The Calamity Café (2 page)

“I'd say it'll take four to six months . . . and it's June . . . so, yeah, you can be ready by winter.”

I sighed. “Will people wait that long? I so wanted to go in, take over Lou Lou's place, shut down for a week or two for redecorating, and then have a grand opening on Independence Day.”

“People won't wait,” she said, “but they'll gladly leave Lou's Joint for something better as soon as that option becomes available to them.”

“You're right,” I said. “Come over after work and have some oatmeal pie with me.”

“Is that what I smell?” she teased.

“Mmm-hmm.”

She giggled. “I'll be there!”

“Want some fried chicken, biscuits, and mashed potatoes with gravy to go with it?” I asked.

“I'd be satisfied with just the pie . . . but I wouldn't hurt your feelings by not eating chicken and biscuits.”

“Good. I'll see you after work, then.”

Sarah was Billy Hancock's administrative assistant. In Winter Garden, that meant she was the secretary, bookkeeper, and paralegal to the town's only attorney-at-law. Billy was about fifty-five years old and had taken over the
business from his father, William. Being the only lawyer in town, Billy had plenty to keep him busy, but not so busy that he couldn't play golf in Abingdon with his friends two afternoons a week. He handled just about everybody's wills, estates, divorces, and misdemeanor charges. Not that everybody got divorced or had misdemeanors in Winter Garden, for goodness' sake . . . but there were enough to earn Billy a darned good living, and by extension Sarah too.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The aromas of the vanilla, cinnamon, and oatmeal were divine. I remembered standing on a chair at Nana's side watching her make her oatmeal pie at our house one Thanksgiving morning. Nana was strong and sturdily built, and I must've been only around five years old, because I felt tiny at her side. She was patiently explaining the pie making step by step. At the time, all I cared about was “Can I lick the spoon?” Now I'd love to have the opportunity to live that day over . . . to take in every detail, every loving nuance of her oatmeal pie preparation. But as the author of
Our Town
warned, reliving a day gone by might prove to be too painful.

I opened my eyes and wondered briefly if Thornton Wilder had ever been Homer's hero. I'd have to try to remember to ask Homer.

The pie still had a good thirty minutes to bake, so I went into my fancy room. My fancy room had once been my mother's bedroom. After Pop died, Aunt Bess moved in with Nana. After Nana died, Mom moved in with Aunt Bess. And then when Aunt Bess started getting forgetful—as in, accidentally leaving the stove on—Mom left her job as a sales associate for a retailer in Bristol to look after Aunt Bess full-time.

Nana's house was the biggest house in town, which wasn't saying a lot for the rural community. There were houses in Abingdon and Bristol that would make Nana's house look small in comparison. Most people in Winter Garden lived in farmhouses or small ranch houses. The people of Winter Garden were generally hardworking and proud. The majority thought it was beneath them to take handouts of any kind, and some lived a meager existence because of that.

Nana's house was situated on a hill so that a person could sit on the wraparound front porch and see the entire town of Winter Garden. The house hadn't been built until the early 1980s, when my grandpa had quit working in the coal mines and he and Nana moved here from Pocahontas.

After Mom had moved in with Aunt Bess, I'd remodeled her bedroom. Two of the walls were lined with oak bookshelves—not plasterboard, but real oak. My friend Roger was a construction worker, and he'd built them. There had always been the understanding that Roger would build my café if and when I decided to build. Before I'd given my notice to Lou Lou, I'd spoken with Roger to make sure he could work me in.

Roger had been friends with Sarah, Jackie, and me since we were children. In fact, I'd always thought he and Jackie would make a good couple.

In the center of the fancy room floor was a white velvet fainting couch, and I grinned every time I looked at it. The piece was just so girly and luxurious, and I loved it. I kept the door closed and didn't let Princess Eloise into this room at all for fear that she'd sharpen her claws on the legs of the couch. It was hard to slip off
from Rory, though, so I'd wound up putting a doggie bed beneath one of the windows so he could visit if he missed me when I was in the room. He generally liked to be by my side always. Princess Eloise could take me or leave me. She was Mom's cat, but Mom couldn't take her to live with Aunt Bess because Aunt Bess was allergic. So Princess Eloise tolerated me. When Mom came over, she was like a different Persian.

