Cafe Au Lait (A Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery Book 2) Page 2

  “Definitely. Where are we going?”

  “I think Corkers, if that’s okay with you. It’s the opposite direction from the festival.”

  “Sounds good. Pick me up about 6:30. That’ll give me a chance to get a shower after work.”

  “See you soon,” he said and disconnected the call.

  Yeah, David Bennett was a definite plus to living in Sequoia. She really enjoyed his company. Walking two doors down to the Bourbon Brothers, she smiled as a couple held the door for her. The interior of the restaurant was crowded with people and Zion wondered if she should just back out and go somewhere else for lunch, but this was the closest location without taking her car out of the parking lot.

  Cheryl, Tallah’s mother, saw her and waved her to the counter.

  “Excuse me,” said Zion, easing through the line of people waiting to place their order. Cheryl lifted the counter and motioned her through, giving her a quick hug.

  Daryl, the younger Ford Brother, beamed a smile at Zion. “Hey, girl,” he said brightly. “How are you today?”

  “I’m good. You guys are sure slammed.”

  “Yep, this festival has put us in the black a week earlier than usual,” he said.

  Cheryl put her hands on Zion’s shoulders. “I set us up a table in the kitchen away from the madness out here.”

  Zion nodded and let Cheryl lead her to the swinging door. The smell of smoked meat and barbecue sauce made Zion’s stomach rumble again. Dwayne, Cheryl’s husband, waved his spatula at her.

  “How’s it going, Zion?”

  “Good,” she called back. “How are you, Dwayne?”

  “Peachy keen. My girl doing right by you?”

  “Tallah’s the best,” Zion said. “Always prompt. Works hard. She’s a great kid, Dwayne.”

  Cheryl smiled at her and motioned to the card table set up in a back corner of the kitchen. Zion had to sidestep as Alfred, the other cook, came out of the walk-in refrigerator, carrying a huge tub of coleslaw.

  “Sorry, Al,” she said with a laugh.

  “Watch out!” he scolded mildly. “Coleslaw waits for no man.”

  Finally, Zion dropped into her chair at the table.

  “What’re you thinking of having today?” asked Cheryl.

  “I want a barbecue pork sandwich with chips,” said Zion firmly. She’d been thinking about it all morning as she and Dottie rushed back and forth. She felt sure she’d worked off the calories already.

  Cheryl went to get their food while Zion watched the huge Dwayne and the small Alfred dance back and forth at the grill, whipping up meals as if it were an intricate ballet. A young Hispanic man came into the kitchen, loaded down with a bucket of dishes. He deposited it in the sink, then grabbed a new bucket and went back out.

  The Ford brothers had hired the young man when Tallah had come to work for Zion. He had an equally young wife and a new baby. Cheryl liked to fuss over the baby, lamenting that Tallah didn’t need her mother as much as she used to and she missed mothering something.

  Cheryl Ford was about fifteen years older than Zion, but it didn’t seem to matter. They’d hit it off right away. And although she was reaching middle age, Cheryl Ford had a figure that made many men take notice. What Zion liked most about her was her direct way of speaking. If you wanted to know what was on Cheryl’s mind, she had no problem telling you. Zion respected that.

  Cheryl returned with two baskets and placed one before Zion. Then she went back and grabbed two large glasses of iced tea and set them before the baskets. Finally she took a seat. She wore her black hair cropped close to her scalp. Zion would have never been able to pull it off, but she thought it was a very becoming look on her friend.

  Her daughter, Tallah, was a different matter. Tallah’s hair went to below her shoulder blades. For a long time, she’d worn it in braids, but lately she’d just left it free. It was glorious, full and thick, and curling. Part of Zion accepting her own natural hair color and curl had to do with how Cheryl and Tallah accepted who they were. Although, a small nose ring let everyone know that Tallah was still a teenager.

  “So, you gonna catch a show at the festival?” asked Cheryl, lifting her sandwich and taking a bite.

  Zion’s mouth was already full of the delicious meat, so she didn’t speak right away, holding up a hand to indicate she needed a moment. Taking a sip of her iced tea to wash it down, she shook her head. “It’s not really my thing, but Dee’s all fired hot to go.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Cheryl with a laugh. She glanced toward the order window. “It’s sure helped with business.”

