Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 (32 page)

With a visible start,
Lucy turned, took the plate of scrambled eggs and a small bowl of grits and
gravy, and put them in front of me. Her head was down again. I couldn't see her
eyes. "I can't believe they've arrested Donna," she muttered.
"She's really nice. Such a hard worker out there on that farm, and taking
care of her aunt and all. She's the last person in the world you'd think
would—" She stopped.

I leaned forward.
"Do you know whether anybody threatened Swenson? Did he get any phone
calls or letters? What about his business associates? Did he mention any
problems with them?"

She stood for a moment, thinking. Her
glance went to the left and the right, as if she were making sure we weren't
overheard. There were red blotches in her sallow cheeks.

She leaned forward and licked her
lips. "Not exactly," she said, "but—""

Docia banged a plate
on the counter of the pass-through. "Lucy!" she barked. "Y'er
slow as cold drippin's this mor-nin'. That second coffee urn needs fillin' an'
you got customers waitin' for their tickets."

"Yeah, Mama," Lucy said over
her shoulder. "I'll take care of it." But she didn't make a move
toward the coffee urn. For the space of ten seconds or so, she stood in front
of me, her lips pursed, as if she were thinking what to say.

Docia raised her
voice. "Well, then, hop to it, girl! And stop that moonin' over Carl.
Talkin' about him ain't gonna bring him back from the dead, you know. Not that
you'd want to. You oughta start thinkin' 'bout your future. Orville Pennyman
came in for supper last night, after you went home. Said he'd sure like to take
you to a movie Friday night."

Lucy made a sarcastic
face. "Yeah, right, Mama." But she turned away.

I picked up my fork.
Lucy needed to get out from under the twin thumbs of her mother and
grandmother, who seemed to dictate everything she thought or said. Anyway, it
was clear that I wasn't going to get any information out of her here, where her
mother could interrupt us every two minutes—and maybe not at all. But I gave it
one last shot.

"I'll be at
Thyme and Seasons all day and at home this evening," I said with a smile.
"If you'd like to talk, just give me a call."

I've got to hand it to Mrs.
Kendall—she wasn't just a great cook, she was a terrific organizer as well. I
arrived at the tearoom well before eight and went into the kitchen with a cold
feeling in the pit of my stomach, wondering what I was going to find when I
opened the cupboard doors. But the menus were posted on the wall, every pot and
pan was in its place, and the pantry and freezer were full of everything we
would need to feed our customers. There was even a loose-leaf binder on the
counter, filled with recipes inserted neatly into plastic sleeves. I went
through it, locating all the recipes I would need for the day and thinking
sadly that no matter how hard we looked, we'd never be able to find anybody as
good as Mrs. Kendall.

I was setting out the
ingredients for vegetable quiche when Laurel blew in through the back door,
pulling off her knit cap and mittens and blowing on her fingers to warm them.
She looked surprised when she saw me.

"What're you
doing in the kitchen?" She pulled off her coat and hung it in the back
entry. "Where's Mrs. K?"

"The tearoom
register was short two hundred dollars yesterday," I said. I took down a
canister of flour and a bottle of canola oil. I don't think oil pastry is as
tender as pastry made with shortening, but it's a lot easier to stir together
and roll out, especially when you're in a hurry. "When Ruby and I went to
Mrs. K's apartment to confront her about the missing money, we found out that
she'd already given notice to her landlord." I reached for a large bowl.
"It looks like she won't be with us any longer. Ruby and I will be taking
turns in the kitchen until we find a replacement."

Laurel looked stunned. "But Mrs.
K didn't take that money," she cried. "7 did! And what's more, I left
you a note telling you what I'd done."

I
whirled around, horrified.
"You!"

"I'm not
believing this," Laurel moaned, dropping her face into her hands.
"Oh, poor Mrs. K! She must have been terribly hurt when you accused her.
Didn't she tell you that she's innocent?"

"She didn't tell
us anything because she wasn't there." I put my hands on my hips and
regarded her incredulously. "You're saying that
you
stole
that money? And what's this about a note? Ruby and I didn't find any
note."

"I didn't steal the money," Laurel said,
her brown eyes snapping. "That's not the way it was. If you'd just give me
a chance to explain—"

"Then explain
already," I said. "Let's get to the bottom of this."

Laurel flipped her
heavy brown braid back over her shoulder. "The Thyme and Seasons register
was short of change yesterday, and I was too busy to run to the bank. So I took
two hundred dollars in tens, fives, and ones out of the tearoom register. When
I closed last night, you and Ruby were closeted in here, having some sort of
serious discussion. It was late and I didn't want to bother you, so I just put
the extra money into an envelope and left it with a note in the cash drawer. I
figured you'd find the extra two hundred when you cleared the register last
night."

"I didn't clear
that register," I muttered, feeling awkward and foolish. "I had to
talk to Terry about getting a lawyer for her sister, and then Ruby and I drove
over to talk to Mrs. K. I left the register for this morning, and then it turned
out that I had to cook today and—"

I stopped. Laurel's revelation changed
everything. Since Mrs. Kendall hadn't taken the money, she'd be coming in to
cook today as usual, and I'd be off the hook. On the other hand, we knew for a
fact that she'd given her notice at the apartment, which indicated that she was
planning to leave. But maybe she'd just found a different apartment. Maybe—

Laurel was staring at me. "A
lawyer for Donna? Donna Fletcher? Why does she need a lawyer?"

"She's being held at the county jail," I
said. "She's confessed to running down Carl Swenson and concealing the
truck." I frowned. "Did Mrs. K say anything to you about looking for
another apartment?"

"Uh-uh." Laurel shook her
head distractedly. "It's news to me."

