by Shannon West
Sheriff Dumbass, who was pulling his nana down the walk behind him, looked back over his shoulder at me. “That’ll be the day,” he called to me and then never looked back again, not even once.
****
I still had to go in to work after that, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Early morning was when the sheriff and his deputies usually came in, but Nick Moody had been banging on my door at that time, so I was hopeful I’d missed him today altogether. Two confrontations in one day was two too many. Surely, though, even he wouldn’t have the nerve to show his face in my shop after our argument this morning, would he? Not after the things he’d said.
Actually, I thought he would, if only to show me I didn’t bother him in the least.
This was the first week for our new lunch menu. Tina, my new assistant manager had added a few kinds of chicken salad sandwiches and some pasta salads to our menu. Like Chicken Salad Chicks, a popular chain in our area. She thought it would be cute to just focus on one type of sandwich—to specialize, so to speak. But we had four varieties—each with slightly different ingredients. They came with a serving of made-in-house pasta salad, a pickle and a cookie, just like the Chicks offering. Hey, Tina might not have been original when she’d made the menu, but who was I to complain with my Krispy Kreme knockoffs?
When I got to the shop, there was a lot to do, as always, and luckily I had some paperwork to finish in the back so I didn’t have to come out front to even notice who was there and who wasn’t. It was almost one o’clock, with the lunch crowd dying down, and I had just come out from the back when two deputies and the sheriff himself sauntered into the shop and took a seat at a back table. I glanced around to see if anyone was available to wait on them instead of me, but unfortunately everyone was busy. I took a deep breath and went over to their table.
“Gentlemen. What can I get for you?”
“I’d like a jelly doughnut and a cup of coffee,” Mike Bohannon, one of the deputies said and gave me a big, friendly smile. I liked Mike, mostly because he had none of the arrogance you see in some of the other local cops—present company not excepted. He patted his little paunch. “I probably don’t need it, because I already ate the lunch my wife packed for me, but I’m gonna consider this to be dessert.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said with a little smile, and turned to the other deputy at the table, Will Barrett. “Will? How about you?”
Will was an older man, around fifty, and always pleasant enough, though not as friendly as Mike Bohannon. He was staring down at the menu, his lips pursed in concentration, “I’ll have me one of them chicken salad sandwiches.”
“Right. Which one? The Southern style, or the Classic, or maybe the Royal, the one with grapes and nuts?”
“Grapes and nuts? Hell, no. That don’t belong in no chicken salad. What’s the southern one got in it?”
“Mayonnaise, pickles, onion and chopped eggs.”
“Okay, give me that. But can you leave out the onion?”
“Uh no, sorry. They’re already made up.”
“What did you think, Will, they’re going to sit back there and pick out all the onions for you?” The sheriff asked, and all three of the men laughed.
“Okay.” I turned to Nick. “And for you, Sheriff?”
“I’ll take that southern one too. And do they also come with a pickle and a little cookie?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh wait, that’s Chicken Salad Chicks. Y’all are the copy cat…chicks.” He glanced around at my female staff and then pointedly back up and down at me, from my shoes that we both knew covered glossy blue toenails up to my man bun, and he grinned. I clenched my fists down by my sides, ready for him to make one more asshole, homophobic remark, and then sheriff or no sheriff, I was going to ask him to leave.
He leaned farther back in his chair. “I swear, boy, sometimes I don’t know if I should eat here or just go ahead and arrest you for copyright infringement.”
They all laughed while I stood there and glared at him with a face that I just knew was turning red. I waited till the laughter died down.
“Or—hey, here’s a suggestion—maybe you could find somewhere else to eat?”
The two deputies’ grins faded, and they got quiet, staring at me. I could see they didn’t much like what I said but were waiting for the sheriff’s reaction to decide what to do about it. Nick’s smile just got wider.
“But I like the ambiance here. Such friendly service.” I allowed myself another quick glare as the men at the table all laughed, and then I turned and walked stiffly away.
