Character Guest Post
Hide and Watch Me!
By Aunt Bess from The
Calamity Café by Gayle Leeson
That’s what I tell people who say I’m too old to do this or
that. I say, “Hide and watch me!” I’m eighty-two. So what? That’s nothing but a
number. I can go and do just about as good as I could thirty years ago.
For my eightieth birthday, I decided I wanted to get in on
all this Internet stuff the kids are doing. So I asked for a computer. My niece
Jenna—she lives with me, you know—said, “Now, Aunt Bess, you don’t need a
computer. You can use mine.”
“Well, I don’t want to use yours,” I said. “I want my own.”
So she and her daughter Amy and my granddaughter Jackie all
went in together and bought me this little laptop. That’s what they call it.
It’s a computer you can put on your lap. But if you put it on your lap and
don’t have a tray or something underneath it, it’s gonna get your legs hot,
I’ll tell you that. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing in the winter, but
I’d rather not burn up in the summer. That’s why I had Jackie go over to the
store and get me this contraption that has a wooden top like a desk and a
beanbag bottom. It’s nice. It’s curved to fit around your middle, so you can
plop your laptop right down on that desk of a thing and surf around that
Internet all day or until a good program comes on, you decide you’d rather be
reading, or your battery dies—whichever comes first.
One of the sites I like is the Pinterest. Do y’all have the
Pinterest? It’s a wonderful thing. You sign up for an account—for free, they
don’t charge you a thing—and they let you make what they call boards. You give
these boards names and then you can put pictures up on them. For instance, one
of my boards is called People I’ve
Outlived. That can be a sad, sad board. It has pictures of Elizabeth
Taylor, Rock Hudson, Cary Grant, one of the neighbor women, Princess Diana and
Robin Williams (those two purt near broke my heart when I added them), and
Saddam Hussein. It didn’t really bother me too awful much to put him up on the
board. I didn’t know him, and they said on the news that he was real mean.
I have this other board called Things I’d Love to Eat. That’s one of my favorites. If you’ve never
been to the Pinterest, they have the biggest bunch of recipes you ever did see.
They have recipes for specific diets, foods you can make in a hurry, party
foods, and desserts. I love desserts. I’ve pinned me a whole slew of desserts
on my Things I’d Love to Eat board.
The thing is, Amy and Jackie use that board to see what I might want to have
when they come over to cook me and Jenna Sunday lunch.
One time, Amy asked me, “Aunt Bess, you do know there are
other foods out there besides dessert, don’t you?”
I told her, “Yes, ma’am, I do, but I’m eighty-two years old.
And if I want to have a meal that’s all desserts, by crackie, I’ll have it.”
She laughed and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She’ll be old
one of these days, and I’ll remind her of that little remark about the
desserts.
About The Author
Gayle Leeson is a pseudonym for Gayle Trent. I also write as Amanda Lee. As Gayle Trent, I write the Daphne Martin Cake Mystery series and the Myrtle Crumb Mystery series. As Amanda Lee, I write the Embroidery Mystery series. I live in Virginia with my family, which includes her own “Angus” who is not an Irish wolfhound but a Great Pyrenees who provides plenty of inspiration for the character of Mr. O’Ruff. I’m having a blast writing this new series!
Author Website
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Book Review
The Calamity Cafe by Gayle Leeson
Book 1: Down South Cafe Mystery Series
Publisher: NAL / Penguin Publishing Group
Publication Date: June 7, 2016
Format: Paperback - 304 pages
Kindle - 1575 KB
Nook - 1 MB
ISBN: 978-1101990780
ASIN: B015DLUS8EBNID: 9781101990797
Genre: Cozy Mystery
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Disclaimer: I received a copy of the book from the author / publisher via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review and participation in a virtual book tour event hosted by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours.
Book Description:
First in a new cozy mystery series featuring Southern cooking that is to die for.
Aspiring chef and small-town Virginia native Amy Flowers is ready to open her own café offering old-fashioned Southern food. But her dream may go up in smoke when someone kills the competition…
Tired of waiting tables at Lou’s Joint, Amy Flowers doesn’t just quit—she offers to buy the place from her bully of a boss, so she can finally open the café of her dreams. Amy can’t wait to serve the kind of Southern, down-home treats and dishes that her grandmother always loved to the kooky cast of regulars at the restaurant. She knows her comfort food will be the talk of the sweet, small town of Winter Garden, Virginia.
At first Lou Lou refuses to sell, but when she seems ready to make a deal, she tells Amy to come see her. Showing up at the eatery ready to negotiate, Amy is shocked to find her former employer murdered. As the prime suspect, Amy will have to clear her name by serving up the real killer—and with Lou Lou’s stack of enemies, that’s a tall order.
Includes delicious Southern recipes.
Book Excerpt:
Chapter 1
I took a deep breath, tightened my ponytail, and got out of my yellow Volkswagen Beetle. I knew from experience that the morning rush at Lou’s Joint had passed and that the lunch crowd wouldn’t be there yet. I put my letter of resignation in my purse and headed inside. Homer Pickens was seated at the counter with a cup of coffee. He was a regular . . . and when I say regular, I mean it. The man came to the café every morning at ten o’clock, lingered over a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee, and left at ten forty. It was ten fifteen a.m.
