“So… I filed for a restraining order yesterday, and it was denied.”
“Judge Campbell?” he snorted with disgust.
“Yes, exactly,” she nodded, glad that he was paying attention at least. “Which leaves me in a bit of a predicament. I still have a business to run, and I don’t want the Willis brothers coming around bothering my customers.”
“What’s that got to do with me?” Tom’s eyes narrowed, and she noticed that there were several small scars on his face.
“Well, I thought, that is, I hoped, that maybe…” she stammered.
“Spit it out, sunshine. I ain’t got all day,” he made a face.
Rossalyn Belinda Channing had reached the end of her rope. She’d been jerked around by the sheriff and his idiot cousins, someone had been murdered behind her business, and people kept sharing their suspicions about her employees. She’d had it. Her anger crashed through her like a fierce wave, and contrary to what might be the smartest move for her survival, she unleashed it upon Tom Hundman.
“Really? Really? You ‘ain’t got all day’?” she mocked him. “Tell me then, what are your pressing engagements, huh? Gonna go for a long motorcycle ride? Gonna terrorize small business owners around town by lurking near their shops? Gonna play the boogeyman in the high school play? Cuz I’ve got real problems and I came here to ask for your help, which I NEVER, EVER try to do, and you act like I’m keeping you from lunch with the queen. Well excuse the heck out of me, Tom Hundman, but I think you’re being rude,” she shouted, trembling with anger.
“You’re shouting at me on my front porch, and I’m being rude?” he asked mildly. “Who told you my name?”
“I don’t remember,” she snapped. “Are you gonna help me or not?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he mocked her.
“Fine. Forget it. Forget I exist. Let me die. Let my little café burn to the ground, what do you care?” she spun around on the sidewalk, power-walking to her SUV.
Rossalyn had been long overdue for an emotional outburst and she was terrified that now that the dam had burst, she might just sit down to cry and never stop.
“You’re the one who’s walking away, not me,” Tom pointed out reasonably.
Rossie got to the car and stopped. She turned around to stare at the hulking biker leaning against his doorway, and she just lost it.
“I don’t know what to do,” she cried, and the torrent of tears that she feared began.
Her back against the SUV, she slumped to the ground, drew her knees up to her chest, buried her head and sobbed, an act that was entirely out of character for her. Images of Will and their life together flashed through her mind. At the altar saying “I do.” In the hospital having Ryan, with Will holding her hand, helping her push. The last goodbye, when the sleek, black government limousine had come to pick him up. She couldn’t see his handsome face through the windows as it pulled away. The last kiss. The last touch. The last… everything. She cried and cried, not caring that her nose streamed as heavily as her eyes onto the knees of her jeans. Long, keening sobs ripped from her, beginning the hard work of the grieving process that she’d hoped she could skip. All that she had wanted was to be strong—for Ryan, for her parents, for her new business. What she didn’t know was that the strongest thing that she could possibly do was admit her weakness, embrace her pain, and weep for her loss.
Rossalyn had no idea how long she had been slumped against the SUV, braying out her pain, but as the sobs slowly quieted into hiccupping breaths that jerked painfully from the center of her being, she lifted her head and saw a jeans-clad pair of legs, which ended in worn motorcycle boots, standing next to her.
“Here,” he said, holding a steaming mug of coffee out to her.
She accepted it with a nod, wrapping her icy hands around its warmth. Her teeth chattered, whether from cold or adrenaline, she had no idea, but as she sipped at the strong, dark liquid in the cup, she drew strength from the bitter familiarity of it.
“Thanks,” she whispered, staring into the coffee.
“What do you need?” Tom asked, his voice still gruff, but not overtly hostile.
“Security,” she murmured, craning her neck to look up at the mammoth human in front of her, and thinking how true that was on so many levels.
“Come again?” he frowned, puzzled.
“I need a security guard. Someone who can make sure that the Willis brothers don’t come around and bother my customers or my workers,” she sighed, thinking how stupid her idea sounded, now that she’d said it out loud.
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“They’re afraid of you,” Rossie took a long drink from the mug. “I thought having you around might keep them away. It’s stupid, I know. I’m sorry I bothered you. You do make a darn good cup of coffee though,” she raised the mug in tribute and took another slug of the potent brew.
“Everybody’s gotta have a skill,” Tom mumbled in response to her compliment. “What are you payin’?”
Rossalyn looked up with an expression of something other than despair for the first time since she knocked on his door. “Wait, you’d be willing to do it?” she was incredulous.
“Maybe. They already cast the role of the boogeyman for the high school play, so I got some time on my hands,” he deadpanned.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve just had all of this darkness locked up tight since I found out that Will died,” she admitted, too exhausted for pretense.
“I think I can relate to that particular situation,” Tom commented. “Tell you what, I’ll fix up some stuff around the outside of your place, repair the trim around the windows, that kind of stuff, and they’ll see that I’m around. If they see me there for a week or so, they may stop trying. You pay me whatever you think that’s worth, feed me a couple good meals a day, and we’ll call it good,” he proposed.
