by Gayle Leeson
“He’d have gone along with Bo just because Bo was his older brother and wanted him to do it,” Ms. Carter continued. “I mean, what kind of man allows his brother to rob a bank by himself?”
She laughed, and I did too.
“After they’d got back to Winter Garden, though, Daddy’s conscience started to eat at him, and he wanted to give back the money. Bo told him no, they’d go to jail. To hear Daddy tell it, Daddy wanted to put the money in a sack and leave it by the bank’s front door.”
“Somebody else would’ve surely come along and got it if they’d done that,” I said.
“That’s exactly what Bo told him. Bo said he’d hide the money and that when things died down, they’d figure out how to get the money back to the bank. But Daddy figured Bo was lying, and he just left. He knew the bank would foreclose on the farm, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to start over somewhere new.”
“Well, I’m so glad nothing bad happened to him.”
“Me too, or else I wouldn’t be here.” She chuckled again. “We didn’t hear that story until all of us young ’uns were grown and had children of our own. My sister, Sadie, was incensed that Daddy had taken part in a bank robbery, but my brother, Phil, and I thought it was kinda neat. We never would’ve dreamed Daddy had an adventurous streak.”
“Did Sadie eventually forgive him?”
“Not until he was on his deathbed,” she said, an edge to her voice. “By the way, what ever happened to Bo?”
“He died in a tractor accident the year after he and his brother robbed the bank.”
“Huh. And Lou. Did you ever meet him?”
“No. I did know his daughter, though.”
“What was she like?” Ms. Carter asked.
I paused, trying to think of a nice way to describe Lou Lou.
Ms. Carter giggled. “That bad, huh?”
“A little bit. She was . . . a rough person to have to work for.”
“Which is why you bought the café?”
“That, and I wanted to either buy Lou Lou’s café or build my own,” I said. “Buying an existing café was easier in the long run.”
“I imagine it was.”
“I appreciate your talking with me. I was just so curious about what happened to Grady. The rumors were that he’d died. And when I did the search and found his obituary, I wondered if Walter was the Grady Holman.”
“Well, he sure was. Do you have any photos of the Winter Garden Holmans?” she asked. “And I’d love to meet some of my relatives if they’re amenable to it.”
“I’m sure I can round up some pictures from the newspaper office.”
“Thank you. I’d enjoy looking at them.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll see what I can dig up, and I’ll talk with Pete Holman—he’d be your great-nephew—and give him your number. And maybe once the café is renovated, I can come over and have coffee with you sometime. I’d like to look at your photos too.”
“I’m going to be in Mountain City late tomorrow afternoon. I know you’re in the middle of a big project, but you’ve got my curiosity up. Is there any way you could meet me for coffee there somewhere? Mountain City is about halfway for both of us, isn’t it?”
She was right about my stirring her curiosity. Surely, Roger could spare me—and Jackie—for a couple of hours. I told Ms. Carter yes, I’d love to meet.
As soon as I was finished talking with Anna Carter, I called Jackie.
“What’s up?”
“I’m calling to see if you’re up for a road trip tomorrow afternoon,” I said.
“Where are we going?”
“Mountain City.”
“What’s in Mountain City?”
“Grady Holman’s daughter.”
She was so quiet that for a second I thought we’d been disconnected. “Grady Holman’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Why would we want to go to Mountain City to see Grady Holman’s daughter?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” I explained about my search for Grady and then filled her in on my chat with his daughter Anna Holman Carter. “Who knows? Maybe whatever happened to Grady—or Walter, as he called himself after leaving Winter Garden—has some bearing on what happened to Lou Lou. What if getting to the bottom of the old mystery could help us solve the new one? So what do you say? Will you go with me?”
“I guess. I don’t know what good you think it’ll do, though. An eighty-year-old crime has nothing to do with Lou Lou’s death. Have you talked with your hunky deputy about this?”
“No, I haven’t mentioned it to him yet. I want to see if anything comes of it first. I figure it can’t do any harm to talk with this woman.”
She blew out a breath. “Okay. I’ll go.”
Chapter 18
George Lincoln came by the café on his way to work the next morning. I was making coffee and didn’t realize he was there until the café became dark, and I looked around to see where the sun had gone. It was being blocked by Mr. Lincoln standing in the doorway.
“May I help you with something this morning?” I asked.
“I was on my way to work and merely stopped by to see how the renovations are coming.” His upper lip curled as he looked around at the café. “You do realize this paint will have to go, don’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
He spread his hands as if he were dropping a basketball. “This color scheme doesn’t fit in with the historical society’s guidelines. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time and money on your yellow and blue paint. If you’ll come by the Chamber of Commerce, I’ll get you a list of acceptable colors.”
“But my entire color scheme has already been established! Everything we’ve ordered complements these colors!” It would cost so much time and money to completely repaint the café. Who did George Lincoln think he was coming in here telling me what colors were suitable for the historical society?
I heard Roger’s voice from behind George Lincoln. “Coming through with some flooring!”
Mr. Lincoln moved aside and allowed Roger to pass. I noticed a red SUV parked outside and realized it must be Mr. Lincoln’s vehicle.
