Read Murder at the Blue Plate Café (A Blue Plate Café Mystery) Online
Authors: Judy Alter
Tags: #Mystery & Crime
Murder at the Blue Plate Café (A Blue Plate Café Mystery) (13 page)
“I do have a few basics here, you know,” I said indignantly.
“Never know about you single girls. Especially one who works in a café.”
As it turned out I learned something really helpful from Steve. One reason I’d been hesitant to add meatballs to the menu was that making those tiny balls of seasoned meat and browning them is time-consuming enough for a dinner for four; in restaurant quantity, it seemed an impossible task. But Steve baked them. Went so much faster and tasted every bit as good. “You can make them, and freeze any leftovers,” he said, “as long as you haven’t put sauce on them.” Even better!
“Want to quit the nursery and come cook for me?” I joked.
He shook his head. “Nope, I’ve found my place—I hope.”
While he worked on his meatballs, I cut up the salad, but he refused to let me dress it. “I make my own,” he said. “None of this bottled stuff.” And indeed he had a small Mason jar of dressing among his supplies—no wonder it took two full grocery bags for one meal!
He poured Chianti, and I set the kitchen table for two, then perched on a chair while he stirred his sauce, “It’s better if it simmers a day, but this will do.” He seasoned, and he tasted, and he seasoned again, then he poured in just a bit of the wine.
“How’s your sister?” I asked conversationally.
“Hanging in there. She refuses to go back to Dallas, which is what I want her to do.”
“Why?”
“I’ve brought her enough trouble, and she just doesn’t need to babysit me anymore. She needs to get on with her life, in Dallas, where she might meet a nice man.”
I could testify to the folly of that thinking, but I kept quiet.
He tossed the salad and put it in the small wooden bowls I’d laid out. I had also gotten out my pasta bowls, relic of my days of cooking in Dallas, and Steve ladled fettuccini into them, topped it generously with red sauce and three meatballs each, sprinkled it with Parmesan for which he had one of those graters like they use in restaurants, and served it with a flourish. “Your dinner, madame.”
It was delicious, just seasoned enough with Italian flavors but not overwhelming, the sauce rich and thick, the pasta perfectly al dente, the meatballs melt-in-your-mouth, the tart salad just right as a complement to the spaghetti.
“Seriously, I want to know how you do it,” I said. “This is wonderful, and I think it would make a great special for the restaurant.”
He pretended modesty. “Aw, shucks,” but then said seriously, “I can tell you approximately. You’ll have to experiment with proportions for quantity cooking. But I’ll write it down for you tomorrow.”
He even cleared, scraped and washed dishes. “I really do want you to work in the restaurant,” I laughed.
“Can we take a last glass of wine out on the porch, now that there’s a bit of an evening breeze?” he asked.
“Sure. I’ll get some mosquito stuff for us.”
“You don’t think Samuels will come by, do you?”
“Steve, he doesn’t come by every night. He just did that because of the mayor’s poisoning. Now I’ve been served with a suit and taken the papers to my lawyer.”
“Okay. There’s something I want to talk about.”
My heart sank. I didn’t want the evening to turn serious, but it did in a way I never anticipated.
Steve said, “I know there are rumors about me around town, and after that night of destruction, I know you wonder. So here it is: I got involved with the wrong crowd in Dallas—lots of alcohol, some drugs. I dabbled in it, didn’t do the hard stuff, never sold, but I was mixed up with some bad boys, and they pressured me to take more part in what they were doing, especially dealing. That’s why Joanie and I moved out here, took new names, and started over. When the nursery was trashed, I knew they’d found me, so I don’t know when or where it will end. But Joanie doesn’t need to be involved in it. And neither do you, much as I’d like to pursue that.”
I put a hand on his. “Steve, right now I’m not ready for a serious relationship—with you, with Rick Samuels, or with anyone else. I’m feeling my way in a whole new life and leaving behind a life that maybe wasn’t quite as fraught with danger as yours but was still nothing I wrote home to Gram about. Let’s just be friends and not worry about where it goes.”
Golly, Kate, you’re good.
