Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) (4 page)

“
No, it’s not that. I have some business to take care of in Dallas,” I said, an outright white lie which I hoped Gram would forgive.

“
Well, I know you wouldn’t expect me to take care of Huggles.” She disliked animals of all kinds, especially in the house, while her kids adored Huggles. “But I do think you could have asked me to watch the café. Tom doesn’t know a thing about it, and I know the place inside out.”

Not quite, sister dear.
“I doubt Tom will have to do anything. Marj can run the place just fine, unless there’s an extreme emergency.”
And then everyone will call me.

“
Marj acts like she owns the place. But I’ll watch things,” she said.

That meant she and her family would eat free at the café every night I was gone, and Marj would lose her mind.

“How’s Sara Jo Cavanaugh?” I asked, mostly to change the subject.

“
She’s the most interesting person,” Donna said. “I can’t wait to read her final article. But she’s got a lot of work to do, and we sometimes sit and talk so long that I’m really late getting home. I’m really enjoying her company.”

How about your family?
Boy, I was tired of keeping my mouth shut these days.

Donna didn
’t miss a beat. “She has some wonderful ideas for the B&B, but I’ll talk to you about them when you come back. I’ll need your help.”

Of course you will.
I lied again, saying I was anxious to hear, and said good night.

Gram spoke right up.
“Kate, be charitable with your sister. She’s not as grounded as you are. If she needs your help, give it to her. What will it cost you?”

That
’s just the part I don’t know, Gram!
It struck me that Gram had been unusually silent about Sara Jo Cavanaugh, so I asked what she thought. But as usual, Gram had faded away. I was left to conjecture that she wouldn’t like what Sara Jo was doing to Wheeler.

Next I called David Clinkscales. He
’d given me the number of the bachelor pad he’d settled into after his divorce. “Kate! What good news. Of course, I’ll want to see you. How about lunch on Wednesday? And maybe Thursday?”

I laughed.
“David, you don’t have to do that, but I would like a visit. Just to bring you up to date on things in Wheeler and check on you. Huggles misses you, so I’ll have to give him a report.” David had gone with the children and me to get Huggles.

“
I’ll have to come visit. I’ve been to my cottage a couple of times, and, well, I guess I just holed up and ate out of a can. I should have come to the café for chicken-fried steak.” He’d bought a cottage on a small lake near Wheeler within the last year, after his divorce. David loved East Texas; his now-ex-wife, not so much.

“
Yes, you should,” I admonished him. “But I’ll give you a rain check. And I’ll come by your office about eleven-thirty Wednesday morning. If it turns out that doesn’t work for you, you have my cell phone.”

“
It will work,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Suddenly I wanted to tell David Clinkscales all about Sara Jo Cavanaugh.

I had some detecting I wanted to do in Dallas, but I’d put it off until I got there.

I went back to the café. That evening a group of four high-school boys came in for hamburgers. They
’d just been to baseball practice, they said. They sat and laughed and punched one another in the arm, having a good time but basically well behaved. Or so I thought until I was clearing the table next to theirs and overheard their conversation.

“
Hey, man, I bet she’s hot, that Miss Cavanaugh who’s been nosing around school.”

“
Yeah,” chimed in another one, “I think she’s sweet on Cary. She spends a lot of time supposedly interviewing him.”

And yet another voice chimed in.
“I bet she could show us some tricks. Come on, Cary, give. What do you really talk about?”

Cary Smith, blushing to the roots of his reddish-blond hair, nodded his head in my direction, and the boys grew respectfully silent.

Then one asked, “Miss Kate, what do you think of that reporter? She’s around the high school a lot, and some of us think it’s kind of funny. ’Course, I haven’t got to talk to her at all. But Cary has—a lot. He just won’t tell us about it.”

“
Nothin’ to tell,” Cary muttered.

He was, as far as I knew, a shy but good boy, an only child. His family moved to Wheeler from Dallas some five years ago, if what Marj had told me one day was correct. The father worked in
Tyler doing I don’t know what, and the mother stayed at home. They almost never came into the café, though Cary came often with his buddies. The family apparently didn’t go to church and didn’t socialize much, so no one knew anything about them.

“
Miss Kate, what do you think?” the questioner persisted.

I wasn
’t about to give them an earful of what I really thought about Sara Jo Cavanaugh, so I just said, “I think it’s interesting that she chose Wheeler. I’d kind of like to know why. And I hope she doesn’t turn up any skeletons in anybody’s closets.”

They boys tittered nervously, if titter is the right word for nervous laughter from young boys.

“I bet you boys should be worrying about some pretty high school girls and not Sara Jo Cavanaugh.” I gave them a smile and moved on. After that, their conversations were quieter.

****

When Rick came in the next morning, I realized I hadn’t told him I was leaving town. Not sure how I felt about the sense of obligation, I greeted him with his cup of black coffee. He barely glanced at me, took a sip without saying thanks or anything, finally lifted his head and looked at me. “Long night,” he said.

I saw dark circles under his eyes and a droop about his whole bo
dy. “What happened?”

“
Two hours of sleep, that’s what happened. Domestic disturbance.”

“
In Wheeler?” I was incredulous.

“
Let’s just say it was within my jurisdiction. Actually a hostage situation for a while. And I didn’t have any backup. All I had was a megaphone. And, by the way, it was damn cold out at two in the morning.”

“
Sorry. Did it come out all right?” I knew he wouldn’t give details, and yet I was about to jump out of my skin with curiosity.

“
Got a guest in my pokey until I can get him to Canton. Charges will be disorderly conduct, threatening an officer, resisting arrest. Can’t get the wife to press charges, but I sure as hell can.”

“
What started it, or can’t you say?”

