Free Murder at the Blue Plate Café (A Blue Plate Café Mystery) by Judy Alter Page B

in discussing it with Chester. Not even Rob would go that far. “No, not really,” I said.
    “Well, I’ll get a tow truck out here directly, and then my wife told me to bring you to the house. It’s ‘bout lunchtime, and she’ll feed you and soothe you. “
    And so I found myself in Carolyn Grimes’s living room, facing not the little old lady I had envisioned. Carolyn was quite a bit younger than Chester, but older than me. She wore capris, a cap-sleeve T-shirt, and flip-flops, with carefully painted toenails showing. Obviously, she didn’t shop in Crandall. She reminded me a bit of Donna—she was that attractive—but the difference stopped there. For one thing, I had rescued a howling Wynona from the car and took her with me. She got a warm welcome from Carolyn,
    “Chester Grimes,” she said, “you’re a dusty mess. What have you been doing?”
    “Crawling under this sweet thing’s car to look. Somebody cut the brake line.”
    “No kidding!” She looked at me in horror then rushed to give me a hug. “You’re lucky to be okay, hon. Are you hurt at all?”
    “No, just a big shaky still.”
    “I can fix that. Chester, you go take a shower and get on a fresh uniform. Then I’ll feed the both of you.”
    She literally sat me at the kitchen table—a well-worn, old wooden one, in a homey kitchen that had obviously seen lots of cooking and not much updating. Carolyn swooped a pile of papers off the table, poured me a glass of ice water, and said, “I made tuna salad for Chester’s lunch. Is that okay with you?
    It certainly was, and it turned out to be the best tuna sandwich I’d ever eaten—I wanted to ask her how she made her tuna, so I could do it at the café. Carolyn served it with a wonderful, ripe slice of cantaloupe, and for herself and me, cold glasses of chardonnay. “Chester can’t have a beer. He’s on duty,” she said, grinning wickedly at him, as he pretended to backhand her.
    “Why are you giving Miss Kate wine when she’s got to drive to Wheeler?”
    “’Cause it will take them a while to repair the brake line, and she’s going to take a nap,” Carolyn said smugly.
    During lunch I found myself telling them all about Gram’s death and my new life running the café, though I did not mention Donna and all that conflict.
    “I loved that woman’s chicken fried,” Chester said. “I’d heard she died—my condolences. But we’ll be back to see you at the Blue Plate.”
    I truly felt I’d made new friends. After lunch, Carolyn tucked me and Wynona into a cheery guest room, me protesting all the way that I wouldn’t sleep. I did, soundly, for two hours, until she came to tell me that my car was ready, and Chester had it out in front of the house.
    As I got in the car to say my goodbyes, it occurred to me that I’d left my whole life in the car and sent it off to unknown mechanics. Not a thing was missing. Small-town life is sometimes really good.
    “Dinner at the Blue Plate is on me,” I said, “any time you come.” I never did ask if he was the one who hid behind billboards to give out speeding tickets.
    The drive through Kauffman and Canton seemed to take forever, probably because I was still a bit groggy from my wine-induced nap. It was close to five-thirty when I pulled in behind Gram’s house and began unloading.
    Barely five minutes later, Wheeler’s only police car pulled up behind my car. Rick Samuels unwound himself from behind the steering wheel and raised his hat in my direction. “Afternoon,” he said. “Hear you had some trouble in Crandall.”
    I was astounded. “How did you know that?”
    A tight grin, the best I’d ever seen from him. “Law enforcement officers keep in touch. Grimes emailed me. You made quite a hit with him and his wife.”
    “They were good to me,” I said, “and I invited them to the Blue Plate anytime.”
    He watched me pick up a load of clothes and asked, “Need some help?”
    I grinned. “I can always use help.”
    So