by Gayle Leeson
“Did he seem to know Belinda?” Sheriff Billings asked.
“He did. He called her Mrs. Carpenter and asked how she was holding up.” I struggled to recall more of their conversation. “And I think he wanted to know what her plans were.”
Ryan began typing on his keyboard. “Does Belinda Carpenter work anywhere?”
“I don’t think so.” The sheriff looked up at the ceiling. “I believe she used to be a server in a restaurant in Abingdon, but she quit.”
Reading from his computer screen, Ryan said, “You’re right—she’s currently unemployed.”
“Still, couldn’t the restaurant be where she knows Mr. Neal from?” I asked.
Sheriff Billings raised his brows. “You’re here to report an observation, not to participate in the investigation, remember? If Deputy Hall and I need to discover Belinda Carpenter’s relationship to Bryson Neal—if there is one—we’ll do the legwork.”
I held up my hands in mock surrender.
“However,” he continued, “if you see any more reportable behaviors, I trust you’ll let us know.”
“You know I will,” I said.
“And if you have any cookies or cakes or pies you need taste-tested, we’ll be happy to help with that too.” He grinned. “Now I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”
I waited until Sheriff Billings got back to his office. “Oh, shucks. I meant to tell him tomorrow’s special.”
“I can tell him,” Ryan said. “What is it?”
“Turkey casserole, but I should tell him myself. You know, let him know there’s no hard feelings about his shutting me out of the discussion about Belinda and Mr. Neal.”
He looked suspicious, but he didn’t question my motives.
“Be right back.” I hurried to Sheriff Billings’ office.
Scratching his head, he asked, “Has somebody been behaving strangely already? Is it Hall?”
“No. Well, maybe...” I quietly explained about Michelle’s gift suggestion.
“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “But give me a day or two, and I’ll be able to report back. It’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks.” I grinned. “Oh, and tomorrow’s special is turkey casserole.”
“I like turkey casserole. Put me some aside please.”
When I returned to Ryan’s desk, he squinted at me. “That took longer than I expected.”
“He told me to put him some aside,” I said. “Would you like some too?”
“Absolutely.” He took my hand. “You could simply ask me, you know.”
“Ask you what?” I tried to look innocently perplexed.
“What I want for Christmas.”
With a squeak of indignation, I walked away. His laughter followed me all the way to the door.
{ }
Chapter Eighteen
O
n Wednesday morning, I went into the café, prepared the coffee pots, and preheated the oven for doughnuts. As I was getting my two favorite mixing bowls from the cabinet, Scott came in.
“Morning, Amy! What are you making this morning?”
“Cinnamon sugar doughnuts.” I used non-stick cooking spray on my doughnut pans.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“Want to whisk together the dry ingredients while I’m combining the wet?”
“Sure.” He got each of us a whisk. “I love cake doughnuts.”
“Me too.”
“May I buy a couple of these bad boys before you put them on display? I know they’ll go fast.”
I grinned. “No, you may not buy the bad boys. But you can set aside as many as you want as soon as they’re done. That’s one of the many perks of working here.”
“She should be happy with two.” He ducked his head and measured flour into the bowl.
He should’ve known better than to think I’d let that she slide. “She who?”
“Um...Ivy.”
“Are you sure we’re talking about your sister?” I asked. Ivy didn’t strike me as the type who went cuckoo over doughnuts.
“Positive—she’s the only Ivy I know.” He added baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
I tilted my head. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I’m not supposed to tell, Amy-Girl!” His eyes widened before he looked away to grab the cinnamon.
“If you have a secret, I understand,” I said. “You have to keep your word.”
“Do you promise not to say anything to anyone else?”
“Of course!” I bit my lip. “But if you’re not supposed to tell, I don’t want you breaking a confidence on my account.”
“I don’t think she’d mind my telling you.” He measured cinnamon into the bowl. “At least, not as long as you don’t tell anyone else.”
“You’re about to burst at the seams, aren’t you?” I laughed.
“Yes! She’s going to have a baby!”
I squealed. “Oh, my gosh! You’re going to be an uncle!”
“I know!”
“The coolest uncle ever!” I put down my whisk and hugged him. “I’m so happy for Ivy—and you!”
“Me too!” He gave me a squeeze. “She doesn’t want many people to know until she’s through her first trimester.”
I pretended to lock my lips. “Her secret is safe with me.”
THE MORNING RUSH WAS over by the time Sheriff Billings came in for breakfast. He came up to the counter, caught my eye through the window between the dining room and the kitchen, and jerked his head backward in a summoning gesture.
When I could safely leave the kitchen for a moment, I went out to see what he wanted. “Good morning.”
“Hey, Amy. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. You?”
“I’m all right. Just wanted to let you know the guitar thing checked out,” he said. “I mentioned to Ryan as we left the station last night that I’ve always wished I’d learned to play the piano. Then I asked if there was an instrument he’d like to learn. He said he’d hinted to his mom that he’d like a guitar for Christmas this year.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate your detective work. How about I box up some doughnuts for you to take back to the station on the house?”
