The American Café

by Sara Sue Hoklotubbe

  Sadie looked around and noticed both Red and Rosalee staring at them. “Come on. There's a place we can talk upstairs, above the kitchen.”

  Tom followed Sadie through the kitchen and climbed the short flight of stairs to a small spare room. She turned and faced him. “Okay, this should be private enough for you. What is it?”

  “Sadie, I just heard what happened to you. Tim Walker filled me in on everything. It all kind of freaks me out. I think I'm going to ask for some extra security.”

  “Okay, but what's so private about all that?”

  “I've just spent a couple of hours looking at the reports that you printed out for me. Do you remember those amounts you circled?”

  Sadie nodded.

  “It looks like Polly was making bogus deposits into a dormant account and then making an internal transfer to yet another account, of a dead woman, where the money was then being withdrawn in cash.”

  “How'd she do that without a supervisor override?” Sadie asked. “She didn't appear to be that smart to me.”

  “I gave her my supervisor number to run a transaction one time. She wasn't supposed to use it again without my permission.” Tom shuffled his feet and looked at the floor. “I'm screwed.”

  Sadie shifted her weight off of her sore knee. “I'm sorry Tom, but I'm still angry at you for leaving me to deal with that ditsy woman. What she did at your branch is your problem, not mine. And for what it's worth, I don't care. Is that clear enough? I need to get back to work.” Sadie started walking toward the door.

  “You'll care when I tell you the name of the dead woman.”

  Sadie stopped and looked at Tom. “Goldie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Pearl?”

  “Nope.”

  “Like I said, I don't care.”

  “George Stump's mother.”

  Sadie froze, the wheels in her head began to fly. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Who's been making the cash withdrawals?”

  “I'm not sure, but based on the cozy relationship between Polly and Stump…” Tom stopped for a moment and then continued. “I haven't even called anybody at the home office yet. I was so freaked out, I just left and came here to talk to you.”

  “Tom, who is running the branch?”

  “Oh, that's all under control. They sent two women down from Sycamore Springs to fill in until I hire someone. I just told them I had to run an errand. This is really going to look bad on my record.”

  Sadie found a dusty chair and sat down.

  “This could cost me my job—” Tom stopped in midsentence. “You're not even listening to me, are you?”

  “Tom, why don't you have any video cameras set up in this branch? I thought after all the robberies that took place last year, the main office made them mandatory.”

  “We're working on it. Evidently the wiring in that old building is a nightmare. We've got someone scheduled to work on it in a few days. They put one in the ATM last week before I left.”

  “The ATM?” she asked. “Does it run all the time?”

  “It's supposed to.”

  “Where's the tape? I didn't see a monitor anywhere when I was in your office.”

  “It's locked up in my credenza. On the bottom shelf. You have to practically stand on your head to get to it. They're supposed to install the monitor when they finish putting the cameras inside. Why? You won't be able to tell anything from that as far as Polly is concerned.”

  Sadie stood. “Because if we're lucky and the camera angle is wide enough, we just might be able to see who left the bank after they shoved me into the vault.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “And if I'm right,” she paused and then continued, “he might even be wearing a uniform.”

  Tom's mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “It all makes sense now, Tom. Our infamous Deputy Dawg was afraid I was getting too close to uncovering his and Polly's shenanigans.” She started toward the door. “And I'll bet you a ten-dollar bill, she'll cop to it all.”

  “Polly? Why?”

  “What's that old saying? Something about a woman scorned…”

  Rosalee watched as Sadie and Tom emerged from the kitchen.

  “I'll be back shortly, Rosalee,” said Sadie. “Can you handle everything while I'm gone?”

  “Sure.” Rosalee said, as the two hurried out the door.

  This was the first time in her life Rosalee actually felt like someone trusted her, and the new responsibility felt good. She noticed Red was almost through eating and got up to refresh his coffee.

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin and allowed Rosalee to pick up his plate. She filled his coffee cup about half full before he held up his hand signaling her to stop. She replaced the coffeepot and began to talk to him.

  “Why do people call you Red?”

  Red studied her face. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I was wondering if it was short for redskin.”

  Red chuckled. “No. My name is not short for redskin.”

  “I heard Sadie talking about it. She says redskin is a bad word…for mascots, I mean.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Not really.”

  “Do you want to know?”

  Rosalee propped her elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her hand. “Yeah, I would.”

  Red rubbed his chin. “I'll give you an abbreviated version. Okay?”

  Rosalee nodded. “Okay.”

  “When the white man came to America, they wanted to own all of our land. The best way to do that was to kill off all of the Indians. So bounty hunters would kill as many Indians as they could, then cut off the Indians' scalps for proof of how many kills they should get paid for. They called those bloody scalps “redskins.” So you can see where it's not very palatable to Indian people to be referred to as redskins.”

  Rosalee's eyes widened. “Oh, wow. I didn't know that.”

  “Most people don't. They think they are honoring us by using that term for their mascots.”

  Rosalee chewed on her fingernail as she contemplated Red's story.

  “In the end,” Red added, “the joke is on them, not us.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because we can laugh at them in their ignorance. We know that two hundred years ago, they thought they could kill us all off, but it's the twenty-first century and we're still here.”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.

