Death at the Day Lily Cafe (7 page)

“Glenn, maybe you should think about going out. Maybe a movie with someone from Waterside Village. If everyone is over fifty-five, there must be plenty of widows.”

“Yes.” His brow furrowed. “They bring me casseroles.”

I smiled. “Well?”

“I like my life, Rosalie. And now we have another investigation. Let's focus our attention back on that, shall we?”

*   *   *

After parking my car in a visitor's spot on campus, I made my way to the construction site. I was still in my white blouse and black skirt, but I slipped into a pair of low-heeled sandals. I had no idea who I might meet, but as my mother said when I went on my first job interview, don't give them a reason to not like you.

I glossed my lips and fluffed my hair as I walked. A large steel skeleton of a building appeared once I passed the stately red-brick student center. Several pickups were parked haphazardly near the site. Large Dumpsters surrounded the structure like shrubbery. I made my way around to the side and finally spied a double-wide trailer.

My heels sank in the loose gravel. I slowed my gait. The afternoon sun baked down on everything in its path, and I swore even the trees overhead were panting. I walked up to the door and read a large sign. Bold letters read: K
EEP
O
UT.
E
MPLOYEES OF
C
HESAPEAKE
D
EVELOPMENT
C
OMPANY
O
NLY
. A heavy bolt and padlock secured the door.

“You need a hard hat, ma'am,” a voice said from behind me. I turned around and faced a young, very muscular man in a white T-shirt with suspenders holding up his khaki pants. His boots were massive. He knocked on his yellow helmet. “You need one of these.”

“I'm sorry. I was just looking for someone,” I said. “His name is Jackson Crawford.” I pulled a parcel wrapped in aluminum foil out of my bag. “He owns Crawford and Sons construction. He loves the muffins I serve at the café. I promised I would drop some by. Have you seen him?”

“Not for a while,” the man said. “He was laid off with all the other local owners. Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I really don't want one of those beams slipping loose from that crane up there and bashing in your skull. So I'm going to have to ask you to be on your way.”

I took a few steps back. “But why was Jackson laid off? I don't understand. It looks as if you still have a lot of work to do.”

He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Ya think?”

“The students will be here before you know it. Right? Why lay people off?” I shielded my eyes and looked up at him. He was very tall.

“We're busting our asses. I've been working twelve-hour days. Barely have time to eat.”

“That's a lot. Say, I don't suppose you'd like a blueberry muffin?”

He considered my offer. “Actually, I was about to head over to Birdie's for a couple of candy bars. So, yeah, I'll take one if they're as good as you say they are.”

“Let's go over to that bench away from the cranes. I'm a little concerned about my head.”

He followed and sat down after me. The bench shuddered from his weight. I unwrapped the foil and pulled a napkin from my bag. I placed three muffins on it and held them out to him. He was such a large man, eating just one would be as satisfying as a Chiclet.

He took a bite and chewed. “I see why Jackson likes you stopping by.” He peeled off the rest of the paper wrapper and finished the first muffin.

“Thanks. I'm also trying to drum up interest in the café.” I crossed my ankles. “I'm Rosalie, by the way.”

He brushed his hand on his pants. “Name's Calvin.” He grimaced. “Please call me Cal. My old man is Calvin, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

I hugged my tote. “So, Cal, why did everyone get laid off? Did something happen?”

“Oh yeah. You could say that. Like a big lump of cash got stolen out of the trailer. Only people allowed in there are the foremen so they can get their payroll. And the only time they can go in is if the CFO is in there. Rest of the time it's padlocked.”

“So why pay them in cash?”

He peeled the paper from another muffin. “The cash is for the day laborers. We bring in all kinds of extra guys and pay them on a daily basis. They're not on any payroll. When we start the drywall, landscaping, ductwork, all that kind of big stuff, we bring in temporary workers.”

“Why not cut them a check?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” His eyebrows dipped. “Let me just say this. Most of them don't have bank accounts. You can use your imagination to figure out why.”

“I see. But how can you be so sure it was a foreman? Was the lock broken?”

