I winked playfully. “Right. I dub thee immune. So, before you heard me knocking around next door like an elephant doing the fandango, did you see anything else, hear anything else?”
“Nope. I’m hard a hearin’. Surprised the nonsense right outta me when I heard the ruckus. I was sittin’ right over there at that corner table havin’ a latte-schmatte-mocha-choca-ya-ya or whatever the kid here calls ’em. ’Bout knocked me out of my chair. So you know it was daggone loud.”
I looked to my left at the row of sherbet-colored wrought iron tables and noted the wall of Strange Brew faced the very wall where I’d demolished the metal rack with all the candles.
“And what time did you get here to your grandson’s shop, Mr. Sherwood?”
“What are you, a Charlie’s Angel? I don’t even know why you’re askin’, but I got here at six-thirty. Same time I do every day.”
“You know,” Forrest interrupted, pulling up a chair to sit between us, his long legs knocking into mine. “Now that you mention it, I do remember hearing a yelp at around eight-thirty or so. But I just figured it was one of the kids walking to the bus stop for school. They’re always pretty noisy and full of it, so I didn’t think anything about it. You don’t think it was Mrs. Martoni, do you? I’d feel awful if she needed help and I…”
Forrest looked stricken by the idea he might have missed saving her. But that niggle from last night hadn’t gone away. I don’t think anyone could have helped her.
Folding my hands in front of me, I looked for a sign with the hours of Strange Brew, but didn’t see one. “What time does the coffee shop open, Forrest?”
“I open at six sharp every day for the commuters and early birds. There are lots of ’em that take the sunrise yoga class three times a week at Joy Carmichael’s studio just three doors down.”
I tapped my finger on my chin. “Isn’t that a rather strange hour for Madam Zoltar to open up shop? I thought most psychics kept nighttime hours?” When it was easier to pull off fake séances and flickering lights.
Chester tapped his newspaper with a thick forefinger, his face still quite cross. “Tina lived in the back of the shop. She always opened early for any commuters who might want a tarot card reading.”
Now I was going to tread into sensitive waters. Chester’s tone and staunch defense of Madam Zoltar yesterday made me wonder if he’d had romantic notions about her. “You liked Madam Zoltar a great deal. It’s obvious. Were the two of you close friends?”
Forrest barked a laugh as Chester’s round cheeks went rosy. “Mrs. Martoni—as I called her, anyway—was a little sweet on Gramps, I think. But Gramps only has eyes for Gram. I told him he had to stop referring to her as ‘his’, but it’s just his way of declaring how much he cares about her.”
So an unrequited love on Madam Z’s part, maybe? Hmmm. “That’s so sweet, Chester. Your wife’s lucky to have someone as upstanding as you.”
Chester finally looked at me, but his eyes were no longer hard like ice chips, they were melancholy and soft. “My Violet’s gone now. Just like Tina. Like to think she met her at the Pearly Gates and welcomed her inside.”
I swallowed hard and without thought, reached out and gripped his hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sherwood.”
He squeezed my hand back before he pushed his chair out, obviously done with my questions and done with me. “Anything else you wanna harass me about, Kojak?”
I refused to let him thwart my efforts to make friends. Someday, sooner than Chester Sherwood thought, we’d share a cup of coffee—maybe even a muffin—and he’d like it, or I’d die trying.
“Just one more thing, please?” I smiled sweetly. I’d seen my mother do it a thousand times if I’d seen her do it once, and it almost always worked.
Chester frowned as though he were visibly fighting the forces of my evil. “What?”
Okay, I’d have to work on my flirty smiles. “Did you see anyone else go into Madam Zoltar’s store at all that morning?”
“I already told ya, I was sittin’ over there by the wall that faces her store. Can’t see nothin’ but the street from that vantage point, Sherlock Holmes. That’s where I sat until I heard those elephant feet a yours, tearin’ up the joint. It’s where I sit every day. Are we done now, Blue Eyes? Because The Price Is Right’s comin’ on and I got a date with some Victoria’s Secret models for lunch.”
I laughed out loud. “You’ve been very indulgent with this accused murderer, but I think I’m good now. Thanks much, Mr. Sherwood. I hope to see you again really soon.”
He flapped his hand at me, but I’d swear on my wand, he had to fight a reluctant smile as he trotted off behind the counter and toward the kitchen.
Forrest leaned into me just enough to remind me he was still there. “Sorry about Gramps. He can be a real ornery coot, but he’s a good guy and I can tell he’s warming to you.”