Silver Six Crafting Mystery 01 - Basket Case (21 page)

“But I can’t. Clark has been gambling again. On the Internet.” She paused for only a second before it all came tumbling out. “I found out for sure today, even though I knew we’d been bleeding money. We had a terrible fight. I told him he’d better not have borrowed against the business. It’s all I have left of my family.”

She looked fierce for a moment, then crumpled. “He said he’d made some back and put it in the bank, but I don’t know how he won a dime. He hasn’t got a lucky bone in his whole body.”

“But he does, Lorna,” Sherry said stoutly. “He has you.”

“If he lives,” Lorna whispered. Her anger had drained, her voice plaintive and frightened.

“Now, Lorna, you just heave to with that thinking,” Maise scolded. “Don’t worry about the café or the luncheon. We can run the show for you tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” Sherry jumped in. “It’s Saturday, and we don’t have a thing planned, do we, girls?”

Sherry looked to Eleanor and Aster for confirmation, and they all jumped in quickly and with reassuring enthusiasm.

“I do believe we’d be happy to help,” Eleanor declared.

“Maise and I can cook anything on your menu.”

“That’s right,” Sherry said. “Fred can be in charge of drinks and run the counter, and Dab and Nixy and I will serve and bus tables.”

“I’ll be happy to help, too, Mrs. Tyler.”

That got Lorna’s attention. She stared at Trudy, who eagerly nodded.

“I waited tables in college. I was good at it.”

Lorna met our gazes. “The desserts are made.”

“We know.”

“And the potpies are prepared. They’re on a tray in the large freezer, ready to defrost and reheat.”

“Potpies?” Maise echoed.

“Dana likes the luncheon menus to tie into their reading selection.” Lorna gave Maise a weak smile. “Everything else for the Saturday menu should be prepped. If Clark finished before he was—”

Sherry put her arm around Lorna’s shoulders. “Hush, now. Whatever needs doing, we’ll take care of it. Here, give me your set of business keys right now before we get distracted. I’ll call Dana and let her know the luncheon is still on. You just concentrate on yourself and Clark.”

Lorna’s spirits rallied, and she pulled her purse from under the waiting room chair to unhook keys from a D ring attached to the strap.

“Thank you. Thank you all. You make me remember I’m not alone.”

Two separate doors whooshed open a moment later, and we all turned our attention to the men who’d entered the waiting room. Detective Shoar strode in from outside, and a doctor came through the ER doors. The same doctor who had treated Sherry. The men exchanged a nod, and the doctor headed toward our group with the detective on his heels. Maise stood to give the doctor her chair beside Lorna. He pointedly eyed the rest of us, but no one moved. He ran a hand through his short hair and sat.

“How is he?” she asked in a small voice.

“Mr. Tyler has a concussion, broken ribs, and he may have damage to his liver or spleen,” he said slowly, seeming to weigh his words. “He’ll be under observation for at least a few days, unless he should need surgery.”

“No offense, Doctor, but does he need to go to a larger hospital?” she asked. “Do you have everything you need here to treat him?”

“At the moment, we do. If he needs surgery, we’ll transfer him.”

“Is he awake now?”

“He regained consciousness for a few minutes, but he’s resting.”

“Did he say what happened? Did he get hit by a car? Was he mugged?”

“I’m afraid he wasn’t coherent.” The doctor glanced at Shoar. “You’ll have to ask the detective here what happened.”

“Detective?” she said.

“We’re not sure yet, Lorna, but you mentioned mugging. Would he have had a cash bag with him tonight?”

She bit her lip. “Probably not.”

“Mrs. Tyler, your husband will be moved to ICU soon, and you can stay with him if you like. I’ll alert the nurses.”

“Yes, please. I want to be with him.”

The doctor went back into the ER, Shoar behind him, and for long minutes none of us moved. The only sound in the waiting room was the ER night clerk typing on her keyboard. I wondered what the doctor was telling Eric that he didn’t tell Lorna. Not that I imagined he was withholding information about Clark’s medical status. Rather I thought he was giving an opinion about how Clark got the injuries.

I finally filled the silence. “Well, if we’re running the café tomorrow, I should get Trudy back.”

“She’s right. With all hands on deck tomorrow, we need to hit the rack early.”

“Here, child,” Sherry said, and taking my Camry keys from her jacket pocket. “You drop Trudy off, and come back for us.”

•   •   •

MY CELL SHOWED THE TIME AS NINE THIRTY WHEN I
pulled into the inn parking lot, and judging by the empty streets we’d traveled, the concertgoers had gone home.

