Lye In Wait: A Home Crafting Mystery Part 5

"I'm being stupid, aren't I? I'm sure he feeds her all sorts of junk food-which she probably loves-and doesn't make her go to bed or brush her teeth. He gets to be the good guy, and I have to be the disciplinarian. I don't like that he tries to be her pal instead of her dad. d.a.m.n it, she needs a dad." She added, "And he's not even that good at being a pal." "

I know. But you have to remember that Erin is part of the equation, too. She's one of the smartest kids I know. No, she's the smartest. She's not taken in by her father's constant excuses. She loves him, but she understands what's going on, and she's dealing with it just like you are."

Meghan groaned. "G.o.d, that doesn't make me feel any better!"

The kettle began to whistle on the stove. "What kind of tea do you want?" I asked.

"I don't want tea," she said.

"Coffee? Wine? Scotch?"

"I want a beer."

"Well, that we don't have."

Meghan grinned. "Well, let's go get one, then."

"And dinner."

"Yeah. And dinner. Greek food"

"Mmm. That sounds great. I'm starving."

Pushing her chair back, Meghan stood. "Go get changed. We're leaving in ten."

EIGHT.

I HURRIED UPSTAIRS. GOT out of my scrubby work clothes and into a freshly washed pair of jeans and a forest-green, long-sleeved knit shirt. I zipped on a pair of black ankle boots, applied a little eyeliner and lip gloss, and smoothed my hair back from my forehead, patting the thick braid down my back to make sure it hadn't come loose.

Downstairs, Meghan waited for me in the living room. She wore the same clothes-khakis with a b.u.t.ton-down white shirtand had run a comb through her curls.

Cadyville isn't exactly a rocking town. It shuts down early except for a few restaurants and taverns, and the latter don't serve any hard liquor, only wine and beer. We headed to the Greek and Italian place on First Street, where I indulged in souvlaki and Meghan had the spanikopita. We almost always ate at home, both to save money and because of Erin's schedule, but we both loved Greek food. Well, truth be told, I love most any kind of food.

While we ate, she updated me on what she'd learned from the funeral home. Then I told her about my visit with Tootie Hanover.

"So he told her he'd made an investment that turned out well?" Meghan asked.

I nodded. "And he gave it all away. You'd think he would have spent some of it on himself. Forget a new truck, I never saw so much as a new shirt."

"How do you know he gave it all away?"

"I guess I don't. Do you think there's more?"

"Could be. The investment could still be paying off," Meghan said.

"But he didn't tell anyone about it," I said.

"No, Sophie Mae. He didn't tell you about it."

After we had shared a piece of decadent pumpkin cheesecake for dessert, I sat back and took a sip of fragrant after-dinner coffee.

"So, do you still want to go have a beer?" I asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm up for it. How'bout we go into the Gold Leaf?"

Meghan wrinkled her nose. "I was thinking more along the lines of Eldon's."

"But Walter didn't used to hang out at Eldon's."

"Ah. But he did used to hang out at the Gold Leaf?"

"Before he stopped drinking. I hadn't realized Walter was an alcoholic until Erin said that the other night."

We shrugged into our coats and went outside. The pavement was wet, but for the moment it had stopped raining.

As we walked down the block to the tavern, Meghan said, "Walter moved into that cottage soon after we bought the house. He seemed pretty functional, but his daily window of sobriety steadily decreased the first year or so that I knew him. Then all of a sudden he stopped drinking. He came and talked to Richard and me once, apologized for I don't even know what, and I figured he was working his way through a twelve-step program. He did the same with everyone else he had worked for in the neighborhood. As I recall, Richard was kind of an a.s.s to him."

"Talk about someone who should be in a twelve-step program," I said.

Meghan grimaced. "If only."

The door to the Gold Leaf was open, spilling rock 'n' roll onto the quiet street. Inside the doorway, a large tattooed man perched on a stool far too small for his behind. He checked our LD.s more from habit than necessity and waved us inside.

Layers of blue-gray smoke drifted on the air, gathered into clouds on the ceiling. On our left, three pool tables marched down the length of the room. The muted clacking of the b.a.l.l.s underscored the music and the voices, most of them male, which rose and fell in conversation. Ahead, a wide aisle divided the pool tables from the bar running parallel on our right. Here and there, small round tables held pitchers of beer and half-full gla.s.ses for the pool players. The whole place smelled of cigarettes and microwaved hotdogs. A shout of laughter erupted from the end of the bar, and as two men moved away, Meghan and I slid onto the stools they had vacated. On Friday night the place was hopping.

"Getchoo?"

"What?" I shouted.

"What. Can. I. Get. You?" the bartender repeated. He was nice looking, with long hair pulled into a ponytail and friendly green eyes. He smiled when he spoke.

Meghan ordered a Red Hook Hefeweizen, and I asked for the bitterest thing he had, which turned out to be the Red Hook India Pale Ale.

When he brought our pint gla.s.ses, I asked him, "Does Walter Hanover still come in here?"