“I’ll take a box of doughnuts, but I’m paying for them and my breakfast too.” He shook his head. “The rest of the staff and I mooch too much free food off you as it is. You’re going to keep on until you let your generosity run you out of business. Then the only place in this town to eat will be that pizza joint.”
The door opened, and the sheriff made a comical grimace.
“Not that I have anything against good ol’ pizza,” he said. “I just don’t want it to be Winter Garden’s only option.”
He needn’t have worried about offending anyone—the newcomer was Belinda Carpenter’s brother Adam, and I figured he didn’t give a fig about the town’s only other restaurant. In fact, I doubted he cared anything about this one either.
Since the early birds had already come and gone and it wasn’t time for the lunch crowd yet, there were only a handful of patrons in the café.
Adam spoke to the room in general. “Howdy, folks.”
“Hey there!” Scott said. “We have freshly-baked cinnamon sugar doughnuts, if you’re interested.”
The doughnuts had been such a hit that I’d already made more. The last batch was in the oven along with a tray of chocolate chip cookies.
“How is Belinda today, Adam?” I asked.
He sat at the counter with only one seat between him and Sheriff Billings, although there were several seats available. “The poor kid is broken-hearted, as I’m sure you can imagine.” He was addressing the sheriff as much as or more than he was speaking to me. “We—our whole family, I mean—have managed to convince her she needs to leave Winter Garden and come home to Florida so she can have a strong support system in place.”
I pretended not to notice that he wasn’t really answering me as much as imparting this information
to Sheriff Billings for whatever reason. Maybe he wanted to let the local authorities know Belinda was getting ready to leave town. After all, she might not have been eliminated as a suspect in her husband’s death yet.
“I believe that’s an excellent idea,” I told Adam. “I thought she seemed frightened yesterday.”
Sheriff Billings’ eyes widened, but I ignored his look of warning.
“Frightened?” Adam echoed. “About what?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “She didn’t come right out and say she was scared, but she gave me the impression she was afraid that the person who sabotaged Devon’s car might come after her too.”
Scoffing, Adam said, “I’m still not convinced my brother-in-law’s wreck wasn’t an accident. I know everybody thinks those brake lines were purposefully cut, but there has to be a reasonable explanation. Devon was a great guy.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Sheriff Billings said, “Townspeople shouldn’t be speculating about police investigations, especially when they lack all the pertinent information.”
“That’s right.” Adam bobbed his head like a plastic dog toy on a dashboard. “No offense, but Winter Garden is full of busybodies.”
His snide remark knocked my nose out of joint. “I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Tate. I’d say Winter Garden is filled with people who care about each other’s well-being.”
“And I see the veracity in each of your observations.” Sheriff Billings stood. “Scott, I’d appreciate it if you could ring me up when you have a minute.”
“I’ll meet you at the register, sir.” Scott finished pouring a cup of coffee before he went to total the sheriff’s order.
Adam turned and watched him go. As Sheriff Billings got into his car, Adam looked back at me. “You should keep your mouth shut about things that don’t concern you.”
“I was worried about Belinda, that’s all.”
“She’s another one who needs to rein herself in.” Adam shook his head. “Accidents happen and husbands die every day. Devon’s unlucky day was last week.”
“Do you really think that’s all it was?” I asked. “Bad luck?”
He shrugged. “Why not? Makes as much sense as anything else.” He narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, accidents happen every. Single. Day.”
Although his tone implied a threat, I didn’t feel frightened; I was angry. But before I could respond, Homer came in.
Scott, pouring coffee for an elderly couple and apparently unaware of the exchange that was taking place between Adam and me, greeted Homer effusively. “Good morning! I sure could use some wisdom this morning. What have you got for us?”
“My hero of the day is the American philosopher William James,” Homer said. “Mr. James believed our greatest weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another. So how can you think differently about any stresses in your life?”
Grinning broadly, Scott said, “That’s the stuff.”
Adam turned to leave.
“Mr. Tate, I hope you’re not leaving on my account,” Homer said.
“Nope.” He cast a look in my direction as if I were a skunk that had just sprayed him. “I lost my appetite, that’s all.”
Adam stormed out of the café, and I tried unsuccessfully to relax my face into a smile for Homer.
“Amy, dear, Mr. James said, ‘The art of being wise is the art of knowing what to overlook.’ I don’t know what transpired between you and Mr. Tate, but I seriously doubt it’s worth ruining your day over.”
“You’re right.” I took a deep breath. “You really do have a lot of wisdom to impart, Homer.”
“Ah, it wasn’t me—it was Mr. James,” he said.
I was about to tell him I knew better when the timer on the oven went off. “I have to take care of some doughnuts and cookies, and then I’ll get your sausage biscuit out.”
He settled onto his usual stool. “No hurry.”
I knew better than that too.
{ }
Chapter Nineteen
S
cott had demonstrated a talent for decorating pastries in the past; so when he volunteered to help me work on the float cake this afternoon, I jumped at the chance. I asked if he’d mind decorating the second from the top tier to look like a Christmas-themed cake while I worked on the layer showcasing the burgers, hot dogs, chicken, and tacos. To provide continuity with my rosette borders, Scott decided to use the same tip to cover the entire cake with rows of green and red buttercream rosettes.