“Good morning, Homer,” I said. “Who’s your hero today?”
“Shel Silverstein,” he said.
“Good choice.” I smiled and patted his shoulder. Homer was a retiree in his late sixties, and he chose a new hero every day.
You see, when Homer was a little boy, he noticed his daddy wasn’t around like other kids’ daddies. So he asked his mom about him. She told him that his dad had died but that he’d been a great baseball player, which is why she’d named him Homer. When Homer was a teenager, she’d finally leveled with him and said his father hadn’t been a baseball player . . . that he’d basically been a bum . . . but that Homer didn’t need a father to inspire him. Heroes were everywhere. Since then, Homer had chosen a new hero every day. It was like his inspiration. I looked forward to hearing Homer’s answer to my question every day I worked. When I was off from work, he told me who his hero was the day I asked plus the day I’d missed.
I could sympathize with Homer’s desire for a heroic father figure. My dad left Mom and me when I was four. I don’t really remember him at all.
“That apple tree? The one he wrote about? I have one like it in my backyard,” Homer said. “I cherish it. I’d never cut it down.”
“I’m sure the rain we’ve had the past couple of days has helped it grow.You bring me some apples off that tree this fall, and I’ll make you a pie,” I told him.
My cousin Jackie came from the back with a washcloth and a spray bottle of cleaner. She and I had waitressed together at the café for over a year. Jackie had been there for two years, and in fact, it was she who’d helped me get the job.
My mind drifted to when I’d come back home to work for Lou Lou. I’d just finished up culinary school in Kentucky. Nana’s health had been declining for the past two or three years, but it had picked up speed. Assoon as I’d graduated, I’d come home and started working at Lou’s Joint so I could be at Nana’s house within ten minutes if I was needed. I was only biding my time at first, waiting for a chef’s position to come open somewhere. But then Nana had died. And, although I knew I could’ve asked her for a loan to open a café at any time, I wouldn’t have. I guess I got my streak of pride from my mother. But the money Nana had left me had made my dream a reality—I could open my café and stay right here at home.
“Morning, Amy!” said Jackie. “Guess what—Granny says she has a new Pinterest board. It’s called Things I’d Love to Eat but Won’t Fix Because What’s the Point Anyway Since I Don’t Like to Cook Anymore.”
I laughed. “I don’t think they’d let her have a name that long.”
“That’s what I figured. It’s probably called Things I’d Love to Eat, but she threw that last bit in there hoping we’ll make some of this stuff for her.”
“And we probably will.”
Jackie’s granny was my great-aunt Elizabeth, but Mom and I had always just called her “Aunt Bess.” Aunt Bess was eighty-two and had recently discovered the wonders of the Internet. She had a number of Pinterest boards, had a Facebook page with a 1940s pinup for a profile pic, and trolled the dating sites whenever they offered a free weekend.
Lou Lou heard us talking and waddled to the window separating the kitchen from the dining room. She had a cigarette hanging from her bottom lip. She tucked it into the corner of her mouth while she spoke. “Thought Iheard your voice, Amy. You ain’t here for your paycheck, are you?Because that won’t be ready until tomorrow, and you ain’t picking it up until after your shift.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said. “Could we talk privately, please?”
“Fine, but if you’re just wanting to complain about me taking half the waitresses’ tips again, you might as well not waste your breath. If it wasn’t for me, y’all wouldn’t have jobs here, so I deserve half of what you get.”
Jackie rolled her eyes at me and then got to cleaning tables before Lou Lou bawled her out.
We deserved all of our tips and then some, especially since Lou Lou didn’t pay minimum wage and gave us more grief than some of the waitresses could bear. That’s why I was here. Lou Lou Holman was a bully, and I aimed to put her out of business.
Speaking of daddies, Lou Lou had been named after hers—hence the Lou Lou, rather than Lulu—and according to my late grandmother, she looked just like him. He’d kept his hair dyed jet-black until he was put into the Winter Garden Nursing Home, and afterward, he put shoe polish on his head. According to Nana, he ruined many a pillowcase before the staff found his stash of shoe polish and did away with it.
Lou Lou wore her black hair in a tall beehive with pin curls on either side of her large round face. Her eyes were blue, a fact that was overpowered by the cobalt eye shadow she wore. She shaved her eyebrows, drew thin black upside-down Vs where they should have been, and added false eyelashes to complete the look.
Today Lou Lou wore a floor-length blue-and-white floral-print muumuu, and she had a white plastic hibiscus in her hair just above the pin curl on the left. She shuffled into the office, let me go in ahead of her, and then closed the door. I could smell her perfume—a cloying jasmine—mixed with this morning’s bacon and the cigarette, and I was more anxious than ever to get our business over with. She sat down behind her desk and looked at me.
I perched on the chair in front of the desk, reached into my purse, and took out the letter. As I handed it to her, I said, “I’m turning in my two-week notice.”
“Well, I ain’t surprised,” she said, stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray.“I heard your granny left you some money when she passed last year. I reckon you’ve decided to take it easy.”
“No. Actually, I’d like to buy your café.”
Her eyes got so wide that her false eyelashes brushed against the tops of her inverted V eyebrows. “Is that a fact, Amy?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” I lifted my chin. “I’m a good cook—better than good, as a matter of fact—and I want to put my skills . . . my passion . . . to work for me.”
