Flipped For Murder

by Maddie Day

  Jim paced near the door, coat on. I brought him the mug and one of the sandwiches, which I’d slipped into a plastic bag. “Here’s a sandwich to nosh on as you drive. I’ll walk you out.”

  On the porch I took his face in my hands and pulled him down for a quick kiss.

  “I hope your mom’s all right. She’s going to be really happy you’re there.”

  “Thanks.” He sucked air in through his teeth. “I hate to leave you with Stella’s killer still out there.”

  “Don’t even think about it. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. When I can.”

  “Good. Now go. And drive safe.” I gave him a little push and watched, arms wrapped around myself, until he drove off. The night air was crisp, and the breeze brought smells of dew and wood smoke mixed with a touch of death—the death of all things green and fresh until spring. I shivered and went back in.

  “All right, gentlemen, party’s over,” I called out. “Who’s up for restoring this joint to its usual beautiful order? Help me out and your next breakfast here is on the house.”

  The poker players looked up, and Abe strolled toward me, a hand-cranked beater in his hand.

  “Can I buy this?” he asked. “It’s got a very cool mechanism.”

  “Of course.” We completed the transaction, and then I walked over to the chalkboard and began to write, announcing the tasks as I went.

  “We have to gather all the trash. Separate the recycling. Wash any pans. Sweep and mop the floor—I noticed more than one drink got spilled. Put all the tables and chairs back. And if anyone wants to help me set up for tomorrow, I’ll foot you two free breakfasts.”

  Phil marched to the CD player and rummaged until he found what he was looking for. In a moment the music of the Alabama Shakes was rocking the airspace. Phil headed for the sink. Turner grabbed a broom, and Abe a trash bag.

  During the next half hour, Turner unself-consciously danced with the broom and then the mop as he worked. Abe sorted and stowed all the trash. I wolfed down my own sandwich and then scrubbed the sink. In no time the place was spotless and restored to restaurant status. Phil set the last napkin roll on a table and let out a mighty yawn.

  “Great teamwork, guys,” I said, stretching my arms to the ceiling.

  “Need a ride, dude?” Phil asked Turner.

  The intern nodded. “That would help, since it didn’t occur to Ms. Beedle that she drove me here.”

  “’Night, Robbie. Nice job,” Phil said.

  “Thanks to you both.” I waved at them as they left.

  “You all set, or is there more I can help you with?” Abe asked. “You know, second free breakfast and all.” His dimple went extra deep when he smiled like that.

  I laughed. “Sure. How are you with a knife? There’re melons to cut up for tomorrow, and I have to prep biscuit dough.”

  “I’m the best.” He made a pretend show of tossing knives in the air in front of his face and did a soft whistle, which almost sounded like it, too.

  “Follow me, Ginsu master.” I beckoned to the walk-in. We both carried melons out; then I set him up with a good knife, a wide cutting board, a big stainless-steel bowl for the fruit, and a smaller one for the compostable parts.

  After I washed my hands, I said, “A little whiskey to go with the job?” I grabbed the bourbon from my cupboard. When he nodded, I poured us each a couple of fingers, then I went back into the cooler for butter, milk, cheese, and eggs, leaving him washing his hands at the sink.

  We worked in silence for a moment, me mixing baking powder and salt into flour, him slicing the skin off wedges of melon. I glanced over at him, feeling a touch guilty Jim was driving north alone in the dark toward a family emergency and I was here drinking bourbon with a man equally as handsome as Jim, but in an entirely different way.

  “Good news your brother was released,” I finally said.

  “He’s one messed-up man, I’ll tell you.”

  “Was he ever married? Does he have kids?” I asked, cutting the butter into the flour mixture.

  “No to both. I don’t think he ever got over not succeeding with your mom. And now he’s all upset word’s getting out about him seeing Georgia. That church of his does a number on his head. Nobody but him really cares.”

  I dumped a bag of grated cheddar into the bowl and mixed it in. “Did he tell you about why he went over to Stella’s?”

  “To tell her he wasn’t putting up with her soaking him dry? I wish he’d come to me for help a lot earlier.”

  “You didn’t know about the incident at the quarry, then.”

