Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery)

by Alter, Judy

  I was luckier than Donna, perhaps because there was no real evidence against me, and I was never arrested. And there was never the gossip, the sidelong looks, the open curiosity that she had endured when she was accused of Irv Litman’s murder. I reacted differently too, which was natural given our personalities. I did not hide in the house, and I wasn’t angry—just frustrated. But I went about my daily business, planning menus, keeping the books, cooking, and greeting customers, most of whom said, “This mess will be cleared up soon enough, Kate. You take heart.” I got hugs and pats on the back and a strong show of support. It occurred to me I had a fairly good-sized community of character witnesses if push came to shove, but I shuddered at the thought.

  Rick at one point dredged up the whole Irv Litman case and seriously began considering Donna as a suspect, though he swore to me he hadn’t mentioned it to Sheriff Halstead.

  “It makes sense,” he said earnestly one morning, whispering over his morning coffee.

  I motioned to the corner table and took a cup of coffee to join him. “It makes no sense. Donna was overjoyed to having a long-term paying customer.”

  “But she’d already been paid, and you yourself told me Donna soured on Sara Jo when she began to ask too many questions about that episode.” His hand traced an idle pattern on the table, and I know he was thinking. “I know Donna was cleared and Overton did it—we’ve got proof—but the whole thing brings up a scandal that Donna prefers to leave behind. Think of the effect on her children.”

  “I don’t think she cares that much about that,” I said, my tone almost bitter. “But she does care about Donna. If she wants to make the B&B go, she can’t have even the suspicion of murder of a guest hanging over her head. She’s worried enough just because it happened on the property.”

  It was true. Donna had two calls in which the caller asked if that was the property where a guest had been murdered, and though she tried to explain there were unusual circumstances, both guests backed out of their reservations. She did have two couples, good friends, coming the next weekend. My joke that she should start having mystery dinners at The Tremont House was not regarded as funny. Who knows? Someone might have solved Sara Jo’s murder as an after-dinner game—that would really frost Rick.

  Rick questioned Donna, which sent her rocketing off into anger again. “That man is after me, I tell you,” she screamed at me one night when I went by the B&B for a glass of wine.

  “He’s just trying to cover all angles, and you know more about Sara Jo than anyone in town. I bet you have a wealth of information to tell him that would clear both of us.”

  “I shouldn’t even be a suspect!” She flung a dishtowel on the counter in disgust. “And he’ll never take you seriously as one because he knows you wouldn’t…couldn’t do it.”

  “I know that about you too, Don,” I said.

  “Well, he doesn’t know it. And he’ll have this whole town riled up against me again, and my business will go down the drain.”

  “I have an idea. You have guests this weekend. Make sure they have a good time, and then the next time you have an empty or slow time—maybe a weeknight—begin to invite travel agents, as your guests. They can recommend The Tremont House and spread the word.”

  “As my guests?”

  “Don, it won’t cost you much at all. A bit of food. You can recommend the café or send them to Currents in Tyler, point them toward the state park, or a scenic drive—or you know there’s that restaurant in Van where they have that huge salad bar and the owners get up and sing.”

  “Hokey,” she said scornfully, frowning at me.

  “To you. But it would have a certain small-town charm for city folks.”

  In the end, she said she’d think about it, and I thought I’d done the best I could.

  Then she had another dilemma. “I don’t know whether to stay here this weekend to reassure my guests or not. Maybe they’d think I’d murder them in their beds.”

  “I think you belong at home with your family. They will have your phone number, and Tom always hears the phone.”

  “He’s still sleeping on the couch in the den,” she said. “Won’t sleep with me.”

  I wished I hadn’t gone there, but I expected the story was the other way around. It occurred to me I was watching the slow and painful falling apart of a marriage when a sudden break might be cleaner and hurt a lot less. What did I know? I’d never married, and at this point didn’t intend to. I didn’t have good role models around me, including David Clinkscales who’d been through enough pain of his own.

  As it turned out, Donna’s guests, two couples in their sixties who seemed happy with each other, were the best role models I’d seen in a while. They came into the Blue Plate for Saturday night supper and all they could talk about was the murder. They thought it was intriguing to stay in a property where a murder had taken place and even began offering suggestions on who did it. I don’t know how much Donna told them about the case, but it was certainly more than I would have. I was both comforted and startled when one of the women put her hand on my arm and said, “We know you didn’t do it, dearie. I bet that schoolteacher did. She’s got something to hide.”

  ****

  The tourist’s comment stayed with me a couple of days, long enough that I finally decided I needed to talk to Sally Vaughan again. Rick would never approve, but it seemed so obvious to me. I didn’t think it wise to go back to the school—for one thing, school officials might get suspicious. For another, I didn’t want to confront her—yes, that’s what I was going to do—on her home territory. I’d learned enough from William Overton that I didn’t think it smart to invite her to my house—if she really was the killer, I’d be putting myself in unnecessary danger. I’d call and invite her to the café in the late afternoon when it was empty and we could have privacy. And unlike her, I didn’t have a gun, in spite of Rick’s frequent pleas that if I was going to keep getting myself in trouble I should take the concealed weapons course.

