I tried to picture the style on top of my head. “No. Probably too much work. Looks like something Marion would go for.”
“May she rest in peace.”
“She surely didn’t hand it out to anyone while she was living. Heard about funeral arrangements yet?”
“Tomorrow at noon,” Regina said. “I told Valorie she should get you to sing.”
“Me?”
“Sure. No one sings ‘Amazing Grace’ like you.”
I lifted a hand to wipe a drop of water tickling on my forehead. “No one feels it like I do.” It was time to begin gathering some information from Regina. “What is the gossip on Marion’s death?”
“Most think Mark Hamm is a bit suspicious. I’ve thought it ever since he came to town. Weird with a capital ‘W.’” She shook her head. Her hands patted the towel over my hair to absorb water. “One day, I saw him hanging around outside the shop and wondered what he was up to. I was cutting Valorie’s hair at the time. He didn’t say anything to Valorie that I know of, but came in after she left looking real embarrassed-like. Of course, every eye in the shop popped when he came in. I’d just cleaned out the brushes I’d used on her and swept up the clippings. Was about to dump the dustpan when he got real close and asked me if he could have some. Can you believe that?”
She indicated the back room with a roll of her head. “He followed me back there and just as I lifted the lid to dump the stuff, he waved a fifty under my nose. I was shocked. Before I knew it he added another fifty. Well, with the cost of momma’s care, I can tell you that was way too much temptation for this gal. I let him pick some out of the dustpan. He stuffed it into an envelope. Went straight for the door after that.”
“Hmm,” was all I inserted. This sister was on a roll and what she said really spun some questions around in my head.
Regina moved back and forth a few times, squirting and dabbing conditioners on my hair before she snagged a wide-toothed comb. She carefully sectioned my hair and began the comb-out. “You want to do braid-outs?”
“Sounds good.” When her eyebrows came together in concentration, I decided to prompt her or she might never finish her story. “What happened next?”
“Well, I didn’t tell the girls what I’d done, but we sure talked over the strange request after he left. Most of the women thought he was some kind of stalker and, now, with the way he parades around with Valorie . . . ” She caught my eye in the mirror. “Kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“I can assure you Marion didn’t approve. Most think it’s been going on for a while.” I tried to picture Mark Hamm in a fit of rage, pushing Marion. Or Valorie doing the pushing. . . Maybe Valorie’s grief was tinged with guilt? In light of this new information, her declaration that she had a place to stay seemed frightfully bold. But young girls lost their heads over older men every day. If Marion had caused a flap and forbid Valorie from seeing Mark. . .
Regina’s hands stilled mid-comb. “Love is a powerful motive.”
Chills ran up my back. “I was thinking along those same lines.”
Were Valorie and Mark in cahoots? I’d have to shelve that information for a while and think on it later. While interesting to know, I reminded myself that I still had questions about Regina that needed answering. Was the story she shared about Mark a way to detour everyone’s suspicions from her?
Time to spill a little of the information I’d become privy to and test the waters a bit. “I heard there was an envelope of money on the counter at Marion’s. Heard anyone mention that? Chief collected it and is waiting the results of a fingerprint test.”
The easy rhythm of Regina’s comb out faltered. Her eyes flashed something akin to panic before she dipped her head and resumed combing. “Now that you mention it, the police did question me on the presence of an envelope. Wonder what it was?”
I returned to looking through the magazine, trying to decide exactly what had shaken up Regina and why she was trying so hard to act nonchalant. Bigger question—why hadn’t Chief mentioned that he’d questioned her about the envelope? Maybe he’d forgotten.
A gust of air signaled the arrival of another customer. I wiggled my fingers as Sasha Blightman blew in with the warm breeze that swirled through the shop. “Howdy, ladies. Saw you salivating as you drove by, LaTisha. Like that sweet little hat in the window?”
“That hat tempts me every time I see it. Surprised you didn’t sell it during your sidewalk sale.”
