She had learned who lived in this small town, what they thought, who they loved, what they hoped and dreamed and did. Her command at the Virtue Falls Coast Guard had prepared her to lead, but her time at the library had given her insight into the people.
Now in its third year and under Mrs. Golobovitch’s direction, the Scrap Happy Stitchers patched together quilts for church sales, charity functions and to show at the county fair. They also talked, listened, gossiped, advised, suggested and fought. And ate. They ate whatever anyone else made or bought and loved it, because they didn’t have to prepare it themselves.
Tonight was Kateri’s night to bring snacks, so she headed to the Oceanview Café to pick up the sandwich plate she’d ordered. She walked in; the place was packed. Locals, tourists … everybody but their local dysfunctional genius, Cornelia Markum. Kateri walked up to the counter where Mr. Caldwell, the meanest old man in the world, sat hunched over a cup of coffee. “Hi, Mr. Caldwell, where’s Cornelia?”
Mr. Caldwell lifted his morose gaze from the counter. “That bitch of a new waitress told her she wasn’t going to fix her weird pie every day and she was sucking up all the Wi-Fi, and Cornelia left.”
“Linda? Said that to Cornelia?”
Mr. Caldwell slid an evil glance toward the thin, blond waitress as she whipped around the restaurant with a coffeepot. “Why don’t you ask me what she said to ol’ Setzer?”
Kateri looked around. His three friends from the old geezer table were nowhere in sight. She leaned her elbows on the counter and quietly asked, “What did she say to Mr. Setzer?”
“She used that ‘nails on a chalkboard’ voice of hers and told him she was tired of having his baggy old ass taking up a chair a paying customer would use, and from now on he could get his coffee elsewhere.”
Kateri straightened up. “Dax owns the place. Can’t he do something?”
“Are you kidding? Dax is a pushover all the time, and right now, he’s a blubbering mess because he’s in love with Rainbow. Not that I know why, Rainbow never gives it to him.”
“Unrequited love,” Kateri suggested.
“Right. Like a teenager. So between Dax crying in the soup and the tourists taking every seat, Linda’s got this place held in her iron fist.”
“What about you?”
“I actually am mean enough to take up a bar stool for an endless cup of coffee. Not that I can get coffee. She won’t serve me anymore.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Caldwell. I’ll serve you.” Taking his cup, Kateri whipped behind the counter. She dumped out the old, cold coffee, rinsed the cup, poured it full of the fresh brew and put it on the saucer in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Here she comes.”
Linda arrived, her blue eyes snapping. “Sheriff Kwinault, you are not allowed behind the counter.”
Kateri batted her brown eyes at Linda. “Poor Mr. Caldwell’s coffee was cold, and there are so many people in here, I knew you needed the help.”
Out of the corner of his mouth, Mr. Caldwell said, “Well done. She’s speechless.”
But not for long. Linda’s voice went up an octave. “It’s illegal for non-kitchen staff to go behind the counter!”
“I won’t arrest myself. But since I have your attention, Mr. Caldwell needs a slice of pie. With ice cream. Right, Mr. Caldwell?”
Mr. Caldwell was no longer hunched over his coffee. He was gloating over it. “That would be wonderful, Sheriff Kwinault.”
“I am not serving that old stool-sitter,” Linda snapped.
“Are you refusing service to a man because of his age?” Kateri contrived to look shocked. “I’m afraid that is a much more serious crime than me illegally serving coffee.”
“I’m not refusing to serve him because of his age. He hangs around all the time, his bony old hands clutching that one cup—”
“Mr. Caldwell, are you not paying?” Kateri asked in her most scolding tone.
Mr. Caldwell put his hand on his chest. “Every day.”
“One cup,” Linda said. “He pays for one cup. And he wants endless refills!”
“Which is what the menu offers. As a customer, elderly or not, he has that right. Now, he’s asking for pie and ice cream. Is that a problem?” Kateri saw the moment when it clicked with Linda that she was overmatched.
The thin, snippy, perpetually irritated waitress marched to the pie case, pulled out the mixed berry pie, slid her spatula under the smallest slice, placed one tiny scoop of ice cream on the top and slammed it down in front of Mr. Caldwell.
Who said, “Thank you,” picked up his fork and burrowed right in.
Linda sneered and stormed away.
Mr. Caldwell told Kateri, “I’m digging blackberry seeds out from my dentures all night. But that was worth it. Thank you, Sheriff Kwinault.”
He was really piling on the respect for her title.
She liked that.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Pulling it out, she looked and moaned.
“What is it?” Mr. Caldwell asked.
“The Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast. Where my sister is staying. This cannot be good.” She picked up.
Phoebe shrieked in her ear, “Would you come immediately and arrest your sister for refusing to leave the great room so I can set up for the evening’s social hour?”
“I … don’t think that’s illegal.” Kateri made her eyes wide and appealing, and stared at Mr. Caldwell.
He chortled and kept eating.
Phoebe shouted, “She’s disrupting the schedule!”
Kateri took a breath to explain why the sheriff couldn’t answer a call like this—and collapsed in defeat. “I’ll come over and see what I can do. Yes. Right away.” She hung up, and asked Mr. Caldwell, “Anything else?”
“I’m going to give you some advice, young lady.”
“I’m listening.”
“Kipling said, ‘The female of the species is more deadly than the male.’” He nodded toward Linda. “If I were you, I wouldn’t turn my back on that woman. Or accept food from her. Or coffee. Or cross the street in front of her.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” Stepping behind the counter, she picked up the tray of sandwiches. “However—I’m female, too.”
“So you are, my dear.” Mr. Caldwell was still grinning. “So you are.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Merida had spent almost ten years in an environment controlled by a despotic man who demanded the kind of peace and quiet one might experience in a sepulchre. To stand in the entry of the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast and listen to Phoebe shout, “No, that is not your private sitting room, Miss Palmer, and you may not forbid our entry so you can enjoy your privacy!” made Merida hug herself with glee.
To hear Lilith reply, “My room has not yet been cleaned and the evening is approaching, so where else would I enjoy my privacy?” brought a silent chuckle.
Phoebe took a shuddering breath. “I told you. Susie didn’t show up for work today. I’m working as quickly as I can, but I work from the most expensive room down and your room is at the bottom of the list.”