He nodded. “There’s one more thing. Chief Samuels arrested me once in Dallas, so he knows my background. And he’s sure I’m bringing trouble to Wheeler. You should have heard him the night of the nursery catastrophe. I don’t know how to convince him I’m through with that stuff. I just want to garden.”
My nurturing urge made me want to jump in and say, “Let me talk to him.” But that was wrong, and I knew it. Steve would have to prove it himself. “Start by talking to him,” I said.
“Yeah, sure.” He got up, went inside, and began cleaning up.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I can do it in a snap.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s about time for you to go close up. I’ll clean up and close the back door.”
“Thanks,” I said, and then because he looked like a little boy who needed a hug, I gave him an affectionate quick hug, which he totally misunderstood. He hugged me, hard, and tried to kiss me, but I pulled away and said, “No, Steve. That wasn’t that kind of hug.” I fled out the door.
I closed up and was back home about nine-thirty, grateful that the kitchen was sparkling clean, the lights on, the house cool. I’d had enough wine already that evening, but I treated myself to one more small glass while I sat at the kitchen table and tried to puzzle out Steve and Rick. What difference did it make now that I knew about Steve’s background? Or maybe it didn’t make any. But it mattered to Rick, and somehow I didn’t want to anger him. But I sure didn’t want to get involved with either of them.
When I went to bed, I noticed that the books on my bedside table were rearranged. Wandering into the living room, I saw that the pictures on the mantel were slightly askew, as though someone had picked them up, examined them, and then put them back. What was Steve
Millican
looking for? I didn’t sleep well that night and reminded myself again about the alarm system.
I was up early the next morning, a Saturday when lots of people came for breakfast. But about ten I sneaked home for a breather. Tom was in my back yard, cutting poke
sallet
. “Whatever are you doing?” I called out.
He stood up, looked guilty, and then strode over to me. “I was cutting some of your poke
sallet
. I figured you wouldn’t eat it.”
I shook my head. “No, I won’t. But will you?”
“Sure. My grandmother taught me to cook it the right way, and every once in a while, I get a real taste for it.”
“Tom Bryson, did you sneak over here in the night when I had your girls and cut poke
sallet
?” I demanded.
He hung his head. “Yeah. I wanted to make sure everything was quiet and okay—you know, it’s silly to worry about the girls what with all that’s been going on, but I do. I couldn’t sleep, and I was thinking about them, and then somehow I thought about this poke
sallet
. So I kind of made it a two-for-one trip.”
“Well, they’d have been safer if you’d called,” I said, hands on my hips. “You scared the daylights out of us, and I had to sleep with them the rest of the night. Besides I was suspicious about what was happening to the poke
sallet
. I thought maybe someone had put it in Gram’s greens and then in the mayor’s, until the lab report came back.”
He looked amazed. “Kate, I would never hurt Gram. Now I sure might be tempted with the mayor, but you know I wouldn’t do that. Besides, I thought it was digitalis.”
I wondered if that lab report was public. If not, how did Tom know? And where would he get digitalis? Out of Gram’s medicine cabinet, that’s where. I needed to throw the damn stuff out. I hated even thinking these thoughts about Tom, so my anger sort of deflated, and I said, “I know. I’m just so confused and worried. I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Tom smiled. “Well, I won’t drop it. Now I got to get home and boil these greens three times.”
“Does Donna eat them?”
“Not on your life, but she’s in Dallas this weekend. She took Ava with her—a shopping trip for school. So I’m batching it with two kids.”
Hmm. Curious. “Let me know if I can help with the children. I don’t really know Henry, but Jess and I are special friends.”
“I’ll bring them to the café for catfish tonight,” he promised, getting out of the chair.
“I have a totally unrelated subject. William Overton is such a strange duck. What do you know about him?”
Tom sat back down. “Not much. He just appeared in town, three, maybe four years ago, and advertised his services as a CPA. Rents that two-room cottage next to old Mrs. Baird’s house, and uses one room as a sort of office cum living room. It has a small counter kitchen. But he’s got his diploma and CPA certificate framed on the wall. I guess the other room is his bedroom.”
“Why ever did he choose Wheeler? Is he another drop-out from Dallas?”
