The Calamity Café (14 page)

“Two months.”

I jerked my head at him. “What?”

“Kidding. I owed you one.”

R
oger and I got to the café around lunchtime. We brought burgers and potato chips for the entire crew.

I sat at the counter beside Homer to eat. “Did Jackie take care of your sausage biscuit this morning?”

“Yes, she did. Thank you for asking. And, in case you're wondering—Napoleon Hill is my hero for the day.”

“How about that? I'm reading one of his books right now.”

“Which one?”

“The Law of Success.”

“That's a good one,” he said. “I have
Think and Grow Rich
, if you'd like to borrow it after you finish the one you're reading.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. And I also appreciate all your hard work here.” I'd had to insist on paying him
to the point of refusing to allow him to help if he didn't accept a paycheck.

“Aw . . . it's like Mr. Hill once said: ‘If you cannot do great things, do small things in a great way.' By doing small things, I'm helping y'all do something great.”

“You sure are, Homer. And, trust me—where these renovations are concerned, there are no small things.”

Jackie came up and sat on the other side of me. “Roger just cornered me and asked me to go to dinner tonight.”

“Did you say yes?”

“Yeah, but that's weird, don't you think?”

“No, I don't.” I debated on whether or not to tell her I'd had to talk him into it, but I decided not to go there. He'd asked and she'd accepted. That was all that mattered.

“Did you guys find everything you were looking for at the wholesalers?”

“Yup. We ordered bamboo flooring. It's tongue-and-groove hardwood but is the most durable and scratch-resistant. Also, Roger was thrilled that it's environmentally conscious. I mean, I am too, but I'd have thought all wood was . . . well . . . green, you know?”

“I'd have thought so too.” She looked down at the scuffed brown linoleum. “It'll sure beat this all to pieces.”

“Won't it, though? It'll be here tomorrow.”

“Then we need to finish painting today,” Jackie said.

“I'm so excited!”

She gave me a quick hug. “Me too. Hey, what about the uniforms? What did you come up with there?”

“I thought I'd order blue T-shirts with
DOWN SOUTH CAFÉ
written on them in yellow. We'll also have yellow aprons. Other than that, you can wear jeans or a skirt—whatever suits you.”

“Jeans suit me. Don't forget to order extra T-shirts for the tourists.”

“I'll do it,” I said. “Even if the tourists don't buy them, we'll have them on hand when we need them.”

“The tourists will buy the shirts. Trust me. We'll be famous.”

“I'll buy one,” Homer piped up.

“No way. You'll get yours for free. You're part of the staff now.”

He puffed out his chest. “I'm proud to help.”

“Lunch break is up, people!” Roger called from the other side of the room. “This café won't renovate itself!”

*   *   *

I
was tidying up the kitchen area after everyone else had left that evening. The chime Roger had installed over the door alerted me to someone coming in the front. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to see who was there.

Stan Wheeler was standing in the middle of the dining room, gazing around and nodding. “This place is looking good.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank
you
. The table and chairs in my trailer were getting pretty ratty, so I was tickled to get one of those sets you were giving away.”

“I'm glad it worked for you.”

He nodded toward the window nearest where the screened-in porch would be. “I see that you've torn out the office.”

“Yeah. We're going to make it additional dining space.”

“Huh. Did Pete get everything he wanted or needed out of there?” He held up his hands. “I mean, I know you'd give him anything he'd want, but he acted the other night like he didn't want any of the stuff his momma had here.”

“I know. I hope he and Chris Anne got what they wanted yesterday. A couple of Roger's guys hauled the rest of it off this morning.”

“I imagine Chris Anne took everything she could carry,” he said. “When I was here yesterday, it looked like she was packing that truck full.”

“She was. Pete mainly just stood around looking sad. I think it bothered him to be here.” I shrugged. “I guess Chris Anne was trying to look out for him.”

Stan scoffed. “Make no mistake. If Chris Anne was looking out for anybody, it was for herself. I warned Pete when he started up with her that she was trouble.”