Sasha, ever the fashion plate, tugged on the pastel scarf that served as a belt and did a groan. “That was a fiasco.”
Regina smiled at Sasha in the mirror. “I did my best to help keep you out of Chapter 11.”
Sasha trilled a laugh. “Sales weren’t the problem. Hauling everything in and out is the tedious part. Since sales were so good, we extended it through Monday. You’ll have to hurry over and try on that hat, LaTisha. I’ll give you a good discount.”
She faced Regina as she slipped her perfect size eight form into one of the three chairs. “Olivia was disappointed you couldn’t fit her in today. We thought maybe something had happened to your mother when you canceled our appointments on Tuesday. It turned out to be a blessing though because a delivery arrived at ten and it took us until lunchtime to get everything put out.”
Ten o’clock until noon. The timeframe of Marion’s death. I forced myself not to react to the news and studied Regina. Her expression remained neutral, though I thought I saw a slight tightening of her lips.
She snapped a plastic cap around my head. “Sorry, Sasha, I had a long lunch date.”
Chapter Twelve
After dropping off Shiny’s pineapple upside-down cake, I backtracked to Mark Hamm’s restaurant. I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes before the high school kids were let out for the day.
The biggest challenge lay before me. Standing there, smelling the grease, I wondered about the future health of the high-cholesterol patients inside. Lord forgive me for desecrating my body with greasy fast food. The only product on Mark’s menu I’d ever condescend to eat was his onion rings and salad—and lettuce settled worse in my stomach than tea.
I pulled open the door, imagining myself cutting through a cloud scented with grease and onions. A sign propped against the greeting station blared, in neon lettering: COOK WANTED.
Tammy greeted me. A tall, slender girl who graduated with Lela, Tammy remained in Maple Gap working to save enough to attend community college in the fall.
“How you doing, Mrs. Barnhart?”
“Fine, baby, how’re you?”
“Pinching pennies and saving dimes.” Tammy poised to slide a menu from the holder on the wall and stopped. “You have the usual?”
“Just some rings. I’d really like to talk to Mark.”
Tammy shrugged. “Okay. I’ll put in the order. You have a seat wherever you like.”
I had a tough choice. Between heavily varnished Americana furniture and green vinyl booths—I went against my better judgment and took the booth. Never did make the things wide enough for my liking, but it would be more private should other townsfolk come in for an early dinner.
As soon as my rear made contact, the vinyl let out an embarrassing squeal of air. Didn’t even have Hardy with me to lay blame on. With a push, I forced the table away to allow myself more room to maneuver into the narrow space.
Mark appeared at my side. His tall, lean frame a direct contrast to the fat content of the food he prepared daily. Handsome enough, though, even for a guy at least twenty years Valorie’s senior. This time, as I looked him over, something about the firm set of his lips jogged my memory, as if I’d seen that same look elsewhere, on someone else. Strange. I’d never before had that impression. Why now?
His smile revealed a nice flash of white teeth. Reminded me that I needed to make an appointment for Hardy. Dentures, ya know.
“What can I do for you, LaTisha?”
“Have a seat first of all. Don’t need a crick in my neck from straining to see
ya.”
His expression became guarded, and I knew he must be wondering if I’d seen him yesterday. That’s when a lightbulb lit in my brain, giving me an idea how I could get more information from this close-mouthed man. I gave myself a mental pat on the back and launched into my speech. “You see, I-uh-am looking for a job, and you’re looking for a cook. I can do all that and you know it. I’ve fed this town for years right out of my own kitchen.”
Mark sat down and stretched his feet into the aisle. “Well, now. That’s some kind of resume.”
“Ain’t a body here who, when they took sick, hasn’t had them a pot of LaTisha’s chicken soup delivered right to their doorstep.”
Tammy entered the dining area and began filling salt and pepper shakers and replacing the paper napkins of breakfast and lunch with cloth ones for the dinner rush.
Mark rubbed his chin. “Rumor is Marion fired you.”
