by Becki Willis
“My son in jail. I hire you to get him out.”
“Who did you say you were again?”
“Lucy Ngyen. My son get arrested last night, but he good boy. Should not be in jail.”
“Mrs. Ngyen, I’m afraid you’ve confused me with someone else. You need to speak with a lawyer, or perhaps to a private investigator. I take on small odd jobs, filling in when people don’t have enough employees or when they just need a day or so’s work done.”
“I know what you do,” the other woman said. There was an undeniable air of dignity beneath the broken English. “You take jobs. I need job done. I need hire you.”
“But I don’t do the sort of job you need doing, Mrs. Ngyen. I have no legal expertise.”
“No need legal. Need smart. You smart?”
“I-I’d like to think so.”
“You know New Beginnings Café?”
“Yes, of course.” It belonged to her best friend, after all.
“You meet there in thirty minute? We talk.”
“Mrs. Ngyen, I really don’t think-”
“I pay you one thousand dollar.”
Madison’s foot slipped from the brake completely. The car rolled forward as she stomped around on the floor, too flustered to immediately find the pedal. The nose of her SUV lightly bumped the retractable railroad barricade. As she jerked to a hard stop, she asked the woman to repeat her offer. Surely she had misunderstood!
“One thousand. One thousand dollar.”
Madison wavered with indecision. What could she do to help this woman? Her son was in jail. Presumably this was Don Ngyen’s mother, the same Don Ngyen who was accused of murder. How could she possibly help?
How could you spend an extra thousand dollars? A little voice spoke in her head. You could pay your car insurance. The cell phone bills. There might even be enough left over to get Bethani those shoes she’s been wanting. The ones you couldn’t afford at Christmas. And with Blake playing baseball, there’s bound to be new expenses…
“Missus? You there?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”
“You meet me, yes?”
It was crazy. It was useless.
It was a thousand dollars.
“Yes, Mrs. Ngyen, I will meet you.”
The Saturday lunch crowd was a bit unpredictable at New Beginnings Café and Bakery. During the week, Genesis did a brisk and steady business, but every Saturday was different. Depending on what was happening in town on that particular day —a ballgame, yard sale, funeral, family reunion, bad weather— the café might be packed or it might be dead.
Today was one of those in-between days, when customers trickled in one table at a time. It was almost noon, and only a handful of diners were seated at the tables scattered throughout the historic building; two more sat at the long counter that edged the bakery. A group of seven had already eaten and gone, and of course, there would be stragglers throughout the day, coming in for a late bite of lunch. The café closed at four on Saturdays and remained dark on Sunday, but would re-open bright and early on Monday morning.
Genesis moved among the tables, carrying a pitcher of sweet tea to refill empty glasses. Technically, it was the waitress’s job, but she enjoyed visiting with her customers and adding a personal touch to their dining experience.
“Good morning, Cutter,” she greeted the young man who sat in a booth near the windows. No matter what day of the week, Cutter Montgomery was her most faithful customer. She supposed it was because he lived alone and did not like to cook. Then again, maybe it was because of her waitress, Shilo Dawne Nedbalek.
The dark-haired beauty made no secret of the fact that she had a crush on the firefighter. Of course, most of the females in town felt the same way, so he hardly had to seek out companionship. Genesis could not determine if he liked the waitress or not; half the time he flirted with her, the other half he argued with her.
“Morning, Miss Genny,” he said, smiling warmly at her. He had an engaging smile, the kind that involved his entire face, not just his lips.
“Has Shilo Dawne been over to take your order?” His tea glass was already half empty and there was no menu in sight, but that was hardly unusual. He normally ordered the special of the day, no matter what was on it. Not for the first time, Genesis thought of the lucky woman who would one day be his wife; it appeared the man ate just about anything.
“She was here.”
“Uh-oh, I hear that tone in your voice. What happened this time?”