“What makes you say so?”

“She served jail time for drug possession, for one thing. She's younger than Pete, but she's a lot harder than he is. He's been pretty much sheltered. And, you know, I served a nickel for drugs myself, but I'm clean now.”

“You don't think Chris Anne is?”

“No, I don't. It'd take a miracle for that girl to get sober.”

I thought about the miracle she had growing inside her and hoped it would be enough to convince her to change her ways, if she hadn't done so prior to finding out that she was going to be a mother.

I also wondered again if she'd told Pete about her pregnancy. Could that be why he seemed so distraught yesterday? Had he realized his mother wouldn't get to see her grandchild or be around to see the child grow up? Or
was he upset that Chris Anne's pregnancy interfered with his plans for the two of them to go on the road?

“I won't keep you any longer,” said Stan. “You care if I walk around there and take a look at what the workers are doing with the office?”

“I don't mind. Just be careful. There might be nails lying around or something.”

“I'll watch my step.”

I locked the front door before going back to the kitchen. Even though Stan had been acting much nicer of late, and he'd just told me he wasn't doing drugs anymore, I didn't really trust him. And I didn't want to be caught off guard again.

*   *   *

A
fter leaving the café, I went to Pete's house. He'd called earlier asking me to stop by, but he didn't say why.

I realized what a mess I was as I was knocking on the door. I hadn't brushed my hair—which now had paint in it—since this morning. My clothes were dusty and paint-flecked. I imagined I looked like a ragamuffin standing on the Holmans' doorstep.

Chris Anne came to the door. “Hey, Amy. How're you?”

“I'm fine. Is Pete here?”

“Not right now, but he'll be back in a minute. He went up to the pizza place to get us some dinner. We're tired of casseroles.” Her eyes widened as if it had just dawned on her that I might've brought over one of those casseroles—which, of course, Jackie and I had. “I mean, we're keeping them in the freezer, and we'll certainly eat them. . . . We just wanted a change, is all.”

“I understand. It's like a day or two after Thanksgiving when you don't want to even think about turkey again for a month.”

“Exactly like that! Come on in. We'll talk while we wait for Pete.”

I stepped into the living room. Even more than with the café, Lou Lou's influence was everywhere. A print of a Hawaiian landscape hung over the couch, and an Elvis clock sat atop the television. Chris Anne sat on the couch, and I sat on the chair across from her.

“Have you told Pete about the baby?”

“I have.”

Was there a delicate way to ask her if she was sober? “Are you taking good care of yourself . . . and the baby?”

“I am.” She grinned. “The doctor put me on them prenatal vitamins. They're big as half outdoors, and they taste nasty, but I'm taking them.”

“That's good. I guess Pete's over the moon.”

She studied her fingernails. “He wasn't as happy as I'd hoped he would be, but he'll come around.”

“I'm sorry. It was probably bittersweet news for him, since he realizes his mother won't be around to see the baby.”

Chris Anne looked surprised. “I hadn't thought of that. I figured he was just mad because it's going to be hard for me to drive a truck with a belly out to here.” She held her hand out in front of her to show me how big she thought her stomach would get.

I laughed. “And I don't think tractor-trailers are particularly built for car seats either, are they?”

“No, I don't believe they are. I told Pete to get Stan
to go in with him. They've become like best friends or something here lately.”

“Well, there you go. That sounds like the perfect solution.”

She put her index finger to her lips. “Pete just pulled up. I don't want him to know what we've been talking about.”

“Sure.”

Pete came in carrying a pizza box. “Chris Anne, get this thing. It's hot.”

Chris Anne hopped up off the couch and got the box. “I'll put it in the kitchen. Amy's here.”

“Yeah, I saw her car. Hey, Amy.” He took Chris Anne's vacated seat. “You doing all right?”

“I'm fine. How are you doing?”

“I'm okay. Getting there, anyway. It ain't easy.”

“No, it's not. My nana dying was the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with. I can only imagine how hard this is for you.”