That again. “I quit, and my alibi is airtight, if that’s where your mind is headed,” —which is more than I can say for you—, I wanted to say but wisely refrained. “Anyone who knew Marion for more than a week knew she was one contrary woman. It’s a miracle we worked together for the two years we did without me for real laying my hands on her. But I’d had it with her bossin’ and told her so. She fired me in the same breath I told her I quit.”
“Ah.” Mark breathed the syllable. “So you’re not going to be an easy one to work with.”
“I’ll do what you ask me to do, but don’t go telling me how to cook this or that. Your menu needs some work, too. Serve something besides fried foods and you’ll double your business.”
He looked amused. “Sounds like you want to be both manager and cook.”
“You just hear my opinions on matters and we’ll have our peace.”
He laced his fingers and twiddled his thumbs. “Haven’t had anyone else apply for the job.” He stuck out his hand. “Welcome aboard, LaTisha.”
I frowned at his outstretched fingers. “You hold on there. We’ve not talked money, and money is one of my favorite subjects, especially when it’s my sweat earnin’ it.”
Mark’s hand withered away. “I was planning on paying about eight dollars an hour.”
“I ain’t no young buck out of high school.”
He ran a hand over his hair and down the back of his neck. “Well, how about eight-fifty?”
“I want eleven and an understanding.”
“Eleven!”
“You won’t be sorry if you hire my cookin’. A teenager, on the other hand. . .”
His chin dipped to his chest. “What’s the understanding?”
I shifted forward and pitched my voice low. “Two dollars an hour of my salary goes to Tammy. If you tell her, I’ll burn everything I cook. You feelin’ me?”
“I’d just fire you.”
Widening my eyes, I shook my head. “After all the people you’ll attract with me as cook, you’d have a riot on your hands if you fired me.”
“That’s very generous of you. Uh, I mean about Tammy.”
“She needs to get in school before her brain can’t do backflips no more. I’m gonna get her there. Plus I’ll have enough to cover my tuition.”
“I’ll make you a deal. If my business doubles within two months of hiring you, I’ll give you a dollar an hour raise.”
Spitting on my hand, I stuck it out. Mark blanched a bit, but snuck his hand out. I slapped it loudly with mine and made sure to make real good palm contact.
“You can start tonight.”
His hopeful expression almost made me laugh. “Nope, I need to talk to Hardy about this and get a good night’s rest. There’ll be a lot of preparation and rearranging of the menu before I ever set foot in that kitchen. How about next week? I’ll come in tomorrow and we can decide what dishes go and what stay.” Scooting sideways like an overgrown fiddler crab, I hauled myself to my feet. Turning back to him, I pointed at the booth. “Those things need to go. Get yourself some decent seating.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Good.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. Valorie was headed in our direction. I had no doubt she would gain his full attention. “One more thing,”
Mark raised his brows a notch.
“Does the name Jackson Hughes mean anything to you?”
“Sure, he was the assayer in our town legend.” He turned, saw Valorie, and motioned her toward him, his expression concerned.
She smiled at me and I grasped her hand, feeling her pain, seeing the tears forming in her eyes. “How are you, baby?”
She blinked, releasing a sluice of fresh tears.
Mark held his arms open to her and she went willingly. “Shh . . . I’m here.”
Muffled sniffles were the only sound until she leaned back in his embrace, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thanks, Dad.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Apparently it’s no secret now.” Hardy finished chopping the last of the squash and onions and pushed the cutting board at me.
“Mark’s a smart man. He knows what this is going to look like to the community. Here he is on the city council and his—well, hmm, guess they weren’t married. Anyway, she turns up dead and he then admits that he is the long-lost father Marion was always complainin’ about. Sure people will think he has the perfect motive. Knowing Marion as everyone did, she wouldn’t tolerate his interference in raising Valorie.”
Getting to my feet, I stabbed at the two thick, breaded pork chops in the skillet. They smelled like heaven. Pink juices ran out of the holes I’d pierced. A few more minutes.
