Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (7 page)

“Rumor is your father drank,” I spoke gently, finishing off a tomato and starting on another.

“I don’t know. He didn’t come home much.” William’s knife stopped its up-and-down movement and he scraped the chopped onions into a bowl I shoved his direction. He didn’t seem anxious to continue. I decided to give him a rest from the subject.

“What are you going to do next with that bread?”

His hands stilled and his clouded expression lifted. “I’m developing the gluten. It helps the bread develop a chewy texture when it’s baked, and keeps the gases that develop during fermentation in the dough.”

My eyes must have crossed. “Are you speaking English, because you lost me after
gluten.
”

William laughed, a hearty, rich laugh straight from his stomach, up through his chest, and out on a resonant bass note that pleased me to hear. “You have a nice laugh, William.”

His chin sank into his chest, all laughter gone.
Time to revert back to our regularly scheduled program.
“Tell me more about your father. Did he ever see your art?”

William resumed chopping the onions, his answer slow in coming. I gave him time, knowing whatever it
was,
it must have been bad because the worry line was cutting deep.
“Yeah.
He came home one day. I’d left a couple of my latest pictures on the kitchen table. One was of my mother.
Just a pencil drawing.”
He put down the knife and did a sort of giggle as he picked up the water and drained the contents. “When he saw it, he exploded.
Called me . . . names.
Hit me. I don’t remember much.”

I felt his father’s rejection hard, like someone had turned me inside out. My babies knew love, but times like this reminded me there was another side of the coin and not all children got the love they deserve.

He finished the onion and used the knife to shove the bits into the container.
“Decided that night that I didn’t need anyone.
I’d take care of my mother and we’d be okay. Even though my father had destroyed most of my work, I recreated it over the next few weeks and it did sell.
Real well.
But she died three years back and I started baking bread and teaching myself to cook.”

“I’m sorry about your mama.”

“It got real lonely, Mrs. Barnhart.”

I set to work slicing a green pepper into strips, using the back of my hand to scratch the side of my face. “You’re a grown man now and there’s a whole world of people who won’t reject you or make fun of you.”

“But I shake.”

Shake? At first I didn’t understand,
then
I saw his knee bouncing and recalled the constant symphony of tics and movements when Hardy and I were with him. “A lot of people have a hard time sitting still. Have you ever thought to ask a doctor his opinion?”

“They never knew what was wrong with me when my mother took me.”

“That was years ago; they might be able to figure it out now.” I transferred my sliced pepper to a small plate and pulled over a head of romaine. “Not everyone is mean, William. Kids can be like that, and I’m sorry you had to endure it.”

“Yours weren’t.”

I had to stuff down my pleasure at the compliment. “You remember that visit?”

William ran his hands down his legs and nodded. “When I saw your advertisement for kitchen help, I remembered you.”

“That was a long time ago. Your mother was sick.”

A little smile leaked from William. “You seemed like a beautiful angel to me, and your children were so funny. They didn’t tease me at all, but told me how they planned to dump the cake you had them carry—”

“What!” I let out a snort of exasperation and shook my head. “I was just thinking on that little incident and suspecting they’d plotted something between them.” I hooked a stool with my foot and dragged it closer, feeling the need to get off my feet as I continued ripping salad greens. “I’m guessing I’ll fix their hides by banning them from dessert next holiday.”

William smiled with his eyes. “I think that visit was the only time I didn’t feel all alone. I mean, I had my mom, but no one else.”

He checked the clock on the wall and got up to give the soups a stir and check his bread. I finished off one head of romaine and started trimming the stems on baby spinach.

He returned to the stool, eyes sincere. “It was thinking of you, Mrs. Barnhart. I knew you were the kind of person I wanted to work for.”

“If anyone doesn’t treat you right.
Let me take care of them.”

A short laugh burst from him.
 

“Ring those.” I pointed at the next onion in line. “We need them for the sandwiches and salads.” His knife sliced downward through the round onion, making
a perfect rings
.

“Don’t be forgetting about this whole thing you’ve overheard. It could be serious, and I don’t think neither of us
want
blood on our hands.”

For a minute he was silent, then: “I think we should say something.”

From long experience dealing with headstrong teenagers, I’d braced myself for a lecture to convince him of seeing my point of view, but William was neither a teenager, nor apparently headstrong. “Here I was heating up for a debate session and you agree all quick-like. I’m almost disappointed.”

William got up. “Who’s the doctor in town?”

“We’ve got
two,
they alternate between a practice here and one town over.
Dr. Alex Icon and Dr. Troy Gordon.
Take your pick. Both can help you, William.”

A stiff nod was his only response. He stirred the simmering spaghetti sauce. I figured he was done talking and would return to silent mode. Finishing off one last pepper, I lumbered to my feet feeling not an ounce lighter than I had a month ago and opened the refrigerator for a salad.
Chicken salad.
Grilled white breast meat over all those veggies and a crisp mix of arugula, spinach, and romaine.
When William turned from the stove, I held one up and raised my brows in question. He shook his head and got down a plate, dishing up some spaghetti for himself.