“If you think you can just waltz in here all high and mighty and take my daddy’s business away from me, you’ve got another think coming,” said Lou Lou.
“If you don’t sell to me, I’m going to open up my own café. I just thought I should give you fair warning before I do.”
Lou Lou scoffed. “You’ve got some nerve thinking you can run me out of business. You bring on the competition, girlie! We’ll see who comes out ahead.”
“All right.” I stood. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be here tomorrow for my shift.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll mail you your final check.”
“I’ll be here,” I said. “I don’t want any of the other waitresses to have to work a double on my account.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t be surprised if I take the cost of putting an ad in the paper for a new waitress out of your salary.”
I simply turned and walked out of the office. I knew that legally Lou Lou couldn’t take her ad cost out of my pay. But Lou Lou did a lot of things that weren’t right. I figured whatever she did to me in retaliation for my leaving wasn’t worth putting up a fight over . . . not now. I’d pick my battles.
I’d also pick my wallpaper, my curtains, my flooring, my chairs, stools, and tables, my logo . . . My lips curled into a smile before I’d even realized it.
“Bye, Homer! Bye, Jackie!” I called over my shoulder on the way out.
“Bye, Amy!” They called in unison.
I went to the parking lot and got into my car. I glanced up at the sign—LOU’S JOINT—as I backed out into the road. The sign was as sad and faded as everything else about this place. If I could convince Lou Lou to change her mind, I’d start with a brand-new sign . . . a big yellow sign with DOWN SOUTH CAFÉ in blue cursive letters. I wanted everybody to know what to expect when they walked into my café—Southern food and hospitality.
I could do so much with this little place. Sure, I could also build a new café, but if I did, I’d also have to buy all-new equipment, get the building wired and up to code, and basically spend a lot of extra money I’d rather save if at all possible. Besides, Lou’s Joint was one of only two restaurants in town, and it was really close to my house—a definite plus once winter rolled in.
When I got home, I went straight to the kitchen. Rory, my little brown wirehaired terrier, met me at the door and followed me. Princess Eloise, the white Persian cat, barely looked up from her post in the living room picture-window sill. I bent and gave Rory kisses and then I got his box of dog treats. We play hide-and-seek with the treats before he eats them. Of course, they’re in plain sight, but we act like they’re hidden.
I scattered the treats in the foyer, hallway, and living room, repeating the word “Hide” each time I dropped one. When I placed the last treat on the marble hearth in the living room, I called, “Seek!” Rory sprang into action, backtracking to find all the treats.
This bought me a good five minutes to wash my hands and get started on an oatmeal pie. Oatmeal pies took a while to make—even when I had a frozen pie crust like the one I was using today—but they were worth it.Nana used to make them. Especially if I was feeling down, I could walk into her house, smell that oatmeal pie baking, and know that everything was gonna be all right.
I took my pie crust out of the freezer and preheated the oven. I got a small mixing bowl, put four eggs in it, and set it on the counter while I gathered the rest of my ingredients.
Lou Lou was right about my nana leaving me some money. The estate had been settled for quite a while, but I didn’t want to rush to spend my inheritance. I’d wanted to wait until I was absolutely sure I knew what I wanted to do.
Nana had a fairly sizable estate, or at least, sizable by Winter Garden, Virginia, standards. I’d always known my grandparents had money, but I hadn’t realized how much Nana did have until she was gone. Of course, she’d bought me my car when I’d graduated high school, and it was brand-new then. I’d been impressed, but I’d thought maybe she’d been saving up for that for a long time. I’d been driving that little car for ten years now, and it was still going strong.
I smiled to myself, remembering the day she’d taken me to buy that car.We’d had to go all the way to Johnson City, Tennessee, but the dealership had given us Virginia sales tax on the vehicle. And the salesman had nearly fainted when Nana had paid cash!
I cracked the four eggs into the bowl and beat them until they were frothy. In a larger bowl, I mixed together sugar, cinnamon, flour, and salt. I then added the eggs. As I was pouring in the corn syrup, my phone rang.I’d placed the phone on the counter and could see that it was Sarah calling.She was one of my best friends. I hesitated, but when the oven clicked, indicating that it had reached 350 degrees, I let the call go to voice mail.I’d get back to Sarah as soon as I got the pie into the oven.
Sarah and I had become close when we were in elementary school, and we’d stayed that way. Her family was like one of those perfect television families. I used to wish I had a big family like hers, and whenever I said something along those lines, she’d assure me that I did—I had her family.
And I had Mom and Nana. They were wonderful. Mom and I had lived in a smaller house on Nana and Pop’s property. Despite her parents’ abundance, Mom had taken as little from anybody as possible. She’d wanted to earn her own way, and she certainly had done that. And of course, Jackie and I had always been more like sisters than cousins, especially since Jackie had never known her dad and her mother had left her with Aunt Bess when Jackie was sixteen.
I poured the oatmeal mixture into the pie shell and slid it into the oven.Then I called Sarah.
“Hey, girl,” she answered. “Did you throw down on the Big Bad Boss yet?”
“Yeah.” I groaned. “Lou Lou was not happy when I offered to buy her café.”