“I do not know what is with that girl! I said one little thing about her hair being down, and she went off on some tangent! I was actually about to tell her how pretty she looked with those dark curls hanging free, when she went into a rage about how I wasn’t the health inspector and there was nothing wrong with her hair down, as long as she wasn’t the one cooking. That girl is too high strung, if you ask me.”
“You’ll have to excuse her. College classes start back up next week and she’s trying to juggle her work schedule with her class schedule. She’s just a little stressed right now.”
“You need to give her lessons on how to be calm, cool, and collected, like you always are.” He used his hand to gesture a smooth, even line.
“Aw, you think I’m cool and collected?” Genesis grinned, the very thought causing her dimples to appear. Those were not the words most people used to describe her energy level.
“I think you’re just about perfect, Miss Genny.”
“Cutter Montgomery, if I was ten years younger, I swear I’d give these girls around here a run for their money!”
The handsome volunteer fireman frowned. “You make yourself sound old. I don’t know and I’m not asking, but you don’t look a day over thirty.”
“And you’re the smoothest liar I ever did know!” Genny burst out with laughter.
“Besides, you know what they say. You’re as old as you feel.”
“Oh, great, I just aged a dozen years. I’ve been on my feet all day, making cupcakes for Christina Roma’s birthday party. I’m feeling pretty old at the moment.”
The young man offered a serious expression. “Hey, if you need someone to taste test for you, I’m available. Wouldn’t want to serve all those little kids bad cupcakes or anything. Especially since the town is just getting over the avian flu scare and all.”
“Thanks for the offer, I’ll keep that in mind,” Genny grinned. Her smile dropped away as she said, “Wasn’t that ridiculous, the way everyone jumped to conclusions like that?”
“Hey, it’s The Sisters. What can I say? Not a lot happens around here, so sometimes people have to spice things up a little. Create excitement where it’s not happening.”
“I heard all sorts of crazy rumors.” Genesis ticked them off with her fingers. “He died of the bird flu, he died of strychnine poisoning from the chicken feed, he died of a heart attack, he died of gas fumes, he died of electrocution, he died of mysterious causes that —and I quote— ‘will set this community on its heels when the truth is finally revealed’. Oh, and of course, there’s the theory that he died of an overdose of Viagra. I, personally, am leaning toward that one.” Her blue eyes twinkled with merriment.
“With that wife of his, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Cutter grunted. “Did you know that woman propositioned me, the very same day we found her husband dead? She asked me to come up to the house and see what was wrong with one of her electrical plugs. Said she had seen some sparks coming out of it one day and now it wasn’t working, so she was afraid it might be a fire hazard. Turned out it was just a thrown breaker, but you should have seen the outfit she changed into! She plastered herself to me and cried on my shoulder for half an hour, then told me how lonely she was going to be in her big ole’ bed, all alone.”
“Poor Cutter,” Genny cooed, “you shouldn’t be so irresistible!”
He looked embarrassed, even though a pleased smile tickled his mouth. The smile turned downward when Shilo Dawne flounced back into the room, headed straight for
his table.
She was wearing one of her typical outfits, a vintage-style handkerchief blouse over wide bell-bottom jeans. Looking at her now, it was no wonder people swore the girl was re-incarnated, having lived her first life as a hippie in the nineteen seventies. She was into all things natural, loved animals, babies, and flowers, and had at least three peace symbols tattooed onto her petite body. As she stormed her way toward the booth, green eyes flashing, a dark curl slipped from the crocheted headband she wore. Meant to be worn at the forehead, the colorful band was now twisted like a figure eight, interwoven among the dark locks piled high upon her head.
“There! Is this better, Mr. Montgomery?” she asked frostily.
He looked baffled by her demeanor, bringing a chuckle from Genesis and at least one other diner. “Uh, yeah, great,” he offered lamely.
“That’s all you have to say?” the girl demanded, hands upon her tiny waist. “You complain about my hair being down, so I go to the trouble of putting three yards of curls up on top of my head, and all you have to say is ‘uh, yeah, great’?” She mimicked him in an unflattering tone. “You men are so exasperating!”
