Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) (2 page)

Rick was regaling Sara Jo wit
h the story of my encounter with the late William Overton, who nearly killed me. If his aim—or his hand—had been steadier, he’d have done the job. I was not particularly amused by this recounting, but Sara Jo whipped that notebook out again and was taking notes.

“
So Kate tried to cowboy it all alone,” Rick said, but Sara Jo interrupted.

“
Cowboy it?”

He gave her that raised corners of the mouth smile.
“You’re not from Texas, are you?”

“
No.” But she hesitated as she said it, and I pegged her as Dallas born and raised. City girls didn’t always know what it meant to cowboy it.

“
Cowboy it. Tough it out…by herself. Although I’ve warned her time and again. But she went after him, accused him…of course, she was the one with the evidence, but still, she should have called me. Anyway, he tried to kidnap her at gunpoint, but Kate was too smart. She threw a flowerpot at him and ran, and his shots went wild. That’s when I drove up.”

Sara Jo keyed in things at a frantic rate.

“See,” Rick went on, “things aren’t always quiet in this small town…or any other.” Then he turned his attention to me, patting me on the arm. “But, Kate isn’t going to try to save the world herself anymore, are you, Kate?”

Dumbstruck, I shook my head. I felt like the slightly demented child—or elderly aunt
—in the group. Rick was definitely talking down to me, and I resented it.

“
Sara Jo, if you’re not from Texas, where are you from?” I broke into the conversation with the first of what I intended to be some blunt questions. It dawned on me I hadn’t detected any regional accent in her speech, though I’m deaf to Texas-speak. It all sounds natural to me.

“
Back east,” she said vaguely, waving a hand in the air.

“
And what magazine are you working for?” I pursued this like a bulldog.

The
ponytail shook back and forth. “I’m not at liberty to tell you that. This is a free-lance job, on a spec basis. If they like it, they’ll print it. But it’s big. Believe me. It’s national. We could put Wheeler on the map.”

“
Favorably or unfavorably?” I asked.

“
Depends on what I find,” she said enigmatically. “I’ll probably be here at least a month, and I’ll dig deeply.”

Swell. Was she going to uncover hidden skeletons that even we didn
’t know about?

The lunch crowd was beginning to trickle in, and I excused myself to take over the cash register. I
’m afraid I was none too gracious in my leave-taking, but I was exasperated with her, with Rick, and suddenly with the whole town of Wheeler.
Why uncover hidden secrets?
She would dig into the accusation that Donna killed Irv Litman, and who knew what else she’d find?

I grumped my way through the lunch hour, and my mood was so obvious that one customer asked,
“You feeling okay, Kate? You’re not yourself.”

“
Just a slight headache,” I replied. “I’ll be fine.”

Marj, sliding by me to deliver a lunch plate to a counter customer, whispered,
“You sure it isn’t a heartache instead of a headache?”

Briefly I considered knocking the plate out of her hand but decided it would be bad form.
Marj had worked had the café as long as I could remember, thirty years at least. She had been faithfully loyal to Gram over the years and had now transferred that protective loyalty to me, though she couldn’t resist a tease or two. Other staff came and went, but there was always Gus, the dishwasher, an alcoholic Gram had somehow rescued from the streets of Dallas, and I relied on Benny, my assistant cook in the mornings, though I suspected he’d move on if a pretty Hispanic girl tempted him.

Rick and Sara Jo left soon after. Both came to the register to pay, though I made a big show of making Sara Jo
’s lunch on the house, and Rick, who had not long ago eaten that last sticky bun, said, “Save me a meat loaf sandwich. I’ll be back.” Sara Jo said she was off to The Tremont House, and I called to make sure Donna was there. Then, with a sigh of relief, I saw them both out the door.

Marj never said another word to me until the lunch rush was over. Then she suggested,
“Why don’t you run home and have a little rest before supper?”

Now she
’s treating me like a child, just like Rick did.

I agreed that was a good idea. I
’d let Huggles in for a while, snuggle with Wynona, my cat I’d brought with me from Dallas, and collect my wits. But the peace I craved was not what was waiting for me when I got home. Huggles, my wonderful, shaggy dog, was waiting at the gate for me and gave me his usual enthusiastic greeting, full of wet slurps. It’s nice to have some living thing appreciate you when you’re feeling out of sorts with most of the world, as I was just then.

Gram
hadn’t spoken to me since the death of William Overton and the recovery of the café’s embezzled funds, when she’d said, “Well done, my child. I knew I was right to put my faith in you.”

Suddenly she was back, and she wasn
’t gentle. “Katherine Anne Chambers, what has gotten into you?”

I knew I was in trouble
. When I was growing up and Gram called me by my full name, it meant something bad. And she had that same tone of voice.

Gram never waited for me to answer.
“You were downright rude to that Sara Jo, just because you think Rick Samuels has fallen for her. How shallow do you think he is that it would take him months to get close to you and then in—what? Less than two hours?—he’d fall for another woman? And as for Sara Jo, are you jealous of her career? You better look again. That’s a woman with a problem, and she’s going to need you.”

I stammered, but I had no good reply. I knew I had behaved childishly. Gram left me with a final admonition,
“Put away negative thoughts, and start over again with positive thoughts.” Gram always was fond of platitudes, but I heard her.

Having delivered her lecture and left me with way too much to think about, Gram disappeared.
She never did wait around to hear my side of the story, but this time I knew my side was pretty weak. I surprised myself by feeling so possessive about Rick. After all, I’d done as much to keep him at arm’s length as he had. I think we had both burned ourselves in the party scene—call a spade a spade, the bar scene—in Dallas, and we were reluctant to trust. But I really did like our dinners and our time together. We liked the same books and movies; he loved Huggles, he was cute with my nieces and nephew, and he appreciated my cooking even if he wasn’t a cook. Oh, not the meals I served him at the café, but the dinners I cooked at home, like the coq au vin I made last week or, earlier, the chicken piccata. It was just…well, the spark wasn’t there. But if it wasn’t, why did I suddenly feel threatened when he talked to another woman?

