The Calamity Café (3 page)

“I guess. So what? Is there anything wrong with good, friendly competition?”

“Not so long as it's friendly,” he said.

“If you're asking me if I came in here and knocked Lou Lou in the head—or whatever it was that happened to her—I can assure you I did not. I found her slumped over her desk and called the sheriff's office immediately.”

“Duly noted.” Deputy Hall held up his notebook to indicate that he had my statement written down.

“Is there anything else?” I asked.

“Not for now.” He took a card from his back pocket. “Please call me if you think of anything else you think we should know.”

I took the card. “Thank you. I will.”

“And be careful going home. That owl could still be lingering around, you know.”

I ignored his feeble attempt at humor and left.

*   *   *

W
hen I got home, I was exhausted. It wasn't all that late, but the only thing I wanted to do was get into bed and read until I fell asleep. The trouble was that as I tried to read, I kept playing the evening over and over in my head.

I remembered walking into the office and seeing Lou Lou . . . her colossal beehive almost all the way to the other side of her cluttered desk.

Had she
really
changed her mind about selling to me? I found that hard to believe . . . unless the café was in financial trouble and Pete had been able to convince Lou Lou that he didn't want to work in the café for the rest of his life.

The café
could
be in financial trouble. Neither Lou Lou nor Pete had given much thought or care to their preparation of the food. And Lou Lou almost always had that cigarette hanging on her lip, even while she cooked. I never ate at the Joint, and neither did my friends. It was never terribly crowded. Let's face it—the place was a dive. Had I been able to buy the place, I'd have had to do a lot of PR work to raise the café's reputation to the point where most people—other than the regulars who had eaten there out of habit for so long—would even give me a chance. Maybe it was best that I start from scratch. Like Sarah had pointed out, I could choose everything from the ground up and know exactly what I was getting that way.

*   *   *

I
awoke the next morning to Rory licking my face. I groaned. Couldn't he go out the doggie door? It opened onto a fenced yard where he could play and do his business without making me get up.

I reluctantly opened my eyes. “Rory, please. Not this morning. I got almost no sleep last night. Please just let me stay here for a few more minutes.”

He whimpered.

I rose up onto my elbows, finally realizing what was wrong with the dog. Someone was at my door. I got up and went to the window. I didn't recognize the car that was in the driveway. Of course, that could possibly be attributed to brain fog.

“Coming!” I called, as I slipped on a robe and hurried to the door.

When I opened it, I saw Homer Pickens standing on my front porch.

“Morning, Homer.” I'd known Homer pretty much all my life. He'd always worked odd jobs, and he did some interior painting for Nana the summers after Pop had died. But I'd never known him to just make a social call.

“Morning, Amy. I went by the Joint, but there was crime scene tape all over the place. I couldn't even get into the parking lot.”

Last night came rushing back. “Yeah . . . something happened there last night, and they're having to close for a day or two.”

“It's ten after ten,” said Homer.

“Okay.”

“Would you please make me my sausage biscuit?”

“Sure.” I moved back so Homer could come on inside. Dealing with Homer's breakfast was a lot easier than coping with what had happened at the café last night. I felt a wave of sympathy for Pete and wondered if Ivy had found anything to tell the police who Lou Lou's killer might be. “Lucky for you, I went to the grocery store day before yesterday and stocked up. So, who's your hero today?”

“Winston Churchill. One of his quotes reminded me just this morning that ‘A pessimist sees the difficulty in every opportunity; an optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty.' It was a good thing I saw that.”

“Yeah, I guess it was. I'm going to preheat the oven for the biscuits, and then I'm going to get dressed. You can make yourself at home here in the living room until I get back.”

“Thank you,
ma'am.”

I
quickly dressed and hurried back out to the kitchen. I started a pot of coffee and got to work making the biscuits. By the time the oven light went off to let me know it had finished preheating, I had the biscuits ready to go in. I also had some sausage patties on hand.

“Homer, come on in here to the kitchen, and I'll pour you a cup of coffee.” I was still surprised he'd come to my house, but I was also a little glad. Cooking always helped take my mind off my worries, and I sure had a bushel of them this morning.

“Thank you.” He ambled into the kitchen. “May I wash my hands, please?”

“Sure.” I nodded toward the sink before getting two cups out of the cabinet. “The soap's right there beside the sink, and you can dry your hands on a paper towel.” I poured coffee into the two cups. I put Homer's cup on the table along with sugar and creamer. I added fat-free
vanilla creamer to mine and a packet of natural sweetener. That's one thing I wanted to do with my café—offer most of the items as usual but have some healthier choices on hand too.

Homer washed his hands and sat down at the table while I fried the sausage patties. “I see you have some coffee too. Are you going to have breakfast with me?”

“I thought I would, if that's okay with you.”

“That's plenty okay,” he said. “I like having breakfast at your house. The dog is sweet, your kitchen is clean, and you're even going to eat with me.”

I didn't want Homer to think this was our new everyday routine. “The café should be open and things should be back to normal tomorrow.”

“Oh.” He looked crestfallen as he added two heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee.

