I escorted the man onto a wood-slatted bench on the sidewalk. He blinked, clearly shell-shocked.
“Are you OK? Do you have pain anywhere? I can call 911!” My aunt probably had insurance, but I doubted it covered her reckless niece careening into innocent pedestrians. I’d have to pay for his hospital bills out of pocket. The trouble was, there was nothing in my pockets.
“I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Just a little shocked. You barely hit me.”
I had been driving at a crawl, glaring like a weirdo at the café. “You fell over.”
“I’m fine, lady,” he said.
“Look, let me make it up to you somehow,” I said, while cars honked their horns behind the Beetle. “I can get you something to eat or drink. My name’s Sunny, by the way.”
“Tom. Tom Miller.” We shook hands. “I wanted to get a milkshake at that café.” He nodded to the Sunny Side Up. “But it’s closed.”
“Yeah, there was, uh, an incident. But we’ll open again soon.”
“We?” Tom asked, squinting up at me. “You work at the café? I haven’t seen you there before.”
“Oh yeah, I’m new. I’m Rita’s niece,” I said, trying to be proud about that rather than shameful. “Look, let me get you a milkshake from the stand over there. Or a soda. Something sweet for the shock.”
“You’d better move your car first. People are getting frustrated.”
I did, pulling into a free parking spot along the boardwalk before hurrying over to a stall and buying a Coke from a grumpy man in a sweat-stained tank top. I returned to Tom and handed over the can.
“Thanks,” he said, and popped the tab. “Ah, that’s better. Nice and sweet. So, you were saying about Rita?”
“Yeah. I’m her niece. I’m working at the café until she gets back from her cruise.”
“A cruise, eh? Lucky. I wish I could afford to take one of those. Anyway, thanks for this. You really don’t have to worry about me,” Tom said, with a wan smile. “I’m clumsy on my clear-headed days. I wasn’t looking where I was going when I crossed the street.”
He was so kind that it made me feel even more guilty. I opened my mouth to thank him and insist that I would have to compensate him when a cry rang out from across the street.
7
The shout had come from a hunched over woman in a flower-speckled sundress. She stood in the doorway of the building next to the café. The board above the door read: Parfait Animal Shelter in bold letters that had faded under the constant barrage of sunlight.
She waved at me. Or at Tom. I wasn’t sure which.
“Who’s that?” I asked. “Do you know her?”
Tom sighed. “Everyone knows her,” he said. “That’s Mildred. Owns the shelter. Always looking for a handout. Look, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the Coke, and I believe it’s my duty to tell you to watch where you’re going in the future. I’ll do the same.” He rose and strode off down the boardwalk—no hobble in sight, which made me feel a little better.
That had been a lucky escape. If I’d been driving faster… heavens, I needed to pay more attention.
Another call came from the woman in front of the animal shelter, and I decided the time was ripe for introducing myself. The shelter was right next door to the café, and I’d been meaning to say hello to the neighboring businesspeople yesterday. Obviously, more pressing matters had intervened.
I went over, checking both ways before I crossed the street.
“Hello there,” Mildred said, in a raspy voice. She patted her limp gray curls. “You must be Sunny.”
“I am,” I said, and put out a hand.
She waved it away and offered me a hug instead. She smelled faintly of old books and dog feed, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant scent. “Rita has told me so much about you, dear,” she said. “You must come in. Please.” She beckoned for me to follow her into the shelter. “I’m Mildred, by the way,” she said. “Mildred Shaw. One of your auntie’s best friends.”
“It’s lovely to meet you.”
The reception area in the animal shelter was themed in pale pinks and white, the floor tiles cracked here and there, the paint dull and having seen better days. Several of the chairs near the reception desk looked chewed on, which I guessed made sense.
Mildred shuffled over to a worn looking coffee pot behind the desk. “Can I interest you in a refreshment?”
“Sure,” I said, not wanting to be rude. “That would be great.”
