by Jessica Beck
“I’ll admit it. She throws me a little off,” Moose said. “Did you find out anything from her?”
“Apparently Howard Lance left a will, but there was no money to cover his bequests. You’re not going to believe who his main two beneficiaries were.”
“Unless it’s our two waitress friends, I give up,” Moose said.
“I guessed that, too, but you’re right,” I said, a little miffed that my grandfather had come to the same conclusion that I had.
“Where to now, Victoria?” my grandfather asked.
“We have a few options,” I said after a moment’s thought. “We can try to corner Cynthia or Bob again, or we can keep looking for Hank and Margie. Those are the only suspects we have left, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I say we go to Cynthia’s,” Moose said. “She sounded kind of jumpy this morning from what you told me about her telephone call.”
“That sounds good to me. I wouldn’t know where to even start looking for Hank and Margie, anyway. I just can’t see them together, can you?”
“Love doesn’t always make sense to anyone who’s in it,” Moose said, “but it’s never something you can afford to just ignore.”
“Who knew my grandfather could be such a romantic?” I asked as we headed back to Jasper Fork.
“You could have always just asked my wife,” Moose said with a smile. “If anyone knows me, it’s your grandmother.”
“How do you do it after all these years?” I asked.
“I’ve got a suspicion you know. I’ve watched you and Greg. You two are going to stick for life, just like Martha and I have.”
“How about my mom and dad?” I asked.
“They’ve got it, too. I haven’t entirely approved of everything your father has done on this earth, but marrying your mother was the smartest thing he ever managed. We may not have fame or fortune, but our family knows how to find love, and when it comes down to it, what is there that could be more valuable?”
I shook my head as I smiled. “They don’t call you The Charming Moose for nothing, do they?”
“Actually, that’s what the diner is called,” he said with the hint of a smile.
“Do you mean the one that’s named after you?” I asked him.
“Purely coincidence,” he said, and then couldn’t hold his laughter in any longer.
When we got to the salon, the shades were still pulled and it was dark inside. I was afraid that we had another runner when I remembered what day it was. “She’s not here.”
“I can see that for myself,” Moose said.
“No, I mean ever. This is her afternoon off, and she takes it every week. We could always go by her house to see if she’s there.”
“No, doing that will just spook her,” Moose said. “We’ve already questioned her here. If we go by her place, she’s going to have a heart attack.”
“Then let’s try Bob,” I suggested.
“I’m game,” Moose said, and drove there quickly. At least they were open for business.
Bob looked up from his desk as we walked into his office. He’d been doodling on his calendar, drawing birds of all things. Was he that bored, or was something on his mind? “Has that old death-trap of yours finally given up the ghost?” he asked my grandfather.
“Don’t count on it. She’s as strong as the day is long,” Moose said proudly.
“One of these days you’re going to need me,” Bob answered with a grin.
“But not today,” Moose shot back quickly. “I’m sorry I missed you at the restaurant this morning.”
He glanced straight at me. “Victoria, I didn’t realize that my visit had been all that significant enough to tell your grandfather about,” he said good-naturedly.
“What can I say? It was a slow news morning.”
“It must have been. Don’t read anything into it, though. I thought a big breakfast might be good for a change of pace, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. This diet has me paranoid about every single bite I put into my mouth.” He paused for a moment, but before Moose or I could ask him anything else about the murder, Nancy Barton came storming into his office. “The smell is getting worse.”
I glanced at her, at Moose, and then sniffed the air.
She caught me doing it. “Not in here, Victoria, in my car.” Nancy turned back to Bob and said, “You told me that you fixed it.”
“Nancy, I’ll be happy to have one of the guys look at it for you again.”
“No,” she said firmly. “You are coming with me, and I mean right now.” She glanced at us and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but my sister and I are driving to Atlanta this evening, and I can’t abide that noxious odor.”
“Sorry,” Bob said as he got up from his desk, “but duty calls.”
Before either one of us could say another word, Bob and Nancy were gone.
“We’re not having much luck today, are we?” I asked my grandfather.
“Not one single bit,” he said.
“What’s left?” I asked.
“There’s nothing we can do but go back to the diner.”
I agreed, but not grudgingly at all. It was where I belonged, not out chasing down leads that never paid off. I still wanted to find the murderer who had crept into our diner and struck, but there was no use beating our heads against the wall until something else turned up. If and when it did, I’d be happy to drop everything and start hunting for clues again, but in the meantime, I was going to get back to work.
“What are you still doing here?” I asked Ellen as Moose and I walked into the diner. “You should have been home an hour and a half ago.”
“Your grandmother had an errand to run, and I promised Greg that I’d hang around,” she said, though I knew that she was already late meeting her kids.
“What about the guys?”
“I had Myra Greene get them from the bus stop. She loves them almost as much as I do, and they never get tired of going over to her place, especially since she makes them Snickerdoodle cookies.”