The crime scene team had not. They were still at work when I pulled into the near-vacant parking lot and killed the engine.

“Where is Jeanette’s car?” Trudy fretted, scanning the lot and the street.

“The police probably parked it out of the way.”

“Or the crime scene people have to check it to see if I was telling the truth about braking in time.”

“Or that,” I agreed because there was no point denying it. Then I glanced in my rearview mirror. “Detective Shoar is already back here, so you can ask him.”

Eric jogged straight to the crime scene techs. Trudy sighed.

“Nixy, should I tell him about the yearbook page?”

“You need to make that call.”

“Can you look into it first? I don’t get a great Internet connection here at the inn.”

But I got great service at Sherry’s, and seeing Eric walking toward us, I made a snap decision. “I’ll see what I can find out, but you tell Detective Shoar about the page anytime you want to.”

“As you can see, the techs aren’t finished,” he said as we exited the car. “I’ll have to take you around the front to let you inside, Ms. Henry.”

“Call me Trudy, please.”

He gave her a short nod. “Nixy, you want to come?”

I was surprised by the invitation, but I shrugged. Maybe I could get more information out of him.

“Sure.”

“Where is my car?” Trudy asked as she walked us around to the square.

“We need to have a look at it in the daylight, so it’s at the station. I’ll bring it over as soon as they finish tomorrow. But,” he added, “I put your shopping bags inside.”

“You did?” Trudy beamed at him. “Thank you! I’m so tired of wearing the same clothes, I could scream.”

He fit the key in the lock and opened the front door with a flourish. Street light filtered through the large front windows, and an old-fashioned sconce lit the bottom steps with a low-wattage bulb. Even softer light shone from higher on the stairs.

“Your bags are over on the staircase, Trudy. Would you like us to walk you to your room?”

“Thanks, but I’ll go up on my own. The ghost will protect me.”

“GHOST?”

“Yeah, I call him Cowboy. So what time should I be ready to work tomorrow?”

“Uh, by six, I think. Six thirty at the latest.”

“See you then.”

With that, Trudy clomped to the staircase, swept up her shopping bags, and climbed the steps. When the landing door thumped shut, I turned to Eric.

“Ghost?”

He grinned. “It’s a long-standing rumor.”

“I’m sure that’s all it is, but I saw a shadow Monday night when I brought Trudy home from the hospital.”

“Where was this shadow?”

“Outside the door on the landing up there. The one that leads from the inn down to the café. It’s a half-glass, half-wood door.”

“I know. You can’t see a thing through that glass.”

“Nothing but faint light and the shadow.”

“Interesting, but I can’t question a ghost. Come on, I need to get back.”

I preceded him out, watched him lock up and jiggle the knob.

“Where’d you get the café keys?”

“Fished them out of Clarke’s pocket. We needed to be sure the attack didn’t happen inside.”

“It didn’t,” I said, and he raised a brow at me. “If he’d been hurt that badly inside, but crawled to the alley, he wouldn’t have locked up.”

“I’ll give you that, but if I’d had to shut down Lorna’s kitchen, I wanted to be able to warn her about it tonight.”

“Good thing you didn’t have to.”

“The six-o’clock thing?”

“The seniors, Trudy, and I are working the café first thing in the morning so Lorna won’t have to cancel a luncheon that’s already been paid for.”

“The breakfast and lunch crowds keep the café jumping on Saturdays, so I’m sure she’ll appreciate your help.”

“Yes, but she’d really like to know what happened to her husband and why.”

“You don’t have your own theory, Nixy Drew?”

“Aren’t you hilarious,” I drawled, adding an eye roll for good measure. “I do have several theories, but hey, you’re the detective.”

His lips quirked. “Good of you to remember.”

“As bad as I feel for Lorna,” I went on as I stopped at the mouth of the alley, “doesn’t this take Aunt Sherry off your suspect list? She was with us from the time I left Clark until Trudy screamed. Two victims of violence in about as many days isn’t a coincidence, and since Sherry didn’t bash Clark, it’s reasonable she didn’t kill Elsman.”

“It’s not that simple. You’ve seen the physical evidence I have. It implicates Miz Sherry Mae, and it will until I get reports from the state lab.”

“I still think Clark knew something about Elsman’s killer, and that’s why he’s been attacked, but it could be something else. Like he owed money to the wrong people.”

He held my gaze. “What wrong people? Is this about the gambling rumor?”

“It’s not a rumor. Lorna confirmed it tonight while we waited with her. He was gambling on the Internet. They fought about it today.”

He looked away. “How angry is she?”

“Not enough to beat up her own husband, if that’s what you’re thinking. She’s frustrated and hurt by his deception, but she’s even more frightened.”

