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

by Alter, Judy

  “Donna, she loved you very much.” I was trying to break through her defensive barriers, built up over years. “We all do—Tom, the children, me. But think about Ava for a minute. How much time have you spent with her lately?”

  “Well, I take her to school, pick her up, see her at supper.”

  “That’s not the kind of time I meant and you know it. What do you know about her friends? Or what she likes to do? You know, she reads a lot these days. Have you talked to her about what she’s reading? Have you gone to basketball games with her? To watch her?”

  “Well, basketball bores me, and she reads stuff that doesn’t interest me.”

  “But she should interest you. She needs your love and she needs a good role model. Sorry, Don, but you’ve been so wrapped up in yourself and your unhappiness and your anger since Irv was killed that you don’t see what’s happening around you. How about Tom? When was the last time you told him you love him?” I almost looked away, because I knew the answer to that one. Tom had shared too much information with me.

  Her self-pity returned. She looked away from me, as she muttered, “I’m not sure I do.”

  “And he knows that. He loves you a lot, and he’d do almost anything to make you happy, but he’s got a breaking point too. We all do.”

  “So it’s all my fault?”

  “Gram used to say arguments have two sides and are never any one person’s fault, but you know what? In this case, I think it’s you. You haven’t paid any attention to the rest of us—what we need, what we want. Just Donna.”

  “So you hate me.” She folded her arms across her chest. Defensive again.

  I stood and wrapped her in my arms. “Donna, I’m your sister. I love you and I always will. Right now, I’m trying to help. I want you to see the world from a different perspective.”

  “Tom says I have to go to a doctor and then go for counseling. He didn’t ask. He just told me.” Her finger ran around the rim of her coffee cup. “He didn’t give me a choice. It was an…what’s the word?”

  “Ultimatum?” I supplied.

  “Yeah, I guess so. He said either that or he’d file separation papers and ask for custody of the kids. He hinted that if I won’t go see these people, I should move to the B&B. But that would dissolve my family too. And the truth is, I’m afraid to be here when it’s empty at night. I don’t mind during the day, but at night…it’s spooky.”

  “Never voice that thought to a guest,” I said. “No, Don, go to the doctor. I bet you’re long overdue for a checkup, both of you. Tom said he’d go too. He wants to go to Dallas, so I’ll keep the kids if you want to stay overnight.”

  For a moment, she flared in the old anger. “He talked to you before he talked to me? I told you he wants to move in with you.”

  I sighed and stood looking out the kitchen window for a long minute. Then I turned, leaned against the sink, and said, “Donna, I love Tom dearly, like a brother. He is the brother we never had. But he’s your husband, and right now there are two men in my life. I don’t need a third. I’m not even sure if I want either of the two that are. So get that notion out of your head.”

  She sat and stared at me so long I gathered my purse and said, “I have to get back to the café.”

  She rose, held out her arms, and said, “Thanks for coming over, I think.”

  I’d walked from the café, almost a mile, to clear my head and think about what I wanted to say. On the walk back, I spoke to Gram. She never answered when I initiated the conversation, but I had to talk to her. “Gram, did I do the right thing or did I make it worse?”

  “You did a good thing this morning, child, and I know it wasn’t easy. But she’s almost past anger and into depression. Tom must get her to that doctor.”

  Walking in your hometown is something everyone should experience. Two blocks brought me to the highway, and then cars that passed honked and drivers called out, “Hi, Miss Kate” and “Kate, I’m on my way to lunch. You better hurry.” I had three offers of rides, which I politely declined but should have taken. By the time I got to the café, I was a sweaty mess. The temperature must have climbed close to a hundred, and it wasn’t even noon yet. Summer comes early and hot in East Texas.

  Back at the café Marj asked, “Guess you heard the news?” She had a sort of sphinxlike smile on her face.

  I’d already had enough for one morning, and my shoulders sagged. “What news? What have I missed?”

