A Table By the Window (45 page)

“Why didn't
he
call, when Brad didn't get off the bus Tuesday night? Or didn't his mother call up there to see if he arrived?”

“I don't know, Carley,” Dale admitted. “The boy was furious when his mother wouldn't bail him out of jail, and anyway, we're not talking about the Parents of the Year. Marti's coming in a little while to dust the outsides of your windows for prints. If it
was
Brad, I don't expect to find anything. He was clever enough to wear gloves that time he broke into a house. If I hadn't seen his flashlight in a window during my rounds, I probably wouldn't have caught him.”

“So, he just gets away with it?”

“Well, we're still at the
if
stage. I've already put out a statewide all-points bulletin on him, and naturally we're looking here. But you see? This might be coincidence. He could be hitchhiking to Las Vegas this very minute. Brooke
could
have accidentally bumped the lever. According to Garland's report, it was late when she turned off the heater, and she
had
gotten up early with you the previous morning.”

Faced with such logic, Carley could only nod. They might never learn what happened. But at least she took comfort in the fact that Dale was taking charge of the situation.

Carley taped a sign—
Now Hiring Waiter or Waitress. Inquire Within
—to a corner of the café window on Saturday, October 18. Rather than hire a hostess, she had decided to have Danyell and Paula rotate hostessing and waiting tables on a weekly basis. Both had great rapport with customers. She would have more time for the paperwork and would still be able to oversee the dining room without the pressure of being tied to the counter.

But she would still be tied to the bathroom stalls, for it was only expedient that she be the one to continue the checks and cleanings.

Three women and one young man came in to ask for applications. If none impressed her during interviews this coming Monday, she would take that as a sign that she should continue hosting for a while.

Not a bad problem to have. Looking over the dining room of her own café, she prayed,
God, you're so good!
Could she ever have imagined that she could be so happy?

Sunday was the one-year anniversary of her grandmother's death. There was no grave to visit, but Carley had ordered a bouquet of daisies, chrysanthemums, alstroemeria, bells of Ireland, and baby's breath for the podium of Grace Community Church. After the worship service, she and Brooke followed the Hudsons to their house, where Uncle Rory had a roast waiting in the oven.

Beef, not venison.

The Kemps arrived twenty minutes later, when the table was set and tea glasses iced. Everyone, even Blake, was in a quiet mood as befitting the significance of the day. After lunch Patrick, recently shed of his braces, and Brooke played checkers. There was no hint of a romance between the two, even though Tara had recently dumped Patrick for a football linebacker. It was good for Brooke to learn that she could simply be friends with a boy, Carley thought.

Dale stopped by the house Monday morning to tell her that Brad Travis had finally contacted his dad after linking up with a cousin in Las Vegas. Peeling a banana at the table, he said, “It
could
conceivably take six days to hitchhike to Las Vegas, especially when you look like a hoodlum. But if he hustled, he would have had time to come back here for one last bit of revenge.”

Carley spread some of Uncle Rory's muscadine jelly on her toast. “So, what does all that mean?”

He sighed, pulled a string from the banana pulp, and placed it on a paper napkin. “Well, we didn't find any of his fingerprints, as expected, and no one here has seen him since I drove him to the bus station. We can bring him back here for questioning if you like, but I'd be tempted to keep this on the back burner until we uncover some concrete evidence. If we found no cause to hold him, he would be right back here among us, and might decide to stay this time.”

Carley shuddered. “No. Let's do it your way. I'm sure Brooke will agree.”

“Pity we don't have the very latest fingerprinting technique yet. I'm going up to Jackson next month for a presentation of crime-detecting equipment. For example, there's a nanoparticle dust being developed in England, that's drawn like a magnet to even the tiniest traces of oil, even through latex gloves.”

“Interesting,” Carley said after a bite of toast.

He gave her a dry smile. “I'd be more interested if they hadn't scheduled it the same day as the Tulane game. There's no way it'll be over by two, and then there's still the drive.”