"Or
leaving town?"

"No. You know how she is—we don't talk about
personal stuff." Laurel was gnawing her lip. "Gosh, China, Donna's
such a compassionate person. If she accidentally hit Swenson, I can't believe
she'd drive off and leave him lying beside the road. If you'd said it was her
sister, I might buy that. Terry has always seemed
...
well, kind of cold and deliberate. And she doesn't like
Swenson. She might—"

"Good
morning, everyone!"

Laurel and I whirled at the sound of the brisk
greeting. It was Mrs. Kendall. She twirled her umbrella outside the door to
shake off the drops, propped it against the wall, and took off her coat.
"My goodness," she said, "it's cold out there. Do you suppose it
will snow?"

"I
doubt it," I said feebly. "It almost never snows here."

"Well, there's a
first time for everything, I always say." Mrs. Kendall rolled up her
sleeves. "Where Mother Nature is concerned, one never quite knows what to
expect, does one? Perhaps there'll be a white Christmas." She came into
the kitchen and stopped short, staring at the things I'd put out on the
counter. Her eyebrows went up. She gave me a questioning look.

"I was just
...
I mean, I—" I took a breath and
tried again. "I came in early to try my hand at that vegetable quiche that
you make so well." I managed a smile. "One shouldn't let oneself get
out of practice, should one?" Hastily, I put the flour and the oil back
on the shelf. "But now that you're here, I'll get out of your way and let
you get to work. I can make the quiche another time."

"Excuse
me," Laurel said in a small voice, edging toward the door to the shop.
"I've got a few things to do before we open."

"Actually, I'm
glad to have this chance for a private chat," Mrs. Kendall said when
Laurel had gone. She reached for her apron and tied it around her waist, and I
noticed that her usual cheerfulness seemed dimmed. "I've enjoyed helping
you and Ms. Wilcox find your feet, but I'm afraid I must give in my
notice."

"You're planning
to leave Pecan Springs?" I made an effort to appear surprised, but I
didn't have to try to sound disappointed. Now that we'd cleared up the mystery
of the money, I'd give anything to have her stay.

She took down a large soup kettle and
put it on the stove. "Friday will be my last day. My elderly aunt is quite
ill, you see, and I feel that I should be with her." She took several
onions out of a bin.

"But I
thought—" I began. She dropped one of the onions and I bent to pick it up
for her.

"I'm afraid it
will be difficult for you," she went on regretfully, "but I'm sure
you understand." She poured a dollop of oil into the soup kettle and
turned on the burner. "I've also given notice to my landlord, who has been
very kind to me. He's a lovely man, quite helpful. I'm so sorry to be leaving
Pecan Springs, but family matters have to take a high priority, don't
they?" She pushed back her graying hair and I saw that her eyes were
weary. Her cheerful manner was a facade.

"Of
course," I said slowly.

She took out a knife and a chopping board and went
to work on the onions, slicing and dicing expertly. "I see that you've
already discovered my reference guide," she added, with a nod toward the
loose-leaf binder that was lying on the counter. "I've put all the recipes
into it, with detailed instructions for various quantities and a complete
shopping list. I've also included some suggestions for future menus, and
several recipes for the Christmas Tour. And I'll be glad to go through
everything to make sure that you won't have any major difficulties." She
gave me a regretful glance. "I do so hate to leave you in the lurch, just
at the holiday season. But I'm afraid it can't be helped. I'm so sorry."

"We're sorry too," I said. "You've
gotten us off to a great start. We appreciate all the work you've done
and—"

The back door opened
for a third time, and Ruby came in. "Whew," she said. "It's
really nasty out there." She began to unwrap her wool scarf. "I
don't think we need to worry about having a big lunchtime crowd today, China.
They're already starting to put sand on the overpasses and—" She turned
and saw Mrs. Kendall and her mouth dropped open. "Mrs. K? What are you
doing here? I thought—"

"Mrs. K has just
given us her resignation," I interrupted quickly, before Ruby could say
anything about the missing money. "She has a family problem and has to
leave us. Friday will be her last day."

"I see."
Ruby took off her coat, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I'm sorry to
hear that you're leaving us, Mrs. K." She turned to me. "But what
about the—"

"About the kitchen?" I held
up the binder. "She's written down all her recipes, with detailed
instructions, even a shopping list. If we study it, it should tide us over
until we find a replacement." I gave her a significant look. "And
you'll be glad to know that last night's little mystery has been solved. It
turns out that we really didn't have a problem. We completely misjudged the
situation."

Ruby blinked. "Solved? Misjudged it? But
how—" "Come on," I said, picking up the reference guide and
pushing Ruby toward the door to the shop. "Let's leave Mrs. Kendall to her
work. Laurel and I will tell you what happened."

Ruby was right about the weather. Only a few hardy
customers braved the sleety rain. After we got the awkward business with the
cash register straightened out, Ruby went to her shop and Laurel and I spent
the day catching up on all kinds of necessary business—restocking the shelves,
calling customers about special orders, even making a batch of kissing balls
out of the bag of mistletoe I'd been carrying in the trunk of my car. At lunch,
we were the only diners in the tearoom, so Mrs. Kendall went home early to pack
and get ready for her trip. At three o'clock, when we hadn't had any customers
for an hour or so, I sent Laurel home too.

I had just settled
down at the desk in my cubby-hole office to figure up the payroll tax
deposit—one of my least-favorite jobs—when the phone rang at my elbow. It was
Blackie.

"The lab report on the truck came
in about ten minutes ago," he said. "It's the vehicle that struck
Swenson, all right. The blood on the grille is his ABO type. The DNA test
results won't be available for a while, but there's no doubt in my mind that
we've found the right vehicle."