Mildred set about making the coffee, humming under her breath as she worked. “It’s nice to have a new face in town. Don’t get me wrong, I love the old ones, but it’s so refreshing when someone comes to visit.”
I wandered around the reception area and peeked down the long hall that led to where the animals were kept. The place was quiet. “It’s nice to be here.”
“That’s good. I know Parfait isn’t a hot and happening place for young people, but it’s cozy. And that counts for something, you know?”
“Cozy enough that someone died in the café,” I murmured, before I could stop myself.
Mildred nearly dropped a mug. “Oh dear, you mustn’t speak like that. It’s just terrible what happened to poor Trisha and to the café, but you must try to look on the bright side of things. There’s that new detective in town. He’s from the Miami Dade county. If anyone can solve this case, it’s him.”
I nodded noncommittally.
“He has to, doesn’t he?” Mildred continued, getting down a cookie jar from a cupboard behind the desk. She came over with it and opened the lid, offering me one.
“Thank you,” I said, and extracted a chocolate chip cookie that looked about as old as I was. I took a bite regardless, and it puffed to dust between my teeth.
“You’re welcome, dear. I hardly get visitors.”
“Why do you say Detective Garcia has to solve the case?” My curiosity was piqued, now that I wasn’t overwhelmed by what had happened. My aunt and I had stayed in many a night watching cold case crime shows when I was a teen. We’d tried solving the mysteries before the end of the show and had gotten pretty good at it.
“Why, because the Sunny Side Up simply has to stay open for the good of the town,” Mildred replied, shutting the cookie jar without taking a cookie for herself. She peered up at me with deep, brown eyes, enhanced by her thick glasses. “It’s like the heartbeat of Parfait, and if it closes… I’m afraid that what little business I get will disappear.”
I cleared my throat, trying to free it of chocolate chip cookie dust. “What do you mean?”
“This is a non-profit shelter, dear. I rely on the generosity of others to keep the doors open and the animals fed, and your aunt, she’s such a dear, has been wonderful about helping drive interest with fundraising events. I don’t know what I’ll do if the café closes down.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, my stomach twisting. Once again, it felt like this was my fault. If only I’d never made those eggs. But no, if I hadn’t, someone else might’ve and the same would’ve happened. Then again, who was to say it was the eggs that had killed Trisha? “Is there any way I can help?”
“Oh no, no. Nothing you can do, dear.” She reached up and patted my cheek before shuffling off to fill the coffee mugs. “I hoped that my nephew could take over from me soon, but at this rate, I might not stay open another week.”
“Because the café is closed? I’m sure the police will permit us to open again soon,” I said, hoping to offer some hope, however slight.
“It’s not just that,” Mildred said. “I’ve had some other issues lately. Money missing from the bank account. It’s… don’t worry about it, dear. It’s none of your business, and it’s not your problem. You focus on enjoying a good time in Parfait.”
But I couldn’t shake the weight that had settled on my shoulders. It was more than my aunt relying on the Sunny Side Up Café staying open. There was a whole financial ecosystem that revolved around the business. There was Mildred next door, and then Nick th
e chef and his wife, and the servers who worked in the café too. What would happen if they lost their jobs? I didn’t want to envision it.
“—dear?”
“Sorry?”
“Would you like cream in your coffee, dear?” Mildred held up a jug that she’d brought out of the fridge.
“Just black for me, thank you,” I said, and finished the grave dust cookie, my mind whirring away, and my nerves returning in force.
8
Later that evening…
I’d spent the rest of the afternoon considering my navel, feeling guilty, and dusting Aunt Rita’s house so I would at least have something to do. I was ashamed to admit, even to myself, that a portion of my day had been taken up by spying on my neighbors behind the net curtains in the kitchen and the attached living room.
People-watching was my vice and always had been, and it helped me feel in control of the situation. Like if I knew where everyone was, no one could sneak up on me—not murderers or Russians. Not that there were Russians after me or anything.