He reached under the counter, and a moment later the volume of the music lowered an iota. A guy at the other end of the bar protested, but the bartender ignored him. No one else seemed to notice.

"Walter Hanover? What's he look like?" the bartender asked.

"In his sixties, gray hair in a ponytail, always wore yellow suspenders."

"No...wait a minute. Walt! Never knew his last name, but, yeah, he shows up every once in a while, has a cup of coffee. Used to come in a lot, but then he quit the booze. Good thing, too. You lookin' for him?"

"You've worked here that long?" I asked the bartender.

"I own the place. What're you looking for Walt for?"

"Well, I'm not, exactly. I'm looking for anyone who might have known him, and I was told he used to hang out here."

"The way you're talkin'-something happen to of Walt?"

I nodded. "He died yesterday."

"That's a d.a.m.n shame. Walt was a nice old guy. Heard he'd come into some money."

I leaned in. "We heard that, too. Any idea where it came from?"

"No idea."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"Hey, if you're looking for people who knew him, check out the coffee shop two doors down. I saw him in there a lot of afternoons."

"Thanks," I said again. "So you own this place, huh?"

He started to answer, but there was a shout from the end of the bar, where a man stood holding an empty pitcher in the air. "Listen, I gotta go see to business. I'm real sorry to hear about Walt." And then he was taking the pitcher from the guy, saying something that made the scowl on his face change to laughter. As I watched, he took three other drink orders and had a gla.s.s of wine poured before the new pitcher had filled. He started another one while he took money and made change. His hands were a blur, but I was pretty sure there wasn't a ring on the left one.

"... go to Beans R Us. Am I right? Sophie Mae?" Meghan's voice penetrated.

I turned to her. "What?"

Her eyes flicked from me to the owner of the bar, now laughing with an older couple, and back to me. "I said, I suppose you want to stop by the coffee shop on the way home."

"We can finish these and head over there," I said.

A voice behind me said, "No way. You can't go yet. Come shoot some pool with us."

I turned to find two men in their twenties wearing jeans and long-sleeved waffle-weave underwear shirts with T-shirts over them. One had a Mariner's baseball cap jammed over his blonde hair, but the other's crop of dark curls was uncovered. The blonde one grinned and gestured to one of the pool tables. I glanced at Meghan, who raised one eyebrow in question. I nodded.

"Girls versus guys?" I asked them.

The blonde smirked and said, "If that's the way you want it."

We followed the guys to the table, and I heard the other one say, "Man, you're so dumb. We're gonna get our a.s.ses whipped."

Blondie won the break, but all the b.a.l.l.s stayed on the table. Meghan walked around the table once before calling the three ball in the corner pocket. It b.u.mped in, smooth as b.u.t.ter, as did three other solids before she miscalculated the angle on the five. She joined me where I leaned against the wall working away on my IPA.

"I'm a little off tonight," she said.

"We haven't played for a while," I told her.

"True," she said.

Looking grim, the curlyhaired one approached the table, chalking his cue until blue dust began drifting to the floor. He indicated the ten in the side pocket and grinned at the satisfactory thock as it dropped in. That left him with several impossibilities and a tricky bank shot, which he managed with aplomb. I smiled and gave him a thumbs-up when he looked over, and Meghan told me to stop being condescending. But he missed the next, much easier, shot by a hair. A little condescension can go a long way.

I mopped up the rest of the game, pocketing the eight ball in the corner with an easy bank off the side. Blondie walked away in disgust, but his friend grinned and offered to buy Meghan and me a round. We'd had enough, though, so we thanked him and left. It had begun to rain again, little spits that were just enough for us to raise the hoods on our jackets.

We hurried down to the Beans R Us Coffee Shop and ducked inside. The bell over the door jingled, and a woman with short spiky black hair and an eyebrow ring came out of the back, untying her ap.r.o.n. I recognized her from the few times I'd been in for a double tall nonfat latte.

"I was just getting ready to close up. I've got some decaf on the burner if you want it for free."

I looked at Meghan. She shrugged. "Sure," I said. The woman reached for two paper cups with one hand and the pot of coffee with the other."

"Sorry I can't get you a latte or anything," the woman said. "I already put everything away."

"No problem. We're not here for coffee, actually," I said.

She stopped pouring. "So what are you here for?"

"Do you know Walter Hanover?"

She nodded. "Sure. He comes in afternoons a lot. Hangs out with Debby and Jacob. Plays backgammon. Sometimes cribbage." She pointed to a cl.u.s.ter of tables in the corner with games sitting on a shelf nearby.

"Debby and Jacob?" I asked.

She nodded again. "Why? What's this all about?"

Meghan said, "We're trying to find people who knew Walter to let them know he died yesterday. The owner of the Gold Leaf said he'd seen him in here a lot."

The woman's hand flew to her mouth. "OhmyG.o.d"

"Debby and Jacob a couple, then?" I asked.

Meghan gave me a look that bordered on a glare. Apparently, I wasn't being sympathetic enough.

"Um, oh, I don't know. They just all come in here together," the barista said.