“I’d have loved to have seen the expression on her face!” Sarah laughed.“So . . . plan B?”
“I guess so. I’m nervous about it. It’ll take longer than having a place that I only have to redecorate,” I said.
“But starting from the ground up, you can get exactly what you want.”
“That’s true . . . but it’s kinda scary.”
“I’m sure it is, Amy, but you’ll know what you’re getting every step of the way,” she said. “And you can afford to go with all-new stuff . . . good stuff!”
I laughed. “That’s true. But I have to be smart. I won’t have my salary to live on while the new place is being built. I gave Lou Lou my two weeks’ notice. She didn’t want me to come back at all, but I said I wouldn’t do that to the other waitresses.”
“Well, honey, it’s not like you were making a fortune in that place.”
“I know . . . but what will I do to keep from being bored out of my mind while I’m waiting for my café to be built?”
“You’ll help build it,” Sarah said. “I’ve known you all your life. I can see you jumping right in there with your hammer and nails.”
“You’ve got a point there. Plus, I’ll be getting my permits and all that.Do you think we can get the construction done before winter?” I asked.“How long does something like that take?”
“I’d say it’ll take four to six months . . . and it’s June . . . so, yeah, you can be ready by winter.”
I sighed. “Will people wait that long? I so wanted to go in, take over Lou Lou’s place, shut down for a week or two for redecorating, and then have a grand opening on Independence Day.”
“People won’t wait,” she said, “but they’ll gladly leave Lou’s Joint for something better as soon as that option becomes available to them.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Come over after work and have some oatmeal pie with me.”
“Is that what I smell?” she teased.
“Mmm-hmm.”
She giggled. “I’ll be there!”
“Want some fried chicken, biscuits, and mashed potatoes with gravy to go with it?” I asked.
“I’d be satisfied with just the pie . . . but I wouldn’t hurt your feelings by not eating chicken and biscuits.”
“Good. I’ll see you after work, then.”
Sarah was Billy Hancock’s administrative assistant. In Winter Garden, that meant she was the secretary, bookkeeper, and paralegal to the town’s only attorney-at-law. Billy was about fifty-five years old and had taken over the business from his father, William. Being the only lawyer in town, Billy had plenty to keep him busy, but not so busy that he couldn’t play golf in Abingdon with his friends two afternoons a week. He handled just about everybody’s wills, estates, divorces, and misdemeanor charges. Not that everybody got divorced or had misdemeanors in Winter Garden, for goodness’ sake . . . but there were enough to earn Billy a darned good living, and by extension Sarah too.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The aromas of the vanilla, cinnamon, and oatmeal were divine. I remembered standing on a chair at Nana’s side watching her make her oatmeal pie at our house one Thanksgiving morning. Nana was strong and sturdily built, and I must’ve been only around five years old, because I felt tiny at her side. She was patiently explaining the pie making step by step. At the time, all I cared about was “Can I lick the spoon?” Now I’d love to have the opportunity to live that day over . . . to take in every detail, every loving nuance of her oatmeal pie preparation. But as the author of Our Town warned, reliving a day gone by might prove to be too painful.
I opened my eyes and wondered briefly if Thornton Wilder had ever been Homer’s hero. I’d have to try to remember to ask Homer.
The pie still had a good thirty minutes to bake, so I went into my fancy room. My fancy room had once been my mother’s bedroom. After Pop died, Aunt Bess moved in with Nana. After Nana died, Mom moved in with Aunt Bess. And then when Aunt Bess started getting forgetful—as in, accidentally leaving the stove on—Mom left her job as a sales associate for a retailer in Bristol to look after Aunt Bess full-time.
Nana’s house was the biggest house in town, which wasn’t saying a lot for the rural community. There were houses in Abingdon and Bristol that would make Nana’s house look small in comparison. Most people in Winter Garden lived in farmhouses or small ranch houses. The people of Winter Garden were generally hardworking and proud. The majority thought it was beneath them to take handouts of any kind, and some lived a meager existence because of that.
Nana’s house was situated on a hill so that a person could sit on the wraparound front porch and see the entire town of Winter Garden. The house hadn’t been built until the early 1980s, when my grandpa had quit working in the coal mines and he and Nana moved here from Pocahontas.
After Mom had moved in with Aunt Bess, I’d remodeled her bedroom.Two of the walls were lined with oak bookshelves—not plasterboard, but real oak. My friend Roger was a construction worker, and he’d built them.There had always been the understanding that Roger would build my café if and when I decided to build. Before I’d given my notice to Lou Lou, I’d spoken with Roger to make sure he could work me in.
Roger had been friends with Sarah, Jackie, and me since we were children. In fact, I’d always thought he and Jackie would make a good couple.
In the center of the fancy room floor was a white velvet fainting couch, and I grinned every time I looked at it. The piece was just so girly and luxurious, and I loved it. I kept the door closed and didn’t let Princess Eloise into this room at all for fear that she’d sharpen her claws on the legs of the couch. It was hard to slip off from Rory, though, so I’d wound up putting a doggie bed beneath one of the windows so he could visit if he missed me when I was in the room. He generally liked to be by my side always. Princess Eloise could take me or leave me. ...
