Shadows on the Sand (23 page)

I looked down and sure enough, Greg held my hand in his. I’d been so rattled at the thought of not seeing him daily that I hadn’t felt him slide his hand down my arm and take hold.

Heat flooded my face as I hurried to table five, which wanted some more butter for their pancakes. I kept busy for the next hour, hoping I’d have some free time before Greg had to leave. As I walked back and forth to enter orders and then to pick them up, I heard snippets of his discussion about crime and punishment with Mr. Perkins. One bit caught my attention, and I stopped on my way to pick up an order.

“That guy who tried to run you over,” Mr. Perkins said. “I bet he’s out on bail.”

Greg nodded. “He is. In fact he and the furniture rental company are coming to the Sand and Sea Friday afternoon to reclaim their belongings.”

Mr. Perkins harrumphed. “He should have forfeited them after his behavior.”

I hadn’t thought about Chaz Rudolph for the last couple of days. “He’s still in Seaside?”

“He can’t leave until after his trial,” Greg said.

“Where’s he staying?” Mr. Perkins asked the question that had just occurred to me.

“Backseat of his Hummer?” I suggested as I picked up an order of fried eggs over easy with hash browns and sausage and a side of whole wheat toast.

“It was repossessed by the car dealership,” Greg said.

Mr. Perkins all but purred. “Some justice in the world after all.”

“I can’t quite bring myself to feel sorry for him.” I set one of Lindsay’s giant bran muffins laced with raisins and peaches on a plate for the wife of the fried eggs.

“Excuse me. I’m here about the sign in the window?”

I turned and saw a young woman about my age. “You’re here about a job?” I was afraid to blink in case she’d disappear like a mirage.

She nodded.

Yes! “I’m Carrie. Let me serve this food, and we can talk.”

Her name was Lou Reynolds and, be still my heart, she had experience as a waitress though she hadn’t worked in several years because of her kids.

“We want to buy a house,” she said, “and I have to work if we’re ever going to make it happen.”

Their problem was providing care for their three children, six, seven, and nine.

“My husband can get the kids off to school in the morning, but we don’t want them coming home to an empty house in the afternoon. They’re too young. With the café’s hours, I can be home for them.”

She looked so hopeful I almost laughed. She might think I was an answer to her problems, but I knew she was an answer to my prayers. With a second server I could spend my time on the business side of things, assessing the past season and preparing for next. And since the spate of Twitter notes
about Carrie’s as well as the great weather, we’d had more traffic than usual for this time of year.

Lou and I talked some more, and I sent her to the kitchen to meet Lindsay. I didn’t want to hire anyone without input from my sister. The upshot was that Lou’d be in tomorrow morning at six fifteen to start work.

She left with a cheery smile, and I felt the same smile sitting on my face. I pulled the Help Wanted sign out of the window with a thank-you prayer and a request prayer that Lou turn out to be as good as she seemed.

My smile dimmed significantly when the door opened and Chaz Rudolph strolled in. When he spotted Greg, he gave a little sneer. Greg ignored him.

I waylaid Chaz. “What are you here for?” I asked with a deplorable lack of hospitality.

“Breakfast. What else?”

What else indeed. I seated him at one of the tables and took his order.

“You can pay for this, right?”

He glared at me. “Do you ask all your customers that?”

“No.” I waited. Bill was bad enough. I wasn’t feeding another jerk for free.

Chaz sighed as though offended and pulled a twenty out of his wallet. He put it on the table and secured it with the pepper shaker. “Satisfied?”

I nodded and left to give his order to Ricky.

On the dot of ten thirty, as the last of the customers except Chaz, Greg, and Mr. Perkins left, Bill Lindemuth strolled in.

Andi saw him as she bused an armful of dishes from one of her booths. She smiled tentatively, and he walked to her. I tried to hear what he said, but I couldn’t. They were too far away, and he spoke too quietly. Sigh. I hated not knowing how she truly felt about him.