I rustled around in the drawer of pots and pans before I found a smaller skillet and set about frying a couple of pieces of bacon.
“Regina’s patrons sure will be disappointed to know those hair clippings weren’t the result of an evil mind,” Hardy said.
“Quite clever, in my book, of him to think of such a thing.” I covered the bacon with a lid. “With studying the way they use DNA for such things nowadays, I’m a might disappointed I didn’t figure that out.”
“You said you thought Mark looked familiar somehow when you talked with him. If you’d had more time, you would have figured out the similarities in their features, though Valorie favors Marion more.”
“I sure hope so.”
“What made you decide to work for him?”
Hardy’s tone held something more than a note of surprise. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to attach an emotion to the tone. “I’ll need the money for tuition and it’ll give me a chance to be close to the townsfolk on a more regular basis.”
“Stuck in a kitchen?”
“You don’t mind it when I’m stuck in this kitchen.”
“That’s because I get to see you when you’re here. I’ve gotten used to having you all to myself.” His brown eyes were earnest.
I covered his hand with mine to take the sting from my words. “You know I got to work to pay for the college. Your retirement check isn’t enough.”
“I know that.”
But he wouldn’t look at me. I squeezed his fingers. “You missing the work?”
“No.” His shoulders seemed to slump more than normal. “I enjoy getting up when I want to and doin’ what I want to do, but without you here, and with Lela gone, it gets powerful lonesome.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “So you askin’ me to quit before I ever start?”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Don’t rightly know what I’m askin’. I know it’s been your dream since you was a kid to have a degree. That’s why I was so pleased when you married me instead. But it’s been ticking inside you all these years to go back, so I want to see you do this, and our empty nest gives you the time to work on it.” He picked up the knife and tapped the handle against the table. “I just didn’t think retirement would be like this. I spent most my life raisin’ up in the mornin’ and hustling to work, then coming home to you and the babies. . .”
I f
elt something give in my chest and went to him. This I could understand. And his admission warmed my heart. He didn’t want me to leave him alone. “It’s a new chapter in our lives.”
“I know,” he tilted his head to look up at me, brown eyes sincere. “It helped me to know you were feeling it, too. Until I talked to you the other night, I wasn’t sure what it was gnawin’ at me.”
I pulled his head to my waist and stroked the grizzled gray and black head. He needed me, wanted me, and I didn’t need to be forgetting that. Even if our babies were all gone, the good Lord had left me with a precious man to care for and love on. I didn’t need to be making decisions without him.
My line of vision was pulled to the wall where the smiling faces of our children beamed down on us, the clock itself a silent reminder of time’s passage. The harder I tried to keep up, the faster the seconds ticked. We’d be grandparents soon, but even still, our children lived too far away to visit often. Besides, they needed room to build a life for themselves.
My eyes roamed the kitchen as I opened my mind to the first suggestion that offered a doable solution. My gaze landed on the cutting board of chopped vegetables and a lightbulb flashed on in my head.
“Hardy, honey, I do believe I have a solution to your dilemma.”
Hardy affected his best formal pose and stoic face as he practiced his maitre’d skills. I was playing the customer. Good practice for his new job as waiter. Yup. That’s what we figured out between us. If I was to be away from home acting as chief cook, then he would hire on as a waiter.
“Good evening, ma’am. A table for two?”
I decided it best to put his staunch stoicism to the full test. “You suggesting I need two tables for myself? Can’t you see it’s only me?”
Unaffected, Hardy bowed his apology. “In that case, ma’am, a table for one with two chairs.”
“If I could move quick, I’d box your ears, Mr. Martyr’D.”
“Good for me you’re well grounded.”
Hmph! He was having way too much fun. “You best get back to being nice before I change my mind about helping you. Pretend the Blightman’s are arriving for dinner.”
Murder on the Ol' Bunions (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) Page 9
