5 A Bad Egg (19 page)

“Jalapeno
cheddar cornbread, to be exact,” she said. “I’m not sure how it’s going to
taste, but it smells magnificent, doesn’t it?”

“I’d
love
to try some,” I said.

Mom looked at
the timer. “Four more minutes, and then I’ll join you. It’s not too early in
the day for spicy cornbread, is it?”

“Is it ever
too early for something delicious?” I asked.

“You’ve got a
point there.”

I heard the
front door open, so I told Mom, “I need to go back out front.”

“Go, take
care of them. Don’t worry; I’ll save you a piece.”

“At least
one,” I said with a smile.

I walked back
out front, and I found that Sam Jackson had already taken a seat at the bar.
“Listen, I’m sorry about that,” he said, sounding a little embarrassed as he
spoke. “I get used to dealing with a certain type, and sometimes I forget how
to treat civilians.”

“Are you at
war?” I asked him.

“Sometimes it
feels that way. Victoria, I’m not going to pretend that I’ll miss Gordon
Murphy, but that doesn’t mean that I killed him.”

“It doesn’t
mean that you didn’t, either,” I said.

Jackson just
shook his head. “When did you get to be such a hard-nose?” he asked. “You’re
not at all what I expected.”

“I’ve
investigated murder before,” I said. “It takes something out of you, and it
leaves something else behind.”

“I can see
that,” he said. “Listen. I need you to stop sniffing around my life. It’s not good
for business.”

“I’m sorry,
but I’m afraid that can’t be helped,” I said. “Until and unless I get a usable
alibi from you, you have to stay on my list of suspects. You and the victim had
a history of bad blood between you, and what’s more, you’ve never tried to deny
it. The only way you’re going to convince me that you had nothing to do with
Gordon’s murder is to provide me and the police with a solid alibi.”

“What if I
told you I was doing something somewhere else at the time of the murder?” he
asked me pointedly. “Would that get you off my back?”

“It would be
a start. Where were you?”

“That’s where
it gets a little sticky,” Jackson said with a sigh. “I was doing something I’d
just as soon the police not know I was involved in. If I tell you, you’re going
to go to them with it, aren’t you?”

“I
might
be able to make an exception,” I
said. “But I would have to have solid proof.”

“I understand
that. But listen, I need your word that you’re not going to go to Sheriff Croft
with this. It could be bad for me if you did, and I wouldn’t like that.” The
threat in his voice was again very real, and I felt myself shiver a little at
the thought of Sam Jackson’s possible retribution.

“There’s no
need for you to say anything else,” I said.

“Because you
don’t believe me?” he asked.

“As a matter
of fact, I do. Your willingness to incriminate yourself even to me is enough to
convince me that you’re most likely telling the truth.”

“But you
aren’t persuaded, are you?”

“Think about
it. Let’s say that an associate of yours calls me and tells me that you were in
Hickory robbing a bank when Gordon was being murdered. How can I believe that
he’s telling me the truth, and not just following your orders?”

“Well, in the
first place, I don’t rob banks,” Jackson said. “It’s too dangerous, and there
are better ways to get a payday than sticking a gun under somebody’s nose.”

That was good
to know, but my point was still valid. “It was just an example. What I’m saying
is that anyone who vouches for you is by definition suspicious in my mind. I’ll
tell you what I’m willing to do. I won’t actively pursue any lead regarding you
unless I have more reason than I do right now to believe that you might have
had something to do with Gordon Murphy’s murder.”

“That’s the
best that I’m going to get out of you, isn’t it?” he asked after showing me a
brief frown.

“Sorry, but
it is.”

“Then I can
live with it, for now,” he said. “If you want my opinion, I know a guy you
should be looking at for this murder.”

I expected
him to say Wayne’s name, so I was quite surprised when he mentioned Mitchell
Cobb. “The man’s obsessed with your waitress. That’s all he can talk about
every single time I see him. I’ll tell you something. We’ve been friends for a
long
time, and Ellen’s the
only
woman that he’s ever talked about.
If you ask me, he’s the one who needs the attention of the police, not me.” Was
Jackson giving me a real clue that Mitchell might be involved, or was he simply
feeding me his friend’s name to divert suspicion away from himself? I wasn’t
sure, but it was something that I was determined to find out.

