Breakfast at the Honey Creek Café Page 14

  “Mind if I finish my breakfast first. I’m on my break.”

  “You haven’t been working an hour.” She hoped her voice didn’t travel past him. “Go away.”

  He moved his hand over hers and got in one pat before she pulled hers away.

  He had the nerve to give her a puppy-dog sad look.

  She looked up at their audience and sensed that the diners were on his side. “All right, you can finish your meal and drink your coffee, and we only talk about the town, nothing more.”

  Colby nodded. He didn’t say a word while she told him about the new preacher in town and how tonight would be the Fair on the Square. Lots of fund-raising booths just like they have at carnivals. There would be food trucks and dancing by sunset. “It’s a fun way to usher in the summer.”

  As she talked she felt Colby’s leg brush hers. She thought it was simply an accident until his knee pressed against hers again.

  He kept his expression blank when her eyes met his. But he knew exactly what he was doing. Get her angry. Then she’d react. Make a scene.

  Piper refused to play this game. She didn’t move.

  He scooted down slightly in his chair until his knee was touching her thigh. She tried to smile and keep talking about the town as her face grew warm.

  Piper leaned closer to him and whispered, “I’m going to murder you as soon as I get you alone.” She shifted, moving sideways in the chair and crossing her legs.

  “He leaned across the table and whispered behind his coffee cup. “Why don’t you slap me and walk away?”

  She glared as she whispered, “Unlike you, I don’t want to make a scene.”

  He smiled, his nose now only three inches away. “We already are the scene.”

  Piper didn’t have to look around to know he was right. She straightened, having no idea how she’d get out of this mess. She wanted to be the mayor, a good daughter, nothing more. Anxiety built. She didn’t want to be the person everyone was talking about. “Help me leave, Colby.” The words were out before she realized she’d said them aloud.

  The wish was spoken so softly she was surprised he’d heard it. Colby leaned back, dug a bill out of his uniform pocket, and tossed it on the table. Then he stood and offered his hand.

  “I guess it’s time for you to head to church, Mayor. Thanks for having breakfast with me, but I’d better get back to work.” His words were clear and polite so anyone around could hear.

  She stood, calm as if they were strangers. “Enjoy your visit in our town.”

  As they walked to the door Colby rested his hand on the small of her back. Just like he had last night, he was protecting her now, doing exactly what she’d asked him to do.

  She knew he’d been trying to ruffle her earlier, give the folks something to talk about, but he’d gone too far. It was fine if he acted like he was love-sick about her, but Piper wanted to always remain professional. He must have realized she didn’t know how to handle a scene, so he helped her.

  When they were out of sight and hearing of the guests at the café, she turned on him ready to fight, but he spoke first. “I’m sorry. I may have gone too far.”

  The fight in her cooled and she took a deep breath. “You did. Don’t do it again.”

  “I’ll try, but I’m playing a fool in love.” He gave her a slight smile. A real smile that was nothing like his acting grin. “You’re an easy woman to rile.”

  “And you are the first man I’ve ever wanted to slug. I was angry but now I think I’ll have to admit you are quite an actor. You almost had me believing you.”

  “So, PJ, should we kiss and make up?” The love-sick cowboy was back.

  She punched him on the shoulder and walked away. She couldn’t help but smile, though, when she heard his soft laughter behind her.

  “I’ll pick you up at Widows Park at three. We’ll dance on the square.”

  She pretended she hadn’t heard him.

  Chapter 18

  10:45 a.m.

  Sam

  The church bells rang loud enough to travel down the valley and echo back again. Sunday. For the first time since he was more boy than man, Sam Cassidy stood and simply listened to the day begin. He closed his eyes. Cars were parking outside. Doors slamming. Children running along the gravel. And somewhere a baby cried.

  Sam heard people moving up the wooden stairs to the choir loft, their shoes tapping almost in rhythm.

