Gluten for Punishment (7 page)

CHAPTER
8

"O
h, my God, are you all right?” Tasha’s eyes were wide as she rushed into the back
of the store. It was close to six
P.M.
and I hadn’t had a new customer since I came back from the police station. “I got
here as soon as I could. Kip had two doctor’s appointments today.”

I kneaded dough. It was great to have something to slap around. It had taken me fifteen
minutes of hard scrubbing to get the ink off my fingertips. “You know, I don’t know.”
I rolled the yeasty dough and pushed in with all my strength, turned, rolled, pushed.
“A man died outside my door.” I waved toward the front of the store. “The front door
is locked because it’s taped off with crime scene tape and I have exactly no customers
coming in through the back. Even though I posted a big sign in the window announcing
I was open.”

Tasha hugged me tight. I couldn’t hug her back because my hands were covered in sweet
rice flour. “You must have been very scared.”

My shoulder muscles relaxed. Here was someone who cared about me and what I had gone
through. Tears sprang to my eyes and I fought them back. “It’s silly to feel sorry
for myself.” I sniffed. “I mean, the poor man died. His family will be devastated.
What if he left little kids behind?”

Tasha stepped back, straightened her arms while keeping her hands on my upper arms
and studied me. “Of course you get to feel sorry for yourself. First the flour vandalism
the other day and now this.” She shook her head. Today she wore a long sleeved tee
shirt, stylish jeans, and a smart tweed jacket. Her hair was pulled back but looked
like a movie star’s hair, not tumbled about in a messy ponytail like mine. “I saw
the paint on the front of the building. The sight of it scared the tar out of me.
He vandalized you while you were alone in the building.”

I slumped down onto a nearby kitchen stool. “You make it sound as if he might have
hurt me.”

Her generous mouth thinned. “He could have. Then I would have had to kill him myself.”

I blinked back the tears. I guess I was more emotional than I thought. Or maybe I
was tired. I’d used today’s free time to tear apart and clean my kitchen. I was currently
on my fourth batch of backup dough. “Officer Emry told me my alibi was weak and I’d
better hope the ME declared this an accident.”

“What?” Tasha was aghast. “What an idiot. Don’t let him get to you. He’s a bumbling
fool. Reminds me of Barney Fife from the old
Andy Griffith Show
. Don’t you think?” She pulled another stool around and sat down, then reached out
to rub my arm. “Now, really, how are you doing?”

“The kitchen is clean.” I waved my hand at the spotless, sparkling tiles and countertops.
Even the sink shone to within an inch of its life. Tasha knew me long enough to know
I worked when I was upset.

“Darn it, I tried to get here sooner.” She frowned at me. “How many extra batches
of cookies have you made?”

“Not too many.” I shrugged. “I had to go down to the police station and get my fingerprints
taken.” It had been a bit humiliating. Half the guys at the station had gone to school
with me. I had no idea what they were thinking, but I’d felt their gaze on my back
when I walked through the building.

“Why on Earth . . .” Tasha’s blue eyes flashed.

“They said it was to rule me out.” I stared at my fingers.

“That’s it. Come on.” She grabbed my arm and stood.

“What?”

“I’m going to buy you dinner and a drink. A really big drink.” She tugged me toward
the door.

“But I’ve got work to do—”

“There isn’t anything you can’t do later.” Her expression was stern. “I’ll bet you
haven’t eaten all day. . . .”

Huh, I couldn’t remember eating. But then again, who would want to eat knowing there’d
been a dead body a few feet from your table.

“Wash up and grab your coat. We’re going to your cousin’s diner for dinner.”

I threw a clean cotton cloth over the dough I had been working and washed my hands.
“But you bought me lunch yesterday.”

“And now I’m buying you dinner, but only so you can have a couple of drinks without
passing out. Trust me, honey, you need a drink.”

“Carrie isn’t here. Who’ll watch the store?”

“Do you have any customers?”

“No.”

“Then lock up and put a ‘be-back-in-an-hour’ sign up.”