  Red looked at her for a moment before answering. “Why do you ask?”

  “I found out not long ago that I was adopted. I grew up with two adoptive siblings, but now I'm wondering if I have any real brothers or sisters.”

  “Hmmm.” Red slurped coffee.

  “So, do you?” she insisted. “Have any brothers or sisters?”

  “One brother. He's dead.”

  “Oh.” Rosalee backed away. “I'm sorry.”

  “It's okay. It was a long time ago.”

  Rosalee stepped forward and began again. “Have you lived around here for very long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Do you know John Mobley?”

  “Yes.”

  Rosalee leaned closer and whispered. “I think Pearl Mobley was my mother.”

  Red searched Rosalee's face. “Oh, yeah?”

  “I read an article about a rape that took place in Liberty in 1966, behind this very restaurant. Pearl told Sadie someone had their way with her. And the article said someone identified the victim as Pearl Mobley.”

  “I see.”

  “And if you do the math, calculate forward nine months, you land right next to my date of birth.”

  Red smiled. “You've got quite an imagination, don't you?”

  “It's all possible, isn't it?”

  “You may have been conceived in Liberty, but I doubt it was behind this café.” Red finished his coffee, placed the cup on the saucer, and pushed them both toward Rosalee. “However, if Pearl Mobley did turn out to be yo
ur mother, then I guess you would have a brother and his name would be John Mobley.”

  “That's what I'm afraid of, and I don't know how to go about finding out for sure.”

  “It should be relatively easy in this day and time.”

  Rosalee's eyes twinkled. “How?”

  “Run a blood test. That should tell you if you two are related.”

  “Oh, I thought about that, but that would take money and then I'd have to convince John Mobley to give me a blood sample and, well, he's just plain scary.”

  “Hmmm.” Red pursed his lips and nodded. “How about a DNA sample? Wouldn't that be easier?”

  “That's sounds more expensive than a blood test.”

  “I tell you what. I have a friend who works in a forensic lab in Oklahoma City. I'll make arrangements for him to run the DNA test if you can get me something to test.”

  “Oh, wow, such as?”

  “Hair, saliva, skin, blood, urine—”

  “Yuck.” Rosalee scrunched her face.

  The front door opened and Rosalee looked up. Three customers entered the café and took one of the booths near the front door.

  “Okay, I'll work on it.” She grabbed his dirty cup and saucer and hurried back to work.

  Red laughed silently, so hard his shoulders shook.

  Sadie waited in front of Tom's desk and tried to look uninterested while Tom, on hands and knees, retrieved the tape from the video recorder hidden in the bowels of his credenza. He placed the tape on his desk and inserted a new one into the machine, brushing off the knees of his pants as he stood. Sadie wanted to grab it but refrained.

  “Are you going to label it?” she asked.

  “Hold on.” Tom pulled a label out of his top desk drawer, checked his calendar, and carefully recorded the beginning and ending dates on it. Then he looked at Sadie with a blank face. “Now what?”

  Sadie lowered her voice and directed her speech toward Tom, so neither of the other employees would hear what she said. “Well, my guess would be if you don't have a monitor, we take it somewhere so we can see who is on it.”

  “I shouldn't leave again until after we close.”

  “Then give it to me.”

  Tom looked at Sadie. “I can't do that. What if something happens to it. I'm already in hot water as it is.”

  Sadie chose one of Tom's chairs and sat poised as if she were discussing business. “Please don't flake out on me, Tom. If you don't trust me, why did you come and tell me all of this?”

  “I didn't think about the tape. It's bank property.”

  “Would you turn it over to a police officer?”

  “Sadie, we don't even know what's on this tape yet.”

  “Okay, just chill out.” Sadie pulled out her cell phone, retrieved Charlie McCord's number, selected it and pressed the send button. He answered on the second ring. Sadie quickly retreated out the front door and down the sidewalk in an effort to keep her conversation private.

  “Charlie, I need your help. When is Lance coming back to Liberty?”

  “As a matter of fact, I'm delivering him home to Tahlequah as we speak.”

  “You're kidding. I didn't think he was going to be released until tomorrow.”

  “That was the plan until our friend Lance turned out to be an unsavory and uncooperative patient. He made the head nurse mad, and before she got glad again he checked himself out.” Charlie chuckled. “Don't worry, he'll be all right. But it's going to be a few days before he's up and running at full speed. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “No, not right now. Can you stop by Liberty on your way to Tahlequah? I'm at the bank, and I think I may know who attacked me. The only problem is if there is any proof, it is on a videotape from the ATM. But the manager is reluctant to give it to me. He might give it to you or Lance.”

  “I thought all you bankers were buddies.”

  “Don't call me a banker. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “Okay, no problem. We should be in your area in less than an hour.”

  “Something else, Charlie. It might be a good idea if George Stump doesn't know about this for right now. I think he may be helping Polly embezzle money.”

  “We'll meet you there and see what we can do.”