I took a deep breath, tightened my ponytail, and got out of my yellow Volkswagen Beetle. I knew from experience that the morning rush at Lou’s Joint had passed and that the lunch crowd wouldn’t be there yet. I put my letter of resignation in my purse and headed inside. Homer Pickens was seated at the counter with a cup of coffee. He was a regular . . . and when I say regular, I mean it. The man came to the café every morning at ten o’clock, lingered over a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee, and left at ten forty. It was ten fifteen a.m.
“Good morning, Homer,” I said. “Who’s your hero today?”
“Shel Silverstein,” he said.
“Good choice.” I smiled and patted his shoulder. Homer was a retiree in his late sixties, and he chose a new hero every day.
You see, when Homer was a little boy, he noticed his daddy wasn’t around like other kids’ daddies. So he asked his mom about him. She told him that his dad had died but that he’d been a great baseball player, which is why she’d named him Homer. When Homer was a teenager, she’d finally leveled with him and said his father hadn’t been a baseball player . . . that he’d basically been a bum . . . but that Homer didn’t need a father to inspire him. Heroes were everywhere. Since then, Homer had chosen a new hero every day. It was like his inspiration. I looked forward to hearing Homer’s answer to my question every day I worked. When I was off from work, he told me who his hero was the day I asked plus the day I’d missed.
I could sympathize with Homer’s desire for a heroic father figure. My dad left Mom and me when I was four. I don’t really remember him at all.
“That apple tree? The one he wrote about? I have one like it in my backyard,” Homer said. “I cherish it. I’d never cut it down.”
“I’m sure the rain we’ve had the past couple of days has helped it grow.You bring me some apples off that tree this fall, and I’ll make you a pie,” I told him.
My cousin Jackie came from the back with a washcloth and a spray bottle of cleaner. She and I had waitressed together at the café for over a year. Jackie had been there for two years, and in fact, it was she who’d helped me get the job.
My mind drifted to when I’d come back home to work for Lou Lou. I’d just finished up culinary school in Kentucky. Nana’s health had been declining for the past two or three years, but it had picked up speed. Assoon as I’d graduated, I’d come home and started working at Lou’s Joint so I could be at Nana’s house within ten minutes if I was needed. I was only biding my time at first, waiting for a chef’s position to come open somewhere. But then Nana had died. And, although I knew I could’ve asked her for a loan to open a café at any time, I wouldn’t have. I guess I got my streak of pride from my mother. But the money Nana had left me had made my dream a reality—I could open my café and stay right here at home.
“Morning, Amy!” said Jackie. “Guess what—Granny says she has a new Pinterest board. It’s called Things I’d Love to Eat but Won’t Fix Because What’s the Point Anyway Since I Don’t Like to Cook Anymore.”
I laughed. “I don’t think they’d let her have a name that long.”
“That’s what I figured. It’s probably called Things I’d Love to Eat, but she threw that last bit in there hoping we’ll make some of this stuff for her.”
“And we probably will.”
Jackie’s granny was my great-aunt Elizabeth, but Mom and I had always just called her “Aunt Bess.” Aunt Bess was eighty-two and had recently discovered the wonders of the Internet. She had a number of Pinterest boards, had a Facebook page with a 1940s pinup for a profile pic, and trolled the dating sites whenever they offered a free weekend.
Lou Lou heard us talking and waddled to the window separating the kitchen from the dining room. She had a cigarette hanging from her bottom lip. She tucked it into the corner of her mouth while she spoke. “Thought Iheard your voice, Amy. You ain’t here for your paycheck, are you?Because that won’t be ready until tomorrow, and you ain’t picking it up until after your shift.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” I said. “Could we talk privately, please?”
“Fine, but if you’re just wanting to complain about me taking half the waitresses’ tips again, you might as well not waste your breath. If it wasn’t for me, y’all wouldn’t have jobs here, so I deserve half of what you get.”
Jackie rolled her eyes at me and then got to cleaning tables before Lou Lou bawled her out.
We deserved all of our tips and then some, especially since Lou Lou didn’t pay minimum wage and gave us more grief than some of the waitresses could bear. That’s why I was here. Lou Lou Holman was a bully, and I aimed to put her out of business.
Speaking of daddies, Lou Lou had been named after hers—hence the Lou Lou, rather than Lulu—and according to my late grandmother, she looked just like him. He’d kept his hair dyed jet-black until he was put into the Winter Garden Nursing Home, and afterward, he put shoe polish on his head. According to Nana, he ruined many a pillowcase before the staff found his stash of shoe polish and did away with it.
Lou Lou wore her black hair in a tall beehive with pin curls on either side of her large round face. Her eyes were blue, a fact that was overpowered by the cobalt eye shadow she wore. She shaved her eyebrows, drew thin black upside-down Vs where they should have been, and added false eyelashes to complete the look.
Today Lou Lou wore a floor-length blue-and-white floral-print muumuu, and she had a white plastic hibiscus in her hair just above the pin curl on the left. She shuffled into the office, let me go in ahead of her, and then closed the door. I could smell her perfume—a cloying jasmine—mixed with this morning’s bacon and the cigarette, and I was more anxious than ever to get our business over with. She sat down behind her desk and looked at me.
I perched on the chair in front of the desk, reached into my purse, and took out the letter. As I handed it to her, I said, “I’m turning in my two-week notice.”