“Oh, hello there!” A voice rang out from behind me as I handed the order I’d just taken to Tina. A woman who looked vaguely familiar was waving at me from a table near the door. I waved back and then realized she was waving me over. As I went to her table to see if she wanted to order, it finally clicked where I’d seen her before. It was the woman who had spilled ice water on Adrianna Reinhart at the reception following Emma Mae Millican’s funeral. Her name was…?
“Hi there,” she said as I got closer, holding out a hand. “Julie Covington? Remember me? I met you at poor Emma Mae Millican’s funeral?”
“Oh yes, of course. How are you?”
“I’m just fine. I have a shop just down the street. Days Gone By Antiques?”
“Okay, yeah. Great. Nice to see you again.”
“Your girl brought some flyers around yesterday, and I thought I’d just try you for lunch today.”
My girl? Tina was at least fifty, and in no way, shape or form was she mine in any kind of way. But all I said was, “Great. Can I get you a sandwich?”
“Yes, please. I’d like the classic, with a large sweet tea.”
“Okay, sure,” I said and was about to leave when she clutched my hand. “I wanted to ask you, Noah, how well do you know Ms. Reinhart? Emma Mae Millican’s niece? You two sure seemed to have your heads together at the repass the other day.”
“At the what?”
“The repass. It’s what they call the reception after a funeral.”
“Oh. Well, no, I don’t really know her at all. We were just chatting.”
“Well, if you see her again, remind her I want those antiques in her aunt’s house, and I’ll give her a good price for them.”
“I don’t really think I’ll be seeing…”
“Just tell her for me when you see her again. And I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yeah, uh…I was trying to tell you, I don’t think I’ll be seeing her, but if I do, I’ll tell her. No charge.”
“Oh thank you,” she simpered at me and batted her eyelashes. “But I wasn’t talking about giving you money, silly.” She rubbed her thumb along the back of my hand that she still had hold of. “Just think about it.”
“Sure.” I gently pulled away my hand and gave her another forced smile, reminding myself the customer was always right. Except not about whatever Jennifer had in mind. Not only was I irrevocably gay—I’d known I was gay since I was probably fourteen—but she was a married woman. She was definitely barking up the wrong damn tree.
I noticed Tina serving the sheriff and his deputies their food, though if I wasn’t mistaken, the sheriff was still staring straight at me. I pulled on my jacket and went out the back door for a little fresh air. Hell, who was I kidding, I needed a cigarette. I was trying to quit, but I hadn’t been doing too great at it. I had just shaken one out of the pack of Marlboros I kept in my pocket—the convenience and proximity were probably reasons I was finding it hard to quit—and I lit up, enjoying that first long drag. I heard a slight sound behind me and heard a deep, but feminine voice say, “Those things will kill you, you know.”
Adrianna Reinhart stood behind me, with the same black dress and the same red heels as she’d worn the day before. And the day before that, come to think of it. Odd. I wondered if the airline had lost her luggage or whatever. For that matter, I had no idea where Adrianna even came from, but her accent wasn’t southern in the least. Maybe it was somew
here cold, because there was a stiff breeze blowing, and she still wasn’t wearing a coat.
“Ms. Reinhart. I didn’t see you come in.”
“Call me Adrianna. I came by to ask you about your grandmother.”
“My grandmother? Look, I know she can come off as a bit rude at times. I apologize for that and for what happened at your aunt’s house yesterday. Gran was just—she and your great aunt were a lot closer than anyone knew. Than I knew, anyway. I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I wasn’t upset. In fact, I thought about going over to see her later. To talk to her about the recipe book. But I don’t have her address. I only found you, because someone at the food thing after the funeral said you had a doughnut shop in town.”
“Oh, sure. I can give you her address.” I pulled my order pad from my back pocket where I’d stuck it, and quickly wrote out our address and the home telephone number. Gran had a cell phone, but never used it when she was at home. “Our number is on here too. You should call her before you go by, because she’s out and about a lot.”