His mouth tightened. “I’ll talk with her. Meantime, work in the café tomorrow. Help Lorna. Watch out for yourself and Miz Sherry Mae and her friends. Let me investigate my leads without worrying about having a next victim.”

“Hey, I’ve helped with leads, you know. Like Mrs. Gilroy being a sort of witness, and—”

He held up a hand. “Conceded, but your help is raising my blood pressure.” He put his hands on my shoulders, then trailed them down my arms before he let go. “The best thing you can do to is stick close to the Six and stay safe.”

He strode to the crime scene techs, and the breath I didn’t realize I’d held came out in a long sigh. Of all the towns in all the world, why had I stumbled into his? And why oh why had Mrs. Gilroy’s remark about warm male bodies taken root in my head?

I shook myself and hotfooted it to my car. Pick up the ladies, get home, go to bed, and work hard not to dream of Eric Shoar. That was my plan, and I was sticking to it.

•   •   •

THE SUN WASN’T YET UP WHEN WE ARRIVED AT THE
Lilies Café the next morning. We’d taken all three cars in case we needed to make a grocery run or the day got to be too much for anyone. We each donned aprons from Maise’s stash, too, in case Lorna didn’t have enough for all of us. Fred and Dab wore half aprons, but the women had the full bib versions. Which I’m sure Eleanor appreciated. She was dressed to the nines as usual. The rest of us were in working clothes, me in one of my new pairs of jeans and a stretchy top.

I’d noticed Lilyvale kept its streets clean, and there wasn’t so much as a scrap of paper in the alley to indicate Clark had been attacked there. Not even the kind of detritus the paramedics had left behind when they’d treated Sherry at the farmhouse. I was happy about that for Lorna’s sake.

The Six had naturally been disappointed the night before when I’d told them Clark’s attack hadn’t erased Sherry from Shoar’s suspect list, but they didn’t seem to have a thing on their minds today except running the café. Trudy had already turned on the lights, so we all set to work.

I pitched in with Dab and Trudy to set the tables with utensils and napkins, be sure the salt and pepper shakers were sufficiently filled, and add packets of sugar and artificial sweeteners to the white holders.

Fred familiarized himself with the bar area, where the coffee and soda machines sat and the glasses were stored. Then, because he’d refused to leave his tool belt at home, he clacked his walker around the front of the restaurant, oiling a hinge here, tightening a screw there.

“Told you somethin’ would need fixin’,” he said to no one in particular.

At seven, Dab unlocked the front doors, and the stream of customers began flowing in, despite the fact that it was barely light. In fact, though sunrise had come, dark clouds threatened rain.

“’Bout time,” one man said. “Been a dry April so far. We need rain.”

And we got it not two hours later in the form of drizzles, but that didn’t hurt business. I consistently scooted to the kitchen and bar for food and drink orders, bussed my tables, reset them, then started all over again. Trudy and Dab were just as busy, as was Fred. Sherry and the ladies cooked, plated meals, and kept one of the dishwashers running constantly.

Honestly, I didn’t know how Lorna and Clark ran the café by themselves.

When I voiced that aloud, Sherry laughed. “It’s busier than usual because the town’s turning out to support the Tylers. I’m sure Lorna has a load of food that’s been left at the house, too.”

Ah yes, trouble food. I wondered if Maise would be whipping up something for Lorna or if café duty equaled a covered dish. It sure did for me.

The customers we were most concerned with, the book club ladies, were a breeze to serve. Trudy and I had teamed up to wait on the party of ten, and they raved not only about Lorna’s potpies and the decadent desserts, but also the petite side salad and special dressing Maise had whipped up.

Finally, at about two in the afternoon, the crowd thinned, and we took turns breaking for a bite to eat. I was too tired to be hungry, so Maise fixed me half a sandwich made with the last of the roast beef she had found in the industrial fridge. She offered soup, too, but I declined.

As I settled at a table by the bar, my feet propped on a chair, and bit into my refreshingly cold sandwich, I realized I’d been in Lilyvale a full week. A week that felt like a month, but in a good way. I needed to call the art gallery again and tell Barbra not to expect me for another few days. Or a week, I amended and idly wondered if the latest showing was going well. Oddly, I found I didn’t truly care. That was a little scary because I enjoyed my career.

I also needed to run a search for Trudy Whitman.

I stood outside under the café awning to call Barbra. Instead I reached my big boss, the gallery owner Felina Gates. When she told me to take my time, assuring me my job was safe, I about happy-danced on the spot.

I Googled Trudy Whitman next, but as the first results popped up, so did my quasi-favorite detective.