  “Besides,” he’d add, “you never know when you might need it at the café.”

  I’d laughed at the time at the very idea of someone holding up the Blue Plate, but he stubbornly insisted it could happen, especially when I closed late at night and often alone.

  I called Sally at the high school, during what I knew was her free time. I had to leave my name and was told they’d go get her. When she got on the line, she was abrupt and her tone hostile.

  “What do you want now?” she demanded.

  “To talk.”

  “I don’t think we have anything to talk about. And all this has upset Cary. He’s not doing nearly as well in his work as he was.”

  “I think we do have to talk, and I’d like you to come to the café. I think you and Cary are the key to Sara Jo’s murder.”

  “That’s ridiculous. If you want to talk, meet me on 773, about five miles out of town. There’s a small roadside park there.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, sensing a trap.

  “Well, I’m not coming to your café where God and everybody can hear you accuse me of murder.”

  “That’s not what I….”

  She hung up on me, and I sat staring at the phone, trying to think. Maybe it was time to talk to Rick.

  Before Rick came in for supper, Cary Smith came in, alone, which doubly surprised me. He sat at the counter and ordered a Coke and fries. When I delivered them, he said in a low voice, “Miss Kate, Miss Vaughn told me you called her today. She’s really angry, and I can tell you she didn’t have anything to do with that reporter’s murder.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, interested this young man would put himself out for his teacher.

  “I know her. She’s a good person. I know she can be, oh, sort of abrupt, but she’s really kind and she cares about us kids. She didn’t like that the reporter was bugging me, but she’d never do anything about it. She did mention it to my parents, because she knew it was bothering me. But murder? Uh huh.”


  He was so earnest, so sincere, and so scared, I wanted to reach out and hug him. He knew somehow he was the key to this whole mystery, but he wasn’t going to tell me what he knew. I suspect somehow he’d gone out on a shaky limb saying as much as he had.

  I thanked him and refused his money. Good kid that he was, he left a dollar bill by his plate of unfinished French fries.

  And for the second time that day, I sat and puzzled over all that was going on. Rick came in for dinner, but I didn’t mention either my call to Sally Vaughn or my visit from Cary. Still, my bright cheerfulness didn’t fool him. I guess he knew me too well.

  “You all right? You’re acting kind of funny?”

  “Me? I’m fine. How about you.”

  With an ironic look in my direction, he said, “I’m fine. You sure there’s not something you should tell me?”

  “Well, Huggles caught a squirrel today,” I lied, “but I was home and made him drop the poor thing. Creature bolted in sheer panic. That’s one squirrel that won’t be coming in my yard again.” Good, quick thinking Kate.

  Rick did his half smile. “If that’s the news of the day, I guess things are okay.” He ate his cheeseburger, tipped his hat in my direction, and left.

  Things were not all right when I went home that night. As I gathered my mail, I noticed a printed note that hadn’t come through the postal service:

  Stay away from Cary Smith. It would be a shame if something happened to your gorgeous dog.

  That was all, not that I expected a signature. But my heart stopped for a second when I read the threat. I ran through the house to the back door and called Huggles. To my relief, he came running joyously across the yard. I got down on my knees and hugged him, welcoming his slobbery expressions of love.

  Inside, with Huggles and Wynona occupied with their dinners, it took me about three minutes to decide it was time to call Rick and confess. I did, and he said, “I’ll be right over. Don’t touch the note anymore.”

  His first words were, “I knew something was off tonight.”

  “I hadn’t gotten the note yet,” I protested.

  “What did you do to provoke another threat?”

  So I confessed the whole story of my call to Sally Vaughn.

  He sighed, but I knew it was a sigh of exasperation. “At least you’re learning something,” he said. “Thank you for not meeting her at a roadside park.”

  “You’ll notice I also ruled out inviting her here to the house.”

  “Noticed, with gratitude. Now, if you’d just let me do my job. I guess though this does mean I need to go talk to Miss Vaughn. I’m beginning to believe you’re right that she and Cary are the key. You’re not thinking they were in cahoots on killing Sara Jo, are you?”

  “Cary is too sweet a boy to ever kill anyone.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “Instinct,” I said smugly, which made him snort.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next afternoon Ava walked into the café with a single question on her mind. When no one was around, she asked, “Aunt Kate, can I come live with you? I hate it at our house.”

  Now I know it’s normal for teen girls to hate their families and rebel, and I know she’d run away once, but this was different. Ava was living in a tense household.

  At four in the afternoon, I could get away, so I suggested we go to the house for tea and talk. We let Huggles out for a much-needed potty break, and Ava went out to play with him while I got our tea ready. The only snacks I had were some over-ripe bananas, a few soda crackers, and a wedge of cheddar. I made do with cheese and crackers and made a mental note to go to the store. Then I carried our tea out to the porch.

  “Can’t we sit inside, Aunt Kate? It’s hot out here.”

  “Huggles needs the company.” No way was I telling her that a threat had been made against him, and that made me think about the wisdom of bringing her into the house right now from a new angle. She’d inevitably spend hours here alone, some of them at night.

  “What’s going on at home?” I asked.

