by Hillary Avis
“Fine,” he said absentmindedly. Then the office was silent except for the sound of his rollerball pen on the paper.
Fine? Really? I waited a few beats and then blurted out, “I’d be a mess if I were you. I mean, you took a risk that you’d be poisoned along with Margie, performed CPR, narrowly saved her life, and then you’re fine? Unless you’re a robot, I don’t believe it.”
Eli dropped his pen on the paper and let out a frustrated sigh. “Do you mind, Leona? I really need to finish these reports.”
I blinked. He was definitely not fine. I stood up and went around the desk to tug on his arm. “Come on. You need to take a break. Not a long break!” I added quickly when I saw a flash of protest in his eyes. “Just come outside and get some air. Take a walk with me. The paperwork can wait a little bit longer.”
He twisted his head to look at the clock behind him for a long beat. Then he looked back at me. Then a familiar, mischievous smile spread slowly across his face. “Sure, I’ll go out with you.”
“Go outside, I said. Not go out.” I made a face at him. He stood and pulled on his jacket, still grinning like an idiot. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, mister.”
He paused a moment. “Should I wear my hat? Is that appropriate for a date or is it too official-sheriff’s-business?”
“It’s not a date!” I yelped. “It’s just a walk!”
“It could keep the rain off if it starts to drizzle,” he mused, stroking his chin. “But on the other hand, the brim might get in the way if I tried to kiss you.”
“Wear the hat.” I crossed my arms over my chest, my ears burning as he watched me gleefully. Why did he love torturing me so much? “Please, wear the hat.”
“As you wish.” He winked and swiped his hat from a hook on the wall, tipping it smoothly onto his head.
I ignored the Princess Bride reference and hurried to the door before he could open it for me. “I regret any ounce of sympathy I may have felt for you five minutes ago,” I said when we got outside and headed down the block, matching our strides.
“I don’t. Best sympathy ever,” he chortled, still smug that he’d conned me into a date. Well, the joke was on him. I’d managed to get him away from his pile of papers and smiling to boot, no small feat after his harrowing morning. As if on cue, my stomach growled.
His face lit up even more. “Lunch!” he declared, veering toward the Rx.
“It’s closed,” I reminded him, and he stopped in the middle of the street. “Anyway, I have purse cookies. Want one?” I scrounged in my bag for the cookies I’d stashed during Sunday’s reception and held one out to him.
“It’s not closed,” he said, frowning at my cookie. “Margie picked up drinks there this morning. I saw takeout cups on the floor at the scene.”
“Sarah brought those to her with the doughnut,” I explained. I put the cookies back in my bag—I wasn’t going to waste them on someone who didn’t appreciate quality emergency snacks. “She went to ask Margie for some leniency on the rent. Then when Margie collapsed, Sara ran and got Doc.”
“I wondered how he knew—I figured Margie managed to get off a text message or something,” Eli said thoughtfully as he stared in the direction of the pharmacy. The colored awning was just visible, peeking out behind the bank and the lawyer’s office. Then his eyes came into focus on my face. “What else did Sara tell you?”
“Some pretty shocking stuff, actually.” My stomach growled again, twisting painfully.
Eli’s eyes slipped down my torso to my stomach and back up, and I couldn’t help blushing at his scrutiny. He waggled his eyebrows. “Let’s get a table for two at the Greasy Spoon and you can tell me all about it.”
I remembered my last awkward exit from the Greasy Spoon and winced.
“Not a fan? I know it might be a little down-home for someone who’s used to Beverly Hills fine dining...”
“Oh, no—I like Ed’s cooking,” I said. I’d had enough shaved fennel salad and raw scallop crudo to last a lifetime when I lived in LA’s most expensive neighborhood. Part of what I loved about moving back home was the simple, delicious comfort food that was served on every table, restaurant or otherwise. Give me corned beef and apple pie until the day I die!
“Well, good!” As Eli spoke the words, a light sprinkle started up, and we quickened our pace for the last couple of blocks to beat the spring rain. But before we reached the little diner, the clouds opened up into a true downpour. Eli held one side of his jacket out over my head as we ran the final ten yards across the parking lot.