She took the paper from me and smiled. “Thank you. I won’t bother you any more.”
“It’s no bother. I was getting ready to go back inside anyway. Walk with me so you don’t have to go out through the alley again,” I said, figuring that must have been the way she got to the back yard behind the shop. But as I glanced toward the alley, I saw it was totally blocked by a garbage truck. She must have come through the kitchen and only staff were allowed there, per county health regulations. I shrugged it off and took her arm to guide her up the steps since she was wearing those heels, and she looked down at my hand on her arm and gave me a strange look.
When we got back inside, she took her leave and was walking toward the door when Julie Covington, still at her same table, spotted her and jumped to her feet. “Oh hello there, Ms. Reinhart! So nice to see you again. Can you believe, Noah and I were just talking about you.”
“You were?” Adrianna glanced over at me and I willed the floor to open up and swallow me.
“Not exactly. You see…”
Julie broke in and interrupted whatever I was going to say. “Are you leaving so soon? I was just finishing up, so I can walk with you.”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“Well, I won’t take up much of your time, I promise.” Julie grabbed her purse, threw down a ten dollar bill on the table and scrambled after Adrianna, who was still moving toward the door and picking up speed. I watched Julie catch up to her through the shop’s front window and even from a distance I could see the distaste on Adrianna’s face.
Chapter Four
I was a little late getting home from work that afternoon. On the way home, I’d stopped by to get a haircut. It was still probably too long for Indian Springs, but whatever. I was tired of being the butt of the sheriff’s jokes. Not that this would stop them, I imagined, but it might slow him down a little.
When I got home, there was no car in the driveway. I went in and called out—“Hello? Gran, Rose? I’m home”—just in case, but there was no answer. I thought I might have heard a noise in the basement, so I went downstairs to check, but no one was there either. The fact that someone had been there earlier was pretty obvious, though.
The first thing that hit me was the odor. When my granddad built what was supposed to be his “man-cave” in the basement, he’d put in a small wood stove. It was burning now, as a matter of fact, but this smell wasn’t woodsmoke. It was some kind of strong, herbal-smelling scent that seemed to permeate the basement. It wasn’t unpleasant exactly, just very pungent. Since there were candles on almost every surface, I figured the smell might be coming from them, but it was still weird as hell. Not that weird wasn’t my grandmother’s default setting lately.
Along with the strong smell of—what was that? Burnt sage? There were the folding chairs my gran used for her book club all still out and scattered around the room. They looked as if they might have started out in a circle, and one of the chairs was even overturned. There were some cups with coffee and glasses with iced tea still in them standing on the tables, but strangest of all was the salt all over the floor. Like someone had spilled a whole bag of it. It was unlike my gran to go off and leave things so messy, but I figured she must have left in a hurry for some reason.
I wandered back upstairs and into the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich and grab a beer. Armed with both, I made my way to the living room, turned up the heat a little to knock off the chill in the house and flopped on the sofa. I sat there watching TV and flipping through the channels for close to an hour before my grandmother and Rose came in, their arms full of bags of what I thought were groceries, but Gran said they’d been to Walmart and were working on a “project.” She didn’t say what kind. They disappeared back down to the basement, and I went back to my TV show.
I thought about going downstairs to ask what was going on. Then realized how tired I was and thought better of it. I got another beer instead and flopped back on the sofa to drink it. A little while later, Rose came up the stairs with a tray full of dirty glasses and cups, with my grandmother following her. She came over to sit beside me on the sofa.
“So,” she said, glancing over at me, “you decided to get a haircut?”
“Yes. My hair is obviously bothering people around here so it just wasn’t worth it.”
She tilted her head to regard me and then nodded. “Looks good. But I was wondering…did anything interesting happen today at the shop?”
“Interesting? No, not really.”
