Patriot's Passing: Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries, Book 1

by Summer Prescott

  “Look, I just got here and found out that my cook had been beaten to a pulp by these two local yahoos, and…”

  “Who did it?” he interrupted, eyes narrowed.

  “The Willis brothers. Anyhow, I was hoping that you might be able to stay here while I go get José a shirt and guard the door so that they can’t come back and get him again, because they took my keys, and I…”

  “Oh, I’ll do you one better than that,” he growled, gunning his engine to life. He tore out of the parking lot like his hair was on fire, leaving Rossalyn standing open-mouthed, staring after him.

  Letting out a sigh that blew her hair from her eyes, she put her pepper spray back in her purse, got in the car, and headed for home.

  ***

  Rossalyn unlocked the front door to the café, shirt for José in hand, with more than a little trepidation. Once inside, the first thing she saw when she looked down was José’s missing key ring. Her stomach churned as she turned over the potential implications of that in her mind. Had the Willis brothers come in while she was gone? Had they taken José? Was he still here in the café, unable to move or speak? All was quiet, and she stared down at the keys knowing that she should go to the office, where she’d last seen the battered cook, but staying rooted to the spot. A loud clanging made her jump, and she ran to the kitchen, toward the source of the sound, digging into her purse on the way. A shirtless and bandaged José was busy setting up the pans and utensils that he’d need for the day’s dishes.

  “I got all cleaned up and took off the bloody shirt so they I could get started,” he explained immediately, seeing his boss’s startled look.

  “How did you get your keys back?” she asked, sagging against the door frame with relief.

  “I didn’t. I heard someone unlock the front door, and I didn’t know if it was you, so I hid in the kitchen. Then I heard the keys fall on the floor and whoever it was just left, and they slammed the door behind them so it locked again. I didn’t come out for a while, because I wanted to make sure that they left, but when I looked out there, I saw the keys lying on the floor,” José explained, gratefully pulling on the superhero tee shirt that she tossed to him.

  “That’s strange… why would they take your keys and then bring them back again?”

  José shrugged. “I can’t figure out how they think.”

  “Well, I’m just glad that you’re okay,” Rossalyn took a breath. “Think you’re going to be able to hang in there today, or do you need to go home?”

  “Oh please, if I go home because of a black eye, my sisters will call me a sissy,” he joked, wincing when he smiled.

  Rossie grinned and shook her head. “We can’t have that. But promise you’ll tell me when you need a break, or if you aren’t feeling well,” she demanded.

  “Sí,” he nodded, heading back to the kitchen.

  ***

  Sheriff Buckley Willis hitched up his pants and swung the door of Hawg Heaven open like he owned the place.

  “You and me need to have a little chat,” he demanded of Rossalyn, cutting to the front of a line of four people waiting to pay for their food.

  “I’m kind of in the middle of something here, so it’ll have to wait,” she snapped, not even bothering to appear polite. “Who’s next?” she smiled, looking past the sheriff, who stood blocking the cash register.

  A construction worker who was on his lunch hour reached around the sheriff to hand her his bill and some cash, telling her to keep the change. The woman behind him was trying to wrangle a toddler while freeing her credit card from her purse, and she too reached around the sheriff when he didn’t respond to her somewhat loud, “Excuse me.”

  “You’re holding up the line, Sheriff,” Rossie glared at him. “And if you think that being rude is going to make me talk to you any faster, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “I could take you in, you know,” he leaned forward, palms on the counter, as Rossalyn handed the young mother her card, a receipt, and a pen.

  Not making any effort to refrain from rolling her eyes, she gave him a look. “For what, failing to snap to attention when you entered?”

  “No, for conspiring to commit assault,” he smirked, not budging an inch when the toddler behind him let out a piercing wail as his mother handed her signed receipt back to Rossalyn.

  “Are you serious? You think I did that to José?” she was incredulous, and motioned for the next customer to hand her his bill, which he did, along with a twenty.

  She made change and handed it back, thankful that the last person was about to be taken care of, but feeling stressed that there were plates in the window that needed to be served.

  “I don’t give a flying fig what happened to that dirty beaner that you got workin’ back there,” the sheriff sneered.

  Rossalyn’s stomach clenched at the obvious and vile disrespect to José, and she felt her cheeks redden in anger, but before she could respond, he continued.

  “But young lady, let me tell you something… when you sic your dogs on my family members, you and me are gonna have a problem, you got that?” Willis leaned close enough for her to smell the stale coffee on his breath.

  The elderly man standing with his wife behind the sheriff cleared his throat and raised his bill in the air to get Rossalyn’s attention. Once again, she reached around Buckley Willis to grab it, thankful that they’d provided exact change. She smiled and waved to thank them, and they tottered toward the exit.

  “No, I’m afraid I don’t ‘got that,’” she replied, turning her full attention and wrath upon the pot-bellied officer in front of her. “I don’t even have a dog, and I sure as heck haven’t been in town long enough to know who your family is, so you can take your false accusations and shove them where the sun don’t shine, Sheriff,” she raised an eyebrow and turned away to go deliver the few dishes that José hadn’t run out to the customers yet.