“See? I was right about the hat,” I said smugly, as we arrived inside the restaurant slightly damp and more than slightly breathless. Jillian’s face lit up when she saw us enter and she waved at us from across the room.
“I’ll be right with you!” she called, then turned back to the table whose order she’d been taking. The diner was as packed as the last time I’d been inside, and the air vibrated with the clink of coffee cups, the low chatter of happy customers, the hiss of the flat top, and the smell of delicious, delicious bacon frying.
My mouth began to water, and I looked around for an empty table. The only open seats were at the counter. I shrugged at Eli and headed for it, sliding into my stool just as Ed turned around and slammed his hand down on the bell. “Order up! Table 9!”
Jillian reached around me to grab the plates and paused to ask, “Coffee?”
“You know it.” Eli flipped the two mugs in front of us over.
“Decaf for me,” I added. Jillian gave a pert nod and flitted off to deliver Table 9’s meal.
Eli rolled his eyes at me. “Sacrilege. What’s the point of coffee without the dose of good humor? It’s just bitter, brown bean-water without it.”
“If I have caffeine after noon, it keeps me up all night,” I explained.
The corner of Eli’s mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t mind staying up with you.”
Heat bloomed from my collarbone all the way up to my hairline. Motherclucker, I handed that one right to him. I wondered if he flirted with everyone like this. Probably. I cleared my throat and stared straight ahead as Jillian poured our coffee.
“What’ll you two have? The burger special is smothered and covered.” She twitched her ponytail over her shoulder and stared at us expectantly.
“I’ll take two,” Eli said. “No bun, no fries, please.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You’re on a diet?”
“Gotta keep it spicy if I’m going to catch your eye.” He patted his already very toned abdomen, a stark contrast with my own soft stomach. I suddenly felt self-conscious and crossed my arms over my comfortable rolls.
Jillian giggled at Eli, reminding me that she was still there waiting for me to order. I cleared my throat and fanned myself with my napkin. “Um—a cheese omelet, please. Three eggs, bacon on the side. And toast—extra toast.”
“Eggs, huh? You’re brave.” Jillian winked at me. “Nobody else has taken the plunge today.”
Eli spun around on his stool, scanning the plates on the tables around us, and then snorted. “I changed my mind. Give me what she’s having. I want eggs, too,” he said loudly. The conversations around us paused as the other restaurant patrons overheard, and then slowly the dull murmur returned, but this time with more glances darted our way.
Great. Just what I wanted—more attention. I knew Eli meant well, though. And maybe he was right. Maybe seeing the sheriff eat eggs would remind people that they were missing out on their favorite brunch food.
“You got it,” Jillian said. “Two omelets, coming right up.” She tacked up the order on the wheel and spun it around so Ed could grab it.
When she left, I leaned toward Eli. “You didn’t have to do that. Change your order, I mean. You shouldn’t sabotage your diet for me.”
He blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cheese omelets fit my diet perfectly.”
“And the extra toast?”
“I’ll feed it to your
chickens.” He smiled crookedly at me. Darn it if that man didn’t know the way to my heart was through my birds.
“Why are you so cute?” I asked, annoyed at my own reaction. He flirted with everyone, and I knew that, so why was I so susceptible? Old habits die hard, I guess.
“When you’re the baby brother to seven sisters, you learn real quick how to bat those eyelashes.” He demonstrated, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, and then grinned.
“Well, stop it. I can’t concentrate when you do that.” I rubbed my thumb on the countertop in a thin place where the black was showing through the white-with-gold-glitter Formica pattern.
To his credit, Eli didn’t tease me any further. He was quiet a minute, and then said, apropos of nothing, “You promised to shock me. What did Sara tell you?”
Chapter 18
I lowered my voice so the local gossip mill wouldn’t have any more grist. “Get this. Amelia and Cal weren’t married.” I raised my eyebrows, anticipating his reaction. But instead of shock, his face registered only mild interest.
“Right.” He nodded. “That makes sense.”