I finished toweling off my hair in the guest bedroom of the cottage, gave myself a weary look, then headed into the kitchen in search of dinner. I’d have to cook for myself, which was about as appealing as a thrombosis, but what could I do?
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” I muttered, and opened the cupboard. I fished out a box of macaroni and considered it. It was better than nothing, and I had to woman up and learn how to cook already. I wanted to squash any part of me that connected to my ex-husband and that silly, fake luxury life we’d been living.
That included learning to fend for myself in the kitchen, rather than relying on other people to do things for me.
A grating meow came from under the kitchen table, and I hopped on the spot, dropping the box of pasta.
I bent and peered at Bodger.
He was black as ink, lending stark contrast to his evil yellow-eyed gaze.
“Hello,” I said, cautiously.
He flicked his tail at me.
“Would you like some food?”
His second meow was a clear demand. “Feed me or I will punish you.”
“All right,” I said. “Just a second.” I found the cat food, brought it out and opened a tin. “You know, you’re spoiled. My friends back home had a cat, and they didn’t feed it copious amounts of wet food from noon til’ night.”
Silence. I feared for my life.
“I take it back,” I said, as I spooned the food into the bowl. “Just don’t claw my eyes out, all right?”
No return meow, but when I sneaked a glance in Bodger’s direction, he was still there, quiet and watching. It was a vast improvement on the hissing and leaping. Had he finally started trusting me?
The thought had barely formed when Bodger let out a threatening yowl and dove out from under the table, clawing and batting me away from his bowl.
“Eek!” I abandoned the empty tin in the sink and ran for the safety of the living room. Was it utterly ludicrous that I’d been chased out of the kitchen by a cat, and would now have to wait however long it took him to eat his meal before I could make my dinner? Yes.
Was I going back in there regardless? No.
My road to independence would come in baby steps. Cooking first, cat taming later.
A knock rat-tatted at the front door, and I wound past my aunt’s comfy sofa and armchairs and into the short hallway at the front of the cottage. “Who’s there?” I called.
“It’s Didi!” The cry came back. “From the café?”
Oh right, the server who loved K-Pop. She’d been super friendly on a day when everything had gone wrong.
I unlocked the front door. “Hi,” I said, smiling. “How are you?”
“I’m great!” Didi invited herself in and pranced past me. She stopped after a few steps, looking around the front hall, one eye narrowed. “Where’s the cat?”
“Bodger? He’s eating. Don’t tell me he growls at you too?”
“See this scar?” she gestured to a mark on her knee, below the hem of her black skirt. “First time we met. That cat was summoned from down under. And I’m not talking about Australia.”
“Yeah, he’s not the most welcoming cat, is he?”
“No.” Didi twirled a strand of pink-streaked hair around her finger, then examined it. “I don’t mean to harsh your vibe or whatever, but I figured you’d need some company. What with you being new in town and all. Do you want to go out for dinner?”
I hesitated.
Hadn’t I just decided I’d grow up and learn to cook? Then again, going out would be a pleasant distraction from worrying about the café and Trisha’s murder. And if it got me further away from Bodger’s evil kitty stares, all the better.
“Sure,” I said. “That sounds great. Thanks for asking.”
I’d expected Didi to take me to some hip place where people her age hung out. Possibly a bar that played K-Pop or trance music, but it appeared places like that were in short supply in Parfait. Thank goodness. I wasn’t a square, but I wasn’t ready for a millennial awakening on my second day in town, right after witnessing a murder.
Instead, we took a leisurely stroll from my aunt’s cottage down to the boardwalk along the beach, and found a table at the Hungry Alligator, a surf and turf restaurant with an amazing view of the ocean.
“This is gorgeous,” I said, interlacing my hands and looking out over the waves. We were on the balcony, and the sun had just reached the horizon, casting an orange hue over the distant water.
