The American Café Read online

  “I've got me a gun,” the woman threatened. “It works real good and I know how to use it. If you don't believe me, just ask Goldie Ray.”

  “What are you talking about, old woman?” asked Virgil.

  The woman raised her other hand and exposed a sawed-off shotgun from the folds of her long skirt. All three men at the counter dove at her simultaneously. As she aimed at Sadie, Red rounded the end of the counter with incredible speed and pushed Sadie to the floor.

  Before the woman could pull the trigger, Virgil jerked the shotgun from her hands and Barney pinned her elbows to her waist. The wiry woman squirmed and kicked. Raising her knees, she managed to land the heel of her right boot slightly above Junior's left eye. He backed up, lost his balance, and fell on his rear next to the stool he had been sitting on moments earlier.

  “Hold still, old woman,” Virgil yelled.

  Junior, regaining his senses, grabbed her feet and held them together. She cried out, stopped struggling, and fell limp.

  By then, Sadie had pushed Red away, jumped to her feet, and rounded the end of the counter to rush headlong into the middle of the fracas. She grabbed the gun away from Virgil, freeing his hands so he could help the others.

  “Who in hell let her out of the loony bin, anyway?” Junior pulled himself to his feet.

  “Oh, our great state probably deemed her cured and sent her home so they wouldn't have to spend any more money to feed her.” Virgil turned his head, trying to pull his face away from the woman's flighty hair. “What's wrong with you, Pearl? Are you going to behave if we let you go?”

  Pearl nodded and the two men slowly loosened their grasp. She stood up and straightened her blouse. Her bun, barely attached, had fallen onto the back of her head.

  Sadie broke open the chamber of the confiscated shotgun and looked around at everyone there. “It isn't even loaded.” She placed the gun on the counter and approached the woman. “Who are you, and why did you do that? If that gun had been loaded, you could have killed someone. And why did you call this place a den of sin?”

  The woman didn't answer, only frowned and stuck her nose in the air.

  “If you want to call the police, we'll wait,” said Virgil. “But it might take old George a while to get here. I heard he's got a new girlfriend. And Pearl's just a little off, that's all.”

  Sadie's eyes widened at Virgil's take on the situation.

  “I thought he hired a new police officer,” said Junior.

  “She's never hurt anyone before,” offered Red.

  Sadie thought for a moment. “No, I'm all right. No harm done, I guess.”

  “Just consider yourself warned.” Pearl pulled away from Virgil. “Let me go. I've got to go to the bathroom.” With that pronouncement she walked to the bathroom near the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind her.

  “We'll wait and make sure she's gone,” Virgil picked up the weathered ball cap that Pearl had knocked off his head earlier, “then you can lock up when we leave.” He slapped the cap on his knee and placed it on his head.

  “Thanks.” Sadie smiled at her new friends.

  Everyone stood staring at the restroom door until Red finally walked over and knocked. No answer. He tried the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. Turning to Sadie, he asked, “Where's the key for this door?”

  “I have no idea, but there must be one around here somewhere.” She looked around, returned to the counter, and started opening drawers.

  Red ran his finger above the door facing and retrieved a clump of dirt and a tarnished key. “Here it is,” he called to Sadie. The others watched as Red unlocked the door and pushed it open. Even though the small window didn't look big enough to offer the woman an escape route, she was gone.

  Virgil walked over to the window, slid it closed, and turned the rusty lock. “If it's okay with you, I'll drop off Pearl's gun at the police station.”

  “Okay.” Sadie placed her hands on her hips. “But that woman had better realize she can't go around threatening people like that.”

  “You boys go on back to the mill.” Virgil nodded toward the door. “We've got work to do.”

  As the three men left the restaurant, the front door closed behind them and Sadie stood staring into space. Finally, she looked at Red, who had returned to his seat at the end of the counter. “Wow. What was that all about?”

  “Oh, that's Pearl Mobley. She's harmless.”

