Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 (29 page)

"How'd we do today?" I
paused and added, as casually as I could, "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, but this place has
been a three-ring circus," Ruby said, deftly rolling the cash register
tape and securing it with a paper clip. "I got here just as sixteen ladies
of the Library Book Club were starting their lunch. When they left, a big group
of tourists strolled in. Mrs. K was terribly out of sorts about something—I
never figured out what— and things were pretty chaotic for a while. But we rang
up over four hundred dollars on the tearoom register alone, which is pretty
amazing for a cold and rainy Tuesday."

"That's
terrific," I said, impressed. I reached for a stack of freshly washed
green napkins and began to fold them. They'd go into the water glasses at each
place.

Ruby nodded. "We're doing great.
But we probably need to hire somebody to help Mrs. K in the kitchen. Today was
almost more than she could handle by herself."

I finished the first napkin and laid
it aside. "Oh, by the way, I meant to tell you that I talked to her on
Sunday afternoon, to ask if she'd do the refreshments for the Christmas Tour.
I think she'd been tippling."

'Tippling? The
Duchess?" Ruby's eyes opened wide. "I would have thought that
lemonade would be her absolute limit."

"It was the anniversary of her sister's
death. She seemed pretty depressed." I took another napkin and began
folding.

"That's a
shame," Ruby said sympathetically, clipping the checks and putting them
into a bank bag. "Maybe that explains the way she was acting today. We
were busy, sure, but that didn't seem to be her problem—at least not entirely."
She pulled the cash drawer toward her and took out the twenties. "She left
early, without even saying goodbye. Laurel and I were talking about Carl Swenson,
and when I looked up, the back door was closing behind her. She and her sister
must have been very close. I wonder how she died." As she counted the
twenties, a shadow crossed her face. I hoped she wasn't thinking of cancer.

"I don't
know," I said. "Speaking of sisters, I need to call Terry and let her
know where Donna is."

"I hope you're
also going to call Justine." Ruby entered the twenties total into her
calculator. "Donna may not want a lawyer, but she needs one. And Justine
is the best." She picked up the tens and began to count.

Justine is Justine Wyzinski, known to
her friends as the Whiz. She and I were in law school together at the University
of Texas. She practices in San Antonio—family law, usually, but she helped out
when Dottie Riddle was arrested for her neighbor's murder. If anybody could get
Donna out of this jam, the Whiz could.

"I put a call in to Justine from
the jail," I said. "She's in Austin, so I left a message asking her
to stop by the jail and have a chat with Donna on her way back to San Antonio."
I leaned my chin on my hands. "Something is bothering me about this
thing, Ruby." I reported Donna's reaction when Blackie told her that the
truck had been found, and summarized my misgivings. "It's hard for me to
imagine Donna doing such a thing. Terry, yes, and even Aunt Velda. But if I'd
had to put those three women on a suspect list, Donna would have been at the
bottom."

Ruby counted the fives and entered the
number into her calculator. "Do you think she's covering for Aunt
Velda?" She picked up the stack of ones.

I frowned. "Or her sister." I wasn't
sure why I said that, exactly. Maybe it was the way Terry had acted the day
before, when I talked to her in the barn. Or the silent communication that had
passed between the two women a little later, or the clumsy way Donna had tried
to alibi Terry, contradicting what her sister had already told me.

Ruby counted the ones. "I can understand
Donna taking the blame for that poor old woman. But why would she cover for her
sister?" She entered her count and began adding up the total. "It
doesn't make any more sense than hiding the truck in Swenson's tractor shed.
That was just plain stupid."

"I'm not sure I
agree," I said slowly. "If you think about it, hiding the truck in
the victim's shed isn't such a goofy idea, after all. They couldn't leave it
beside the road or out in the middle of a field, and they sure didn't want it
at the flower farm. When you come right down to it, Swenson's shed is the last
place anybody would think to look. Even if somebody did happen to spot the
truck, they'd figure it belonged to Swenson. And unless they were just looking
for front-end damage, they'd never see it, the way that truck was parked."
I paused. "But I have absolutely no idea why Donna would take the blame
for her sister—if that's what she's doing. It's a mystery to me."

Ruby didn't seem to be listening. She was frowning
at the total on the tape. "Something's wrong, China. We're two hundred
dollars short."

"Did
you count the checks and the credit cards?"

"Of course I did," she said with a
withering look. "I always count the checks and the credit cards before I
start on the cash." She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I need
to call a customer about a special order. Why don't you run the tally over
again and see if you can find my error."

But I didn't have any better luck. "I'm
afraid you're right," I said, when she came back a little later.
"We're two hundred dollars short, to the penny."

We looked at one another,
open-mouthed. In addition to Ruby and me, only two people have access to the
tearoom's cash register during the day: Laurel and Mrs. Kendall. Laurel has
worked for me for almost five years and we've been friends longer than that. It
was inconceivable that she would take anything out of the register. Which left—

"Mrs. K," Ruby and I said in
astonished unison. There was a moment's silence while we tried to digest this
information.

"It can't
be," Ruby said at last. "There must be another explanation. Goblins
or something. Let's think for a minute. Maybe it'll come to us."

We stared at the
tape. It stared silently back. Nothing came to us.

"Well," I said finally, "We know
for sure that it isn't you or me, and neither of us is willing to believe that
Laurel did it. That leaves Mrs. K."