Rossalyn nodded. “That sounds great. Thank you,” she gave him a sad smile, her voice cracking as tears threatened again.
She stood up and drained the mug, handing it back to him, empty.
“You didn’t kill the girl in the field, did you?” she asked directly, brushing her hand under her nose to catch a stray dribble.
“Nope. I knew her. She was a sweet kid who didn’t deserve what happened to her,” a muscle in his jaw worked.
“Yeah, it’s awful. You gonna be right behind me?” she asked, clicking her key fob to unlock the SUV.
“Shortly,” he gave a curt nod.
“Thanks.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
* * *
“What’s he doing out there?” Jason demanded, glancing out the kitchen window and seeing Tom securing a piece of redwood lattice to the outdoor patio area.
José ignored him, and put the last pieces of thick cut bacon over the top of his ground pork meatloaf. He made the most moist and flavorful meatloaf that Rossalyn had ever tasted, and it had become a customer favorite, particularly when paired with his whipped potato salad and jalapeño cornbread.
“He shouldn’t be here. It’s just wrong, this is just wrong,” Jason muttered, chopping onions with more vigor than usual, as if he was incredibly agitated.
The two young men prepared for the dinner rush, not speaking to each other, which was the norm, until Jason exploded.
“Okay, I’m not going to stand for this. If no one else is going to do something about this, I will,” he snarled, taking off his white chef’s apron and throwing it at the hook on the wall.
He charged past a startled Rossalyn, who looked up from her wholesale restaurant catalog, where she was looking for new milkshake glasses, and sped through the side door, out onto the patio. Curious, Rossie walked over to the door to see what the commotion was about. She saw Jason yelling at Tom, who merely stared at the young man until he was done, then he took one giant bear paw of a hand and shoved him off the porch.
“Hey, what’s going on out here?” she came out the door, glar
ing at the two of them.
“You want me to work here, you keep him away from me,” Tom jerked a thumb in Jason’s direction, then put some nails between his lips and went back to attaching the lattice.
Jason lay on his back, where he’d landed when Tom shoved him off the patio.
“Murderer,” he hissed. “Cold-blooded filthy murderer! You couldn’t have her so you made sure no one else would either, didn’t you, you head case?”
Rossalyn looked from one to the other, Jason glaring and accusing, Tom seemingly oblivious, working on the lattice, and she was troubled.
“Come inside, Jason,” she directed, her expression letting him know that she wasn’t messing around.
When he strode past her, still giving Tom the stinkeye, she frowned at him and told him to stay away from the biker. After he’d shut the door behind him, Tom stood and looked at Rossalyn.
“The kid’s got issues,” he said simply.
“That you solve by pushing him around?” she challenged.
“Ain’t my job to solve his issues.”
“Do you think… is it possible that he may have killed the girl by the highway?” Rossie asked in a low voice.
Tom grimaced for a moment.
“It wouldn’t surprise me a bit. But he’d better pray that he didn’t,” he growled, turning his attention back to his work.
Rossalyn took the hint and went back inside, feeling more than a little uneasy.
The morning passed quickly, mercifully followed by a lull in the action where they could regroup and prepare for lunch. Rossie had just finished refilling the last salt shaker when Sheriff Willis came strutting in the door, hitching up his pants and looking like trouble. While Tom could prevent Jasper and Merle from coming in, she guessed that he had made the intelligent decision not to tangle with the sheriff.
“What now?” Rossalyn sighed, hand on her hip.
“Well, a hearty good afternoon to you too, lil lady,” Buckley Willis smirked.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than to come over here and harass me on a daily basis?” she complained, done with being civil to the corrupt little man.
“Harass? Why, Ms. Channing, I’m here to protect and serve, dontcha know. The guard dog of yours out there, if he bites anybody, he may have to get put down,” the sheriff’s smile turned sinister.
“Did you actually just use a metaphor to threaten my employee’s life?” Rossalyn was incredulous, and she glanced quickly out of one of the side windows to make sure that Tom was still alive and kicking.
Fortunately, the biker was securing a loose board on one of the faces of the decking around the patio.
“I don’t make threats.”
“What do you want, Sheriff? I have a job to do.”
“You need to know that the human piece of garbage that you have out there hammerin’ on your deck is a suspect in a murder case, and if I prove that he’s guilty, there’s gonna be some questions that you’ll have to answer too,” Buckley sucked his teeth and rocked back on his heels.
“A suspect? As in, you have evidence that points to him?” Rossalyn asked.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the case with the likes of you.”
“Then you’ve got nothing, and all you’re really doing is embarking upon a smear campaign which could impact the employment status of an individual. That’s illegal, isn’t it?” Rossie asked with a tight smile.