“Isn’t it? This is my favorite place to come when I get a little lonely,” Didi said. “It always makes me feel at home. Welcome.”
“Don’t you feel welcome in Parfait?”
Didi shrugged. “It’s a small town, and most of the girls my age are at college or have boyfriends. Or they don’t listen to K-Pop and think I’m a weirdo.”
“Ah,” I said. “Well, who cares what most people think?”
“That’s what I always say.” Didi beamed and plucked at her t-shirt, which bore an image of one of her favorite bands. Or, wait, weren’t they called groups? They didn’t have instruments, right?
A server appeared and stopped me from over analyzing pop culture. I ordered a seafood platter for one—I was starved and it was on special—and Did got herself a burger and fries.
We sipped sodas and chatted idly about life in Parfait.
“It’s a tourist town,” Didi said, “so during the summer months, things get a little crazy. I remember last year, Rita was run off her feet by the new people stopping by the café. Not that she was complaining because it was extra work. Rita loves work. But you know that.”
My aunt was a hard-working eccentric. A rarity. Speaking about her brought a pang of nostalgia and sadness—I missed her already. I’d been looking forward to spending time with her.
“Did you speak to her about Trisha?” Didi lowered her voice as she broached the hot topic.
“I did,” I replied. “She told me she trusts me to handle it.”
“Sheesh. Well, if she trusts you, then I do too. Rita is a great judge of character.”
I wanted that to be a compliment, but I didn’t trust myself to do my aunt’s café justice.
“I can’t believe that happened on your first day. There are so many rumors. A lot of people are saying she choked, others are saying she was poisoned,” Didi whispered.
I shuddered. “The only way she could’ve been poisoned was by our food, so I refuse to think it was that. Even I can’t mess up eggs that bad, right?”
“Right.” Didi laughed, lifting her hand in front of her mouth and bowing her head to hide her smile. “Oh wow, speak of the devil.”
“Who?”
“That’s Trisha’s assistant, Bebe,” my new friend said, nodding toward the doors that led onto the balcony overlooking the ocean.
A young Latina woman with caramel-brown hair, wearing a tight black dress had arrived. She was alone, but I recognized her from the other day. She�
�d been a part of Trisha’s entourage at the café.
Bebe had her smartphone out and swept her green-eyed gaze over the mostly full tables on the balcony, then walked over to one where a solitary figure sat.
I frowned. “Hey, wait a minute,” I whispered. “That’s Tom.”
“Oh right,” Didi said. “Tom Miller, the food critic.”
“He’s a food critic?”
“Yeah, he has a column in the Parfait Platter—it’s the local newspaper. He’s really nice. I don’t think I’ve ever read an overcritical review of the local restaurants.”
“I wonder why he’s having dinner with Bebe,” I said. “It doesn’t look like a friendly conversation, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. But I went to school with Bebe and she’s, uh, she was popular. So she wasn’t that nice to me, and I don’t think she’s that nice to other people in general. I haven’t spoken to her in ages, though, so maybe I’m wrong and she’s changed.” Didi’s frown was doubtful.
Our food arrived, and I lost myself in the flavors of crispy fried clams, mussels in a garlic butter sauce, grilled fish on the bone, delicious French fries, and calamari with fresh lemon squeezed over it and a side of tartar sauce. It was difficult to worry about anything with this much delicious food to eat.
So, I wasn’t the greatest cook. I was an appreciator of the finer cuisines. My gaze wandered over to Bebe and Tom’s table. They sat in stiff silence, Tom eating his meal, and Bebe ignoring a plate of fries.
What was going on with them?
None of your business, Sunny. It’s not your problem to solve.
9
“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked, as Didi and I strolled down the sidewalk after our meal. The sun had set long ago, and we were full to the brim after having a slice of chocolate cake each after dinner. I should’ve been rolling down the road rather than walking.
Murder Over Easy (A Sunny Side Up Cozy Mystery Book 1) Page 4