  Stella had been right about the music director. He arrived early and was playing the organ as if it needed warming up. Sam couldn’t see her, but he bet Stella was sitting near him getting ready for her solo.

  Sam couldn’t wait to hear her sing like an angel, just like her mother had told her she could. He had a feeling folks were probably coming more for the singing than his preaching. Since he got back from Anna’s house so late he’d only had time to jot down a rough draft of his sermon last night before he fell asleep. It was nothing grand, but it would do.

  The walker cluster was already seated on the second row left. The church always let their Sunday school class out early so the old folks could be seated first and, of course, have the pick of the donuts because row two was a direct line to the parlor. All walkers were lined along the wall.

  Miss Daisy, the old dispatcher, would be among them.

  Stella had told him that the widows from Widows Park always sat on the second row right. Tradition.

  Sam closed his eyes. He’d had three hours sleep, but he was as ready as he’d ever be. He’d pieced bits of sermons together from what he remembered. His father often preached the same sermons several times because the congregation was always new. Once he had circled back to a town too soon and accidentally preached a repeat lesson. Only one person mentioned he’d heard it before.

  Sam would start with how people should love one another. As near as he could tell these folks were already doing that. Then he’d go over the commandments. Since he wasn’t a priest, there was no confession, but several members hadn’t hesitated to mention other people’s weaknesses. They seemed to think they were doing the poor sinner a favor by confessing for him.

  He hadn’t been in town three whole days, but Sam was becoming convinced that coming here had been a bad idea. You can’t go back fifteen years and start living the life you once wanted. But, like it or not, the past few days had changed him. He didn’t know if it was for better or worse, but he had a feeling it was forever.

  “You ready, Sam?”

  He turned and was surprised to find Anna. “I’m ready. Did Stella make it here?”

  “She did. I haven’t seen her brother. Probably still home trying to figure out how the toaster works. She did everything for him, even bought his clothes.”

  “Is she penniless?” Sam had spent most of the way home fearing she was.

  “Right now she’s got a few hundred, but the house is half hers. I’ll start digging in the morning when the courthouse is open. I bet half of her parents’ inheritance is still in the bank. I might stop there first.”

  “Who will man the suicide lines if you go to the courthouse and bank?”

  She grinned. “I’ll have it routed to your number. Make sure you’re in your office by nine.”

  Sam hoped she was kidding, but he didn’t have time to worry about it now. The bells had stopped. Time to step up.

  Anna walked with him down the hallway to a small door that opened a few feet from the pulpit. She patted his back. “Look at the bright side, Preacher. Good or bad, you’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

  “That’s comforting.” He looked down and saw a green bow pinned in the mass of hair. “One question. Would you take me to the Fair on the Square tonight? I have no idea where it is or what to do.”

  Anna tilted her head. “You asking me out?”

  “No, I’m asking for help.”

  “Then sure. You bring the leash and I’ll walk you around. Stella could probably use a night to think about her next move. I’ll pick you up at six, but you’re paying.”r />
  “Fair enough.”

  Sam started down the little passage. As he walked, the congregation came into view a bit at a time. Second row. A line of mostly old ladies with hats. Families bunched together sharing hymnals.

  He could hear his heart picking up speed as if he were starting a marathon.

  Next step closer. Mr. Winston was there. Third row center. He was all dressed up in a summer blue vest and a shiny black suit. People seemed to have given him plenty of room, but everyone nodded as they passed him.

  Sam felt his stomach growl and his head start to pound.

  He forced himself to look out over the congregation. Sam didn’t know most of the faces, but they were a mixture of summer flowers and weeds. For just a moment he wished he could stay around and get to know them all.

  The drunk he’d seen the first night he arrived was hunched down on the last row. His head hung low as if he didn’t want anyone to see him, but for some reason he was there.

  Sam reached the pulpit and grabbed on as if it was his only life raft.

  As he straightened, he saw Stella standing in front of the organ, waiting.

