by Lynn Cahoon
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The next morning, she heard Precious bleating before she left her bed. “No need for an alarm clock around here,” she grumbled to Dom who was trying to hurry her to let him out as well. “I live in a freaking zoo.”
After taking care of the animals and two cups of coffee, Angie headed straight to the attic. She’d thought about the conversation with Mrs. Potter a lot as she’d lain in bed, not sleeping. Nona had put a lot of her old memory boxes upstairs. If there were any relics left over from their high school years, it would be in the attic. She got a step stool out and pulled down the attic ladder from its storage space. Carefully, she made her way up the stairs while Dom sat watching her. When she disappeared into the darkness, she heard his whine and a short bark. She poked her head out of the hole and he had one foot on the ladder, looking up at her.
“No. Go lay down. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” She waited for him to follow her directions before she turned on the flashlight and started hunting for the right box. The problem was Nona had saved a lot of stuff. Eventually, she’d need to get up here and clean out these boxes before the attic floor gave out and they came crashing down onto the second floor.
It took her a few minutes, but she figured out Nona’s system. Her and her parents’ boxes were near the south corner. In the north was her father’s childhood stuff, and on the east and west were Nona’s and Angie’s grandfather’s. He’d died before she was born, but Nona had held him close and talked about him to her only grandchild. She started opening Nona’s boxes and with each box, another set of years past. Nona as a grandmother, as a young mother, and a new bride.
Finally, she found the high school box. RV 1940 was written on the box in black marker. The year Nona had graduated. She sat on the floor, angled the flashlight between two boxes, and opened the lid. A graduation gown and cap sat on the top of the box. Black with gold tassels. Then some textbooks from what looked like a home ec class and an English class. Then notebooks and papers. Finally she found four slim yearbooks that resembled magazines rather than the hardback books she’d gotten in high school. She repacked everything into the box except the graduation outfit leaving that on top of the box pile. She scooted her way to the opening and the ladder. She glanced down. Dom lay at the bottom of the ladder, looking up. When he saw her, he sat up and barked, his body wiggling with joy that she hadn’t been killed while out of his sight. The dog worried too much.
“I’m coming. Geez, you would have thought I’d been gone for hours.” She glanced at her watch. She’d been searching the attic for over an hour. She needed to get in the shower and get ready to go pick up Felicia. Strolling down her grandmother’s memory lane would have to wait until tonight. She made her way down the stairs, put the ladder away and closed the entrance. Then she headed downstairs and set the box on the kitchen table. She grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs to shower.
Thirty minutes later, she was on the road to get Felicia. If she didn’t get behind some tractor on the road or Mrs. Potter’s friend, Delores, driving to town, she might be close to being on time.
Felicia piled into the car, dressed in a floral sundress that really needed one of those sweeping floppy hats to match it. Instead, she wore a too long gauze scarf. She glanced over at Angie who wore clean jean shorts and a purple tank. “Oh, I figured we were dressing up since we were going to lunch.”
“Since when have we been part of the ladies who lunch crowd?” Angie put the car into gear. “Let’s get moving. Our reservation’s for eleven and the chef has offered to show us the kitchen before we eat.”
“Seriously? That’s so cool.” Felicia unwrapped the scarf from her neck and stuffed it in her purse. She pulled her hair down from the upsweep, and fluffed it in the mirror. “There, I look almost casual.”
“You always look amazing. I’m not quite sure why we’re still friends, I’m that jealous of you.” Angie pulled the car onto an empty Main Street and headed out of town toward the highway.
“Whatever. You can outshine anyone when you try.” Felicia glanced out the window. “So I heard that Ian came calling last night.”
“He didn’t come calling. He came to get our goat cheese order.” Angie snuck a glance at her friend. “Wait, who did you hear that from?”
“I shouldn’t reveal my source…” Felicia let the silence hang for at least thirty seconds, then broke. “Okay, so Erica was at the store getting some supplies for her grandmother. She said he was there for over an hour. Are you denying it?”
“No. We had some cobbler and some tea. And then he talked to me about Precious, and the best way to raise a goat.” She turned down the radio. “I’m still a little worried about her being out in the yard all the time. He says I should fence off some of the barn if I’m planning on keeping her.”
“Are you planning on keeping her? I thought when the new owner of the farm comes, you were giving her back.” Felicia studied her nails as she waited for Angie’s answer.
“I don’t know yet. And no, it has nothing to do with Ian. I just met the guy, I don’t know what I’m thinking yet. So stop looking at your manicure like you’re totally uninterested in my answer.” She pulled the car onto the freeway. “Let’s do something productive rather than talk about cute guys in our lives. I hated that conversation in high school, it hasn’t become more fun over the years. Grab my bag and get out the notebook. I think I have our first weekend’s menu planned out. Or maybe we’ll run it the full month. What do you think?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had time to look at what you set up.” Felicia repeated Angie’s response. She reached into the back and grabbed Angie’s tote. One of the yearbooks tumbled out with the notebook. “What’s this?”
“Nona’s yearbook. I wanted to go through it and see if there are any clues about Mrs. Potter’s sister.”