  “Well,” she said, puffing in importance, “it’s all over town now that Roger Smith escorted his son, Cary, to Rick’s office. Rumor said the elder Smith went there alone early in the morning….”

  “So that’s why Rick never came in for coffee and his sticky bun,” I exclaimed, relieved to know the reason.

  Marj never lost a beat. “Smith left Rick’s office and then returned a few minutes later with a white-faced Cary. A customer came in who saw them and said the boy looked scared to death.”

  She took a deep breath, but she wasn’t through yet. “Someone who was in City Hall said they heard Roger say, “Don’t worry, son. I know you’re innocent.”

  I sat down heavily on a stool at the counter. Of course gossip would already be everywhere, and I didn’t know what to believe. Finally I got up, got an apron, and prepared to man the cash register. All afternoon, with one eye, I was watching for Rick—did the man skip lunch too?

  I was bombarded with rumors, some outrageous, some puzzling, all raising my curiosity. Cary had been taken to the county jail in Canton; Cary had been released; Cary had confessed; Roger had confessed. I tried desperately to dismiss everything, though once again I had Carolyn’s “dread in the bones.” I’d wait for Rick to tell me the truth. But, nevertheless, it was an endless day—I dropped a cup of coffee, barely missing a man’s lap; I served fried catfish to a man who’d ordered chicken-fried steak; and I forgot to serve salads and rolls with several orders. Marj elected to stay late—“You don’t have to pay me. This is something I want to do.” She was right behind me, correcting my goofs, cleaning up my messes. Even Gus muttered, “You okay, Miss Kate?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not.”

  “Can I help?”

  Sweet old man. I laid a hand on his arm, wet from dishwashing, and said, “No, Gus. But thank you for caring.”

  Gram appeared during a quiet moment and said, “Hang in there, child. The worst is yet to come, but you’ll be all right.”

  Hang in there? Where does Gram get her language these days? I muttered my thanks, but I didn’t find her comment reassuring at all—”the worst is yet to come.” Well, I couldn’t tell Rick or David that one.

  David appeared for an early dinner, gave me a hug and a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Another death? I thought I better come over. Are you a suspect?”

  “No. I was at the café all afternoon and several people can testify for me. Oh, I went home about two to let Huggles out, stayed an hour, but they think she was killed around five when she got home from school.”

  He blew out a sigh of relief.

  When I delivered his chicken-fried steak with greens and mashed potatoes, he pulled out a slip of paper. “This doctor at Baylor is expecting a call from Tom.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pass it on. Donna is actually agreeable to going. I think she’s beginning to see herself and realizes it isn’t pretty. And, David, she’s skinny, not just thin like she’s always been—skinny.”

  “You’re worried about her.”

  It struck me it should come as no surprise to him. David knew every in and out of the trials of my life: I knew nothing about his, how he felt since his divorce, whether he was in contact with his ex-wife. And, by the same token, Rick Samuels knew every detail of my life and never ever mentioned anything about his. Did he have family? Was he happy in Wheeler? What am I, some flapdoodle who opens her mouth and spills all her secrets to men who don’t care? That wasn’t entirely true, I corrected. They cared. I knew they did. But it bothered me I didn’t have equal footing in my relat
ionship with either man.

  “Of course I’m worried.” I almost spat the words out, and then I apologized. “Sorry, David, my string is short these days. Rick thinks I’m in danger from whoever did these two murders.”

  He looked surprised. “You? Why?”

  “Oh, maybe because I’ve been nosing around. I don’t like being the prime suspect.”

  “Well, I guess you’ve just been replaced by Cary Smith, the high school boy.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better. I know Cary didn’t do it. He’s a nice kid, if over-protected. But to me just that very fact would keep him from murder.”

  “I don’t know, Kate, but I don’t like hearing you’re in danger. What’s Rick doing about it?”

  “Walking me home at night after I close and sleeping in Donna’s room.”

  For a moment, a look of pain flashed across this face. Then he quickly erased it. “Good, good.”

  “It’s completely innocent, David,” I snapped and rose to clear his plate.