  Sadie pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I'm glad you think so.”

  “I'll take some more of that good coffee if there's any left. Mine spilled all over the place.”

  “That's okay. I'll clean it up.” She walked back to the coffeepot, picked it up and filled his cup, then poured one for herself before returning the pot to the burner. She grabbed a pile of napkins and wiped up the spilled coffee, then began to empty packets of sugar and powdered creamer into her cup.

  The door opened and a slim Hispanic man walked in sporting a wide smile and a paint-splattered shirt with “Hector” embroidered above the left pocket. Sadie relayed to Hector exactly how she wanted her front windows painted and gave him a card with her name and number on it in case he had any questions when she wasn't around. He stuffed her card in his shirt pocket and stared at the photograph. Nodding, he said it would be no problem. In a few short minutes he measured the window and set off to purchase the red and white paint he would need for the job.

  Sadie locked the front door and returned to the counter, then emptied the remaining coffee into Red's cup and switched off the coffee maker.

  “Why did you buy this café anyway?” asked Red.

  She slowly stirred her coffee and gazed out the window. “I've always wanted to own my own restaurant and I got tired of working for other people. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but after this morning, I'm not so sure.”

  The front door rattled. Sadie saw Barney feverishly trying to get in, so she hurried to the door and opened it for him.

  He struggled to catch his breath. “That old witch killed Goldie. They just found her at her house shot to death. Isn't that what the crazy old loon said? Something about Goldie? She'll be after you next.”

  “Goldie?” Sadie's heart sank. “What are you saying?”

  “You better watch out until the law can pick up that old bat. They never should have let her out of the crazy house and we never should have let her get away.” He turned and disappeared down the sidewalk before Sadie could say another word.

  “It can't be.” Sadie stared at the street and rubbed her hand across her forehead. “I just talked to Goldie last night. She was excited about her decision to retire. She and her sister are going to travel. In fact, I stopped by to see Goldie this morning, but she didn't answer the door.” Sadie gasped when she realized she and the killer may have crossed paths. “I thought you said Pearl was harmless.” She turned toward the corner where Red had been sitting, but the man and his hat had disappeared.

  2

  Sadie found herself alone, feeling scared and vulnerable in this new place. She didn't know anyone in Liberty other than the folks who had made themselves at home in her café that morning. They seemed nice enough, but the thought of Goldie being found dead unnerved her. She decided to lock up and go back home. Hector had already said he didn't know how long it would take for him to return, and she didn't need to be there while he worked. She would have to trust him.

  She locked the doors of the café and climbed into her car for the forty-five minute drive home to Eucha. As she backed the Explorer out of the parking space in front of the café, she lowered the windows to allow the July heat to rush in, hoping it would chase the chill of death from her soul. The morning events had transported her to another time and place she wished she could forget.

  Even the music on the radio could not compete with the memories of the deadly bank robbery she had survived on April Fools' Day two years earlier. She couldn't stop the harrowing scenes from pushing back into her mind, forming a mental video that replayed in a
n endless loop, sending shivers through her body.

  Now some lunatic woman had aimed a shotgun at her, and she assumed the only reason it hadn't discharged and blown her to bits was because the woman had already emptied it into Goldie.

  Sadie's first impulse had been to rush to Goldie's house to see if maybe it was all just a bad joke. But she couldn't bring herself to turn the steering wheel in that direction, so she continued to drive north.

  Nothing made sense. Why would Pearl want to murder a good woman like Goldie? And why was Pearl so angry about the reopening of the café? Sadie didn't want to be drawn into another murder investigation, but she couldn't sit idly by and have her new business ruined, either.

  The familiar Oklahoma landscape flew by Sadie's open window. The foothills of the Ozarks, covered with a healthy variety of oak, birch, maple, and sycamore trees rooted in rocky red dirt scarcely registered in her mind. The curves disappeared before her as she thought about how she had ended up owning a café in Liberty, Oklahoma, in the first place.