“Well, I really appreciate it, but you can take off now.”
“Thanks,” she said as she grabbed her coat and took off.
“You’re back,” Greg said with a smile when I walked into the kitchen to place an order. Jenny would be there soon and I could take over the register alone, but for now, I was working the floor and the front.
He hugged me, but then quickly let go.
“Why so brief?” I asked, but Greg was already headed out into the dining room, the meat cleaver he’d been holding still grasped firmly in his hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked a young man in jeans and a worn old T-shirt as he was hurriedly heading for the exit.
“I’m finished,” the guy said.
“I hope you enjoyed it, but you still need to pay for your meal.”
“I gave my money to the other lady,” he said, casting his glance downward.
Greg approached him, holding the cleaver out from his body, as though it were a pistol in a holster that he was preparing to draw.
“There’s a simple way to prove that. If your ticket is on the pin, I’ll buy your next meal here on the house, whatever you want.”
“And if it’s not?” the kid asked warily.
“Then I’ll collect in whatever way that I can.”
I expected him to take his chances and run, but instead, the kid broke down. “Mister, I’d pay if I could, but I’m flat broke. I’m sorry. I don’t want to steal, but I don’t have much choice.”
“What’s your name?” my husband asked him.
“Mike,” he admitted.
“Let me ask you something, Mike. Are you physically able to work?” Greg asked, his voice still calm.
“Yes, sir,” the young man reluctantly. “But nobody will give me a chance.”
“Follow me,” Greg said.
Mike hesitated, but then he did as my husband ordered. Greg came back out a few minutes later.
“What happ
ened?”
“I put him to work moving those crates in back that have been bugging me for weeks. I was determined to do it myself tonight after work, but why not let Mike do it and give him a chance to pay for his meal?”
“What’s to keep him from just running away?” I asked. “That back alley isn’t exactly locked up.”
“Well, young Michael and I had a little talk, and I believe that he’ll do as he promised.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I asked.
“Then we’ll never be bothered with him again. It’s as elegant a solution as I could ask for.”
“You’re a good man, Greg,” I said as I kissed my husband’s cheek.
“Don’t forget, I know what it’s like to be hungry,” he said, and then turned back to his grill. My husband had lived with his mother after her divorce from his father, and there had been times she and Greg had gone without food, or even a roof over their heads. It was something that stayed with Greg every day, and he was eternally grateful for every meal, every shower, and every night he slept in a nice, soft bed.
It was nearing the end of the day with no more excitement of any kind when I asked Greg, “Have you checked up on Mike yet?”
“No, I told him to come back in when he was finished,” Greg told me.
“Well, he’s running out of time,” I said as I glanced at the clock. “We’re shutting the place down in twelve minutes.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll deal with it then,” he said.
Four minutes to closing, Mike came back in, dirty and tired, but smiling. “I got them all moved,” he told Greg. “Come out and see for yourself.”
“Good man,” Greg told him. “I trust you,” my husband added as he handed him a large brown paper bag. “There’s a meatloaf sandwich in there, some chips, and a drink.”
“I can’t take it,” Mike said reluctantly. “You were right. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. If I can’t pay for it, I don’t want it.”
Greg nodded. “Moving those crates paid for two meals, and a cash bonus to boot,” he said as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “Nicely done.”
“Do you need anything done around here tomorrow?” he asked Greg.
“No, not at the diner, but go see this man,” he said as he handed the young man a piece of paper. “He might be able to help you out. He’s a good man, Mike. You can trust him.”
“Thanks,” he said, and then quickly left the restaurant.
“Did you give him Father Randy’s number?” I asked.
Greg nodded. “I called him earlier, and he’s got room tonight at the shelter.”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious if Mike did the job the way you wanted him to?”
“We’ll see soon enough,” Greg said as he started cleaning up the back.
“You don’t want to know if he failed you, do you?” I asked.
My husband didn’t answer, and I found myself hoping that this wayward young man had held up his end of the deal. Greg believed in people, and always expected the best of them. Usually they tried to live up to his expectations, but sometimes they let him down, taking advantage of his good nature, and killing a bit of his spirit along the way.
I held my breath as we shut off the lights and closed the diner. As we walked out through the back door, I could see that the pallets had been moved perfectly in the glow of the light we had back there.
I half expected Greg to say something about it, but he just smiled a little and nodded with pleasure.
If Mike ever came back to the diner again, the next meal was going to be on me.
I figured my husband’s smile had been worth that, and a whole lot more.
Chapter 15
In my dream, a telephone was ringing, and without giving it another thought, I picked it up and said, “Hello.”
“Victoria, you need to come to the diner right now,” the man said in a commanding voice on the other end of the line, and I knew that it wasn’t a dream after all. I didn’t recognize whoever was talking, but then again, in my defense, I wasn’t used to getting calls at three in the morning.