Off to the side of the fainting couch, I had an overstuffed peacock blue chair with a matching ottoman. There was a floor lamp beside the chair, and when I'd curl up on the chair to read, it was like its big old arms just wrapped around me. I kept a pink-and-blue paisley throw on the ottoman. I had one of those old-fashioned rolltop desks at the window looking out onto the side yard. It too was oak, and I kept stationery supplies in it. I particularly liked personalized stationery, and Nana had made it a point to get me some every Christmas. Ever since seeing the old black-and-white movie
Rebecca
, I'd thought personalized stationery was the pinnacle of class. So what if the title character had turned out to be less than classy? She still had nice stationery.

Rory had long since found all his treats and was in a blissful sleep in front of the living room sofa, so I closed the door behind me when I went into the fancy room. I slipped my sandals off and stretched out on the fainting couch with my laptop. I checked Aunt Bess's Pinterest boards. One of my favorites was
Lord Have Mercy
. On that board, Aunt Bess pinned things that were, in her opinion, in need of grace: weird photos of celebrities, crime stories, strange phenomena, and multiple body piercings.

I'd been surfing the Web for several minutes when the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number that came up on my screen.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, Amy, hi. It's Pete Holman. How you doing?”

Pete was Lou Lou's son. He was several years older than I was, so I hadn't known him until I started working at Lou's Joint. Pete was nice enough, but he tended to be on the lazy side—did just enough to get by and didn't take much pride in his work. He'd always kinda struck me as an overgrown kid. Pete was a skinny balding man of forty who still lived with his momma and tried to pretend to her that he didn't have a girlfriend . . . because Lou Lou would definitely not have approved of the thirty-year-old woman Pete had been seeing. In fact, I doubted she would have approved of anyone Pete dated. Lou Lou liked keeping Pete under her thumb.

“I'm fine, Pete. How are you?”

“I'm all right. Momma told me that you offered to buy the Joint.”

“I did. I imagine she also told you that she flat-out refused to sell it to me,” I said.

“She did say that, but I believe I've got her talked into changing her mind.”

“Really.” It wasn't a question. It more like a nicer way of saying,
Fat chance
.

“Yeah. You see, she ain't as young as she used to be . . . and, well, I ain't either, for that matter. I never did want to spend my life slinging hash. Uh, not that you wouldn't enjoy it and all—that ain't what I'm saying,” he said. “It's just, I'm saying I'd prefer a life on the open road. I want to drive a truck.”

“Well, good for you, Pete. I hope that works out for you.” I had a hard time buying what he was saying, much as I would have liked to.

“Thank you. I appreciate that, Amy. I really do. But, of course, for everybody to get what they want, Momma has to sell the Joint, right?”

“Um . . . okay.”

“So I reminded her of how she's always wanted to go to Hawaii,” Pete said. “She could take some of that money you're paying her and take right off, couldn't she?”

“I think that would be wonderful,” I said.
For her and for everybody in Winter Garden . . . especially if Lou Lou decided to
stay
in the islands.
I had a vision of Lou Lou eating pupu, and I had to stifle a giggle.

“So you come on to the Joint right after closing tonight. I'll have Momma there, and the three of us will work out all the details. I'll even try to have Billy Hancock there to draw up the contract.”

“Tonight at closing?” I asked, feeling my hopes rise, even though I knew better. “Can't we discuss the sale tomorrow morning?”

“No, Amy. We don't want Momma to have the chance to change her mind.”

“I understand that, but—” The oven timer went off. “I have to go get my pie before it burns.”

“See you tonight, then?” he asked.

“See you then.”

*   *   *

I
t was a balmy night and, since it had stopped raining, I had my windows down as I drove to Lou's Joint. I'd had my fill of good food and fun conversation, and I
was feeling content. Sarah had stayed until just about an hour ago. We'd played a game of Yahtzee and had gone back to the drawing board on the existing café renovations, and we'd also dreamed about where I could buy land to build a new café and how it would look if tonight's deal fell through.

Sarah and I both felt as if this deal was more about Pete's hope that he could talk his momma into selling than any actual budging on Lou Lou's part. I'd worked for Lou Lou Holman for just over a year. She didn't budge. On anything. So I wasn't particularly optimistic about Lou Lou selling to me, but I had a plan B.

I pulled into the parking lot. The only other vehicle there was Lou Lou's old silver van. I wondered why she didn't get a nicer, more reliable car. The van seemed to be in the repair shop more than it was out. Despite having money, Lou Lou was stingy. Nana had once said that if you were really quiet, you could hear all the little Lincolns screaming in Lou Lou's pocket because the woman pinched her pennies so tightly.