“Well, I ain’t surprised,” she said, stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray.“I heard your granny left you some money when she passed last year. I reckon you’ve decided to take it easy.”
“No. Actually, I’d like to buy your café.”
Her eyes got so wide that her false eyelashes brushed against the tops of her inverted V eyebrows. “Is that a fact, Amy?”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” I lifted my chin. “I’m a good cook—better than good, as a matter of fact—and I want to put my skills . . . my passion . . . to work for me.”
“If you think you can just waltz in here all high and mighty and take my daddy’s business away from me, you’ve got another think coming,” said Lou Lou.
“If you don’t sell to me, I’m going to open up my own café. I just thought I should give you fair warning before I do.”
Lou Lou scoffed. “You’ve got some nerve thinking you can run me out of business. You bring on the competition, girlie! We’ll see who comes out ahead.”
“All right.” I stood. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be here tomorrow for my shift.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll mail you your final check.”
“I’ll be here,” I said. “I don’t want any of the other waitresses to have to work a double on my account.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t be surprised if I take the cost of putting an ad in the paper for a new waitress out of your salary.”
I simply turned and walked out of the office. I knew that legally Lou Lou couldn’t take her ad cost out of my pay. But Lou Lou did a lot of things that weren’t right. I figured whatever she did to me in retaliation for my leaving wasn’t worth putting up a fight over . . . not now. I’d pick my battles.
I’d also pick my wallpaper, my curtains, my flooring, my chairs, stools, and tables, my logo . . . My lips curled into a smile before I’d even realized it.
“Bye, Homer! Bye, Jackie!” I called over my shoulder on the way out.
“Bye, Amy!” They called in unison.
I went to the parking lot and got into my car. I glanced up at the sign—LOU’S JOINT—as I backed out into the road. The sign was as sad and faded as everything else about this place. If I could convince Lou Lou to change her mind, I’d start with a brand-new sign . . . a big yellow sign with DOWN SOUTH CAFÉ in blue cursive letters. I wanted everybody to know what to expect when they walked into my café—Southern food and hospitality.
I could do so much with this little place. Sure, I could also build a new café, but if I did, I’d also have to buy all-new equipment, get the building wired and up to code, and basically spend a lot of extra money I’d rather save if at all possible. Besides, Lou’s Joint was one of only two restaurants in town, and it was really close to my house—a definite plus once winter rolled in.
When I got home, I went straight to the kitchen. Rory, my little brown wirehaired terrier, met me at the door and followed me. Princess Eloise, the white Persian cat, barely looked up from her post in the living room picture-window sill. I bent and gave Rory kisses and then I got his box of dog treats. We play hide-and-seek with the treats before he eats them. Of course, they’re in plain sight, but we act like they’re hidden.
I scattered the treats in the foyer, hallway, and living room, repeating the word “Hide” each time I dropped one. When I placed the last treat on the marble hearth in the living room, I called, “Seek!” Rory sprang into action, backtracking to find all the treats.
This bought me a good five minutes to wash my hands and get started on an oatmeal pie. Oatmeal pies took a while to make—even when I had a frozen pie crust like the one I was using today—but they were worth it.Nana used to make them. Especially if I was feeling down, I could walk into her house, smell that oatmeal pie baking, and know that everything was gonna be all right.
I took my pie crust out of the freezer and preheated the oven. I got a small mixing bowl, put four eggs in it, and set it on the counter while I gathered the rest of my ingredients.
Lou Lou was right about my nana leaving me some money. The estate had been settled for quite a while, but I didn’t want to rush to spend my inheritance. I’d wanted to wait until I was absolutely sure I knew what I wanted to do.
Nana had a fairly sizable estate, or at least, sizable by Winter Garden, Virginia, standards. I’d always known my grandparents had money, but I hadn’t realized how much Nana did have until she was gone. Of course, she’d bought me my car when I’d graduated high school, and it was brand-new then. I’d been impressed, but I’d thought maybe she’d been saving up for that for a long time. I’d been driving that little car for ten years now, and it was still going strong.
I smiled to myself, remembering the day she’d taken me to buy that car.We’d had to go all the way to Johnson City, Tennessee, but the dealership had given us Virginia sales tax on the vehicle. And the salesman had nearly fainted when Nana had paid cash!
I cracked the four eggs into the bowl and beat them until they were frothy. In a larger bowl, I mixed together sugar, cinnamon, flour, and salt. I then added the eggs. As I was pouring in the corn syrup, my phone rang.I’d placed the phone on the counter and could see that it was Sarah calling.She was one of my best friends. I hesitated, but when the oven clicked, indicating that it had reached 350 degrees, I let the call go to voice mail.I’d get back to Sarah as soon as I got the pie into the oven.
Sarah and I had become close when we were in elementary school, and we’d stayed that way. Her family was like one of those perfect television families. I used to wish I had a big family like hers, and whenever I said something along those lines, she’d assure me that I did—I had her family.
And I had Mom and Nana. They were wonderful. Mom and I had lived in a smaller house on Nana and Pop’s property. Despite her parents’ abundance, Mom had taken as little from anybody as possible. She’d wanted to earn her own way, and she certainly had done that. And of course, Jackie and I had always been more like sisters than cousins, especially since Jackie had never known her dad and her mother had left her with Aunt Bess when Jackie was sixteen.