“No, it doesn’t!” I yelped, then glanced around me to make sure I hadn’t drawn attention from any of the people around us. I took a deep breath and continued in a milder tone, “It makes zero sense. Everyone thinks they’re married.”
“I meant it makes sense because it answers a question I had about the medical examiner’s report when I saw the unredacted copy. It listed Amelia’s last name as Brooks, not Goodbody.”
“Why you didn’t say anything?!”
Eli shrugged. “I figured that was her maiden name. A lot of women don’t change it when they get married.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” I muttered. My married name felt like a cattle brand: property of Peterson Davis, world-famous plastic surgeon, cruddy husband, and only slightly better father.
“So change it. You can use mine if you want. Leona Ramirez,” Eli said, turning the words over on his tongue as he flapped those pretty eyelashes at me again.
“I told you not to do that eyelash thing,” I reminded him. My cheeks were burning so hot, I wanted to plunge my head in the pitcher of ice water that sat dripping on the end of counter. I sipped my decaf instead.
“So they weren’t married. So what?” Eli prompted.
“So, Margie figured it out from pharmacy records and was using it against Cal. She threatened to tell everyone unless Cal dropped out of the race. And remember how Margie said that Cal was blackmailing her? I suspect that Cal threatened her in return—maybe he planned to turn her in for a HIPAA violation if she revealed their secret.” Now that had to shock Eli. I was pleased to see his eyebrows raise slightly. The genius sheriff hadn’t put that together yet.
Then to my disappointment, he shrugged. “That’s politics. They were playing dirty, but I’m guessing that’s typical. Personal attacks are part of the deal in most campaigns.”
“How about poisonings? Are those part of the deal in most campaigns?”
Eli blinked at me. “I don’t follow.”
“Order up!” Ed said, sliding two large platters of food across the counter to us. He swiped our ticket off the spinner and dropped it into a trash can behind the counter. “Jilly’ll bring your bread in a sec.”
Approximately one second later, Jillian arrived with two small plates of toast and a wire rack filled with grape jelly packets. She whipped a bottle of hot sauce out of her apron pocket and set it down near Eli’s elbow. “I know you like to keep it spicy,” she said, and winked at him before bustling off with another order from Ed.
Eli laughed out loud as he unscrewed the top and shook hot sauce all over his plate. “Kid’s got a real future in this business. You’ve got a good one, Ed.” Ed looked over his shoulder and grinned at Eli.
I dug into my plate. Even though it wasn’t made with my eggs, the omelet was perfect. Thin, light, and fluffy, it was filled with sharp cheddar cheese and had a sprinkling of chives on top. I alternated between bites of the omelet and bites of the hot, buttered toast, savoring each mouthful. We were lucky to have two restaurants in town with food this good in a town as small as Honeytree.
I stopped mid-chew. Pretty soon, we’d only have one restaurant in town. The Rx Café was on its last legs. If Sara couldn’t pay the rent, the restaurant was over. Closed.
I set down my fork and took a sip of my coffee. What could I possibly do to help her stay in business when I was barely staying in business myself?
Eli scooted his toast toward me. “You can have mine if you want. I noticed you ran out of toast before you ran out of eggs.”
I looked down at my empty bread plate. “Oh. No. I’m full.”
“Me, too.” Eli raised his hand to get Jillian’s attention and made the universal “bring the check” sign before turning back to me. “What’s on your mind? You’re not still thinking about Marge and Amelia, are you? I know it seems suspicious to have two accidents so close together, but it happens all the time in law enforcement. Especially in our area, where we don’t see much crime. There’ll be several car accidents in one week and then none for months.”
“That’s hardly random. Multiple car accidents could be due to weather conditions,” I said, annoyed that he was interested in dismissing thoughts that I wasn’t even having. But since he’d brought it up... “There are too many connections between Amelia and Marge. Both ate something served by Sara, right? Both keeled over within an hour...or minutes, in Marge’s case. And both their deaths benefited Cal. That’s too many coincidences.”
