Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) (18 page)

By the time Cary and his dad, Roger,
arrived I had everything in order and was potting herbs, something I figured I could do without shoving it off on Cary.

Cary, wearing a
T-shirt and jeans that made me realize why Ava had a crush on him, proved to be, as he had a few times in the Blue Plate, shy and polite, saying, “Ma’am” to me and “Sir” to his dad. I wondered if it was too late to teach Henry that. Cary was earnest about learning what to do, but it was clear he didn’t know a thing about yard work.

Roger Smith knew what his son lacked, and I wondered why he had waited for me to teach the boy. He was a man approaching f
ifty if not already there, with the look of an office worker—pale complexion, a bit out of shape, a bit balding, and jeans that bagged and sagged in all the wrong places. But he was jovial.

“
Miss Kate? I appreciate your giving Cary a job. He needs to earn some money, and I’m afraid his mom and I have spoiled him, letting him slide on the job side because he’s so involved in athletics and gets good grades. But he knows nothing about yard work.”

“
I can show him the basics,” I said. “I mowed this lawn a lot as a kid.”

“
Good, good. I’m sure he’ll learn quickly. He can walk home when he’s through.” He had an infectious grin but it never reached his eyes, where something worrisome lingered. Something bothered this man, and that bothered me. Was he a killer?
Stop it, Kate! You’ll be accusing everyone in town at this rate.

Roger clapped his son on the shoulder, said,
“Do a good job, boy,” and was gone.

I thought the term
“boy” was patronizing, but I just thanked the father, said I was sure we’d get along fine. Actually I was relieved the dad was going. I’d been afraid he’d stay.

I explained to Cary about going in straight row
s, slightly overlapping, back and forth. The mower had no bag—I’d just let the clippings be mulch for the grass as hot weather approached. And approaching it was—in the high eighties this day, with a bright sun. Cary had a gimme cap that kept the sun from his eyes.

I left him to his work and went inside to study some recent issues of
Bon Appétit,
not that I was going to start serving gourmet meals but sometimes I got some ideas for the café and even more for my personal cooking. I called it professional reading.

Gram
’s was a good-sized lawn, and it would take a while, but every so often I peeked out the window, and I could always hear the steady hum of the mower. When it finally stopped, I went outside and asked Cary if he’d like lemonade and a break, and he said gratefully he would. I brought icy cold fresh lemonade to the porch, and we sat in chairs.

Now what, Kate? Here
’s your chance. What do you say?
As usual, I jumped in with both feet. “I hear Sara Jo Cavanaugh spent a lot of time interviewing you. Did she pick you as the average high school student?”

He squirmed in his chair and looked away.
“That’s what she said. It was embarrassing. The guys all teased me about it. I mean, I’m sorry she’s dead—gosh, it’s awful that someone murdered her—but I’m glad I don’t have to answer any more questions.”

“
May I ask what kind of questions?” There, I was doing just what he didn’t want—asking him more questions.

He looked alarmed, but this was a boy who was used to responding politely to adults.
“All kinds of stuff I thought wasn’t her business—about my folks, my grades, my problems with math”—did he blush just a bit then?—“even whether or not I’m dating.”

I started to say I hoped not because I had a niece who
’d be crushed, but I knew Ava would never speak to me again.

“
I don’t know if you should be flattered or offended,” I said philosophically, “but I do know investigative reporters will get information any way they can. It’s up to you to draw the line.”

“
I tried to be polite,” he said, swigging down the last of his lemonade and saying, “I guess I better get to the front lawn. Then I’ll put out the weed and feed. Dad said not to fertilize and use weed and feed at the same time, so I’ll put the fertilizer on in a week or so. Okay?”

“
Fine. While you do that I’ll put Huggles inside and run check on the café. I won’t be long.”

I did, but everything was okay
, and I was back before Cary finished the front lawn and began spreading the weed and feed. All in all the work took him about three hours, and I paid him generously, asking him if he’d come back the next Saturday. He said he would. By the time he left a bit after two, I was exhausted. I called Marj and said I was taking a nap before I came to relieve her. Huggles was confined to quarters but didn’t seem to mind as long as I was there.

I hadn
’t really found out much about Cary or Sara Jo, and we hadn’t touched on Sally Vaughn, but instinct kept telling me Cary Smith was the key to Sara Jo’s murder. Not that he did it, but just that it was all about him. Rick would snort, but then I wasn’t going to tell him. He’d accuse me of meddling if he heard I hired Cary to mow my lawn.

****

The first phone call came that night, about nine-thirty when I got home from the café and let Huggles out. The voice was muffled, as though someone was holding a cloth over the phone and trying to disguise his or her voice. I honestly couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. The words weren’t too chilling, just a garden-variety threat:

“
Stay away from Cary Smith. He knows nothing, and you’ll just upset him.”

I was puzzled and held the phone in my hand a long time after I heard the click on the other hand. It wasn
’t Roger…I was fairly sure of that. One of Cary’s buddies? Sally Vaughn? Who would call me?

My secrecy was lost on Rick. He knew I
’d hired Cary by the time he came in for breakfast on Sunday, splurging as he always did on Sundays on eggs, bacon, and hash browns. “Hear you got a new yard guy.” He sipped his coffee without looking at me.

“
Well, sort of. I don’t think he knows much about yard work, but he did a good job and seems glad he has the opportunity. He’ll get better. I wish Steve Millican were here to give him some tips. My teaching him is sort of like the lame leading the halt.”

He wasn
’t amused. Putting his coffee cup down, he stared me straight in the eye. “Kate, don’t meddle in this investigation. I’ve got Halstead on my neck. I don’t need you to mess it up.”

