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A
t about half-past nine o’clock on Wednesday morning, Malcolm Pridemore came into the café. He looked around the dining room.
“That unpleasant little man who was rude the first day I patronized your establishment isn’t here, is he?”
I hid a smile as I recalled that Homer was “rude” to Mr. Pridemore because Mr. Pridemore had been rude to us. “No, sir. He won’t be in for another hour or so.”
“Good.” Mr. Pridemore sniffed. “Normally, I could tolerate his drivel well enough, but today I have a headache.”
I noticed the man did look a tad pale. “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe some coffee will help.”
“I do hope so, Ms. Flowers. I spent most of yesterday going through one solitary room—the dining room—sorting Gladys’ things. You can’t imagine the sheer tediousness of that task.”
“No, I can’t.” I poured Mr. Pridemore’s coffee. “I certainly don’t envy you.”
“I brought a box of cookbooks that were at the bottom of the china cabinet. I thought you might like to put them to good use.”
“How considerate.” I raised my hand to my throat. “Thank you.”
“You’d like them then?” he asked.
At my nod, he looked around the dining room until he spotted Luis and Scott clearing off some tables. “Perhaps one of these strong young men would carry the box in from the passenger side of my car? It’s the black sedan parked in the handicapped space.”
“I’ll do it,” Scott said.
“I appreciate that.” Mr. Pridemore used his key fob to unlock the car.
“I’m not surprised Ms. Pridemore had so many cookbooks,” I said, “given her allergy and everything.”
“Her allergy?” he asked.
“Yes. The potato allergy.”
He raised his bushy eyebrows. “You know, I’d forgotten all about that. Our families didn’t dine together often.”
Scott brought the box inside and placed it on the counter beside the register. I went over to get a closer look at its contents. I certainly didn’t need more cookbooks, but I couldn’t resist them. Besides, I’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“May I take your order, Mr. Pridemore?” Jackie asked. “With Amy having her head in those books, who knows how long it’ll be before she comes up for air.”
Mr. Pridemore ordered in his usual persnickety way. I wasn’t even paying attention.
“These look fantastic,” I said, as I lifted each book out of the box and gave it a cursory examination. There was a cookbook by Dorie Greenspan, one by Julia Child, a vegetarian cookbook...this box truly was a find.
Mr. Pridemore tasted his coffee. “And I believe you’ll agree they’re a bargain at only thirty dollars for the lot.”
“What was that?” I asked.
Jackie snorted and had to rush into the kitchen to cover her laughter. Luis’s back was turned, but I could see his shoulders shaking. I was willing to give the man thirty dollars for the books...and I wanted to cover my embarrassment in thinking Mr. Pridemore was gifting me the books. After all, he was correct that they were well worth that amount.
Scott had other ideas. He decided to negotiate. “Amy will give you fifteen for the entire box, or she can go through and pick which ones she wants. You can give her the individual prices of the books she chooses, and you can take the others back with you.”
“No, indeed. I’ll not take any detritus back into that house,” Malcolm Pridemore said. “Fifteen dollars plus twenty percent off my meal.”
“It’s a deal,” I said quickly.
As soon as Malcolm Pridemore left the café, Scott pulled me aside. “I’m sorry I overstepped about the books, but that old dude ticks me off. Guess what I saw in his car?”
“What?” In my imagination, it could be anything from a severed head to a bright pink tutu...though I’d have been more shocked to learn that it was a tutu. A tutu would likely mean that Mr. Pridemore had a granddaughter, and I had a tough time imagining Mr. Pridemore as a doting grandpa. Did the fact that I could more easily imagine Mr. Pridemore as a murderer say more about him or about me?
“A bunch of expensive stuff,” Scott said. “There was a sterling silver tea set—the real thing because it needed to be polished, a camera, figurines, dishes...”
“Maybe he’s having to sell some things to pay off the estate’s debts,” I said. “Or maybe she left those things to him in her will.” My brain caught up to the items Scott had mentioned. “Did you say he had a camera?”
He nodded.
“What kind of camera?” I asked.
“It looked like one of those that spits out the picture as soon as you take it and then develops right in front of you,” he said.
“That’s weird.”
“Dude...right?” He crossed his arms. “We need to let somebody know Malcolm Pridemore is making off with all that stuff.”
“I’ll talk to Ryan about it,” I said. “Thanks.”
Scott saw that Homer was walking toward the door, so he uncrossed his arms and hurried over to open the door. “Hi, Guru Guy. We’re glad to see your friendly face.”
“I appreciate that,” Homer said. “Like the author Robert Louis Stevenson, I believe a man is successful if he has lived well, laughed often, and loved much.”
“Well, some people enjoy going around like an old grump,” Scott said.
“Good morning, Homer.” I brought him a cup of coffee. “I’ll get started on your sausage biscuit.”
