Read Online Your Goose Is Cooked (A LaTisha Barnhart Mystery) by S. Dionne Moore - Free Book Online
Authors: S. Dionne Moore
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honey. Knowing Betsy’s airs, I could already feel myself heating toward critical.
I grabbed up two lunch menus and wondered if the disappearance of the normal mournful expression on Carl’s face as he chatted with Flossie meant something I needed to be knowing about. They were together more now that Flossie had taken up a part-time job at Carl’s funeral home, which was a mighty strange arrangement for a divorced couple, if you ask me. I couldn’t imagine what Flossie did there. Couldn’t imagine what she did working part-time for Betsy’s real-estate venture, for that matter. Wasn’t like Maple Gap had a big roll-over of houses for sale. At any rate, Flossie’d never seemed interested in Carl’s work when they were married, not that I blame her. Made chills roll along my arms just thinking on her job description.
“Two tables for two each?” I asked, oh, so sweetly.
“My wife and I, and Flossie is joining us for lunch. Carl’s on his own,” Mayor Taser corrected
Carl nodded, not once turning his head the mayor’s direction.
“We’d like a table by the window,” Betsy said. No. She told me.
Now, last I checked, I owned this restaurant. I started toward the only empty window table and saw a few miniscule crumbs scattered along the surface. I eyed a table in the middle of the room and laid the menus down on the surface. “We’ll get someone to clean up the window table. It’s a might messy.”
“Don’t you have help?” Betsy asked as she sunk onto her chair, her nose scrunched in distaste.
“Sure do, honey. Special today is spaghetti and meatballs. Soup is French onion.”
Betsy leaned toward Flossie who, interestingly enough, sat between Eugene and Betsy. “ LaTisha’s salads are divine.”
I can tell you that felt mighty good . Until I picked up on the next sentence.
“’Course, you know she was so big she had to lose weight. I’m guessing all she eats is salads.”
Hardy would have been proud of me, because I smiled so sweetly at Betsy. Near killed me. Moses took up the serpent. I was wanting to take me up a serpent of my own. I prayed more diligently in that minute than I had at every Wednesday night prayer meeting in a year.
I retraced my steps, snatched up a rag, and got Carl to follow me, settling him at the window seat Betsy had coveted. With a couple swipes of my rag the table was good to go. Carl didn’t notice the daggers shot our way as he took his seat. He accepted the menu and flicked it open.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Water sounds good.”
I made good and sure to make eye contact with Betsy as I passed, sending her my best display of grillwork.
The crowd descended heavy after that. I hustled hard to get everyone drinks and even went in the kitchen to help William rustle up a grilled chicken club for the mayor while he worked on dishing up four plates of the special, two for Regina and Chad, one for Carl, one for Lester.
I had delivered the first two piping hot plates to Regina and Chad and waited for the other two plates of spaghetti to appear in the pass-thru. What was taking William so long? I hunkered down to get a gander at what he was up to. He was hunched over the oven pulling out golden loaves of his bread. When he saw me, he pointed to the bread and held up a finger to indicate the bread needed to cool. I nodded and raised my nose to catch the scent of William’s creations while he finished the plates of spaghetti and pushed them through to me.
When I came back from delivering the spaghetti dishes, loaves of William’s bread, sliced and ready, sat under the heat lamps. He must have caught me looking, because he grabbed my attention and slid a plate with a single piece in my direction. William’s bread had chunks of diced green and red peppers with onions; it was egg-washed and sprinkled with fennel seeds. And it was delicious. Especially because it was made with whole-wheat flour. Healthier. I put every ounce of approval into my
I grabbed up two lunch menus and wondered if the disappearance of the normal mournful expression on Carl’s face as he chatted with Flossie meant something I needed to be knowing about. They were together more now that Flossie had taken up a part-time job at Carl’s funeral home, which was a mighty strange arrangement for a divorced couple, if you ask me. I couldn’t imagine what Flossie did there. Couldn’t imagine what she did working part-time for Betsy’s real-estate venture, for that matter. Wasn’t like Maple Gap had a big roll-over of houses for sale. At any rate, Flossie’d never seemed interested in Carl’s work when they were married, not that I blame her. Made chills roll along my arms just thinking on her job description.
“Two tables for two each?” I asked, oh, so sweetly.
“My wife and I, and Flossie is joining us for lunch. Carl’s on his own,” Mayor Taser corrected
Carl nodded, not once turning his head the mayor’s direction.
“We’d like a table by the window,” Betsy said. No. She told me.
Now, last I checked, I owned this restaurant. I started toward the only empty window table and saw a few miniscule crumbs scattered along the surface. I eyed a table in the middle of the room and laid the menus down on the surface. “We’ll get someone to clean up the window table. It’s a might messy.”
“Don’t you have help?” Betsy asked as she sunk onto her chair, her nose scrunched in distaste.
“Sure do, honey. Special today is spaghetti and meatballs. Soup is French onion.”
Betsy leaned toward Flossie who, interestingly enough, sat between Eugene and Betsy. “ LaTisha’s salads are divine.”
I can tell you that felt mighty good . Until I picked up on the next sentence.
“’Course, you know she was so big she had to lose weight. I’m guessing all she eats is salads.”
Hardy would have been proud of me, because I smiled so sweetly at Betsy. Near killed me. Moses took up the serpent. I was wanting to take me up a serpent of my own. I prayed more diligently in that minute than I had at every Wednesday night prayer meeting in a year.
I retraced my steps, snatched up a rag, and got Carl to follow me, settling him at the window seat Betsy had coveted. With a couple swipes of my rag the table was good to go. Carl didn’t notice the daggers shot our way as he took his seat. He accepted the menu and flicked it open.
“What would you like to drink?”
“Water sounds good.”
I made good and sure to make eye contact with Betsy as I passed, sending her my best display of grillwork.
The crowd descended heavy after that. I hustled hard to get everyone drinks and even went in the kitchen to help William rustle up a grilled chicken club for the mayor while he worked on dishing up four plates of the special, two for Regina and Chad, one for Carl, one for Lester.
I had delivered the first two piping hot plates to Regina and Chad and waited for the other two plates of spaghetti to appear in the pass-thru. What was taking William so long? I hunkered down to get a gander at what he was up to. He was hunched over the oven pulling out golden loaves of his bread. When he saw me, he pointed to the bread and held up a finger to indicate the bread needed to cool. I nodded and raised my nose to catch the scent of William’s creations while he finished the plates of spaghetti and pushed them through to me.
When I came back from delivering the spaghetti dishes, loaves of William’s bread, sliced and ready, sat under the heat lamps. He must have caught me looking, because he grabbed my attention and slid a plate with a single piece in my direction. William’s bread had chunks of diced green and red peppers with onions; it was egg-washed and sprinkled with fennel seeds. And it was delicious. Especially because it was made with whole-wheat flour. Healthier. I put every ounce of approval into my
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