Andy had made good on his word to return my Schwinn, so Wednesday morning I took off early by bike for the café. I’d desperately wanted to be out before either Johnny or my mother woke up. The scream Brad and I had heard the night before had not been Mom. It had been Johnny. Mom didn’t realize Johnny was in the bathroom. Johnny didn’t realize my mother was going to throw the door open with him sitting there on the toilet. With his trousers at half-mast.
I still couldn’t get the awful image out of my head. And I’d had two cups of strong coffee and several beignets heaped with powdered sugar. I’d have thought that would have sizzled at least a layer or two of short-term memory brain cells.
What good were vices if they didn’t help you forget stuff?
Laura Duval was my first customer of the day. Laura is a very attractive ash blonde with soft features and inquisitive blue eyes. She sported a classic A-line bob and wore a dusky blue peasant dress with elbow-length sleeves and a cinched waist. ‘All alone today?’ she asked.
I smiled. ‘For the first couple of hours. I told Aubrey to come in at eight.’ That’s when business really picks up. I offered a senior discount before ten a.m. on Wednesdays. I also offered free coffee with every beignet order to extraterrestrials. But, so far, I’d had no takers.
‘Coffee?’ I was a frequent visitor to Laura’s Lightly Used, the vintage shop she ran. It’s where I’d bought my Schwinn among other things, including several items for the café – like a certain rolling pin that I’d rather not think about.
Laura nodded. ‘And beignets. Can’t have one without the other, right?’
‘Hey, cornflakes aren’t the only breakfast of champions.’ I liked Laura and was sure that over time we’d become fast friends. I stripped off a row of dough and dropped her order in the deep fryer, enjoying the sound of the sizzle almost as much as the smell of the deep frying dough.
‘I heard about Lisa Willoughby,’ Laura said, her voice low despite the fact we were alone. ‘I also heard you found her.’
‘Sort of,’ I said, pulling her beignets from the fryer and dropping them onto the draining tray, where I dusted them with powdered sugar. I plated the beignets and handed them across to Laura.
She took her beignets and coffee to the nearest table and sat down. I joined her with a cup of coffee of my own. It was my third in an hour, but who was counting? ‘Did you know her?’
Laura nodded and fingered a beignet. ‘We went to school together.’
‘I didn’t realize.’
‘I lived in Santa Fe once.’ Laura blew across the top of her cup and took a tentative first sip. I watched the steam rise like a wraith, or like the ghost of Lisa Willoughby materializing between us. Was she looking for her killer? Was she looking for some sort of spiritual release?
Had I been listening to Mom’s hoodoo-voodoo mumbo-jumbo too long? If this was what I was like now what would I be like after living with her in my cramped apartment for a week?
Laura set down her cup. The steamy ghost disappeared. ‘She wasn’t perfect but neither did she deserve to die.’
‘Is there anyone who might have thought otherwise?’
Laura canted her head to one side and smiled wanly. ‘Old boyfriends she’d dumped and girlfriends whose boyfriends and husbands she’d stolen.’
‘So it was like that?’
Laura nodded. ‘She lived in the condo below mine. Let’s just say there were plenty of comings and goings.’
‘She owned a condo?’ I’d seen Laura’s place. It wasn’t posh but it was decent. I couldn’t afford a car, let alone a condo in that building. ‘How could she afford to buy a condo? Was she renting?’
Laura shrugged. ‘Maybe she was renting but if she was it was without the condo board’s consent. They’re pretty strict.’
I puzzled over this for a moment. ‘Did she have a roommate?’
‘No. I’m sure she didn’t. I think I would have noticed if there’d been anyone else staying there on a regular basis.’ Laura smirked. ‘Not that I didn’t see a man or two going in or out of the place.’
‘Maybe cake decorators earn more than I thought.’ More customers started filtering through the door. I rose. ‘Be right with you!’ I smiled at my new customers, a well-dressed man and woman.
‘I heard the rumors about Clive Rothschild.’ Laura swirled the dregs of her coffee around the cup.
I waved my hand. ‘It’s his partner, Johnny, I’m more worried about.’
Laura’s brow rose. ‘You think he had something to do with Lisa’s death?’
‘No, not really. But the way he’s acting lately I’m not surprised the police are interested in talking to him, too.’
Laura also stood. ‘Guess I’d better get to the shop.’ She dropped her tray at the counter. ‘If somebody did help Lisa down those stairs I’d look real hard at the people she worked with.’ She crumpled her napkin and dropped it in the trash. ‘And slept with.’