“Thank you.” Homer turned back to Scott. “Mr. Stevenson also said, ‘Everybody, soon or late, sits down to a banquet of consequences.’ Which means we all sometimes have to eat a little crow.” He chuckled. “I added that last bit myself.”
I WAS RELIEVED TO GET home on Wednesday afternoon. It had seemed like an extra long day. After I fed the pets, I soaked in a warm Epsom salt bath. When I got out of the tub, I put on white satin pajamas. I didn’t care that it was not even six o’clock yet. I had no intention of leaving the house again until morning.
I ate an egg salad sandwich and then pulled the box of Gladys Pridemore’s cookbooks over to the sofa. Princess Eloise had taken up residence on the windowsill, and Rory was playing in the backyard. It was a peaceful evening.
The first cookbook I plucked from the box was filled with delicious sounding French recipes: Croque monsieur, chicken Provençal, steak au poivre, coq au vin. I recalled Mom telling me once that coq au vin must’ve been the ultimate sophisticated dish to 1960s television writers because it was served on episodes of both Bewitched and The Dick Van Dyke Show. I wasn’t sure the Down South Café patrons were ready for coq-au-vin-level elegance, so I put the French cookbook aside for the time being.
The second book on the stack was titled Recipe for a Cooked Goose Plus Other Dishes for Life. The image on the front cover was that of a cartoon goose with black Xs for eyes. I thought that was a terribly unappetizing graphic to put on a cookbook.
But when I opened the book, I realized that it wasn’t a cookbook at all. The recipes were actually verses or compositions for living. There was a section called For A Happy Family and included a recipe for a happy home. The recipe called for cups of love, kindness, laughter, and forgiveness.
It was in the Recipes for Disaster section that I found the titular dish.
Cooked Goose
Ingredients:
1 cup boredom
2 cups temptation
1 heaping tablespoon delusion
A liberal dash of arrogance
Serve with indiscretion. Voila! Your goose is cooked!
I smiled and thought Mom and Aunt Bess would get a kick out of this book. I closed the thin volume and was placing it onto the end table when something nearly fell out from between the pages. The corner of the object made me think it might be an index card, but when I pulled it out, I could see that it was a photo.
The picture had been taken from some distance away, but I could tell that the man in the photograph was HJ Ostermann. He was laughing with a woman. Although they had their heads close together, I could see that he was with Fran, the woman he’d brought into the café on the day I’d met Scott. Fran’s hair was longer in the photo, and the image appeared to have been captured in the early spring. Had HJ been involved with Fran while he was still married? Could that be why his parents blamed him for the divorce?
I held the book upside down and flipped the pages. More photographs fell onto my lap. I’d been right about Ms. Pridemore having a camera. Of course, Scott had been right too—while the instant camera Ms. Pridemore had used had a zoom lens, the quality wasn’t the best. Still, I could imagine they served their purpose.
I examined each of the pictures. In one, Harry appeared to be hiding something under a rock outside the barn. There was a photo of a field—just an empty, weedy lot. The image was slightly blurred, and I wondered why Ms. Pridemore had even kept it. Maybe she thought it proved that the Ostermanns weren’t properly caring for the property. After all, Sarah said Ms. Pridemore had been hoping to break the lease-to-own agreement. The final photo was of Nadine and Scott embracing. My heart sank. Proof of an affair was certainly a motive for murder.
THE NEXT MORNING, SHERIFF Billings came in for breakfast.
“Molly still not back from her sister’s house yet?” Jackie asked.
“Not yet,” he said. “But her sister has a doctor’s appointment today. I’m hoping it’ll be good news and that Molly will be heading back home this weekend.”
“I hope so too.” I filled his coffee cup, and then lowered my voice. “I have something to bring you after work.”
“Good. What is the special of the day?”
“It’s meatloaf, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” I looked around to make sure everyone was busy and that no one—especially Scott—was listening. “I might have new evidence in the Gladys Pridemore case.” I raised my voice back to a normal volume. “Besides you and Ryan, is there anyone else working this evening?”
“Our dispatcher will be there.”
I smiled. “I’ll bring enough for everybody.”
After that, I went back into the kitchen and didn’t come out until Homer arrived.
“Man, I hope you can cheer Amy up today,” Scott said to Homer as soon as the man walked through the door. “She’s been in Dumpsville all morning.”
I had not been in Dumpsville, but I was admittedly quieter and more reserved than usual. Jackie had also noticed and had asked me in the kitchen if I was feeling all right. I’d told her I was fine and that we’d chat later.
“I’m sorry you aren’t your typical sunny self, Amy,” Homer said. “It just so happens my hero today is the comedian Steven Wright.” He affected Wright’s lethargic style of speech. “’Curiosity killed the cat...but for a while, I was a suspect.’”
“That’s funny,” I said, with a smile.
“’I had to stop driving my car for a while...the tires got dizzy.’”
That quote made my laughter bubble up and spill over.
