Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (11 page)

“Which one?”

William ran a hand over his wet hair.
“The green one behind Regina’s.”

If they found something that connected William to the crime scene, he’d really be looking guilty. But Regina’s Dumpster was further down the alley from the Goose. Aidan’s body had been halfway between the mouth of the alley and the Goose.

“And then?”

“I realized I couldn’t stay there forever; I got out and came home.”

The logical question popped into mind. “How long were you in there?”

“I don’t know. Twenty minutes.”

“Why did you change your clothes?”

Something in William’s eyes went cautious. I was sure he was wondering why so many questions. It was time to tell him.

“Aidan was found shot to death in the alley behind the Goose.” I kept going, not wanting to give him time to line up excuses. “Did you see or hear anything during your time in that alley?”

I watched him good. He blinked,
then
blinked again, then a smile curved his lips and he spit a giggle. “I don’t know. No. I-I heard some talking, but I didn’t look to see who it was. Who shot him?”

“That’s our question, and one the chief will want you to answer for him. Did anyone see you?”

William was following my thinking. “You mean, can anyone verify I was near the place where the murder occurred? Are they thinking I did it,
LaTisha
?”

“There are a lot of tests they have to conduct first.”

“What if I don’t have an alibi or witness?”

“Then your goose is cooked.”

Chapter Eleven

“I’m disappointed,” Hardy said, working his mouth back and forth, as we pulled out of William’s driveway.

His words barely registered in my brain. William admitted to being in a Dumpster in that alley. Time of death was a critical factor in deciding whether or not the murder had occurred while he was in the Dumpster. The medical examiner would have a good idea within a few minutes of examining the body. We’d have to play the waiting game.

“Me too.
I wish I’d had more information going into that interview.”

Hardy slapped his knee and sounded like he was choking. I slammed on the brakes and pulled him upright to check his breathing.

His eyes twinkled.

“What are you doing scaring me like that? I thought you were choking. And why are you laughing like two kinds of hyena?”

“I said I was disappointed,” he paused and ran a finger over his lower gums. A little groan escaped. “I meant because he didn’t offer us another one of those nice mochas he gave us last time.”

Come to think of it, a hot mocha would have been nice.
Off diet, like the spaghetti, but nice.
“We’ll get you one at home. Since when are you hooked on mochas?”

He shrugged and sagged in his seat, bouncing up and down as we bumped our way out of William’s driveway. “At least we won’t have a house guest anymore,” I pointed out.

“William doesn’t seem quite right,” Hardy said in a low voice, like it pained him to make such an observation. Knowing his tender heart, it did.

“I’ve noticed.” I pulled out onto smooth pavement. Hardy was rubbing his jaw again and I knew all the
novocaine
and whatever else they had given
him
was gone for good. I pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal.

Our house seemed like a distant memory after the events of the day. I opened the side door, greeted by the smells of a breakfast omelet, hash browns, and toast. Hardy inhaled deeply, and I knew if he’d been feeling perkier, he’d be rubbing his belly and trying to figure out what he could eat.

I glanced at my kitchen clock, a collage of the faces of my babies, a present from three, maybe four Christmases ago.
Outdated now that I’d added so many grandbabies but still my favorite present.
Well, one of my favorites. For my college graduation, my children had given me a fingerprint kit. Hardy and I had fingerprinted the entire family and I had to order refills.

The clock was more practical, reminding me of the time, and of all those whom I loved and loved me in return. I still had time to fix Hardy up before beating it back to the restaurant. Following up on the whereabouts of the mayor after he left the Goose would have to wait, unfortunately.

I pulled out a frozen portion of my chicken soup, minus veggies, since I knew I’d better prepare for Hardy’s mouth to be sore, and popped it in the microwave to defrost. I ushered Hardy into the living room and he popped the pills and gulped them down with a splash of water.
Didn’t take much prompting after that for him to stretch out on the sofa.
He’d be asleep in minutes. Covering him with a fleece blanket, I made up an ice puppy for him to put on his mouth if he needed it, sealed it in a plastic bag and set it on the table next to the sofa.

I checked the soup and decided it was thawed enough to give it full power and let it rotate to a boil. Within minutes I had a steaming cup of chicken broth for Hardy. He was fast asleep when I set it on the dark walnut coffee table we’d had since our third anniversary. His nose would pick up the scent and he’d be at it in a few minutes. I beat it out the door.

At this rate, we needed to hire someone to help us out at the restaurant. I was
wore
out. For the first time, I considered this business might not be what I wanted to do after all.
Loved, loved, loved working to bring people good food.
Healthy food.
But another day like today, with William leaving me to foot the lunch rush—or leg it, as Lester would no doubt remind me—and Hardy in the dental chair and out of operation, and I just might put the Goose up for sale.

When I walked into the restaurant, I smelled the pork, and my ideas about selling the place blurred. All I wanted to do was to hurry up with the sauerkraut and mashed potatoes, not to mention the gravy.
Healthy gravy.
William had left some bread in the freezer, so I took it out to let it thaw.

Within an hour, I had things under control and it was time to open. The bell rang, signaling my first customer. I slid the lid back on the roaster full of pork,
then
peeked to see who was in line. Elizabeth Buchanan stood at the podium, waiting patiently.