He wandered to the back booth where they had eaten before and slid onto the bench. Andi passed me as she took the dishes to the kitchen.

“I’m going to take my break, okay?”

I nodded. “Okay. Just remember, Bill pays.”

She gave me a sour look. “Yes, ma’am.”

I rolled my eyes. Where had the sweet penitent of the early morning gone? A few minutes later she went by with two loaded dishes, one of pancakes, the other a huge omelet with cheese and ham melting out the ends. A container of low-fat yogurt made a bump in her apron pocket. It didn’t take much imagination to guess who was eating what.

I was wiping down the last of my tables when Andi sailed past again, this time returning to the kitchen. I trailed her to the counter.

“How’s Bill doing today?”

Andi glared. “Because of you, he’s been questioned by the police.”

“Good.” I refused to flinch under her anger. “Maybe his information can help find Jase’s killer.”

“He said they want to talk to me too.”

Greg studied Andi. “Why do you have such negative feelings about talking to them? You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”

She frowned and grabbed her Sudoku book. She waved it at me. “I’m teaching Bill how to play.” She said it with all the suppressed ire of a guard dog being held at “stay” when he quivered to sink his teeth into the intruder, Greg and me being the intruder.

Bill didn’t strike me as someone with the patience to work out the puzzle. “Does he enjoy it?”

She ignored me and stalked back to her booth.

“I think she heard your skepticism,” Mr. Perkins said, ever helpful.

Before I could reply, the door opened and SweetCilla motored in, bright
orange flag flying above her chair. Fred Durning followed on her heels. I nodded at Fred but didn’t approach him. I figured he was here to see Greg. Instead I went to move a chair so Cilla could belly up to a table.

She waved my efforts away and drove up to Greg, who had risen when he saw Fred.

“I just wanted to tell you I think it’s disgraceful that that man was given bail and is free to walk around town.” She scowled fiercely. “After what he tried to do to you.”

Greg looked bemused and shot a glance at Chaz, who was busy reading the sports section of the restaurant’s copy of
USA Today
as he lingered over coffee. “Thank you.”

Mr. Perkins seemed to see Cilla for the first time. “I think you’re absolutely right.” He leaned down and whispered in a voice sure to be heard clear to the boardwalk, “That’s him over there.” He nodded in Chaz’s direction.

Fred blinked. “That’s the guy who rammed the apartment building?” He studied Chaz. “Unimpressive.”

How true.

Cilla looked at the unaware Chaz in astonishment. “You are wonderful people to allow him in here. I certainly wouldn’t.”

Mr. Perkins slid off his stool. “Want a grilled sticky bun, Cilla? You’ll love it.”

She studied his wrinkled face for a moment, then gave him a warm smile. “Thank you. I believe I will have one if you’ll split it with me.” She motored to the table farthest from Chaz and sat with her back to him. Mr. Perkins followed her, his step jaunty.

Greg and I looked away to hide our smiles.

“I’ll take a grilled sticky bun too.” Fred took the stool next to Greg.

Greg grinned and settled back in his seat. “I see Lindsay’s got another fan.”

“I was sitting around waiting for it to be time to go sign that last elusive paper on the sale and I got to thinking about how good the sticky bun was yesterday.” Fred patted his flat stomach. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Want to split one, Carrie?” Greg asked, as if our sharing was the most natural thing in the world. I nodded, thinking that just yesterday I’d thought I’d never share with him again, and now here we were. How cool was that!

I got the last three sticky buns from the display case. I passed them through the serving window to Ricky. I could smell Lindsay’s French onion soup, one of my favorites. She made it with such a rich broth that the onions themselves were almost superfluous.

“We’ve also got ham and bean,” she said as if reading my mind. “And there’s vegetable beef too. The sandwich special is a tuna melt on an open-faced bagel topped with tomato and the cheese of your choice.”

