Nacho Usual Murder: Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries, Book 3 Read online

  “I just don’t get it… I moved to a small town because I thought it would be a safe, wholesome place for Ryan to grow up, and for me to make a new start, but strange, scary things keep happening. I keep second-guessing myself and wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake,” Rossie shook her head. “It’s frustrating.”

  She took a small sip of her coffee, and was startled at the heavenly burst of flavor. “Wow, this is amazing,” her eyes widened and she took another sip. “Where did you get this coffee?”

  “I do business with a guy in Colombia. He sends me a shipment of the stuff once a month,” Tom replied casually, taking a long draw from his own cup.

  Rossalyn stared at him.

  “And what do you send him?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “A paycheck,” was the vague reply, but his eyes were like flint as he met her gaze.

  “You have to know how sketchy that sounds,” she blurted before she had time to think about it.

  “I’m not real concerned with how it sounds. People are gonna think what they’re gonna think, no matter what I do. Just like you moving to this town,” he gestured with his mug. “You thought it was gonna be some kind of utopia where folks live off the land and love one another, and what you found out is that there are snakes in even the prettiest patches of grass. People are people, and there’s always some bad livin’ right alongside the good. Doesn’t matter where you go,” he stared out the window as he said it, and for the briefest moment, Rossie thought she saw a flicker of pain darken his cobalt eyes.

  “Are you okay?” she asked softly, unable to help herself.

  The mountain of man in front of her studied her face for a moment before replying.

  “That’s a loaded question,” his jaw tightened for a split second. “But we’re here to talk about you and your potential intruder,” he reminded her, his tone indicating that the subject she’d introduced was taboo.

  “Yeah,” Rossalyn bit her lip, wondering just what was going on behind Tom’s carefully guarded mask. “Well, there’s no sense in bothering Morgan tonight, I’ll call him in the morning,” she sighed, noting that Tom had seemed to flinch when she mentioned the name of the officer. “And as for the flowers… I guess I’ll be throwing them in the trash bin.”

  “I wouldn’t,” her neighbor surprised her by saying.

  “Really? Why?”

  “Couple of reasons. First, it’d be sending a pretty unmistakable message of rejection, and you’re most likely dealing with someone who could be unstable, so that’s a bad idea.”

  “Yeah, I can see your point on that one,” Rossie nodded. “So what’s the second reason?”

  “It’s the dead of winter and flowers are beautiful. It’s not their fault they were sent by a stalker. Enjoy them,” he shrugged.

  “Hmm…that makes sense, too,” she agreed, eyeing him speculatively. “Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a flower lover,” she teased lightly.

  “Then maybe you should stop judging a book by its cover,” he suggested, turning around to flip the switch that turned off the coffee pot.

  Rossalyn took that as her cue to leave, so she downed the last gulp of coffee and stood.

  “Thanks for the coffee, I really enjoyed it,” she said, feeling an embarrassing flush creeping up her cheeks. “Listen, what I said, about the flowers, I didn’t mean to…” she began, searching for the right words.

  “Forget it. I’m used to people looking at me a certain way. Tucking me away into a little box that they can wrap their head around. I’ve spent my whole life tearing down that box, and it doesn’t matter to me one way or another what anyone thinks,” he shrugged, leading the way to the back door and opening it.

  At a loss for words, Rossie strode mutely past, but when she crossed the threshold, she turned and looked at her enigmatic neighbor for a long moment.

  “Thank you. For telling me, I mean. And for… for providing some needed perspective. I like honesty, it works for me,” she bit her lip again.

  “Me, too,” he nodded.

  He stood in the doorway, letting the bone-chilling Illinois winter seep into his cozy kitchen, and when she reached his back gate, he called out to her.

  “I’ll probably be riding by the café when you head over there in the morning.”

  A slow grin broke across her face. He was making sure that if anyone was watching her, they now knew that she wouldn’t be alone in the morning.

  “Sounds good. Stop in—I’m sure José has a great breakfast special planned.”