Tom spread his hands. “I honestly don’t know, never asked. I assumed Gram grilled him pretty thoroughly before she asked him to keep her books.”
“I still can’t believe she did that.”
He shook his head. “Neither can I, but Kate, Gram was slowing down a bit. She got tired more easily lately.”
“She could have called me,” I said.
“Be real, Kate. You had your life in Dallas. I don’t think she thought for a minute you’d come home to run the restaurant.”
It was the sort of slap I deserved, and I didn’t tell him that Gram had practically ordered me to come home.
“Got to go check on my chickens. See you tonight.” He headed down the driveway, whistling as he went.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen table pondering this exchange. I should have asked if Irv
Litman
was in Wheeler this weekend, but that would have been too obvious. Did Tom know what was going on between Donna and Irv, or at least what I strongly suspected was going on? These questions kept me occupied so long that I was late for the lunch crowd. Just as I pulled a clean apron out of the cupboard and headed for the café, Gram said, “Take care of my grandchildren, Kate. They’re going to need you. I am sorry to put such a heavy burden on you.” Yeah, I thought, they need someone, and Tom’s doing the best he can.
Marj
threw me a look, but I got right to work, taking orders and handling the cash register. We were swamped, and
Marj
was in the weeds.
Tom brought Henry and Jess in that night for catfish, as he promised, and I took time to eat dinner with them. Henry was fairly silent, especially when his father made him put away his cell phone with games on it, but Jess talked my ear off about going into second grade in the fall, missing her mommy and why couldn’t she go shopping in Dallas, needing a dog to love, and a thousand other things.
“Maybe I’ll get a dog, and you can come take care of it, Jess,” I said.
“Kate, that’s taking the responsibilities of an aunt a little far,” Tom said quietly.
“Well, I’d like a dog. We’ll have to go to the Humane Society in Tyler and look at the dogs. Maybe next weekend, Jess, just you and me.”
She screamed with delight, startling several patrons, and Henry who had been looking thoroughly bored, said, “I want to go too.”
“Jess, shall we let him go with us?”
Always sweet natured, she said, “I guess so,” and Tom said he figured he’d better go to keep us all out of trouble.
I assigned Jess the chore of going online and checking out the dogs at the shelter, and I asked Henry if he’d help her with the computer work involved. Both of them were delighted.
Little did we know that by next weekend our lives would be turned upside down.
****
Donna and Ava came home on Monday, and Donna invited me to supper with them—which meant chicken and dumplings from the café. Mondays were usually slow, so I packed up the dinner order and went to their house.
After the pleasantries were over and the wine poured, I asked, “Have a good weekend?”
Before Donna could say anything, Ava said, “We had a wonderful time. Mom and Irv bought me a lot of school clothes.” Henry looked disinterested, but Jess’s ears perked up at this and she did look a bit envious—”Irv took us to this really fancy place, the Hotel St… She paused and looked at her mother.
Donna avoided my eyes. “Hotel St. Germaine.”
“We had a seven-course dinner—I was so stuffed! And the place was fancy, fancy, with drapes hung everywhere and white linen tablecloths, and Mom and Irv drank what he said was a fine wine.”
“Sounds wonderful,” I said, worried by all the mention of Irv. Ava seemed to have no hesitation about bringing his name into the conversation. “Where did you stay?”
“The
Adolphus
,” Ava said, “and they have the most amazing—what’s it called, Mom. Not just tea.”
“High tea,” Donna supplied.
“Finger sandwiches and all kinds of good treats.”
By now Jess was looking at Ava as though she had been to Disney World, and I wondered if I should offer to take the child to Dallas sometime.
Tom came in a few minutes later, and Donna raised her cheek for a peck, but there was no hug, no, “Honey, I missed you” on either side.
Ava kept quiet about her good time, for once showing some good sense that I didn’t think she had.
Dinner was a subdued affair, with desultory talk about the café and the hardware store, Henry’s upcoming softball season, the beginning of school, and so on. I imagine Donna was bursting to talk about the B & B, but she kept her mouth uncharacteristically quiet—as long as she could.