  Sheriff Willis reclined against the counter by the cash register, watching until she was done.

  “You need to leave,” she dismissed him on her way to the kitchen.

  “You know, things can get pretty rough around here for folks who don’t play by the rules,” he drawled, taking a toothpick from the holder and putting it in the corner of his mouth.

  “Is that a threat, Sheriff?” she challenged, hands on hips.

  “Just an observation,” he shrugged.

  “I’m sure you know just where you can put your observations,” Rossalyn glared at him until he finally chuckled and stood up straight.

  “Think you’re pretty tough, huh? We’ll see about that,” Willis said cryptically, heading for the door.

  Rossalyn was fuming when he left, and a handsome man at the end of the counter, who looked to be a few years younger than she, caught her eye, motioning for her to come over.

  “Hey, I’m from Roscoe, the next town over. My name’s Morgan Tyler, and I work for the Roscoe/Chatsworth PD.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler, I’m Rossalyn Channing,” she took the card that he offered and gave him a smile in return.

  “Just Morgan. I’ve never been a formal kinda guy,” he smiled. “I just wanted to let you know that if you have a run-in with that hayseed and you need some help, you can call us anytime. We’ve got someone manning the desk twenty-four hours a day, and I know dealing with Willis isn’t exactly a picnic.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Rossie sighed, shaking her head. “He’s supposed to be investigating a murder that happened right over by the highway,” she said in a low voice, not wanting to alarm any of the guests. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “We’re providing support for it, but County seems to enjoy keeping us in the dark, so no, I don’t really know much about it.”

  “I have a teenage son who walks to school every day. I just hate the thought of a murderer walking around out there,” she whispered, leaning in a bit.

  “Could have been someone just passing through,” Morgan tried to reassure her. “Or, often ti
mes, the victim knows their killer. It could have been a relative of the deceased. Random killings are pretty rare, so you probably have nothing at all to worry about.”

  “Probably is a scary word,” Rossalyn commented wryly.

  Morgan nodded. “Yes, it is. The first three days are crucial to the investigation. It’s only been one day, I’m sure something will turn up soon.”

  “I hope so.”

  The “Order Up” bell dinged, and José placed three heaping platters of food in the window.

  “That’s my cue,” Rossie smiled, tucking Morgan’s card into the pocket of her jeans. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he nodded, raising his glass of sweet tea.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  * * *

  “Honey, I’m just worried about you,” Margo fretted on the phone. “I mean, there was a murder in your backyard.”

  “It wasn’t exactly my backyard, Mom. It was by the highway, and just happened to be behind the café,” Rossalyn sighed, knowing that her mother meant well. She was hanging on to her own courage by a thread, and didn’t want to be reminded that danger might very well be lurking just outside her door.

  “I know, but…” her mother continued.

  “So, I thought we’d come to your house for Thanksgiving if that’s okay,” Rossalyn changed the subject.

  “Well, of course it is,” Margo took the bait, much to her relief. “If you come up the night before, you can help me make the pies.”

  “That sounds good, what kinds are we doing this year?” she asked, wanting to make certain that her mother continued to stay away from the subject of the murder.

  Rossalyn had been second-guessing her decision to move to this strange small town ever since it happened, she didn’t need to add more fuel to the fire.

  “Well, Ryan loves pumpkin, so we’ll do two of those, and your father loves cherry, so I’ll do one for him, and then you like that nasty mincemeat pie…”

  Rossalyn laughed when she heard her mother shudder over the phone. Margo’s mother had made mincemeat pies when she was little, and she’d fallen in love with the tart, tangy, fruit-filled pies that no one else in her family could seem to tolerate. Every year, in honor of Nana, Margo made a mincemeat pie for her daughter, even shipping them around the world when the military wife couldn’t make it home for the holidays. This Thanksgiving would be no different. The house would be filled with the scent of apple and raisin and dark, exotic spices once again.

  “You’re too good to me,” she giggled, knowing her mother’s aversion to the pie.

  “I’ll let you make it up to me by making you peel about a thousand potatoes,” Margo chuckled.

  Mother and daughter chatted for a few more minutes, excited about holiday plans, then Rossalyn hung up under the utterly true excuse of wanting to take a nice hot bath. Ryan had gone to school after all, but was clearly coming down with something, so he’d been holed up in his room since dinner, which for him, had consisted of homemade chicken noodle soup, courtesy of José’s mother. The cook’s sisters had brought over several jars of it when they’d heard that Ryan was sick.

  As Rossie made the rounds, locking the front door, lowering shades, turning off light switches, she noticed that the trash can in the kitchen was pretty full, and, since she still had her shoes on, she decided to take it out to the bins by the storage shed in the backyard. The yard was bordered in the back by an access road, and the bins were picked up twice a week. The refuse truck simply trundled down the alley to pick up the trash, so that no one had to put it in their front yard, which was visually nice, but it also meant that she had to walk the entire length of her yard to take the trash out, and it was cold out there.

