Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) Read online

  “Give him my best,” I said.

  She gave me a hug. “I will. You know he’ll ask. And thank you, girl, for the cooking lesson. It just made my whole week. I can’t wait till the next lesson.”

  Sara Jo was not so pleased with the experience. “Maybe next week there will be more chit-chat while we eat lunch,” she said. “That’s what I signed up for.”

  Wondering if she had an expense account to cover the class fee, I refrained from saying how glad I was she had enjoyed the meal. I had noticed she spent a lot of time watching Bonnie Smith, mother of the boy Ava thought Sara Jo had a crush on. Bonnie proved to be a surprise to me—a sturdy, capable looking woman with a haircut that looked like she’d done it at home, slacks and a blouse I suspected she’d made, and work-worn hands. I gathered she was a homemaker in every sense of the word and instinct told me she was raised on a farm or a ranch and knew a lot about hard work. She hadn’t lost the muscles. But she looked nothing like tall, lank, and handsome Cary.

  Once more, Sara Jo left me puzzling. She had now been in Wheeler a little over a month and she showed no signs of leaving any time soon. What exactly was she looking for in her so-called research on small-town America? I couldn’t shake the feeling she was looking for something specific in Wheeler. And that worried me a lot.

  ****

  When we were kids, we spent countless long, boring summer hours chunking rocks in a stock tank. I remember watching the ripples swell across the pond and marveling that one small thing could cause such a phenomenon. That was just the way it was with Ava’s attempted runaway, except I didn’t see that incident as one small thing. Still, its ripples spread across Wheeler for a while.

  First there was Rick. We hadn’t had a dinner date in a while, and one night he almost literally kidnapped me to take me to the little Italian place in Canton we both liked. We had a pleasant dinner, both of us ordering lasagna and a good Chianti. That is, it was pleasant until I told him about my talk with Ava and her suggestion Sara Jo Cavanaugh was spending a lot of time with the upper level athletes at the high school.

  He grinned at me. “Are you suggesting she’s a cougar?”

  “Maybe she is,” I replied. “I just think her research is kind of strange, don’t you?”

  “Maybe she wants to write an exposé of high school athletics in small towns. If so, there are a lot of football towns in Texas where she could do better. Oh, that’s been done, hasn’t it? Friday Night Lights and all that.”

  “Rick, be serious. I’m suggesting there’s something there we’re not seeing.”

  “And you want me to investigate? I can’t quite order her away from the high school, but I can talk to McLeroy, the principal, see if he thinks she’s out of order. I’ll do it.” He fixed me with a glare and ordered, “You stay out of it.”

  “Well, there’s another thing. She’s been asking about Donna and Irv. She asked me and I brushed it off, but then she asked Ava, who said she didn’t tell her much. That story is not the way we want our town characterized, and if it showed up in a national article…” I spread my hands as though indicating the possibilities, “I don’t know what Donna would do.”

  “I agree, but you know journalists. You can’t really tell them to back off. And I’m afraid even though you and Ava won’t talk, and neither will Tom if asked, there’s someone in this town—who knows who—who will be glad to spill all the details…at least as they know them. Donna herself may have already said too much.”

  Without answering, I finished my dinner but declined tiramisu. My appetite was gone.

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’m just telling you the way I see the situation.”

  We drove home in silence, but when he came into my kitchen briefly, he pulled me toward him and said gently, “Kate, you’ve got to stop poking into other people’s business. Let me do my job. If you’d done that a year ago, you wouldn’t have damn near been shot by William Overton.”

  “Okay. I just…well, Sara Jo worries me. And it worries me that I almost never see her and yet I always feel her presence in town.”

  “I’m keeping an eye on it more than you know.” And with that, he gave me a peck on the lips and was gone, leaving me a bit indignant.

  If he was keeping an eye on it, why wasn’t he sharing what he saw with me? I knew his answer would be it was none of my business.

