Chapter Four

Avoiding the parade of church-goers and the small talk was another perk of playing for the service. I was decked out in a nice green dress and brown flats. My hair was pulled back and the choir ladies had commented approvingly. We hung out in the back until service started, so no doubt Gran was fielding all sorts of questions about where I was.

She was most definitely telling them where I was with pride. For me, it was about the music and maybe the cute pastor. But a little bit of it had to be about acceptance too. None of the choir ladies had asked about my mother or father. They’d only made polite conversation about my time in Atlanta so far.

“Ready, ladies?” Luke walked out, looking very sharp in a dark gray suit.

Service began and I tried not to think about anything but the music and my cues.

When playing piano, I could easily get lost in the music. Any sort of music, really. I liked a variety, but even tried and true church music was fine when I needed a break from reality. Playing at church had only one problem—it meant most of the town was there and watching. Gossip that I was back had surely spread on day one, but now I was on display.

My focus remained on sitting up straight and not playing so loudly that I overpowered the choir. The sermon about the prodigal son seemed a bit prickly and on point.

Finally, the service was nearly over. I wouldn’t be a novelty anymore and we could just be normal.

“A few closing remarks and announcements. I’d like to thank Belle Baxter for taking up the piano duties for our service and choir. She’s expanding the menu over at Bea Baxter’s shop, so check out the smoothies and coffee offerings. It’s lovely to have family businesses in town and we should support them. Wholesome homemade baked goods and an array of beverages that are kid-friendly—we need more of that. One last reminder to be the olive branch for your own prodigal sons and daughters and to support those who return. Go with God.” Pastor nodded.

I played some music as people filed out, but my fingers wanted to hit the keys harder than I should. Was I prodigal? The sales plug seemed like charity. I tried to remember my marketing, that there was no such thing as bad publicity. I glanced at the crowd and felt their stares.

One man caught my eye, and he wasn’t staring at me with pity or annoyance.

That guitar player who was the new deputy, according to Katie. Handsome and sitting alone—in church. If he was single, he wouldn’t be for long.

I also spotted Lurlene and her family. She sat with her parents and sister, who’d already gotten married. That must’ve stung. Surely Gran had mentioned the wedding, but I blocked out most of that information about them to keep my sanity.

I pressed my lips together to avoid smiling. Lurlene was staring at the pastor like he was next on her list. Good luck!

After church, there was a social hour of sorts with coffee and pastries. Gran, of course, had brought some preserves and rolls.

After chatting with the choir ladies, who seemed pleased, I tried to sneak out.

“Belle, you have to stay and mingle,” the pastor said.

“Thanks, but that boost you gave the shop will probably create a stampede,” I said.

“I wanted to help get the word out.” He blushed.

Oh, was he crushing on me while Lurlene circled him like a vulture? That was the last thing I needed—but it was awfully nice.

“I appreciate the mention—we’ll have to have you over for dinner. But you don’t need to say anything again. It’s a small town and people know everything about everything so quickly. I don’t want people thinking that I’m looking for charity. You understand.”

“See you at practice and next week,” he replied.

“Sure. Thank you.” I found Gran and hustled her away to the shop.

 

* * * *

 

The shop wasn’t packed, but it was certainly busier. I liked the Danish that Gran had made for the day and my smoothies were a hit. Kids dragged their parents in, using the pastor as an excuse. If it was good enough for a man of the cloth…right?

Gran beamed when the pastor came in and ordered a large mint julep smoothie.

It slowed down around noon. Sunday lunch or dinner with the family, depending on schedules, was a thing. But Gran had packed us a picnic basket of fried chicken and homemade mashed potatoes. Comfort food, if a bit traditional.

“This is so good, Gran,” I said.

She grinned. “I don’t know why we needed to leave the church so fast. I like socializing.”

“Sorry, but after the pastor’s remarks, I knew we’d have some kids at least wanting to try something new.” I stood up a little straighter. “Next week you can hang back and talk up the specials for that day.”