Roger set the box he carried onto the floor. “Did I hear you say something about Amy’s color scheme not working?”
“Indeed you did. It won’t do at all.”
“Everyone is entitled to his opinion,” Roger said. “I think it’ll do nicely.”
“Not according to the historical society guidelines.” Mr. Lincoln raised his chin.
“And when was this café declared a historical site?” Roger asked.
“Well, it hasn’t been yet. But only because the meeting isn’t being held until next month. It’s only a matter of time.” Mr. Lincoln looked from Roger to me. “You could’ve saved yourself a great deal of trouble had you checked with me prior to choosing your colors. In fact, you could’ve saved yourself even more trouble had you sold this place to me as I asked you to.”
“I’m not selling the café, Mr. Lincoln,” I said.
“Suit yourself.” He looked around the café again. “Although if you change your mind, I might still consider taking the place off your hands.” He nodded to both Roger and me, and then he left.
I waited until he’d started the engine on his car before asking Roger if what Mr. Lincoln had said about the color scheme was true.
“I doubt it. But you might want to call Sarah and find out what Billy thinks about it.”
“I will. Thanks.” I put my hand on Roger’s arm because he was about to go back and get another box of flooring. “Wait. While it’s just the two of us, I wanted to talk with you for a second.”
He squinted at me.
“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” I said.
“I know what it is, and I don’t want to discuss it with you.”
I changed tactics. “Fine, then. I won’t tell you that Jackie and I are going to Mountain City after work today to meet with Grady Holman’s daughter.”
“What?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I found the woman yesterday when I was poking around on the Internet trying to find out what happened to Grady. Turns out, he died in 1984, but he left behind three children. One of them is Anna Holman Carter, and Jackie and I are meeting her for coffee.”
“Why?”
“Ms. Carter wants to look at photos of the Holmans she’s never seen. I’m going to the newspaper office at lunch to see what I can find.”
“Are you sure about this?” he asked. “What do you hope to gain from meeting this woman?”
“I’m hoping she can give me a little more insight into the Holmans, the bank robbery, and the money we found.” I huffed. “You sound like Jackie. And speaking of Jackie, how did your date go?”
“I knew that’s what you wanted to talk with me about.”
“Of course it is.” I grinned. “So?”
“So you were kidding about meeting this woman?”
“No,” I said. “We’re meeting her.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No . . . unless you’d like to go.”
“I’d like to work over this evening and get this as much of this floor done as possible,” he said. “But you know absolutely nothing about this woman.”
“I know that she’s, like, seventy years old. I think the meeting will be fine.”
“And the date was nice, but don’t you dare repeat that, Flowerpot,” he said over his shoulder as he strode outside to get another box.
Smiling, I went to the kitchen to check on the biscuits. They weren’t quite done, and it was too early to call Sarah. I fried some sausage.
As I was assembling the sausage biscuits, everyone else started coming in to work. Jackie wandered into the kitchen to see how I was doing.
“Need any help?” she asked.
“Nope, I’ve about got it.”
“Were you and Roger here alone this morning?”
“We usually are. I told him that you and I are going to meet Grady Holman’s daughter. Like you, he didn’t think that was such a swell idea. But I’m dropping by the newspaper office at lunchtime to see what old photos I can dig up to take to Ms. Carter.”
“That’s nice. What else did you guys talk about?”
“George Lincoln’s assertion that my color scheme will violate some sort of historical society code. Which reminds me, I need to call Sarah.” I handed her the tray of biscuits. “Would you mind taking these out to the workers?”
Jackie took the tray outside, and I called Sarah.
“Good morning. Hancock Law Offices. How may I help you?”
“Hi, Sarah.” I told her about George Lincoln’s visit to the café earlier this morning.
“I think that man is just trying another tactic to get you to sell him the café. Billy is walking in the door now. Let me put you on hold while I get his take on this situation.”
I listened to some instrumental pop music while waiting for Sarah to talk the matter over with Billy.
“Hey,” Sarah said when she came back on the line. “Billy says Lincoln is blowing smoke. The café hasn’t been deemed a historic site, and you can do anything you want with it. Even if the land is deemed a historic site, that has nothing to do with the café. You aren’t in a historic district. So you’re good. If Lincoln keeps hounding you, we’ll file a harassment suit.”
“Works for me. You know, I’m beginning to think George Lincoln might be as big a bully as Lou Lou was. It makes me wonder what else he might’ve done to get his hands on the café.” I blew out a breath. “Thanks for your help, Sarah.”
“Anytime. How are the renovations coming, besides the inappropriate color scheme, I mean?”
“Things are going great. I can hardly wait for you to see the place.”
“I’ll come by soon,” she said. “Got another call. See ya!”
I left the kitchen and joined everyone else in the dining room. They were either sitting on the floor or standing as they ate their biscuits and drank their coffee. I grabbed a cup of coffee and wandered over to Homer.
“I’m having my biscuit early today,” he said.
“Good for you. Change can be a positive thing. Who’s your hero today?”