He shook his head as he chewed. “Whoever it was must have memorized the combination. We changed it every week, but this guy got in there anyway. Boss has an alarm on there now.”

“Good idea.” I thought for a moment. “Couldn't it have been someone from within your company?”

He laughed and wrapped the napkin around the last of the muffin cups. “Only one guy allowed to do payroll. He protects that money like it's his firstborn. And he is none too happy that a whole lot of it is gone.”

I looked up at him. “How much is a lot, Cal?”

“We think the guy got away with over five hundred K.” He smiled at me. “Sound like a lot to you?”

 

T
HIRTEEN

I drove down the lane to my home with the convertible top down, a warm breeze ruffling my hair. I was exhausted but exhilarated as I reflected on another successful day. The lunch crowd had been even bigger than breakfast, and the special—falafel sandwiches, herbed red potatoes, and a Greek salad—had been a big hit.

Dappled sunlight streaked through the canopy of tall cedar limbs over the drive, and I took in the scent of freshly mown grass. I slowed my breathing and reminded myself to savor this moment—my café had opened, and people showed up. A lot of people. And they liked it. Not to mention I just managed to glean some valuable information from a strapping young construction worker. I couldn't wait to tell Glenn. I forgot how compelling it was to work toward righting a wrong.

Later, refreshed from a shower, I was looking forward to putting my feet up and having one glass of wine to celebrate a successful day. I slipped into a tank and a pair of shorts and toddled downstairs, my wet hair already spiraling into ringlets. As I passed by the front door I noticed Tyler perched on the stoop. Oh, good, I thought. I could use a Tyler fix.

“Hey,” I said as I opened the door. I was startled to see a woman seated next to him.

Tyler looked over his shoulder. “There you are. This is Bini.”

I stepped onto the stoop. “Bini?”

She stood and turned to face me. Small in stature, she looked to be in her early forties. She wore a white ribbed tank and snug-fitting denim shorts. Her biceps were defined, her hair in a short, easy-to-maintain cut. She was cute in a petite, rugged sort of way, with small hazel eyes that were fixed on mine. She switched a sweating bottle of National Bohemian beer to her left hand and held out her right. “Bini Katz.”

I extended mine, and she gave it a very firm shake. “Hi, Bini. It's nice to meet you.”

“Bini started working here today.” Tyler looked over his shoulder. “Beer?”

“Oh,” I said, relieved he wasn't on a date. “You're going to help out around here?” I closed the door behind me and sat next to Tyler on the steps. “That's so great. And, yes, please. A beer sounds perfect.”

He popped off the cap and handed it to me. My first sip made a glugging sound as it funneled through the long neck of the brown bottle. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “So what did you two do today?”

“I mainly showed her the ropes,” Tyler said. “But Bini has already proved her worth.”

“And you, Bini?” I leaned forward and looked past Tyler so I could see her face. “Did you have a nice first day?”

“Yep,” she said, staring ahead.

I looked around and realized the Volvo was gone. “Annie must be out.”

“She's meeting Custer in town,” Bini said. “There's some live music in the square tonight.”

“Oh. Okay. Thanks for letting me know, Bini.” I sat back and took a longer sip, trying not to feel weird that Bini Katz knew where my daughter was before I did.

Tyler opened the cooler, popped off another cap, and handed it to Bini. She accepted it without a word. She didn't even have to ask. No wonder Tyler hired Bini. Unlike me, she seemed perfectly content with his minimalist approach to conversation. I tried to gather my thoughts. Was I feeling jealous? That's what it was. But why? Bini had already helped Tyler. They'd probably known each other for years.

Be a grown-up, Rosalie. “I'm really glad you're working here, Bini. Tyler needs some help with the farm, now that we have the chickens and the café is occupying so much of my time.”

“Say, Ty,” Bini said, “There's been a Butch sighting.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Tyler drained his beer and reached for another.

“I heard that, too,” I said. I set my beer down and hugged my knees. “Custer's father, right? Are you close with your brother?”

