How Now Purple Cow Read online

“Since Marguerite did so much research, I have to believe there was more to this than we see on the surface.” He pulled his hand away from my shoulder and sat down in the fourth chair.

  “Didn’t I hear something about your father and William being friends since they were children?” I asked. “Did they go to school together?”

  Coral took another swig of iced tea. “I believe they were neighbors when they were kids. William was younger than Daddy. They wouldn’t have gone to school together because of the age difference.”

  Not wanting to be left out, Carol offered her opinion. “From what our father said, I don’t think there were other children in the neighborhood, and he and William had a few things in common. Father enjoyed fishing and he taught William how to fish. I know William looked up to him, and knowing Father, I’m sure he ate that up. He took the younger child under his wing, so to speak.”

  “Daddy taught him how to play poker, too. Oh, and I remember him saying he helped William with his homework. Daddy loved to read and – ”

  “Yes, he did, and I’m sure that’s what brought him into Mother’s world.”

  “I was gonna say that.” Coral looked daggers at her sister. “As far as poker, Daddy loved a good card game. When we were kids he had the boys over once a month to play, including William. Although, Daddy and he had been out of touch for several years before he returned to California.”

  Carol grinned. “I know William contacted our father once in a while during the years he was gone. He told me so. I think he even went to see him once or twice.”

  I had the feeling the two women were trying to outdo one another.

  Chris reached under the table and squeezed my knee. I thought maybe he was thinking the same thing.

  “I wonder what William and Marsha had in common,” I said. “They sound like they may have had very different interests.”

  Chris stood and pushed in his chair. “Sometimes opposites attract.” He looked me in the eye. “And sometimes people click when they’re just alike. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve got to stop doping off and get back to work.”

  “I’ll be over in a minute,” I said. “By the way, you need to stop saying doping off. In today’s world people will think you’re talking about drugs. They don’t know that phrase used to refer to goofing off.”

  “Uh huh. I’ll take that under consideration. And take your time, babe.”

  Coral watched Chris walk away, grinning.

  Carol lightly punched her sister’s arm. “Give it a rest, you old bat. He’s too young and he’s married, not to mention his wife is sitting across the table from you.”

  Coral rubbed her arm while she continued to watch Chris. “One can always look. Too bad he’s not a twin.”

  I held back the laughter that bubbled inside before clearing my throat. “I’ve got to get back to work, too. Why don’t the two of you read the rest of the notes and we’ll get together at Judith’s house tomorrow. I’ll read Mikey’s copy of the notes in the morning.”

  Carol glanced at her watch while Coral picked up the notes. “Let’s have a cup of coffee before we leave. We can read more of Mother’s comments.”

  “I’ll send the coffee over,” I said.

  I asked Donna to serve the ladies before I checked in with Chris who once again stood at the reservation desk.

  “Do you need me to do anything or should I take this opportunity to talk to Chef Luis about your mother?”

  “Things have quieted down, so go ahead and jaw with Luis for a while.”

  On my way to the kitchen I stopped at the Tuttle table. “How was everything?” I asked.

  Mrs. Tuttle’s granddaughter grinned impishly. “One hundred per cent better than Grandma’s burned – “

  “Never you mind, young lady.” Grandma turned to me. “It was superb, Pamela. I’ll have to find something else I can burn – soon.”

  Her granddaughter laughed. “I’ll help you find something to ruin.”

  Mr. Tuttle had passed on about a year earlier, and Jennifer, the granddaughter, had done her best to make sure her grandmother stayed busy. They had a special relationship that warmed my heart.

  I hurried to the kitchen and found Chef Luis taking a short break, drinking a large glass of ice water.

  “Oh, Pamela, there you are. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  I explained Judith’s idea about scones to him. “Would you have a problem with her using the kitchen here to bake them? It would be earlier in the day, either in the morning or between the lunch and dinner crowds. I thought I might turn the afternoon into tea time. Any thoughts?”

  “I have no problem with her doing her baking here,” he said. “You might want to talk to Nate before you set things up since he prepares food for the lunch patrons, but I have a feeling tea time might work out beautifully.”

  “Good idea. My mother-in-law would probably have to come in pretty early so she won’t be in his way. Baking in the morning would probably work out for the best.”

  Phillip, our sous chef, looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Are her scones any good? Have you tasted them yet? Oops. Sorry, I’m sure they’re delicious or you wouldn’t be willing to serve them.”

  “It’s okay to ask. Yes, I’ve tasted them and they’re excellent.”

  He smiled. “Good. I adore a good scone. I may have to be one of your first customers. Will she be serving clotted cream with them?”

  “I’m not sure. It’ll either be clotted cream or whipped cream, or maybe both.”

  “I’ll see if I can run down a source for clotted cream for you.”

  “You’re a peach, Phillip. I always know I can count on you and Chef Luis. Thank you.”

  With that out of the way I made my way to the office to check on the dogs. They were both asleep. I decided not to bother them for the moment and returned to the restaurant.

  The rest of the evening was fairly quiet, with customers trickling in and out. Carol and Coral left around seven o’clock, promising to meet me at Judith’s house in the late morning.