Brooke came out of her room, tilting her head to insert an earring. She was dressed for shopping, in jeans and a short-sleeved coral top appropriate for the mid-eighties temperature expected today. Her brown leather purse hung from her shoulder by a narrow strap.

“Hi, Chief Dale.”

“Hi, Brooke.”

“Can you sit a minute?” Carley asked. “Dale has some information about Brad.”

“I heard in my room. That's fine with me, waiting.” The girl took a glass from the cabinet and opened the refrigerator. Holding out the carton of Minute Maid, she said, “Juice?”

“No, thank you,” Carley and Dale answered in unison.

A horn honked. Brooke chugged down the glass and laid it in the sink. “Okay if I leave?”

“Go on,” Carley said. “And remember to get the iron. Make sure it has a clear water-level gauge.”

“Okay, see you!”

The front door closed behind her, and the sounds of her footfalls faded.

“My iron died,” Carley said. “I bought it when I started college, so I guess it served its time.”

Dale smiled. “You were one hundred percent right.”

“Well, thank you. But anyone could tell it was broken. It wouldn't heat.”

“No, silly. About Brooke.”

Returning his smile, Carley said, “I knew what you meant. And thank you. But
Brooke
had more to do with that, than my simply being right.”

“Who's taking her shopping? Miz Hudson?”

“No, Mildred Tanner. Wednesday is Mr. Kimball's birthday, and they're going in together for a television for his bedroom.”

This time it was Dale who shuddered. “I'd rather be tortured than sit in a closed car with that woman. Not only the body odor, but that mouth…”

“I've only seen her from a distance. She and Brooke aren't close, but I guess they need each other on this project.”

****

November wafted in on cool breezes that coaxed leaves wearing their most splendid colors—red dogwood, tan oak, brown hickory, and yellow sweet gum—to loosen their grips and sail.

At Annabel Lee Café, the month got off to a bumpy start, brought on by Carley's hiring Dana Hughs as the replacement waitress with no other qualification than that she was Paula's second cousin. New employees were expected to make mistakes, but she took out her frustration on customers who complained about order mix-ups. Pep talks in the office boosted Dana's productivity and attitude for only an hour or so.

“Believe me, I would do the same thing if I was you,” Paula said when Carley drew her aside before opening on Thursday the sixth. But Dana spared Carley the task of firing her by simply not showing up that day.

“Can you come in to work tomorrow?” Carley asked Gladys Jeffers over the telephone. A sixty-two-year-old homemaker, widowed only five weeks ago, she was looking for something to take her out of the house. Carley had liked her immediately, but wondered about her staying power if the job was to be just an outlet, a hobby.

“I'll be there,” Gladys said. “Or I can come today if you like.”

“Come on, then,” Carley said.

One week later, Gladys was becoming a fixture in the place. She brought bran or blueberry muffins for the staff every morning, passed on compliments about the food to the cooks, and knew the names of everybody in town.

“Quick…the man with the mustache sitting with the lady in the blue sweater,” Carley whispered during one foray from her office.

“Jim and Eileen Graham. They live off Old Mill Creek Loop and raise cattle.”

Brooke was coming along well with her courses, which were laid out so well that Carley was only called upon twice so far for grammar advice.

“If a gerund is a verb ending in ‘ing' that acts like a noun,” Carley said in the second instance, “then a gerund
phrase
acts the same way. For example…Spending all her free time at the computer makes Brooke a dull girl. What is the subject here?”

The girl looked up with a dry smile. “Spending all her free time at the computer. Right?”

Carley patted her shoulder. “Right.”

“But it also makes Brooke a nurse.”

The girl had checked out a couple of books on health from the library in anticipation of her studies. An added benefit of her reading was that she had decided to eat healthy—no more pancakes, bacon, fried foods, or sweets—and more vegetables and salads.