“Any coffee left?”

“Fred just brewed a new pot. Come on in.”

He followed and I waved him toward the coffee station as I took a seat and closed my phone’s search screen. “Everyone is in the back, cleaning. Do you mind serving yourself?”

He grinned. “Waiting tables harder than you thought?”

“Let’s just say I’m out of shape for this kind of work,” I said as he went behind the bar. “How is Clark? Have you heard?”

“I saw him this morning. Lorna, too.”

“Will he need surgery? Is he awake?”

“He’s awake, but he’s still pretty out of it. He doesn’t remember anything from last night. As for surgery, so far, so good. He’s being closely monitored.”

He came to the table and took the chair next to mine. I noticed then that he looked exhausted and yet a little excited. Or maybe he was just wired on caffeine. He took a few sips of steaming coffee and leaned back in his seat.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Not much. Between Jill Elsman’s murder and the attack on Clark, Chief Randall is on a rant. I understand that. I’m as fed up as he is waiting for information. Waiting for leads to actually lead somewhere. Although we did get one break.”

Hope surged so strongly, I nearly leapt into his lap to hear the news. “Did you hear back from the state crime lab about the murder?”

“Not yet. This is about the attack on Clark.”

“Well, tell me. Did the crime scene techs find something?”

“They’re still cataloging, and everything will go to—”

“Little Rock. I know. That’s your mantra. Will you please stop the torture already and tell me about the break? You know you can trust me not to blab.”

He nodded and sipped again. “Okay, we got a tip from some guys out hunting feral hogs in the woods on the far side of Stanton Lake.”

“Razorbacks? Somebody hunts those at night? Aren’t they dangerous?”

“They don’t attack unless defending their dens.”

“Okay, so the hunters tipped you to what?”

“One of them tripped over a baseball bat. When they looked at it with their high-powered flashlights, they saw blood and hair residue on the end of it. They’d heard about the attack on Clark before they went hunting, and called their find in to us. The techs and I went out, and we may have a few viable footprints, too.”

“The hunters didn’t see or hear anyone in the woods?”

“No, I wasn’t that lucky, but I’m taking what I can get.”

He took a long swallow of the cooling coffee. I didn’t dwell on details like his strong jawline or the muscles bunching in his arms. Nope, not me.

He cleared his throat, and I snapped my gaze to his. “So I don’t suppose you heard any useful gossip from customers.”

“Lots of exclaiming about Clark, lots of sympathy for him and Lorna. A little speculation about needing more officers. That’s it.”

“Yeah, about now I could use the help.” Again he drank, this time in swallows instead of sips, so the coffee must’ve cooled. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out keys. “These are for Trudy. Her car was clean, so I parked it in the lot for her.”

“She’ll be relieved to know that. Thanks.”

He stood and pulled out his wallet, but I waved him away. “Go. Your coffee is on the house today.”

“Is that an executive decision?”

“You bet, and Lorna would agree.”

He smiled down at me. “Don’t work too hard.”

He ambled out, and you know I paid due attention to that rear view.

I also had a twinge of conscience about keeping the yearbook page to myself. Then again, it was Trudy’s story to tell. I’d see what I could find, and go from there.

•   •   •

I TOOK MY PLATE AND GLASS, AND TRUDY’S KEYS
, to the kitchen. Maise stirred a pot of what smelled like a chicken dish, and Aster checked rolls in the oven. Trudy and Eleanor wiped the stainless steel counters while Sherry, Dab, and Fred perched on metal stools with wooden seats.

“No customers,” I said when Dab started to rise. “Detective Shoar was here, but he only wanted coffee.”

“Roger that. We’re out of most everything except desserts and the chicken and dumplings here. Just put your dishes in the sink.”

“I’ll wash them. Oh, and Trudy, he brought your car back and parked it in the lot. Here are your keys.”

“Thanks, Nixy. I wish he’d tell me I can go home.”

“I have a feeling it’ll be soon,” I said and turned on the hot water. And I mean hot. I adjusted it to the far side of warm and scrubbed.

“What did Detective Shoar have to say?” Sherry asked.

“That Clark is doing well but doesn’t remember being attacked.”

“No, he doesn’t,” a familiar voice said.

A chorus of “Lorna!” rang out, followed by hugs.

Lorna looked awful. No makeup, reddened eyes, hairdo smashed on one side. I don’t know what kept her upright except willpower.

Sherry steered Lorna to the café. “Let’s sit out here so we won’t miss any customers coming in.”

“Were you busy today?”

“Slammed,” I told her. “Everyone said to give you and Clark best wishes.”