A Cup of Jo (14 page)

'Join the ever-growing club,' I said.

'I was hoping for "happily ever after",' Tien said, with a shy grin, 'but all I got was "The End".'

'With him or you as the author?'

'Me.' Now she picked at her sticky bun. 'He was fine with going on as we were. I don't think his wife even cared. They'd been following separate paths for years, staying together only for the sake of their kids.'

Or not. Funny how easily-spotted bullshit is from a distance. Then you just go step in it anyway.

'I respected him for that,' Tien continued. 'But I'm thirty-three years old, Maggy. I haven't been engaged. I haven't been married. I haven't given birth to a baby. Heck, I've scarcely held somebody
else's
baby. I want it all.'

'Which you deserve.'

'I think so, too.' This was said with a little smile. 'But I guess the point of all this is that sometimes we make up fairy tales and cast ourselves in the starring roles.'

Tien looked out the window to the noticeably brightening sky and then came back to me. 'Men aren't mind-readers. They also aren't Prince Charmings or whatever more we like to pretend about them. They're human, complicated and simple all at the same time. And if you really want to know what's running through a man's mind, you only need to ask.'

Tien Romano stood up to clear the table. 'Because, unlike us women, chances are they'll actually tell you.'

Out of the mouths of thirty-somethings.

Sarah Kingston and Amy Caprese arrived moments later, swooning over the aromas still wafting into the air of Uncommon Grounds.

'Great idea to have Tien work mornings,' Sarah said. 'The baked goods are fresh and the place smells terrific. We should patent and package the scent.'

'You know, I didn't even ask what time she came in,' I said.

'Well, what
were
you doing?' my partner demanded. 'Not grinding beans, I see.'

'Eating sticky buns,' I retorted. 'And grind your own business.'

'Oh, a coffeehouse joke,' she said, opening a Lucite bin to scoop out the morning's 'featured' roast. 'How very, very droll of you, partner.'

I got up to help. We usually ground three or four pounds ahead, so we could just dip into the tubs and fill the filters. Smaller quantities of finely ground dark-roasted beans were needed for espresso, since it was brewed one tiny cup, instead of one substantial carafe, at a time.

All four of us were in our positions and ready to serve when the commuters started to arrive for the 6:50 a.m. train.

Tien worked at the main window beside Amy, but instead of handling the cash register and calling out drink orders, Tien stayed on the food side. That way she could expound on the fresh breads and pastries and also hawk the lunch sandwiches and dinner entrées.

By the time 8 a.m. rolled around, we were feeling pretty good. Tired, too, but a 'satisfied' tired.

'Any more of those sticky buns around?' Sarah asked, dropping into a chair.

Amy, who was cleaning the glass top of the bakery case, peered in. 'Sorry. All headed for Milwaukee.'

'Aww, geez,' Sarah crabbed. 'I was really looking forward to one after we got rid of the riff-raff.'

Otherwise known as our valued customers. 'What do you think? Was the crowd smaller or did we just handle them more efficiently?'

'Yes to both,' Amy had printed out the transactions so far today on to a cash-register receipt. 'We had ten fewer customers, but toted twelve per cent more revenue.'

'Yes!' I said, jumping up and punching the air.

Everybody else just looked at me.

'Don't you see what this means?' I asked. 'We're on the right track.'

Groans all around at my painful pun.

Undeterred, Maggy drives on. 'Having Tien here works beautifully. She's helping us out on the serving end and that provides the opportunity to promote her food.'

'How do you feel about that, Tien?' Sarah called to the other woman, who was back in the kitchen. 'What time did you start?'

'I got here about one, I guess,' she said, coming around the corner with a plate.

'A.m.?' from Sarah. 'That qualifies as the shift from hell. You can't continue for any length of—'

Tien set the plate down in front of her.

Sarah practically inhaled the sticky bun. There was only the sound of chewing and swallowing, punctuated by the occasional burp and sigh.

It was like being home with Frank.

When my partner finished, she sat back. 'Tien, you must never leave us.'

'I won't,' Tien said, taking the plate. 'But if you want fresh rolls, you need to get here at six, like Maggy did. I can't promise I'll be able to save you one like I did today.'

Genius. The woman was a genius. 'And you truly don't mind the hours?' I asked.