I knew this, of course, since we set menus days in advance so we had time to order all the necessary food stuffs. In the glass-fronted refrigerator unit I saw a lemon meringue pie so high it almost touched the bottom of the shelf above, a coconut custard pie, and a chocolate raspberry torte just waiting for diners to enjoy.

As I waited for Ricky to grill the buns, Lindsay slid a tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven.

“You guys are amazing back here,” I said. “I love you both, and I especially love the goodies you turn out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ricky answered, his eyes bright under the bill of his baseball cap. He flipped the sticky buns deftly. “That’s what they all say.” But I could see he was pleased.

He turned to Lindsay. “Do you think this is a good time to ask for a raise?”

“Sure, you can ask,” I said. “But don’t hold your breath.”

With a laugh, Ricky brought the grilled buns to the serving window. I took them and set them in front of those who had ordered them. I made certain everyone’s beverages were topped off and that all had forks and napkins and extra butter. Then I leaned on the counter across from Greg and dug in.

All was silent for a couple of minutes as we savored Lindsay’s genius.

Then Fred sighed. “Ambrosia.”

The rest of us said, “Umm.”

“She’s gone again.”

I blinked my way out of my cinnamon-and-sugar trance and looked at the unhappy Bill, standing in front of me. “What?”

“Andi’s gone.” He scowled at me as if it were my fault.

I looked back at the booth where she’d been sitting with him. Sure enough, it was empty.

“She said she was going to the ladies’ room.” Bill’s scowl intensified. “She never came out.”

I straightened, concerned. “I’ll go check.”

I hurried to the back of the café and pushed open the cream-colored door with
Women
stenciled on it in Caribbean blue. There were two stalls and a sink along one sidewall. The other was blank except for a mural of a beach with lapping waves, oversized seashells, a jetty, and colorful beach umbrellas.

Across from the entry door was a window usually covered with a Caribbean blue curtain. The sash was kept closed in deference to the air conditioning in summer and the heating the rest of the year. Now the curtain was pushed aside and the window was wide open, the screen pushed free.

I stood for a moment, hand to my head as if the pressure from my fingers could hold at bay the headache I felt brewing behind my eyes. Not again!

I
was more than grateful when Mary P answered my SOS and served lunch in Andi’s place.

“Just so you know, this isn’t to be a regular thing,” she said as she tied her apron around her ample middle. “I’m happy to help on occasion, but I’m a retired lady.”

I kissed her cheek. “You’ve saved me twice in one week. No wonder I love you.”

Mary P lit up at my words. “Back at you, kid.” And she bustled off.

I forced myself to smile at all the nice customers, knowing that in the hospitality business nothing mattered quite as much as attitude, not even the food. A warm smile could cover a multitude of serving mistakes, from spilled iced tea to grilled cheese too browned.

But I was fuming inside. I was very aware of the phenomenon of teenage girls and irrational behavior. After all, I’d once been sixteen and I’d lived with Lindsay when she was sixteen. Moodiness went with the territory.

But Andi’d promised! Had she stood right there and with knowledge aforethought lied? Surely not. Andi might be volatile at times and have terrible taste in men, but I would never have thought her a bald-faced liar.

Even Clooney had believed her. He stood with her as she gave her word, and he told her he was proud of her. Had she just been repentant because he demanded it of her? I’d witnessed that don’t-mess-with-me aspect of his personality when he’d come down on Bill for daring to act too familiarly. Had he exerted that same force on Andi and made her apologize? Then she’d fled at her first opportunity?

That line of thought didn’t make sense to me. Clooney was her family. She never spoke of parents, not even to say they were dead. It was as if her life began when she came to live with Clooney, and if his home was now hers, she couldn’t afford to alienate him.

So what had happened? What made her go out the window? People didn’t climb out windows unless under great pressure to escape.

But escape what? Was she that frightened of Bill? She’d been sitting with him just before she ran. Had he said something that upset her? Had he threatened her somehow?