“I can do that. I’m not sure how much business you’ll get this afternoon. Family time,” she warned.

I finished my lunch then put the silverware back in the basket. After tossing out the trash, I washed my hands. “I know, but your hours are until four, so we might as well see. Some parents might make the kids wait until after lunch and the smoothie is like a dessert.”

Gran straightened up the counter. “Smart. The boys will be in soon. They always visit after lunch at the diner. They’re so predictable.”

“Why don’t you go to lunch with them?” I asked.

“I used to, but you’re here now.” She grabbed my hand.

“Gran, you don’t have to change your life for me. I want you to enjoy your friends and everything. I just want to be here if you need me.” I wiped down the counter.

“I’m not helpless. I’m not arguing, because I like having you back, but I’m fine. You didn’t need to move. Sometimes I get tired when I have too much to do and I forget one thing. One time I forgot to fold the laundry in the dryer for a whole week. I wondered why I was running so low on towels.” She chuckled.

“Then don’t let me stop you from going out to lunch with the boys next week. I don’t think we’ll have a lunch rush and I can grab something from the diner or pack my own lunch.” I wanted her to enjoy her golden years, but the reality was that things wouldn’t get better. She’d forget more and grow more tired—I’d rather be here than get a terrifying call.

The door opened and Gran’s four men piled in. Her smile said it all. They’d brought her pudding from the diner.

I fussed over cleaning the already clean blenders so Gran and her harem could all chat without including me. Since when am I the fifth wheel, or sixth in this case? At least she hadn’t been lonely without me.

The door opened again and a bunch of people poured in.

“We talked you up to the diner crowd,” Joe said.

“Thanks,” I replied.

Half an hour of nonstop flavored coffees and smoothies and I was beat.

Just as I checked the time, hoping to flip the sign on the door, Sheriff Monroe and his wife strolled in.

“Good afternoon. What can I get for you?” I asked.

“Been behaving yourself?” The sheriff answered my question with a question.

I was on my best behavior. “Absolutely. Working and playing piano in church. We missed you there.”

His wife shot him a look. “I had a migraine but managed to kick it.”

“That’s good. We have a triple berry or a mint julep smoothie, or flavored coffees on top of Gran’s usual delights.” I gestured to the food, but it was getting late in the day for that. The pastries were probably a tad stale by now.

“I’ll try the berry,” Mrs. Monroe said. “This is something new, but do you think the trends will last?’

I put my hands on my hips and gave a moment’s thought. “Adapting to what people want is part of the business. Some people have asked for blended coffee drinks.”

“I’ll try a mint julep,” the sheriff ordered.

I blended up the drinks and handed them over. The sheriff reached for his wallet.

“No, no charge for police,” Gran insisted.

She was sharp when she wanted to be. It was common practice.

“No need. That’s kind, but we like to help.” The sheriff tried to pay.

I shook my head with a polite smile. “On the house. You heard the boss.”

“Thanks.” They sipped their drinks, seemed pleased and headed out.

Behind them was the twelve-string guitar player guy.

“Hello again,” he said.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” I replied.

He reached out a hand. “Gus Haywood. I saw you at the bar.”

“Right, you were playing. I’m Belle Baxter. Gran and her entourage are over there.” I pointed.

Gran waved. “Nice to have some new men around.”

“Katie said you’re a new deputy, I believe. Unless I’m mixing up the band members.” I didn’t want to seem fixated on the new guy. All the band members were new to me anyway.

“No, that’s me. I’m not really a part of that band. I just like to sit in. It’s good practice. Like you in church,” he said.

“Yes, practice never hurts. What can I get you?” I offered.

“I’ll try the mint julep. Interesting little town,” he said.

I blended his drink and gave it to him with a bit of a chuckle. “How is Sweet Grove interesting?”

“Not many chain restaurants.”

“True, we support local businesses more. There are a few fast-food places on the outskirts of town by the expressway ramps. Main Street doesn’t allow it,” I explained.