  Sadie hung up, returned to Tom's desk, and almost panicked. Both Tom and the videotape had disappeared. She rounded his desk, pulled out the top drawer, and found the tape. When Tom returned, she planted herself in his chair, unwilling to let the tape out of her sight again. Forty minutes later Charlie McCord and Lance Smith walked in.

  When Sadie saw Lance and his bandaged shoulder, her heart jumped. She wanted to run to him, make sure he was all right, and ask him if he remembered seeing her at the hospital. But she could never do that.

  “Lance.” She stood but remained by her chair. “How are you? Are you still in a lot of pain?”

  “Nah, I'm okay.”

  “And you don't think it's a little soon to be running around with this guy?” She looked at Charlie and winked.

  Lance smiled. “You'd think I'd learn my lesson about hanging out with him, wouldn't you?”

  Tom Duncan cleared his throat and Sadie immediately started making introductions. It took Charlie less than five minutes, with Lance looking on, to convince Tom it was in the bank's best interest to give the videotape to him and Lance. Otherwise, Charlie promised, they would simply wait for the county sheriff to deliver a search warrant, which he was sure would create an undesirable scene for the bank, not to mention the chance they would be taking that someone might tip off the chief of police that Tom had caught on to his money making scheme. Tom agreed.

  Charlie signed a receipt for the tape, then he and Lance took it and left.

  29

  The next morning, Tom Duncan stormed into the café just as Sadie emerged from the kitchen. “I need to talk to you again,” he blurted.

  “Can it wait, Tom? Rosalee doesn't work on Tuesday mornings, and I'm kind of busy.” She picked up the coffeepot and refilled coffee cups up and down the counter. Virgil Wilson and his son, Junior, held their cups in midair as she poured. One of the other sawmill workers jumped up to make another pot for her.

  Tom stood for a moment and then sat on the last empty stool at the end of the counter. “Okay, I'll wait.”

  Sadie automatically filled a glass with water and slid it in front of him. “Want something to eat or drink?”

  He took a sip of water. “Thanks to you my office is going to be crawling with auditors tomorrow.”

  “That's not my fault.”

  “Was you-know-who on the you-know-what?” he asked hoping to disguise the content of his question to anyone listening.

  “I don't know.” Sadie turned away to take a customer's money, then returned to clear dishes from a nearby table.

  Tom swiveled on his seat as she walked past him carrying dishes toward the kitchen. “What do you mean you don't know? Didn't you see it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not? What happened?”

  Two plates appeared in the pass-through window. Sadie stacked them on her left hand and wrist like a pro, picked up the coffeepot, and delivered all of it to a man and woman seated in the corner booth, then returned the coffeepot to its burner behind the counter.

  “They took it with them, Tom,” she said. “I didn't get to see it. It's in their hands now. They'll take care of it, I promise.”

  “You know the auditors are going to ask for it.”

  “So?”

  “I shouldn't have let you take it.” Distress crept into Tom's voice.

  “I didn't take it. Just tell them what happened, Tom. You didn't do anything wrong by giving it to the police.”

  Tom looked around quickly when she mentioned the police.

  “Tom, try to think logically,” she said. “If the home office is sending auditors, who do you think contacted them? It wasn't me.”

  Tom gulped down the rest of his water. “If I get fired, it's going to be your fa
ult.”

  Sadie shook her head as Tom stomped out the front door.

  It was the first time in a long while that Rosalee didn't want to go to her AA meeting. But then she thought about her dead friend, Logan, how he had helped her turn her life around, and about the promise she'd made to him to stay sober. She had made that same commitment to Sadie when she took the job at the café. With those reminders echoing in her head, she took a deep breath and turned her Jeep south toward Tahlequah. Her stomach growled and she wished she had taken time for breakfast. But her reluctance to see her mother had overridden her hunger pangs. Maybe she would stop and get something on the way.

  Labor Day had come and gone, and the early autumn days were beginning to shorten. The road between Liberty and Tahlequah crawled with active wildlife enjoying the cool mornings. A herd of deer stood motionless near the road until her vehicle got close, then they darted in all directions. She shrieked and hit the brakes. White tails and hooves bounced over a nearby fence and disappeared into a line of trees.

  She let out a long breath and resumed her normal speed, wondering if she would run into John Mobley at the meeting. What would she say to him? The idea of securing a DNA or blood sample from him seemed less feasible now that they were about to come face-to-face. It was at times like this she questioned her obsession to find out the truth about her past. What if she uncovered something she didn't really want to know? In the larger scope of things, she thought, maybe the identity of her birth mother wasn't that important.

  When she parked in front of the church where the AA group met, she noticed John Mobley's motorcycle. A small towel lay on the ground next to the back wheel with an assortment of nuts, bolts, and other small parts placed on it in an orderly fashion. John appeared, dropped to the ground, and began to crank on the wheel with a funny-shaped tool.

  Rosalee's mind and spirit moved toward the door, but her disobliging feet walked toward the bike. Fright seeped into her veins, but she spoke anyway. “Do you need some help?”

  John's head popped up, but his grease-covered fingers continued to work. “Know anything about motorcycles?” His pronunciation of “cycles” sounded like he had taken the word “nickels” and replaced the n with an s.

  “No, not really. But I can give you a ride somewhere if you need it.”