  She put the bulging bag of trash in the bin and flopped the attached lid down over the top of it.

  “Did you find the keys?” a male voice asked, out of the blue, startling her.

  Rossalyn smelled cigarette smoke, and that, combined with the low rumble of the voice, clued her in to whom was speaking.

  “Yes, I did, and you need to stop lurking in shadows, you scared me,” she accused the mountain of a biker who appeared from the shadows.

  “I’m not lurking, and you’re welcome.”

  “What do you mean? Did you have something to do with the keys? I just figured that the sheriff had made the Willis boys return them.”

  “Nope, they didn’t return them. The shape that they was in when I left ’em, they couldn’t have returned them,” he smirked.

  “Did you… did you do something? Why would you do that?” she demanded.

  “Because what they did ain’t right,” the biker growled, a dark frown creasing his forehead.

  “If what they did was wrong, why did it suddenly become right when you did the same thing?”

  The man stared hard at her, saying nothing.

  “Just go away,” she sighed, turning back toward the house. “Why are you hanging around my house anyway?”

  “I’m not. I’m hanging around my house,” was the curt reply, and when Rossalyn was safely inside, she saw the mountainous biker trot across the alley, through the backyard of the house on the other side, moving up the back steps and disappearing inside. It seemed they were neighbors… great. Her cheeks reddened a bit at the thought that she’d been pretty presumptuous to think that the biker had merely been hanging around, waiting for her to show up. She shook it off, poured herself an glass of stout, and headed for the bathtub. It had been a very long day.

  ***

  “Hey, Mom, I wonder what’s going on at the neighbor’s house,” Ryan looked up from his bowl of cereal and commented when she came downstairs.

  “Well you look better this morning,” Rossalyn observed, kissing the top of his head. “What makes you say that?”

  “Look,” he pointed at the kitchen window with his spoon.

  There was a police car in the alley between her house, and she could see another in front of the mysterious biker’s house.

  “Hmm… well, it’s not our business,” she murmured, mechanically going through the motions of making coffee so that Ryan wouldn’t see how rattled she was.

  Life in Chatsworth thus far had been a far cry from the idyllic small-town world that she had envisioned, where neighbors sat on their front porches and visited with each other over sweet tea and slices of pie. Rossalyn had an awful feeling that she had made a terrible mistake in buying a business and relocating here, and what was perhaps even more distressing was the fact that she was virtually trapped. She’d spent a good portion of Will’s life insurance payout on buying the building and her house, plus the startup costs for the café.

  The Sugar Shack had been for sale for three years before she bought it, which meant that if she wanted to sell it, she’d either have to price it extremely low, or wait for who-knows-how-long until the right buyer came along. There also weren’t exactly hordes and masses of people waiting to move into the small town, which meant a bleak forecast for selling her cottage as well. Willing herself not to panic, she pushed thoughts of being stuck living with her parents for the rest of her life to the back of her mind and tried to focus on her breakfast preparations.

  The police presence at her neighbor’s house bothered her, and she made up an excuse to take Ryan to school so that he didn’t have to walk.

  “Hey kiddo, I’m going to take you to the café with me this morning, and drop you off at school later since you haven’t been feeling very well.”

  “I’ll be okay, Mom. I walked to school yesterday and I felt worse than I do today,” he shrugged.

  “I know, but it’s colder today than it was yesterday, and I want to make sure that you get better,” Rossie insisted.

  “Think José will make me some bacon before I go?” the teenager asked hopefully.

  “I’m sure he can be talked into it,” she grinned, tousling his hair on the way by.

  “Can I have coffee since it’s cold out?”

  “It’ll stunt your growth,” she t
eased the lanky teen.

  “Somehow, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that much,” he rolled his eyes comically, making his mother laugh.

  “Half a cup, we don’t want to take any chances,” she grinned.

  “Since I’m going to be tall like Dad, I hope that I can get muscles like his, too,” Ryan commented quietly, heading for the coffee pot.

  Rossalyn’s heart broke for her son, who was clearly missing his father. Maybe almost as much as she was.

  “He worked hard at those muscles,” she smiled, remembering her strong, handsome husband. “But he’d tell you to focus on your schoolwork first and muscles second.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he poured milk into his coffee, then sat back down at the kitchen island. “I miss him,” he said simply, staring down at the counter.

  “I know kiddo, I do too,” Rossie replied hugging him from behind. The two of them stayed like that for a moment, Ryan gazing into his coffee cup, his mother staring out the kitchen window at the police cars, both desperately missing Will Channing.

  ***

  It had been a whirlwind morning at Hawg Heaven, with a non-stop stream of locals and travelers coming in to warm themselves with a hearty breakfast. Rossalyn and José were barely keeping their heads above water, and it was a welcome relief when traffic started to thin out around ten-thirty. They knew their respite would be brief however, because the lunch crowd usually started flowing in just before noon. José was busy prepping for the next rush, and Rossalyn was making the rounds in the eating area, wiping tables, refilling condiments and napkin containers, when the bell over the door jingled.