Death at the Day Lily Cafe by Wendy Sand Eckel Read Free Book Online Page A

my sneaker. Now I think about those memories and wonder if all I was doing was disrupting his solitude.”
    Custer stopped slicing and looked up at me, his eyebrows dipped together. “So we’re talking here, is that it?”
    I hesitated, trying to understand his meaning. “Yes. At least, I hope so.”
    â€œFirst of all, I don’t want to think about my father.” He pointed the knife at me as he spoke. “He’s not worth the time. But I will tell you a little of what I think about family. You see, kids are a barometer for what’s really going on. When they feel something isn’t right, they act out. Some kids get into trouble, like starting a fight with a sibling. Others, well, maybe they start chattering like you did, you know, as a distraction from the real trouble.”
    â€œTrouble?” I cocked my head. “I never thought of it that way.”
    â€œAnd some kids…” His eyes darkened. “They might pick fights with one parent so he leaves the other parent alone.”
    â€œOkay.” I nodded. “I understand.” I brushed my hair back from my face. “Custer? Is your father’s name Butch?”
    â€œIt is.” Custer’s knuckles whitened around the knife handle. “And that’s all you need to know about him.”

 
    T EN
    Not long after the doors opened, the café was bustling. Glenn and Crystal had learned a lot yesterday and now moved about the room like Fred and Ginger. Custer had established a routine of his own, and the food was coming out of the kitchen in a timely fashion. I was busy making espressos when Glenn sidled up to me. “You have a customer.” I peeked around him and there was Sheriff Wilgus seated at the bar.
    â€œSheriff,” I said.
    â€œHart.” The sheriff’s uniform was open at the collar. He placed his felt hat gingerly on the counter. “Get to work on time yesterday?” He watched as I poured coffee into a to-go cup. “I could have given you a ticket.”
    â€œBut you didn’t.”
    â€œI will next time.”
    Since the day I’d discovered Megan Johnston’s body on the banks of my property over a year ago, Joe Wilgus and I shared a prickly relationship. My investigation had more than irked him; in fact, it exposed a nest of corruption and led him into AA. He was still sober but now struggled with an insatiable craving for sweets. I was not surprised to see him in the café. He had come in every day we’d been open and ordered two iced maple scones and a black coffee to go.
    The sheriff was a handsome man in a rugged sort of way. He was in his early fifties and had a thick head of dark hair that he sculpted into a pompadour of sorts. It wasn’t hard for me to rankle him, and I knew I got under his skin. I would venture a guess it still nagged at him that I had uncovered a murder he’d tried very hard to ignore.
    â€œThe usual?”
    He didn’t bother to respond. As I picked up the pastries with a piece of tissue paper, Custer approached with an empty mug in his hand. He stopped and took in the sheriff. Joe Wilgus lifted his head slowly and locked eyes with him. I glanced over at Custer. He looked away and fidgeted with his cup. I filled it quickly, and he disappeared through the swinging door.
    The sheriff shifted his weight. “That delinquent ever tell you he got fired from his last job?”
    â€œYou mean Custer?”
    â€œWho else was just standing here?” He fixed the plastic lid onto his cup. “Well? Did he tell you?”
    I hesitated, tempted to lie, but I was terrible at it. “No,” I said. “He didn’t tell me.”
    The sheriff stared at the door. “I’ll be back.” He stood and headed for the kitchen.
    â€œYou can’t—” I rushed to the door but jumped back when it swung toward me. I heard muffled voices and tried to make out what they were saying. The