The American Café Read online

Maybe he will feel sorry for me and send a little extra.

  At least one good thing would come out of all of this. She would be sober by the time she got out of jail.

  Two hours later, the woman officer reappeared at Rosalee's cell and the door banged open. “You're in luck, sweetheart. I guess someone really was on the other end of that phone line.”

  Rosalee jumped up and hurried down the hallway toward sunlight and freedom.

  8

  “Let's go, Sonny.” Sadie opened the car door and the wolf-dog jumped into the backseat. When she pulled onto the highway, the clock on the dash registered 4:06 p.m. She should be in Liberty before five o'clock.

  The red Ford Explorer hugged the curves as she drove across the Lake Eucha Dam and through the Spavinaw Hills State Game Refuge toward Kenwood where she turned south. After she crossed the overpass on the Cherokee Turnpike, she decided to take a shortcut, the back roads through Teresita. The landscape flew by as the winding curves straightened one after another in front of the vehicle.

  This new adventure in Liberty was taking a turn she didn't like. Why would anyone want to be so hostile toward her? She didn't even know anyone in Liberty besides Tom Duncan at the bank, and she couldn't imagine him wanting to cause trouble for her. She had barely known Goldie, and now Goldie was dead.

  She quickly turned onto the final shortcut to Liberty, a dirt road that would lead her up Billy Goat Hill. She rarely took this route because the county didn't maintain the road very well. But today she was in a hurry. After climbing the rocky rise, the road flattened and she made the turn that would take her into the north side of Liberty.

  At the curve, her attention strayed to a herd of goats huddled near the fence. On any other day, she would have taken the time to stop and watch the nanny goats and their kids. They reminded her of Billy, the pet goat she'd had as a child. He was banished from the farm after he rammed Sadie's mother from behind, and Sadie had never forgiven her mother for giving him away.

  Suddenly, Sadie noticed a man on the right edge of the road. She swerved, stomped on her brakes, and came to a stop only a few feet from him. It was Red. He walked up to her window and waited for her to lower it. Sonny moved to the edge of the seat and growled.

  “Eluwei, Sonny. Quiet.” The dog backed off but remained alert.

  Sadie sat and stared at Red, waiting for the dust to clear and the pounding of her heart to subside. Then she hit the button on her armrest and lowered the window halfway.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “What is wrong with you?” Anger lit up her voice. “Do you have some kind of a death wish?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you saw me. Haven't you ever seen goats before?”

  Sadie frowned and shifted the vehicle into park. “What are you doing all the way out here? And where exactly did you disappear to this morning?”

  Red ignored both of her questions. “Are you on your way back to Liberty? I need a ride into town.”

  Sadie silently weighed the pros and cons for a moment, then reluctantly agreed. “Okay, but don't touch the dog. He'll take your hand off.” She tapped the control to unlock the passenger-side door.

  Red got in, pulled the door closed, and ignored Sonny. “Nice car,” he said. “I gave up cars, you know. I've got two good feet and that's all I need. They get me where I need to go.”

  “Obviously. That's why you need a ride, right?” Sadie checked the rearview mirror, pushed the gearshift into drive, and drove forward.

  “You know, our ancestors walked everywhere they went,” he said, “and they were healthier than people are today.”

  “Well, my ancestors were smarter than yours. They rode horses.”

  Red looked around at the interior of the vehicle. “This is no horse.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “Everybody's in a hurry.”

  “Everyone except you, I guess.”

  “If you're going back to Liberty to find out what happened at your café, I can tell you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Sadie looked at her passenger. “And what exactly do you know?”

  “Pearl just went a little berserk, that's all.”

  “A little berserk?” Sadie glanced at him again with eyes wide. “You call shooting someone in cold blood a ‘little berserk’?”

  “I didn't see her shoot Goldie, but I did see her heave a rock through your front window.”

  “Pearl threw a rock through my window?” Sadie slowed the vehicle and shot an angry look at Red. “That's just great. Did you tell the police?”

  “No, I was busy, but someone else did.”