“It’s nice, but I do miss a good coffee drive-thru. They’re everywhere in Atlanta and Nashville.”

I looked around. “You’re from Atlanta? I went to college there and worked for a bit. How funny.”

“Small world. I started out there. Moved to Tennessee and worked in Nashville.” He shrugged.

“Big cities,” I countered.

“What brought you here?” Milan asked.

Gus chuckled. “I got tired of the big city. I grew up in the suburbs of Atlanta, but big-city police politics isn’t what I’m interested in. I wanted to help people. Get to know the people.”

“You might not need as much coffee. Things are a bit slower around here,” Gran said.

“Caffeine is my only addiction. I can’t give it up,” he said.

“Not sure I can make this a drive-thru, but I’m considering getting a fancy coffee machine. I worked at a Starbucks in college, so I know how to make anything, though I’d customize it my own way, of course. Still, I need the right machine. Good to know there is some demand. People might judge you for your fancy coffee,” I warned him.

He chuckled. “I’m not worried about that. Caffeine is necessary and trying a variety keeps things interesting.”

“If you’re easily bored, you might not like Sweet Grove,” Milan called out.

I studied Gus when he went over and introduced himself to Gran’s gentlemen friends. He had a casual but positive energy. He chatted easily with the seniors and came over, reaching for his wallet.

“I didn’t forget,” he said.

“Nope, on the house. Gran doesn’t charge law enforcement,” I said.

“Thanks, but I haven’t officially started yet,” Gus replied.

“Then it’s a welcome-to-town drink,” Gran added.

“Hopefully I’ll get that coffee machine and you’ll be a regular,” I suggested.

He put a five-dollar bill on the counter. “You need a tip jar.”

“No, that’s silly for a bakery shop,” Gran said.

“Thank you, Mr. Haywood. He’s right, Gran, donut shops in Atlanta have them. All the coffee places do,” I shared.

“Call me Gus.” He lifted his drink as he headed for the door.

“Deputy,” Joe suggested.

Gus sighed. “Soon enough.”

“Deputy,” I agreed. When the seniors used titles for respect, I wasn’t going to push past that to more familiar terms. But Gus sounded better.

The door jingled and closed.

“He’s handsome and well-mannered,” Gran said.

“Unlike most of the deputies,” Freddie chuckled.

“The sheriff will love him. Big-city experience and not in it for power.” I cleaned up the blenders.

“You got that right,” Milan scoffed. “Unless people like him better than the sheriff.”

“Are you guys taking Gran out for dinner?” I teased.

“Oh no, she never does big dinner stuff because she has to work so early. We’ll take her to lunch tomorrow,” Joe replied.

“Okay, good. I’ll make pasta.” I needed a routine and was going to make plans. I grabbed one of Gran’s large empty preserve jars and set it on the counter. Dropping the five-dollar bill in the jar, I couldn’t argue with the suggestion. I didn’t label the jar for tips, but having it out was a signal. This was my business now too and we had to play to some of the trends while keeping the small-town feel.

 

* * * *

 

Monday morning, I still had mint julep on the menu and the berries were still good. I prepped the coffee and hummed, hoping Deputy Gus might stop in again.

Gran arranged her cinnamon rolls along with her traditional biscuits.

“Some people like biscuits and gravy,” I mentioned.

“It’s the south, dear. Lots of people do.” Gran sipped her own coffee.

“But you’re one of the best cooks in Tennessee. You could put out your gravy one morning just for a change,” I said.

She chuckled. “This is a preserves shop, not a breakfast stand.”

“I know, but I’m adding smoothies and coffee. Making one morning all about your famous biscuits and gravy might bring people in,” I said.

“Your drinks are nice things to accompany the breakfast goodies. Which accent my preserves.”

Only my Gran could believe she’d sustain a shop on her preserves alone. I’d told her many times to do that out of her house and at fests over the summer. She liked her storefront.

It was five minutes before opening time and someone knocked on the door.