  Tyron Tilley rose and asked the congregation to stand and sing the first hymn. After that, he reminded them there would be a reception to welcome Samuel Cassidy after the service.

  Sam could hear him leading the people through the opening, the welcome, the prayer, but he couldn’t focus on the words. It dawned on him that he’d forgotten his notes and he couldn’t remember even the first sentence of what he planned to say.

  He broke out in a sweat. He thought he might be having a heart attack. After the army and all his jumps out of airplanes it would be Saints Church that killed him.

  He’d been a fool thinking this would be easy. He’d rather fight a forest fire alone than preach.

  Then Stella’s high-pitched voice rose to the roof and pounded down on the crowd like hailstones.

  Sam raised his head, praying that wasn’t her singing. She was terrible. No, worse. She was so bad it was almost painful to hear. The organ was loud, but it couldn’t drown out her voice. Sam knew he’d hear Stella’s singing as background in every nightmare he’d have for years to come.

  He forced himself not to move. Not even twitch. Instinct screamed for him to take cover, but he couldn’t.

  Then he looked out at the people. Her people. They were all smiling as if listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and he knew they were either all tone deaf or they loved Stella so much no one would tell her she couldn’t sing.

  Even the music director turned and smiled at her.

  Stella had spent her life being kind, and in a small way they were paying her back.

  Sam spotted Anna’s red hair on the tenth row and smiled. She nodded slightly as if to say, You figured it out.

  When the song was over, silence truly seemed golden for a moment, then a few Amens echoed.

  The congregation settled in, waiting for Sam to start talking.

  He was so blank he thought about asking Stella for another song. As he was making a show of turning to the right page in the hymnal, a racket came from the double doors at the back of the church.

  Everyone wiggled on the benches as a big man with white hair and a little lady wearing a slightly wilted rose corsage came through the entrance. The man hadn’t seen a razor in days and the woman looked a bit lost, but they were dressed for church. The lady wore sensible shoes and a dress she’d picked off a rack at a discount store. Both were in their sixties and to Sam’s surprise they were holding hands.

  The man’s suit jacket flew open as he stormed the place, and Sam saw the flash of a badge on his white shirt. This was the lost sheriff the whole town had been talking about.

  Halfway down the aisle he noticed folks staring at him. “Howdy, everyone. I’m sorry. I thought we’d be on time. Since Miss Flo started her English class on time for thirty-seven years, I guess I’m the one who’s at fault.”

  No one responded. As far as Sam could tell no one even breathed.

  The sheriff looked totally out of place, but the little woman with him pushed him with her shoulder. Her black purse bumped against her ample hip. “Come along, dear. We’ve got explaining to do.”

  The sheriff took control. “Miss Flo and me went to Vegas to get married the night she finally said yes. I wasn’t taking any chances on her getting away. It’s not easy to find a virgin in her sixties, but I got to respect her being so picky. We’ll be coming to church every Sunday from now on. The missus insists on it.” He looked around. “Any objections?”

  Everyone seemed to take a breath at the same time, as if the sheriff might shoot the first one who objected.

  A heartbeat later, Sam figured someone must have yelled “Go nuts!” and he missed the signal. Everyone started talking and moving toward the sheriff. Miss Daisy grabbed her walker and started doing a jig as she laid claim to having introduced the couple. Most seemed to know sweet Flo because they were hugging her before they spoke to LeRoy.

  He might be a cranky, old sheriff, but she must have been a much-loved teacher.

  Then Paul, in the choir loft, started playing the wedding march, and Tyron Tilley announced everyone should move to the parlor for a reception of donuts and coffee to celebrate the wedding.

  Sam went straight to the last word of his sermon: “Amen!”

  He’d live to panic another day.

  Chapter 19

  11:00 a.m.

  Colby

  Colby had left the café as soon as Piper pulled away. Dressed in his uniform with butter smeared on the front, he drove off on his motorcycle. He managed to find clothes at the local Walmart and got dressed in the public bathroom without anyone noticing, or caring.

