So what are your failings?” He laughed. “I hate reading fiction. My brain just can’t suspend disbelief and stop analyzing why the people in a story would never, ever do something like that. And I bit my nails until a year ago.”
Phil belted out a gospel tune from the sink, where he cleaned up pots and pans. I chose song
They have line dancing if you like that kind of thing, too.” A dancing date. I never got enough dancing. This evening was sounding better and better.
“What kind of dancing?” “Everything. Line dancing, contra, West Coast swing, ballroom, Latin. Used to even go to international folk dancing over in Bloomington.”
“Here comes the music.” “I don’t know how good I am at following. I love to dance, but mostly it’s just been, you know, moving around kind of free style.” “I’ll show you, Robbie. Don’t worry.” After we finished eating, we joined the line dance, making me glad I’d worn a flared skirt and my turquoise cowgirl boots. And when the dance turned to West Coast swing, Jim led me through the moves in the most delightful of ways.
Despite how tired I was, I took the time to clean out the coffeepot, set up the regular coffee and the decaf for the morning, and make sure all was clean and ready for what I hoped would be another breakfast rush. My brain was rushing along like the Wabash Cannonball and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep yet. Instead, I pulled out butter, milk, cheese, and eggs. I could prep the biscuit dough now to save time in the predawn hours. It would hold fine in the walk-in overnight. After I scrubbed my hands and put on an apron, I measured out the flour, half whole wheat and half unbleached white, into the big stainless bowl, mixing in baking powder and salt. The image of Stella Rogers with my biscuit in her mouth rose up as if I was looking at her in full color on the big screen at the Starlite Drive-In in Bloomington. Who would have done a thing like that? Was somebody really trying to frame me? I didn’t hate anybody. Well, besides Will, my ex. But you’d have to hate someone to kill them. Wouldn’t you? Or to even frame them for murder. I cut the butter into small cubes and used my big vintage pastry cutter to slice it into the flour, pressing the U-shaped wires down again and again until the flour was the texture of coarse meal. What other reasons would drive a man or a woman to take a life? Rage at losing something valuable, like a spouse or a treasure, I supposed, or at feeling unfairly treated. Fear of being exposed could be another motivation, exposed for having committed a crime or done something shameful. Making a little well in the flour, I cracked in the eggs and stirred them up with a fork, then added the milk and the grated cheddar from the industrial-sized bag. Buying already grated cheese might have been cheating, but it saved so much time I’d decided to give it a try. I stirred the dough until it just came together. Who in this small town felt that kind of rage at Stella, or that type of fear? I floured the big marble pastry slab I’d installed at hip height—which for me was only thirty inches off the floor—and turned out the dough. I kneaded it only enough to bring it all together, then slid it into a clean plastic bag, sealed it, and set it in the walk-in along with the other perishables. After I cleaned up, still wearing my apron I sank into the chair next to the bourbon. One more little splash wouldn’t hurt, and it might help me sleep. My gaze wandered to the framed picture on the front wall. My mom and me, each with an arm slung over the shoulder of the other, laughed into the camera. I lifted the mug toward the image. “Hey, Mommy. How’d I do?” Adele had taken that picture the last time she’d been out to visit before I moved to Indiana. Mom and I had taken her to the Wild Pelican, a high-end restaurant perched above an unspoiled beach outside Santa Barbara, its wall of windows showcasing the sparkling Pacific that stretched out all the way to Japan. My mom’s wavy blond hair was cut in a no-fuss short do and her blue eyes were brilliant in a face tanned from walking on the beach. I’d gotten my dark curly locks and Mediterranean skin tones from my long-disappeared father, but my body matched Mom’s. We’d often talked about how we came from good peasant stock. “You would have loved this place,” I told her, taking a sip of bourbon, another taste we’d shared. My throat thickened, as it still did frequently, when I thought about her. She’d been my best friend. She’d taught me carpentry, giving me projects in high school to keep me busy and off the streets. Every summer she’d sent me out to stay with Adele for a month so I’d get to know my Midwestern roots. She’d fostered my love of puzzles of all kinds, and encouraged me to attend the engineering program at Cal Poly a hundred miles up the coast in San Luis Obispo. She’d even given me her blessing when I wanted to marry Will the day after I graduated, even though I could tell she didn’t like him much. I should have trusted her judgment over my own. “But I have the feeling you’d think this was the right move. This store, this restaurant. Right?” I didn’t have much of a belief in the afterlife, but I hoped her essence was out there watching, listening, and giving me the thumbs-up with a great big old grin.