“Shilo, honey, Cutter wasn’t complaining about your hair,” Genesis broke in softly, touching the girl’s arm. “He was telling me how pretty he thought your hair looked down. You misunderstood him.”
The girl’s face crumbled in chagrin. Then a bright smile lit her face, transforming her into a rare beauty.
Why, then, did Cutter look so aggravated? Genny wondered. She was just trying to help. In spite of his joking ways and the women who fell at his feet, she sensed that the young man was a bit bashful, and not quite as sure of himself as he portrayed. Genesis was fond of Shilo Dawne and Cutter seemed pretty special, himself, so why not do her part in getting the two of them together? It seemed perfectly logical to her.
“Well, I see Mr. Pruett is back,” Genesis said when an older man shuffled into the diner. She wiggled her fingers in greeting. “I want to go ask him about his niece in California, the one who’s a writer for all those television shows.”
Cutter frowned in disapproval. “You know that old coot is loony as a bed bug. Don’t be falling for everything he tells you, Miss Genny.”
The café proprietor shrugged. “Even if his stories aren’t true, they are certainly entertaining. Shilo Dawne, I’ll take him his menu, then you can get his order, all right, honey?” It was Genny’s subtle way of reminding her employee there were more customers than just the handsome man she hovered over.
“Yes, Miss Genny.” The girl’s voice was subdued this time.
Cutter flashed a conspiratorial grin at Genesis. “Well, what do you know? There’s hope for her yet.”
Genny just laughed and moved away from the table, nodding a smiled greeting to the Vietnamese woman seated at the back booth. If rumors were right, her son had been arrested last night. Genny’s heart went out to the mother.
“What was that all about?” Shilo Dawne asked, cutting her eyes at Cutter. “What do you mean, hope for me?”
“I just think you could learn a lesson or two from Miss Genny.”
“How so? I don’t want to be a waitress forever. I have dreams. Big dreams.”
“You could learn a lot from your employer, Shilo Dawne. Miss Genesis is about the classiest, most interesting woman I’ve ever known.”
Even though the girl truly liked and admired her boss, she was too stubborn to admit it right now. Instead, she rolled her eyes and muttered, “Then what in the world is she doing back here in Naomi, the un-classiest town in the state of Texas?”
Watching the blond haired woman move among her patrons, full hips swaying and dimples flashing, Cutter’s reply was simple. Genesis Baker had taken the tired old building and breathed new life into it, offering townspeople not only a good meal, but also a good place to gather. The decor, like the remodeled structure itself, was a mix of old and new, blending the best of both into a warm, friendly atmosphere. Even the menu was a blend of old tried-and-true favorites like hamburgers and chicken fried steaks, interspersed with trendier options such as Greek salad, grilled salmon, and spinach soufflé. But the best part of the entire café was the little corner where her special desserts were on display. The woman worked absolute magic with flour and sugar.
Looking back at Shilo Dawne, Cutter nodded with certainty.
“Seems to me she’s making it a better place.”
Genesis waved when she saw her best friend come into the café. Madison’s flushed face and slightly damp hair suggested she just came from the shower.
“Be right there!” Genesis called over her shoulder, still engaged in a conversation with Tom Pruett. Madison waved her away, motioning her intentions to sit at a booth. In surprise, Genesis watched her friend take the seat opposite Lucy Ngyen at the back of the building.
Wondering what that was about, she only half listened as the old man continued to speak. “Yes, my daughter works with all the top producers and movie stars in Hollywood.”
“I was thinking you told me that was your niece, not your daughter. And I thought she worked on sitcoms,” Genesis interjected. She was still watching her friend and an envelope the other woman was shoving into her hand.
“Yes, yes, sitcoms, movies, documentaries, you name it, my girl does it. In fact, she’s working on a documentary about my life right now. They plan to start filming by spring.”
This got Genny’s attention. “Your life?” she asked, turning back to the gray haired man.