“Like what? A caption under Gerald Moss’s picture voting him most likely to kill someone?” Felicia tucked the yearbook back into the tote and opened the notebook to the last page. She listed off the items, putting question marks with a pen where she paused, then grinned at Angie.
She’d been so quiet looking at the menu, Angie thought maybe they’d been on different pages when they’d talked food. This menu was totally sustainable in the local area. When she saw the reaction from Felicia, she blew out a breath. “You think it will work then?”
“I think it will be the bomb. I’ve gotten calls from The Statesman and The Free Press wanting information about what we plan to be serving. The way you did the menu, with descriptions of the food, it’s thoughtful and gives the producers a shout out too.” Felicia turned back toward the page. “We’ll have to get a graphic designer to implement the look, but this is strong.”
“I love it. I started playing with the idea last night after dinner.” She nodded to the page. “Do you think I need to add to some of the sections?”
“Depends. If it’s just for opening night, then no. We have enough choices, but if we run the same menu for a month, we need to add a few more items.” Felicia chewed on the end of the pen. “If we only change out dishes monthly, it will save on printing costs.”
“Maybe we should do a special one for opening weekend, then expand it for the rest of the month?” Angie took the Franklin exchange exit and headed toward the fairgrounds. “Oooh, we could give away the menu for opening night. Like a memento only for people who come the first weekend.”
“I like it. We could fold it up with their bill and put a gold sticker on the fold so it looks special.”
Angie pointed to the page. “Write this stuff down. It’s great.” She turned into a parking lot with the restaurant next to the Boise River. “We’re here. Let’s go see what they’re doing for the local foodies.”
As they walked up to the door, a couple got out of a black BMW that pulled in at the same time. The woman driving chatted animatedly to the man who climbed out the oth
er side. As Angie opened the restaurant door, she saw the man’s face. Ian McNeal.
The hostess greeted them before Ian and his dining companion could get inside the building. “You must be Angie and Felicia. Sydney’s expecting you. Come on back to the kitchen first, then we’ll get you settled at the chef’s table.”
They followed the woman through the dining room where a large stone fireplace separated the main dining from the bar area. The set up was upscale country and reminded Angie of the restaurants around the ski resorts she used to visit in Colorado. She glanced back as the kitchen door swung shut. Ian and his date were standing in the archway near the hostess table, waiting.
Felicia angled closer and whispered. “Why are you looking behind us? Did you see someone?”
“Maybe.” Angie didn’t know why she wasn’t being up front, but right now, she didn’t even know if Ian was on a real date. And again, why should it matter. They weren’t dating. Why would it matter if he saw someone? This is why she didn’t open her heart to people. She got burned. Sometimes it was her own lack of boundaries that hurt her, but sometimes, men lied. Maybe this was one of those times.
“I’m so honored you came to Canyon Creek.” Sydney Cook stood a full five feet two, if that. Her hair was a bright pink and peeked out from her chef’s cap. “I’m looking forward to visiting The County Seat. I called last week, but you’re already full up for opening night, so I have the first reservation I could get.”
“We’d love to squeeze you in for opening night.” Angie glanced at Felicia who shook her head. “But my front of house expert tells me it’s impossible.”
Sydney patted Felicia’s arm. “People like you rule the world. I’d be lost without my manager, Heidi. She’s the woman who brought you into the kitchen. If she says no, it’s no. I’ve learned from experience she’s always right.”
Felicia poked Angie in the ribs. “I wish this one was just as reasonable.”
“It takes time. Heidi and I have worked together for over fifteen years now.” Sydney started the tour of the kitchen. By the time they were done and sitting at the chef’s table, two glasses of wine and an assortment of appetizers were waiting for them.
Angie spread her napkin on her lap and grinned at the plates. Looking up at Sydney, she shook her head in amazement. “You really shouldn’t have. We were just expecting lunch.”
“I believe we should be open and supportive of each other. Welcome to the community. We’re excited to share this great area with you.” Sydney turned toward her sous chef who had walked up as they were talking. The two conversed for a few minutes, then she turned back to the table. “I’m being called away, I’m afraid. Don’t worry about ordering, we’ll be bringing you entrees in a few minutes and be sure to save room for dessert. I have a huckleberry cobbler on the menu with black pepper ice cream that’s to die for.”
By the time they left the restaurant, it was already after two. Sitting in the car, Angie shook her head. “That was so good. When I left town, the only upscale places were downtown in the larger hotels. Now, there’s a lot of places that are comparable to what we’re doing.”
“Except for the farm-to-fork concept. We’re the first in the area to embrace that. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.” Felicia checked her list on her phone. “Restaurant supply or appliance store first?”
“Let’s get your stove ordered, then go to the restaurant supply place. It’s next to the Ice Cream Palace and I wanted to stop there for a treat.” Angie pulled the car out of the parking lot and headed toward the part of town where the mall sat.
“I can’t believe you’re still hungry.”
Angie felt her phone buzz with a text. As they were at a stoplight, she read the display. “I’m not hungry yet, but since Sheriff Brown wants me to stop by the police station at my earliest convenience, at least I can have one last meal before they lock me up.”