~~~~
This is such a fun book on many levels... First, I loved that the main character was not only a chef, a business owner, as well as a carpenter who had bought a run-down old country store, but did all the carpentry to create the smartest-looking cafe/country store in town! And it was an instant hit in the community... Loved the name--Pans ‘n Pancakes!
But, of course, not everybody was happy that she had come into Indiana! But her Aunt Adele was there and she was moving to be near family since her mother had recently died... But as soon as she got settled, Robbie Jordan went out looking and found exactly what she wanted to fulfill her dream! Only thing was that somebody else had wanted the store and was upset she got there first... BTW, he holds grudges--and more! That's one...
It had taken most of her savings and plenty of hard muscle work to create just what she wanted. A pleasant place in which to serve meals, plus adding her personally loved collection of antique kitchen utensils of all kinds for both decoration and to sell... She had met several new friends who had volunteered to help get her going, even Phil had agreed to contribute his bakery talents and help out as the store opened... Aunt Adele also helped but Robbie knew that she would have to get help soon if she could get some type of notice out... But! She didn't have to because a young woman came in asking for a job and happened to be Danna, the daughter of the town's mayor! But when Robbie asked about her previous employment, which was at another country cafe in a small nearby town, she hesitated and talked about being able to walk to work... That's Two... Soon she was to learn that her former boss was not liked by many women...Robbie was happy to get her out of that situation.
The big day began, and people were there waiting to come and spend time with the new business owner. Even the Mayor came and congratulated her. (That's Three!) But Robbie was surprised by how the Mayor's assistant acted... Not someone she would think to have as an assistant, for any job...
Apparently many people thought that, because the Mayor's assistant was found murdered soon thereafter...
Now, the way I read this happening is that Robbie did not intend to become an amateur sleuth. Rather, she was soon being followed and in possible danger! She either has to try to figure out who wanted to get rid of her...or...else...
While all that is happening, Robbie is meeting other business owners in town and is surprised that one of the men had been involved with her mother! (That's four!) And to learn more about him, she began to wonder just how her mother was involved--and who, possibly, was her father! The one whose name she had never been able to learn from her mother...
But it wasn't long that Robbie realized that she had been set up for the murder! She had lost her favorite pen and couldn't find it... But she had also revealed that the Mayor's assistant had given her many problems in trying to get the sale of the building accomplished...
Fortunately, Robbie was able, with the help of a local lawyer and admirer, to ensure the police chief begin to believe in what she was saying, especially when Robbie was being shot at and the bullets had been found!
This is a great cozy mystery, with lots of intrigue and danger for the amateur detective character... But, it was the story that brings the readers into the community and people who were helping to support their new business owner that made this a novel well worth reading... Of course, the music was fantastic when she gets connected to a cycle group and bluegrass! In fact, the range of settings and music added greatly to the overall small community setting! Kudos to author...
So this was Stella’s son. Inconveniently named Roy Rogers. Well, maybe he was more typical of his generation than I was, and had no idea who the old TV singing cowboy was. Roy shook Don’s hand without really putting himself into it. “Thanks, Don.” Whoa. The guy I’d heard on the other side of the partition earlier. He looked over at me and squinted, running his left hand through hair so greasy it made him wipe his hand on his dark blue work pants. “This the girl who robbed me of my store?” Roy asked Don. Don held up both hands facing Roy. “Hold on a chicken-picking minute, Roy. She didn’t rob nobody.” He beckoned me over. “Kinda funny, that. Robbie here didn’t rob nobody.” He gave a grim little chuckle that neither Roy nor I joined him in. “Robbie Jordan, Roy Rogers. The late Stella’s only son.” I took a deep breath. “Nice to meet you, Roy. And I’m so sorry about your mother’s passing.” Roy snorted. “As if.”
