Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) (20 page)

Chapter Sixteen

To my great relief neither Rick nor David thought up a plan to use me as bait. My two suitors—because that
’s how I’d begun to think of David—had become allies, often found at the café, huddled with their heads close together. David was dedicated to clearing my name; Rick had that goal too, but his primary concern was restoring law and order to a town that had become “his.”

Ava, Henry, and Jess spent the night with me on Friday, and I acquiesced to Henry
’s need for privacy, letting him sleep in his mom’s old room while the girls shared Gram’s big bed. We had grilled cheese sandwiches and raw vegetables with that old onion soup dip for supper. Henry complained he’d prefer potato chips, but I told him they weren’t as healthy and the dip was bad enough. We spent the evening playing Monopoly, which they had brought with them. Jess and I played as one, but Henry triumphed, and crowed with glee when he beat us.

The cooking class met for the last time. I figured too many in town would object to dirty rice, with
chicken livers and gizzards in it, and switched to risotto (much harder to do) to go with the quail. I knew these ladies were used to stuffing quail with a jalapeño and wrapping it in bacon, so I gave them an entirely different recipe: baked quail stuffed with green grapes and butter and then wrapped in bacon, baked in white wine. They were skeptical but later I heard that the husbands loved it.

I was luckier than Donna, perhaps because there was no real evidence against me
, and I was never arrested. And there was never the gossip, the sidelong looks, the open curiosity that she had endured when she was accused of Irv Litman’s murder. I reacted differently too, which was natural given our personalities. I did not hide in the house, and I wasn’t angry—just frustrated. But I went about my daily business, planning menus, keeping the books, cooking, and greeting customers, most of whom said, “This mess will be cleared up soon enough, Kate. You take heart.” I got hugs and pats on the back and a strong show of support. It occurred to me I had a fairly good-sized community of character witnesses if push came to shove, but I shuddered at the thought.

Rick at one point dredged up the whole Irv Litman case and seriously began considering Donna as a suspect, though he swore to me he hadn
’t mentioned it to Sheriff Halstead.

“
It makes sense,” he said earnestly one morning, whispering over his morning coffee.

I motioned to the corner table and took a cup of coffee to join him.
“It makes no sense. Donna was overjoyed to having a long-term paying customer.”

“
But she’d already been paid, and you yourself told me Donna soured on Sara Jo when she began to ask too many questions about that episode.” His hand traced an idle pattern on the table, and I know he was thinking. “I know Donna was cleared and Overton did it—we’ve got proof—but the whole thing brings up a scandal that Donna prefers to leave behind. Think of the effect on her children.”

“
I don’t think she cares that much about that,” I said, my tone almost bitter. “But she does care about Donna. If she wants to make the B&B go, she can’t have even the suspicion of murder of a guest hanging over her head. She’s worried enough just because it happened on the property.”

It was true. Donna had two calls in which the caller asked if that was the property where a guest had been murdered, and though she tried to explain there were unusual circumstances, both guests backed out of their reservations. She did have two couples, good friends, coming the next weekend. My joke that she should start having mystery dinners at
The Tremont House was not regarded as funny. Who knows? Someone might have solved Sara Jo’s murder as an after-dinner game—that would really frost Rick.

Rick questioned Donna, which sent her rocketing off into anger again.
“That man is after me, I tell you,” she screamed at me one night when I went by the B&B for a glass of wine.

“
He’s just trying to cover all angles, and you know more about Sara Jo than anyone in town. I bet you have a wealth of information to tell him that would clear both of us.”

“
I shouldn’t even be a suspect!” She flung a dishtowel on the counter in disgust. “And he’ll never take you seriously as one because he knows you wouldn’t…couldn’t do it.”

“
I know that about you too, Don,” I said.

“
Well, he doesn’t know it. And he’ll have this whole town riled up against me again, and my business will go down the drain.”

“
I have an idea. You have guests this weekend. Make sure they have a good time, and then the next time you have an empty or slow time—maybe a weeknight—begin to invite travel agents, as your guests. They can recommend The Tremont House and spread the word.”

“
As my guests?”

“
Don, it won’t cost you much at all. A bit of food. You can recommend the café or send them to Currents in Tyler, point them toward the state park, or a scenic drive—or you know there’s that restaurant in Van where they have that huge salad bar and the owners get up and sing.”

“
Hokey,” she said scornfully, frowning at me.

“
To you. But it would have a certain small-town charm for city folks.”

In the end, she said she
’d think about it, and I thought I’d done the best I could.

Then she had another dilemma.
“I don’t know whether to stay here this weekend to reassure my guests or not. Maybe they’d think I’d murder them in their beds.”

“
I think you belong at home with your family. They will have your phone number, and Tom always hears the phone.”

“
He’s still sleeping on the couch in the den,” she said. “Won’t sleep with me.”

I wished I hadn
’t gone there, but I expected the story was the other way around. It occurred to me I was watching the slow and painful falling apart of a marriage when a sudden break might be cleaner and hurt a lot less. What did I know? I’d never married, and at this point didn’t intend to. I didn’t have good role models around me, including David Clinkscales who’d been through enough pain of his own.