“Seriously? What can he want now? It’s not like you killed the guy.” Felicia was checking the map app on her phone. “I think there’s an appliance store on the left once you get on Fairview.”
“Let’s go check it out.” The light had changed so Angie headed toward the next stop. Something else was going on with the death of Gerald Moss. There was no way it had been an accident or the sheriff would have moved on to other things. Even in a small town, sheriffs are too busy to worry an investigation that wasn’t there.
She just hoped she wasn’t on the top of the suspect list just because of her trip out to Moss Farm on Sunday.
CHAPTER 9
“Sheriff Brown’s been expecting you.” The young deputy glanced at the clock. It was almost five. Angie had hoped the Sheriff would have been gone by the time she got back to town, but no such luck. “He’s with someone right now, but I’ll let him know you’re finally here.”
“The message didn’t say when I was supposed…” Angie’s words trailed off as she watched the deputy left the front without stopping to hear what she said. Apparently, she was wrong and he was right, no matter what. She glanced around the small, dark waiting room and settled on a 1960s-era plastic chair. The magazine selections looked almost as old as the chair, but she picked up a Country Estates copy that was dog eared but seemed to have fewer coffee stains on the front cover than the other choices.
The deputy came back and sat at his desk. He didn’t say anything to her, just went back to typing something into the computer. She returned her gaze to the magazine and found an article on redesigning your kitchen. The hints and suggestions weren’t bad and before long, she found herself lost in the article, “Not Your Grandmother’s Kitchen.” Several of the ideas she’d wished she’d thought of a few months ago when she remodeled Nona’s kitchen. A shadow fell over the magazine page and she turned her gaze upward.
Sheriff Brown and Ian McNeal stood in front of her.
“Seriously, you have to stop stalking me. It’s getting a bit creepy.” She stood and pointed at Ian.
“What are you talking about?” Ian’s eyes went wide. “I just stopped in last night to see about the cheese order.”
“And you were at Canyon Creek today with your date.” She said it before she could think about what her noticing him really meant. She brushed off her discomfort and added, “And now you’re here.”
“Sheriff Brown asked me to come in and answer some additional questions.” Ian shot back. “Now that he knows Gerald…”
Sheriff Brown put a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I think you need to go. I’ll inform Ms. Turner about the change in circumstance.”
Ian nodded, then beelined to the door.
Sheriff Brown watched him leave. “You know you get under his skin right? I’ve never seen him so worked up about a gal.”
“He tells me you are related.” When the Sheriff didn’t answer, Angie swallowed hard. She was trying hard to ignore his words. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Let’s go into my office. I need to get off my feet. I can’t believe how bad my ankles are swelling and it’s not even deep summer.” He headed toward the back of the building, obviously expecting Angie to follow.
She walked past the reception desk where the young officer glared at her like it was her fault the sheriff’s ankles were swelling. People were weird here. First Kirk freaked out about her, and now this guy. She absently ran a hand down her hair. Maybe it was sticking out or something. When they reached his office, he indicated that she should sit in a leather visitor chair. The office was nice, wood desk, good chairs, and what looked like a small kitchenette at the back.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee? I just made up a fresh pot. Mrs. Brown’s going to tan my hide when I get home and confess, but honestly, I needed the pick me up.” He held up the pot.
“Sure.” Angie knew better than to try to rush this. Small towns had their own pace. And the sheriff didn’t care that she had a ton of work to do when she finally got home, mostly
finalizing the menu for opening night and creating a shopping list. With the trial run in less than a week, she needed to make sure everything was ready for her kitchen staff, including recipes and correct ingredients.
He handed her a cup before sitting down heavily with his own behind his desk.
She took a sip mostly to be polite, then her eyes widened. She took a second sip. “It’s good.”
“I guess you didn’t think you could get a good cup out here in the boonies, huh?” He pushed a card toward her. “My wife’s nephew owns a coffee shop in Meridian. He makes his own blends. You might want to talk to him about buying some for your diner. He’ll give you a good deal.”
“I’ll check it out.” She tucked the card into her tote. She’d text Felicia the information later. This was how business ran here. One referral at a time. “Ian said there was a problem with Gerald’s death?”
“No problem really. I just have to ask you a few more questions since it’s highly unlikely he just fell from the ridge. From the coroner’s preliminary report, it looks like he was restrained and then pushed.” He pulled out a file. “Instead of just being an unattended death, we’ve got a murder on our hands. So tell me, when did you go to Moss Farm?”
“Sunday morning around six thirty. I met him at the farmers’ market the day before and Mrs. Potter, my neighbor,” she paused making sure the sheriff knew who she was talking about, “well, she said I needed to get to know Mr. Moss so he’d be more agreeable to selling me his goat cheese. I guess he can be a bit of a curmudgeon at times.”
“If that’s a fancy word for butt, yes, Gerald Moss was that. I can’t tell you how many times I got called out to the place because some kids came too close to his property. He liked his privacy.” He shuffled some papers. “Last time we talked, you said Reana Whiting arrived at the farm just as you were leaving. You know who Reana is right? I mean, you’d recognize her by sight, correct?”
