Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) (8 page)

“You want a drink to wash that salad down?”

“Sweet tea.”

“Coming right up.”
I marked the order on my pad as the bell on the door rattled. Lester Riley made his grand appearance in grungy overalls and boots, with a fresh cake of manure still on the heel. I held up my hand before he took two steps inside the door.

“You leave those feet outside unless you want to mop my floor.”

Lester’s eyes twinkled. “You need yourself a good boot scrape.”

I nodded.
“Got me one.
Outside this here door. You scrape those boots right off your feet and come on in. I’ll fill you up with enough spaghetti to warm your toes right up.”

Lester’s face brightened.
“Spaghetti!”
He backed out the door, almost running over Carl
Baereum
and Chief Conrad. “Out of my way boys,
LaTisha’s
got something against good, moist earth stuck to the bottom of my work boots.”

I nodded a greeting at Chief as he held the door for Lester’s exit.

“Don’t have a thing against good dirt, Lester Riley. You wanting to drag it through my restaurant
is
what gets me riled.”

Chief slid into a chair across from his wife, but not before laying one on her cheek. Just the way he ogled her you could tell his brain cells were depleting real quick, and when he covered her hand with his own, I figured I’d better get myself over there fast before they fell into each other. Still, it did my heart good to see love on display in all its finery.

“Afternoon, Chief.”

He tore his eyeballs away from Regina. “I haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu.”

“No need. Take a deep breath.”

He did. “Ah.”

“One plate of spaghetti and meatballs and a glass of sweet tea.”

Chief gave the briefest of nods and returned his attention to Regina. I hid a satisfied smile. Hardy and I had done our best to get the two together and it made me feel sunshine in my soul to see them so happy.

Lester Riley slipped back inside in his socks, one toe hanging out of a hole. He had the good grace to look ashamed. “Guess I need some new ones. Hate to throw away a pair of warm socks just because of a hole.”

“Looks like if you cut your toenails you might not get so many holes.
You want the counter or a table?”

“Counter, that way
me
and Hardy can chew the fat.” He aimed his rear toward the stool, his eyes scanning the area. “Where is the old boy?”

“Getting teeth.”

Lester’s eyes lit. “Ah. Fake ones are never the same as real.”

“I’m
guessin
’ some are better than none. You ready for your speech Thursday morning?”

He hiked himself up on the stool and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Got me some good ideas, but I’m not much with words. Say . . .”

I set down a coffee mug in front of him, figuring I knew where he was leading. “You want Lisa’s Winter Wonderland or Highlander
Grogg
?”

“I’ll try the
grogg
. Just give me an
eyepatch
and a peg-leg.
Argh
!”

I stared hard at that boy. “You sound like a heaving dog.” The brew sent up a wonderful cloud of scented steam as I poured. Loved the smell, hated the taste.

“You want to write my speech for me,
LaTisha
? You’ve always got such a way with words.”

“Just say it plain, Lester. Flowery speeches aren’t going to win voters. Tell us what you want to accomplish and outline how you plan on accomplishing those things. Leave the big words and double-talk to Eugene. And if you can think up a good way for the school to buy up that property, that’d be a feather in your cap.”

Lester sipped his coffee and waved away the menu I offered. “No more politics. Bring on those meatballs you were talking about.”

“Smart man.”

“I like to get mine while they’re piping hot and fresh,” Lester swiped a hand across his mouth. “And as soon as word gets out you’ve got spaghetti and meatballs, you’ll have yourself a regular stampede.”

Another jingle and a stream of townsfolk came in. Carl
Baereum
and Flossie Monroe squeezed through the door at the same time, got stuck, retreated, and tried again, this time with Carl allowing her to precede him. Flossie seemed on edge, eyes darting about,
lips
a firm line. Carl got stuck holding the door for Betsy
Taser
as she herded a rather grim Eugene.
Pardon.
Mayor
Taser
. Carl, resigned to holding the door for the group, came in last, scowling at Eugene’s back. I’m
guessin
’ their feud was still on and wondered what, exactly, had fueled the feud.

“Hello,
LaTisha
,” Betsy purred.

I laid a jaundiced eye on her. “Good afternoon, Betsy, honey.” She hated when I called her honey. Knowing Betsy’s airs, I could already feel myself heating toward critical.

I grabbed up two lunch menus and wondered if the disappearance of the normal mournful expression on Carl’s face as he chatted with Flossie meant something I needed to
be knowing
about. They were together more now that Flossie had taken up a part-time job at Carl’s funeral home, which was a mighty strange arrangement for a divorced couple, if you ask me. I couldn’t imagine what Flossie did there. Couldn’t imagine what she did working part-time for Betsy’s real-estate venture, for that matter.
Wasn’t like Maple Gap had a big roll-over of houses for sale.
At any rate,
Flossie’d
never seemed interested in Carl’s work when they were married, not that I blame her. Made chills roll along my arms just thinking on her job description.

“Two tables for two each?”
I asked, oh, so sweetly.

“My wife and I, and Flossie
is
joining us for lunch. Carl’s on his own,” Mayor
Taser
corrected

Carl nodded, not once turning his head the mayor’s direction.

“We’d like a table by the window,” Betsy said. No. She told me.