As it turned out, Donna
’s guests, two couples in their sixties who seemed happy with each other, were the best role models I’d seen in a while. They came into the Blue Plate for Saturday night supper and all they could talk about was the murder. They thought it was intriguing to stay in a property where a murder had taken place and even began offering suggestions on who did it. I don’t know how much Donna told them about the case, but it was certainly more than I would have. I was both comforted and startled when one of the women put her hand on my arm and said, “We know you didn’t do it, dearie. I bet that schoolteacher did. She’s got something to hide.”

****

The tourist’s comment stayed with me a couple of days, long enough that I finally decided I needed to talk to Sally Vaughan again. Rick would never approve, but it seemed so obvious to me. I didn’t think it wise to go back to the school—for one thing, school officials might get suspicious. For another, I didn’t want to confront her—yes, that’s what I was going to do—on her home territory. I’d learned enough from William Overton that I didn’t think it smart to invite her to my house—if she really was the killer, I’d be putting myself in unnecessary danger. I’d call and invite her to the café in the late afternoon when it was empty and we could have privacy. And unlike her, I didn’t have a gun, in spite of Rick’s frequent pleas that if I was going to keep getting myself in trouble I should take the concealed weapons course.

“
Besides,” he’d add, “you never know when you might need it at the café.”

I
’d laughed at the time at the very idea of someone holding up the Blue Plate, but he stubbornly insisted it could happen, especially when I closed late at night and often alone.

I called Sally at the high school, during what I knew was her free time. I had to leave my name and was told they
’d go get her. When she got on the line, she was abrupt and her tone hostile.

“
What do you want now?” she demanded.

“
To talk.”

“
I don’t think we have anything to talk about. And all this has upset Cary. He’s not doing nearly as well in his work as he was.”

“
I think we do have to talk, and I’d like you to come to the café. I think you and Cary are the key to Sara Jo’s murder.”

“
That’s ridiculous. If you want to talk, meet me on 773, about five miles out of town. There’s a small roadside park there.”

“
I don’t think so,” I said, sensing a trap.

“
Well, I’m not coming to your café where God and everybody can hear you accuse me of murder.”

“
That’s not what I….”

She hung up on me, and I sat staring at the phone, trying to think. Maybe it was time to talk to Rick.

Before Rick came in for supper, Cary Smith came in, alone, which doubly surprised me. He sat at the counter and ordered a Coke and fries. When I delivered them, he said in a low voice, “Miss Kate, Miss Vaughn told me you called her today. She’s really angry, and I can tell you she didn’t have anything to do with that reporter’s murder.”

“
How do you know?” I asked, interested this young man would put himself out for his teacher.

“
I know her. She’s a good person. I know she can be, oh, sort of abrupt, but she’s really kind and she cares about us kids. She didn’t like that the reporter was bugging me, but she’d never do anything about it. She did mention it to my parents, because she knew it was bothering me. But murder? Uh huh.”

He was so earnest, so sincere, and so scared, I wanted to reach out and hug him. He knew somehow he was the key to this whole mystery, but he wasn
’t going to tell me what he knew. I suspect somehow he’d gone out on a shaky limb saying as much as he had.

I thanked him and refused his money. Good kid that he was, he left a dollar bill by his plate of unfinished French fries.

And for the second time that day, I sat and puzzled over all that was going on. Rick came in for dinner, but I didn’t mention either my call to Sally Vaughn or my visit from Cary. Still, my bright cheerfulness didn’t fool him. I guess he knew me too well.

“
You all right? You’re acting kind of funny?”

“
Me? I’m fine. How about you.”

With an ironic look in my direction, he said,
“I’m fine. You sure there’s not something you should tell me?”

“
Well, Huggles caught a squirrel today,” I lied, “but I was home and made him drop the poor thing. Creature bolted in sheer panic. That’s one squirrel that won’t be coming in my yard again.”
Good, quick thinking Kate.

Rick did his half smile.
“If that’s the news of the day, I guess things are okay.” He ate his cheeseburger, tipped his hat in my direction, and left.

Things were not al
l right when I went home that night. As I gathered my mail, I noticed a printed note that hadn’t come through the postal service:

Stay away from Cary Smith. It would be a shame if something happened to your gorgeous dog.

That was all, not that I expected a signature. But my heart stopped for a second when I read the threat. I ran through the house to the back door and called Huggles. To my relief, he came running joyously across the yard. I got down on my knees and hugged him, welcoming his slobbery expressions of love.

Inside, with Huggles and Wynona occupied with their dinners, it took me about three minutes to decide it was time to call Rick and confess. I did, and he said,
“I’ll be right over. Don’t touch the note anymore.”

His first words were,
“I knew something was off tonight.”

“
I hadn’t gotten the note yet,” I protested.

“
What did you do to provoke another threat?”

So I confessed the whole story of my call to Sally Vaughn.

He sighed, but I knew it was a sigh of exasperation. “At least you’re learning something,” he said. “Thank you for not meeting her at a roadside park.”

“
You’ll notice I also ruled out inviting her here to the house.”

“
Noticed, with gratitude. Now, if you’d just let me do my job. I guess though this does mean I need to go talk to Miss Vaughn. I’m beginning to believe you’re right that she and Cary are the key. You’re not thinking they were in cahoots on killing Sara Jo, are you?”

“
Cary is too sweet a boy to ever kill anyone.”

“
And you know that how?”

“
Instinct,” I said smugly, which made him snort.

Chapter Seventee
n

The next afternoon Ava walked into the café with a single question on her mind. When no one was around, she asked,
“Aunt Kate, can I come live with you? I hate it at our house.”