  The decision to buy the café had not been quite as impulsive as some of her friends had thought. Twelve years working at the Mercury Savings Bank had taught her a lot of things. For one, her life was too short to spend trying to please an elitist bank board, most of whom had no idea how to go about handling an irate customer, much less what to do when a teller couldn't balance his, or her, cash drawer. She was also quite certain none of them had ever faced the wrong end of a Smith and Wesson in the hands of a crazed robber.

  She craved a job that made her want to get up and go to work in the morning. She wanted to feel the pleasure she saw in her great-aunt's face in those old, grainy black-and-white photographs. Finding the newspaper ad about a restaurant for sale in Liberty, Oklahoma, seemed the answer to a lot of prayers.

  Instead of calling the number in the paper, Sadie had gone unannounced to see the Liberty Diner in operation. It was easy enough to find, on the main road in the middle of the small town. The brick building looked empty, which didn't seem like a good omen to Sadie until she noticed, according to the information painted on the window, it was almost closing time.

  She went inside and took a seat on one of the red vinyl-covered stools at the counter just as a woman burst through the kitchen door carrying a tray of cups.

  “Afternoon,” the woman greeted Sadie as she deposited the coffee mugs on a shelf behind the counter.

  “Am I too late to get something cool to drink?” asked Sadie.

  “No, no. Not at all.” The woman introduced herself as Goldie Ray, beaming a welcoming smile as she filled a glass with ice water and slid it, along with a laminated menu, in front of Sadie. “I'm out of the special for today, but I can fix any of the sandwiches listed there. Or I've got one piece of apple pie left and one lonely sticky bun.”

  Sadie couldn't resist the homemade cinnamon roll, so she ordered it with a glass of milk.

  Goldie served Sadie, then helped herself to the final piece of pie. “Mind if I join you?” she asked. “I'm bushed.”

  “Please, do.”

  Goldie moved around the counter and sat on a nearby stool.

  Sadie imagined the charming woman to be in her fifties. She was short and round with curly auburn hair that framed her friendly face with strands of gray clumped at each temple. When Sadie looked closer, she could see the weariness in the woman's green eyes. Before long, the two were chatting as if they'd known each other all their lives, and then the conversation abruptly turned to retirement.

  “I would give anything if I could find someone to take this café off my hands,” said Goldie. “I could really use the time off. My health…well, I could use the money to pay off some medical bills.”

  Before she knew it, Sadie had made an offer and the two women negotiated a deal. Less than a month later, they both sat in an office with Tom Duncan, the manager of the newly opened Liberty branch of the First Merc State Bank, signing papers to transfer ownership of the café to Sadie.

  Sadie and Tom had worked together in Sycamore Springs, and Sadie relished the feeling of being on the customer side of the desk for a change. Relaxed and happy, she chatted with Tom about the huge conglomerate that had taken over the Mercury Savings Bank, renamed it the First Merc State Bank, and started opening branches all over northeast Oklahoma.

  “You know I think you're crazy, Sadie,” Tom had teased. “Thelma in the personnel department is always asking about you. She said they would take you back in a heartbeat.”

  Sadie smiled, thinking about how Thelma had begged Sadie to come back to work for them. Eventually, Sadie agreed to help, but only in the case of a dire emergency. Returning to the bank would be a choice of last resort for Sadie, especially now that her new entrepreneurial adventure had reached fruition.

  Sadie remembered watching from a distance as the teller handed Goldie two cashier's checks and quickly counted a rather large pile of currency onto the counter. Goldie wiped a tear off her cheek with the back of her hand and then carefully placed the money in her purse. She walked out of the bank that day with a spring in her step.

  Sadie's thoughts catapulted back to the present when a powerful red-tailed hawk left its perch in a tall pine tree and sailed across the road in front of her car. She gasped and slammed on the brakes as the magnificent bird mercilessly clasped a small rodent with its talons and in an instant flew off into the sky. With her car at a complete stop, Sadie gripped the steering wheel and stared at the road, her foot aching from the pressure against the brake pedal.