I peeked through the beige blinds and it was Milan.

I opened the door and all four guys piled in.

“Oh dear, you’re not going to believe it,” Freddie said.

“What?” I brushed off my apron decorated with large pictures of fruit and tossed it behind the counter.

“Bea, it’s not a good day,” Joe warned.

“What is it? We’re not mind readers,” she replied.

“Sheriff Monroe is dead,” Milan announced.

“What?” Gran and I gasped together.

“Well, shut my mouth,” I muttered.

“He started vomiting and complaining of stomach pain after dinner last night. His wife had him rushed to the hospital in Nashville. He died on the way,” Freddie sighed.

Gran sat down with the guys. “Nashville. What’s wrong with our little hospital here?”

“You know how she is. The city is better,” Milan replied.

“Well, there are more medical resources there. But if you don’t make it there in time, it’s no good.” I tried not to worry about what Gran might need one day.

“They’re doing an autopsy. He had his physical a month ago and he was fine,” Joe said.

I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Law enforcement requires annual physicals for insurance and everything. I’m a former deputy,” Freddie explained.

“Weird that he got sick so fast,” I said.

“He wasn’t in the best shape. A heart attack can come out of nowhere.” Gran refilled her coffee.

“They’re saying he was vomiting, and a bunch of other stuff suddenly. Mrs. Monroe swears it was poison.” Milan shook his head.

“I’m sure the deputies will be investigating the restaurant where they had dinner.” I flipped the sign on the door and opened it since the weather was nice.

There was no one out there.

“I’m not sure you’ll get much business today.” Freddie frowned.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Just then Deputy Henshaw walked in.

“Good morning. Mrs. Baxter.” He tipped his hat. “Belle, sorry.”

“Morning, Deputy. You’re sorry about what exactly?” Mike Henshaw and I had been in high school together. He’d been popular and I hadn’t, but he’d never been really mean like some. Still, he was being extra nice now.

“I’m afraid we need to confiscate your blenders and ingredients for the mint julep smoothies. For further testing. I’m sure it’s all fine,” he said.

“What? Plenty of people had smoothies. Was he allergic to anything? There’s no nuts or anything in there, but people can be allergic to anything,” I rambled.

“No allergies, according to his doc, and there was no visible allergic reaction.” Mike shook his head.

“You can’t think…” I was a suspect? “It’s crazy. I had no ax to grind with him.”

“I know, but we have to be thorough. The medical examiner is running a tox screen and they’re going to check everything, but we can’t let anyone destroy evidence—just in case,” Mike said.

“Take what you want, but that other deputy had the same thing right after the sheriff,” Gran scolded.

“Which deputy?” Mike asked.

“Gus. He said he hasn’t officially started yet.” I gestured to behind the counter. “Help yourself. Can we still serve coffee and preserves?”

“Sheriff have any yesterday?” Mike asked.

“No,” Gran replied.

“Then you’re fine. We’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as we can, I promise. We had to shut down the restaurant to be sure. That’s a lot of testing and sampling. This is crazy. I can’t believe he’s gone.” Mike adjusted his hat.

“I’m so sorry he’s gone, but no one else reported any illness from anything they had here. I didn’t do anything differently. I have nothing against the sheriff.” I shrugged.

“We know he pulled you over your first night back,” Mike replied.

“He’s pulled nearly everyone in town over at one point or another. Plus, he let me off with a warning. It wasn’t a big deal,” I said.

“He said you were really annoyed with him.” Mike went out and returned with a box.

Gran huffed. “The sheriff ate terribly and smoked when his wife wasn’t looking.”

“Then the autopsy will show it, Gran. We have nothing to hide,” I said.

“That’s the right attitude. We’ll take a more formal statement later, but right now I just need to take possession before evidence is destroyed. I’ll be out of your way in a few.” Mike went behind the counter.

I sat in the front without customers. Was this a sign?

My phone binged. I expected a message from Katie. Instead it was a notification that my coffee machine had shipped.

Perfect timing!