“You think you’re so durn smart, dontcha? Well, lemme tell you, missy, keeping company with psychos and murderers ain’t too smart, and may end up with you in jail. Stick that in your pan and fry it.”
Willis looked at her in disgust, shook his head and turned on his heel, heading for the door.
Rossalyn could kick herself for the doubts that she’d let that horrible man plant in her head, but knew that she wouldn’t be satisfied until she knew what he was referring to that supposedly made Tom Hundman a suspect. Hurrying back to her tiny office, she shut the door and dialed a number that she should have on speed dial by now.
“Morgan Tyler.”
“Hi Morgan, it’s Rossalyn Channing. I’m sorry to bother you again, if you don’t have time to talk to me, I understand…”
“I have a few minutes, what’s up?”
She related the conversation that she’d just had with Sheriff Willis, and Morgan listened intently.
“So, is it true? Is Tom a suspect?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“I’d say that suspect is a strong word. From what I understand, Willis is looking at two persons of interest, but he doesn’t have anything concrete on either one of them. Hundman was with the victim at a coffee shop here in town the day before the murder, and the only other person that she hung out with pretty regularly is Jason. From what I’ve heard, she and Jason had an argument fairly recently and weren’t getting along.”
“So they’re the two persons of interest? Tom and Jason? And they both work for me… great. How do you know that Jason had argued with the victim recently?”
“Dana’s mother gave a statement to that effect.”
“Does she think that he did it?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Can I ask you what her name is?”
“Margaret, Margaret Benton. She’s a sweet gal. Her family has been around this town forever. Poor as church mice, but kind souls,” Morgan commented.
“What a tragedy,” Rossalyn murmured.
“Yep, the whole mess is just ugly.”
“Well, I won’t keep you, but thanks for the info, Morgan.”
“Anytime. Stay safe, Rossalyn.”
“I’m trying.”
After hanging up, Rossie rifled through the drawers of her desk until she found an old phone book. With the popularity of the internet, phone books seemed to be a relic of the past, but she figured that she might be able to find what she was looking for sooner this way than by searching for it on her phone, and she was correct.
“Margaret Benton lives just a few blocks from here,” she murmured to herself, thinking, then closed the phone book and sprang into action.
“José, are we set for lunch?” she asked, moving through the kitchen with purpose.
“Sí, everything is prepped and ready,” he nodded.
Jason was at the sink, handwashing some knives that he and José had used for prep work and she tried not to shudder.
“Okay, take one of the family-sized takeout trays and fill it up with some of everything. Put the juicy stuff in the cardboard soup bowls, and throw plenty of utensil packs in on top,” she instructed, grabbing a bag.
“You having a lunch party?” José grinned.
“Something like that.”
Rossalyn had a heavily loaded bag of takeout in mere minutes, and headed out the door.
“You coming back today?” José called after her.
“Yep, I won’t be long,” she waved without turning back.
Once outside, she approached Tom.
“I’ll be back in a bit. Now would probably be a good time for you to grab some lunch, before the rush starts, and if you could keep an eye on those two,” she inclined her head toward the building. “I’d really appreciate it.”
“I’m a babysitter now?” he groused.
“Think of it as more of a secret agent,” she gave him a weak smile and continued on her way.
“You ain’t doing something dumb now, are ya?”
“Maybe,” she glanced back at him over her shoulder, and walked to her SUV.
***
Rossalyn didn’t hear anything when she rang the bell on the shabby little house down the street, so she waited for a minute, then knocked politely on the door.
A woman with dyed red hair, who looked tired and older than her years, opened the door. A tiny blonde little girl, who looked to be about three, sucked on three fingers and peered up at Rossalyn, clutching the older woman’s pant leg.
“Margaret?” Rossalyn smiled at the woman.
�
��Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for ya?”
“My name is Rossalyn Channing. I bought the old Sugar Shack recently, and…”
“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Welcome to Chatsworth,” she smiled faintly.
“Thank you. I heard about… your daughter,” Rossie glanced down at the little blonde waif. “And I just wanted to say how sorry I am. I brought you some hot, fresh food from my café. It’s not much but…”
“Oh, that’s very neighborly of ya,” Margaret reached for the bag. “You wanna come in for a minute? I can make coffee,” she offered.
“Oh, yes, thank you. Coffee would be great.”
Rossalyn followed the pair into a house that was small and worn, but spotlessly clean. A fat grey tabby meowed plaintively at her when she sat on the couch, and she scratched it between the ears.
“This food couldn’t have come at a better time, honey, thank you,” Margaret said, continuing on to the kitchen. “You make yourself at home. I’m gonna get Sissy here set up with some lunch and I’ll bring you a cup of joe in a jiffy.”
“Take your time,” Rossalyn replied, stroking the cat. “I’ve found a friend.”
“That’s Buttons. She’ll curl up with ya, if ya let her,” she called from the kitchen.
Patriot's Passing: Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries, Book 1 Page 11