I got out, locked the car, and walked up to the door. It was a cloudless night, and the moon was a waxing crescent. Nana used to tell me that when the moon looked like that, it was pouring out water . . . meaning it was going to rain again soon. A warm breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the sugar maples grouped on both sides of the café. I heard wings flap overhead. I shivered, wondering if it was a bat or a great horned owl. Either would scare the dickens out of me.

I quickly tried the door. The
CLOSED
sign had been turned toward the glass, but the door was unlocked.
Grateful, I slipped inside. All the lights were off except the one in the back.

“Lou Lou! Pete! It's me, Amy!”

I waited for one of them to come out and wave me on back into the office. I actually hoped that they'd come out, flip on a light, and we could meet in here either at the lunch counter or at a table. I didn't relish the thought of being confined in the stuffy, smoky office with Pete and Lou Lou.

No one answered, and no one emerged from the office. “Hello!” I headed toward the back. I'd simply suggest that we move into the dining area to give us all a bit more space. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Pete's truck parked outside. Maybe Lou Lou had called off the deal, and he hadn't even bothered to come.

When I reached the office, I saw that Lou Lou was slumped over the desk. “Lou Lou, are you all right?”

She didn't look up.

I stepped closer and patted her arm. “Lou Lou?”

That's when I noticed the blood dripping from the desk pad onto the
floor.

I
hurried over to my boss. “Lou Lou, you're bleeding!” I eased over to the desk and put an arm around her. “Here, sit up.”

She was nonresponsive, and I wasn't strong enough to move her by myself. I gave her a little shake. “Lou Lou, come on.”

I placed my index and middle fingers on her left wrist, but I was unable to find a pulse. I thought it was probably weak because she was unconscious.

I took out my phone and dialed the sheriff's office. It occurred to me that if someone had come into the café with the intention of robbing the place and had knocked Lou Lou out, he might still be here.

“Sheriff Billings's office,” answered a woman's voice.

“Hi. I'm Amy Flowers. I'm at Lou's Joint, and something has happened to Lou Lou, the owner. I need for you to send somebody over here right away.”

“Okay. You stay put until they get there.”

“I will. Please hurry!” As I ended the call, I wondered where Pete and Billy Hancock were. One or both of them should've been here by now. I heard a hoot coming from the large maple tree at the corner of the parking lot, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

It didn't take Sheriff Billings long to get to Lou's Joint. He'd been sheriff here in Winter Garden for the past ten years. When he and his deputy got out of their car, I hurried to the front door to meet them.

“I don't know if somebody broke in and hurt Lou Lou or what,” I said. “She's in her office.”

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Down that back hallway there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm going to go on to the office and have and look around. You stay here with Deputy Hall.”

I turned from the tall, lanky sheriff to his deputy—a younger man with an athletic build. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and his muscles strained the fabric of his tan shirt. I hadn't seen him before.

“Could we please step outside?” I was shaking and on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Sure.” Deputy Hall—R. Hall, according to his nameplate—took out a notebook and pen as we stepped just outside the door. “Could you please give me your name and your account of what happened here from the time you arrived until the time you called the sheriff's office?”

I was surprised his voice rivaled the timbre and depth of that of Sam Elliott.

“I'm Amy Flowers. Lou Lou's son Pete called me this afternoon and asked if I could be here tonight to meet with
him, his mother, and their attorney—Billy Hancock—about buying the café.”

He looked around the parking lot, obviously noting that the only cars around were mine, Lou Lou's van, and the police cruiser. “Was Ms. Holman the only person here when you arrived?”

“As far as I know.”

“Was she the only person inside?”

“She's the only one I saw.”

“All right,” he said. “Walk me through your arrival.”

I told him how I'd gotten here and been surprised that no one except Lou Lou seemed to be at the café. “And then I walked through the café to the office and found Lou Lou slumped over her desk.”

“Did you call out to her?”

“Of course. When she didn't answer, I asked if she was okay, and then I noticed the blood. I went over and tried to get her to sit up, but she didn't answer me, so I called you guys.”

“All right. That's all the questions I have for the moment, but I'd like for you to wait here with me until the sheriff comes out.”

The owl hooted again, and Deputy Hall glanced up at the tree.

“That owl make you nervous too?” I asked with a shaky grin.

“No, Ms. Flowers. I'd like to wait until we get an assessment of Ms. Holman's condition before you leave.”

“I was just kidding.”