  “Busy?” Sadie's voice rose in pitch, and Sonny growled.

  “Eluwei,” Sadie commanded again.

  “Nice dog,” said Red as the vehicle rounded the last curve and Liberty came into view. “You can let me out at the edge of town.”

  “No, after we take a look at the café you're going to go with me to the police station and tell them what you just told me.”

  Red nodded. “Okay, good plan.”

  As Lance searched the storeroom for a trash sack, he decided the chief needed a lesson or two in tidiness. The trash can in the corner of the small kitchenette had overflowed and was beginning to stink. He found a trash bag and began filling it with the office refuse. As he dumped the kitchen trash, a brown paper sack fell onto the floor. It was stained on one side with a greasy brown substance. For a moment he wondered about Stump's eating habits but dismissed that thought and continued collecting trash in the outer office.

  Each time he dumped the contents of an ashtray, the stench of stale cigarettes belched into the air and Lance grumbled. He missed the “clean air” policy he enjoyed while working at the Cherokee Nation.

  The front door opened and Lance looked up. He took a step back as he felt his heart rise up in his chest. “Sadie,” he blurted. “What in the world are you doing here?”

  Lance had first met Sadie while working on a bank robbery in Sycamore Springs a couple of years before. He thought she was one of the strongest women he had ever met, not to mention intelligent and beautiful. Her long black hair and electric-blue eyes captivated him. If it hadn't been for the difference in their ages, he would have tried to get to know her better. He'd decided against it back then, but seeing her now made him wish he'd decided otherwise. He hoped it didn't show all over his face.

  “Lance?” Sadie beamed. “I didn't expect to find you here.”

  Lance dropped the trash bag. “Hold on a moment.” He quickly retreated to the bathroom, washed his hands, and then made his way to where she stood. “It's good to see you,” he said as he offered his hand. “How have you been?”

  “I'm well.” She smiled. “How about you?”

  “Can't complain.” Lance turned his attention to the man standing quietly behind Sadie. Red introduced himself, Lance stepped forward, and the two men shook hands. “Have a seat.” Lance pulled out a chair for Sadie. “What can I do for you two?” he asked.

  “I bought the café down the street.”

  “Oh, no,” Lance said with surprise. “Don't tell me you're the lady with the broken window.”

  “I'm afraid so. We just came from there. Maggie told me someone was hurt. Do you know who it was?”

  “A painter took a fall from his ladder.”

  “Oh, no,” Sadie gasped. “That's Hector. Is he all right?”

  “I think so. They took him to Tahlequah to make sure.”

  Sadie turned to Red. “Red says he saw Pearl Mobley throw the rock that broke my window.”

  “Is that right?” Lance pulled the notebook from his pocket and began to take notes. “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  “Not much to tell. She walked up, threw a rock through the window, and kept walking down the sidewalk as if nothing had happened.”

  “Did you see the painter fall?”

  “Yes, and he told me he was not hurt. He said he would call the police and Miss Walela, so I went on about my business.”
/>
  Lance turned his attention to Sadie. “What's this I hear about this same woman threatening you this morning, Sadie?”

  Sadie and Red took turns recounting the events of the morning, which brought the conversation around to Goldie's murder.

  “Pearl seemed to be upset about the café reopening,” Sadie said. “Do you think she might have killed Goldie?”

  “We're still gathering information, so I don't know.” Not wanting to get into a conversation about an ongoing investigation, Lance changed the subject. “What happened to your career in banking?”

  “It's a long story. I'll have to tell you about it sometime. I still fill in for them on occasion, but as far as a career in banking…life's too short.”

  Red stood. “I don't want to intrude,” he said. “It sounds as if you two have a lot of catching up to do. But I wanted to leave this.” He dug into his pocket, fished out a red cylindrical item, and tossed it to Lance.

  Lance caught the shell casing with his right hand and held it up for inspection. “What's this?”

  “That is what the killer left behind.”

  “Red! You didn't tell me about this.” Sadie sounded irritated.

