Roger well enough to know that he’ll say it’s none of your business.”

  I raised an index finger. “Unless he wants me to tell you something in particular.”

  She shook her head and took some turkey out of the refrigerator. “Do you think everybody’s good with turkey?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll make several turkey-and-cheese sandwiches and some peanut butter–and-jelly sandwiches too. That should cover everyone.”

  “So . . . what do you think he’ll say?”

  I made my own row of bread slices and got out the peanut butter. “Only one way to find out.” My best guess was that Roger was dying to know what Jackie was saying about last night and that he’d seek me out after lunch. “Did you kiss good night?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” I spread peanut butter on the slice of bread nearest me.

  “Fine. He kissed me once . . . when he dropped me off at home.”

  “And?” I looked up in time to see Jackie blush and drop her head.

  “Tell me about your date with the deputy.”

  “What date?” I asked.

  “The one where he came to your house to tell you all the important stuff about the thing that happened forever ago that couldn’t wait until the next day.”

  “It was interesting . . . and it was important.” I tried to concentrate hard on spreading my peanut butter to perfection. “I think it was great of Ryan to come to my house during his off-duty time to fill me in on what may be a . . . another . . . clue . . . or something in Lou Lou’s case.”

  “Ah. Does Ryan think the box in the wall is a clue?”

  “It certainly could be.” I moved on to the next slice without looking up from my work.

  “Sure. Because anything that happened—what—seventy-five . . . eighty . . . years ago would naturally have some bearing on a murder that took place just over a week ago.” She snorted. “That kind, thoughtful deputy . . . rushing over on his own time to make sure you were safe from the centenarian bandit killer!”

  “Will you just hush and make your turkey sandwiches? We have hungry people to feed.”

  Chapter 16

  After lunch, I went to take a look at the side porch to see how much progress had been made. I truly wasn’t going to talk with Roger about his date. I knew he was busy and that I’d have plenty of time to speak with him after work.

  “Amy . . . good . . . glad you’re here,” said Roger as I stepped around the side of the café. He pointed. “We need to turn that window into a door. The original door that opened into the office will be fine for staff taking dishes out or bringing them back inside, but you don’t want your patrons having to use the same door.”

  “You’re right. I hadn’t considered that, but no, we don’t want customers coming through the back, where we’re working.”

  “I want to get that door cut out today. The flooring should be here later this afternoon, but we can’t start putting it down until the door is finished.”

  “What about the painting we’ve already done?”

  “It won’t be a problem,” said Roger. “If we mar anything, we’ll touch it back up. But the molding around the door should hide where the window has been enlarged.”

  “Okay. So what do you need me to do?”

  “Get out of here.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He grinned. “You and the café staff should take the rest of the day off. I talked with Aaron about it over lunch, since he’s been really interested in construction, and he’d like to stay.”

  I huffed. “Roger! I knew Aaron was interested in construction, but he’s the best busboy and dishwasher we have!”

  “He’s really getting the hang of construction, and he’s enjoying it. Would you prefer he stay a busboy forever?”

  “No.” I felt a stab of guilt for my poutiness. “Of course, I want Aaron to do whatever will make him happy. I’ll talk with him.”

  “He’s a good kid and a fast learner. I think he could do well in construction.”

  “I know, but I thought you didn’t have an opening.”

  “I didn’t, but I believe one of my guys will be leaving in late summer or early fall. That gives me time to get Aaron well trained.”

  “Then I guess I’m looking for a new busboy.”

  “I’m pretty sure you are, but talk with him first and make sure that’s what he wants.”

  “I will.” I turned to go back around the building to the café and saw Stan Wheeler pulling into the parking lot. “Wonder what he wants.”

  Roger stepped up next to me. “I don’t know. Wait and we’ll see.”

  Stan got out of his car and walked toward Roger and me. “Hey, folks, how’re y’all doing?”

  “Good, thanks,” I said. “How are you, Stan?”