The ambulance—siren blaring and lights flashing—pulled up beside the police car. The driver hopped out and addressed Deputy Hall.

“Where's the patient?”

Deputy Hall held open the door. “Straight back and down the hall to the . . .” He looked at me.

“Left,” I supplied.

“The sheriff is with her. I'll let him know you're here.” He called Sheriff Billings on the radio clipped to his belt and told him the EMTs were there.

I heard the sheriff's reply. “No need to send them in. I'll be out in a minute. I've called Ivy Donaldson. She's on her way.”

Deputy Hall relayed the information to the ambulance driver. “I think Sheriff Billings would appreciate it if y'all would hang around until he talks with you.”

A black Buick sedan sped into the lot and stopped nearby without bothering with a parking space. Billy Hancock stepped out. Billy had looked the same for as long as I could remember—steel gray hair, light blue eyes, and black-framed glasses that were always sliding down on his long nose.

“I'm Billy Hancock. What's happening here?” he asked Deputy Hall.

“May I ask why you're here, sir?”

Deputy Hall already knew why Billy was here. He was confirming either Billy's story or mine—I wasn't sure which.

“Pete Holman called me and asked me to meet him, his mother, and Ms. Flowers—hello, Amy—at Lou's Joint for a meeting. I had a flat tire and was delayed. First of all, it took the tow truck a good twenty minutes to get to me, and then Wilma had to come and get me, and I had to take her home and then bring her car here.”

“Where's Mr. Holman now?” Deputy Hall asked.

“I don't know. Isn't he here? What's going on?”

“No, Mr. Holman's not here, and something has happened inside the café.”

“Oh, well . . . I'll call him.” As Billy fished his phone out of his pocket, he said, “Congratulations on your decision to open your own café, Amy. I hope you know that I'll help you with the legalities. I won't even ask you to pay a retainer first . . . but, of course, you can if you'd like.”

“The phone call?” Deputy Hall reminded.

“Yes, sure.” Billy pulled up his contacts and called Pete Holman. “Pete, it's Billy. Where in blazes are you?”

Deputy Hall whispered, “Don't tell him anything's wrong. We don't want him alarmed while he's driving.”

“All right,” said Billy to Pete. “See you when you get here.” He frowned at Deputy Hall. “He misplaced his car keys. Now would you please tell me what's going on?”

“When Ms. Flowers arrived, she found Ms. Holman slumped over her desk. Ms. Holman was bleeding.”

Billy gasped. “That's awful. Is she going to be all right?”

“I don't think so.”

The sheriff joined us then and confirmed Deputy Hall's suspicion. Lou Lou Holman was dead.

“What?” I asked. “Are you sure?” My head was spinning, and I staggered.

Deputy Hall put a hand on my back. “Are you all right?”

“Are you sure?” I repeated to the sheriff.

“Positive,” he said.

The sheriff had turned to go talk with the EMTs when Pete arrived in his souped-up 1992 brown Ford Ranger. Why would anyone soup up a 1992 Ford Ranger, you ask? Who knows? Who knows why Pete Holman did anything he did?

Like Billy, Pete didn't park. He simply stopped the truck and got out.

Sheriff Billings had turned back around when Pete pulled into the parking lot. Now he met Pete halfway. “Pete, I need you to stay calm.”

Pete looked at me, his eyes already wild. “Amy?”

I shook my head. I didn't want to be the one to tell him something had happened to his mother. I closed my eyes momentarily, fighting a wave of nausea.

Sheriff Billings took Pete gently but firmly by the shoulders. “I'm sorry to tell you this, but your mother is dead.”

Pete looked stunned. “What? She's dead? What happened? Did she have a heart attack or something? I've told her she needs to take better care of herself.”

“We don't know what happened yet,” said Sheriff Billings. “But we aim to find out exactly what happened to her.”

“What do you mean, you aim to find out what happened?”

“Because your mother didn't die of natural causes.”

“Then what kind of causes
did
she die of?” He looked from the sheriff to the deputy to me and then to Billy. Poor Pete. He was grappling for answers, and no one really had any.

“I'm sorry, Pete, but it appears that somebody killed
your mother. That makes Lou's Joint a crime scene, Pete, and we're going to have to shut the café and its perimeter down for a day or so to be able to go over it thoroughly. Were you a joint owner of the café?”

“I guess,” said Pete. “I don't know if my name was on anything or not, but I helped run the place.” He looked dazed.