  And then there was Tom. For days after Ava’s disappearance, he was tight-lipped and solemn, not the jovial man I knew and loved. He came into the café frequently for lunch but wasn’t talkative as usual. One day I plopped myself down next to him with a glass of ice tea and asked, “So how are you?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Donna’s home a lot more, cooks meals—for what that’s worth. Some nights I’m sorry I insisted on it. But I set down some terms, and for the time being she seems to be abiding by them. She works with the kids on their homework, but it doesn’t seem to be making any of them any happier. I think they know her heart’s not in it.”

  “I’m sorry.” What else could I say? He was a man with a world of hurt, she was my sister, for better or worse, and I wished desperately I wasn’t in the middle of their troubles.

  “She and I have an armed truce. I’m sleeping on the pull-out in the den, and she pretends she doesn’t notice. We’re excessively polite to each other. Maybe it was better the other way, but I’ve promised myself to give this some time.”

  “Good.” I wondered how much time he was willing to give. It could take a long time for Donna to see the light of day, and even Tom might run out of patience.

  That night Gram said to me, “Child, I don’t think time is going to help Tom. I’m worried about Donna. You know I love her as much as I loved both of you, but she’s on the wrong path. And that Sara Jo is leading her down it.”

  “Gram,” I fumed, “why don’t you talk to her? Why tell me?”

  “Because you can hear me. She can’t, won’t, whatever.” And she was gone again.

  Honestly, Gram disappeared at the worst moments.

  Ripples in a stock tank always got bigger as they neared the surface, and that’s what happened with Ava. She asked me, not a week after her disappearance, if she could have that girls’ party the following Sunday afternoon.

  “I know Saturday nights are too busy for you, Aunt Kate, but I thought maybe by three on Sunday the café was slower, and Sunday nights aren’t busy. So maybe the girls could stay for supper and their moms can pick them up about seven-thirty, since we have school the next day.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” I said. “Go ahead and invite them. But first let’s plan what you want. Pizza?”

  “Not really, Aunt Kate. We’re all trying to watch what we eat….”

  Visions of anorexia and bulimia danced in my mind until she went on.

  “Maybe we could have a platter of tuna and chicken salad sandwiches and some fruit. And then we could splurge with ice cream with chocolate sauce.”

  I hugged her and told her I could do that. I gave her some money to buy nail polish and a few other cosmetic things she thought they might want, though she bemoaned the lack of selection at the local store. I didn’t suggest she ask her mom to take her to Canton, and Lord knows I didn’t need a trip to Canton right now.

  Tom thanked me, and Donna, when she came in one day, said outright she was glad it was me and not her. “I don’t have the patience for those giggling girls.”

  They know that, I wanted to retort.

  She helped herself to iced tea and sat at a stool near the cash register. When no one was near, she said, “I’m getting a bit fed up with Sara Jo.”

  I nearly fainted, but I managed to say, “Oh? Why?”

  “All she wants to talk about is me being charged with murder and arrested. I don’t want her telling that story, and I don’t want to re-live it. It’s still a painful episode in my life, because I miss Irv….”

  Did she have to say that?

  “….and because I don’t want to think ab
out jail and the days that followed. It wasn’t my best time.”

  I wanted so badly to ask, And what is your best time? Now, with your husband sleeping on a couch and your children practically estranged, while you run a B&B for one guest? Instead, I kept quiet.

  ****

  Sunday came, and the girls showed up promptly. Francie had dark, almost black hair and a true pale complexion, making me think of a Black Irish heritage. She was a sweet, quiet girl, while Rachel with red curls almost as untamable as Jess’ locks, bubbled all over with enthusiasm about how much fun they were going to have and how nice it was of me to do this and how glad she was to be there. Deb was the least attractive of the girls—because she looked the least cared for. She had Ava’s lank, straight hair but hers needed washing and a good trim to shape it. She hung back a little, as though unsure of her place in the group.

  “Deb’s new in Wheeler…or fairly new,” Ava said, “and we’re trying to make her welcome. I think she should have a makeover. What do you think, Aunt Kate?”