I went to the stove and flipped the sausage patties before turning back to Homer. “May I share a secret with you?”

“Of course. And it will go no further. My mother always taught me to be trustworthy.”

“I'm going to open my own café. I wanted to buy Lou's Joint.” I sighed. “It looks like that's not going to happen now. But I'm going to build a new café somewhere nearby.”

“That's wonderful news! One of Churchill's famous sayings dealt with the fact that not enough people see private enterprise as a healthy horse pulling a sturdy wagon.”

“Okay.” I wasn't quite sure what Homer meant by that, but I supposed it was a good thing. I returned to the stove and saw that the sausage patties were ready. I put them on
a plate and set them aside. Then I got the biscuits out of the oven. I put one of the patties on a biscuit, put the biscuit on a small plate, and set the plate in front of Homer. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“No, thanks.” He bit into the biscuit and then closed his eyes.

I placed the rest of the biscuits on a platter and brought it and the plate of sausage patties to the table.

“These are the most wonderful biscuits I've ever had in my life,” said Homer. “They're so much better than Lou Lou's.”

“Thanks. There's plenty. Eat all you want.”

“I just need my one morning biscuit, but could I maybe take one with me for lunch? I'll pay you the extra.”

“Now, Homer, you aren't paying for anything this morning. You aren't at the café. We're just two friends having breakfast together.”

“You mean it?”

“I mean it.” I smiled. “Just remember me when I open up my own café.”

“I certainly will. And I'll tell everyone in town to do the same.”

*   *   *

H
omer left, and after I cleaned up the kitchen, I wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. I didn't want to spend the day being lazy, though, and I knew it was always best to be prepared. So I went online and searched for some small-business sites that would help me with getting my business off the ground. I knew how to cook—that wouldn't be a problem. It was the advertising, marketing,
accounting, payroll, and tax side of the business that had me concerned.

I hadn't been working long when the doorbell rang. I closed my laptop and went to see who was there. It was Dilly Boyd, another regular from Lou's Joint. Dilly was a wizened little creature who looked half sweet old lady and half impish gnome.

“Hey, Dilly.”

“Hi, darlin'. I ran into Homer Pickens, and he said that you made him breakfast this morning. I don't reckon you're making lunch, are you?”

“Well, I wasn't planning on it.”

“Shoot. Do you at least have any biscuits left over from this morning? You know, I have that little old raccoon that comes to my back porch every evening about dark, and he won't go away unless I give him a biscuit. Then he scampers on back up into the woods.”

“I do have some leftover biscuits,” I said. “Come on in.”

Dilly followed me into the house and complimented me on my pretty place. “No wonder Homer liked it so good. And he said you sat right down with him and had breakfast with him. That must've been really nice. Shame the café's not open today.”

“Give me just a second.” I went into the kitchen and put the biscuits into a plastic bag. I was probably getting ready to make a big mistake, but Dilly had thrown such a guilt trip on me with that wistful “must've been really nice” comment. I checked my pantry, freezer, and refrigerator, and then I took her the biscuits.

“Thanks, hon. I appreciate this.”

I hated to just send her off with a bag of leftover
biscuits, even if the biscuits were for a raccoon. Besides, it would be good practice for me to cook for someone other than my family.

“Dilly, do you think Homer and maybe one or two other people might like some lunch today?”

Her blue eyes sparkled to life, and her face became wreathed in smile wrinkles. “I believe I could round up a friend or two. What do you have in mind?”

“I'll make one meal out of what I have. People will have to eat what I make—they can't come in and ask for whatever they want. All right?”

She nodded. “What is it that we're having?”

“Meat loaf, macaroni salad, scalloped potatoes, creamed corn, collard greens, rolls, and preacher cookies.” The no-bake cookies had gotten their name from being something simple to throw together if the preacher came to visit. I didn't mention the oatmeal pie I had left over from last night because I was afraid I wouldn't have enough.

“Oh boy!” She clutched her bag full of biscuits to her chest. “Won't this be fun?”

“Well, I hope it will. Be back in about an hour, all right?”

“See you then!”

When Dilly left, I called Jackie.

“Hi. So what's going on at the Joint?” she asked.

“I'll tell you all about it when you get to my house . . . that is, if you'll come to my house.” I told her about Homer and then Dilly coming for food.

“Amy, these people can't expect you to feed them just because the café is closed today. And you can't let them guilt you into it.”

“I didn't mean to. At first, it was just Homer wondering where he was going to get his morning sausage biscuit, and then Dilly came by and asked about lunch. I told her I didn't intend to make lunch. . . .”

“But she guilted you into it, didn't she?”

“A little.”

“And are these people paying you?”

“Of course, not! That wouldn't be right.”

Jackie made a little growly noise, and I could imagine her rubbing her forehead. Even though she was only a year older than me, she saw herself as the more logical and rational of the two of us and sometimes acted as if she were a decade older than I.

“You can't give people free food when you open your own place,” she said.

“I won't.” Probably. “But I can do this one meal. Maybe it could count as a promotional business expense. And, if you'll come and help me, I'll pay you.”

“How could I possibly accept your money, knowing you aren't getting paid for this meal?”