“The great jazz saxophonist John Coltrane. He died young at only forty, you know. But he teaches us that men are here to grow into the best good that they can be,” he said. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”
“I think you’re doing a wonderful job, Homer.”
Roger gathered us around in a circle and gave us our assignments. The café crew was going to be helping him and one other man put down flooring here in the dining room.
“Johnny and I will help with the harder areas—corners and edges. The rest of it should be simple and straightforward. We’ll go over it with you a couple of times before we actually get started. Don’t hesitate to let us know if you have questions. Better to ask than for us to have to tear something out and redo it.”
The construction crew would be working on the patio.
I stood, dusted off my shorts, and slipped on my heavy canvas gloves.
* * *
Knowing I wouldn’t have time to make lunch for the workers, given my planned trip to the newspaper office, I called the pizza parlor and had them deliver pizza and breadsticks for lunch. It was a good thing I did. We weren’t even halfway finished with the floor by then. The work was harder than it had looked.
I grabbed a breadstick and a bottle of water before heading out to search through the Winter Garden News archives.
Ms. Peggy looked up from her perusal of a crossword puzzle when I walked through the door. “Back to run another ad?”
“No, actually I’m here to see if the newspaper would have any old photographs of the Holmans.”
She frowned. “Why in the world would you want those? Honey, let the past be. That café is your place now.”
I smiled. “I know. But Grady Holman’s daughter wants to see some of her Winter Garden relatives.”
“Grady Holman’s daughter!” Ms. Peggy brought her palm up to rest just below her throat. “I didn’t know Grady had any children!”
“He had three—two daughters and a son . . . after he moved to North Carolina.”
“Land’s sakes! Grady didn’t die way back in the thirties, then?”
“He didn’t die until 1984.”
“Well, I’ll be,” she mused. “I always thought Bo killed Grady. I’d have gone to my grave thinking it if you hadn’t just told me different.”
I quickly explained about doing an online search and finding Grady’s obituary as Walter Holman and then locating Anna Carter from that.
Ms. Peggy took a business card out of her desk drawer. “Ask Ms. Carter to call me. I want to do a story on Grady and let people know what became of him.”
“I’ll tell her.” I took the card and slipped it into my purse. “About those photos?”
“Your best bet would be to do a search for the grand opening of Lou’s Joint. Also look for Lou Lou’s engagement and marriage announcement.”
“Lou Lou was married?” I asked.
“Well, sure she was. You know good and well that Pete’s her son.”
“I know. But since everybody in the family is named Holman, I assumed that Lou Lou had . . . you know . . . given birth out of wedlock.”
“Nope. She was married to Sherman Harding,” she said. “They didn’t stay married long, though. And when they got divorced, Lou Lou took back her maiden name and gave the baby her name too, since she was no longer a Harding when Pete was born.”
I went into the archive room and sat down at the computer. Ms. Peggy was right.
There were photographs from the grand opening and ribbon-cutting ceremony of Lou’s Joint. Lou Lou had looked a lot like her father. There was an older man standing next to Lou. The caption indicated it was Bo Holman, Lou’s father. He had bushy white hair and the appearance of a mountain man, but he didn’t strike me as a bank robber. I supposed looks could be deceiving.
Bo’s obituary was in the Winter Garden News, of course, but there wasn’t a photograph to accompany it.
The Holman–Harding engagement was announced. I pulled up that article and saw a photo of a younger, thinner, smiling—that was the strangest part, since the woman seldom smiled—Lou Lou and a man who didn’t look half bad. In fact, there was something about him that seemed familiar. The pair actually made a handsome couple.
I looked at the wedding announcement. Lou Lou, again smiling, was in a tea-length white gown with a hat and gloves. Sherman Harding stood beside her in a black suit. They were looking at each other rather than at the photographer. I wondered what could’ve possibly gone so wrong between them that Lou Lou would even strip their son of Sherman’s last name. And Pete had obviously not grown up with Sherman Harding being a part of his life . . . at least, as far as I knew.
I retrieved the photos I’d printed and went back out to the front office.
“Ms. Peggy, what happened between Lou Lou and Sherman Harding? They seemed so happy in their engagement and wedding photos.”
She smiled. “Everybody looks happy in their engagement and wedding photos, don’t you reckon?”
“Yeah, I guess they do.”
“It’s too bad they can’t stay that way. With Lou Lou and Sherman, rumor had it that he never stopped loving his first girlfriend, Becky. Sherman had taken up with Lou Lou while he and Becky were broken up. Becky even left here for a while and went to stay with some relatives up north somewhere.”
“And let me guess,” I said. “Becky came back, and she and Sherman rekindled those old feelings?”
“She came back with a son. He was born just a few months before Pete was.”
“Dang. Sherman must’ve been a fast worker.”
“I reckon Becky’s parents thought people would think the boy was adopted or something if she went away for a few months, but everybody knew. Everybody always knows,” she said. “But, anyhow, that was the end of his romance with Lou Lou. When he saw his first love with his firstborn child, he left Lou Lou for Becky.” She nodded toward the papers in my hand. “Did you get everything you need?”