Now, last I checked, I owned this restaurant. I started toward the only empty window table and saw a few miniscule crumbs scattered along the surface. I eyed a table in the middle of the room and laid the menus down on the surface. “We’ll get someone to clean up the window table. It’s a might messy.”

“Don’t you have help?” Betsy asked as she sunk onto her chair, her nose scrunched in distaste.

“Sure do, honey. Special today is spaghetti and meatballs. Soup is French onion.”

Betsy leaned toward Flossie who, interestingly
enough,
sat between Eugene and Betsy. “
LaTisha’s
salads are divine.”

I can tell you that felt mighty
good
.
Until I picked up on the next sentence.

“’Course, you know she was so big she had to lose weight. I’m guessing all she eats is salads.”

Hardy would have been proud of me, because I smiled so sweetly at Betsy.
Near killed me.
Moses took up the serpent. I
was wanting
to take me up a serpent of my own. I prayed more diligently in that minute than I had at every Wednesday night prayer meeting in a year.

I retraced my steps, snatched up a rag, and got Carl to follow me, settling him at the window seat Betsy had coveted. With a couple swipes of my rag the table was good to go. Carl didn’t notice the daggers shot our way as he took his seat. He accepted the menu and flicked it open.

“What would you like to drink?”

“Water sounds good.”

I made
good
and sure to make eye contact with Betsy as I passed, sending her my best display of grillwork.

The crowd descended heavy after that. I hustled hard to get everyone drinks and even went in the kitchen to help William rustle up a grilled chicken club for the mayor while he worked on dishing up four plates of the special, two for Regina and Chad, one for Carl, one for Lester.

I had delivered the first two piping hot plates to Regina and Chad and waited for the other two plates of spaghetti to appear in the pass-thru. What was taking William so long? I hunkered down to get a gander at what he was up to. He was hunched over the oven pulling out golden loaves of his bread. When he saw me, he pointed to the bread and held up a finger to indicate the bread needed to cool. I nodded and raised my nose to catch the scent of William’s creations while he finished the plates of spaghetti and pushed them through to me.

When I came back from delivering the spaghetti dishes, loaves of William’s bread, sliced and ready, sat under the heat lamps. He must have caught me looking, because he grabbed my attention and slid a plate with a single piece in my direction. William’s bread had chunks of diced green and red peppers with onions; it was egg-washed and sprinkled with fennel seeds. And it was delicious.
Especially because it was made with whole-wheat flour.
Healthier.
I put every ounce of approval into my smile.

William seemed pleased with himself as he caught up the order slip and ladled up the French onion soup. He made quick work of slicing the rest of the bread and tucking it into a cloth napkin in a basket for delivery to those who’d ordered salads.

That’s when his attention shifted beyond me. His expression melted, the smile smearing into a hard frown. It came to me in the time it took me to turn around, that William must be seeing the man he’d overheard calling the hit on the mayor. Why else such a dramatic change in his demeanor. Lester Riley blurted out a greeting to the man right about the time I laid eyes on my newest patron.

Chapter Eight

“Aidan!
Been looking at that bracelet for my Mary.
When you going to have a sale?”

My thoughts came crashing together in a riptide. I observed the dark-haired, dark-eyed, golden-tanned newbie of Maple Gap and realized I’d been right on in my thoughts at Dr.
Cryer’s
office. This is who William had tried so hard to describe.

I waited for Aidan to pull a gun or jump over the counter and push me to the floor as he made a wild run to the kitchen and William. Not that that was going to happen or anything. Shoving me out of the way was going to be like pushing a parked eighteen-wheeler. And guns didn’t scare me. One shot. Bang. I’m in heaven. Hello, Moses, Noah, and Jesus. Let’s talk shop.

Or . . . I sucked in a breath as my eyes landed on Mayor
Taser’s
unsuspecting back.
  

My eyes slapped back to Aidan. He didn’t pull out anything. He nodded at me, his dark eyes solemn. “Well, Mr. Lester, not anytime soon.”

“At least
someone
waits patiently to be seated,” I said, giving Lester a glare. “More than I can say for most.

Tucking a menu in front of Aidan, Lester leaned in close to the man. “Can I talk you in to a discount then?”

That’s when I remembered William and the folly of having seated Aidan at the bar, where he’d have a perfect view into the kitchen. I swung around and lowered my head to catch a glimpse of the cook, fully expecting him to be shaking in a corner of the kitchen. He was nowhere to be found. I’m guessing he scooted himself out the back door. I had to remain calm and level-headed.
To think clearly.

“. . . into salads, then she’s got some real good spaghetti. ’Course, you can order most anything and it’ll be the best you’ve ever ate.”
Lester’s voice.

I sucked in air and grabbed up a glass. “If you don’t get to be mayor, maybe I’ll hire you as a waiter.”

“Aw,
LaTisha
, you know you could use the help, especially with William going out the back door like he did.
He sick or something?”

Thank you, Lester.

I filled the glass with sweet tea, my eyes hard on Aidan. He stared at the menu. I could detect no hint of interest in the subject. But I’d read enough about professional killers to know they showed no emotion, which was the very reason my heart started slamming.

I cracked my lips in a smile. “I’ll be right back, honey.” I’d gone exactly five steps when Lester hollered out.

“You want me to take his order?”