Slowly, an inch at a time, Carley was feeling more at home at Grace Community Church. She agreed to donate three hours every Monday morning to work in Nearly New Thrift Shop on First Street, a ministry maintained by four Tallulah churches.

Dale came in for pita bread and hummus on Friday, and dropped by the office while the cooks were preparing his takeout order of two spinach wraps with mixed-field-green salad.

“There won't be a single thing I can eat up at that conference tomorrow,” he said. “
That's
why I keep an ice chest in both cars.”

“We're printing up new menus in January, adding four new dishes,” Carley told him. “A veggie burger will be one.”

He came around the desk and wheeled out her chair.

“Hey!”

Spinning her around, he grabbed her shoulders and planted a kiss on her forehead. “You angel, you!”

She smiled up at him. “It's because the vegan foods have done well.”

“Aw, come on. It's because you like me.”

“Maybe a little,” she conceded. “And now you have to let me work. If I don't send my supply order in by three, it'll come a day later.”

“Point taken.” But he paused at the door, studied her thoughtfully.

“What?” Carley said.

“Are you…up to a movie tonight?
Master and Commander
just opened at Turtle Creek.”

“I can't. Sorry,” she answered. “I promised to go to Ruby's Tupperware party.”

“Whoa…and here I am only offering dinner and a movie.”

That made her laugh. “A promise is a promise.”

“I know. It was just a thought. Hope you get your order in.”

He was halfway through the door with his hand on the knob when she said, “I'm free tomorrow night. If you're back in time.”

He turned, his smile bringing out the dimples. “Pick you up here?”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, Carley.”

Thanking me for going out with him,
Carley thought, turning again to her keyboard. And in spite of lingering misgivings about his experiences with other women, she believed he absolutely meant it.

****

“Hello?” Carley said into the receiver with sleep-thickened voice the following morning.

“Carley! Did I wake you?” Dale said.

“Ah, well…”

“I'm sorry. I waited until it was time for me to leave. I thought you got up around eight.”

“It's okay.” She stifled a yawn. “The Tupperware party went a little long.”

“I just wanted to say that you might want to dress up a little tonight. We'll go to Magnolia House restaurant, if you like, then catch the late show.”

“Is there anything there you can eat?”

“Sure, not to worry.”

“Then you'd better pick me up at the house so I can change.”

“That's fine. I'll have to change from my uniform. Don't know why they expect us to wear them just to sit in meetings, but that's the way it is.”

Odd, Carley thought, hanging up, that Brooke was not at her usual early morning spot at the computer.
She needs to catch up on her sleep anyway
.

She returned to the bedroom for her slippers and padded toward the kitchen to put the teakettle on low flame. On her way to the bathroom she realized Brooke's door was open, so she reached in to close it and buffer some of the noise from her moving around in the bathroom and kitchen. Eastern light from the window slanted in on an empty bed.

No sound came from behind the closed bathroom door. Gently, Carley knocked. “Brooke? You okay?”

When there was no reply, she turned the knob and eased open the door. With typical consideration, the girl had left the heater on low flame.

“Brooke?” Carley went back through the living room and opened the front door, though she did not expect the girl to be taking breakfast outdoors. The swing was empty. And her bicycle was not in its usual spot against the wall.

Exercising?
That would fit in with her newfound health consciousness. Or maybe she decided to blow the diet for Dixie Burger sausage biscuits. Either way, she would come back to a lecture. No matter that the girl was almost eighteen, housemates weren't supposed to cause each other worry. She could have at least left a note.

She has her good points,
Carley reminded herself, opening the bathroom medicine cabinet.

A sheet of folded paper formed a tent over her tube of Colgate. Carley took it out, opened it.

Please don't be mad. I bought a rubber boat when Mildred took me to Hattiesburg for Dad's birthday. I'm going to take it out to Chief Dale's pond. I called Tyler last night and he said he would work both shifts. Don't worry about me! I'll be careful!

Love,

Brooke