Good point. Maybe I’d share it with Detective Highsmith.
Laura tapped her cheek. ‘You know, there was one guy. I don’t know his name. But he wore a Markie’s Masterpieces shirt. I caught him banging on Lisa’s door, yelling, creating quite a racket.’
‘But you have no idea who he was?’
‘None. He had short brown hair and bushy eyebrows.’ Laura smiled. ‘I remember that.’
‘That sounds like Ben Baker,’ I said. ‘He’s got strong hands, too.’ I flexed my fingers. ‘Strong enough to give a person a solid push … or crush a windpipe.’
As Laura scooted out the door, the two strangers at the counter shot each other worried looks. ‘How’s everybody today?’ I asked with a pasted-on smile. Our conversation might have been a tad graphic and uncomfortable for them and I wanted to make it all better. Kiss the boo-boo time. I made myself irresistible as I leaned my hands on the counter and said, ‘Here for the senior discount?’
The woman gasped and shot a desperate – and offended – look at the man I took to be her husband. ‘I’m not sure I want anything now,’ she growled, ‘under the circumstances.’
I felt my face redden. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to offend you in any way.’ But she looked so old. Did she want me to think she wasn’t on the downslope of sixty-two? I cleared my throat and looked imploringly at her husband, too. ‘You look really young!’
The man half-smiled and gave me a shrug as his wife pulled him out the door. As I sadly watched a cash sale exit stage left, I had to give her credit: she may be old but she hadn’t lost any muscle. Or speed.
‘Please come again!’ I really couldn’t afford to lose any customers. ‘My treat!’ I yelled in desperation as they bustled away.
‘Wow, what was that all about?’
I swung to my right. A man about my age wearing pleated khaki slacks and a yellow polo shirt was resting his elbow on the register. He’d come in just as the couple was going out. ‘Sorry, can I help you?’
He ordered a plate of beignets and a cup of coffee. Aubrey came in as I was handing him his change. ‘Hope you’ll come again.’
He smiled. He had big teeth and big brown eyes with just a hint of green around the edges. His hair was swept back. ‘Maybe. To tell you the truth, I was going to try that Karma Koffee place across the street.’ He pointed with his thumb.
I cheered up. He’d chosen me over my erstwhile competition. I was winning.
‘But the line was so long I decided to come over here.’
I cheered down. I was losing. ‘Well,’ I said, trying not to sound or look like a deflated day-old birthday balloon, ‘I hope you’ll stop in again.’
He offered me an encouraging smile. ‘I’m only here to visit my sister. I have some sad news for her actually. I thought I’d tell her in person.’
Aubrey grabbed an apron and joined me. I asked her to run a quick inventory in back. Tomorrow was order day. ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’ I wiped the counter with my towel. ‘Anybody I know?’
‘You tell me,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Lisa.’
I blanched. ‘Lisa?’ I gulped.
He nodded. ‘Yep. Lisa Willoughby.’
‘Lisa Willoughby,’ I said, my tongue thick, my blood draining to my toes. Whatever sad news it was he had to share with his sister, Lisa, couldn’t be any sadder than Lisa’s own news.
‘That’s right. I’m Houston.’ His eyes looked troubled. ‘Are you OK? Is something wrong?’
I twisted the rag in my hand. ‘How long have you been in Table Rock?’
He cocked his head. ‘Just got here. Drove in from Santa Fe. Got up early to beat the holiday traffic and it still took me five or six hours. I’m starving and in need of coffee.’ He looked pointedly at the French coffee press.
‘You’re in luck,’ I poured him a cup of coffee and set it on the counter. ‘I’ve been told my coffee is strong enough to bench press two-fifty.’
He took a sip and sighed. ‘Exactly what I needed.’
‘So,’ I said again, ‘just got here, huh?’
‘Yep.’ He took a larger gulp. ‘Why?’
What was I supposed to say? Houston, we have a problem?
What was I supposed to do? Tell him his sister was dead?
Aubrey came around the corner. ‘Hey, Maggie, I finished the inventory. I forgot to mention, I saw the paper this morning. You must be truly, truly relieved.’
‘What?’ I turned to face my young assistant. I was still feeling stunned and totally, totally awkward. ‘Why?’
She chuckled. ‘Because the police let Clive go, silly. Out on bail, anyway.’ She checked the coins in the till. ‘I don’t think they really suspected that Clive pushed Lisa Willoughby down the stairs and murdered her.’ She chuckled some more. ‘I know I don’t!’
Thud.
Houston, we have a problem.