“I wouldn't say that.” Tyler dangled his beer between his knees. He took a swig and continued to stare ahead. Bini mirrored his every movement. She took another sip of beer as well and held it the same way. No one spoke for several minutes. We all seemed to be staring down the lane at nothing.

“So, are we waiting for someone?” I said. “Godot, perhaps?” I laughed a little at my own wit, but they remained silent.

Despite the lack of conversation, I realized there was a cacophony coming from the side of the house. “What is that racket?” I stood and headed around the corner of the house toward the chicken coop.

I stopped in my tracks. Hundreds of crows filled the towering sycamore trees. They squawked and chattered, crowding onto several platform bird feeders that had suddenly appeared in my yard like mushrooms after a rain. I shivered at the number of flapping wings and sharp beaks, feeling as if I were in an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

I hurried back around the house. “Tyler, have you seen this?”

“They've been here most of the day,” he said, finally making eye contact.

I smiled instinctively when our eyes met. He had the loveliest vivid green eyes I'd ever seen.

“The birdseed worked,” Bini said.

Tyler stood and walked over to me. “They've gone through four sacks already.” Bini appeared behind us a few seconds later.

“Birdseed?”

“Crows will keep the hawk away,” Bini said.

“But they're huge. Are you sure they're not ravens?”

“They are common crows,” Bini said. “Technically a raven is in the crow family. But if you'd ever seen one, you'd know these aren't ravens.”

I turned to look at her. “I have seen a raven. It's the mascot at Ravens football games. It wears a little black jacket with a purple
B
on it. And I'm telling you, those birds are just as big.” I turned back toward the crows. “Are they at least keeping the hawk away?”

“No sign of it,” Tyler said.

“It won't come around,” Bini said. “Not with the crows.”

“But what about the garden?” I said. “Won't they eat the herbs and vegetables? Isn't that why farmers have scarecrows? To keep the crows
away
from the fields?”

“I didn't expect this many,” Tyler said.

“Crows eat insects,” Bini said. “They can help the fields.”

“Except we're feeding them crack instead,” Tyler said under his breath.

“Will they eat the chickens?” I said.

Bini shook her head. “Won't happen. Besides, the crows are here for the seed.”

“Exactly,” Tyler said. He pulled his cap lower on his forehead.

“But they're carnivorous, right? I've seen them eating roadkill.”

“They're omnivores,” Bini said. “So, sure, you'd see that. And they're very smart. They can count to five.” She glanced over at the coop. “They might steal an egg or two.”

I looked up into the trees. I didn't like the thought that they were smart. And unlike the sweet trill of songbirds, the crows' call was atonal, a squawk that hurt my ears. “Where are the chickens? Why aren't they free ranging?”

“They're still spooked from the hawk.” Tyler looked over at me. “What's your breakfast special tomorrow?”

“A frittata. Why?”

He looked back at the crows. “The chickens still aren't laying a whole lot of eggs.”

“What chicken could lay an egg when these crows are out here getting ready to attack?”

“There was an eagle eyeing the hawk when he grabbed the chicken,” Tyler said. “I'm a little worried it will be back, with or without crows.”

“So the eagle would eat the crows?” A shiver trembled down my spine. “I feel like I'm in
Jurassic Park
.”

“Won't happen,” Bini said. “Not enough room for an eagle to land. A hawk can drop from the sky, but an eagle has to glide in like an airplane.” She held out her hand, palm side down, and had it come in for a landing.

“The eagle was most likely here to steal the chicken from the hawk,” Tyler said. “Eagles are scavengers. They take prey from other birds all the time, hawks, osprey, even blue herons, just 'cause they're bigger and stronger.”

“Well, isn't it appropriate the eagle is our country's symbol,” I said.

“Love it or leave it,” Bini said.

My mouth fell open. “Back to the eggs. A frittata requires a lot of them. Plus I'll need more for the à la carte menu. I'm serving a feta and chive omelet.”

“Sounds pretty good,” Tyler said.

“You'll have eggs.” Bini sounded as if she would lay them herself.