  After closing the restaurant, Chris and I headed for Constance’s house to pick up Mikey.

  The dogs were sound asleep in the back seat.

  “It looks to me like your snort wore the dogs out,” I said. “They’ve done nothing but sleep all evening.”

  “Ah, they just dummied up so you wouldn’t put them back outside. It’s no great shakes. They’ll be right as rain by morning.”

  Chris lifted a sleeping Mikey off the couch when we arrived at Constance’s house and carried him out to the car where he put him in the back seat with the dogs.

  Constance picked up the notes we’d left for her and Mikey to read.

  “So what did you and Mikey think about Marguerite’s notes?” I asked.

  “Have you read them yet?”

  “No. Well, I read the first page.”

  “There’s some mighty interesting reading in your future. Marguerite did a lot of research and investigating, but every road seemed to lead her to a dead end. I got the feeling she might actually be on to something, but she didn’t realize it. She was too close to her own investigation.”

  “Interesting. I’ll read them in the morning. Maybe I’ll see something she missed. What was your conclusion after you finished reading?”

  “Spies.”

  “Excuse me? Spies? What are you talking about?”

  “Mikey and I think William and Marsha were spies.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself.

  “You can laugh, but wait until you read the notes. Oh, and ask the twins if they have any photographs of William and Marsha.”

  The expression on her face made my little heart go pitty pat. She’d figured something out, or at least she’d found a scent to follow.

  “We’ve got to get home, so I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Good. I’m anxious to see if you come to some of the same conclusions as your son and I did.”

  “Mikey do
esn’t know anything about spies.”

  “You’ll be surprised. Your son is pretty smart for his age.” And there was that facial expression again.

  I shook my head and left, bearing Marguerite’s notes.

  ~ * ~

  When I got up the next morning, I found Mikey already sitting at the table eating a bowl of cereal. This was unusual because most often he asked if he could sleep in a little.

  “I already fed the dogs,” he said, taking a bite of cereal.

  “You did?” I was surprised.

  “Yeah, and I gave them fresh water. Oh, I already figured out what I’m wearing to school, too.”

  “You did? Okay, what’s up? You never get up this early on your own.”

  “Nothing’s up.” He glanced down at the floor and back up at me. “Weeeell, I do want to get to school so I can tell Danny about the spies.”

  There was that word again. “What makes you think those people were spies? Constance said the same thing.”

  “Read the notes, Mom. You’ll figure it out for yourself.”

  “Okay, but I have no idea how you and Constance might think up something so off the wall.”

  He got up from the table and carried his bowl, spoon and glass to the sink, speaking to me over his shoulder. “I’ve got to load up my backpack and catch the bus.”

  In the past I’d always driven my son to school, but the school had added a new bus route. Mikey enjoyed it because he could visit with his friends.

  “Brush your teeth before you leave.”

  He nodded and headed up the stairs.

  Spies? For real?

  I walked to the living room where I’d left the notes sitting by my purse and picked them up, carrying them back to the kitchen.

  What could have possibly made Constance and Mikey think of government agents?

  Mikey peeked around the door, watching me while I stared at the papers. “Remember, Mom, curiosity killed the cat.”

  He ran outside to wait for his school bus before I could answer.

  Chapter Seven

  What the heck did my son mean by mentioning curiosity kills cats? Was he daring me to read the notes and come up with the same answers?

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the table, figuring I’d fix breakfast after Chris decided to put in an appearance. In the meantime, I had some reading to do.

  I picked up a yellow marker to highlight some of the information, knowing I needed to do this right. Judith still had the original notes, so it wouldn’t matter if I marked up our copy.

  Looking through one of the kitchen drawers, I found a pad of paper for keeping notes and impressions while I read.

  Why had Constance wanted to know if there were photos of William and Marsha? Realistically, if they were spies they probably didn’t want pictures taken. Was I beginning to think like my friend and my son? I hadn’t even read the notes yet.

  I rolled my eyes while picking up the second page to read. I couldn’t help myself.

  Marguerite wrote about her impressions of Marsha, including the fact that she didn’t share personal information about herself. She wondered if maybe the woman had a past she didn’t want to share. She added that she thought she might be overreacting to Marsha’s reticence to share information.

  I tried to remember what things might have been like in those days, around the late fifties and early sixties. I could only guess. It was before my time, although Chris and I had put a lot of work into portraying the 1940s at the restaurant, and we watched a lot of old movies. Of course, movies didn’t necessarily portray the way things were in real life at the time.

  I heard Chris coming down the stairs and pushed the papers aside while I fixed breakfast. They could wait. After all, they’d already sat around in a hidden drawer for many years.

  “Anything in particular you’d like this morning?” I asked.

  “Let’s keep it simple. Bacon, eggs, French toast or maybe pancakes, grits and a tall, cold glass of milk.”

  I started to roll my eyes at him, but caught myself and stopped. “Get real, Bogey Man.”

  He laughed. “Actually, I’d be happy with a bowl of oatmeal and some toast. I was just joshin’ ya.”

  “Coming up.”

  “I saw you start to roll your eyes. Don’t forget, your mother said they could get stuck that way if you didn’t stop doing that.”