“You may not have heard this yet, but I’ve had a pretty interesting past,” the old man bragged. “After my stint in the Army, I was the conductor of an orchestra up in Dallas for several years.”
“You were?” Genny asked, duly impressed. But her attention still lingered at the back booth.
“And not just any orchestra. An all-female orchestra. Every Saturday night, we played in ballrooms and auditoriums all across the city. People would come from far and wide to hear the sixteen-piece orchestra comprised solely of women. And not just any women. Each and every one of them were beautiful. It was a requirement for the job.”
“Oh, really?” Genny craned her neck to see what was in the envelope Madison was opening.
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Pruett nodded. “If the documentary goes well, they are considering a full-feature film, starring none other than Brandon Ricardo.”
Genesis did her best to hide the amusement on her face. Sexy Nicaraguan bandleader Brandon Ricardo, playing the part of Tom Pruett? The thought was so preposterous she could hardly keep a straight face.
“Mr. Pruett, I think I see them motioning at me from the kitchen. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your meal in peace. Bye, now.”
She hurried from the table before she burst out laughing, taking the roundabout path to the kitchen. The route took her past the amused I-told-you-so expression of Cutter Montgomery and the back booth where her friend sat.
“Can we get you ladies anything?” she asked, artfully interrupting their conversation with a warm smile.
“Coffee, please,” Lucy Ngyen nodded, but the movement was jerky.
“Same for me,” Madison said.
“Okay, sorry to interrupt. I’ll be right back with that coffee.”
Madison waited for her friend to leave before she turned back to the other woman. “Mrs. Ngyen, I’m still not sure what you think I can do for you.”
“It all there,” the woman insisted, pointing to the bulging envelope. “One thousand. You count it.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I believe you.” She glanced at the envelope that clearly contained a few hundred-dollar bills, along with several fives, tens, and twenties. “But I’m not sure I can take your money, Mrs. Ngyen, because I’m not sure I can help you.”
“You ask questions. No one talk to me, but you ask questions. People tell you things.”
“No one is going to come out and tell me they killed Ronny Gleason.”
“But maybe tell you who has cow wi
th him.”
Madison was clearly confused. “Cow?” she questioned. “Oh, you mean beef! Who has a beef with him!” She tried not to laugh, but a smile played around her lips.
“Yes, yes, who has cow with him. Who not like him. My Don not the only one.”
“Are you saying your son didn’t like Mr. Gleason?”
“They friendly, but not really, you know? We ask to buy Mr. Gleason farm, he say no. Not sell to squint eyes. Not very nice man.”
Madison could well imagine her late client using a derogatory term such as ‘squint eyes’, but it took a lot of gall to say it to a Vietnamese’s face. If he was that out-spoken and rude, he might very well have had some enemies.
“Do you know who else had a beef with Mr. Gleason?” she asked, leaning in with renewed interest.
“My number one son’s wife work in nail salon. She hear things. Many people not like Ronny Gleason. She tell you.” The older woman tapped the table for emphasis as their coffee arrived.
Madison avoided her friend’s questioning gaze and kept her attention on Lucy Ngyen as Genesis moved away. “Mrs. Ngyen, even if I ask questions, and even if I find some answers, there’s no guarantee that it will be enough to have your son released from jail.”
“You keep money,” Mrs. Ngyen assured her. “I give you more if my son set free.”
“It’s not a matter of the money,” Madison protested.
“Missus, do you have a son?”
“Yes, and a daughter, too.”
“How you feel if someone take your son away and lock him up? Say he do this bad, bad thing? What would you do?”
“Anything to clear his name. Whatever it took.”
Lucy Ngyen nodded. “My Don a good man. Good son. He not do this. I do whatever I can to prove it. One thousand not enough? Then two. Three, even.”
Madison covered the older woman’s hand with her own. “No, Mrs. Ngyen, I don’t want any more money. This is more than enough for what little I can do to help you. I just want you to understand that I may not be able to do a thing. I may not be able to help you.”