“Marge isn’t dead.” Eli snatched a piece of toast from the plate he’d offered me and munched on the corner. Then, seeming to realize what he was doing, he put it down on his empty omelet plate.
“But she could have been. Whoever put the peanuts in the Boston cream doughnuts sure hoped so.”
“Who’d do that, though?” Eli protested, leaning back as Jillian set the check on the counter between us. I swiped it before he could and handed Jillian my credit card. I held my right hand under the counter and crossed my fingers that the charge would clear.
“I don’t know. That’s your job, not mine. All I’m saying is that someone delivered poison right into Amelia and Margie’s mouths.” I signed the receipt that Jillian handed me and tucked the receipt into my purse. I started to pull out some cash for the tip, but Eli stopped me, putting a ten out of his own pocket on the counter.
Big tipper. He must have really liked that hot sauce.
Eli stood and plucked his hat off the stool next to him. “You’re not suggesting Sara is going around poisoning people for no reason?”
A hush fell over the restaurant, and the omelet in my stomach suddenly turned to stone. I’d gotten too comfortable at the counter of the Greasy Spoon and forgotten that the ears of the town were trained on our conversation. “No,” I said, and then again a little louder for the benefit of the peanut gallery, “No, definitely not.”
“It was a fluke,” Eli agreed, oblivious to the room. “An ugly coincidence.”
I followed him outside, where the rain shower had vanished as quickly as it had begun. The sun peeked out from behind a bruise-black cloud, and a pale rainbow stretched across the bright blue sky from Cedar Street to the log pond. I’d have to drive right underneath its arch to get home.
By the time we got back to my car, it was gone, though.
“Want to keep me company while I finish my reports?” Eli asked. A surge of satisfaction came over me. That was the real Eli, the OK-Eli, not the tense and dismissive Eli I’d seen earlier.
“Can’t. I need to get back to my flock.” Our earlier conversation nagged at me, though. Sara had delivered the poison to Margie in that doughnut. That was a given. But Amelia was already sick when she got to the Rx Café on Saturday morning. “One thing—can I take a look at the ME’s report on Amelia’s death really quick?”
“Why?” Eli took off his hat and held it in front of him, and I hoped the move
wasn’t for kissing purposes. I walked a wide circle around him to the door of his office and waited impatiently for him to unlock it.
“I was just curious about something. I wondered what else Amelia had in her stomach on Saturday besides eggs.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Eli said. “I know that one off the top of my head. There were only two things: eggs and coffee. The perfect breakfast”—he nudged me playfully—“or lunch.”
Bile rose in my throat. Coffee and eggs for Amelia. Coffee and doughnuts for Margie. It sure sounded like Sara had been the one to deliver them both. But what I didn’t understand was why. Sure, Sara might have argued with Margie about the café rent. She was a desperate tenant, and Margie’s personality could be reason enough to want her dead. But what did Sara have against Amelia? They were friends. Sara gained nothing by Amelia’s death. In fact, she’d lost everything.
“Oh no,” Eli said, shaking his head as he unlocked the front door. “No, no, no. I recognize the look on your face. Do not get involved in this, Leona. Just go home and feed your chickens. And don’t forget to bring me that golden egg next time you come into town, please. I’m already skating on thin ice sneaking it into evidence for you, anyway.”
I did my best impression of his innocent puppy eyes. “If no crimes were committed, the egg isn’t evidence of anything except an Easter egg hunt, is it? So I don’t need to turn it in. I can cash it in, instead! What do you have to say about that, Mister Sheriff?”
His mouth opened and closed like a fish, but nothing came out.
“That’s what I thought,” I said sweetly, and got into my car.
Chapter 19
Boots hopped around my feet, scratching the bathmat and pecking hopefully at my shoelaces as I rummaged through the dirty clothes for my cargo pants. I finally found them wadded at the bottom of the pile, crusty with creek mud and still slightly damp from my Scramble adventures.
Ugh. I really should do laundry more often. I hoped the egg and its contents weren’t ruined by their stint in the bathroom hamper. Now, where was it? I felt the pants up and down each leg until I found it, a hard lump in the pocket on the right leg, and fished it out.