“
If he’s indicted, it will be public. Until then I can’t say much, sure can’t identify the family. But it had to do with alcohol and suspicions of infidelity. And there was a child there, a young child. She saw it all.”

An unpleasant thought jumped into my mind.
“Wait till Sara Jo gets hold of this. It’ll be a big part of her article. We’ll look like, oh, I don’t know—poor white trash.”

“
That’s the least of my worries,” he said rather curtly. “I’m worried about that child, and the mother who won’t press charges, and the jerk who’s in my jail. I don’t want this happening in my town. Maybe our lady reporter won’t find out about it. I’m certainly not going to tell her.” His look challenged me, as though to say, “Are you?”

I just shook my head.
“She’ll find out, mark my words.” I had that sense of foreboding again. I guess I would have been distressed at this incident, common in Dallas but not Wheeler, no matter what. But once again, Sara Jo’s presence complicated it. All I said was, “Ready for your sticky bun?”

Pushing away from the stool, he said,
“Naw, not now. Maybe later.”

“
Wait. I have to talk to you about something else. I’m leaving town.”

His startled look for a moment was like a deer caught in the headlights. Then he repeated, ever so carefully,
“Leaving town?”

“
Oh, not for long. Just for a couple of days. I want to see some friends in Dallas, take care of some business”—no need to tell him I’d be looking for both Sara Jo Cavanaugh and Joanie Millican, because he’d just tell me to keep my nose out of business that didn’t involve me. Well, maybe Joanie didn’t involve me. My interest was compassionate, but Sara Jo surely did involve me and my town. “I’ll be back Friday morning. Leaving today.”

He looked long and hard at me.
“Friends like David Clinkscales? Tell him hello for me. We may need his expertise with Sara Jo sometime.”

I gave him his level look back and smiled.
“Our thoughts run alike. I plan to tell him all about her. Plus let him by me a fancy lunch.”

He smiled, finally.
“What is it they say? ‘You go, girl.’ Have a good time, Kate. I think probably leaving town for a short time will be good for you. Anything I can do?”

“
Nope. Marj will handle the café, and Tom and the kids will take care of Huggles. I’m taking the cat with me. I think I’ve got it all covered. And you know how to reach me.”

“
I do. Drive safe. Be careful in the big city.” And then, right there in the café he leaned over and brushed his lips gently across mine. “I’ll miss you, so hurry back.”

Cha
pter Four

Other than Rick
’s words, “I’ll miss you,” and the gentle touch of his lips echoing through my mind, I drove out of Wheeler in good spirits. Wynona was not in nearly as good a frame of mind. She yowled and cried piteously before finally resigning herself to this ordeal and taking a nap. It was mid-afternoon when I arrived in Dallas, and I went straight to Cindy’s apartment, to which I had long had a key. I was at home enough to dump my things in the guest room, get Wynona situated, and settle down with a glass of nice chardonnay she’d left chilling. I sat in front of the computer and did a search for southwestern boutiques in Dallas. A decade ago that would have called up two-dozen responses, but now there were only three. I copied down the names, phone numbers, and addresses, and then I searched on Google for Sara Jo Cavanaugh. Came up empty-handed, but I wasn’t surprised. Searched for national magazines based in Dallas and did no better. Cindy came home about that time, and we got lost in hugs and catching up.

Over dinner at Patrizio
’s in Highland Park Village, we continued to catch up. Cindy told me about the latest man in her life—the second since I’d left, almost a year ago. He was a lawyer, good prospects, etc., but she wasn’t sure how crazy she was about him. It sounded to me like an affair of convenience. In turn, I told her the complicated story of all that happened last spring, with William Overton turning out to have murdered both Gram and Irv Litman. I guess I was back to small-town, button-the-lip ways because I didn’t mention Donna’s involvement at all, and when she asked about Donna, I just said she was running a B&B. Boy, did I leave a lot out of that story.

In the end, it was one o
’clock in the morning before we went to bed, but I found my new habits die hard. I was up at six, fixing coffee, reading the paper, watching the news on TV. Cindy appeared at seven-thirty, in a flurry to get dressed for work.

“
You have plans for the day?” she asked.

“
My old boss is going to take me to lunch.”

“
Hmm. I remember he isn’t so old…but isn’t he married? Don’t go there again, Kate.”

Why does she put a relationship—or sexual—tinge on every friendship? I guess I
’ve been away too long.
“He’s divorced now, but that’s not why we’re going to lunch. He’s a good friend, helped us out with that legal mess over the dishonest accountant, and I just want to catch up with him.” I decided not to mention Sara Jo, at least not yet.

I appeared at David
’s office promptly at eleven-thirty. The receptionist announced me, he introduced me to my replacement—my age, but a bit dowdy I thought, though David said she was almost as efficient as me. And then we went to lunch at Stephan Pyles’ restaurant, fairly new and one I’d never been to. As usual in places with Pyles’ name on them, the dining was gracious, the service impeccable. I had a chef’s salad—over David’s protests that I should get something fancier. Made with wood-roasted chicken, smoked cheddar, manchego, heirloom tomatoes, and Kalamata olives—which I asked them to leave out. It was tossed with a balsamic dressing. I reveled in flavors I couldn’t get in Wheeler and couldn’t sell if I did. David had the pan-roasted Gulf snapper with shrimp and homestead grits and said he was sure my grits were better. Pyles even came by the table, toque and all, to inquire if we were enjoying our meal.

“
This,” I said later to David, “is what I miss about Dallas.”

“
Enough to want to come back? Your job is always yours.”

I shook my head.

Over lunch I poured out the whole Sara Jo story to him, but I didn’t get the magic kind of advice I wanted.