“Who is this?” I asked as I rubbed my eyes with my free hand.
“I knew I should have called Moose first,” he said, and at that moment I realized that it was Sheriff Croft.
“That’s fine. I’m here. I’m awake,” I said as I sat up. Greg, being the bear that he was, hadn’t even stirred when my phone had rung. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“You could say that. Somebody just tried to burn the diner down tonight.”
I beat Moose to the diner by four minutes, even though he was still in his pajamas, while I’d taken the time to throw on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. Sheriff Croft had already briefed the two of us, so Greg met my grandfather at his truck before the man could start yelling at everyone in sight. “Take it easy, Moose. The fire’s out. Somebody threw a lit skull through the front window and tried to set the place on fire.”
“A skull? You’re kidding me. Was it real?”
“No, of course not. It was just a replica. This one was made of resin. It’s some kind of Halloween decoration, from the look of it.”
“Then what started the fire?” Moose asked as he headed for the front of the diner. We all had no choice but to follow him.
The sheriff stepped in and blocked him. “It looks as though they coated the thing in lighter fluid before they threw it through the window. Nothing inside got scorched all that much. My guess is that it was pretty much out by the time it went through the window.”
Moose walked around the sheriff and checked out the glass. After that, he walked in through the front door as though nothing had happened. The sheriff had told me that he’d gotten a few pictures before I got there, bagged the skull in an evidence bag, and then he’d encouraged me to clean the mess up.
I knew that Moose would want to see it for himself, though, so I hadn’t touched a thing.
“Somebody better clean that up,” he said after he surveyed the mild amount of damage.
Greg stepped past me. “I’m on it.”
“Who would do something like this?” I asked.
“Most likely it’s just a prank, but they went a little too far this time,” the sheriff said. “Halloween is just around the corner, and if this is any indication, I’m going to be busy putting out fires all over town.” He must have realized how that sounded, given what had just happened at the diner. “Not real fires, I mean.” As an afterthought, Sheriff Croft added, “At least I hope not.”
“You don’t think this was deliberate, do you?” Moose asked.
“Well, I doubt it was an accident,” the sheriff said.
“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” I said. “I think someone is trying to scare us off of our investigation.”
“How do you see it that way?” the sheriff asked. “Is there anything, and I mean anything, that would lead you to believe that’s true?”
“Are you telling me that a flaming skull thrown through our front window isn’t enough for you?” I asked him.
“Where’s the note, Victoria, the threatening message that ties in with anyone involved in the case? If you want my opinion, this is most likely just a random act of vandalism.”
“Hang on,” Moose said. “Victoria’s got a point. You don’t see something like this every day of the week.”
“No, but it’s not very specific if it really is a warning, is it? How are you supposed to know who it is exactly you’re supposed to be leaving alone?”
“What if it’s meant for our entire investigation?” I asked.
“No offense, but I think you’re both flattering yourselves. What we have here is most likely some angry teenager who’s got a grudge against you. Have you run across anybody like that lately?”
Greg spoke up for the first time. “Mike didn’t do this.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked him.
Moose demanded, “Who’s t
his Mike character, and why would he want to firebomb our diner?”
I brought them all up to date, but I ended with, “He and Greg worked things out. There’s no way that young man would do this.”
“Maybe he was just playing you, or he could have had second thoughts about the worthiness of the punishment you gave him.”
“I didn’t punish him,” Greg said firmly, “I tried to give him a job so he could feel good about something in his life for once.”
The sheriff shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t appreciate the life lesson. Did you happen to get this kid’s last name?”
“I don’t have a clue what it is,” Greg said.
While that was true, I had a good idea where the young man was spending the night, but if Greg didn’t want to volunteer the information, I wasn’t about to do it, either. Besides, I agreed with my husband. There was no way, unless the young man was schizophrenic, that he could ever do something like this.
“How about you?” the sheriff asked me.
“I didn’t catch his last name, either,” I admitted.
“Okay. Still, just to be on the safe side, I’d keep an eye out for him if I were you.”
Moose asked, “Do you think whoever did this might actually come back here again tonight?”
“It’s highly doubtful,” the sheriff said. “Just be on your guard.” He looked at the broken window, and then asked, “Do you have any plywood or anything you could cover this with until you can get the glass replaced?”
“We’ve still got some plywood in the backroom when Hurricane Hugo came through here,” Greg said. “I’ll go grab a sheet.”
“I’ll help,” Moose said.
After they disappeared into the backroom, I asked the sheriff, “Do you honestly believe that this was just random?”
“More than likely,” he said. “But who have you pushed around lately about Howard Lance’s murder, whether you’ve cleared them of the crime in your mind or not?”
“Sheriff, you know our list as well as we do. There’s Bob Chastain, Cynthia Wilson, the two waitresses from Laurel Landing, Hank and Margie, and Francie Humphries.”