  She took her hand out of the deep pocket of her down parka and gave the gruff biker a small wave. He raised a hand in return, then stayed in his doorway until Rossalyn was safely inside her house and had locked the door behind her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  Rossalyn heard the comforting rumble of Tom Hundman warming up his motorcycle, roughly ten minutes before she was supposed to leave for Hawg Heaven. She knew he’d also watch over Ryan as he walked to school—he’d done it before. Still, she checked the area around her side entrance before making her way out to the detached garage where her SUV was sheltered from the weather. The space wasn’t heated, but at least she didn’t have to scrape her windshield in the morning.

  True to his word, when Rossie pulled into her parking space at the café, Tom Hundman was sitting, arms crossed, looking dangerous, in front of Hawg Heaven. Mentioning that he was going to “hang out in the neighborhood for a bit,” she knew he’d be back for breakfast once Ryan was safely within the confines of the junior high.

  José was busily preparing “breakfast nachos”—thinly sliced potatoes, topped with mounds of cheddar cheese, scrambled eggs, jalapeño peppers, and pulled pork—when Rossalyn came in, but Garrett was nowhere to be found.

  “Hey, where’s your trusty sidekick?” she asked, looking around.

  “No idea, Ms. Rossalyn,” the cook shrugged, looking a bit worried.

  “Did you try calling him?”

  “Yep, there was no answer.”

  “Hmm… well, I really need him to be here today. I have to go talk to one of Ryan’s teachers at two,” she mused. “Maybe after the breakfast crowd thins out, I’ll go over to the boardinghouse to see if I can find out what’s going on with him.”

  “Watch out for Ms. Eliza,” the cook said somberly. “You don’t want to mess with that lady.”

  “Oh, trust me, I’ve tangled with her before,” Rossalyn made a face.

  Eliza Bouchard ran the boardinghouse with an iron fist. The hard-bitten, smoky-voiced, petite firebrand commanded the respect and sometimes the fear of her tenants, men who were typically down on their luck, many of whom were recently released from jail on a variety of charges. She had regarded Rossalyn with suspicion, as she did everyone, and had been anything but helpful the last time she’d encountered her.

  “Yeah, you’re pretty tough, too,” he teased, his usual toothy grin returning. “Oh, there was a delivery for you this morning. I put it in your office,” the cook remembered suddenly, so busy with his potatoes that he missed his boss’s look of concern.

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks, I’ll go get it, then I’ll be back out here to deal with the breakfast rush. I’m going to try to call Garrett, and I have one other quick call to make, it shouldn’t take too long.”

  “No problem, Ms. Rossalyn,” was the cheerful reply.

  Rossie moved slowly down the hall, dreading what she might find in her office. When she reached the doorway, she saw another bouquet of flowers. Gingerly removing the small white envelope from the plastic pitchfork that held it in place, she noted that they had come from a different florist in a neighboring town. Using her letter opener, she slit the thick paper and pulled out the card within.

  Flowers at work, flowers at home,

  I’m whistling a merry tune,

  Cuz I know, though you’re never alone,

  I’ll be seeing you soon.

  Rossalyn’s fingers trembled as she read the cryptic note, and
she set it on the table, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jeans. When she called Officer Morgan Tyler, she got his voice mail and left a message, asking him to call as soon as he could. She didn’t have to wait long; he returned her call in about half an hour, just before the café opened. She told him about her conversation with Tom, and about the strange deliveries and the man who had appeared before and after hours. He agreed that it was worth looking into, but let her know that he’d be tied up for several hours.

  “Can I stop by Hawg Heaven after I’m done here?” he asked, sounding rushed.

  “Of course. Hopefully Garrett will be in by then. For some reason, he’s late this morning.”

  There was a moment of silence on Morgan’s end, and then he spoke.

  “Garrett Marshall?”

  “Yes, he usually comes in around five, and he’s not here yet.”

  “Uh, yeah. I’ll see what I can do about that,” was the officer’s odd reply.

  “Oh my gosh, is he okay? Is he hurt? What’s going on?”