She was right, of course. Besides, there weren’t any customers. Not now and probably
not until the crime scene tape came down. Between that and finding a dead guy in the
horse trough, I needed a drink. Any sane person would. I grabbed my jacket and tugged
it on, then locked up, slapped a handwritten note on the door, slipped my arm through
Tasha’s, and we walked the four blocks to Grandma’s Diner.

When we stepped inside, the entire dining room went quiet. Everyone stared. I looked
at Tasha. She looked at me and shrugged. Then we both grinned and grabbed the booth
in the farthest corner.

The diner’s interior was rustic. The walls were paneled wood. There were booths along
the outer walls and tables on the inside and along the wide front window. The window
curtains matched the checkered tablecloths. Every table had a red glass candleholder
with a lighted candle inside. Then there was a stainless napkin holder, glass-and-stainless
salt and pepper shakers, and a small bottle of ketchup. It could have been one of
many diners across America, but to me it looked and smelled like home.

My cousin Lucy came out of the back room. “What are ya’ll staring at? Eat something.”
She shamed them into turning away, then walked up and gave me a big hug.

Lucy was a little shorter than me with generous curves and bouncy blonde hair. I swear,
not a strand of gray in sight. She had a turned-up nose, sparkling blue eyes, and
the cute look that made men’s heads turn. “I was wondering if you’d come. You need
to be around family after a day like today. I made gluten-free chicken-and-rice casserole.”
She brushed at imaginary crumbs on the checkered tablecloth. Everything in her diner
was pristine. “Tasha, how are you? How’s Kip?”

“I’m good,” Tasha said. “I came as soon as I could get away. Kip’s with his developmental
tutor for the next two hours and I stole Toni from her work. We’re here for a drink.
What do you have?”

“Honey, the bar is open.” Lucy’s eyes sparkled. “What’s your desire? It’s on the house.”

“No, I can’t . . .” I protested. I know Lucy worked hard for any profit the little
diner made. Happily married to her husband, Robert Brockway, for twenty-five years,
Lucy laughed when I called her a child bride, but had been only seventeen when she
and Robert got married. They had their share of ups and downs, but managed to still
keep love in their relationship.

I asked her once how she did it. She said they had made a promise to be brutally honest
with each other always. Then she winked and said a good love life softened the blow.
Robert was a local truck driver and worked long hours, but he was home on weekends
and that was all that mattered. Right now I envied them their connection, their long-term
partnership. It would be nice to have someone to lean on when a dead body showed up
outside your door.

“I’m buying,” Tasha said firmly. “We’ll have two gin and tonics, some of those great
tortilla chips you make, and salsa.”

“Coming right up,” Lucy said. “Toni, you call me if you need me. Emmi will be your
waitress tonight, and the tab is on me. No protesting—” Lucy raised her hand to cut
off Tasha. “We’ll settle things next book club.” She gave me another hug and was gone,
checking on customers and urging her waitstaff to keep on its toes.

Our waitress, Emmi, was a tall college student in her early twenties. She had long
brown hair, which she wore in a ponytail at the back of her neck. The drinks in her
hands were in tall glasses with ice and a lime slice hanging off the edge. She placed
them down in front of us. “Chips and salsa will be right out. Lucy said you wanted
the GF chicken casserole, right?”

I nodded and wrapped my hand around the drink.

“What are you having?” Emmi asked Tasha.

“I’ll have a club sandwich with fries, thanks.”

I sipped the tall, cold drink and enjoyed the tang on my taste buds. The drink was
light on the tonic and heavy on the gin. Lucy made it medicinal strength.

“Oh, my, this is good,” Tasha said. “Drink up. I want to see the color come back into
your face.”

“I didn’t know the color had left my face.”

She patted my hand. “Of course you didn’t. I bet you’ve been pushing yourself to work
so you don’t have to think. Right?”

