Scam Chowder (13 page)

Chapter 14

Val lay on the café alcove's hard floor. Her head hurt where it hit the floor, but nothing else did. She felt wet all along her back. Was her head bleeding? No, blood would be warm, and this wet stuff felt cold. She sat up in a puddle of water, surrounded by the cucumbers, peppers, and zucchini, which had fallen out of the bags. The cantaloupes and cherry tomatoes had rolled away after spilling as if in search of dry land.

She touched the back of her head and winced. She checked her fingers. No blood. She got to her feet gingerly, not wanting to slip on the way up. At least her pratfall had gone unnoticed. When the café was closed, the club members walking by had no reason to glance into the alcove.

She mopped up the water. Who had spilled it and left it there? Not the cleaning crew. They did their work at night. The club opened at six, the café not until two hours later. This early in the morning, people trickled in one by one. While the receptionist behind the counter was looking the other way, anyone could have sneaked into the alcove and emptied a water bottle onto the floor. Whoever had done it must have targeted Val, usually the first person to arrive at the café. A dead fish in her car had annoyed her, but the water on the floor could have hurt her. Those pranks, plus bogus complaints about the food and bugs, equaled a campaign of dirty tricks against her. Whose campaign?

She crouched to pick up the scattered vegetables. As she tucked them back into the bags, a pair of bare, brown legs beneath running shorts came into view. She looked up at Althea Johnson, her tennis teammate. “You're back from vacation. How was it?”

“Great. You look like you need help.” Althea bent down, picked up the melons, and put them on the counter.

Val stood up. “How about some coffee? I haven't made it yet, but—”

“I just have time to run on the treadmill before I go to the office.” She adjusted the tortoiseshell glasses that had slipped down her nose. “The problem with vacations is that the work you left behind is still there, and more has piled up.”

“Quick question. I know you focus on family law, but can you recommend a title company or property lawyer? I want to find out if there are any liens on a house in Annapolis.”

Althea's jaw dropped. “Are you moving?”

“No. My grandfather is seeing a woman my mother thinks might be after his money. If this woman owns her Annapolis house free and clear, she's probably not interested in Granddad's money. Her house is worth a lot more than his.”

“You know the property's address?” At Val's nod, Althea took a smart phone from a zippered pocket in her shorts and punched in the address Val gave her. “I have a friend who's a real estate attorney in Annapolis. I'll let you know what she says.”

“Thanks, Althea. When your workload lightens, let's set up some tennis. We can play doubles with Bethany and Yumiko.”

“I won't have any free time until next week.”

“The rest of the team should be back by then, enough of us for two courts.”

“Way more fun than the treadmill.” Althea headed out of the café.

Val washed the fruit and vegetables, cut away the bruised parts, and stowed them in the refrigerator. She mixed the dough for oatmeal breakfast bars, thinking about the last time someone had targeted her. A month ago, the
accidents
a murderer had set up for her could have killed her. By comparison, the complaints about the café, the fish in the car, and even the water on the floor struck her as merely spiteful and petty. Irene might act out of spite, still holding a grudge because she wasn't running the café as she'd expected. Maybe Granddad's girlfriend wanted to nudge Val into leaving Bayport. Lillian would recognize Val's car. She could have asked Granddad about Val's work schedule, bought a fish, and tossed it in the Saturn's window on Monday. Hard to believe women in their sixties would engage in such sophomoric stunts.

Ten minutes before the café opened, Val brewed coffee and took the breakfast bars from the oven, hoping the combined aromas would entice club members into the café after their exercise sessions. By eleven-thirty, she'd served the usual small number of customers for a midsummer morning. At least the number hadn't dwindled . . . yet. But it would, if word spread about bad food and bugs.

“Coffee smells good, Val. You got any left?” Granddad's friend Ned took a tentative step into the café. “I hope I'm allowed in here. I'm not a club member.”

“You're always welcome here, Ned.” Though he'd never come to the café before.

