Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
R ose pressed her fingertips into the cinnamon and brown sugar crumbs on her plate. She gathered as many as she could and pressed them to her tongue. The bear claws were her favorite, but the coffee cake at Cracked Egg Cafe also bordered on evil.
The place was noisy this morning with many tables occupied.
The Elders’ table in the center of the room sat empty.
Rose sat in a booth. She had her notebook out, hoping to get some words down. So far, all she’d done was doodle on an empty page and exchange texts with her friends, Ada and Becks. They’d asked about Finn.
Florence came round to her booth with a pot of coffee. “I’m not sure you got them all.”
Rose glanced at the plate. “Fine. I’ll just order a bowl of the topping next time.”
With a sparkle in her eyes, she said, “I’ll see if Stan can add that to the menu.”
She refilled Rose’s coffee cup before moving to another booth.
Stan’s voice barreled out of the kitchen. “Order up.”
Sadie, another server, collected the array of steaming white plates from the order counter. Dishes clattered close by as a busboy cleared a table.
Rose sipped her refilled mug, glanced at the clock over the register. She’d have to leave soon. She needed to buy groceries before she headed home.
Someone approached her table. It wasn’t Florence. Black sneakers, beige slacks. She looked up. A man stood at her side. A musky odor emanated from him that made her want to hold her breath.
“I hear you’re fixing up the big house,” he said.
A smattering of saliva hit her arm. She struggled to hide her disgust as she wiped her arm with her napkin.
“Can I help you with something, Mr?—”
“Don’t be like that, Pet. You know my name. I worked for your dad, in the garden.”
Something about his voice, his tone, made her cringe. It wasn’t the pervasive cologne or the manner in which the man presented himself. Something inside her said to get away from him.
His words made little sense. She looked up. He turned the corners of his mouth into a gruesome semblance of a smile. “Hello, Maggie.”
A shiver went through her. The man at the cemetery. Without the mud.
The fear she’d felt that day flooded her, froze her in her seat. She remembered his grip on her elbow, felt an echo of the pain. The bruises hadn’t faded.
This man thought she was someone else, possibly Magnolia. She recognized that now. In all her years of living with Magnolia, she’d never heard anyone call her Maggie, but this man possibly had.
She glanced at the two servers. Florence was helping another customer. Sadie stood at the register. The busboy had just taken another table’s worth of dishes to the kitchen.
Rose tried to remain calm. “I don’t remember you.” She herself had worked alongside Mr. Munstead, the head gardener, during her teenage years. There’d been no other gardeners.
His jaw slackened and his eyes narrowed, studying her as if in confusion. “Don’t toy with me.”
“Everything all right, Rose?” Florence came over, glanced at the man beside the table. A wariness flickered in her eyes.
“Can I get the check?” Her voice sounded shaky. She hoped her eyes conveyed everything she felt. Forced calm and panic.
Florence nodded and headed toward the kitchen with quick steps.
The man, however, remained. “I want my job back.” He curled his fists, stood straighter.
Her common sense stressed caution. “I’m sorry. I can’t hire anyone right now.” She shoved her notebook into her bag and stood. She’d pay at the register.
He grabbed her wrist. “I need the work. For our future.”
That same grip of ice. The nonsense he spouted, like before.
Her voice shook. “Let go of me. I told you. I can’t hire anyone.”
His face changed again, his eyes edged with cruelty. “You’re lying. Your pa’s got plenty of money to pay me.”
“Stan!” Florence yelled.
The hand around her wrist tightened. Customers watched from their seats. Cell phones extended upward, clearly filming.
“Let—me—go.” Rose’s eyes watered.
A large hand came down hard on the man’s shoulder.
With menace, Stan said, “Let go of the girl.”
The creep let go.
Stan hauled him back away from the table, anger in his eyes. “I told you what would happen if you caused trouble again. Apologize to the lady.”
“She’s no lady.” He snarled.
“Now. Before I call the cops.”
Rose’s fingers gripped her bag tighter. She didn’t care about apologies, only wanted to get away. She forced herself to stand still, to take a breath. Stan was with her. This was a public place.
“Sorry.” No sincerity. Rose didn’t care.
Stan used his grip to turn him, guide him to the door. “You need to leave. You’re not welcome here.”
He resisted. “I need a job.”
“She’s not hiring.”
“Her pa can pay me.”
Stan shook his head, his grip still firm. “You’ve been gone awhile, George; this girl’s pa died a long time ago.” He sent her an apologetic look. “This here’s one of Daisy’s girls.”
The accusatory look on the man’s face said he didn’t believe him.
Stan pushed him towards the door. His next words echoed through the cafe as he propelled him outside. “Don’t come back here—I’ll call the sheriff.”
“OMG!” Sadie rushed over to Rose, her eyes huge. Every word came out with a Southern slang. “I thought he was going to hurt you. Are you okay?”
Florence was there too, looked like she wanted to pull Rose into her arms and rock her like a child. The other customers didn’t bother to hide their gawking.
Rose nodded. “I’m okay. I want to go home.
” Forget the groceries she’d made a list for.
She wanted to go home and throw punches.
All her training, her self-defense class she’d taken in college, the things Thorne had taught her.
All for nothing if she couldn’t get away from a scary old man with a handcuff grip.
Her hands shook as she pulled her wallet out.
Florence’s hands stopped her. “Breakfast is on us.”
“I can pay.” Her hands shook as she pulled out a twenty dollar bill. Keep it together. She could do this.
She pressed it back towards her. “No argument.”
Kindness. It choked her. She nodded without meeting her eyes. She refused to cry.
Florence addressed the room. “Rest of you, stop it. She’s all right. Eat your food while it’s hot.”
Then she pointed a finger at a table behind her. “You. With the cell phones. We’ll send what you have to Deputy MacShane. Then you’ll delete that footage you’ve been taking. And prove that you have. Otherwise, I’ll call your parents and have a conversation.”
The phones lowered. Teenagers. Red flushed their cheeks. “Yes, ma’am.”
The man was gone when Rose stepped out the glass door. Stan stood on the sidewalk, his muscled, tattooed arms folded over his white apron. Concern hung heavy on his face. He insisted on walking her to her car.
“I’m sorry about him. He’s never been quite right. I had hoped they would help him in prison, but he’s the same as before, maybe worse.”
Her eyes widened; a sliver of alarm went through her. “Prison?”
“You didn’t know?” Stan prodded. “That George Hindley was in prison.”
“No. Why would I? I don’t know him.” They reached her car. She unlocked it.
Stan opened the door for her and held it as she climbed in. A long sigh escaped him. “I forget. You were just a kid.”
He took a step back. “Years ago. That barn fire that sent the Murray’s son to the hospital and killed your grandmother’s horse—he set it.”