"I would never have thought
it," Ruby said sadly. "She's such a fine person—so trustworthy, so
competent, so full of wonderful ideas."

"I'm afraid we've got a problem, Ruby,"
I said regretfully. "We can't make any accusations we can't prove. But we
can't afford to have a thief working for us. Even if we watched Mrs. K like
hawks, we'd always know we couldn't trust her. We'd be miserable."

"But we
need
her!"
Ruby cried distractedly. "What in the world would we do without her?"

"We'd
be in deep, serious trouble," I said, meaning it.

"And we've got to remember that I'll be out
of commission after my surgery," Ruby said. "I don't know how long,
but at least a couple of weeks."

"We can't have you rushing it." I picked
up the cash drawer and stood up. "I'll phone Terry and bring her up to
date on Donna's situation. Then I think you and I should pay a visit to Mrs.
K."

Ruby bit her lip.
"But if we don't have proof, what can we do?"

"We can lay all
our cards on the table. We can tell her about the shortage and ask her if she
knows anything about it. Maybe she'll admit the theft and return the
money." I thought about Mrs. Kendall's deft handling of culinary
complexities and her tasty shepherd's pie. "In which case I'd be inclined
to give her a second chance."

"And
if she doesn't admit it?"

"She may get huffy and quit, and if not,
we'll have to fire her. We don't have an employment contract and she's only
been here a couple of months—well within the term of a probationary period. We
don't have to give a reason for letting her go."

"Spoken like a
lawyer," Ruby said. She looked at me, her eyes wide. "But what will
we
do,
China?
We have to have somebody in the kitchen. And Mrs. K is—was—perfect." She
gave a longing sigh. "Her tomato-and-cheese soup is fabulous. Everybody at
lunch today raved about it."

"Don't worry," I said comfortingly.
"I can make tomato-and-cheese soup, too. If worst comes to worst, I'll
cook."

Ruby
made a wry face. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"What's this 'afraid'
stuff?" I was indignant. "I'm not a bad cook. And now that we've got
the menu straightened out—"

Ruby put out her
hand. "You're a
great
cook, China," she said in a
placating tone. "You'd do just fine. I just meant that—" She shifted
uncomfortably. "Well, you're not exactly long on patience. I can just
imagine you in the kitchen and sixteen women from the Library Book Club in the
tearoom, all wanting sausage rolls and shepherd's pies at the same time. You'd
start yelling."

Ruby knows me better
than I know myself. "You're right," I conceded. "I don't have
the patience to be a chef. I wouldn't just yell, I'd probably throw eggs or
something. But don't worry. We'll figure it out."

"Who's
worrying?" Ruby tossed her head. "It's all relative, China. In the
grand scheme of things, losing a cook is pretty insignificant." She
grinned. "Compared to losing a boob."

I forced an answering grin. "I won't argue
with you there."

Chapter
Fourteen

The real reason why
the Druids worshipped a mistletoe-bearing oak above all other trees of the forest
was a belief that every such oak had not only been struck by lightning but bore
among its branches a visible emanation of the celestial fire; so that in cutting
the mistletoe with mystic rites they were securing for themselves all the
magical properties of a thunderbolt.

Sir James George
Frazer
The Golden Bough

Terry didn't seem surprised when I
told her that Donna was being held in the county jail.

"How
soon can I see her?" she asked gruffly.

"Tomorrow
morning, I'd guess," I said. "You can phone the jail and find out
about visiting hours. I've put in a call to a friend of mine—a lawyer—who might
be able to take your sister's case. If she can't, she'll be able to recommend
somebody."

There was a silence, then Terry replied:
"Donna doesn't want a lawyer."

"Donna
doesn't know what's good for her," I said shortly. "If she doesn't
get a lawyer, the judge will appoint somebody to defend her."

"She doesn't
want a defense. She thinks she'll get off easier if she pleads guilty."

I narrowed my eyes.
It sounded as if Donna had told her sister what she intended to do. More
likely, she and Terry had cooked this thing up between them. The thought made
me steam.

"Whose side are you on?" I demanded
angrily. "Have you forgotten what I told you yesterday? The district attorney
is going to be taking a close look at this case. If there's any
evidence—anything at all—that might indicate that Swenson's death was something
other than an accident, Doran will charge your sister with vehicular
homicide." I paused to let that sink in, and added, slowly and emphatically:
"Donna needs a lawyer. A good one."

Another silence. "Yeah, sure," Terry
said. "I didn't mean—" She cleared her throat. "Tell that lawyer
friend of yours that we want her to take the case. Whatever it costs, we'll
come up with the money." More throat-clearing. "You don't think I can
see Donna tonight?"

"Call and
ask," I said. "They might let you if there's a compelling reason."
I thought for a second and came up with one. "Like finding out about your
aunt's medications."

"Yeah, right." Terry sounded
relieved. "Aunt Velda's medicine. That's what I'll tell them."

"Look,
Terry,"
I
said grimly, "I'm going to level with you. I
have my doubts that Donna was the one who drove that truck, and I'm pretty sure
the sheriff shares that feeling. Taking the rap for somebody else is a stupid
thing for her to do. And if you're letting her do it, you're stupid, too."

There was a silence. "You
think that's what she's doing?" Terry asked uneasily.

'I’d
bet on it. Who's she covering for? You or your aunt?"