“I chose appliances for the B & B,” she said, addressing Tom. “We went to a wholesale home supply outlet, sort of an upscale Home Depot, and I got some wonderful faucets and things that will fit the era of the house. And I ordered soapstone counters for the kitchen.”
“Soapstone?” Tom asked. “It’s pretty expensive, and it pits. Maintenance is hard.”
Donna pouted. “But it’s so lovely to look at and to feel.”
Tom shrugged.
And that’s sort of the way the evening went. Tom never brought up Irv, never asked if soapstone was his choice, how she got to the wholesale place, none of the obvious questions. And I was betting he’d never see a bill for the stay at the
Adolphus
.
The tension in the atmosphere increased by the minute. The children drifted away, Ava and Henry to their TV games and Jess to a book. As soon as I gracefully could, I excused myself and went home, wondering what Tom and Donna would find to say to each other, once left alone.
I didn’t have long to wonder. Tom was the first breakfast customer in the morning, so early that I had finished the sticky buns but didn’t have to worry about customers. He sat at the corner table, ordered eggs, bacon, and a sticky bun, and asked if I would join him. I brought my coffee to the table when I served him.
Tom didn’t mince words. “She’s having an affair with him, isn’t she?”
I scalded my tongue on hot coffee in my haste to swallow. I wasn’t going to lie to Tom. “I don’t know. She surely hasn’t confided in me. But, yes, it looks that way to me.”
“Kate, I love that woman. God help me, I wish I knew why, but I do. I’m willing to do anything to keep her. But do you know how long it’s been since I’ve slept with my wife?”
Oh, oh, too much information. I sure wasn’t going to take a stab at what I sincerely hoped was a rhetorical question.
“I don’t know how I can help you, Tom. Yes, I think she’s infatuated with Irv. Do I think she’s sleeping with him?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. Surely not if she took Ava to Dallas with her.”
He didn’t look much consoled. “I can’t just take him out in the alley and beat the bejesus out of him which is what I would have done in high school if anyone looked at her.”
I smiled, “No, you can’t. And I don’t think it’s Irv, as much as it’s the money he has, the backing he’s giving her for the B & B which is right now her obsession. In fact, I think it’s more the B & B than it is Irv. Donna married you right out of high school. She never had a chance to—okay, it’s a cliché—but she never had a chance to spread her wings and find herself.”
“Suited me just fine,” he muttered.
“Well, you’re different people. Right now she needs more in her life than her husband and kids. I’m sorry, but that’s how I see it.”
He shook his head. “That’s another thing—the way she takes care of the kids—or should we say, doesn’t take care of the kids. Henry’s doing okay, ’cause he can do guy things with me. But Ava is kind of lost in her mother’s world of, oh, I don’t know—clothes and things are important. And Jess….”
“Jess is a lamb,” I said. “She needs love, and I’ll do all I can.”
“They all need love…and so do I,” he said bitterly. Without another word he got up and left half his breakfast uneaten. I picked up an untouched piece of bacon and nibbled at it, while I sat there and thought. It didn’t get me anywhere. I didn’t really think Tom would do anything violent—after all, wasn’t he now a deputy policeman? But I ached for him.
Marj
finally came over and started clearing the table, jarring me out of my reverie. “You okay?”
“No, but I will be someday.” I heard Gram telling me to hang in there, that things would work out, and nobody I loved would be hurt.
Gram, I have a hard time believing that right now
.
Irv
Litman
returned to town on Tuesday. The only reason I know that is that he and Tom had lunch in the café. When I looked up and saw them at the “infamous” table, my heart began to race, my thoughts churning. My first thought was that I didn’t want a fight in the café, but beyond that I worried about what they were saying. Strangely enough, they seemed to be having an okay discussion—maybe not cordial, but not antagonistic. I saw no clenched fists, no grim facial expressions.
“
Marj
,” I said, nodding my head in their direction, “would you mind taking their orders?”
The farther I stayed out of this one, the better.
When they finished their meal, they actually shook hands. Irv grabbed the check and after a minute of what looked like a grab session, Tom tipped his hat to Irv and left.
When Irv checked out, I said in my usual manner, “Everything okay? You enjoy your meal?”