“That looks yummy,” I said, as I tinted a ball of fondant blue and eyed the row of green rosettes Scott had piped along the bottom of the cake. “You’d kill me if I raked my finger through that, wouldn’t you?”
“Nope.”
I reached my hand out as if I might do what I’d threatened, and he squirted a dollop of icing onto my finger.
“Now you don’t have to.” He winked. “Diversion—the art of keeping animals and children happy.”
I lowered my hand from my mouth after licking the icing off my gloved finger. “Are you calling me a puppy or a baby?”
“Neither.” He laughed. “But, you know, if the paw fits, Puppy Girl...”
Squeaking in mock indignation, I again pretended I was going to mess up his work.
Naturally, that’s the moment when Michelle strolled in. “Am I interrupting?”
“Not at all,” I said quickly. “We have some extra help today. Isn’t that great?”
“You are interrupting Amy trying to get at my icing.” Scott held up the pastry bag. “Would you like a taste?”
“Indeed not.” Michelle wrinkled her nose in disgust. “That’s pure fat and sugar, and I care too much about my figure and my health to indulge.”
“Aw, you need to live a little, Mrs. Hall,” he said. “Life’s too short to deny yourself buttercream.”
Michelle merely gave Scott a stiff nod and went into the kitchen. I tossed the gloves I’d been wearing into the trash and put on a new pair before resuming my task of tinting the fondant.
Despite the Christmas music playing, I could hear Michelle in the kitchen. I tried to determine if she was banging things or simply making her usual level of noise. Her cool tone when she’d asked if she were interrupting assured me she thought Scott and I were up to no good and that she could hardly wait to inform Ryan of it. But the crack about caring about her health and physique—the underlying implication being that I did not—were typical Michelle remarks.
Oh, well, who cares what she thinks? I did. Still, I tried to tell myself I didn’t.
When The Twelve Days of Christmas began to play, Scott sang along. He had a nice voice. I joined in along about the third day; and after putting her first batch of cookies in the oven, Michelle came into the dining room in time to harmonize on “five golden rings.”
I stopped singing and froze when Mom and Aunt Bess stepped into the café. My eyes flew to Scott, who knew I wanted to surprise them with my float cake.
He never missed a beat. Putting aside his pastry bag, he stepped around the counter. “Two of my favorite ladies!” Spreading his arms, he enveloped them both in a hug, giving me the opportunity to sweep my cake onto the shelf beneath the counter.
“Mom, Aunt Bess, this is a nice surprise.” I also went to give them hugs.
“Hi, I’m Michelle. It’s nice to meet you both.”
Mom had heard a few stories about Ryan’s mom—some good and some not so good. She stepped forward and shook Michelle’s hand. “Hi, I’m Jenna. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Michelle said. “And, of course, it’s wonderful to meet the famous Aunt Bess. Ryan speaks highly of you both.”
Mom didn’t waste time getting straight to the point. “What are you all doing here after closing time?”
“I’m working on my piping skills,” Scott said. “Amy can always use an extra hand with the baked goods, and I enjoy doing it.”
“And she was kind enough to let me use her kitchen
to make a huge batch of cookies.” Ryan’s mom apparently caught on quickly. “You’d think I’d learn to say no to people one of these days, but I keep finding myself in one predicament after another.”
“What kind of cookies?” Aunt Bess asked.
“Sugar,” Michelle answered. “Would you like me to save you some?”
“Oh, no. I’d never want anyone to go to any trouble on my account.” Aunt Bess’s downcast face belied her words.
Instead of saying, since when, I told her, “I’ve already set aside something special for you today. I was going to drop them off when we finished up here.” I hurried to the kitchen and got the small box of doughnuts I’d prepared for Mom and Aunt Bess.
When I handed them to Aunt Bess, she seemed to be delighted with her treat. I turned to Mom. “Is anything wrong?” It wasn’t like them to stop by unannounced.
“That’s what we came to ask you. Aunt Bess and I were on our way home after a quick trip to the grocery store and saw cars in the parking lot. I was afraid something might be amiss here at the café.”
“Not me. I wasn’t afraid something was wrong.” Aunt Bess grinned at Scott. “What scared me was the thought that you all were doing something fun here without me.”
He scoffed. “How could anything possibly be fun without you?”
She beamed in my direction. “He does make an excellent point.”
“He does.” I smiled and shook my head.
“We’d better get home and put our groceries away now that we know everything is all right here,” Mom said. “Michelle, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
After Mom and Aunt Bess left, I blew out a breath. “That was close. I didn’t know they were going anywhere today. Thank you both for helping me cover.”
“Why don’t you want them knowing about the important role you’re playing in the town’s parade?” Michelle asked.
“I want them to be surprised,” I said. “And I also want them to be proud. Not only for my having a float in the Christmas parade but for what the float represents—my hard work, Nana’s legacy, and the realization of a dream.” I’d inherited the money to buy and renovate the café from my mom’s mom.
