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

sheriff was speaking angrily to Custer.
    â€œThat looks dangerous,” Glenn said. “What if someone comes out of the kitchen?”
    I put my index finger to my lips.
    Glenn frowned and said in a loud whisper, “I need a latte.”
    I froze when I heard the sheriff’s voice again. “You know anything about him getting shot?”
    â€œHe’s talking about CJ,” I whispered back. “He’s asking Custer what he knows.” I jumped back when the door burst open. The sheriff strode over to the bar and picked up his bag and cup.
    â€œSo, Sheriff Wilgus, you’re actually conducting an investigation this time?” I crossed my arms.
    He pointed a finger at me. “You mind your own business, Hart.”
    â€œI was just wondering why you would question Custer if you’re so certain it was Lori who killed CJ?”
    â€œHow do you…?” He shook his head in disgust. “I asked him because I don’t trust him. And neither should you.” He placed his hat on his head. “I am conducting an investigation. And I am going to prove Lori Fiddler killed her husband in cold blood. That make you happy, Hart?”
    â€œNo,” I said. “It’s all a horrible tragedy, if you ask me.”
    â€œNobody is asking you. And if I hear you’ve been nosing around again, you will learn the true meaning of misery.”
    I watched him go. Muscle memory sent a vibration of fear through me. So, I thought, it’s me versus the lawman again.

 
    E LEVEN
    Dream big, my mother used to say. I know it’s not the most original of encouragements, but I took it to heart. She had died very quickly after a breast cancer diagnosis five years previously. I missed her every day. But I knew she was with me. On warm summer evenings I could feel her sweet breath on the back of my neck; I could hear her whisper in the trees, telling me to be strong and know I was loved. I could smell her perfume when I wandered through my rose garden and feel her touch when my hands were deep in a mound of bread dough. I learned my love of cooking—or nourishing, as she called it—from her. She was the heart of my family, and our farm was where everyone gathered for the holidays or, sometimes, for no reason at all.
    And now I hoped to create a gathering place of my own. When I designed the layout of the café, I made certain there would be room for at least eight bar chairs under the marble counter. Once I figured out how to stock my liquor, beer, and wine, I hoped people would stop in to catch a Ravens or an Orioles game on the flat-screen TV behind the bar. But until then, it was where we sat the overflow.
    A ruddy-faced man was my first customer to be seated at the bar that day.
    â€œHello, missy,” he said with an Eastern Shore twang.
    â€œHello,” I said. “Welcome to the Day Lily Café.”
    He leaned back and crossed his hands over his sizable stomach. “Everybody’s been telling me how good the grub is here, so I thought I’d come in and see for myself.”
    â€œYou just made my day.” I set a place mat and menu in front of him.
    Glenn approached with a wide grin. He extended his hand to the man and said, “Jackson. What a pleasure to see you here.”
    â€œCommissioner,” he said, and shook Glenn’s hand. “How many jobs do you have, anyway?”
    â€œI wear too many hats. But don’t we all?” Glenn said. “Have you met Rosalie?”
    â€œNot officially.”
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you,” I said.
    â€œLikewise. Jackson Crawford’s the name.”
    â€œThanks for stopping in.” I smiled.
    â€œI’ve been looking forward to coming here ever since you put up the sign. I didn’t think I’d have the time, but it appears now I have loads of it.”
    â€œCoffee?” I said.
    Jackson nodded. “Black, please.” He picked up the mug as soon as I set it