  “To be honest, I’m as broke as a convict. I was wondering if Roger here could use an extra man.”

  “I don’t know,” Roger said. “Do you have any construction experience?”

  “I do.”

  “Were you only wanting to work today? Or do you want to make it a regular thing?” asked Roger.

  “Well, I’m mainly interested in helping with the café,” Stan said. “Maybe we could see how it goes.”

  “All right. I could use some extra help for the next day or two.” Roger nodded toward a tall, heavyset man holding a clipboard. “Go talk with Johnny and see where he’d like you to work today.”

  After Stan headed in Johnny’s direction, Roger muttered to me under his breath, “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck.” Given Roger’s warning about Stan, I had to wonder why he’d agree to take him on, even if it was only for a day or two. Could it be a case of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? I left to find Aaron.

  Aaron was in the café tearing up a section of flooring with Homer.

  “I have good news,” I said. “Roger wants us to clear out of here to let his guys turn a window into a door. So we can relax for the rest of the afternoon.”

  A little cheer went up.

  “But,” I continued, “I’m going to pay y’all for a full day. You guys have been working so hard, and I truly appreciate you.”

  “We’re almost finished with what we’re doing,” Homer said. “Do you think Roger would mind if we clear this section here before we go?”

  “Probably not. Aaron, could I talk with you for a second?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He was only a couple of years younger than me, but sometimes Aaron made me feel like I was ancient.

  We walked over to the counter, and I handed him a bottle of water. He thanked me but looked at me expectantly rather than opening the bottle.

  “Roger said he’d told you about converting the window to a door and that you’d like to stay and work with his crew this afternoon.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. That might be handy to know sometime . . . like if I buy a house and want to do my own renovations or something.”

  “True. Roger says you’re a fast learner, and he’s impressed with the work you’ve been doing.”

  He opened the bottle then and took a drink. “Thanks.”

  “What I’m asking is if you’d prefer to go to work with Roger.”

  His eyes widened. “You mean it? You wouldn’t be mad?”

  “Of course not. I’d miss you. You’re our best busboy, but you need to follow your heart and do what you enjoy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” I said with a smile. “I would like to ask you something while I’m thinking of it, though. Were you working that Monday afternoon? You know, the Monday?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did a
nyone come in acting angry toward Lou Lou or anything?”

  “No. Pete almost always worked the afternoon shift, and Monday was no exception. If anybody would’ve been mad, they’d have been mad at Pete . . . right?”

  “Good point. Did anyone come in acting like they had a beef with Pete?”

  “Nah, Pete didn’t make people mad. He just went along with whatever they said. It was his momma who ticked everybody off.”

  “That’s true.” I patted his shoulder. “Thanks again for all your hard work.”

  “The only person who came in who was disagreeable at all was that Mr. Lincoln from the Chamber of Commerce. He wanted to buy the Joint, but Pete told him his momma had already given him her answer.” He looked toward the door. “Is it all right if I go ahead and tell Roger I’d like to work with him?”

  “Sure.” I had a couple of errands to run. I supposed I needed to add a stop at the Winter Garden News to the list.

  * * *

  The first errand on my agenda was to go to the print shop and order business cards and menus. Now that we had the colors for the café, I could take the swatches to the printer to get an exact match . . . or, at least, fairly close.

  I thought this would be a simple, quick trip. I was wrong. Once I’d explained to the printer what I wanted, she got out books to show me examples of business cards and menus. I looked through pages and pages of samples until I found the styles that I felt best exemplified Down South Café.

  My choices made, I was ready to leave. And then the printer asked about letterhead and checks and envelopes—with windows for paychecks and without windows for correspondence. I told her I’d think about those and talk with her again when I returned to pick up the business cards and menus.

  I had to take care of my budget. I knew it would be easy to spend a small fortune on things that would be nice to have but that I didn’t necessarily need. A paycheck written on a plain check and put into a regular envelope would spend just as well as one written on a fancy check and put into a window envelope with a preprinted return address.