  “Yeah, it has.”

  “Things got a little rough in here last night.”

  Zion lowered her sandwich. “What do you mean?”

  “Group of kids, about Dee’s age, came in just before closing. They ordered food, no problem, and a couple pitchers of beer.” She thought, then took a sip from her straw. “There were four boys and three girls. Everything was fine, then all of a sudden two of the boys got into it, bumping chests, acting like they’re gonna fight.”

  Zion forgot her sandwich. “What did you do?”

  “I called Sheriff Wilson, but He-man over there gets out his bat and goes into the restaurant.”

  “I’m not putting up with that crap in my establishment!” said Dwayne over his shoulder.

  “You didn’t know if they had weapons or not.”

  “She-et, woman, they were just some punkass kids, fighting over a girl.”

  “Fighting over a girl?” asked Zion.

  Cheryl nodded, pushing the coleslaw around in the basket with her fork. “You met Merilee Whitmire yet?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “She grew up here. I think she’s friends with Dee. Nice girl, but the last few years…I don’t know. She’s gone kinda hippy dippy, if you know what I mean.”

  Zion figured she did. Many of the young people around Dee’s age, and Zion’s for that matter, who had stayed in Sequoia sometimes seemed a little lost, like they didn’t know what to do with their lives once formal schooling was done.

  “They were fighting over her?”

  Cheryl gave a wry shake of the head. “Not really fighting, just a lot of chest bumping. As soon as Papa Bear got out there with his bat, it was over. By the time Sheriff Wilson arrived, they’d already left to go back to the motel on the highway. I guess they’re all here for the festival from out of town. Merilee was the only one I recognized.”

  “Trixie told me there were about six fights out at the county fairgrounds that the sheriff had to break up.”

  Cheryl shrugged and took another bite. “What you gonna do? It’s a double edged sword. The festival brings a lot of business to us, but it also brings a few problems. It’ll be over in three days and then things will get back to normal.”

  “I bet Tallah wanted to go.”

  Dwayne snorted loudly.

  Cheryl shot a glance at him, then nodded. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice. “I’m letting her go to a show on Saturday, during the day. It’s Anaconda Glee Club, her favorite band. I actually don’t mind their singing. They like to harmonize, so it’s tolerable. She’s going with a couple of girlfriends, but I’m driving them and picking them up.”

  “Anaconda Glee Club?” asked Zion, smiling. “Wow, that’s a name, isn’t it?”

  Cheryl held up a hand.

  “It’s the devil’s music,” grumbled Dwayne.

  “You said it, boss,” answered Al.

  Cheryl shook her head. “He’d put that girl in a bubble if he could.”

  “Damn straight I would. She-et, I don’t see no need for bopping along to screaming banshees with greasy hair and wild drugged-out eyes. In my day, we had real music and our guys could actually play the instruments.”

  Cheryl and Zion burst into laughter, drawing a glare from Dwayne.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tate opened the Hammer Tyme, his hardware store, exactly on the hour. His one employee, Logan Baxter was wai
ting for him, leaning against the side of the door, his skateboard fixed under his foot.

  “Hey, Logan,” Tate said, smiling.

  “Hey, Tate,” said the boy. Logan was supposed to be a senior in the fall, but his mother had stage 4 cancer, so Logan had quit traditional high school. He went two days a week during the year to an alternate school just to get his diploma. As soon as summer started, he’d come back on full-time.

  Tate unlocked and pulled open the door, then wended his way through the dim interior to the counter and lifted it, Logan on his heels. Reaching into the storeroom, Tate threw the light switch and the fluorescent track lighting came on. Logan disappeared into the storeroom to stash his lunch and then came out, going to the window and pulling up the blinds. He reached over and turned on the open light as Tate began counting out the money for the cash register.

  The routine soothed Tate. The extra traffic in town due to the festival had made sleeping difficult the last couple of nights. Tate found himself spending a lot of his downtime in his favorite recliner with an open book. He’d be glad when the festival was over, despite the increased business.