Even with the creamy herb dressing
I
so loved, the salad didn’t satisfy my taste buds. A dangerous place for me because I knew if the food I was eating failed to satisfy, I’d start looking for something that would, which generally meant I’d choose things not good for me.

William slurped a noodle into his mouth. Reminded me of the time Tyrone proudly sucked a noodle through his nose until it came out his mouth. A cooked noodle, of course. He walked around the house like that grossing out both
Shayna
and Lela. When Tyrone headed to the front door to wow the neighborhood with his feat, I stopped him.

“But, Momma,” he protested, talking all funny-like. “The talent show is coming up at school.”

“You’re not snorting a noodle for the talent show.”

He shot me a look of teenage contempt. So I shot back. Hunkering down on his level, I pushed my face next to his. “How about I heat you up then you can go out on stage and try to put the fire out?”

William worked on spinning the noodles around the fork and feeding his face, as I shared the whole noodle story with him. He didn’t say another word, but his eyes sure sparkled. Somehow, deep down, I felt like we’d made a positive step.

I stabbed another forkful of spinach and chicken. I chewed hard, pushing against the thought of tangy spaghetti sauce and tender meatballs. It got to be too much. I shoved back my salad and pushed to my feet. I took a very small portion of noodles and smothered it with a ladle of sauce and meatballs. William raised his eyebrows at me. I lowered mine at him. He got the message and showed some spirit by bowing his head over his plate and sucking another noodle in lightning fast.

We ate in silence until William tapped his watch.
Time to open up again.
I nodded and he hustled out to unlock the front door. He’d just returned to clear his plate when the bell let out a blast of electronic cheer. For just a second, my mind tripped back in time to Hardy slamming the door in Marion’s antique shop the day we found her body behind the counter. As annoying as that bell had been, it sure beat the electronic screech.

Regina
Rogane
-Conrad slipped up to the podium, her smile set in stone. “I’m starved. Chad’s meeting me here in twenty minutes.”

She looked good. Marriage had taken the shadows from Regina’s eyes that’d been there from the first day her momma took sick, only to deepen when momma had to be moved to a nursing facility, where she’d eventually died.

I pulled out a couple of menus. “When you going to give us some little chiefs? Our police force is lacking numbers, you know.”

Regina winked at me. “I’d have to close the shop. Where would you get your hair done?”

I motioned her to follow me to a table for two in the corner. “Now who do you think did it all those years before I ever set foot in Wig-Out?”

She shot me a bright smile.
“Hardy.”

“Oh, aren’t you full of sass this afternoon.”

Regina craned her neck toward the kitchen. “Where is your better half?”

“I know you’re not talking about Hardy. He’s not even big enough to be half of me.”

“You’re looking great, by the way.” She scanned down the menu and set it aside. “I don’t know why I bother, I’ll have one of your salads and—” She sniffed. “Is that spaghetti I smell?”

I beamed a smile down on her.
“One plate of the lunch special.
You let me know if it tastes as good as when I make it. William’s using my recipe, but he might not be doing the pinches here and there of this and that.”

“So you want me to be an in-house critic?” She handed over the menu.

“Something
like
that.”

Regina spun her wedding ring around on her finger, a worry crease forming between her brows. I almost set my feet to walking away, but hesitated. “You want that salad while you wait, or do you want to chew on what’s worrying you? You keep spinning that ring and you might lose it.”

“I need to take it by the jewelers to have it resized.” Her lips formed a stiff little smile. “There is something you might be able to help me with.”

“Spill it out for me, honey. If I can help, you know I will.”

Regina stared at her ring, twisting and twisting it. “I don’t know. Well, I mean, I know, but I’m not sure what to do or if there’s anything we can do.”

I perched on the edge of the chair across from her. “Tell me about it.”

Regina released a sigh. “Betsy
Taser
came to the shop this morning. She was her usual self.”

“I’m sure all that community service has brought out her charming, thoughtful personality.”

Regina laughed. “Sure.
All that and more.
But she mentioned the
Buchanans
.”

My ears perked up hard. Elizabeth and George Buchanan’s little girl had died after a long fight with cancer. Sara Buchanan was dear to my heart and had been a great fan of my cooking. I still ached with the loss of her.
“How you meaning?”

“She got real chatty, talking about health care and hospital bills and how most health plans don’t cover everything. It got me to thinking.” She unrolled the silverware from her napkin and set the fork on the left and the knife and spoon on the right. “What if they’re struggling under
bills.
It just seems like we should do something, maybe something in Sara’s honor, but I know everyone would be suspicious of me collecting funds after the campaign scandal.”

I reached to pat Regina’s hand. “That’s nonsense and you know it. This town isn’t like that at all. Besides, if the town holds a grudge, it should be against Betsy
Taser
for blackmailing you. Eugene doesn’t seem to think the town will hold it against her, else he wouldn’t be running for another term as mayor.”

She gave a reluctant little nod.

I patted her hand. “Let me think on it a spell. I’ve had the idea to sell my pepper relish to raise funds for the school, maybe I can figure a way to expand on that somehow. George and Elizabeth are good people and you’re a good heart to
be wanting
to help.”

“I’ve had a prime example all these years,” she smiled into my eyes.

“Trying to sweet talk a free meal out of me?”

“Sure, whatever
helps.
”