  “Could I finish that last bit of steak?” he asked, amusement softening his expression.

  “Sorry. I better go see to the kitchen.” And I turned away. Why am I snapping at him? David is a bright spot in my life. I don’t want to antagonize him.

  Gram’s voice sounded far away. “Get a grip, Kate. You’ll need to be in full control.”

  Once again, I didn’t like the message. I did manage to get a grip on myself and go back to apologize to David.

  He was gentle. “No problem. I know you’re under a lot of stress. I’ll talk to Rick tomorrow. See you for lunch. I may have to vary my menu choice though—can’t eat chicken-fried steak all weekend.” He paid for his supper and left, with a slight salute to me.

  I waited for Rick.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rick finally came in about eight-thirty. The restaurant was more crowded than usual, and it seemed everyone wanted to stop to talk to him. “Big day, huh, chief? You got it solved?” Ben Rylander asked. Charles Ogilvie said unhappily, “Did the Smith boy really kill those women? I can’t believe it. Such a nice boy.” And a bluff old farmer I didn’t know said heartily, “You got him in jail, Samuels?”

  Rick remained noncommittal and, I, knowing small talk wasn’t his forte, wanted to shoo them all away. He ate a chopped steak with grilled onions and melted cheese and a salad and then sipped on coffee while I closed the books. Even in the eerily quiet and empty restaurant, he didn’t say anything to me about what had happened. And we walked to the house in silence.

  But something alerted him, and he detoured by the front of the house. “You’ve got a broken window. Was it broken this morning?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but you know I rarely see the front of the house. I go in and out the back. How did you know?”

  For the first time, he flashed a smile at me. “Instinct. You’re the one who should have known. Come one, I’ll check the house before you go in.”

  We went in the back door. That is, he did, and let Huggles out, while I waited on the porch and kept a protective eye on the dog. When he came running up to me after taking care of business, I asked, “Huggles, were you scared? Did you bark? I wish I could hear you at the café.” He waggled his rear end with its stubby tail as though he understood every word I was saying.

  Rick came out. “Rock through the front window. I’ve got latex gloves in the car. I’ll go get them.”

  “I’ve got rubber gloves.”

  He shook his head. “Too much texture. And all the residue from whatever you’ve been using them for would mess things up. I’ll be right back. Wait here on the porch and scream really loud if anyone comes near you.”

  I agreed and settled down in a rocking chair. Wouldn’t you know, as soon as Rick went around one side of the house, Tom came up the driveway on the other side. Instinctively I screamed before realizing who it was. Rick rounded the far corner of the house, gun drawn and yelled, rather dramatically I thought, “Freeze.”

  Tom raised his hands in the air and said calmly, “Hey guys!”

  Rick lowered his gun. “Blast, Bryson. I almost shot you.”

  Tom put his arms down and came toward the porch. “I know. Glad you didn’t. Why are you both so trigger-happy tonight?”

  Rick explained about the rock and the gloves in his car and said, almost sheepishly, “I told her to scream.”

  “She did,” Tom said ironically.

  Rick went to get the gloves; Tom went to inspect the damage, and Huggles and I were left alone in the kitchen. When Rick came back, we were still left alone as they picked up the rock and carried it into the kitchen, wondering why they needed gloves to pick up a rock. What Rick hadn’t told me was there was a note attached to it. Rick asked me to wipe off the table just to be sure and get a baggie. I was more frightened than ever to see that a note was tied to the rock. This wasn’t an accidental rock thrown through a window, though perhaps I was foolish to have even thought that. With care…and me watching with my heart now in my mouth…Rick cut the string, put it in the baggie, and unfolded the note. Tom and I peered over his shoulder. In crude lettering it said,

  Now you’ve gone too far. Cary has been arrested. This is the end.

  Nothing more.

  Rick snorted. “Whoever it is hasn’t even got the information right. Cary has not been arrested. I have no murder weapon, nothing beyond instinct.” He threw me a look. Carefully he put the note and then the rock into the baggie and sealed it, peeled off his gloves and threw them in the trash.