“I’m off. Rehearsal tonight.” I stood as well. “What’s the show this time?” “It’s Copeland’s The Tender Land. Absolutely gorgeous. And I have the male lead.” He grinned. “Get out. Really? That’s awesome.” I knew he aspired to a career in opera. “Thanks again for the desserts, Phil. You’ll do more on Thursday for the weekend?” “You bet.” He left, humming as he went.
The tune of “Ya Gotta Dance” filled the room. Jim appeared next to me and pulled me into a close dance position. “Shall we?” “The ice cream is going to melt,” I murmured into his shoulder. “Let it.”
I emerged from my apartment into the store at ten-thirty. It was empty except for Danna and me until Phil waltzed in through the door a minute later, carrying his dessert trays and singing at the top of his lungs. “‘I believe,’” he belted, “‘that the Garden of Eden—’” “Yo, pipe down,” Danna called from the stove. “You’ll scare away the customers.” She looked at Phil and laughed. “No way. Book of Mormon? People around here love it,” Phil answered. He set the trays on the counter. “Hey, Robbie, you look nice.” I glanced down at my black skirt, which I’d paired with a soft purple top and a short black jacket. My hair hung loose on my shoulders, and I wore low black boots with tights. “Thanks. And major thanks for bailing me out like this. I owe you.” He batted his hand down. “I’ll catch you up on that one of these days. Now get out. Danna and I have some catching up of our own to do.” He slid an apron off the shelf and popped it over his head.
I stood in the back of the ornate church, scanning for Jim, five minutes later. An organ droned church music and people rustled their programs and spoke in hushed tones. A uniformed Officer Wanda stood in position in the back left corner, hands behind her back, also scanning the pews. I gave her a nod, which she barely deigned to return. Don was up near the front on the right, sitting next to Ed Kowalski. Roy sat with bent head, alone, in the first row not far from the casket, which was draped in a white cloth with a gold cross on it. I didn’t see Adele anywhere, but when I spied Jim, I made my way up the side aisle to where he sat on the left and slid in next to him.
“Pickles. I think we’re okay for breakfast tomorrow,” Danna said. “But order more OJ, eggs, and bread for the weekend.” I entered those as Phil sang a song I didn’t recognize, then I took the tablet into the walk-in and did a survey there.
Added Smoke Gets In Your Eyes from Classic Broadway/Musicals
“I owe you, Phil,” I added. He blew me a kiss. “I will exact an appropriate price from my friend,” he sang to the tune of “Oklahoma.”
“Robbie,” Danna said, moving to my side as I flipped cakes during breakfast the next morning. We experienced our usual rush despite the weather having turned cold and stormy. The coatrack was full of dripping raincoats and the antique umbrella stand held a half-dozen soaked umbrellas. I glanced up at her grim tone, one I’d never heard her use before. “What’s going on?” She tossed her head to indicate something behind her. “You have to trade places. I’m not talking to him.” She grabbed a clean apron from the box, threw it on, and started the sink water running a little too hard, scrubbing her hands like she was punishing them. I twisted to see Ed Kowalski examining the menu at a table by himself. “Gotcha.” I pointed to the orders. “The two specials platters are up next.” I also ditched the grease-stained apron I’d been wearing for a fresh one. Poor Danna. No woman should have to put up with harassment. He’d better not try anything on me. I adjusted my hat and grabbed the order pad and pen. We could have gone hi-tech and used a digital ordering system, but a tablet for every table was expensive, and who needed a digital device mounted next to the grill? It’d be a wreck, full of grease splatters and flecks of batter in a week. Or a day, more likely. I steered for Ed’s table. “’Morning, Ed. Decided to eat out again today?” “Thought I’d see how the competition was doing after a week.” His mouth smiled, but his little eyes didn’t. “Things are going pretty well.” I waved the order pad at the other nine tables, every one of them with at least two customers seated. A party of six men occupied the biggest table. “Can you put together a small sample portion of everything you’ve got?” He frowned at the breakfast menu. “Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. “You are checking out the competition. You want five omelets?” “No, of course not.” He blinked and stabbed at the menu. “Give me the Kitchen Sink, but with only one egg. And a couple of pancakes, bacon and sausage, white toast, biscuits, meat gravy. Like I said, one of everything, but small-sized. When I came in on opening day, all I tried were the biscuits, gravy, and eggs.” “I can’t do a Kitchen Sink omelet with one egg. It won’t hold it.” I set my hands on my hips. “Whatever.” Ed waved a hand. “And coffee, of course.” “Of course,” I muttered as I headed toward the coffee station. “A ‘please’ would have been nice.” One of the white-haired men at the large table waylaid me with an “Oh, miss?” and a smile that could have lit up a dark night in January, so I changed course. Ed and his sampler breakfast would have to wait. “How’s everything?” I asked after introducing myself. “Delicious.” The man patted his nicely rounded midsection with both hands, a plate of half-demolished pancakes in front of him. “Super delicious. Miss Jordan, we wondered”—he glanced at his tablemates, several of whom bobbed their heads in agreement—“we’re a men’s breakfast and Bible club, and we wondered if we could reserve this table for eight o’clock every Friday morning. