Biscuits and Slashed Browns Read online

  Things smoothed out after that. At around eight-thirty I heard sirens race by the store, their red and blue lights strobing, and Buck never came in to eat, but otherwise all was as usual. Corrine schmoozed her way through taking orders, delivering food, wiping down tables. As soon as she reset one with paper place mats and silverware sets wrapped in blue cloth napkins, the next set of hungry patrons would beeline straight for it.

  Once again business lightened up at a few minutes past ten. Resourceful Corrine loaded the dishwasher, managed to find the detergent, and hit the ON button. I whipped up another big batch of biscuits, since we’d already gone through all the dough I’d prepared last night. I slid them into the oven as the last customer left. When she plopped into a chair, I joined her across the table.

  “I really can’t thank you enough.” I took off my store ball cap and smoothed my hair before threading my ponytail through the back again.

  “Glad to help. Gotta take off soon, though. Sposta judge the lunch food competition today.”

  “No problem. Maybe my own lunch crowd will be light since everybody and their third cousins twice-removed already ate a big breakfast.”

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Heard you had a touch of excitement here yesterday. That poor teacher choking and all whatnot.”

  “It was pretty scary excitement. Luckily Abe rescued the professor with a perfect Heimlich.” When I heard the cowbell, I sighed and stood. “That was a pretty short break.” But the person who came through the heavy antique door was Adele, not a customer. And she looked terrible. I hurried to her side.

  “Robbie.” She shook her head slowly. Her face was as pale as paper, her eyes haunted.

  “What happened?” I grabbed her hand and led her to our table. “Sit down. Are you all right?”

  She sat. “It’s pretty bad.” She gazed from me to Corrine and back.

  Corrine frowned but her voice was soft with care. “What is?”

  “Is it Samuel?” I asked. Adele’s boyfriend, Samuel MacDonald, was in his eighties, after all, but he’d always seemed spry and healthy.

  “Not Samuel,” Adele whispered.

  I was getting a bad feeling about this. She’d been volunteering. Sirens had gone by. “Was someone hurt at the festival?” Was it Connolly? Had someone finished off the job they’d tried to do yesterday?

  “More than hurt. I found him.” She shivered. “Behind the woodpile outside the Raos’ sugar shack.”

  “Who?” I whispered. I hoped whatever had happened hadn’t involved Turner or anyone in his family.

  She studied her clasped hands on the table. “That professor. The judge who choked. Somebody stabbed him, Robbie. To death.”

  Chapter 7

  “Oh, my sweet Jesus.” Corrine laid her hand over Adele’s.

  So the Rao maple farm was where the sirens had been heading earlier. “Adele, how terrible.” I reached my arm around her shoulders. Murder had paid its ugly visit to our town again.

  Corrine glanced around as if to confirm the restaurant was empty. “Did any of the festival-goers see him?” She wrinkled her nose. “I guess it’s not very Christian of me, to consider my town’s reputation before the man’s soul, bless his heart. But he’s gone, and we’re still right here.”

  She pronounced the last two words “rotcheer,” but after four years living in this part of the country I knew what she meant.

  “I don’t believe anybody saw him.” Adele shook her head. “I found him a few minutes after eight and the event wasn’t scheduled to get started until nine. I called the police immediately. When they finally went ahead and let me go, I saw they’d blocked off the road to the farm.”

  “What about the Raos?” I asked. “They must have been around.”

  “Turner and Mona were kind of in and out before that, putting up signs, getting syrup samples ready, and such. I didn’t see Sajit.” Adele heaved out a breath. “Robbie, can I maybe get me a tiny little cup of coffee? I’m plum shook up.”

  “Of course! I should have offered it. Hang on.” I hurried back in a minute stirring a big hot mug. “With lots of sugar and cream, just like you like it. Want a slug of something stronger in it?”

  “Hit me.”

  I added a glug of bourbon from my private cupboard to her coffee. When the oven timer dinged, I added, “Hot biscuits coming up, too.”

  “Thanks, hon.” She flashed me a pale but grateful smile.

