Two days passed with no Heathcliff sightings, my work at home filling most of my days and Rebecca’s rambling filling the nights. When I’d first moved back, I’d taken to going with her to town in the evenings, helping out with another business venture of hers, a small coffee shop that sold coffee, tea, and books in the morning before crossing over to beer, appetizers, and karaoke at night. It was an artsy kind of place during the day, a college hangout. But at night, the adults ruled, calling out orders to the bartender before belting out old tunes in terrible, slurred voices.
Most of the time, it was half empty, but on weekends, it was full. It was also my second job. When catering was slow and there were no orders coming in, I worked at Caffeine’s—I’d had no say in the name—using the money I earned for the plantation’s upkeep. I stayed in the kitchen, away from the crowds, cooking whatever order came in, mostly loaded nachos and potato skins with the occasional stuffed mushrooms or pepper wraps. It wasn’t an ideal job, but the people were nice. Rebecca had a knack for hiring folks who were down on their luck, giving them a place to stay until things got better.
Kathy was one of those people. She was a merry soul, an older woman with a shock of white hair and thick, large glasses. She’d lost her home to a fire, and with her husband gone and no children, she’d needed the job to pay the rent on a small house on the edge of town. She was a good cook in her own right, and a quick waitress. She also did mean karaoke.
Jerry was the bartender. He was just as merry as Kathy, but his friendly nature was often lost in his massive, bull-like appearance. Bald and thick, he had a constant grimace on his face that didn’t welcome conversation, but if you attempted talking to him, it became quickly apparent that his nature opposed his looks. He was terrible at karaoke but could make some mean mixed drinks and was a natural with darts.
I simply made appetizers.
It was at Caffeine’s that my non-Heathcliff luck ran out. Strange, really. In high school, it was Sylvia Plath who did me in. Now, after a college education that I was still paying for, it was karaoke and whiskey.
On Friday night, two days after the morning run that brought me to the creek, the door to Caffeine’s opened, bringing in Ginger’s loud laughter and Heathcliff’s brother’s answering, “I told you we had places here other than the creek.”
Heathcliff followed, his gaze roaming the room. It was an hour till closing, well past midnight, and the place was mostly empty.
“This is new,” Heathcliff said.
Brayden squeezed in behind him. “I’m still laughing at the name.”
Chris, Heathcliff’s older brother, grinned. “Rebecca Martin runs it. It does pretty well here. Especially during the winter when no one wants to circle the trucks down at the creek, even with the bonfires.”
From my place in the kitchen, I heard their voices and my back bristled with awareness. Kathy, who’d been pulling a batch of jalapeno poppers from the grease, glanced at me.
“You okay, honey?”
Nodding, I left the stove, marching to the kitchen door where Rebecca stood, her eyes narrowed on the room beyond.
“Caffeine’s is a good name,” she hissed at me.
I ignored her. “I think I’m pretty much through for the night. If you don’t mind, I’m sneaking out the back.”
She threw me a look. “Coward.”
“You betcha,” I replied.
Beyond the door, Heathcliff ordered a beer, Brayden ordered a whiskey, and Ginger asked for a Bloody Mary. Chris searched the café, his eyes honing in on the kitchen door. A bad feeling settled in my gut.
“Hey, Jerry, is Rebecca or Hawthorne here tonight? I have something from Mams I was supposed to deliver to the plantation, and it’ll save me the trip.”
Jerry threw a towel over his shoulder. “Is this something for Rebecca or Hawthorne?”
“Hawthorne,” Chris answered, “but I’m sure Rebecca could deliver it, too.”
“I’m out,” I hissed in Rebecca’s ear.
“Something from Mams?” Heathcliff asked suddenly. “I just saw her this morning. Why didn’t she say anything?”
There was a pause followed by Chris’ uncertain reply. “Because she wasn’t sure you’d be okay with it.”
Heathcliff grunted. “I’ll take it to the plantation.”
Rebecca’s fingers curled in my shirt. “You’re back in, missy. Unless you want lover boy out at your place.”
“It’s not the plantation she thought you’d have trouble with,” Chris’ voice broke in. “It’s what she wanted delivered.”
The silence that followed was full of tension, Rebecca’s gaze flying to my face. Curiosity was a living, breathing being for Rebecca, her nosy nature a naughty child I’d never be rid of.