  Lance frowned at Red. “You want to explain?”

  “I picked it out of Goldie's flower barrel this morning,” he said, “while your police chief was busy taking…Let's just say he didn't notice.”

  About that time the radio gurgled with static and George Stump's voice came across the airwaves. Lance walked over to Stump's desk and picked up the transmitter. “Smith here.” Lance held the transmitter to his chest and waited for a response.

  “Smith, I'm en route to the bank, the one First Merc just opened up in the old First Liberty Bank building, so we can test the alarm system. So disregard the alarm if it goes off. It should only take a few minutes. I'll keep my radio on in case there's an emergency.”

  “Okay, Deputy Dawg…uhh, chief, sir, I'll be here if you get robbed.” Lance held the transmitter for a moment, waiting for Stump to demand he stop referring to him as Deputy Dawg.

  “Chief will suffice,” said Stump. “Out.”

  Lance deposited the transmitter back on the corner of the desk and held up the shell casing again. “Okay, Red. Tell me again how you found this.”

  Red leaned against the wall. “A bee took me to it.”

  “A bee?” Sadie repeated Red's words.

  “And when was that?” Lance thought of the bee he had dodged earlier at the murder scene.

  “Right after your, uh, what do you call him, dog-man? Yeah, right after your dog-man carried a bag full of sticky buns out of Goldie's house.”

  The brown paper sack in the kitchen trash flashed into Lance's mind, and then the aluminum pan that had mysteriously appeared in the victim's trash can. He rubbed his face with his hand. “Why should I believe you?”

  “You shouldn't. You should figure all these things out for yourself.”

  “I don't suppose you considered that you were trespassing on a closed crime scene, not to mention you've probably destroyed any viable fingerprints on this shell casing.”

  Red moved toward the front door. Sadie sat quietly.

  “Where can I find you in case I have some questions?” asked Lance.

  “Around,” he said as he disappeared through the door.

  Lance opened a drawer, withdrew a plastic bag and dropped in the shell casing. He tossed the bag on a stack of papers in his “in” tray.

  “I'm sorry,” Sadie said. “I didn't know he had the shell casing.”

  “Where did you hook up with that character, Sadie?”

  “In the café this morning.” Sadie pushed her hair behind her right ear. “When Pearl raised the gun, he jumped up and shoved me to the floor. If the gun had gone off, he could have taken credit for saving my life.”

  Lance made a note in his small notebook. “Yeah, and he could be covering his tracks by doing what he just did.”

  Sadie gasped. “Red couldn't possibly have killed Goldie. If he had, he'd be long gone by now.”

  Lance wondered if Sadie had forgotten about the bank robber who had not only killed her friend but also returned to the scene of the crime and hidden in plain sight while he stole her heart. “You never know,” he said.

  “What about Pearl Mobley? Are you going to look for her?” she asked.”

  Don't have to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Deputy Dawg hauled her in today after a little incident at a church.”

  Sadie eyes widened.

  “We'll keep her here until there's room for her at county jail,” he said. “In fact, would you consider delivering some food for the prisoner?”

  “Here?” Sadie looked surprised. “I'm not exactly up and running at the café, but I'm sure I can come up with something.”

  “Good. Nothing fancy.” Lance grinned. “The city is on a budget.”

  “So, then, you think Pearl killed Goldie.”

  “I'm just a cop, Sadie. That's up to a judge and jury. Until then, as far as I'm concerned, everyone's still a suspect.”

  Sadie smiled. It was good to see her old friend again.

  9

  Emmalee Singer stepped off the Greyhound bus in front of Cronley's Service Station and waited for the bus driver to retrieve her bags. While he shuffled suitcases and boxes in the belly of the bus, she shielded her eyes from the intense early-morning sunshine and looked across the intersection and down the street.

  She twisted her head from side to side trying to loosen the tightness that gripped her neck and snarled the muscles in her shoulders. Emmalee, or Emma as Goldie had always called her, had made the long trip from Carthage, Missouri, after her sister phoned and asked her to come. Goldie was selling the café and wanted to travel. The announcement devastated Emma. How could her sister turn the family business over to an outsider? Not to mention, the buyer was an Indian. It was unthinkable, and Goldie hadn't even asked for her opinion.