'Actually, I
like
the hours,' our baker-extraordinaire answered, as the bells on the front door jangled. 'I probably wouldn't if I was going to bed and then getting up at midnight or one, but I'll go home now, and get my eight hours, and I'll be fine.'

'Like a morning news anchor.' Kate McNamara had just entered. The woman had the ears – or radar capability – of a vampire bat. And a personality to complete the package.

'Have you ever been an anchor, Kate?' Amy asked, moving to the cash register.

I knew the answer, but I was waiting for Kate's version. 'I was behind the desk for a short period a few years ago, before I became publisher of the
Observer
,' she said stiffly. 'I found anchoring very limiting. I much prefer running the paper and reporting from the field occasionally for cable news. Reading from a teleprompter on a daily basis is vastly overrated.'

Especially if your share of the viewing audience was vastly
under
rated.

Still, I had to hand it to Kate. As evasions go, not a bad one.

She smiled icily in my direction, like she was daring me to differ.

I didn't. It wasn't worth my time to mention that Kate sucked big-time in the studio, and – gosh, it was so long ago, I could scarcely remember – something further had resulted in her demotion to standing in blinding blizzards and covering pie-eating contests at county fairs. Humiliated, she'd quit, bought the weekly Brookhills paper and made herself both its editor and publisher.

Jerome came banging in, today laden with camera, wires and equipment case.

'Geez, Kate,' I said, going to help him. 'Couldn't you have carried something?'

'That's OK, Maggy,' Jerome said, setting the camera down on a table and the rest of his gear on the floor. 'We came separately.'

Jerome wasn't quite looking at me as he said it. He did slide a glance toward Amy at the cash register.

The implication didn't go unnoticed by Kate. 'Jerome, I need you set up. And
now
.'

'New assignment?' I asked. I was at the point that I just wanted to wash my hands of her old assignment, that being JoLynne's death and everything related to it. Including Pavlik.

Fat chance.

'Actually,' Kate said, seeming a whole lot more eager to talk about it than Jerome, 'it's the second part of the original assignment. The other shoe dropping, if you will.'

She signaled Jerome and he reluctantly hoisted the camera on to his shoulder.

'What shoe is that?' I was backing away. A happy Kate meant pestilence and famine were on their way, with locusts to follow – all during a solar eclipse to round out the plagues. Reflexively, I glanced out the window.

'I'd guess size ten, ten-and-a-half,' Kate said. 'But you'd probably know better, Maggy.'

Jerome turned on the camera light and leveled it at Kate. Somehow a clip-on microphone had blossomed on her lapel and now she brandished a hand-held one as well.

'We are in Uncommon Grounds, relocated to Brookhills Junction after, some of you may remember, a freak May snowstorm leveled its original home in Benson Plaza. When that storm cleared, it left bodies behind – murder victims. It seems, more freakably, the bloody legacy has followed this shop here. Charming to look at, though, isn't it?'

She swept her arm toward the ticket/service windows and Amy dove to the floor as Jerome's camera followed. Myself, I was still stuck on 'freakably'.

'That charm, however, belies the horrendous crime that took place just two days ago. A young woman, asphyxiated and then discarded like a human stir-stick in a prop meant for the grand opening of this establishment at the dedication of "The L", the new Brookhills-to-Milwaukee commuter line.'

Sarah slid behind Kate, one hand forming a capital 'L' and the other pointing to herself. Then she smiled and waved.

Over her shoulder, the reporter tossed Sarah an annoyed look and shifted slightly toward me. The lesser of two evils? 'The prop in question was a giant, inflatable coffee cup, commissioned by shop co-owner Maggy Thorsen. But that's not the strangest thing about this case.'

She pivoted and thrust the hand-held mic in my face. 'Is it, Maggy?'

I'm sure my eyes went wide, but I remained calm, relying on my public relations training. I'd done way too many interviews to let this banshee rattle me.

'I really don't know, Kate,' I replied truthfully. I'd pretty much missed everything following 'human stir-stick'.

'Then I'll tell you.' A stern expression, now returned to the camera lens. 'In fact, I'll tell all of you. After JoLynne Penn-Williams, Brookhills' event manager, was found murdered, Sheriff Jake Pavlik detained her husband, Kevin Williams, owner of Williams Props and Staging.