  Only then was I allowed to go clean up the glass, while they locked Wynona in my bedroom and kept Huggles in the kitchen. I went with broom, dustpan and vacuum, while the men talked serious business. As I swept I could hear the low hum of their conversation in the kitchen.

  At one point I stuck my head in to say, “Rick Samuels, you better not be telling him what happened with Roger and Cary Smith today. I want to know, too.”

  “I’m waiting. We’re talking about keeping you safe.”

  I was already scared enough. The idea they were having a conference about my safety only made it worse. I swept everything into a trash bag I would wrap with newspapers before putting it into another bag, and then I vacuumed to get the last little bits that I couldn’t see. Back in the kitchen, I heard Rick say, “She’s safe at the café. It’s the rest of the time I worry about.”

  “She could stay at our house, but Donna wouldn’t tolerate the dog and cat, and Kate won’t leave them.”

  “I’ve been staying here at night,” Rick said, “in Donna’s old room. We’ll just have to work something out about the daytime.”

  I guessed he added that about Donna’s room to make sure Tom didn’t misunderstand.

  Pouring myself a glass of wine—they had each opened a beer—I sat down in the kitchen with them and said, “Okay, give. What happened today? Tell me.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” he said. “I’ll let you listen.” He pulled out a tape recorder that wasn’t as big as my cell phone.

  “Roger Smith came into my office before I could go to talk to Cary,” Rick continued. “I figured he wasn’t likely to run, and I didn’t want to yank him out of class in front of his buddies, so I planned to wait until after school. But Roger beat me to it, said he had something he had to tell me. Here, listen,” and he switched on the tape recorder.

  Tom and I sat riveted in silence.

  It began with the usual identification information—who he was interviewing, where, time and date, and the fact that he had on file written permission to tape and share as necessary. Then Roger began to talk:

  “I knew Sara Jo Cavanaugh, knew her the minute I heard she hit town. I was once married to her, and she is my son’s biological mother. We had a brief fling, and when she turned up pregnant I married her because I thought it was the right thing to do, though Lord knows I wasn’t the only man who got into her pants. But much later, when it was necessary, we did DNA testing, and Cary is my so
n. When he was about a year old, Sara Jo began stepping out on me, drinking way too much, perhaps even doing drugs, and neglecting Cary. I filed for divorce and she fought for custody, arguing that he was her son. That’s when we did the DNA testing. I was easily able to prove, with a string of witnesses, that she was an unfit mother and I was granted sole custody until she straightened out her life. The judge said he’d re-hear the case at that time.

  “We began a game of cat-and-mouse. I moved with Cary to San Antonio, changed my name. I’m in human resources or, as we used to call it, personnel management, and it wasn’t hard to find work, though I had to do a dance to explain the name change. We settled in and were happy. Maybe a year later, when Cary was about two, I married Bonnie, and she’s been a wonderful mother, even if a bit overprotective. I guess we’ve both been that way because of the circumstances.

  “Eventually Sara Jo tracked me down. I never knew how she found us, but we moved to Houston. After a few years, she found us again. We moved all over, but somehow I couldn’t leave Texas. We kept moving, and I kept changing our last name. I always found work, though I was under scrutiny because of the name change. All but one employer accepted my explanation when I told the God’s honest truth.

  “The last time we had to move, from Corpus Christi to Tyler, I decided to try raising Cary in a small town. I wanted him to have that kind of high school experience, so I bought our house in Wheeler, and I commute. For five years, I thought we were safe, and then she showed up.

  “This time, I was tired of running. I decided to stay put and see what happened. She didn’t take me to court as I expected and was prepared for. The Dallas lawyer who followed all this said I had a solid case. But instead Sara Jo, who was always devious, played her reporter game. I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think she was a trained journalist. I put a private detective on it, which strained our budget, but he lost her after we moved from San Antonio, said she just disappeared until she turned up here.”

  “Did you kill her?” Rick asked.