  “I think it’s up to Deb if she wants one,” I said, and the girl’s face lit up as she said, “Oh, I do. I really do. I’ll be so thankful if you can make me pretty.”

  She was not an unattractive girl, but there was no way she was ever going to be a beauty. Her face was long and narrow, her mouth almost too large for her face, and her eyes set a bit far apart. It was as though her features belonged in a bigger face. I didn’t know what makeup could do for that.

  “First, a couple of questions. Are you all allowed to wear nail polish to school? In my day, that was forbidden.”

  They chorused that it was okay.

  “And will your parents mind if I trim your hair just a bit?”

  Heads shook the negative sign.

  “Okay, let’s get started.”

  By suppertime, they were all shampooed and had pedicures and manicures. They all liked the appearance but uniformly agreed that the greatest change was in Deb. I’d shortened her hair around her face, so that it didn’t seem to make the face even longer, and brushed it back as though to widen her face. A little blush did wonders also to widen her thin face, and I showed her how to do it. I drew the line at eye shadow because I didn’t think it appropriate, but I did lightly brush some pale brown mascara into Deb’s light eyebrows, giving them just a bit more distinction.

  It’s amazing what you can learn from teenage girls while giving them pedicures and manicures, if you keep your mouth shut and let them talk among themselves. I found out for instance that Ava, my own Ava, really had a crush on Cary Smith.

  “Yeah, but he spends all his time with the math teacher,” Francie said. “He has real trouble with math. Maybe he has a crush on her.”

  “A crush on Ms. Vaughn? She’s old…and well not very much like a girl.” Ava was incredulous. “But I have trouble with math, too,” she laughed. “Maybe I should ask Ms. Vaughn to help me with math instead of coaching me on basketball and she might coach me and Cary together.”

  No grass is going to grow under that girl’s feet!

  Gradually it came out that Sally Vaughn was both math teacher and girls’ basketball coach, as well as a volunteer with the youth program at our church. The girls liked her no-nonsense attitude but found it hard to warm up to her.

  “She’s all business,” Francie explained. “Some teachers act like our friends. She doesn’t.”

  I weighed whether that was good or bad.

  When the subject of Sara Jo came up, they agreed she was weird and they wished she wouldn’t hang around the school so much.

  “At least she doesn’t bother us,” Rachel said, “She’s too interested in talking to the older boys, especially Cary. Ava, I think you have competition.”

  “He doesn’t even know I exist.” Ava said with a sigh and then grinned. “That’s why I want math tutoring.”

  “Ava, don’t ever play dumb to get a boy,” I cautioned.

  “Aunt Kate, I don’t have to pretend. I really have a problem with math. But he’s a senior, and I’m a lowly freshman. That makes all the difference.”

  Unfortunately I thought that was probably true. Even in a small high school, there was a great gap between seniors and freshmen.

  They talked about a few other boys but none of the names stayed with me like Cary Smith’s did. Clearly, though, these girls were at the boy-crazy age where they developed crushes on boys who would probably never look at them.

  Maybe I need to start going to some of the basketball games, now almost over for the season, so I can watch not just Ava but Cary Smith in action.

  I put out the platter of sandwiches, the fruit plate, and a pitcher of iced tea. “No soft drinks, if you’re watching your complexions,” I said, “and careful how much sugar you use.”

  “Do you have sweetener?” Rachel asked politely, but I told her no because I thought it wasn’t good for people.

  “I don’t offer it in the café either,” I said.

  By seven thirty they were all gone. Ava was the last to leave, and Tom lingered a bit, clearly wanting to know about the afternoon. There wasn’t much I could tell him that I would say in front of Ava, so all I said was that they were good girls and we had fun.

  Chapter Eight

  When Rick came by for a beer about nine, I elaborated.

  I should have known before I opened my mouth, but I jumped right in, telling him about the girls’ party and Ava’s crush on Cary Smith and the other gossip I’d picked up while doing pedicures and manicures.