  He’d been surprised a hardware store would attract the attention of concert goers, but many had wanted flashlights or coolers. Logan had even suggested he stock a few portable lawn chairs, which he had. They’d flown off the shelves.

  Logan came around the counter and grabbed the duster, then began on the shelves closest to the register, passing the duster over the inventory. Tate finished counting the money and closed the register, watching the boy.

  Logan didn’t like to talk about his mother or her cancer, and Tate respected that, but he felt sorry for the boy. He had way too many responsibilities on his young shoulders. Tate hated that Logan wasn’t going to regular school. He was going to be a senior in the fall and he should be at school for his senior year.

  The buzzer over the door sounded and Tate turned his attention away from Logan. A wiry older man entered. He had thinning grey hair, weathered skin, a hooked nose, and rounded shoulders. He wore overalls with a plaid shirt and worn work boots. He looked around the store, taking it in from behind black rimmed glasses. Tate thought he’d been in the store a few times over the last two years.

  “Can I help you?” Tate called, lifting the counter and stepping out from behind it.

  The man looked over at Tate. “I just need some random shit to keep things held together out at the fairgrounds. I don’t wanna drive down to Visalia.” He backtracked and grabbed one of the baskets by the door to hold his stuff.

  “You work at the fairgrounds?” Tate asked, leaning against a shelf as the man started putting boxes of nails and screws into his basket.

  “I’m the head of maintenance.” He held out his free hand. “Walter Kennedy, but most folks call me Walt.”

  Tate took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Walt. I’m Tate and that’s Logan.” He pointed over his shoulder to the boy dusting. Logan lifted the duster in salute. “Guess things are pretty crazy out at the fairgrounds, huh?”

  “Man, I’ll tell you, I hate these things. Give me a good garden show anytime, but a rock concert? The sort of people that damn thing attracts are nuts. They’re selling marijuana pipes out there and t-shirts with vulgar sayings on them. And the acts aren’t much better. Like Ironbound and Oblivion. What the hell is that? And the worst one, the headliner, is that Anaconda Glee Club.”

  Tate laughed. “Anaconda what?”

  “Anaconda Glee Club.” He leaned close. “They were out there yesterday morning, doing a sound check. They play tomorrow during the day and then again at night. Bunch of freaks, dressed in black with tattoos and piercings. And they’re all assholes, every last one of them.”

  “How so?”

  “They started bitching about the height of the stage, then the barricade, then the backstage accommodations. What the hell did they expect? A ritzy hotel? You want that, go play in Frisco or LA.”

  “Pretty annoying, huh?”

  Walt shook his head. “I don’t got time for that crap. I keep the toilets running and the lights on. I don’t give a damn if they got refrigeration for their imported beer.”

  “Well, it’ll be over on Sunday, so only three days to go and it’s helped with business in the area. I’ve sold more in the last few days than I have in months.”

  Walt gave a disgusted shake of his head. “I moved up here to get away from freaks and druggies. Then we go and invite them in. I don’t care if it’s good for business. It encourages the wrong element. They all need to stay the hell away. If I could, I’d make sure they never came back again.”

  Tate raised an eyebrow at that, but he left it alone. Walter Kennedy was clearly a cantankerous old man who didn’t want to be bothered with any deviation from his normal routine. Tate wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.

  “Sheriff was out at the fairgrounds six times last night, breaking up fights,” said Walt, “and the damn festival was only just starting. What you think it’s gonna be like tonight when all those druggies come out for the show?”

  “Who’s playing tonight?” asked Tate.

  “Don’t know and don’t care.”

  “Oblivion,” said Logan. “They’re kinda heavy metal/punk. Sure wish I could go. Bunch of guys from the school are going. Oblivion’s not sold out like Anaconda.”

  “So Anaconda’s big?” asked Tate.

  “Yeah, pretty big. They got a traditional record deal. They actually tour around the country. The other bands aren’t that big. I mean they’re big here, but they don’t really play stadiums. Anaconda does. I was kinda surprised they agreed to play Redwood Stock.”