  If Piper was going to church, he was going in to watch her. Her brother had left a text early this morning saying that the news would be releasing evidence that Boone Buchanan was in debt over gambling losses. Reporters would be coming after her for a statement as soon as it was released.

  The mayor would be facing trouble and he wanted to be there to stand guard. Now might be the time to say she was no longer involved with Buchanan, but the press would still hound her. How much did she know? Was his unfaithfulness the reason they broke up?

  The sunshine boy of the Buchanan clan was looking worse with each passing day.

  Colby slipped into the church just as the singing started, and sat in the back pew with Daily Watts. From the looks of it, the mechanic hadn’t bothered to change clothes since he’d left work Friday. He must have had a bad weekend. He’d been drunk both nights and now he was sleeping through church.

  By the time the woman stopped singing, Colby was wishing he was drunk. Maybe he could wait out by the mayor’s car for the service to be over. Before he could decide, the back doors bumped open as if someone had charged the door.

  Colby went on full alert. On instinct he reached for his weapon. It wasn’t there.

  Two people entered the church. Colby slid down the bench. If they were trouble, he could come up to them from behind and stop any attack. There was too much random violence for him not to prepare for the worst, but this pair didn’t fit the profile.

  Then he took in a few things. The man was six feet tall. Three hundred pounds and then some. Most of his hair had slipped down to his sideburns.

  The sheriff. Colby had looked at enough photos to recognize the man even in profile. Half the case was solved.

  Colby texted the Rangers while the sheriff was explaining where he’d been. Then the whole place went crazy. Colby left Daily Watts asleep on the bench and joined the crowd moving to the parlor. He saw PJ up near the front. She was walking with two old women, her arms linked with theirs.

  People flowed into the hallway like logs on the river, moving toward what he assumed was a big parlor in the back of the building.

  He kept Piper in sight but once in a room with wing rooms to make more space, Colby moved to the back of the crowd, keeping near the wall as much as possible.
Before long he bumped into the preacher, who’d arrived in town the same day he had.

  “Hi, Pastor. Enjoyed your preaching.”

  “It was rather short.” Sam smiled.

  Shorter than the shortest verse. I think that was ‘Jesus wept.’ ”

  “You know your Bible.”

  “Not really. I heard it on Jeopardy!”

  Sam’s smile melted. “We’re about the same level of scholar. I’m thinking of giving this career up.”

  Colby shrugged. “Are you still thinking you don’t belong here?”

  “Maybe. But I am doing some good by helping a few people, so I guess my time hasn’t been wasted. I helped a thirty-two-year-old woman run away from home, and I tried to help another one, a waitress, whose boyfriend had disappeared.” Sam laughed. “She said he wanted to be her secret lover. No one was supposed to know.” Sam shook his head. “Now he’s so secret, even she can’t find him. I can’t believe she was naive enough to fall for it.”

  A lot of boyfriends seemed to be disappearing. “This guy she liked, was he a gambler?”

  “I don’t know. She said his best feature was his wallet. Seems he lives somewhere else and only comes through town now and then. Then a few days ago he stopped taking her calls.”

  Colby lied, “I might know this guy. She’s better off without him.”

  “Yeah, but she has a right—a moral right, at least—to know why he dumped her. To just vanish like that is really tearing her up. She believed he really loved her and now she’s got to find him.”

  “Tell me where to find her and I’ll talk to her. If she describes this guy I know, I’ll tell her where to find him so she’ll have a chance to tell him off. That’s a thing I’ve noticed about women. They like to say goodbye, usually rather loudly.” Colby thought of his last girlfriend. She’d called to break up so many times it was still echoing in his head.

  Sam shrugged. “I didn’t help her much. She shouldn’t be too hard to find, though. She’s a waitress at a bar around here. I’m sorry, I can’t remember which one. Long hair, long legs. Her name was Marcie.”