The Calamity Café (12 page)

“I don't care about any of that. Just throw it all out.”

“No, wait!”

Is that Chris Anne's voice?

It was. She'd grabbed the phone away from Pete.

“He doesn't know what he's saying, Amy. Save all Lou Lou's stuff for us somewhere on the property. We'll be there first thing in the morning to go through it all.”

“Chris Anne, I don't want to,” I heard Pete tell her.

“You might not right now, but if you let them throw away that stuff without even seeing what it was, you'll regret it.”

I was inclined to agree with Chris Anne, but I kept my opinion to myself.

“If it's so important to you,
you
go!” he shouted.

“Fine! I will!”

She directed her next comment to me rather than Pete. “See you tomorrow, then. Thanks for holding that stuff for us.”

“No problem,” I said.

After I ended the call, I wondered about the couple. Had Chris Anne told Pete about the pregnancy? Had Jackie been right that Pete would be upset by the news? After all, his dream did involve him and Chris Anne hitting the open road in a tractor-trailer. That would be hard to do with Chris Anne pregnant, and it would be practically impossible once she'd had the baby.

Maybe she hadn't told him about the pregnancy yet and he was merely morose about his mother's death. I could understand his not wanting to go through her things, but I thought he should. They could bring him some comfort. I'd been consoled when I'd looked through some of the things Nana had left behind. They'd reminded me of her sense of humor, how much she'd loved us, how thoughtful she'd been. Those things had been in Nana's home, but if she'd had an office, I'd have wanted to see those things too. I'd have wanted to look at everything she'd left behind.

Of course, this was Lou Lou Holman we were talking about now. As far as I'd ever seen, she'd had no sense of humor and she'd certainly not been thoughtful. But, hopefully, she had been considerate toward her son, and he'd find something from her office that would make him
smile.

S
ince I had to be at the Down South Café so early—that sounded so cool in my head that I had to say it out loud just to bask in the words—I got up an hour before daylight so I could make the sausage biscuits I'd promised Roger. Of course, I'd chosen sausage biscuits because I thought it was likely that Homer would be coming by. And Dilly might also stop by so she could have her biscuit and take one to the raccoon.

I arrived at the café with a plastic container filled with sausage biscuits—I'd say I had about thirty-five. Roger and his crew were already there. He'd kept a key when he'd changed the locks so he could work whenever he wanted.

I put the biscuits on the counter and told the workers to help themselves while I made coffee. In addition to Roger's workers, Jackie, Aaron, and a couple of the other café staff came to help us. I was paying the café staff to
help. The ones who didn't come in either wanted time off or they intended to find jobs elsewhere. Either way was fine with me. I didn't want to have to replace any members of the existing staff, but I had a month to do so if need be.

After we'd had breakfast, I put the leftovers in the refrigerator.

“What do you want us to do?” I asked Roger.

“You guys need to move these tables and chairs out into the parking lot and stack them up. Since you're getting new ones, we'll have these hauled off.”

“All right. If anyone comes by and wants a set, they can have them.”

He nodded. “Okay. We're going to get started tearing down the office as soon as we move everything out of it. Did you talk with Pete?”

“I did. He told me to get rid of everything, but Chris Anne said they'd come by this morning and look through it first. I thought we could move it all outside and see whether or not they show up today.” I put my hands on my hips. “After we get everything hauled out, then what?”

He pointed to a stack of paint cans, brushes, rollers, pans, and masking tape in the corner. “Get to taping off the dining room.”

“Got it, chief.”

Aaron and Jackie were already carrying chairs outside, so I began helping Roger bring everything out of the office. I still had the heebie-jeebies about returning to that room, but I was curious about what Lou Lou had been working on the night she was killed.

Either Roger or the cleaning crew had put everything into banker's boxes with openings on the sides so they
could be carried easily. I was lugging a box outside when I noticed a sheet of notebook paper sticking out. It caught my attention because it had
STAN WHEELER
written on it. I set the box down and removed the sheet of paper. Beside Stan's name, Lou Lou had drawn a fish.

I dug a little deeper into the box and found a list of suppliers. I thought that would come in handy, although I was still going to research suppliers of my own. When possible, I wanted to buy from the local farmers. I also found an old ledger with accounts payable and accounts receivable. I knew Pete had the newest ones—which was good, since he'd be dealing with those on behalf of Lou Lou's estate—but I thought I might want to look through it later just to see what Lou Lou's bookkeeping had been like.

