Lorna Barrett - Chapter & Hearse

“Was that my lunch?” an overweight man demanded, his mustard-stained shirt straining at the seams.

Darcy began to wail.

“Sir, we’re shorthanded and we’re doing the best we can. Please sit down.”

“I’ve been waiting fifteen minutes for my sandwich. I demand to see the manager.”

“You’re looking at her. Or at least the acting manager,” Darcy said with a nod toward Tricia.

“I’m sorry you had to wait,” Tricia said, trying to keep an edge from rising in her voice. “If you’ll let us get back to work, we’ll have your meal to you as soon as we can.”

Darcy abandoned her work space and grabbed a mop, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“I want my lunch comped,” the man demanded.

“I’ll ask you again nicely, sir, please take your seat.”

He straightened, his jaw jutting forward. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Don’t bother.” He turned to face the other customers. “I’m not waiting another minute for my food. Come on, Mabel, let’s get out of this dump!”

Tricia pushed though the door to watch the man depart, his red-faced companion slinking out behind him.

Darcy scooped up the bread and sandwich meat, and tossed it into the trash.

“Wash your hands and start over again,” Tricia said kindly.

Darcy nodded. “What table was that guy at?”

Tricia looked out at the dining room. “Four.”

“That was his lunch,” Darcy said, and went back to work.

Within fifteen minutes, all the customers had been served. The clock was edging toward two, and Darcy was looking antsy. “Now that things are under control, can you please tell me what happened and why Jake left in a huff?” Tricia asked.

Darcy looked away, squirming as she covered what was left of a head of lettuce with plastic wrap. “We kind of had a little tiff.”

“About what? And I sure hope it wasn’t loud enough to be heard by the customers.”

“We’re not that dumb,” Darcy countered. She opened the fridge and placed the lettuce and luncheon meats inside. “It was all Jake’s fault. He took at least four smoke breaks in two hours. The orders were piling up and the customers were getting cranky. I had to keep apologizing. I sure didn’t want them to think it was me goofing up.”

Tricia found herself grinding her teeth. Something about Jake had always rubbed her the wrong way. Was he deliberately acting up just because Angelica was away?

Darcy scraped a plate of uneaten food into a slop bucket. “You know, I have to give Angelica a lot of credit for giving people second chances.”

“Oh?” Tricia said, handing Darcy another stack of dirty dishes.

“I’m talking about Jake, of course,” Darcy said nonchalantly, and the gleam in her eye told Tricia she was ready to dish.

“Jake?” Tricia repeated. She didn’t have to play innocent.

“He was convicted of a felony. He’s not even allowed to vote, but Angelica depends on him to cook for her customers. That’s what I call real trust.”

“Why? Do you think he’d tamper with the food?”

“Oh, no. It’s just. . . .” She leaned in, and lowered her voice. “If he’s capable of breaking the law—what else is he capable of?”

“I guess that would depend on what he was convicted of. Do you know?”

Darcy shook her head. “Jake didn’t actually tell me this. I heard him on the phone talking to his parole officer.”

“Angelica has an eye for detail. I’m sure if she hired Jake, she knows all about his background.” And why didn’t she tell me? Probably because Tricia read too many mysteries, and not only would worry, but probably would have tried to talk Angelica out of hiring Jake. After all, these days the unemployment pool had plenty of acceptable candidates who didn’t have criminal records. Then again, it was commendable that she’d help someone down on his luck. Angelica hadn’t always had that reputation.

Darcy was still talking, and Tricia picked up on the word “explosion.” She hadn’t been paying attention. “I’m sorry. I must have zoned out for a second.”

“I was saying that it’s too bad about the guy who got killed. What was his name?”

“Jim Roth,” Tricia supplied.

“Yeah, him. They say he was killed immediately. That he didn’t suffer.”

“Mmm,” Tricia agreed.

“But man, what a way to go,” Darcy said. She didn’t sound at all sorry for poor Jim. But then, she probably hadn’t even seen, let alone met, the man. Darcy didn’t seem like a read-for-pleasure kind of person—and certainly didn’t seem the type to visit a history store that specialized in military nonfiction.

“Have you heard from Angelica?” Darcy asked.

“Yes, last night. She said she’d been calling the café for updates.”

“Yeah, I talked to her a couple of times. She hasn’t been real chatty, though.”

“She has a lot on her mind,” Tricia said.

Darcy glanced at the clock as she pushed the slop bucket to one side. “I’m outta here.”

“Wait—I don’t know what to do. I mean, I can clean up—but I don’t know where anything goes. And what about the rest of the dishes and all the pots and pans?”

“I’m sorry, Tricia,” Darcy said, already untying her apron, “but I really need to leave. I’ll finish busing the tables, and clear off the counter. The rest is common sense.”

“Can you at least show up early tomorrow to make sure things are set up properly?”

“I’ll try.”

“And what about Jake? Is he likely to show at all?”

“I sure hope so. I don’t know how to make soup. Usually Angelica starts it and Jake finishes. Without either of them—there goes half our menu.” Soup and a scoop—of egg, tuna, or crab salad—and soup and half a sandwich were the core of Angelica’s lunchtime offerings.

Darcy sidled past Tricia and entered the dining room.

Tricia surveyed the tiny kitchen. She’d need to mop the floor and wash the walls, wash all the dishes, then start on the dining room. She looked down at her pretty peach sweater and felt like crying. It was already stained with mustard and soup. Goodness knows how many more splotches would dot it before she was done. And it would take hours for her to tackle this mess alone.

She marched over to the wall phone, punched in a number, and waited for someone to answer.

“Haven’t Got a Clue, this is Ginny. How can I help you?”

“Have you ever aspired to have dishpan hands?” Tricia asked hopefully.

The first thing Tricia did upon returning to Haven’t Got a Clue was to hunt down the list of emergency numbers Angelica had left for her. Naturally, Jake’s number immediately rolled over to voice mail. He did, after all, leave Booked for Lunch for his regular job at a French bistro in Nashua. It took all her will-power to remain calm as she left a message asking him to call her at his earliest convenience. She couldn’t afford to alienate him—not with Angelica out of town and Darcy unable to cope in the kitchen. But knowing he had a criminal record had really upset her, and she needed to know what the man had done—and, as Darcy had hinted—might be capable of.

The shop door opened, the little bell above it ringing cheerfully, but instead of a customer, Tricia’s friend and fellow bookseller Deborah Black, owner of the Happy Domestic, stepped inside. “Hi, Tricia. I hear you’ve become a collections officer,” she said, waving a piece of paper. She slapped it down on the glass display case. A check.

“Hello, yourself. And what are you talking about?” Tricia asked.

Deborah batted at the ends of her long, dark hair, tossing it over her left shoulder. “Grace Harris stopped by my store this morning. Oops, I mean Grace Everett. I keep forgetting she remarried. Anyway, she said you were taking up a collection for Jim Roth’s mother, and I wanted to contribute.”