  Corrine drummed her impossibly long red nails on the table. “Who might coulda killed him? Somebody took a knife to the man, that ain’t no accident.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” I brought back a plate of biscuits, small plates, knives, and a jar of apple butter. I pointed at the dish of butter packets in the middle of the table. “Help yourselves.” I wanted to ask Adele where on Connolly’s body he’d been knifed but it seemed too soon to broach the subject. Steam twisted up from the biscuits like it had the answers but wasn’t talking.

  “Seemed like a heap of tension was going on yesterday at the breakfast contest here in the store, Corrine,” Adele said before biting into a biscuit half. “This professor was a judge, along with Sajit Rao and two local chefs.”

  “Christina James was one of the judges, and she’s a friend of mine,” I explained. “Professor Connolly was obnoxious to her at her restaurant this week but she didn’t kill him. She wouldn’t hurt a flea. I did hear Dr. Rao and the victim argue yesterday morning. The professor also seemed to have issues with Sonia Genest. Do you know her?”

  “Sonia?” Corrine asked. “’Course I do. She was born and raised up here. Got a good brain, that one.”

  “Adele, did the South Lick police get Octavia in there?” I asked. Octavia Slade, a state police homicide detective, had worked with Buck and others of South Lick’s finest on the last two murders in town. I had to admit she was smart and dedicated, even though she and the guy I’d thought was my boyfriend had resumed their long-ago relationship right in front of my eyes, nearly. But our breakup was months ago. Water under the bridge.

  “No, Oscar showed up,” Adele replied. “He’d been on leave but he’s back now.”

  “Who’s Oscar?” I asked.

  “Detective Oscar Thompson. Him and me go way back. He’d been off with his wife doing that historical stuff they like to do. He’s a good egg, Oscar. A little geeky, don’t you know. But he means well.”

  “Time for me to go do major damage control.” Corrine pushed up to standing. “I sure feel bad for the Rao family, but it ain’t gonna stop this here festival. Businesses all over the county need the income, and a heck of a lot of work went into plannin’ the events. We’re not lettin’ no murder end it early. I’ll see you girls.”

  “Thanks again, Corrine, for swooping in and rescuing me this morning.” I smiled up at her. Way up. “It meant a lot. I hope I can pay you back somehow.”

  “You can buy me a beer or three one of these days.”

  “I’ll do that. Tell Danna to feel better, too, when you see her.”

  “Roger, and ten-four.” With a flash of her million-dollar smile, she tossed her apron in the bin and strode out.

  As Adele lifted her mug, her hand shook so much the liquid sloshed out. She wrapped both thin-skinned hands around the cup, the age spots on the backs of her hands standing out as reminders of her seventy-one years on this earth. “It was pretty much of a shock, seeing him lying there like he was.”

  “You bet it was.” I glanced at the wall clock. I needed to get things under way for lunch, especially since it looked like I was going to be on my own again. But I didn’t want to cut my aunt off if she needed to talk about what had gone down only a scant few hours ago.

  She stared at the table, dabbing at the spilled coffee with her napkin, then looked me straight in the face. “Robbie, you know I seen animals die. I seen roadkill. I even saw your granddaddy die, but he went all peaceful-like. I have never once in my long and blessed life stood in front of a man who died at the hands of someone bad-i
ntentioned. It’s like the evil was everywhere.” She dusted her hands off. “I still feel tainted by it. I’m going to go home and take me a hot shower until the water runs out.” She put her hands on the table to push up to standing, but wobbled a little and sat down again, hard.

  I gazed at her, hoping my concern showed in my face. “I don’t think you should be driving right now. Can I call Samuel to come and get you?” She was seventy-one, after all.

  “Can’t. He’s away on some fool church junket for the day.” She smiled fondly. “Be back tonight.”

  I considered for a second. “Here’s an idea. Go into my apartment. Take your long shower there. Clean towels are on the shelf. Find a pair of yoga pants and a fleece to put on.” We weren’t much different in size despite her being almost a half century older than me. “I have plenty of both. And take a good rest. All right?”

  “You’re a smart girl, Roberta. I believe I’ll do exactly what you recommend.”

  “Do you have your cell on you?”