I blathered, a sure sign I was caught.
“I’m not. I’ve just liked Cary better than most of the boys who come in here, and I thought he might need some work.”

“
Kate, you knew his dad was upset that Sara Jo questioned him so much. And you even said once you thought Cary was the key to something about Sara Jo.”

Had I really been that dumb about opening my mouth?
I waved a hand, “Oh, that was before she was killed. Ava told me she spent a lot more time with Cary than any of the other kids.”

He finished his breakfast in silence and stood to leave, putting money on
the counter. But as he turned to go, he asked, “Do you really think Cary’s at the center of this?”

“
I do. I just can’t figure out why or how. Ava said he also spends a lot of time with Sally Vaughn, the math teacher. Ava says she’s tutoring him, and he told me he struggles with math, but Sally told me he’s one of her better students.” I shook my head. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“
And she happened to tell you that why?”

“
I went to see her,” I confessed.

“
Kate, you’re hopeless. If I didn’t trust your instincts, I’d arrest you for obstructing justice instead of murder. As it is, I’ll think about all this. Maybe Cary has a thing for cougars. Stay away from him.”

“
Rick Samuels!” I exploded.

Now he did that smile thing again.
“Just kidding. But stay away from both of them. I think this was a killing with a specific motive—to get rid of one person—but if you keep poking, the murderer could get nervous and you’d be in danger. I’d rather not investigate your death.”

“
Rick, I am in danger…of being arrested for murder. That thought is never far from my mind. First my sister, now me. I don’t know what it is about this town. Maybe I was wrong to come back here.”

“
No, you weren’t. But you are in danger—not just of being arrested. Your life and well-being are in danger. Don’t forget the shotgun blast at the B&B. We still don’t know who did that.”

“
They were after Sara Jo,” I said. “Her death proves that.”

“
Probably, but not necessarily. But I won’t let you put yourself in harm’s way, and I’ll find out who killed Sara Jo before I’ll let Joe Halstead arrest you.” He said it with such passion it took my breath for a moment. And then he left without another word, without looking at me.

I slogged my way through Sunday, went home as early as I could and curled up with a book. But in the middle of the night, I woke and could not turn off my mind. Why did I think Cary Smith was the key to Sara Jo
’s murder? As your mind can do strange things to you at three in the morning, I began to fantasize about being in jail, tried for murder. I prayed and wished I’d gone to church that morning. I swear I didn’t sleep again until the alarm went off though truth be told I probably dozed in and out. In wakeful moments, I waited for Gram to come to me, but she didn’t. Surely she knew how miserable I was.

****

The next morning the world didn’t look quite as hopeless to me, but I was dragging because of lack of sleep. By the time I got to the café, I had pulled my spirits together, so I was able to banter with Benny and Marj and the others and get the day off to a good start. I decided on spaghetti for the feature of the day and pulled ground meat out of the freezer.

The morning went along as usual until about ten when
Bonnie Smith entered the café, a first I could ever remember. My impression of her remained the same from the cooking class—a woman not afraid of hard work and not intimidated by the world. Cary must have gotten his looks and his slightly shy demeanor from his father. This time, though, the worried expression on Bonnie’s face caught my attention. Immediately when I seated her at a small table, she asked, “Aren’t you known for sticky buns?”

“
Yes, we are, and I still have a few left this morning. Would you like one?”

“
Yes, please. And black coffee.”

She didn
’t even leave me time to say, “Nice to see you again,” or “I’m sorry you missed the cooking classes.” I sensed this was not to be a cordial visit. Between Sally Vaughn and Bonnie Smith, I wasn’t making friends in town over the murder of Sara Jo. And I knew two women who would just as soon see me arrested and the whole matter behind them.

As I brought her order to her, I was aware she was studying me. When I set the coffee and bun down, she asked if I would join her.

Uncertainly, I sat down.

She wasted no small talk.
“I’m Bonnie Smith, Cary’s mother.”

“
I know that. You were in the cooking class for one session. I’m sorry you didn’t return,” I honestly tried to be cordial. “Cary’s a fine young man.”

“
I came to ask why you wanted him to mow your lawn. There are lots of nice young men in this town.” Apparently instead of being flattered, she was suspicious.

“
I’ve been impressed the few times he’s been in here with how polite he is. And my niece, a freshman at the high school, mentioned that he’s a really good guy and was looking for ways to earn a little money. Your husband even said as much.” I was getting suspicious myself. Why was she so concerned? Something clicked…her husband said they had been overprotective of Cary…well, not in so many words, but that’s what he meant.

“
He’s been in here? He never told me that.”

“
I suppose high school seniors don’t tell their folks every little thing about their lives. Maybe not even some big things.” I tried to treat the subject lightly.

“
We like to keep up with where he is and what he’s doing.” She was almost prim as she said that.

It wasn
’t my place to tell her to loosen the reins a bit, so I just said I was sure no harm had come of his stops at the café. We were a respectable family-oriented place, and he was with some nice boys, not rough, not rowdy.

“
Please don’t expect him to mow for you again,” she said. “He has enough to keep up with between sports and schoolwork. He struggles with math a bit.”

I wanted to protest that her husband seemed glad to have him doing some responsible work but once again, it wasn
’t my place. And as for Cary and math, I was getting really mixed messages.

“
Of course. If you wish.”

“
I do. Thank you for the sticky bun. It was delicious.” She’d only eaten half of it, but she left the cost plus a generous tip on the table before she managed to mutter, “It was nice to see you again. I’m sure you meant no harm. You just have to understand…ours is a unique situation, and Cary is a very special boy.” And then she graced me with her version of a smile and sailed out the door.