“Way to go.” Scott clapped Homer on the back. “That’s the first laugh—and nearly the first smile—I’ve seen out of Amy all day.”
“Glad I could help dispel the doldrums,” Homer said.
“No doldrums,” I assured him. “I’m busy—that’s all. I’ll have your sausage biscuit ready in a few.”
As I went into the kitchen to prepare Homer’s meal, I wondered if Steven Wright really was Homer’s hero of the day or if he’d pulled the quotes out of thin air simply to make me laugh. I was convinced that Homer had a photographic memory and that’s why he could remember all those quotes so easily. Of course, Mr. Wright had once theorized that everyone has a photographic memory, but not everybody had film.
I’d have given Homer an extra sausage biscuit free of charge, but that would’ve thrown the man off course. I didn’t have the heart to do that, especially since he’d been so eager to improve my state of mind. He couldn’t help the fact that I had evidence in my purse that gave all the Ostermanns and Scott—the best server I’d ever had besides Jackie—strong motives for murder.
AFTER WE’D CLOSED THE café and were cleaning up, Scott tried to engage me in conversation. He was determined to cajole me out of my bad mood.
“Guru Guy was able to make you laugh, but then you were all down again,” he said. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
I thought of a way to speak with Scott about Gladys Pridemore. “Yesterday evening, I was looking through those cookbooks that Malcolm Pridemore brought, and I got upset.”
“Because he acted like they were a gift and then made you pay for them?”
“No. The books were worth what I paid for them and then some.” I turned up the chair in front of me and placed it on the table to facilitate mopping. Luis typically did this job, but he’d had to leave early to pick up one of his siblings from school. “Jackie and I found Ms. Pridemore on the day she died. I can’t help but think that she’d still be alive if we’d arrived earlier.”
Scott came around the table and put his arm around me. “You can’t beat yourself up about that. There’s no way you could’ve saved that woman.”
“How do you know?”
“A few minutes either way couldn’t have made that much of a difference...right?” he asked. “And, either way, you can’t change it.”
“Working with the Ostermanns, you must’ve known Ms. Pridemore. I’d never set eyes on her until that day. What was she like?”
Scott moved away from me and resumed putting chairs atop tables. “I never met her either.”
I went back to helping stack the chairs, but I wasn’t ready to let the subject go. He’d asked me to talk. Someone should’ve warned Scott to be careful what he wished for. “What about the Ostermanns? How did they feel about her?”
“I guess they liked her okay.” He kept his eyes downcast.
“Was she a good landlord?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” I moved to another table. “Here you are trying to cheer me up, and I’ve brought you down.”
“No, you haven’t. I just...” He shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t know Ms. Pridemore.”
“So, tell me about HJ,” I said.”How in the world did he break an animatronic spider?”
Scott met my eyes and grinned. “The idiot tripped and fell on it.”
“I can understand that.” I continued putting chairs on tables. “Unless it’s a super clear night, it’s really dark in that maze...and then there are the fog machines. It’s a wonder more people don’t trip.”
“Oh, no. We make sure there’s nothing in the guests’ way. HJ was drunk when he fell and broke the spider.”
“Really? Oh, wow.” I laughed. “No wonder he didn’t want his dad to find out.”
“Harry would’ve been enraged. He hates that HJ drinks too much.” Scott put the last chair up and surveyed the dining room to make sure we got them all. “I’ll get the mop.”
JACKIE AND I WERE THE last to leave. I could tell she’d been dawdling in order to speak with me.
“Have you made a decision about the partnership?” I asked as I put the deposit into the bank envelope.
“No, I’m still thinking about that. But I overheard your conversation with Scott.” She put her hand on my arm. “Have you really been that distressed about Gladys Pridemore’s death?”
I retrieved my purse from beneath the counter. “These were in one of Ms. Pridemore’s cookbooks.” I spread the photographs out for Jackie to see.
“So, you were trying to find out what Scott knows,” she said.
“Yes.” I tapped the picture of Scott and Nadine. “Don’t you agree this makes him more suspicious?”
“I don’t know.” She picked up the photo to examine it more closely. “I think it makes Nadine look bad.” She held the photograph closer to me. “Scott doesn’t appear to be enjoying this kiss. Look at where his hands are—they’re on Nadine’s shoulders as if he’s trying to push her away.”
“I didn’t notice that.” I sighed. “Still, if Gladys Pridemore was threatening to show this photo to Harry Ostermann, it gives both Nadine and Scott motive to kill her. Mr. Ostermann’s high school football team didn’t call him Big Harry ironically.”
“Good point,” Jackie said. “You like Scott, don’t you?”
“I did. He’s a great worker, and I thought that if Shelly needed to go part-time to be with her mom more, Scott would be a valuable addition to the Down South Café team.”
“Yeah.” She smiled slightly. “The customers love him...the old ones and the younger ones too.”
I recalled Ryan’s warning and said, “They’d have loved Ted Bundy too.”
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