  She patted the big patch pocket on the front of the khaki vest she wore. “Yup.”

  “Call me if you’re unsteady or need help, okay?” I patted my own back pocket, making sure my phone was in it.

  “Will do, hon.” She grabbed a biscuit and stood more slowly this time. She made her way to the door connecting to my apartment, steadying herself on chair backs and counters as she went.

  I watched her go. Besides her, I didn’t have Mom, or any other relatives other than my dad. But at least I had Adele, and I hated to see her uncharacteristically shaken like this. On the other hand, Warren Connolly’s family—wherever and whoever they were—no longer had him. They never would.

  Chapter 8

  By some miracle nobody came into the store for the next hour. I used the quiet to full advantage. I sliced, set up tables, and otherwise prepared for several hours of flipping burgers, dishing up coleslaw, ladling out soup, and delivering brownies, the last three of which were blessedly already made.

  The first hour of lunchtime was pretty unsub-scribed, too, which was fortunate considering I had no help. I could understand the low demand. The festival listed a full schedule today, and customers were likely at the lunch competition or out at one of the other venues. The academic conference should be under way, too, unless they’d canceled it in honor of the professor’s death. Turner’s father had argued publicly with Connolly, right here in my store. If the police suspected Dr. Rao of being involved, the new detective might still be questioning him.

  I was itching to get out and ask questions, stir up answers, but my business took first priority, as always. Surely Buck would be in for lunch soon. He’d fill me in on what he could. After I served up a platter of turkey sliders and a bowl of Mulligatawny soup to a blushing hand-holding couple wearing shiny new gold wedding bands at around twelve-twenty, Adele reappeared in the store. She’d already donned an apron when I reached the kitchen area.

  “Why aren’t you resting?” I set my hands on my hips.

  “Now, Robbie. You listen to me. I feel just dandy. And you don’t have an assistant anywhere in sight, then, do you?”

  She did look a lot better. Color had returned to her face and her step had a spring to it. She’d found another long-sleeved store T-shirt, which actually looked quite stylish with my black stretchy pants. Me, I always wore jeans in the store.

  “Did you get a nap?” I asked.

  “I closed my eyes for a little bit of a while after my shower. But then the brain started buzzing, as it’s wont to do. Figured you could better use me out here than me laying there rehashing events I can’t do nothing about.”

  At that, the cowbell jangled and a family of seven walked in. They were followed by a couple of older men and Buck himself.

  “I accept the offer then.” I smiled at Adele. “You want to cook or wait tables? Your choice. Pick whichever is less stressful right now.”

  She considered for a second. “I’ll cook. I don’t want nobody asking me questions about no dead body.”

  “You got it.”

  Her gaze fell on a chef’s knife I’d left on the cutting board with a pile of tomatoes I’d been slicing. She narrowed her eyes, then beckoned me closer.

  “That’s it. Or nearly.”

  “What’s it?”

  “The murder weapon,” she whispered.

  “No. My Tojiro’s been here all morning.” What was she talking about? The new customers were starting to look impatient. “Adele, I have to—”

  “I mean one just like it. Exactly like it. Right down to the little gold square on the handle.”

  Huh? A Tojiro? Chef’s favorite knives were expensive, and normally we didn’t let them out of our sight. “Okay. We’re going to have to talk about this later. Get ready to cook, okay?”

  “All righty.” She picked up the knife with thumb and forefinger as if it had fangs and laid it gingerly at the back of the cutting board.

  It wasn’t long before I seated everyone. I delivered menus to two of the parties and took their drink orders.

  One of the older men peered up at me. “I was here when that fellow choked yesterday. Did you hear he met his demise this morning?” His white eyebrows lifted.

  His friend frowned but didn’t say anything.

  “Yes, I did hear. It’s terribly sad.” I shook my head.

  “Stabbed to death, too.”

  Whoa. The news had spread fast.

  “Somebody must have had it in for him something bad.” The man made a tsking noise. “What’s our little county coming to?”

  “It’s all this focus on bringing in outsiders,” the other man scoffed, his mouth turning down. “Always saying they want to boost the tourism industry. Just attracts the riffraff, if you ask me.”