“Well, then, when you're permitted to return to the café, I want you to see if anything's missing. If there is, then please call us first so we can see whether or not we have the item in evidence. If not, then your mother's attacker likely took it.”

Pete's brows drew together. “What do you mean, when I'm
permitted
to go back in? I want to go in now. I wanna see Momma.”

“I'm afraid you can't go see her yet, son. The only person we can allow into the café at this time is Ivy Donaldson, our CST. I could have Ivy take a photo of your mother and bring it back outside so you can confirm that it
is
your mother in there. Would that be all right?”

“Y-yes, sir.” He wobbled, and if Sheriff Billings hadn't been holding to Pete's shoulders, I think he would've fallen.

“Let's have a seat in my car and have a talk,” said Sheriff Billings. “It doesn't look like your mother had either the front or the back door locked. Did she usually leave them unlocked?”

I didn't hear Pete's reply, since they'd opened the door and sat down in the police cruiser by then.

A blue convertible pulled into the lot and parked neatly beside my yellow Bug. Someone had a clear head
even in the midst of a crisis—it was bound to be Ivy. I knew Ivy from her visits to the café. She didn't come in often, but when she did, she typically ordered a burger—no mayo, extra pickles—and fries.

In her mid-thirties with shoulder-length auburn hair and gray eyes, Ivy was a no-nonsense kind of person. She got out of her car, nodded toward Ryan, Billy, and me, and then went to the driver's-side window of the sheriff's car. She leaned down and talked with Sheriff Billings for a moment, returned to her car, and opened her trunk. She pulled on white coveralls with a hood and took what looked to me like a toolbox out of the car. I supposed it was some sort of medical kit.

Ivy came over to the door of the café. “Hey, guys. How're you doing? You found the victim, right?”

I nodded.

She placed the back of her hand against my cheek. “Your skin isn't clammy. Do you feel dizzy or anything?”

“Not anymore. If anyone is in shock, it's Pete,” I said.

She nodded. “Hopefully, Sheriff Billings can prevent that.” She took a pair of surgical booties out of her pocket and put them over her shoes before going inside.

I looked at Deputy Hall. “May I please go home now?”

“The sheriff or I might have a couple more things to discuss with you,” he said.

“What about me?” Billy asked. “Unless you think you might need an attorney, Amy.”

“No, Billy, I'm fine.”

“You may go, Mr. Hancock,” said Deputy Hall. “But please make yourself available if the sheriff and I have any questions for you in the next couple of days.”

“Will do.” Without a backward glance, Billy hurried to his car—or, rather, his wife's car—and left.

“So what else do you want to know?” I asked Deputy Hall.

“You said Pete called you this afternoon to set up this meeting. Why didn't Ms. Holman call you herself if she was interested in selling?”

“I don't know. I thought the idea of selling was more Pete's idea and that he was trying to talk her into it. As a matter of fact, I figured my coming here tonight was a waste of my time. I'd talked with Lou Lou about selling me the Joint earlier today, and she'd made it clear she had no intention of doing so. I told her that I'd open my own café somewhere else.”

Deputy Hall scribbled in his notebook. “And you don't think her son could've made her reconsider?”

“It's possible—he said he'd played the Hawaii angle . . . Lou Lou always wanted to go there—but even if he'd convinced her to sell, I can't imagine her selling to me.”

“Why's that?”

“Because she knew I wanted the café. She'd rather have had someone buy it and bulldoze it than sell to me. That's why I thought I was wasting my time with the meeting. But I was trying to be optimistic.”

“Didn't Ms. Holman like you?” he asked.

“She thought I was an upstart . . . that I was trying to get above my raising.”

“Care to explain that?”

I winced and tried to choose my words carefully. I didn't want Deputy Hall to agree with Lou Lou. “I went away to school because I wanted to become a professional
chef. When my nana got sick, I came back home and took a job here to be closer to her. My house is only about ten minutes away from this place. Anyway, I took a job as a waitress. I made what I thought were helpful comments about the food and things I thought would help the café be more successful, but . . .”

“But Ms. Holman thought that you were trying to get above your raising,” Deputy Hall finished after I'd trailed off. “Got it.”

“Right. Plus, she thought the only people who needed to be cooking were her and Pete. And I knew I could do a better job. I didn't come right out and tell Lou Lou that, but I offered time and again to take a shift in the kitchen.”

“When you threatened to open a café somewhere else—”

“It wasn't a threat, Deputy Hall. I
am
going to open my own café.”

“Okay. But Ms. Holman saw that as competition.”