As Sam
Jackson stood in order to leave the diner, I asked, “Would you like some
breakfast while you’re here?”

I never
expected him to agree, but after a moment’s thought, he shrugged and said,
“Sure, why not? How about a stack of hotcakes? I haven’t had good ones in a
while.”

“Then you’re
in for a real treat. My mother makes the best flapjacks around.”

“We’ll just
see about that,” he said.

Four minutes
after placing Jackson’s order, I picked up his pancakes, grabbed a container of
syrup and a pat of butter, and delivered the feast to him. After he added the
butter and syrup, he cut off a single bite and savored it as though it was an
expensive steak and not a bargain stack of pancakes.

“Your mother
is an artist,” he said with a grin.

“We like to
think so.”

After he was
finished, he tipped as much as the check was for.

I clucked at
him, and then I said, “That’s entirely too much.”

“It’s not for
you,” he said with the hint of a smile. “It’s for your mother.”

“Cooks don’t
usually get tips,” I said.

“Well, this
one deserves it.”

Jackson left
the restaurant, and after I gave my mother his tip, she smiled and tucked it
into her apron. “What a nice young man he must have been.”

I thought
about telling her the handful of rumors I’d heard about Sam Jackson, but I
decided there was no reason to ruin the happy mood she was in. “He surely liked
your pancakes.”

“Then he’s
got good taste, if nothing else,” she said with a smile.

“I’d have to
agree with that,” I said.

After I
walked back up front and put his cup and plate in the bin for dirty dishes, I
wiped the counter down and waited for our next visitor of the day.

Hopefully he
wouldn’t be as combative as Jackson had been.

I thought
about what he’d told me, and I realized that I’d told him the truth.

For now, I’d
cross his name off our list.

But I was
going to use a pencil instead of a pen, just in case he’d been lying to me.

Who knew for
sure, anyway? Suspects had lied to me before, and I knew that it would happen
again, as long as Moose and I continued to investigate murder.

“Wow, this
place is right out of the fifties, isn’t it?” a thin older man with a ready
smile asked me as he walked into the diner an hour later.

“We like it,”
I said.

“Oh, I do,
too.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Curtis Trane.”

“Hello,
Curtis. I’m Victoria Nelson.”

“Victoria,
tell your owner that I love this place.”

“You just
did,” I replied. The man’s bright attitude was infectious, and I found myself
smiling right back at him. “Sit anywhere you’d like. We don’t take
reservations.”

He winked
broadly at me. “In that case, I’ll take a seat at the bar. That’s where all the
action is in this kind of place, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid
that if you’ve come here for excitement, you’re going to be disappointed.”

“I can’t
imagine that’s true at all. If you have time to join me, I’d love the company.”

We were in a
lull at the moment, with just a few diners lingering over their coffee and
swapping stories. “I can’t promise you
all
of my attention, but I’ll do what I can.” Just to make sure he wasn’t getting
the wrong idea, I added, “My husband works the grill later, but my mom is in
charge of the kitchen now, so everything on the menu is good.”

“Then, what’s
spectacular?” he asked. “I’m in the mood to be wowed.”

“Order the
pancakes, then,” I said. “I know, it might seem like a rather ordinary thing to
have in a diner, but folks come from miles around to have my mother’s
hotcakes.”

“Which is
it?”

“What do you
mean?”

“You just
called them pancakes and hotcakes in nearly the same breath.”

“The terms
are interchangeable, at least here. We also call them flapjacks on occasion,
but no matter the name, they are guaranteed to be delicious.”

“Then I’ll take
a stack, and a glass of orange juice,” he said without even looking at his
menu. “Feel free to place an order for yourself, on my tab.”

“Thanks, but
I’ll just have juice. If I ate my mother’s pancakes every day, I wouldn’t be
able to fit through the front door before too long.”

He patted his
lean stomach. “I believe I can handle them.”

“Coming right
up,” I said.

I gave the
order to Mom as I said, “Make them good. I’ve been bragging about you.”