  “Nothing good. Mom and Dad hate each other, Mom is bored and frantic about the B&B, and poor Dad tries to be father, mother, store owner, and mayor. He’s exhausted. I help him when I can. I may even clerk a little at the store.”

  “What about Henry and Jess if you moved out?”

  “Henry could take care of himself. He and Dad are close, you know—fathers and sons. But Jess, she’s little, and she’s not tough. She needs love. Maybe she could come too?”

  I started to say I didn’t have time in my life for two little girls, but then I remembered Gram who had taken on Donna and me and raised us well all the time she was running the café, without her husband, the grandfather who died before I was born. I could do no less.

  Then of course my mind went to Donna. She would consider it the ultimate betrayal. “What about your mom? She is my sister you know, and for you to move in with me would be a huge slap in the face.”

  Her finger traced a pattern on the table, stalling as she looked for words. “I don’t think she’d really care. She talks about moving to the B&B. Oh, I know she’d raise a fuss. It would make her look bad in town.”

  “Ava, my sweet, you know I’d do anything for you, but this is a hard situation. I certainly see your point of view. But I…well…I don’t know what to do. May I talk to your dad about this?”

  “Sure. He knows how unhappy I am. We’ve talked about it. I can’t have girl friends over, and Francie thought you were so cool. I know,” she raised her hands as though to ward off a protest. “I couldn’t have them over much here because you’re not home. But I’d look after Jess, and I plan to work at the store as I said. I don’t think I’ll have much time. I have to study. Dad is on me all the time about keeping my grades up so I can get a college scholarship.”

  “Do you resent that?”

  “Nope, I know he means well, and sometimes he helps with me algebra.”

  “Lord help me,” I said laughing, “I’d be hopeless with algebra. You’d have to go to Ms. Vaughn.”

  She laughed too and said, “Dad would still help.”

  In the end all I could do was promise to give it serious thought and to talk to her dad.

  “I didn’t expect you to say ‘yes’ right away. I just wanted to put the idea in your head. I know you’ll think about it.” She rinsed her glass and put it in the dishwasher, and then, as I stood up, she turned and gave me a big hug. “I love you, Aunt Kate. You’re the best.”

  And she was gone, backpack on her back. Apparently she hadn’t been home after school, and I wondered what she told her mom.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Before I could leave to go back to work, Donna called. “Did Ava come see you?”

  Warily I said, “Yes. I assumed you knew.”

  “I knew but I didn’t say it was okay. Honestly, these teen years are going to drive me wild. She just does what she pleases and never listens to me.”

  I wanted to ask Donna if she ever listened to Ava, but I changed the subject. “How’s the B&B? Got any guests this weekend?”

  “One paying couple, one free. I took your suggestion and contacted a travel agent. She’s bringing her husband. Suppose I can charge him?”

  “Not if you are after good will, Don. You won’t lose much on it.”

  “Well, I hope Tom comes home at a decent hour. Otherwise I’ll have to leave the kids home alone. I’m going to Canton tonight for a meeting of regional B&B owners.”

  Cheering news, I thought. “Good. Listen and learn a lot.” Then I made a bold suggestion. “Maybe don’t offer too many opinions your first night.”

  “Is that a warning, sister?”

  I tried to make light of it when I said, “You bet it is.” I wondered if she listened.

  As I headed back to the café I wanted badly to hear from Rick about Sally Vaughn, but I thought it more important to talk to Tom. I’d call him.

  I told Tom that Donna was leaving and before I cou
ld say more, he exploded, “Why doesn’t she tell me these things? Does she expect me to know by mind reading, as if anyone could read her mind?”

  Wow. I thought things were bad between them when she was accused of murder, but they were really worse now, much worse. “Uh, call her. I told her she could bring the kids to the café, and if she does, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Something on your mind?”

  “You might say that. Yeah, you really might.”

  Rick came in before either the children or Tom arrived, and of course I jumped right in to ask if he’d talked to Sally Vaughn.

  He shook his head. “I’m planning my strategy. I don’t want to embarrass her by going to the school or by calling her in to the office. And she wouldn’t have to come if I did that. I think I best pay her an unannounced call at home and see if she’ll let me in. Know where she lives?”

  “I suspect on 773 somewhere since that’s where she wanted to meet me. She told me once she lived close to Tyler but she may have just been trying to put distance between us in my mind. But that’s all I know.”

  “I can find out,” he said. “Halstead probably has records. Meantime, did you keep Huggles in today?”

  “Yes, and he resented it. Ava came by, and we went over there for tea. Sat on the porch so he could be out, and she tossed a Frisbee for him. But I can’t keep him in all day every day.”

  “It’s too hot for him to be out much anyway. I’m going to come back for supper just before closing. Then I’ll stay and see you home.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because until this is over I don’t want you walking home alone. Or, for that matter, down here at the café alone.”

  “Gus is usually here.”

  He snorted again. “Some protection he’d be.” As he got up to leave, he said, “Keep me a plate of pot roast, some mashed potatoes and…oh, I guess a salad. What kind of vinaigrette do you have?”

  “Homemade,” I said proudly. I think he expected bottled from the grocery. That was what Gram used to serve.