  I lifted a shoulder. Tourists were great for my business, but so were locals. I wasn’t about to argue with him. “I’ll just get those drinks for you.” I moved on to Buck, who’d helped himself to his usual table. He sat with his back to the wall, as was his preference.

  “You heared what happened?” He squinted up at me.

  I inclined my head as I thumbed over my shoulder toward Adele. “It really shook her up.”

  “Welp, finding a body kinda tends to. She looks pretty good now.”

  “She rested in my apartment for a bit. She came out a few minutes ago and insisted on helping, since I have neither Danna nor Turner here today.”

  Buck pursed his lips. “Ask me, that boy’s hiding something.” He kept his voice low so nobody else could hear.

  “Turner hiding something? Like what?” Not Turner. “He’s smart, honest, hardworking. He must have told you the truth.”

  “Wadn’t me he was talking to, but I listened in when Thompson tried to get Turner’s daddy’s whereabouts out of him. The kid plum clammed up.”

  College-graduate Turner wasn’t exactly a kid, but he did look young, with his smooth skin and nearly beardless face. “Thompson is the detective who’d been on leave, Adele said.”

  “Right.” Buck stretched the word into two and half syllables. He glanced around. “So where’s Danna at?”

  I shook my head. “She was at a volleyball tournament, but she injured herself.”

  “Poor little thing.” He shook his head. “Anymore she’s not so little, is she? If I didn’t know no better, I’d say she and me was related. We both got that tall skinny thing going on.”

  “Miss?” The man who had mentioned the murder called, holding a finger in the air. “We’re ready to order.”

  Shoot. And I’d never gotten their drinks, either. “I’ll be right there,” I called in return. I lifted my order pad and pen. “Tell me your order slowly because I want to talk for a minute, okay? Adele told me a chef’s knife was the murder weapon. She said it was just like the Tojiro I have.”

  “The toe gee what?” He scratched his head.

  “Tojiro. It’s a Japanese chef knife.”

  “Okey-dokey. Anyhoo, the knife which killed the professor
is apparently an exact match for the one your friend Ms. James is missing. Thompson’s over there at the restaurant where she cooks talking to her now.”

  Christina? “He has to be wrong.” I shook my head hard. “No, Buck, it’s just impossible. Christina wouldn’t have a reason in the world to harm Professor Connolly.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Can I get me a bowl of soup, two hamburgers—you know, the beef ones—and a dish of that there coleslaw? Oh, and a couple few brownies?”

  “Sure. But really . . .” I saw the menu waving in the air from the rightfully insistent gentleman again, and the toddler of the big family looked like he was about to eat the place mat itself. Darn it. “Never mind. Hungry customers call.”

  I hurried toward the pair of men, scribbling Buck’s order so fast I hoped Adele could read it. I quickly took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. “Those drinks are coming right up. What can I get you today?”

  I’d learned in the last year my puzzle-solving talents extended to solving crimes. I’d never be able to help Christina if I went broke from ignoring my bottom line. But I wanted to do nothing else.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later I stopped by Buck’s table. He’d already decimated his lunch—actually, he’d demolished it, since not even a tenth remained on his platter, only a few shreds of purple cabbage and a stray pickle slice that must have missed his hollow leg’s attention.

  He lifted his coffee mug. “Can I get me a refill? I mean, please, ma’am?”

  “So now I’m a ma’am, am I?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not even thirty.”

  “It’s just how we talk in these parts, Robbie.” He squinted at me. “You know how it is. Folks is wanting to show respect. Not like out there on the left coast where you growed up.”

  “Hello? I’m teasing you, Buck. But for your information, we have different ways of showing respect in California.” Or did we?

  I headed off to grab the coffeepot, and poured for him when I got back. I glanced around the restaurant. The party of two had eaten and run, and the family was deep into coaxing children to eat. Three women had come in, but they were busy perusing my shelves of vintage cookware. It was awfully quiet for one-thirty. Since she didn’t have any new orders to cook, Adele sat near the grill, single-finger typing on her phone. I leaned against the counter next to Buck’s table and sniffed.