One thing I’ve discovered is that there are two types of customers, those who will wait patiently, resigned to their seating fate, and those who demand certain tables or views and are just egotistical enough to force the issue to get their way. Betsy
Taser
is a case in point.

But Elizabeth’s tired eyes and thin body were a reflection of the tough months she’d just come through. With the death of her little girl, she was a ghost of the woman she used to be. Hope deferred
maketh
a heart sick, I believe the Bible says. Elizabeth’s hope for healing was deferred.
Permanently.
At least until she got to heaven. It made my heart bleed to think on all the special times she’d never get to see. No watching her girl fall in love. No bridal showers or damp hankies at a beautiful wedding ceremony. No grandchildren.
Ever.

Elizabeth and I didn’t even bother with words. I spread my arms and tucked her right into my embrace, stroking her head and letting the Holy Spirit whisper the prayers for this woman, because I had no words. There is no verbal balm for a person who has lost her only
child,
only the hope of time’s healing.

When we finally parted, she was dry-eyed, but shadows were there. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you,
LaTisha
.”

“None of that now.
Will George be joining you?”

Elizabeth hesitated, and I caught a glimpse of sadness. “He’s working.”

“Counter or table?”

“I’ll take a table, and a nice plate of whatever smells so heavenly.”

I filled her plate to the rim and paired it with a nice sweetened iced tea. When I brought it to her table, I offered, “Can I bring you a crusty loaf of bread to go with that?”

“This is enough for me.” She paused, head bowed over her plate. I watched for a second, some invisible string tying me in place, sensing how deflated of life she appeared. I was glad I stayed put when Elizabeth raised her eyes to mine. Fat tears were swelling.

Sometimes I don’t wait for an invitation. “Honey, whatever it is, you talk to
LaTisha
about it and we’ll pray.”

She blinked, releasing the salt to roll down her face. “George isn’t coming home.”

Now, I’ve got myself two ears and one mouth. God equips everyone like that, and I’ve heard said from a very reliable source that God designed us this way so we can listen twice as much as we talk. It wasn’t hard for me to figure that this was one of those listening times.

Elizabeth took a long drink of her tea. “He’s been working overtime to pay off some bills.” She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin and fork-cut a piece of the tender pork, but the bite never made it to her mouth and the fork sank back down to the table. When she stared down at her lap, I knew what was coming.

Nothing moves me faster than the pain of a crying heart. I scooted a chair around and sat, pulling her to me as her sobs worked their way to the surface. Instinctively, I knew these were not the sobs of her grief over Sara.

That’s when the doorbell let me know a new patron had arrived. I pulled back from Elizabeth and hollered out. “Grab a menu and seat yourself, I’m short-handed tonight.”

Lester Riley poked his head around the corner, looking fresh from the pasture. “You’re not going to inspect my boots?”

I heard a tinkling giggle that wasn’t Lester’s or Elizabeth’s. “Mary, you do the inspecting for me.”

Lester’s wife poked her head around the corner, saw me sitting with Elizabeth, and probably Elizabeth’s wet eyes, and marched a stocking-footed Lester to a table. “We’ll take care of things,” Mary assured. “I made Lester take his boots off outside. I don’t know what orneriness gets into
him,
he does it for me at home all the time.”

“
LaTisha
, I know you can’t stay and listen to me—”

I cut her off. “Honey, I went into the restaurant business so I could do two things. One, cook good food and, two, stay in touch with the community.”
And, Lord, thank you for reminding me of the latter one
. “William is out tonight and Hardy’s at home recovering from dental work, so it’s just me, but everything works out for the best only when you put people first.
In
Jesus’s
name.
Amen.”

Elizabeth’s lips curved into a smile. “Thank you for caring so much. I don’t know what I would have done without you and Lela and Hardy. Sara loved you all so much.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

“You
be
careful or you’re going to have me spilling salt all over this table.” I wiped away my tears. “Sara’s singing with the angels right now, honey. Now tell me about George. How is he doing paying off those bills?”

I watched color creep into her cheeks, and deep down inside, dread stirred.

“No need to be embarrassed. I thought they’d have to take me to emergency after we got the bill for flying Lela over to Children’s after her bicycle accident.” Then I made a real quick decision. “If it’s a job you need, I’m hiring.”

“
LaTisha
, really?
I was going to head into Denver tomorrow and see if there was anything I could do. George told me—” She clamped down hard on what she was going to say. I expected there was something brewing there, but didn’t push. It would come out soon enough.

“I can do better than that. I’m going to do us a fund-raiser for you and George to help with medical bills. I’ve already got a few things sorted out in my head, like selling my pepper relish, but I’m thinking on bringing William on board. Maybe he’ll sell some of his wonderful bread.”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth sagged open. She sat like that for a full twenty seconds before: “I don’t know what to say.”

I heaved to my feet. “Then don’t say a thing. It’s a done deal.”

Chapter Twelve

Elizabeth finished her meal and insisted on starting on the spot. Fine with me, I had about six people waiting to be seated by the time she was finished eating, and another seven or eight seated. She took command of the kitchen like she was born to it.