“I'll make you accept it. Now would you please come give me a hand?”

*   *   *

I
used Nana's recipe to make the meat loaf, and I was just getting it out of the oven when Dilly arrived.

“I wish I'd thought to make some deviled eggs,” I said to Jackie.

“We've got plenty of food.”

There wasn't enough room at my kitchen table—and I didn't have a dining room—so since it had turned out
to be a beautiful sunny day, I escorted our guests out to the picnic table in the backyard. There was an umbrella in the middle of the table, and it provided them some shade.

“Well, ain't this nice?” Dilly looked around like she was six years old and I'd thrown her a surprise birthday party.

She'd brought two other ladies who were regulars at the café.

“Just sit wherever you'd like, and Jackie and I will bring your plates out to you,” I said. “Would everybody prefer sweet tea?”

One of the ladies requested ice water, but Dilly and the other one said tea would be fine.

When I went back into the kitchen, Jackie was busy buttering the rolls. I took our guests their drinks, and then I came back and started slicing the meat loaf.

“This would slice better if it was cold,” I said. “It'll make a good sandwich tonight for dinner if there's any left over.”

“That does sound good,” said Jackie. “I'd like a couple of slices to take home too . . . if there is enough.”

Nana's recipe made a big meat loaf, but I wasn't holding my breath.

We had no more than gotten our guests' plates out to them when someone rang the front doorbell.

“There go our sandwiches,” Jackie told me.

I gave her an apologetic shrug and went to answer the door. I was surprised to see the more-gorgeous-than-I'd-remembered Deputy Hall standing on my porch. Maybe I'd been too traumatized to notice last night.

“Deputy Hall, what can I help you with?”

Before he could answer me, Homer came up onto the porch. “Hello, Amy. I hate to be a bother, but Dilly said you were serving lunch.”

I nodded. “Go on through to the kitchen, and Jackie will fix you a plate.” I stood aside to let Homer pass and then stepped out onto the porch. “Are you hungry, Deputy?”

“You know you can't be doing this,” he said. “You don't have the proper permits to operate a café out of your home.”

“I'm not operating a café out of my home. I've giving a few people a free meal. You want one or not?”

“I . . . uh. . . .”

“I promise it's clean. You can do an on-the-spot inspection if it'll make you feel better.”

He hesitated.

“You like meat loaf?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I've had lunch already. I need to talk with you about the incident that occurred at Lou's Joint last night.”

“Come on in.” I walked back through the house, assuming he'd follow.

“Thank you.” He looked around the kitchen. “Why are you doing all this?”

“I hadn't planned on it. Homer came to my door this morning at a little past ten. Not being able to go to Lou's Joint for his morning sausage biscuit threw him for a loop. He has a strict routine. I felt sorry for him and made him his breakfast. Dilly heard about it and wanted lunch. So here we are.”

He grinned. “That little brown scruffy dog running around out there . . . was he a stray?”

“As a matter of fact, he was. His name is Rory, and he was at Lou's Joint one morning when I went in to work. I sneaked him some bacon—Lou Lou would've had my head had she known—and I looked for him when my shift was over. I was disappointed that he wasn't around. I guessed somebody had run him off. But when I started home, I saw him walking in the road. I called him, he came and got into the car, and he's been here ever since.”

“I figured. It seems you have a thing for strays.”

“I guess so.” I nodded toward the table. “Have a seat.”

His eyes flicked toward Jackie. “Maybe we could talk out on the porch. It's such a nice day and all.”

Little did he know, I'd already told Jackie everything about last night . . . everything I knew anyway. “Sure. That'll be fine. Would you like a glass of water or tea?”

“A glass of tea would be nice. Thank you.”

He was walking through to the front door when Jackie came back into kitchen from attending to our guests. She looked at me and then at Deputy Hall's retreating backside.

“Mercy, mercy, mercy,” she said under her breath.

“Don't you ‘mercy' me.”

“Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to step on your toes. It's obviously not me he's interested in anyway.”

I scoffed. “The only reason he's here is because of what I told you happened last night. He probably thinks I knocked Lou Lou over the head because she wouldn't sell me the café.”

“I don't think that's the
only
reason he's here.”

“Well, it's the main reason.” I poured two glasses of tea.

“Do you know for sure that's what happened? That somebody hit her over the head?”

“I'm not sure exactly what happened. When I realized she was unconscious, I immediately called the police. I was afraid that whoever had knocked her out was still in the café.”

“Still, nobody in his right mind would think you could knock out Lou Lou,” Jackie said. “She was a huge woman. Not that you're a weakling or anything, but I'd imagine it would take a lot to fell Lou Lou Holman.”

“I'd say you're right.” I picked up the glasses. “Wish me luck.”

Jackie held up her crossed fingers.

I pushed the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch. Deputy Hall was sitting on one of the white rockers. I handed him his drink.

I sat down on the other rocker. It felt good to relax for a moment. But then it felt good to have been able to provide a meal for some of Lou's Joint's regular customers too. “Am I a suspect in the . . . assault . . . or . . . whatever . . . of Lou Lou?” I asked quietly.