Thankfully, at that moment Emmi brought over a large bowl of hot, fresh chips and
two small bowls of salsa so I didn’t have to answer Tasha’s question. The second and
third sips of gin and tonic went down easy and I relaxed a bit.

“Now.” Tasha dipped a chip and popped it into her mouth. “Tell me everything. Don’t
leave out the juicy parts.”

I sighed and grabbed a chip. Munching, I realized I was hungrier than I thought. Armed
with liquor and snacks, I told Tasha the whole sordid tale, adding how I’d had to
give away coffee the first hour until Grandma Ruth showed up and helped move the crowd
inside.

I was halfway through my drink when Tasha stopped me with a hand to my wrist.

“Oh, my, look who came in for dinner.”

I looked over my shoulder to see the handsome rancher from the other night.

“Yum!” Tasha whispered.

“Hey, I thought you were dating Craig.”

“I am but Sam Greenbaum can put his shoes under my bed any day.”

“Sam Greenbaum,” I repeated. Huh, the handsome guy had a name. I watched him settle
an old woman into a chair at a table next to the window. He noticed me and waved.

I waved back. He moved in our direction and I ducked back into the booth. Tasha’s
mouth hung open and her eyes went wide. “Do you know him? You must know him, you waved,
and now he’s heading our way.”

Discretion was not one of Tasha’s best qualities. The heat of a blush rushed up my
cheeks. Being a redhead, I’m certain it showed like a glowing fire. Why could I never
look calm, cool, and collected?

“Hey,” he said, approaching the table. The man had a way of walking that could bring
a tear to your eye.

I swallowed hard. “Hi.” My drink was in my hand before I knew it and I sipped in a
poor attempt to cool off. I might have even pressed it against my heated cheek.

“You’re the bakery lady from last night, aren’t you?” His eyes twinkled—actually twinkled,
mind you. I tried to keep from drooling.

“Yes. How did your grandma and her friends like the sample platters?” Hooray for me
for being able to make conversation when I was face to waist with the handsome hunk
who was probably married . . . or gay.

“She and her friends loved it. They took several of the cards to call you for catering
jobs. I’d say that made it a success. I’m Sam, by the way.” He held out his hand.

“Toni.” I shook. Darn it, his hand was big and warm and callused in all the right
places. “Toni Holmes.”

“Nice to meet you, Toni.” He squeezed my hand gently. His gaze made the blush on my
cheeks that much hotter.

“I’m Tasha,” Tasha said, breaking the silent admiration in his gaze. Or was that my
gaze? Anyway, thank goodness for Tasha. “Tasha Wilkes, Toni’s best friend since grade
school. But then you didn’t go to school with us, did you?”

“Hello, Tasha. No, I’m from Towanda, originally. I went to school there my whole life.
It’s probably why we haven’t met.” He shook her hand as well, then turned his attention
back on me. “I’m here with my grandma.” He turned to Tasha. “Grams moved into Oiltop
to live in the assisted living center. I brought her here for some comfort food after
being poked and prodded by her doctor.” He pointed his hand toward a table near the
front door. Grandma peered at me through her thick lenses and I smiled and waved.
I wondered if she knew Grandma Ruth. I almost asked Sam if she did, but thought better
of it. Grandma Ruth was cool and quirky, smart and loyal, but her independent streak
gave her a reputation some elderly ladies didn’t like much.

Not that I wanted to make a good impression or anything. Or could, even if I tried.
I tried not to sigh. My family always made the impression first. There was no way
around it. Sooner or later, Sam would figure it out.

“I wanted to stop by and introduce myself and thank you again for saving me.” Sam’s
smile had my cheeks glowing.

“Hey, anytime.” I watched him walk back to his table, admiring the way he wore his
Levi’s.

Emmi arrived to block the view and put china plates with generous servings of steaming
food down on the table.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Tasha said as she grabbed a French fry from her plate
and dipped it in ketchup.

“There’s nothing to hold out.” I peppered my casserole. “He came into the bakery and
needed some platters for his grandma’s poker tables. I set him up with several dessert
sample platters.”