*   *   *

T
he café staff had just finished moving all the tables, chairs, and other fixtures outside and stacking them when Pete and Chris Anne arrived. Fortunately, Roger's crew and I had moved everything from the office out here too.

I went out to greet Pete and Chris Anne. “Hi. I'm glad you decided to come by.”

“She twisted my arm,” Pete said.

“I figured as much.”

Chris Anne simply smiled and then got started going through Lou Lou's filing cabinet. I didn't really think that was her place, but then it wasn't
my
place to say so. I told them to let me know if they needed anything.

I went back inside, cringing at the sound of a sledgehammer pounding away at the office walls.

“So Aaron and I are going to start taping around the windows and doors,” said Jackie.

“Okay. I'll help you.”

Before I could begin helping Jackie and Aaron, Homer came in.

“Good morning, Homer,” I said. “You're early today. Who's your hero?”

“Henry Ford. He once said that coming together is the beginning, keeping together is progress, and working together is success. I'm here to help.”

“Oh, Homer, you don't have to do that. I do have a sausage biscuit for you, though.”

“It isn't time for my biscuit yet, but I'd like to help you with your café. What can I do?”

“Will you give me a hand in taping around the trim?”

“I sure will.” He beamed. “Like Mr. Ford always said, ‘Nothing is particularly hard if you divide it into small jobs.'”

“He was a smart man.”

“One of the smartest.”

Homer and I had barely taped off one wall when Stan Wheeler poked his head into the café.

“Hey, Amy, can I see you for a second?” he asked.

“Sure.” I wiped my hands on my shorts and stepped out into the parking lot. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you selling these tables and chairs?”

“Nope, but you can have a set if you'd like.”

“I'll be glad to pay for them.”

“Not for sale,” I said. “But please take a set.”

“I appreciate that.”

“We're taking a set of them too, if that's all right,” Chris Anne said. She was still busily loading things into
the back of Pete's pickup truck while he sat on a chair, looking miserable.

“That's fine.” I went over to Pete. “May I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

He shook his head. “Naw, I'm fine.”

I knew he wasn't, but I also knew there was nothing I could do to help. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

I went back inside to help Homer with the trim. I was relieved a few minutes later when I heard Pete's truck drive off . . . although I half expected to learn that Chris Anne had left in it, leaving poor Pete behind to wait for her to return for another load. I glanced out the window, and it appeared that she, Pete, and Stan were all gone.

Listening to Roger—or one of his crew members—pounding on that wall made me wish I'd thought to bring a radio or MP3 player this morning to give us something more pleasant to hear while we worked. But the slamming sledgehammer would still be audible above the music. I reminded myself of how great the screened-in porch would look when the work was finished.

“Amy! I need you in here!” Roger called.

I told Homer I'd be right back and hurried into the hallway. My steps faltered as I approached the open door to the office. “Wh-what do you need?”

He was holding a green metal lockbox. “This was in the wall.”

“What is it?”

“I don't know. Let's go find out.” He jerked his head toward the opening in the wall, and I followed him out to the backyard. He called out to his crew to keep busy and that he'd be right back.

Roger used a screwdriver and a hammer to break the lock. He glanced at me before opening the box.

My jaw dropped when I saw the contents of the box. “Is that
real
?”

The box contained stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

“Appears to be.”

“Oh my gosh! What're we gonna do?”

“You're going to calm down,” he said.

“Right. Right.” I calmed down for nearly two seconds. “What're we gonna
do
?”

“Look, the money was hidden in the wall for a reason. I'd say there's something not right about it, wouldn't you?”

I bobbed my head. “Oh my
gosh
! The bank robbery! This is the money from the bank robbery!”

“What bank robbery? And keep your voice down.”

“Aunt Bess told us Sunday that Lou's dad and uncle robbed a bank in North Carolina, but it was never proven and the money was never found.” I shook both arms at the box.
“That's the money!”

“We don't know that,” he said.

“What're we gonna do?”

“Will you please stop asking me that? You sound like Prissy from
Gone with the Wind
.”

“I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do.” Tears welled in my eyes.

“Call that deputy you know.”

“I don't
know
him, know him. I just
kinda
know him . . . because I'm a murder suspect.” The tears spilled onto my cheeks.

Roger sighed and pulled me into a one-armed hug. “Stop crying. If most people found a box containing stacks of money in their wall, they'd be thrilled.”

