CHAPTER 53

On my brisk walk back to the restaurant, I once again paused. I wanted to dig into Camilla’s husband’s death. If I waited until I arrived at Pans ’N Pancakes, I knew I’d be too busy to be poking around on the internet. I leaned against the facade of Paco’s Tacos and thumbed in a search.

A couple of minutes later, all I knew was that there had been speculation about Camilla’s involvement but nothing had come of it. Exactly as Octavia had said.

A church bell chimed eleven times. Danna texted two question marks and three exclamation points. My bladder insisted I attend to it.

Before I could move on, a text arrived that sent chills through me. It was from Fred Blount.

It has come to our attention that a murder was committed in the very room where you put my wife and I. Have you no sense of decency, Ms. Jordan? We have removed our belongings and will expect not only a full refund but also damages for emotional distress.

I swallowed. Yikes. It was true, but who told them? Was I obliged to have let them know about the murder in March? It wasn’t as if the room bore bloodstains. There hadn’t even been blood. I wondered if the Blounts—Fred in particular—actually planned to sue me. This talk of damages could be a bluff to make me cough up a pile of money.

I considered replying on the spot, and quickly decided not to. I had to get back to work, and this situation merited calm thought, an activity I didn’t have time for right now.

When I arrived at Pans ’N Pancakes, the lull had disappeared. Danna and Turner were working at high-speed cooking, seating the crowd waiting for tables, taking orders. After a quick visit to the facilities, I hurried to scrub my hands and tie on an apron.

“Sorry,” I murmured to Turner at the grill.

“No worries.” He flipped two beef burgers and sprinkled cheese on a disk of beaten egg. “But the lady at Buck’s table really wants to talk to you. You can take her meal to her.” He used his chin to point at a plate holding a grilled ham and cheese on sourdough, nicely cut on the diagonal, with a fat pickle spear alongside.

“Got it.”

The woman at Buck’s table was none other than Camilla Kalb, and she didn’t look happy. What was she doing here during her own restaurant’s busy lunch hour?

“Welcome, Camilla.” I set down her plate. “Can I get you anything else?”

“What you can get is out of my freaking business. What do you think you’re doing, going around accusing me of murdering my husband?” she hissed.

Whoa. How did she know I’d been talking about that? I cast around in my brain—fast—for how to respond.

“I’m sorry you think that,” I began. “I did hear about your husband’s passing. But I understand you weren’t charged in his death. Right?”

She nodded, but her nostrils still flared, and her gaze was sharp.

“So he must have died of natural causes,” I said in a soft voice.

“He did.”

“I’m glad to hear violence wasn’t involved.” A diner waved at me. Danna signaled a table that needed clearing. The bell on the door kept jangling as new customers filed in. “Enjoy your lunch.”

As I waded into the fray, I wondered if Camilla was protesting too much. Maybe she had killed her husband, and Evermina, too.

But I didn’t have time to think about that. While Turner cooked, Danna and I had our hands full with orders, busing, cleaning, delivering food and checks, and starting the cycle anew. We got on top of the rush before too long. Three pairs of hands were definitely better in here than two at times like this.

Camilla paid Danna with a card and was near the door when Wendy breezed in. She hadn’t seemed particularly happy with me last time she was in. Maybe Zeke had told her that his breakfast had gone smoothly and tasted of heaven. Or whatever.

I watched as she exchanged a hug with Camilla. The restaurateur caught sight of Wendy’s new ring and seemed to admire it, except I was too far away to hear what they said to each other. I hadn’t known the two were friends, but it made sense. They were both Nashville business owners and appeared more or less the same age.

A dark thought drifted into my mind. Maybe the women had worked together to kill Evermina and cover their tracks. Had Octavia considered that possibility? I gave my head a little shake. She’d never tell me even if she had.

But here came a person who might divulge, that is, if he knew anything. Buck held the door for Camilla as she left, bobbing his head to her by way of greeting. I headed his way, which was also where Wendy stood.

“Good morning.” I smiled. “I think it’s still morning. By some miracle we have a table open, Wendy. Sorry, Buck, it’s the table you prefer but it’s the last one, and Wendy was here first.”

Buck might have perked up at hearing her name, but I wasn’t sure.

“Please join me, sir,” Wendy offered.

I was about to introduce them when he spoke.

“That’s mighty kind of you, ma’am.” Buck extended his hand. “Buck Bird, at your humble service.” Buck wore a long-sleeve knit shirt with an SLPD embroidered patch on the arm. He also sported the uniform cargo pants I’d seen officers wear when they weren’t out on patrol.

“Pleased to meet you.” Wendy gave his hand a firm shake. “I’m Wendy Corbett, owner of the Nashville Treasures gift shop in Nashville. You’re with the police?”

“He’s the chief of the South Lick department,” I added, since he wasn’t exactly attired in chief garb.

She blinked. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Buck put on his “aw-shucks” expression.

I stepped in before Wendy changed her mind about sharing the table with a police officer—or about lunch at all. “I’ll show you to the table, shall I? Please follow me.” After they sat, I took their drink orders. “I didn’t know you and Camilla knew each other,” I said to Wendy.

She regarded me for a moment too long. “Yes, we go way back.”

“That’s great.” This wasn’t the moment to be digging into their relationship. “I’ll be back after you have a chance to look at the menu. Specials are on the board.”

“Why, I know what I want right now, Robbie,” Buck said. “And I’m hungrier than a daddy elephant with nothing to eat but leaves.”

That was a new one.

“Except I’m meeting a gaggle of folks here purt’ soon and I’d best wait to order until the group shows up.”

“How many are in the group?” I asked him.

“Five, six, around that.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” I surveyed the restaurant. A four-top would be open soon, and we could combine that with another one to handle up to eight at Buck’s gathering. I glanced at Wendy. “Do you know what you’d like to eat?”

“Give me a bowl of the Coq au Vin, please,” she said. “Although it seems like a rather fancy lunch offering for a place like this.”

“It’s a simplified version, and it’s delicious. I’ll go put that order in.” I bustled away before she could get another dig in. A place like this, indeed. We were a restaurant specializing in delicious food, whether fancy or simple.