  “Life and death, the circle of life,” she murmured. Why did death have to be so painful?

  She drove on at a slower speed, noticing the small houses nestled in the woods along the road. They were modest, typical Indian homes built by the Bureau of Indian Affairs—a brick rectangle with a carport at one end. She wondered about the inhabitants and if any of them had ever traveled to Liberty and ate at Goldie's Liberty Diner. She found herself wishing she could go back in time and get to know Goldie. But now that would never happen.

  Pearl crawled through the bathroom window of the café, fell to the ground, and found herself in the alley behind the restaurant. Dusting herself off, she got up and walked quickly to the end of the alley. There, she looked both ways before heading toward a line of trees where the street suddenly ended.

  When she reached the trees, Pearl continued into the wooded area until she found a secluded spot. She dropped next to a large tree and leaned against it. Her jumbled thoughts made her weary. She would have to sit and think for a while before she would know what to do next.

  Before long, she spotted a jagged rock in a nearby clearing. She rose, walked into the sunshine, picked up the rock, and heaved it toward a sapling. It snapped the small tree in half. She retrieved the rock and tested its weight again in her hand. It would do nicely.

  She sat back down and waited. After her mind cleared, she walked back toward town carrying her new weapon.

  3

  Police officer Lance Smith put the phone down, pushed the brim of his khaki-colored western hat away from his forehead, and rubbed his brow. “This is no way to end your first week on the job, Smith,” he mumbled as he repositioned his hat. He picked up the phone again and dialed Maggie Whitekiller's number. She answered on the second ring.

  A full-blood Cherokee who served as the dispatcher for the small police department when no one was around to answer the phone, Maggie knew everyone in town. She worked from her home and seemed to be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. It was a job Lance didn't think many people would take for minimum wage, but for Maggie it gave her an income and allowed her to stay at home and care for her two-year-old grandson while her daughter worked long hours at the Wal-Mart Super Center in Tahlequah.

  “Maggie, this is Lance. I'll be out of the office for a little while.”

  “Okay, Lance. But you don't have to call me. It will automatically ring here if you don't answer by the third ring.”

  “Just making s
ure.” Lance wanted to ask her what happened if she was in the shower, or needed to go to the store, or a dozen other things that came to mind. Then he decided he didn't really want to know the answer to any of those questions.

  “I'll radio if anyone needs you,” she said.

  Lance thanked her, hung up, and mumbled to himself again while he looked for the all-important handheld radio. He missed the more sophisticated transmitters, attached to an officer's shoulder and always within easy reach, used by the Cherokee marshals. He finished his coffee in one long gulp and tossed the Styrofoam cup into the metal trash can. Suddenly, the door opened and a middle-aged man entered carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Lance instinctively removed the tie-down from over the hammer of his Smith and Wesson .357 and rested his hand in front of his holster. He stood and walked around his desk. “Can I help you?”

  The man transferred the shotgun to his left hand, careful to keep the gun barrel pointed toward the floor. “Virgil Wilson,” he said, extending his hand. “I was looking for George, but by the looks of things you must be the new man we've heard about.”

  “Smith,” Lance responded, and the two men shook. “What can I do for you?”

  “The boys and I were down at the old Liberty Diner a while ago and ran into a little episode with Pearl Mobley.” He removed his ball cap and ran his hand across his balding head. “You'll get to know all the locals before long, but in the meantime we thought it'd work out better if she wasn't pointing this thing at folks, loaded or not, and I decided to drop it off here for George to worry about. I guess it would be your problem now.”

  Lance listened with interest, his right hand still resting near his belt. When Virgil offered the shotgun, Lance accepted it, checked to make sure it was unloaded, and placed it on his desk.

  “You say this Mobley woman was pointing this thing at someone?” Lance asked.

  “Yeah, but it wasn't loaded.”

  “Where's the woman now?”