I was wondering how to bring up the subject of Mike Glazer’s death as Claire set a napkin-wrapped bundle of utensils by my right elbow. She gave me a thoughtful look and then said, “Kathleen, is it true that you found Mr. Glazer’s body?” Her face flushed. “That was a tacky question, wasn’t it?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “And yes, I did find his body.” I didn’t bother adding the part about my cat finding it first.
“The guy was obnoxious, but”—she gave a little shudder—“no one deserves to die all alone like that.”
I nodded, remembering how the body was slumped in the plastic chair in the dim light of the tent. “It seems like he rubbed some people the wrong way,” I said, reaching for my coffee.
“More like everybody.” She shot a quick glance past me to make sure the other customers weren’t trying to get her attention. “He wasn’t in here five minutes and he was telling Eric how he needed to change the menu and update the decor.”
I looked around. “What’s wrong with the decor?”
Claire gave a snort of laughter. “He thought we should go for a Parisian bistro look.”
“In Minnesota?”
She reached for the coffeepot and topped up my cup. “If people want a Parisian café, they’ll go to Paris. Tourists who come here are looking for a small-town restaurant with comfort food they recognize.”
Eric came out of the kitchen then. “You must be talking about Mike Glazer,” he said, as he slid a heavy plate in front of me. I could smell bacon, tomatoes and maybe a little thyme. The thick-cut sourdough bread had been pan-toasted—crisp and golden on the outside and soaked with tomatoes and spices on the inside.
I took a large bite and sighed with happiness. How could Mike have found fault with this?
Claire grinned at me and headed for the table by the window with the pot.
“I take it Claire was telling you about Glazer’s suggestions,” Eric said.
“Parisian bistro?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “He also thought we should get rid of all the ‘old-fashioned’ stuff on the menu, like the chocolate pudding cake.”
“Did he have any idea how popular that is?”
Eric shrugged. “Wasn’t interested. I made that recipe three times a day during the music festival last month. It was almost eighty degrees outside and the tourists were still ordering it.” He gave me a sideways smile. “By the way, how was last night’s batch?”
“Good,” I said.
His smile widened, and I knew I’d just been hooked in a fishing expedition. “Susan was positive it was you Marcus Gordon was trying to impress. As my grandmother used to say, are you and the detective keeping company?”
“No comment,” I said, bending my head over my plate. “And tell your wife she’s going to be dusting every single shelf in the library today.”
Eric laughed and gestured to my half-empty plate. “Would you like anything else?”
I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I took another bite of the sandwich while Eric started a new pot of coffee.
“Are you still going to do the food tasting?” I asked.
“We are,” he said. He turned to look at me over one shoulder. “If Liam and his group can pull this together, it could be good for the town. And I know it sounds awful, but it’ll be a lot less of a hassle without Glazer.”
I reached for my cup. “Do you think it was just the small-town boy trying to show off his big-city polish?”
“It’s possible. Not such a good idea, if you ask me, considering he might have been leaving the big city.”
“What do you mean?”
Eric stopped to wash his hands and then came back over to the counter. “Friend of mine has a restaurant in Chicago. I called him when we knew this pitch to Legacy was a go. He said there was some talk going around that Glazer’s partners wanted him out of the company. Nothing specific, mostly just talk.”
Before I could ask if he knew why, Claire came back with an order for the three men—town workers—who had just come in.
Eric headed for the kitchen. “Have a good day, Kathleen,” he said. “And remember, Susan’s bringing lunch. Let me know what you think of the soup.”
Claire took my empty plate and I pulled out my wallet to pay for breakfast.
“Kathleen, are you going to be seeing Maggie anytime soon?” she asked.
“Tomorrow night at tai chi class,” I said. “Why?”
“Her boyfriend left his travel mug here last week. I thought he’d be back in, but I haven’t seen him. Or Maggie.”
“You mean Liam?”
She nodded, reached under the counter and brought up a sleek, shiny stainless-steel mug with a comma-shaped handle and rubber grip strips. “He probably forgot where he left it. He was pretty angry after everything. He didn’t even finish his meal.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, ‘after everything’?”
“He was here, at that table.” She pointed to the front window. “Next thing I know, he’s outside on the sidewalk having some kind of heated conversation with Mike Glazer. He was right in the guy’s face. When he came back inside, he just tossed some money on the table, grabbed his jacket and left.” She shrugged. “I think he just forgot that he’d asked me to fill his mug, and I couldn’t catch him. We’re usually not that busy on a Wednesday, but we were that night.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “I can give it to Maggie.”
Claire smiled. “Hang on a sec and I’ll get you a bag.” She moved over to the cash register, where the take-out bags were stacked on a shelf. “Do you want a take-out cup to go?” she asked, gesturing at the coffee with her elbow.
“Umm . . . yes, thank you.”
She put the travel mug in a bag, got me a large cup of coffee to go and brought both over to me. I paid for breakfast, wished Claire a good day and headed out.
I’d left the truck at the library, but I didn’t mind the walk. The sun was shining for now, although my wrist still insisted it was going to rain later.
I let myself into the building and relocked the door, leaving the alarm off. After flipping on the downstairs lights, I headed up to my office. It was still early. I put my things on the desk and hung up my jacket. Then I tucked Liam’s mug in my briefcase so I’d remember to give it to Maggie.
As I picked up my cup again, I thought about what Claire had said about Liam’s argument with Mike Glazer. Mike had clearly pushed Liam’s buttons somehow if Liam had left without finishing his meal or getting his coffee. He worked part-time tending bar at Harry’s Hat, so he was used to dealing with people who were behaving badly; he didn’t lose his cool that easily. I couldn’t catch him, Claire had said. Then I remembered the rest of the sentence: We’re usually not that busy on a Wednesday, but we were that night.
I leaned back against the edge of the desk. Wednesday night was the night Mike Glazer had been killed. And he’d had an argument with Liam.
No. That didn’t mean Liam had killed him. It wasn’t a cause-and-effect thing. Liam wasn’t the only person who’d had words with Mike. He wasn’t the only person who didn’t like the man. Mary had threatened to drop-kick Mike between a couple of lampposts and I didn’t think she’d killed him.