“I'm not most people. Most people didn't walk into an office to find their boss dead. Most people's necklaces aren't found beneath the dead woman's desk. Most people's great-aunts didn't tell them about a bank robbery that happened years ago when this café was being built.” I just wanted to start my business. I didn't need any more drama. It was bad enough the building was part of a murder investigation. Was I now going to be slowed down for weeks while the police dug into a cold case—another investigation that involved
me
? It was too much.

“Calm down and call the deputy. You obviously had nothing to do with a bank robbery that occurred before you were even born.”

“But what if the money
isn't
from the bank robbery? What if it's from something else?”

“Fine. I'll call the deputy,” he said.

“No! I'll call him. I don't want him to think I'm trying to hide something.”

Roger stared at me blankly. “I've slung a sledgehammer all morning, and now
you're
giving me a headache.”

“Sorry. I'll make the call.”

He handed me the box. “Keep this with you. Or, at least, put it in the kitchen. And don't mention it to anyone else until after the deputy tells you what to do with it.”

“All right.”

We went back around to the side of the building and stepped through the wall. I took the box into the kitchen, where Jackie was warming up Homer's sausage biscuit.

“What's that?” she asked.

“Just something Roger found.”

She left with the plate, and I called Deputy Hall.

“Ryan Hall.”

“Hi. This is Amy Flowers.”

“Good morning, Ms. Flowers. What can I help you with?”

“Um . . . Could you come to the café? Alone, maybe? I mean, we—the workers . . . you know, the construction crew—they found something in the wall when they tore it out . . . and I don't know. . . . Could you come over?”

He chuckled. “What'd you find? A body?”

“No! I mean, not yet. There
is
one wall still standing. You don't think there's a body in there, do you?”

“It was a joke, Amy. I'm on my way.”

“Th-thank you.” With shaking hands, I ended the call.

I'd placed the box on the counter in front of me, and now I decided to look in it again. Maybe the money was fake. Maybe we'd been so surprised to find it that we had taken it at face value, when a closer examination would prove that we were all up in the air over nothing. Okay, so Roger wasn't up in the air, but I was in orbit.

I opened the box and peered inside. That money certainly looked legitimate. I mean, Ben Franklin's head wasn't enormous the way it was on newer bills, but it was Franklin. It wasn't some superhero or cartoon character. I wondered how much was there, but I didn't dare touch it. I quickly closed the box.

“Are you okay?” Jackie asked, returning Homer's plate. “You look pale.”

“Yeah, fine. Hard work, I guess. Taking its toll on me.”

She frowned. “You don't seem all right. You're talking like you've been sucking helium.”

“Nope. No helium for me. I'm going to have some water. You want some water?”

“I'm good. I'm going to get back to taping. You should rest for a few minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She gave me another odd look before going back into the dining room. I needed to get back to work too. But I was going to have that water first. And try to get my trembling hands under control so my tape wouldn't be as crooked as a rainbow.

Luckily, Deputy Hall arrived before I'd even finished my water. I heard his car pull up, and I hurried to the doorway between the kitchen and the dining area and motioned him back. I didn't look directly at Jackie, but I could see from the corner of my eye that she was giving me the “I knew it!” look.

“Thank goodness you're here,” I told Deputy Hall as I took his arm and pulled him the rest of the way into the kitchen.

He put his hands on my shoulders and examined my face. “Are you all right?”

“I'm better now.”

He smiled.

“Here.” I hurried over to the counter, got the box, and shoved it toward him.

“What is this?”

“Money.”

He lifted the lid. “Wow.” He put the box on the counter and slipped on some latex gloves. “Let's see how much is here.” He took the stacks out of the box and began thumbing through one of them. “There appear to be fifty bills in a stack, so each of these stacks contains five thousand dollars.”

I gasped. “And how many stacks are there?”

“There are four stacks here. That's twenty thousand dollars.”

“Why would somebody have twenty thousand dollars stashed in a wall?”

“I don't know,” said Deputy Hall. “But I'll take this with me and let you know what I can turn up.”

“Thank you.”

I watched him put the money back into the box.

“I want you to know I had nothing to do with any of this,” I said.

He grinned at me. “I know.”

“I wasn't even the one who found it in the wall. That was Roger.”

“I believe you.”

“You might want to check into a bank robbery that happened about the time those bills were minted.” I told him Aunt Bess's story about the rumored North Carolina bank robbery.