  “He’s fine, no worries, and he’s not in trouble that I know of. I can tell you more later, but don’t worry. Look, I’ve gotta run, but we’ll talk this afternoon, and I’ll stop by your house to see if I can find anything near where Hundman said he saw the stalker.”

  “Thanks, Morgan, I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem, take care,” he replied quickly and hung up, leaving her wondering what the heck was going on.

  Rossalyn didn’t have much time to ponder the strange phone call with Officer Morgan Tyler, because once the breakfast rush started, she and José struggled to keep their heads above water. The time flew by, and it was only when she leaned against the counter, wearily sipping her coffee, that she realized she hadn’t seen Tom Hundman come in. She would’ve known if he had stopped in, not only because the massive biker had a way of getting noticed without even trying, but also because she’d been the only one waiting tables and ringing up sales, so she couldn’t have missed him.

  Garrett came in, wide-eyed and pale, just as the lunch rush was starting, so Rossie didn’t have a chance to ask why he’d been late.

  “Garrett! Are you okay?” she asked, hustling back to the kitchen with an order for José’s much-admired garlic roasted pork loin.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he nodded, seeming dazed.

  “Can you work today?” his boss asked, a tinge of desperation in her voice.

  “Yes ma’am,” the young man seemed to shake himself and snapped out of his trance. “I’ll get washed up and grab an apron.”

  “That’s great,” she sighed with relief. “I’ll bring water to table three, and then you can take their order.”

  “I’m on it,” he agreed, speeding toward the kitchen.

  Thankfully, José, Rossalyn, and Garrett were able to get caught up with food prep, dishes, and cleanup with half an hour to spare before she had to be out the door to see Ryan’s teacher. Grabbing her keys and purse from the office, she instructed the young men to let Officer Tyler know that she’d be back in about an hour, if he happened to stop by. Garrett looked very uncomfortable when she mentioned Morgan, and she made a mental note to ask him about why he’d been late when she returned.

  ***

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Channing,” Ryan’s teacher greeted Rossalyn warmly when she peeked her head into the now-silent classroom.

  Her easygoing demeanor immediately put Rossie at ease, and she returned the greeting, shaking the teacher’s hand.

  “Hi, thank you for meeting with me. I can’t even imagine how busy you must be.”

  “Such is the life,” Ms. Simpson laughed softly. “What can I help you with today?”

  “I wanted to talk with you about Ryan’s ancient civilizations report…” Rossie began.

  “Oh yes,” the teacher nodded ruefully. “That was unfortunate.”

  “Exactly,” Rossalyn agreed, glad that the woman sounded like she was going to be reasonable. “I don’t know how much Ryan shared with you, but he texted me to bring it to him, and it would’ve been on time, but I got stuck at a railroad crossing, that’s why it was just a few minutes late,” she explained.

  “He texted you from the classroom?” Ms. Simpson raised an eyebrow.

  Rossie blinked for a moment, thrown off by the rapid change of subject. “Well… I actually don’t know where he texted me from, but I can assure you that his assignment being a bit late was my fault, not his.”

  “I’m going to have to disagree with you on that one, Ms. Channing. Ryan left his assignment at home, that was his mistake, not yours, and he was well aware of the consequences of that type of behavior,” the teacher clarified.

  Rossalyn took a moment to breathe before responding, consciously relaxing her spine and trying not to give in to the knee-jerk reaction which threatened to explode from her.

  “That type of behavior? That makes it sound as though he deliberately left his paper at home, Ms. Simpson, which I assure you, he did not. He worked very hard on his paper, as he does with all of his school work. It’s my understanding that you have a policy of not accepting late work, even if it’s only late by a few minutes,” she challenged.

  “Absolutely,” the teacher nodded firmly.

  “Even when there are extenuating circumstances?” Rossalyn asked incredulously, still trying to keep a lid on her simmering anger. “Ryan is a straight-A student, and he tells me that even with the completion of the extra credit assignment, he’ll still only be able to receive a B for your class this semester.”

  “That’s correct, and as I said, it’s unfortunate. I hardly see forgetting his paper at home as falling under the category of extenuating circumstances,” Ms. Simpson made little air quotes with her fingers.