  “Sounds like a perfectly boring afternoon,” he said, taking a pull on the beer I’d given him. “Glad it was you and not me.”

  “Well, I think I learned something important but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  He didn’t really look interested, but I pushed on. “Cary Smith is somehow at the center of this Sara Jo thing. There’s something strange going on with or about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  He snorted softly. “You want me to question him? Come on, Kate, I can’t do that.”

  “No, I just want you to nose around. After all, we don’t know much about the family. They’re new in town, or fairly so. I think they arrived about five years ago.”

  He snorted. “Only in Wheeler does five years make someone new in town. Kate, I can’t do background checks on everyone who moves to Wheeler. In case you forgot, this is a free country. I’ve never even met any of that family, I don’t think. But I know people in Wheeler are suspicious of newcomers—felt that one up close and personal.”

  I sat down opposite him and stared at that now familiar face, remembering how distant and uptight I thought he was, how I was convinced he’d never fit into Wheeler. “In your case, we got over it, didn’t we? The town welcomed you…and now you’re part of it.”

  “What choice did they have? I’m the law. And I see these people every day.”

  “That’s just it. No one sees the Smith family, except Bonnie as she does a few errands around town. Cary goes to school, hangs out with some senior boys, and spends a lot of time with the math teacher, according to Ava.”

  “Maybe he needs help with math. Lots of kids do. I needed help with reading, but I got it from a great teacher, and now I read all the time. Just finished the latest by that guy who wrote The Kite Runner. What’s his name? Hosseini! That’s it.”

  “Stop trying to distract me. I’m glad you like to read. Maybe someday Cary will become a mathematician. But who knows anything about the father in that family? I think his name is Roger but I’m not sure of it. They don’t go to church. He doesn’t bowl or do anything with other men, hasn’t joined the Rotary, works in Tyler. Why’d they even move to Wheeler? Why not live in Tyler?”

  “Kate, Kate,” he reached across the table and took my hands. “You’re asking questions that aren’t any of our business. Maybe they’re just very private people. Maybe they wanted Cary to grow up in a small town, go to a small high school where he’d get individual attention. And apparently he’s getting
it.”

  “And maybe they’re hiding something,” I retorted.

  I think he would have left if I hadn’t offered to fix him a roast beef supper of leftovers from the café. He got himself a second beer and sank back down in his chair, “Just declared myself off duty.”

  “You can’t do that. There’s no one to declare on duty.”

  “There’s always Tom. I’ll have to break Stu Wallace in sooner or later. It’s just…well, I don’t know much about him. Guess I’ll have to ask him a few questions and do a background check.”

  “You can do that on Stu Wallace but not the Smiths?” I asked archly.

  “If Roger Smith applies to be a deputy, I’ll do a background check. But I don’t think that’s gonna happen. And don’t you start scheming about how to make it happen.”

  I gave him my most surprised, innocent, “Who, me?” look but he was unimpressed.

  I fixed myself a small plate, and as we ate Rick said, “You know, between cooking classes and your preoccupation with Sara Jo Cavanaugh, we haven’t had much fun lately. Can you get away for an hour or so tomorrow afternoon, and we’ll take Huggles out to the country and throw a Frisbee for him? Bob Greenough has an empty pasture that edges up to one side of the small lake on his property, and he said to come out anytime. I can give him a call.”

  “Sounds good, and yes I can do that on a Monday afternoon. But you’re responsible for keeping Huggles out of the water. And we’re going in your car, so if he does get wet….” I let the threat dangle and trail off.

  “Bring lots of towels and blankets,” he said, laughing.

  We went out to Greenough’s property all right, the next day. But Huggles didn’t get his run and spent more than an hour confined to the car, barking pitifully. Some of the rancher’s cows had gotten out and were wandering along the Farm-to-Market Road. Even I was put to help rounding them up. Since it had been years since I rode a horse—I was good at one time in my youth—Rick put me in the electric mule while he and Bob were on horseback.

  “Fence was cut,” Rick told me tersely. “I bet we find some cows missing.”