She nodded thoughtfully and tapped her hand on the arm of the couch. “Who all came in today? Anybody I’d know?”
“You’d probably know all of them, Gran. Just the usuals. Nick Moody came in with his deputies. That wasn’t too pleasant. And that woman with the antique shop, the one that spilled her drink on Emma Mae’s niece? She came in for lunch. Julie somebody. Oh, and speaking of the niece, guess who else stopped by?”
“Ah. Adrianna.”
“Yeah. Adrianna Reinhart. How’d you know? She asked for our address and said she was coming by to see you.”
“Oh, did she?”
“Yeah. Said she wanted to talk to you about the recipe book. Did she come by?”
“Yes, she stopped by for a moment. Yes, she certainly did.”
“Oh. Well, did you two have a good talk? Get things straightened out between you?”
“I think we came to an understanding, yes. She didn’t stay long, though.”
“Oh? Well, anyway, that’s great, Gran. I’m glad you’re both willing to work things out.”
“Yes, indeed. It’s probably best though, if you don’t spend any time with Adrianna Reinhart in the future.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“I have my reasons. Just…promise me you’ll be careful around her, Noah. I don’t trust her. She may try to get to me through you.”
“What? Get to you? Through me? By doing what?”
“Maybe by seducing you? It’s been known to happen.”
I barked out a laugh. “Not with me.”
She raised an eyebrow. “She’s a beautiful woman.”
“She might be, but it’s totally wasted on me. That just ain’t gonna happen, Gran. You know me better than that. Women are great, and I love them, but I sleep with men.”
“Yes, I know, sweetie. Well, just be careful. She’s an…unusual woman.”
“It’s not like I expect to see her again anytime soon. As a matter of fact, I expect she’ll be leaving town soon, won’t she?”
“I hope so. We’re trying to encourage her to. There’s really nothing for her here in Indian Springs.”
“What does she do anyway? What kind of business is she in?”
She gave me a little smile, cocking her head to one side. “Mergers and Acquisitions, I believe.”
“Really? Well, nothing like that for her here.”
“Exactly.” She leaned over and pecked my cheek. Rose and I have a littl
e art project we’re working on in the basement, so we’re going downstairs. Did you get enough to eat or can I fix you something else?”
“No, I’m fine.” A sudden yawn almost cracked my jaw, so I stretched and smiled at her. “I’ll be going to bed soon, I think. Maybe after this show goes off. I have to make the doughnuts in the morning.”
“Okay, dear. Sleep tight.”
“You too.” I went back to watching my show but made it an early night. When I went to bed, Gran and Rose were still downstairs, working on their little project. Good, I thought. I’m glad they’re finding new interests. Maybe it will keep them out of mischief.
****
The next morning I was up before dawn and going in to the shop to make my doughnuts. The recipe was simple enough, and by now I could almost do it in my sleep. Milk and eggs, unsalted butter, some sugar and bread flour. Mix together, roll out the dough, then fry the doughnuts up in a deep fat fryer and coat them in a milk and sugar glaze. Of course, it’s harder than it sounds. I left out the parts about letting the yeast work and rise, but it wasn’t a complicated process, and made easier with my giant mixing unit with the dough hook and my machine that rolled the dough and cut the doughnuts for me. When they were done, I put them on a rack and poured the glaze over them—messy, but always my favorite part—and voila, yummy glazed doughnuts.
Actually, I’d been surprised at how good they turned out to be. The best doughnuts I’d ever tasted, really. And they were so light and fluffy and sweet. As if the angels had started craving doughnuts and had gotten together to whip up a batch--they were that good. And I had just stumbled on the recipe one day while I was making up some test samples. I’d been thinking about what would make the best doughnuts anyone had ever tasted, and next thing I knew, the entire recipe just came to me out of the blue. I had whipped it up and they came out tasting magical. Divine inspiration or just dumb luck? I figured it was the latter and thanked my lucky stars.