He sat on a stool at the eating bar. “I wanted to talk to you without your grandfather around.”

Val poured Ned's coffee. He'd gone behind Granddad's back once before, when he'd alerted Val's mother that Lillian might be a gold digger. If he had more to say about her now, Val would love to hear it, but first she'd have to wait on the three middle-aged women at a bistro table. Five minutes ago, when she'd tried to take their food orders, they'd waved her off. Now they were giving her pointed looks.

She set a mug of coffee and a small pitcher of milk on the eating bar in front of Ned. “I'll be right back.”

Val took the women's orders for two veggie wraps and a quiche. She went back behind the counter, sliced a piece of quiche, and put it in the oven to warm. “Would you like something to eat, Ned? A quiche or a sandwich? On the house.”

“I'll eat lunch at the Village, but I wouldn't mind one of those.” He pointed to a glass jar of biscotti studded with almonds. “Folks at the Village are saying your grandfather might have poisoned Scott's food. I know he wouldn't kill anyone on purpose. He could have done it by accident if he cooked the food. But I'm pretty sure you made the food and wouldn't poison it.”

Val gave Ned two biscotti on a plate. He'd known her grandfather long enough to realize that the Codger Cook couldn't cook. “Someone might have poisoned Scott before he came to dinner.”

“Or a guest at the dinner did it. The police should investigate Lillian and Thomasina.”

If Val had antennae, they would have quivered. “I want to hear more about that. First, I have to get some stuff from the fridge.” She hated to keep walking away from Ned, but she didn't want to keep her customers waiting.

Ned watched her put the hummus and veggies on the counter. “You may not know this, Val, but everyone out at the Village talks about what they used to do. Folks there know I ran a hardware store. If they have some small thing that needs fixing and they don't want to wait for the Village maintenance crew to get around to it, they come to me because I have the tools and skills.”

“Uh-huh.” Val wasn't sure what this had to do with Lillian and Thomasina. Maybe Ned just needed to talk, but she needed to work. She spread hummus on the two wraps.

Five teenagers came into the café, two boys and three girls. They shoved two bistro tables together and rearranged the chairs.

Ned dunked a biscotti in his coffee. “A lot of the women at the Village were teachers or nurses. The ones who didn't work for a living talk about what their husbands did. Well, Lillian and Thomasina never talk about the past. I don't know what they did for a living or what their husbands did.”

Val tucked peppers, cucumbers, and sprouts into the wraps. “You think they're hiding something?”

“Could be. The police should look into those two. Your grandfather wouldn't like it if I stuck my nose into this and talked to the police about his lady friend.”

“He wouldn't like it any better if I did it.” She took the quiche from the oven. “I know you told my mother your concerns about Lillian. I passed that information to the chief. But could you please not tell her about the chowder dinner and Scott's death? I don't want her worried.”

“As long as you know and you'll take care of it, I don't have any reason to call her.”

Val delivered the lunches to the three women in the café and returned to the counter. She gave Ned her cell phone number. The next time he wanted to talk to her without her grandfather knowing about it, he wouldn't have to drive to the café.

“Hey, there's no burgers or fries on the menu here. No hot dogs either.” The heavier of the two teenage boys waved the café's menu. “Food fascism.”

“Better than food
fat
ism,” the girl sitting next to him said.

Ned glanced back at the teenagers. His dark eyebrows almost met over the bridge of his nose. “I hope they never learn what fascism really is. Going back to Lillian and Thomasina, I can take some guesses about what they used to do. Lillian doesn't talk about herself, but she tells folks any medical news she's read. I think she worked in a health field.”

“I got the same impression,” Val said, remembering how Lillian knew not only the name of what Granddad called
upchuck syrup,
but also how long it had been off the market. “What about Thomasina?”

“She goes to all the dance classes at the Village. Her footwork is better than the teacher's. Some people call her Twinkle Toes Thomasina. She was the star of the talent show with her tap dancing. I figure she must have been an entertainer.”