  “No,” Abe said as he sliced open another melon. “He’s the oldest in the family, and I would have been a toddler at the time. He only told me about it when they let me visit him in jail. It’s funny, he was my awesome big brother for so long. Now it’s almost like I’m the older one.”

  “His store seems to be doing well.”

  “That he can do. He knows the stock, manages the staff. Yeah, that’s a good gig for him. It’s on the personal side where he doesn’t do so well.” He looked up. “You want these in bite-sized cubes?”

  “Perfect, thanks. So you said you were a navy medic. Where did you serve?” I cracked six eggs into a well in the middle of the biscuit mix and broke them up with a fork, stirring lightly.

  “A few years after 9/11, I thought I ought to volunteer. I figured they’d send me to Afghanistan or somewhere. Instead, I spent two pretty quiet years in Japan.” He looked up and smiled. “I studied teppanyaki—”

  “Where the chef cooks on a hot iron plate right in front of you.”

  “Exactly. The kind of chef who flashes knives around.” He set a melon in front of him and sliced it open in a clean, fluid movement. “When I got back, I went to college on the government’s dime, but I decided to be an electrician.”

  “Ed sure seemed like he’d had a couple when he walked in here tonight. You know anything about him?” After I took a sip of whiskey, I stirred two cups of milk into the dough with the same fork.

  Abe frowned at the golden fruit in front of him, scooping the seeds and pulp with a spoon into the bowl. “He and Donnie are old friends, grew up here together. But unlike my big brother, Ed isn’t good at business.”

  “Or keeping his hands to himself, apparently.”

  “That too.”

  “Is he married?” I kneaded the dough gently in the bowl, then turned it onto the marble, which I’d sprinkled flour on.

  “Used to be. Nasty divorce. His wife soaked him pretty bad, but I’ll bet he deserved it.”

  “Question for you. Do you think Stella had anything on Ed? Like a juicy tidbit she’d be blackmailing him about?”

  He stared at me. “You think he might have killed her to shut her up?”

  “I don’t know what I think. She was apparently blackmailing lots of folks. Don and Corrine included.” After shaping the dough into a thick disk ready to roll out and cut biscuits out of in the morning, I slipped it into a plastic bag.

  “You know, that doesn’t surprise me. Not a bit.” He sipped from his own glass. “I didn’t know Stella well, but she seemed a real bitch.”

  “That was my experience of her, for sure.” After I deposited the dough in the walk-in, I scrubbed off the marble and tidied up. I needed to be way careful I didn’t leave food out to attract vermin. I was sure this old building featured cracks and leaks aplenty where a mouse could sneak in.

  “Done,” he said. “Where does the compost go?”

  “There’s a bin right outside the side door there.” I pointed to the service door. “Thanks a ton for helping.” I stretched plastic wrap over the fruit bowl and set it in the cooler.

  When Abe came back in, he washed the bowl and his hands, drying them on a paper towel. I was kneeling, sweeping up spilled flour with the hand brush and dustpan. I glanced up, sensing his eyes on me. He cleared his throat.

  “This was a lot of fun, Robbie.”

  I swept the littl
e pile of flour and bits of cheese into the pan and stood. “Agreed.”

  “I like spending time with you.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Would you want to maybe go out for a drink one of these days? Or a meal you don’t have to cook?” There was that dimple again.

  Wow. I could hear Adele’s voice in my head, saying, “It don’t rain, but it pours.” Abe must not have noticed that Jim and I were becoming an item. But how could he have?

  He shifted from one foot to the other. He blinked and his smile faded. I needed to answer him.

  “I . . .” I what? I’m taken? Am I? Huh, Jim won’t be back for several days. Nothing wrong with a free meal, is there? “I’d love to. Tomorrow night? Store’s closed Mondays, so I can actually relax on Sundays.”

  “It’s a date.” His smile was back in full force. “Pick you up at six?” He headed for the door.

  When he glanced back, still smiling, I waved, then I watched him disappear. Years in the dating desert and now two hot guys are interested in me. I locked the door he’d left through, and did a little dance with the door handle on the drinks cooler as I passed by.