  “You have no idea what my son has been through this past year. His father was killed while serving his country, for crying out loud. Then, when we moved here, Ryan bore the brunt of bullying and small-town attitudes, and kept his grades up, even in the face of all that. Now, you’re going to tell me that you won’t make an exception to your policy because I happened to get stuck behind a train?” Rossie demanded, astounded at the woman’s callous attitude.

  The teacher pursed her lips and took a breath. When she began to speak, she did so slowly, as if carefully considering every word.

  “This generation of students seems to be particularly vulnerable to the interference of well-meaning parents. It causes them to lack a sense of accountability, and to feel that, no matter what they do, they’ll always have a safety net… someone coming to their rescue. It’s not healthy for the students, who never learn to stand on their own two feet, and I daresay, it’s having a negative impact on society as a whole,” Ms. Simpson stared her down.

  Rossalyn was stunned, and took her time in forming a response. This teacher didn’t know her son’s pain, she didn’t know that he’d been upstanding and responsible since birth. She didn’t know that he had chores at home, volunteered to help the less fortunate, and tried to adopt every stray animal that he encountered. She didn’t know and wasn’t privy to that information She had no idea that he was a truly good kid, who could really use a break. While Rossie knew these things, and tried to use them as a means of cooling down so that she could respond rationally, the fact still remained that Ryan’s soul was crushed, and his GPA, which he worked so hard to maintain, was affected. This woman could easily make an exception, and needed to be prompted to do so.

  “Interesting perspective. In Ryan’s particular case, we have a supremely responsible young man, who made a mistake, literally, for the first time in his academic career. Surely, you can make an exception under the circumstances,” Rossalyn worked very hard at maintaining a neutral, level tone.

  “Oh no. If I made one exception, students would be lining up to plead their cases. I’m sorry, Ms. Channing, you’re just going to have to chalk this up as a life lesson for Ryan. Perhaps it will motivate him to be more responsible next time,” Ms. Simpson said gently.
/>   And that was the spark to set off the anger bomb which had been building within the concerned mother since the beginning of their conversation.

  “Are you kidding me?” her voice rose in both pitch and volume. “He’s a good kid who’s been kicked around by life, and you’re treating him like he’s not even an individual. News flash, Ms. Simpson, teenagers are not a homogeneous group, with one indistinguishable from the next! Ryan is not just a part of a collective, he’s a human being with goals and determination. Have you even read his paper?” Rossie moved closer, and Ms. Simpson didn’t step back an inch, her disapproving gaze unwavering.

  “I did not. I made it clear that late papers won’t even be accepted,” she snipped.

  “Well you’re going to read it, and then you’re going to give it the grade it deserves, based upon its merits,” Rossalyn insisted.

  Now it was the teacher’s turn to shout. “No, I most certainly will not, Ms. Channing! How dare you march into my classroom and start making demands?”

  Before Rossie could reply, the door to the classroom flew open and the principal entered quickly, concern etched on his features.

  “Ladies, is there a problem here? he asked, looking from one to the other.

  “You bet there’s a problem,” Rossalyn replied, at the same time Ms. Simpson said, “No, not at all, Mr. Appleton.”

  “Ms. Channing, perhaps we could continue this conversation in my office?” he suggested with a conciliatory smile.

  “I have nothing to say to Ms. Simpson, but I’ll be more than happy to fill you in on what just transpired,” Rossie narrowed her eyes at the teacher.

  “Perfect. If you’ll just follow me,” he spirited her away, while the teacher sat down at her desk and started shuffling through a stack of papers.

  ***

  Rossalyn’s conversation with Principal Appleton, while considerably less heated, was equally unsatisfying. If she wished to challenge the teacher’s policy, she’d have to go through a formal process and petition the school board for a ruling. Being a newcomer in town, it was a prospect that she certainly didn’t relish, but she vowed to do whatever she had to do to correct the situation, for Ryan’s sake, so she accepted the four-page form from the principal and let him know that she’d have it completed and turned in well in advance of the next school board meeting, which was a little over a week away.