And Sara Jo?
Gram, you’re wrong. That woman doesn’t need anybody’s help. She’s going to cause trouble for Wheeler, not herself, and darn it, I can be protective of this town. You’ve taught me all over again that it’s my town, and these are my people.

Gram actually replied this time, but all she said was,
“Child, walk softly, and try walking in the other person’s shoes.”

Now what did that mean? I should put myself in Sara Jo
’s shoes and see Wheeler as she did?

I slept until five-thirty. When I groggily realized what time it was, I splashed cold water on my face, ran a comb through my hair, grabbed a fresh apron and made a beeline for the café. Marj just gave me a long look and said,
“If you’re back, I’m done for the day.”

I assured her I
could handle it. And I remembered Gram and her positive thoughts enough that when Sara Jo came in for supper, I was pleasant. She sat at the counter again, ordered tuna fish salad—I knew she would be diet conscious—and thanked me for confirming The Tremont House would be a good place to stay.

“
Donna has given me the suite,” she exulted. “So now I have a bedroom and an office. It’s going to be perfect. And we may work out a deal where I can have kitchen privileges, so I won’t have to buy all my meals here.”

Maybe I should talk to Donna about undercutting my business. But I
imagine even the Blue Plate menu would get old in a month.
I just smiled and said I was glad it worked out. I even smiled when she told me what a kind, good person Donna was, though I admit I had to fight back some dark thoughts.

The café was slow, and I had time to talk so I answered her questions about what it was like to grow up in Wheeler, and as I talked I realized that growing up in Wheeler was a pretty wonderful experience. If I had kids, I
’d want them to have the same small-town childhood, not the fast pace I saw in friends’ children in Dallas, with organized activities from sports to dance to music to karate taking up every minute. Then I thought about Donna’s kids who had the small-town experience all right but had no activities and no attention from their mom. Tom and I did what we could, but he had a hardware store to run and I had the café. Tom was also now mayor of Wheeler, which took part of each day and some evenings. I made a resolution to spend more time with the kids, especially Ava and Jess, and have them in the café more.

“
Did you grow up in the café?” Sara Jo asked, and I startled myself out of my reverie.

“
Yes, I did. I hung on Gram’s apron strings every day after school, did my homework down here. It was a second home. That’s probably why I love being back here these days.”

“
And your sister?”

I paused.
“I don’t think she loved it as much. She rebelled a bit in high school, but you’ll have to ask her.”

There were some tales I wouldn
’t tell out of school. Sara Jo would discover enough tales on her own.

Ch
apter Two

I still had my semi-positive attitude on the next morning when Rick came in early to get a sticky bun, hot and just barely out of the oven.

“Missed you yesterday afternoon, and no one saved me a meat loaf sandwich. Meat loaf was all gone by the time I got here.”

I made a mental note to make one more
meat loaf next time. After all, leftovers were great. “Sorry. I was really tired and snuck home for a nap.”

“
I thought you didn’t look like yourself when we were talking to Sara Jo. You okay?”

I nodded, and he went on,
“Are we still on for supper in Tyler tonight? I want to try this place called Currents. Heard it has great seafood and steaks. I know it’s kind of far to go, but for a good meal….”

Should I bristle again? He got good food every day right here in the café in Wheeler.
Stop it, Kate. You know what he means—a fine dinner, with wine. Not café food.
I was just suddenly tired and not very hungry. “Sounds good,” I said, a smile pasted on my face.

“
I’ll pick you up early—five-thirty—but can you get Marj to close for you, so we don’t have to rush back? I made reservations for six-thirty.”

“
Sure, she’ll do that. I swap out some time for her.” Actually, the thought of an evening with Rick and a really nice dinner was beginning to sound appealing and my spirits brightened.

He looked closely at me.
“Sure you’re okay?”

“
I’m sure,” I said. “Go on, bring law and order to Wheeler.”

“
Yeah, sitting at my desk,” he grumped. “I’ve got a ton of paperwork to do—warrants to go through, that kind of stuff. The exciting life of a law enforcement officer.”

“
No sympathy,” I said, now almost laughing.

Donna came in late that morning, more excited than I
’d seen her in a while. “Thanks for sending Sara Jo to me, sis. She’s going to stay two whole months. Gave me money in advance.”

Two whole months! That was a jolt.
I knew what Sara Jo paid Donna was a drop in the bucket of what she had spent on The Tremont House, but I kept that thought to myself and said, “She says you gave her the suite. I didn’t realize you had one.” Ever since I’d found Irv Litman’s body there, I’d been a bit reluctant to explore the house, and I confess I hadn’t been upstairs yet.

“
The two front bedrooms connect with a bath in the middle, sort of like a Jack-and-Jill bathroom in new houses. I just rented both rooms to her. You’ll see. I told her I’d be having an open house and asked that her rooms be available, and she agreed.”

“
You going to give her kitchen privileges? I thought we would supply meals from the Blue Plate.”

She looked away,
“I think she’s sort of a fussy eater, so I said she could cook. And of course, she’s got a coffee pot and a small refrigerator—I mean really small. Do you mind?”

“
Not really. If I were going to cook for your long-term guests, I’d have to come up with things that aren’t on the Blue Plate menu. Everyone in town knows Monday and Wednesday are meat loaf days, Tuesday and Saturdays are fried catfish, Thursday is pot roast, and Friday is chicken-fried steak. But if that’s what you ate week after week, it would get pretty old.”