  After making sure the restaurant was spotless and all the doors locked, I headed to my apartment, securing the door after me. I’d be in a sticky spot if Danna didn’t show up in the morning, but I figured she would. Letting a creep like Ed rob her of her job would only satisfy him and screw her royally. Turning the tables was the best plan. I hoped Danna thought so, too.

  Birdy wove through my legs, purring with all his avian overtones. Tired and wired at the same time, I sank into my desk chair. Birdy leapt into my lap and lay there purring as I stroked him. What an evening. What a day.

  I’d spoken with my father for the first time. He’d not only not rebuffed me, but he’d welcomed me. A soused Ed let his inner harasser out of the closet, and Danna stood up to him with distinction. Roy, who might well have been the person who shot at me, snuck into this very apartment and not only got himself found, but also got arrested for trespassing. Don admitted his guilt in the quarry assault, as well as his victim status in the blackmail. And Abe asked me out on a date.

  I glanced at the Stella Murder puzzle, which lay in front of me unfinished, unsolved. I could add a couple more blackmail victims—Don and Corrine—and proof of Ed’s harassing. Picking up the pencil, producing the effect of losing my lap pillow as Birdy jumped to the floor, I also jotted down Roy’s behavior. And frowned. What did he think he’d gain by snooping in my apartment, and then hiding instead of pretending he’d only picked the wrong door? Several people had mentioned Roy wasn’t all there, like he had a developmental delay or another problem. In my dealings with him, he seemed okay. Ill-tempered, surely, and maybe not dealing with as full a deck as some, but his speech was fine and he didn’t seem particularly slow. I thought again how horrific it would be if he killed his own mother. Maybe he wasn’t right mentally, after all. Who was it, psychopaths, who didn’t experience emotion like the rest of us? Or was that sociopaths? Roy certainly knew guns. But then, who in South Lick didn’t, besides me?

  Corrine was sure on the money when she said Stella had been blackmailing half the men in town. She just hadn’t added “and me, too.” I wondered if Buck would be successful in getting into Stella’s bank records. A good hacker could, if the bank didn’t cooperate. But I wasn’t one, and the only one I knew was off on a vacation in Thailand.

  I looked up when I heard a noise and cocked my head to listen better. I heard Birdy crunching his dry food, but the wind must have picked up, too. A branch scratched at the window like a scene from a horror movie. I shuddered a little. But I was safe in a sturdy building that had endured over 150 years. Wind wasn’t going to get me. Opening my e-mail, I smiled at a message from Roberto’s address. When I opened it, the smile faded like the wallpaper on a sun-splashed wall. It was from his daughter again:

  Father much worse. In surgery for amputation.

  Please pray. Graciela

  My heart cried out its refusal. I couldn’t lose my father right when I’d found him. But I didn’t know how to pray, really, or whom to pray to. I sensed a spirit greater than any of us existed in a dimension we couldn’t know, but it was not an entity I could entreat for a favor. I closed my eyes and simply pictured the dark-eyed, curly-haired man named Roberto transplanted to our Santa Barbara beach: whole, smiling, healthy. That would have to do.

  Chapter 32

  Another late night, another eyelids-of-lead morning. My thoughts about Roberto had woken me up too early, and I’d decided to get a head start on the day. I stood in the shower for too long, hoping the water would wake me up. Instead, the warm flow threatened to put me back to sleep right there on my feet. When I switched it to cold for a moment, I shrieked, but at least my eyes were finally open.

  As I dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blue top, grateful the week was coming to a close, my gaze fell on the picture of Mom and me on my dresser. I was ten and we’d gone camping in Sequoia with a friend of mine and my friend’s mom. The other mother snapped this picture of us in our hiking shorts and boots, Mom’s arm around my shoulders, me giggling.

  “Aw, Mommy. You could have told me about Roberto. He wouldn’t have spoiled our lives, I’m sure of it. We could have taken trips to Italy. Maybe I’d have spent a couple of summers with him there. Or, he might have moved to California. Imagine if we’d been a family of three instead of two.” I truly had never missed being an ordinary nuclear family until right this minute. No use crying over spilled milk, I scolded myself. Or lost Italians, either.