He bobbed his head. “You want some pizza? We've got plenty.”

“No. I need to leave here in a second. I only stopped by because I got your message.”

“Oh yeah. I found another set of keys to the Joint. I'll get 'em for you.” He went into the kitchen and got the keys.

“Thanks, Pete.” I didn't tell him that Roger had already changed the locks. “You guys have a good evening.”

“We will. Thanks for coming by.”

*   *   *

T
he first thing I did when I got home was feed Rory and Princess Eloise. As soon as I'd done that, I took a shower. It felt good to wash away the grime and fatigue
of the day, but it also felt wonderful to have made so much progress on the café in such a short amount of time.

When I got out of the shower, I made myself a peanut butter sandwich. Luckily, Rory had gone out into the backyard after he'd eaten, so he didn't realize I had more food at his disposal.

While eating, I looked through my cookbooks to find something interesting I could make and take the crew for breakfast tomorrow morning. I decided on baked cinnamon-sugar doughnuts.

I preheated the oven, got out my doughnut pan, and sprayed the pan with nonstick spray. As I mixed up the batter for the doughnuts, I thought about Pete. He'd been so delighted with Chris Anne only a few days ago that he'd gotten engaged to her the day after his mother's murder. Now he seemed sullen and resentful toward her. What had happened between them since then? Was it her pregnancy? Or was there more to it?

I put the batter into a pastry bag and piped six doughnuts, filling the pan. I put that pan in the oven and melted a small bowl of butter in the microwave. I got another bowl and stirred together the cinnamon and sugar.

I planned on making two dozen doughnuts for the crew. I decided to make an additional half dozen and take them to Mom and Aunt Bess. I wanted to tell them about the money we found in the wall and its probable connection to the bank robbery Aunt Bess told us about on Sunday. I knew I was supposed to be keeping it a secret. But Ryan had said I could tell Roger and Jackie. Letting just two more people know—especially a pair as trustworthy as Aunt Bess and Mom—wouldn't make a difference.

*   *   *

A
unt Bess was delighted with her box of doughnuts.

“And it's not even Sunday!” she exclaimed. “Get us some plates, Jenna. And some milk too. I like milk with my doughnuts.” She bit into one of the doughnuts. “Mmmm. Merciful goodness! These are still warm.”

“I'm glad you like them.”

Mom brought plates and glasses of milk for everybody. “We
could
go into the kitchen and eat, and I wouldn't have to vacuum crumbs up when we're done.”

“Where'd be the fun in that?” Aunt Bess asked. “Besides, I can tell by the look on her face that Amy has some juicy gossip to fill us in on. I want to be on this comfy sofa when she does.”

Mom arched a brow at me. “Do you have juicy gossip?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like for me to start with what Roger found hidden in the office wall of the Joint? Or would you like me to tell you about Pete and Chris Anne?”

“Tell us what was in the wall,” Aunt Bess said, licking the sugar and cinnamon off her fingertips. “Was it Grady Holman's body? Did you get us some napkins, Jenna?”

She
had
known about Grady's disappearance and had left that out of her story.

Mom sighed. “Be right back. Don't start without me.”

When Mom returned with napkins, I extracted promises from her and Aunt Bess not to say a word about what I was telling them to anyone. After they'd both sworn solemn oaths, I told them about the money in the lockbox hidden in the wall. I went on to tell them the story Ryan had told to me from the gossip columnist's point of view.

Aunt Bess looked up at the ceiling. “You know, for a fact, nobody saw Grady Holman around here right after the news about that bank robbery got stirred up. I didn't really know the Holmans and didn't give it much thought, but folks said they wouldn't be a bit surprised to find out that Bo killed Grady so he could keep all that money. So it very well could've been Grady you found holed up in the wall.”

“I guess anything's possible, but it wasn't Grady,” I said. “And Ryan said that Bo died in a tractor accident the next year.”

Aunt Bess nodded. “I remember that well. The thing overturned and the back tires ran over his chest. Crushed him all to pieces.”