'No one except the sheriff, apparently, knew the motive of Williams' alleged crime. No one, that is, until reports began to surface that JoLynne Penn-Williams had been having an extramarital affair. An affair with a man high-up in our own Brookhills County government.' Kate whirled and again stuck her microphone toward my mouth.

If the reporter was trying to get a 'surprise!' moment out of me, she failed. After all, I already knew about Pavlik and JoLynne. And I certainly wasn't going to comment on it for the noonday news.

I said, 'Really?'

Kate stared at me, apparently trying to decide whether to push it. I'd bested her before and I'd bested better than her as well. And she knew it.

To her damage-control credit, Kate accurately weighed the percentages and again turned to the camera. 'Yes, Maggy Thorsen. R
eally
.' She moved dramatically toward the lens. Jerome back-pedaled, until his back was literally against a wall. With luck, Kate might show up on the screen as nothing more than a nose surrounded by freckles.

'But the real shocker,' Kate continued as I walked away, 'learned by this reporter just moments ago, is that the questioner will be answering some questions himself.'

I froze.

'Our sources tell us that the Milwaukee County Sheriff's Department has taken over the Penn-Williams murder case. And Brookhills Sheriff Jake Pavlik is now considered "a person of interest" in its investigation.'

Chapter Twelve

At the mention of Jake's name, I swung around to see Kate gesturing wildly for her assistant to turn his camera on me.

Jerome, bless him, was still tight on Kate, hopefully focused close enough now to count enlarged skin pores.

As for me, I took off for our kitchen, through its store room and into the office beyond. There, I pushed the button lock on the door and swung it closed, none too quietly.

Collapsing into our office chair, I folded my arms on its desk and rested my chin on top of them, a la nap time in kindergarten.

I felt about as lost, too. (Kindergarten had been a tough year for me. All that paste. The orange construction paper. And those crayons? Brrr.)

I lifted my face. I could see the back parking lot through the window above the desk. There had to be twenty or thirty cars in it.

I counted them, anyway. Just as I reached the end of the second row, another vehicle pulled in and parked in the first. I started over.

'What, you're counting cars now?'

I jumped and the chair swiveled. 'How'd you get in? I locked—'

Sarah punched in the lock button on the knob and closed the door. The button popped back out. 'Gotta secure this baby
after
you close the door.'

'Oh.' I resumed my position and the parallel contemplation of the parking lot. The driver's door of the new entry, a white Lexus, was standing open. Nobody had emerged so far as I could tell.

'Kate still here?' I asked.

'I can't heeear you,' Sarah sing-songed. 'If you have something to say, sit up straight.'

Geez. I
was
back in kindergarten. But, as in that class, I did as I was told.

'Now repeat what you said,' Miss Sarah demanded.

Through clenched teeth: 'I asked if Kate was still in the store.'

'Nah,' Sarah said, uncoiling into the side chair. 'I kicked her tight ass out.'

Great. 'Jerome capture the moment on tape?'

'Sadly, no.' Sarah shrugged. 'Jerome was too busy chatting up Amy. And did Katie Cougar ever love that.'

I still couldn't picture Kate with Jerome. But I'd been naive about so many people.

'What's Anita Hampton doing here?' Sarah asked, indicating the woman who had finally climbed out of the Lexus. Anita was on her cellphone. 'Maybe she has my award.'

'
Maybe
she's just stopping for coffee.' I changed the subject to something more important. My life. 'Pavlik's in trouble.'

'Pavlik's a sleaze.' Sarah was watching Anita disappear around the corner. 'He was cheating on you, you forget?'

Suddenly, I found myself defending him. 'To be honest, he and I never talked about being exclusive. I guess I just figured Pavlik wasn't dating anyone else, because I wasn't.'

'"Dating"?' Sarah repeated. 'Quaint euphemism for committing adultery with another man's wife.'

'This is Brookhills,' I said. 'We survive on our quaint euphemisms.'

'Sooo?' Sarah, leadingly.

'Sooo . . .' I was trying to follow. 'We're deluding ourselves. Living in Peyton Place while pretending it's Sunnybrook Farm.'

'No, you idiot. I meant, sooo did you see Pavlik last night and confront him with what Rebecca said? Ask him if it was true?'