  After I sat at my laptop and composed a quick message to Graciela asking how Roberto’s surgery went, I tied my hair up wet, cranked through my sit-ups, and fed Birdy. I’d have to start spending more time playing with him. This afternoon, I promised him before I headed to work. I started coffee—first things first, and it was already six o’clock—then made for the walk-in to get the biscuit dough and the supplies for pancakes. I passed the closest table. And froze.

  The square wooden top, the rolled-up blue napkins, even the sugar shaker—all were littered with inch-long black torpedoes. I gasped, bending down to look. Torpedoes they weren’t. Droppings now covered the table I knew was pristine clean when I left. Panicked, I glanced around the room. Feces covered all the tables, the floor, the cooking countertops, and they were bigger than mouse pellets. My stomach roiled even as my brain raced. Rats? How did they get in here, and in such number? I shuddered in revulsion, bile rising in my throat. This wasn’t a random rodent who happened to find a hole in the foundation. This was an invasion. Although, where were the animals now?

  And if anyone saw it, my business would be shut down as tight as a stubborn clam the minute the health inspector caught word. Forget the biscuits—I needed to clean, and fast. But first an apron and rubber gloves. Once those were on, I grabbed the galvanized-steel basin, which sat upside down near the sink, and the hand broom. Table by table, countertop by countertop, I swept turds, napkin rolls, even the salt, pepper, and sugar shakers into the tub. I could sort it out later and I had extras. Once the tables were clear, I carried the tub to the service door and set it down. When I reached for the doorknob, my fingers sat on it, motionless. It wasn’t locked. I’d checked all the locks last night. How had that happened? This was getting worse by the minute. At least the door was latched. That wasn’t how the rats got in. I opened it and set the tub behind the trash cans in the enclosure. I locked the door after I went back in.

  I was busy vacuuming when I heard a drumming on the front door that was loud enough to override the machine’s thrum. My heart about leapt out the top of my head. I turned to see Danna pressing her nose against the glass. I let out a breath, dropped the vacuum, and let her in.

  I faced her, my hands fluttering. “Um, I . . . There was . . .” The hum of the vacuum filled the air and I smelled the coffee for the first time.

  “What’s the matter, Robbie? Why are you vacuuming? It’s already seven. Shouldn’t you be
cooking?” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “What’s that smell?” Today her dreads were neatly covered by a brilliant green bandana.

  “The worst thing happened. But you have to swear not to tell anyone. Promise?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Last night a few of the guys helped me clean up. You could have eaten off the tables—they were that clean. This morning? Rat droppings everywhere! Every surface. It was totally revolting.”

  “Eww.” She opened her mouth like she’d tasted a vile dish. “Where’d they come from?”

  “No idea. But if I don’t get the rest cleaned up, we won’t have to worry because I’ll be out of business.”

  She set her mouth in a determined line. “What can I do?”

  “Disinfect the tables and chairs. And countertops. Lysol spray and rubber gloves. Under the sink. I’ll join you when I’ve finished cleaning the floor.”

  “Got it, General.” She saluted and beelined for the sink. She bent down and opened the lower cabinet doors. “Hey, there aren’t any droppings under here. Isn’t that where mice and rats usually start, under the sink?”

  I detoured from getting back to the vacuum. “You’re right,” I said, peering in. “Clean as a whistle. That’s really odd.” I opened a few more lower cabinets—all clean. Very odd. “Do you think somebody could have set this up on purpose? To sabotage me?”

  “Maybe. But for right now, we don’t have time to figure out who.”

  By seven-thirty we’d finished the cleaning, just. My brain usually worked on puzzling while I worked physically, but the stress of getting this place clean again overrode anything else. It was just a blessing we opened an hour later on Sundays. I started sausage frying to take the smell of Lysol out of the air, and I decided to make drop biscuits so I didn’t have to use the marble pastry top. I wanted to scrub it about six more times before that happened. I took a second to pour myself a cup of coffee so I could keep going.

  I hurried to get a pan of three dozen biscuits in the oven as Danna set up the tables with unrolled napkins and the minimum of silver.