I poured the oatmeal mixture into the pie shell and slid it into the oven.Then I called Sarah.
“Hey, girl,” she answered. “Did you throw down on the Big Bad Boss yet?”
“Yeah.” I groaned. “Lou Lou was not happy when I offered to buy her café.”
“I’d have loved to have seen the expression on her face!” Sarah laughed.“So . . . plan B?”
“I guess so. I’m nervous about it. It’ll take longer than having a place that I only have to redecorate,” I said.
“But starting from the ground up, you can get exactly what you want.”
“That’s true . . . but it’s kinda scary.”
“I’m sure it is, Amy, but you’ll know what you’re getting every step of the way,” she said. “And you can afford to go with all-new stuff . . . good stuff!”
I laughed. “That’s true. But I have to be smart. I won’t have my salary to live on while the new place is being built. I gave Lou Lou my two weeks’ notice. She didn’t want me to come back at all, but I said I wouldn’t do that to the other waitresses.”
“Well, honey, it’s not like you were making a fortune in that place.”
“I know . . . but what will I do to keep from being bored out of my mind while I’m waiting for my café to be built?”
“You’ll help build it,” Sarah said. “I’ve known you all your life. I can see you jumping right in there with your hammer and nails.”
“You’ve got a point there. Plus, I’ll be getting my permits and all that.Do you think we can get the construction done before winter?” I asked.“How long does something like that take?”
“I’d say it’ll take four to six months . . . and it’s June . . . so, yeah, you can be ready by winter.”
I sighed. “Will people wait that long? I so wanted to go in, take over Lou Lou’s place, shut down for a week or two for redecorating, and then have a grand opening on Independence Day.”
“People won’t wait,” she said, “but they’ll gladly leave Lou’s Joint for something better as soon as that option becomes available to them.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Come over after work and have some oatmeal pie with me.”
“Is that what I smell?” she teased.
“Mmm-hmm.”
She giggled. “I’ll be there!”
“Want some fried chicken, biscuits, and mashed potatoes with gravy to go with it?” I asked.
“I’d be satisfied with just the pie . . . but I wouldn’t hurt your feelings by not eating chicken and biscuits.”
“Good. I’ll see you after work, then.”
Sarah was Billy Hancock’s administrative assistant. In Winter Garden, that meant she was the secretary, bookkeeper, and paralegal to the town’s only attorney-at-law. Billy was about fifty-five years old and had taken over the business from his father, William. Being the only lawyer in town, Billy had plenty to keep him busy, but not so busy that he couldn’t play golf in Abingdon with his friends two afternoons a week. He handled just about everybody’s wills, estates, divorces, and misdemeanor charges. Not that everybody got divorced or had misdemeanors in Winter Garden, for goodness’ sake . . . but there were enough to earn Billy a darned good living, and by extension Sarah too.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The aromas of the vanilla, cinnamon, and oatmeal were divine. I remembered standing on a chair at Nana’s side watching her make her oatmeal pie at our house one Thanksgiving morning. Nana was strong and sturdily built, and I must’ve been only around five years old, because I felt tiny at her side. She was patiently explaining the pie making step by step. At the time, all I cared about was “Can I lick the spoon?” Now I’d love to have the opportunity to live that day over . . . to take in every detail, every loving nuance of her oatmeal pie preparation. But as the author of Our Town warned, reliving a day gone by might prove to be too painful.
I opened my eyes and wondered briefly if Thornton Wilder had ever been Homer’s hero. I’d have to try to remember to ask Homer.
The pie still had a good thirty minutes to bake, so I went into my fancy room. My fancy room had once been my mother’s bedroom. After Pop died, Aunt Bess moved in with Nana. After Nana died, Mom moved in with Aunt Bess. And then when Aunt Bess started getting forgetful—as in, accidentally leaving the stove on—Mom left her job as a sales associate for a retailer in Bristol to look after Aunt Bess full-time.
Nana’s house was the biggest house in town, which wasn’t saying a lot for the rural community. There were houses in Abingdon and Bristol that would make Nana’s house look small in comparison. Most people in Winter Garden lived in farmhouses or small ranch houses. The people of Winter Garden were generally hardworking and proud. The majority thought it was beneath them to take handouts of any kind, and some lived a meager existence because of that.
Nana’s house was situated on a hill so that a person could sit on the wraparound front porch and see the entire town of Winter Garden. The house hadn’t been built until the early 1980s, when my grandpa had quit working in the coal mines and he and Nana moved here from Pocahontas.
After Mom had moved in with Aunt Bess, I’d remodeled her bedroom.Two of the walls were lined with oak bookshelves—not plasterboard, but real oak. My friend Roger was a construction worker, and he’d built them.There had always been the understanding that Roger would build my café if and when I decided to build. Before I’d given my notice to Lou Lou, I’d spoken with Roger to make sure he could work me in.
Roger had been friends with Sarah, Jackie, and me since we were children. In fact, I’d always thought he and Jackie would make a good couple.