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” “That sounds like a good idea to me.” Several paperback New Testaments lay on the table, along with a couple of well-thumbed black Bibles. “It’s no trouble at all.” He beckoned to me to lean in and lowered his voice. “We used to meet in Nashville at”—he tilted his head toward Ed across the room—“at another establishment, but we like it here better. Samuel recommended we give you a try.” He pointed at one of the men. “I’m glad you’re pleased with Pans ‘N Pancakes, and I’m happy to reserve the table for you all. I’ll make up a special sign and put it out every week. How does that sound?” “Perfect. We’re much obliged.” “Are you always six, or are there more? The table seats up to eight.” “Never more than eight.” “Perfect, then. I’ll be right back with more coffee, gentlemen. Anything else I can get you?” One man held up his juice glass, and another asked for a refresher on his tea, thanking me for my trouble. At the far end of the table, a slender man with dark skin and a full head of wiry grizzled hair waved me over. “Is my grandson working today?” He smiled up at me. “You know, Philostrate?” “Oh, Phil. No, he’s not a regular employee, but he does make the desserts for lunch. And I’m sure you know he designed our logo and did a lot more to help me get started.” I smiled back. “He’s a good friend.” He extended his hand. “I’m Samuel MacDonald. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ll tell Philostrate his recommendation was well-founded.” I shook his hand and thanked him before I bustled away. I sure wasn’t about to turn away a weekly group of polite and hungry Christians, especially one including Phil’s grandfather. Ed might not like it, but fair was fair in the free-market economy. I handed Ed’s order to Danna. When she frowned at it, I added, “He said he wants a small portion of everything on the menu. Not every omelet, just the Kitchen Sink.” “He’ll never change his own menu, or the quality,” she said, sliding the spatula under a cheese omelet and flipping it with care. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to accomplish by tasting your much better breakfasts.” “I don’t, either. But he’s a paying customer.” I wrinkled my nose. “Or not. He comped my breakfast at his place the other day. I guess I’ll have to return the favor.” I leaned close to Danna. “Give him really small portions, okay?” A giggle slipped out. She snorted. “You got it. He’ll be lucky if I don’t spit in it.” “I wouldn’t blame you, but let’s not get carried away. I don’t want to get sued.” A few minutes later, after bringing Ed his coffee, topping up drinks at the Bible table, clearing another table, and making change for a third, I loaded up my arms with Ed’s order. “Here you go.” I set the plates on the table. I carried over a jam and syrup caddy from the table that just vacated, then turned to go. “Any news about the murder case?” Ed asked, his eyes on his food. “I heard you’ve been asking a lot of questions around.” “Not really. And I don’t have any news.” I gazed at him. “They’re way past the forty-eight-hour window, though.” His gaze met mine for the first time. “I read somewhere if they don’t solve a crime in the first two days, they’re unlikely to,” I added. “I’m surprised you’re still out walking free after they found your pen at Stella’s place.” He forked a bite of omelet into his mouth. “What? I sure didn’t leave it there,” I said. “If I killed her, you think I’d be stupid enough to leave my own pen at the scene of the crime?” “Any murderer can’t be too smart in the first place, don’t you think?” He looked at me, speaking with his mouth open as he chewed. I barely kept myself from squeezing my eyes shut. “Enjoy your breakfast, Ed. It’s on the house.” I turned away and busied myself clearing dirty dishes and greeting a new group who walked in. The next time I heard the bell on the door jangle, I glanced over to see Ed’s back passing through it. Talked with his mouth full and couldn’t even be bothered to thank me after he shoveled in his samples. I strolled to the front window to see him climb into a shiny black car parked in the HANDICAPPED slot next to the ramp I’d built. I stared at the front license plate. Even through the downpour I could make out KCSTOR. That had to be for Kowalski’s Country Store. The same plate and the same shiny black car that nearly ran me off the road on Sunday. Which had to be a coincidence. Because if it wasn’t, trouble was seriously brewing right here in River City. Or Brown County, as the case may be.