“No pressure
there, then,” she said with a smile.

“You have
nothing to worry about. No one can touch your pancakes; not even Greg.”

“Don’t let
him hear you say that. As a matter of fact, I like his more, myself.”

“That’s
because you’re both your own worst critics.”

“Maybe so,”
Mom said as she finished the order and plated them. “There you go, Moose’s
Best.”

“Mom’s Best,
you mean,” I said with a wink.

“No matter
who’s working the grill, everything we serve represents the diner.”

“I’ll be sure
to let him know that,” I said with a laugh.

“There you
go,” I said as I slid the plate in front of him. After getting him the fixings,
and a juice for each of us, I took a seat beside him and watched him eat. If he
was anything like Sam Jackson had been, he was about to smile, and I wanted to
see it.

There was no
grin, or much of any reaction, though.

“You don’t
like them?” I asked.

“No, they’re
quite good,” he said.

“But you’ve
had better,” I added.

“No, I can
say without a doubt that they are the very best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Then why the
long face?” I was honestly curious why this happy man had just gone quiet.

“I’m sorry,”
he said as he stood abruptly. “I’m not feeling well.”

He hadn’t
paid for his meal, but that honestly wasn’t my concern at all. “Curtis, can I
call someone for you?”

“I’m afraid
at this stage, there’s nothing anyone can do for me.” He stumbled out of the
restaurant, and I was so worried about him that I followed him out into the
parking lot. Curtis shouldn’t be driving himself anywhere if he was feeling
that bad.

I needn’t
have worried about that, though. There was a long black limousine waiting, and
a sturdy young man ready at the door. Curtis got in, and before I could reach
them, he drove off.

“What was
that all about?” I asked myself, but since I didn’t have an answer, I went back
inside and quickly forgot all about him. As I cleared his place setting, I
found a small plastic pickle beside his plate that I was certain hadn’t been
there before.

An hour
later, the driver came into the diner, alone.

“Are you
Victoria?” he asked.

“I am. How’s Curtis
doing? I was really worried about him.”

“He’s as good
as he can be, considering that the doctors told him he should have been dead
nine months ago.”

I felt myself
deflate, and I slumped down to a chair. “I don’t know why I’m reacting this
way. Honestly, I just met the man.”

The driver
smiled. “Curtis has that impact on everyone he meets. He’s the finest man I’ve
ever known, and I’m proud to call him my friend as well as my employer.” The
man then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a bill. “He felt bad
about skipping out without paying, and he asked me to give you this as his way
of apologizing.”

I took the
bill almost automatically, and it took me a second to realize that it was a
hundred dollar bill. “Let me get you the change.”

The man held
both hands up. “Sorry. I was instructed not to take any change for the
transaction.”

“But this is
way too much,” I protested. He could have bought the next fifteen pancake
breakfasts with the money.

“It’s the
least he can do. Ma’am, Curtis is worth millions of dollars, for all the good
it’s doing now when he’s dying. This gives him enjoyment. You aren’t going to
rob him of that, are you?”

“You’re
good,” I said. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“I’m
Jeffrey,” he said.

I stuck out
my hand, and he took it in his. Jeffrey’s grip was surprisingly gentle, given
the size of the man. “It’s good to meet you,” he said.

“And you. I
don’t know what to do about this, Jeffrey.”

“Give it
away, if you’d like. Just don’t make me disappoint him. I couldn’t bear that,
Victoria.”

“Then I won’t
do it,” I said. I had a sudden inspiration, and asked, “Would you think he’d
mind if I use it to buy breakfast for the next dozen folks who come in here?”

Jeffrey
smiled. “I think he’d very much enjoy it.”

“Then that’s
what I’m going to do.”

As the driver
started to leave, I said, “Jeffrey, tell Curtis that it was an honor and a
pleasure to meet him, and that he’s welcome back at The Charming Moose
anytime.”

“I’ll do
that,” Jeffrey said. “But don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think he’s got that
much time left.”

I nodded
sadly, and the driver added, “Don’t mourn him, Victoria. If ever there was a
life worth celebrating, it’s his.”