Though the café had been open only a little over two weeks, Angelica had accumulated a wide assortment of junk behind the counter. Condiments, jumbo coffee filters, packages of napkins, a case of cocoa mix, coffee, nondairy creamer, order pads, a box of pens, odd dishes, silverware, and heaven only knew what else. What she didn’t find were the missing pages of Pammy’s diary.
“I’d like my bill, please,” the counter’s crab said.
Tricia looked up. Angelica was conversing with a four-some at table two. “Ange. Check needed over here.”
Angelica didn’t turn, but gave a backward wave.
“Miss,” crabby insisted.
“Ange!”
Angelica turned, reaching into her apron pocket for her order pad. “Sorry, honey,” she said, handing the patron his check. “We’re shorthanded.”
“I’d like to speak to the manager,” crabby demanded.
“You’re looking at her,” she said, tearing another sheet from her pad.
“You ought to hire competent help,” he said, glaring at Tricia.
“As I told you, sir, we’re shorthanded. Tricia here came over just to give me a hand. Of course, if you’d like to apply for a job as a waiter, I’d be willing to look at your résumé.”
The man grabbed the check, thumbed through his wallet, and yanked out a few bills, which he tossed on the counter.
Angelica picked up the money. “Hey, a fifty-cent tip. That’s forty-nine cents more than I expected.”
The customer stomped out of the café.
“Ange,” Tricia whispered, “you shouldn’t be so flip with your customers. You know the old saying, ‘the customer’s always-’ ”
“Right,” Angelica finished. “Well, guess what-sometimes they’re not right. Sometimes they’re downright rude.” She turned back to the people sitting at the counter. “Anybody need another round of coffee?” she asked cheerfully.
Nobody took her up on it.
She turned back to her sister. “How long can you stay, Trish? The lunchtime rush will be over in another fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“I guess I could stay that long. But I’m totally incompetent as a waitress.”
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to bus tables. You can start with the stuff on the counter. Afterward, I’ll give you a hand looking for Pammy’s pages.”
“Fair enough.”
Tricia scooped up the dishes and took them to the kitchen. Before she could escape, Jake, the cook, had her wrapped in an apron with her sweater sleeves pushed up as far as they would go, and up to her elbows in suds, washing dishes. Just what she needed-dishpan hands.
But Angelica had been right about the lunch crowd. Within fifteen minutes most of the customers had left the café.
“Oh, Trish, you are an angel,” Angelica said, swooping in with yet another load of dirty dishes. She scraped the leftovers into a plastic tub and handed the plates and silverware to Tricia.
Jake, who’d been cleaning the grill area, untied his apron. “I’m off to my second job,” he said, and grabbed his jacket from the peg. See you tomorrow, Angie.”
“’Bye, Jake.”
The door slammed behind him.
“He’s got a second job?” Tricia asked.
“I pay him better than average, but it’s still not enough to make ends meet. I just hope he doesn’t quit on me.” Angelica handed Tricia a towel. “Dry off, and we’ll see if we can’t find those papers you’re looking for.”
Before Tricia could remove her apron, a voice called out from the dining room. “Ms. Miles.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned, recognizing Captain Baker’s voice.
“Which Ms. Miles do you think he’s calling?” Angelica asked.
“We’d better both go, although my being here is sure to make him angry-and he wasn’t in a good mood when he left my store.”
Angelica led the way back to the dining area. “Captain Baker, how nice to see you again.” What an actress! She actually sounded pleased to see the man. “Did I tell you my cookbook, Easy-Does-It Cooking, is going to be published on June first?”
“Yes. More than once.” He looked past her, and saw Tricia. “What are you doing here?”
Tricia indicated the damp apron still covering her sweater and the front of her slacks. “Helping my sister. She’s shorthanded.”
“Bull! You came over here to see if those diary pages were here.”
“Well, you can rest assured they’re not,” Angelica said. “If they were, I’d have seen them in the last four days.”
“I did take a peek behind the counter, but couldn’t find them,” Tricia admitted. “And if I had found them, of course I would have turned them over to you. I want you to find Pammy’s killer before someone else gets hurt or dies.”
“Do you mind if I have a look?” Baker asked.
“You’d better say yes, Ange. He’s already threatened me with a warrant.”
He shot a blistering glare in Tricia’s direction.
“Of course you can look,” Angelica said. “But if you tear the place apart, you’re going to put it back the way it was.” There was no arguing with that tone.
Baker’s hostility backed off a couple of points. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you start under the counter?” Angelica suggested. He moved away. “Tricia, I think you should go back to your store now. Thank you for helping me with the dishes.” She said it loud enough for Baker to hear her.
Tricia untied the apron and handed it to her sister, making a show of it. “You’re welcome. If you get in a jam again, you know you can always count on me.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Angelica whispered. “And I’ll give you a full report the minute he leaves.”
Tricia nodded and headed for the door.
“We’ll talk later, Ms. Miles,” Baker told her again.
Not a threat, a promise.
NINETEEN
Tricia glanced at her watch. She’d been gone a lot longer than she’d expected-and with nothing to show for it but chapped hands. Another Sheriff’s Department cruiser was now parked outside the Cookery, but its driver was inside Haven’t Got a Clue-and so was a crowd of customers, with no one to serve them. A chagrined Ginny sat on one of the chairs in the nook while Deputy Henderson grilled her.
Tricia jumped behind the register. It took nearly ten minutes before she’d taken care of those ready to pay and be on their way, before she could finally leave her post to join Ginny.
Henderson slapped his notebook closed. “Thank you, Ms. Wilson. You’ve been very helpful.”
“I don’t see how. I told you, I don’t know anything.”
The deputy nodded to Tricia and headed for the door.
“Are you okay?” Tricia asked once the deputy had left.
Ginny nodded. “But my friends are going to kill me for dropping a dime on them.”
Tricia couldn’t help but smile at the phrase. Ginny must’ve picked it up from one of the mysteries in stock-or was she more street savvy than Tricia had believed?
“No luck finding those missing pages?” Ginny asked.
Tricia shook her head. “I didn’t think I would.” She thought back to her last encounter with Jason Turner. “Only one person I know read those pages. Jason Turner opened that envelope. He read the pages that Pammy mailed to Stuart Paige. But if Captain Baker is still looking for them, Turner must not have told Paige or the rest of his entourage what they said.”
“What makes you think they’re so important? I mean, if she took them out, maybe she didn’t want Paige to see them.”
Tricia hadn’t thought of that. The references to the baby’s father were vague-maybe deliberately so. Could Pammy have concocted the whole diary-blackmail scheme by writing a fake diary?