Chapter 20
Beatrice savored the last bite of her chocolate custard pie. Heaven on earth. Creamy. Rich. Just the right texture. “Sin on a Plate” Pamela called it. She had come up with cute names for all her pies.
She had that one right.
Vera took a sip of her coffee and placed the cup back in the saucer. “Delicious. Even her coffee is the best.”
“How was your Key-Lime Kiss pie?” Beatrice asked.
“Extraordinary,” Vera replied.
Beatrice sat back and watched the crowded scene before her. A small group of people were waiting at the cash register to pay their bills. Servers skirted in and out between people and aisles of tables. Not one of the servers appeared to be foreign. Hadn’t Randy said they were mostly foreigners? Wait. He must have been talking about the kitchen staff.
Pamela was chitchatting with folks at a table in the corner. She moved from table to table asking how her customers were enjoying their pie. Good business move. She was more like a hostess than an owner who sat on high ordering people around. It made you feel good for paying $3.50 for a slice of pie. But not today—it was half-off today, it being a special grand-reopening.
Sheila was quieter than usual. She seemed tired. But it was more than that really; she seemed worn down. Like the reality of life was suddenly too much for her. She did have a lot on her plate.
“How was your pie?” Beatrice asked her.
“The Cherry Divine was divine,” Sheila said and smiled. “Love that chocolate layer between the cherries and the crust. Genius.”
“I agree that this place has extraordinary pie,” Jon said.
“Good to hear that,” Pamela said as she approached their table. “Coming from a Frenchman, that’s a big compliment.”
“Everything was very good, of course,” Vera said.
“Can I ask you a question?” Beatrice began. “I’d like to send my condolences to Marina’s family.”
The smile vanished from Pamela’s face.
“Would you happen to know how I can reach them?” Beatrice continued.
Pamela pasted on a fake smile.
It was as if I’d asked her to kill someone for me. I only want Marina’s family’s address, thought Beatrice.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Matthews. I don’t have that kind of information. She came through an agency.”
“What agency? Maybe they have her address?”
Another customer came by the group and congratulated Pamela on the best pumpkin pie he’d ever eaten.
Pamela turned back to Beatrice. “I’m sorry. What was your question?”
“What’s the name of the agency Marina came through?” Beatrice was getting miffed. A simple question demands a simple answer. Why can nobody give me this woman’s family’s address?
“Hathaway Transatlantic Employment Agency,” Pamela finally said. “Good luck. They are not quite easy to deal with.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ll manage,” Beatrice replied. How odd. She was getting the strangest vibes from Pamela. What is the problem?
As if sensing Bea’s thoughts, Pamela leaned over the table. “Ms. Matthews, I hate talking about it. It’s very upsetting to me. She was the sweetest person I’d ever met.” She blinked.
Beatrice felt an immediate pang of embarrassment. Of course, that was it. Pamela was grieving. She apparently thought very highly of the young woman. Perhaps Marina was more than an employee.
“I’m sorry,” Beatrice said. “I didn’t realize you were so close.”
Jon elbowed her gently.
“Well, I would not say close,” Pamela said. “But there was something about her that made me feel sort of protective. And I’d feel awful if anybody I knew met the end that she did.”
“Of course,” Sheila said. “It’s a human reaction. No matter who the person.”
Pamela stood up straighter. “Right.” There was a flash of emotion in Pamela’s eyes—something beneath the carefully applied eyeliner, blue eye shadow, and mascara.
Beatrice couldn’t say for sure what it was. Regret? Sadness? Fear?
As Pamela turned to leave, Beatrice turned to Jon. “What are you elbowing me for, you old coot?”
“Coot? What is this word?” he shot back at her.
She waved him off. “Look it up.”