  “Oh, you’re a riot this morning.” I pulled a pot out of the cupboard and started heating water for the cereal.

  Chris slid the notes over and began reading. “Say, there’s some interesting stuff here. It kind of sounds like ol’ William was scammin’ Marguerite when he went into business with her considering the way he kept disappearing. She wrote that he had some visitors that didn’t seem to have anything to do with the business, too. She says he always closed his door while they were there and he never introduced her to any of them. Sounds suspicious to me.”

  “Constance and Mikey think they were a couple of spies.”

  “Spies? I wonder what gave them that idea.”

  “Maybe the fact that William was secretive and had visitors that didn’t have anything to do with books? Marsha was secretive, too. We’ll have to go over the notes carefully to see what they found.”

  Chris raised his eyebrows. “Oh, wait. Here’s a reference to the O.W.I.”

  “What’s the O.W.I.?”

  “The Office of War Information. Marguerite says her husband eventually told her that William was in the O.W.I. during World War II. He was a photographer who took secret photographs.”

  “Okay, tell me more about this O.W.I.”

  Chris set the papers aside. “I can’t. I don’t know anything. I’ll have to research the organization on the computer.”

  “Oh. Soon?”

  My husband laughed. “Yeah, peaches, I’ll do it this morning, when I’m done eating.”

  After dropping two slices of bread in the toaster, I stirred the oatmeal and waited. It seemed like it took forever for the oatmeal and toast to be ready. In the meantime I set some jam, milk and sugar in front of Chris.

  “Blackberry jam,” he said. “My favorite.”

  I grinned. “I know.”

  Moving the notes out of the way, I finally set breakfast in front of my husband and picked up the notes again.

  “There has to be more than just the O.W.I. to make Constance and Mikey think these people were some kind of government agents. Maybe their imaginations ran away with them.”

  “Maybe,” Chris said through a mouth full of toast and jam.

  While he ate, I started reading the notes again. Marguerite wrote, “Initially I thought William had committed suicide; however, that doesn’t seem likely because he had such a positive personality. I’d think he and Marsha were spies because they’ve been so secretive, but that’s too far-fetched. Although, I keep thinking about William’s connection to the O.W.I.”

  I reread the last sentence and chuckled.

  Chris set a spoonful of oatmeal back in the bowl. “What?”

  I read her comment to him. “Now I know where Mikey and Constance came up with the spy idea.”

  “That’s not enough information. There must be more in the notes to keep them thinking that way.”

  He picked up his spoon and ate a bite of cereal while I returned to the notes.

  “I mentioned my idea about spies to Jefferson, but he said I was being silly. However, it seemed like he took a bit too long to answer me. Could I be on to something? Come to think of it, my husband takes a lot of out-of-town trips. Maybe… No. He was right. I’m being silly.”

  I set the notes aside. “It’s like a disease. Marguerite planted a seed and now all I can think of is spies.”

  Chris picked up his now empty bowl and a plate with toast crumbs and carried them to the sink. “I’ll go check out the O.W.I. on the Internet. There should be plenty of information available.”

  I washed the dishes and thought about what I’d read so far. Marsha had disap
peared and never turned up again. Well, actually that could be wrong. Who knows if she might have shown herself years later? William died while in New York, according to a friend whom Jefferson could never contact again. I’d barely scratched the surface and yet something smelled fishy to me.

  I sat down at the table and picked up the notes again, but set them down because I decided to call Carol. Or Coral. Someone had to know if there were any photos of William and Marsha. I decided on Carol. She seemed the most likely to know if there were pictures of the couple.

  Picking up the receiver, I pushed the Off button when I heard Chris’s voice. He was talking to someone on the phone in the office and I didn’t want to eavesdrop. Okay, maybe I wanted to because it was unusual for him to call anyone this early in the morning, but I fought the urge.

  He returned to the kitchen after about ten minutes. “I called a friend who used to work at the post office who has a friend – actually I think it’s a relative named Max – who’s connected to the C.I.A. My friend is retired and I figured this would give him something to do. I saw on the Internet that the O.W.I. was terminated in 1945. Part of it went to the State Department and part of it went to the C.I.A., if I understood correctly. He’s going to see if he can find anything out about William. Who knows? It might be impossible to find records dating back to his time in the O.W.I., but I figured it’s worth a shot.”

  “Good thinking, Chris. Maybe you’re on to something. Of course, they could tell us they’ve never heard of him. I can’t help wondering if Marsha could have been involved, too. ”

  “I doubt it, sunshine, but you never know. Simon said he’d get back to me as soon as he could. I told him it isn’t an emergency, of course.”

  “So what was the O.W.I.? What was its purpose?”

  “Apparently it was a propaganda organization.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Chris shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll have to do more reading on the Internet.”

  After glancing at the notes, I looked up through my eyelashes at Chris. “This could turn out to be an interesting case. A missing person, spies, and the unexplained death of William.”

  “Don’t get excited, doll face. This isn’t a truly active investigation. Besides, have you forgotten that we don’t take cases? I’m not a real private eye and neither are you.”