~~~~
Life as getting even more complicated, as if trying to stay alive was not bad enough to add on top of daily workload and investigating who's trying to kill Robbie. But then, the Mayor has to add on an even bigger burden... Holding a benefit for local animal shelters! Now Robbie was just as fond of animals as most of us, but she didn't need this extra burden right now! And why was the Mayor doing it not very long after her assistant was murdered... Was she aware, as Robbie had discovered, that her assistant was involved with blackmailing as many individuals in town who has something worth being blackmailed for!!! And that's quite a number, Robbie was to learn, even including the Mayor! Well, there were so many that was in this type of situation that I've even spotlighted at least 4 potential villains--either for murder or for some other deed they'd done in the past! One, Robbie was to learn, even involved her father who she was fairly certain she'd discovered just who he was!
People in town were to donate anything they thought of value to raffle off! Robbie immediately put together one for free meals! Phil followed that with a little touch of music!
“Crazy. Got anything you want to donate? And will you come?” “I can do up a certificate for a month of Friday desserts,” he said. “Delivered with a song. How about that? And a couple extra trays of brownies for the event itself.” I laughed. “I like it. All of it.”
Impossible Dream My Choice!
Wait. If it’s ten o’clock here, it’s three in the morning over there. If she got up at seven, maybe she’d write back at two in the morning my time. Or three? I could get up extra early and check. If I could even sleep. My agitation made me doubt that. I got up and poured a little bourbon in a glass; then I found the playlist I’d labeled “Mom” on the computer. I’d never known why she loved to listen to opera so much, until now. I started the Bocelli album playing, the one where he sings arias from a number of operas, which I’d listened to dozens of times since I lost my mom. I set it to play “Che Gelida Manina” from La Bohème, one of her favorites. As the tenor sang, I found Roberto’s picture again and gazed at his face. At the end of the song, I knew the words translated to: “Now that you know me, speak, tell me who you are! Will you say?” “Will you tell me who you are, Roberto Fracasso?” I asked the image. “Will you say?”
The magic of riding was doing its hat trick again. I’d been cycling about fifteen minutes, head down, pumping. It cleared out both the anger and the ice cream calories. It was my own personal Zen zone, where all I was doing was this one thing. In the back of my brain, I knew I had a lot to deal with once I was home, but for now, the road was just the road. A Mary Chapin Carpenter song my mom used to play about a road being just a road came into my head and I sang into the wind, my legs going at the rhythm of the song. I cut it off when an engine gunned behind me. I’d turned onto South Lick Road a few minutes earlier, a narrow way winding between wooded hills and marshes, with not a house in sight. Cars rarely traveled it, preferring the easier drive of Route 46. Slowing my pace, I glanced behind me. Uh-oh. A black sedan barreled toward me...
Folks, I hope you've enjoyed this post as much as I did putting it together... Don't think I've ever had an author use as much diversity in the music area than was done by Maddie Day! Verrrrry Cool Maddie! You put in some songs I didn't know, but I also put in songs when you didn't name them... Just doin' my part, LOL... I had to stop talkin' about the whodunit cause music kept gettin' in the way of talking about the book... NOT! Actually, I highly recommend the book. I was pretty sure whodunit... But, then again, there were even more people, especially women, who needed to report on one of the possible candidates who was on Robbie's List! Ladies! You all are gonna have to start speaking out about men trying or doing inappropriate things! We've seen how one man can initiate teens into unwanted sex while still in their teens...and it was allowed to continue for years! We've got to learn to speak up! Don't you think? I know... I know... It's easier said than done... But we can't continue to allow powerful men to handle what doesn't belong to them, out of fear!
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