Val could test Ned's conclusions through some trivia questions. “Tomorrow I'm going to run the Brain Game at the Village. If you see Lillian or Thomasina, encourage them to go. I'll come up with some medical and entertainment trivia to see if they know more than the average person.”

“Thomasina may not want to go this week, but Lillian will probably be there. Me too. We're regulars.”

“Do you socialize much with them?”

“Lillian keeps to herself. Thomasina goes to a lot of events. The Sunday ice-cream social and the Saturday wine and cheese. I was there last Saturday. She told me Scott was picking her up from there to take her to your grandfather's house. That's how I knew about the dinner.”

And found out Granddad had left him out. “Are you and Granddad all squared away about that?”

“We're good now.”

Val excused herself from Ned, approached the teenagers, and asked if they were ready to order. One girl wanted a Cobb salad. Another one requested a peanut butter and banana sandwich on walnut raisin bread. The girl opposed to
food fatism
asked for raw vegetables with a hummus dip. The two boys wanted ham and cheese on pumpernickel and sweet potato chips.

She turned to go back to the counter.

“Can I get someone to wait on me here?” The question came from a young woman lolling on the armless settee in the corner. She'd taken over the largest table in the café for herself. Val must have had her back turned when the woman came into the café. Otherwise, she couldn't have missed seeing her. The woman's black spiky hair had a streak of purple in it, her lips and nose had piercings, and she wore a white ribbed tank top resembling a man's undershirt, perfect to show off her bulging biceps. Instead of the caveman-diet food Val expected her to order, the woman chose a Greek salad.

Val went back to the counter. She made the Greek salad quickly and delivered it to the musclewoman in the corner. Then she tackled the teenagers' orders.

Ned cradled his coffee mug. “Your granddad asked me to find out more about the man who committed suicide at that other retirement place. I'll talk to the woman at the Village who told us about it.”

“Ask her the name and location of that place. Thomasina moved to the Village from another retirement community, but she didn't say which one.”

Ned stirred his coffee with what was left of his biscotti. “What are you thinking? That if Scott gave seminars there and bilked a man of his life savings, his mother might have lived in the community?”

“Right. Did she ever encourage you to invest with him?”

“She did the opposite. She told everyone Scott made a lot of money for other people, but she didn't want anyone at the Village to take his investment advice. She was afraid if the market went down, folks there might blame her.”

That didn't sound as if Thomasina had been her son's accomplice, but he might have had a less obvious partner in crime. “While you're at it, try to find out if Lillian lived at that other place, but don't tell Granddad I asked you to do that.”

“Your secret's safe with me.” He pushed his empty mug toward her on the counter. “Thanks for the snack. See you tomorrow at the Brain Game.”

“Thanks for stopping by, Ned, and please come again.”

She finished making lunches for the teenagers and delivered them to their table.

A shriek came from the woman at the corner table who'd ordered a Greek salad. “There's a worm in my salad!” She pointed to her plate.

Val zoomed to the woman's table.

One teenage boy beat her there. “Hey, look at that. It's green, with dark stripes and black bumps.”

Val peered at the plate of tomatoes, cucumbers, Greek olives, red onions, and feta cheese. A yellowish green critter an inch long sat on a bright red tomato. “It's an earworm.”

“Ew.”
The woman clapped a hand over her much-pierced ear as if expecting the worm to grow wings and fly into it.

“Not that kind of ear. When you shuck an ear of corn, you often find one near the tip. It's actually a caterpillar.” And it would grow wings eventually. But how had it gotten into the salad? Val would have seen it when she was slicing the tomatoes and cucumbers. It certainly hadn't arrived with the onions, olives, and feta cheese. She reached for the plate. “I'll give you a new salad.”

The woman pulled it away from her. “No, you won't. I'm showing this to the manager. And I don't want any more of your food with disgusting things in it.” She marched out of the café. Val wanted to follow her and defend herself, but she still had customers—though she wondered for how long. The two women with veggie wraps opened them up and peered inside.