Free Murder at the Tremont House (A Blue Plate Cafe Mystery) by Judy Alter Page B

grateful she trusted me, but I was sad about her home situation. I hugged her fiercely, and she returned the hug. Then with a quick smile and “Sweet dreams,” she headed back to Donna’s old bedroom.
    Morning would come too early.
    Next morning, Ava was back to herself—sort of a balky teenager. I had left them for Tom to wake up and get ready. He brought them to the café and Ava had her usual disinterested expression. Except she poked her head into the kitchen before they left to say, “Thanks, Aunt Kate. I love you.”
    I had to use a floured hand to wipe away a tear. “I love you too,” I said softly. That child would be all right.
    “ You did the right thing, Kate,” Gram said. “You’re going to have to help those children, until Donna straightens out her thinking…if she ever does.”
    Thanks, Gram, for starting my day off on suc h an optimistic note.
    ****
    Our first cooking lesson was nearly a disaster. I shouldn’t have left the planning to Donna. She didn’t leave enough time for the ladies to watch me cook the meal—they would take turns helping, since there wasn’t room for all of them to work at once—and get their children out of school or whatever other afternoon obligations. We changed the format: classes would run from noon to two-thirty, and for a minimal extra fee, the café would provide box lunches. I had visions of making extra tuna salad, but the ladies could choose from tuna or chicken salad or a cheese and cold cuts sandwich that I’d recently added to the menu.
    Our first meal was chicken piccata, and I carefully explained they could use the same lemon-and-butter technique with fish or veal if they felt fancy. I offered two side dishes—whipped potatoes made with cream and a spinach casserole topped with French’s fried onions. Okay, I know—prepared food. But it would appeal to the men of the town, and they were our ultimate audience.
    The ladies took copious notes, except for Sara Jo, who sniffed and didn ’t much participate, but I noticed she kept her portion of the food for her supper.
    It was a delight to see Carolyn Grimes at the class. She bubbled with happiness, and exclaimed, “Chester won’t know what hit him when I serve this. He’s used to chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and greens. But I think it’s time we went uptown.” She grinned at me.
    “ How’s Chester?”
    “ Oh, he’s fine as always. Nothing much to do but catch speeders, though last week we had some real excitement. A Peeping Tom. Chester was so mad anyone would do that in his town I thought he’d have a stroke. But all’s peaceful again.”
    “ Give him my best,” I said.
    She gave me a hug. “I will. You know he’ll ask. And thank you, girl, for the cooking lesson. It just made my whole week. I can’t wait till the next lesson.”
    Sara Jo was not so pleased with the experience. “Maybe next week there will be more chit-chat while we eat lunch,” she said. “That’s what I signed up for.”
    Wondering if she had an expense account to cover the class fee, I refrained from saying how glad I was she had enjoyed the meal. I had noticed she spent a lot of time watching Bonnie Smith, mother of the boy Ava thought Sara Jo had a crush on. Bonnie proved to be a surprise to me—a sturdy, capable looking woman with a haircut that looked like she’d done it at home, slacks and a blouse I suspected she’d made, and work-worn hands. I gathered she was a homemaker in every sense of the word and instinct told me she was raised on a farm or a ranch and knew a lot about hard work. She hadn’t lost the muscles. But she looked nothing like tall, lank, and handsome Cary.
    Once more, Sara Jo left me puzzling. She had now been in Wheeler a little over a month and she showed no signs of leaving any time soon. What exactly was she looking for in her so-called research on small-town America? I couldn’t shake the feeling she was looking for something specific in Wheeler. And that worried me a