In the center of the fancy room floor was a white velvet fainting couch, and I grinned every time I looked at it. The piece was just so girly and luxurious, and I loved it. I kept the door closed and didn’t let Princess Eloise into this room at all for fear that she’d sharpen her claws on the legs of the couch. It was hard to slip off from Rory, though, so I’d wound up putting a doggie bed beneath one of the windows so he could visit if he missed me when I was in the room. He generally liked to be by my side always. Princess Eloise could take me or leave me. ...
My Book Review:
Southern cozy mystery fans, boy do I have an entertaining new series for you to add to your reading list!
Welcome to Winter Garden, Virginia!
The Calamity Cafe is an entertaining whodunit story with a southern twist! Author Gayle Leeson weaves an intriguing southern cozy murder mystery tale told in the first person narrative by Amy Flowers, who immediately draws the reader into her story when she finds herself a suspect in the murder of her mean boss, Lou Lou Holman, after finding her dead in the office of her cafe, Lou's Joint. Amy takes the reader along on her amateur sleuth adventure as she tries to clear her name and find the real killer.
This captivating and fast-paced mystery tale has enough quirky humor, drama, and intriguing twists and turns that will keep you guessing. Rich in detail and vivid descriptions, the story takes place in Winter Garden, Virginia, a picturesque southern town with a lot of heart and charm. The description of the town and its residents was simply wonderful, there's nothing better than down home country charm and living. I loved how the author masterfully interwove Amy's dream of opening up a cafe called the Down South Cafe, where her customers would think of it as Southern hospitality in a sweet home town, while also dealing with the trials and tribulations of trying to clear her name, and solve the murder of a woman who had a history of run ins with a lot of people in town.
This laugh-out-loud cozy mystery tale will keep you in stitches as you turn the pages following along with the townsfolk's southern charm and quirky interactions, and you can't help but get caught up in the drama and calamity that follows Amy and friends as they try to solve Lou Lou's murder. Amy's story unfolds with a wonderful balance of comedy, drama, and suspense that easily kept me guessing, and left me wanting more. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the author includes some delicious recipes at the end of the book that will make your mouth water!
The Calamity Cafe is a riveting southern cozy murder mystery that will engage you to join in the crazy adventures and trials and tribulations that occur, while providing you with a dose of good ol' southern charm and humor. So pull up a rocking chair and set down for a spell with some sweet tea while Amy and the townsfolk of Winter Garden tell y'all their story!
The Calamity Cafe is the first book in the Down South Cafe Mystery Series.
RATING: 5 STARS
Contest Giveaway
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Virtual Book Tour
Tour Schedule:
June 7 – Moonlight Rendezvous – Review
June 7 – The Self-Rescue Princess – Character Interview
June 8 – Reading Is My SuperPower – Review, Giveaway
June 8 – Book Babble – Review
June 9 – Queen of All She Reads – Review, Giveaway
June 9 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – Review
June 9 – Community Bookstop – Review, Giveaway
June 10 – Cinnamon, Sugar and a Little Bit of Murder – Review
June 10 – Books Direct – Guest Post, Giveaway
June 10 – Mystery Playground – Guest Post – Drinks and Reads
June 11 – Booklady’s Booknotes – Review
June 12 – Shelley’s Book Case – Review, Giveaway
June 13 – A Holland Reads – Review, Character Guest Post, Giveaway
June 14 – Books, Movies, Reviews. Oh my! – Review
June 14 – Classy Cheapskate – Review
June 15 – Back Porchervations – Review
June 16 – The Book’s the Thing – Review
June 16 – Island Confidential – Interview
June 17 – Melina’s Book Blog – Review
June 18 – Brooke Blogs – Review, Guest Post, Giveaway
June 19 – I Read What You Write – Review, Interview
June 20 – Jersey Girl Book Reviews – Review, Character Guest Post, Giveaway
June 20 – Cheryl B Book Blog – Review
June 20 – StoreyBook Reviews – Review
June 21 – Cozy Up With Kathy – Review
Thank you, Kathleen! :)
ReplyDeleteHi Gayle! Thank you for the opportunity to host your virtual book tour event. I really enjoyed reading the book, and look forward to reading the next installment in the series. :)
DeleteI've read some of the other series and enjoyed them. Looking forward to another new series from this author.
ReplyDeletethanks.
Hi Mary! Thank you for stooping by my blog, I appreciate it. This is the first book that I read from the author, and I am looking forward to reading more from this series too. :)
DeleteI liked the excerpt, thank you.
ReplyDeleteHi Rita! Thank you for visiting my blog, I appreciate it. Glad you enjoyed the book excerpt,hope you get a chance to add the book to your reading list. :)
DeleteHi Ashley, thank you for visiting my blog, I appreciate it. Click on the author's website link, and you will see the little box on the right hand side to enter your name and email address to enroll in her mailing list.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.gayleleeson.com/
Thanks for sharing this awesome giveaway with us.
ReplyDeleteHi Becky! Thank you for stopping by and good luck in the contest giveaway! :)
DeleteThank you for the intro & review of this new cozy mystery! Now following you on Network Blogs.
ReplyDeleteHi Sandy! Thank you for visiting my blog and following me, I appreciate it. :)
DeleteThis is a new author for me but the book sounds very intriguing, so I’d love to learn more!
ReplyDeleteHI Nikolina! Thank you for stopping by my blog. Hope you get a chance to add the book to your reading list.
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