  “Hm,” said Tate. Walter had wandered away, placing various items in his basket, so Tate focused on Logan. “Why don’t you get tickets for tonight?”

  Logan shook his head. “I can’t afford it.”

  Walt made a scoffing sound. “Yeah, you know how much those damn tickets are? You gotta sell a kidney to get one.”

  Tate thought about that one for a while. Maybe he could go out to the fairgrounds and buy Logan a ticket himself. He hated that the boy never got to do anything fun and if his friends were going, he might really enjoy a night just to be a kid. How much could it be? Especially if they were just a local California band.

  “Say, Walt, you know when the box office opens?”

  Walt gave him a disparaging look. “You’re not thinking of going out there, are you? I mean, I’m not kidding when I say they’re a bunch of druggies and thugs.”

  Tate shrugged. “Just thought I might check it out.”

  “Whatever, man. I seriously don’t think it’s your sort of thing, but who am I to judge? The box office opened at 8:00 this morning.”

  Tate glanced at his phone. 10:15. He’d go over at lunch and see if they had any more tickets for Oblivion. No matter how much it cost, Logan deserved it. He deserved so much more than Tate could give him that this seemed like a small enough gift.

  * * *

  The parking lot was already filled when Tate pulled into it. When he told the guy at the parking booth he just wanted to buy a ticket for tonight’s show, the kid waved him through. He drove around for a long time, trying to find a space.

  People were moving toward the fairgrounds, carrying coolers and lawn chairs, all normal accessories, but their clothing and hairstyles were anything but normal. Some sported full body tattoos with piercings not just in their noses or ears, but all over their faces. Their hair was every color of the rainbow. In fact, one adventurous fellow had rainbow colored hair nearly to his ass.

  Tate finally parked the truck and climbed out. He understood what Walt had said. He definitely wasn’t the type for this adventure and he was way too old. He had second thoughts about sending Logan here after dark, but then remembered how he’d fought with his dad to see concerts when he was Logan’s age. Besides, most of these ragged concert goers wore peace signs all over their clothes.

  He found the box office and wait
ed in line behind a couple that couldn’t keep their hands off each other. He tried to look everywhere but in front of him. They were grinding against each other, and he’d seen way too much of their tongues for his comfort level. Interesting enough, they both had tongue piercings. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d ever gotten entangled with one another.

  “Gonna catch a concert?” came a familiar voice behind him.

  Tate glanced over his shoulder to see Sheriff Wilson strolling toward him from his patrol car. It was parked in the red zone before the fairgrounds entrance. Sheriff Wayne Wilson was a thin man with a chest that rolled inward rather than out. He had a pencil-thin moustache on his upper lip and a severe widow’s peak, and he always hooked his thumbs through his belt.

  Beside him was his deputy, Samantha Murphy. Sam’s grey hair peeked out under her sheriff’s hat and the lines around her eyes were more evident in the bright sunlight. She gave the couple a look and sighed.

  “Knock it off, will you?” she scolded them. “You’re in public for God’s sakes.”

  The young man turned, giving her a glare, but it cooled the moment he saw her badge and uniform.

  Sheriff Wilson chuckled, holding out his hand for Tate to shake.

  “Sheriff,” said Tate, shaking Wilson’s hand, then he nodded at Murphy. She tipped her hat at him. “I hear you’ve been busy.”

  Wilson rocked on his orthopedic shoes. “Out here six times last night and they didn’t have any music going, just vendors selling crap. Gonna get worse once the concerts start tonight.” He jerked his chin at the box office. “You getting tickets for this noise fest?”

  “No, I thought I’d treat Logan to a concert. He likes the band playing tonight. Oblivion?”

  “That’s nice of you, Tate,” said Sam. “That boy doesn’t get to be a kid very often.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He cast an eye on the couple in front of him. The young man had such large gauges in his ears, his lobes hung down to mid-neck. “I’m just hoping it’ll be safe.”

  “I went to plenty of concerts in my day,” said Wilson, smiling in remembrance. “Not a one of them was safe, but I loved it. He’ll be fine. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, but he needs to blow off some steam, throw his body around in that mosh pit or whatever they call it.”