  Even though Emma had married and moved away from Liberty over three decades earlier, she felt a strong attachment to the café. It once belonged to their great-grandparents, opened when they moved from Arkansas in the late 1800s into what was then Indian Territory, before Oklahoma became a state. Emma would gladly have taken over the café herself if only she'd known Goldie was so determined to get rid of it.

  The two had traded harsh words on the telephone when Goldie suggested her sister might be too old to run the café. The words stung. Although Emma's next birthday would be her sixty-fourth, she reminded her sister that she walked three miles a day and considered herself as fit as anyone half her age. She continued to lash out at Goldie, calling her a spoiled brat. In the end, however, Emma had conceded that it was indeed her sister's café to do with as she wished.

  Goldie planned to see the Smoky Mountains and had invited her sister to come along. A chance, she had said, for the two to reconnect with one another. Emma thought it was a ploy, Goldie's way of trying to make up for selling the café out from under her.

  The door slammed behind her and Emma realized the bus driver had already deposited her three bags inside the gas station next to the front counter and bounded back onto the bus. Emma hurried to catch him before he closed the door.

  “Thank you for such a safe trip, young man,” she said and handed him a shiny new gold coin with the image of Sacagawea on it.

  The driver tipped his hat, pulled the lever to shut the door, and steered the mighty vehicle toward the road, leaving Emma alone. She entered the station and looked through the door into the work area. “May I use your telephone?” she asked.

  The attendant, busy installing a new pair of wiper blades on an old Buick, used one of the blades to point at a grubby phone on the wall and then returned to his work.

  Emma pulled a tissue from her purse and used it to hold the receiver while she dialed. Before the phone on the other end began to ring she hung up and thought for a moment. Promising to be back soon, she made arrangements with t
he attendant to temporarily store her bags. Then she struck out walking up Main Street.

  Sadie finished dumping the final dustpan full of broken glass into a cardboard box and carried it through the kitchen. Sonny lay just inside the back door where she had instructed him to stay. “Good boy,” she said, as she left the box to dispose of later.

  When the front door of the café rattled, Sonny growled. Sadie saw a small gray-haired woman peering through the glass with an air of desperation. “Edoa, Sonny. Stay,” she commanded. “It's okay. She looks pretty harmless. If I need you, I'll let you know.” She walked to the front door and unlocked it.

  “Hello there,” the woman said. “I'm looking for my sister, Goldie Ray. She was supposed to pick me up at the bus station this morning, but she must be running late. I thought she might be here. You're the new owner, aren't you?”

  Sadie could feel the warmth rise to her face. This woman obviously didn't know about Goldie's death, and Sadie didn't want to be the one to break the bad news to her. “Hello,” she said. “Yes, I'm the new owner, Sadie Walela.”

  “Oh, yes. My sister told me about your pretty name. You're Indian. Cherokee, I think she said.” Emma gazed beyond Sadie toward the kitchen area. “Is she here?”

  “Uh, yes, ma'am. Cherokee.” Sadie allowed the door to swing open. “No, she's not here. But please come in and have a seat,” Sadie stammered, “uh, and I'll call someone for you. Can I get you a cup of coffee or some ice water? I'm afraid that's all I have to offer right now.”

  “Oh, yes, coffee would be nice. Thank you.” Emma sounded tired. “Why is the front window boarded up?”

  “There was an accident with a rock yesterday. The glass man is coming tomorrow to fix it.” Sadie poured a cup of coffee and took it along with a glass of water to a table near the center of the café. The woman stood looking at the walls of the café as if searching for something. Sadie motioned to the table where she had placed the coffee and water. “Would you like to sit here, uh, ma'am?”

  “Oh, I'm so sorry,” she said, walking toward the table. “I'm Emmalee Singer. You may call me Emma, if you'd like.”