Body and Soul Food, page 8
I drew in a breath. Was he there because he thought Koby and I had done something wrong?
“How did you know we were here?” My eyes asked Koby if he had told them about the bookstore café.
“I’m a detective.” He patted his badge. “It’s what I do.”
“He has news about Koby’s friend,” my mother said.
“Reef?” I said and met the eyes of each of the faces of the people in the room. Koby, my mother, Pete, Georgie and Detective Chow all looked back at me.
“You asked me yesterday had your friend been murdered,” Chow said.
I looked at Koby. I didn’t like that the detective was letting my brother know I’d gone behind his back to affirm what he’d told me. But certainly, I wanted to know what he had to say.
“I thought I was supposed to call you,” I said. “After the autopsy. In a few days, like you said.”
“They finished the autopsy,” Koby said.
“And?” I said.
“I was right,” Koby said.
Detective Chow nodded in confirmation.
I felt a blubbering coming on.
My mother held out her arms and came over to wrap them around me.
I hadn’t ever been one to show a lot of emotion. Whether I was feeling happy or sad, my nose was usually in a book, where I’d become one with the characters and slip off into another world. I wasn’t too keen on letting emotions run loose with a mother who always wanted to psychoanalyze them.
But Reef being dead was bad enough without finding out that someone had intentionally made him that way.
“How?” I pulled up from my memory again Reef lying there on the floor. I didn’t remember seeing anything that could have killed him. Some blood on his nose, but that might have happened when he fell over.
“He was poisoned.” Koby answered the question. He wasn’t letting the detective do any talking.
“Do you know who did it?” I asked, my mother dropping one arm of her hug but still holding on to me with the other. I directed my question to Koby.
“Not yet,” the detective answered this time. “But I wanted to tell you two personally, seeing your relationship with the, uhm, victim.” He paused, as if silently giving his condolences, before he spoke. “And I thought I’d jiggle your brains again, find out if you knew anything else that might help. Anything else you may have thought about from yesterday that you saw after you boarded the train.”
My mind wandered back to Tessa and Jason on that houseboat. What kind of relationship did they have? Where was Tessa’s grandfather? Was there really a grandfather?
I wasn’t sure whether I should tell Detective Chow about what I’d seen because certainly nothing they’d done was criminal—pretending not to know each other and living together in Timber Lake. And even Tessa’s lying to the clerk at Pfeiffer Crest Pharmacy wasn’t breaking the law. It all was just fishy.
“I also wanted to find out if you knew of anyone else we should notify.”
I could tell by his demeanor that the detective had determined that Koby and I weren’t suspects.
“We’re his next of kin,” Koby said. He moved two fingers back and forth between us.
I nodded my agreement with softened eyes, happy that Koby included me in that designation.
Koby looked at me and gave me a nod. “We have some foster family that would need to know, but we can notify them.”
“Okay. Good,” the detective said, and gave us a tight smile. “So, did you notice anything, either on the Westlake platform or on the train, that we didn’t discuss yesterday? I know you weren’t there but a few minutes before your discovery.”
Detective Chow, true to his word, must have checked the security camera on the station’s platform. He’d found I did indeed board at Westlake and that Koby boarded only once I’d pulled the emergency cord. Now, he came seeking more information.
“Nothing,” Koby answered without hesitation, and almost as soon as the words left the detective’s mouth.
I took a minute and went through the things I’d seen the day before. At the time, I hadn’t decided to make a determined effort to notice things (other than what people were wearing), like Koby did. Maybe that’s why he could answer so quickly.
But when I did answer, it was the same one that Koby had given. “No. Nothing.”
“Do either of you know anyone who would want to hurt Mr. Jeffries?”
“No, we don’t,” Koby said.
The detective looked at me and I shook my head. I didn’t know anyone, other than my brother, who Reef knew.
The detective sucked in a noisy breath through his nostrils. He tugged on his trench coat and nodded. “Okay then. I’ll go. You both have my card. Call me if you think of anything.”
“And for updates,” Koby said. His eyes met with the detective’s. “You won’t mind that, will you?”
That time we got a more relaxed smile. A warm one, even. “Not at all. Call me anytime.”
“I’ll walk you out,” my mother said. For the first time she let go of me. She gestured an “After you” and took him out through the bookshop side.
Once they disappeared from sight, Pete’s face lit up. “Wow, a real-life murder mystery.” His eyes wide. “I wonder why anyone would want that guy dead. He was a such a nice guy.”
“You didn’t even know him,” Georgie said, one hand on hip. “I’m the one sad here. I used to love when he stopped by. Never judgmental.” She shot a glance my way. “Always complimentary. It’s a shame.” She put a hand on Koby’s back and gave it a rub. “How you doing?”
“Fine,” he said. “Just like before the detective came in.”
“That’s because he already knew everything Detective Chow told us,” I said. Guess I was going to have to believe more in my brother’s estimations. Every day, I was learning how many talents he actually had. “He said it was murder yesterday when no one else was sure of it.”
“How did you know, Koby?” Georgie asked.
“Because I know that Reef wouldn’t have ever left me on his own. Not on purpose. Not in a million years.”
Chapter Ten
AFTER THE DETECTIVE left, my mom came back in and ran me through her standard set of questions—a mini examination—to make sure I was okay. The whole time sitting at the table holding my hand.
“How did finding out about Reef make you feel? Are Koby’s feelings making your grief inflated? Are you feeling overwhelmed?”
I thought maybe she should have posed her questions to Koby.
Pulling my hands loose from hers, I chomped on her cookies while she talked. Assuring her I was okay and that her cookies had a part in me feeling better. That made her happy. And it kept my tears from falling. All in all, it was a good and effective therapy session for both of us.
I offered some of my mom’s cookies to Koby, who declined, before I put the plastic wrap back over the plate and set them in the kitchen.
After my mom was sure I was okay, we sat and chatted about the excitement around the newly opening store. I showed her all the different areas we had—children’s, self-help, genre fiction—and the area we were going to use for storytelling time and author events.
I sent Pete to get the box of books that Mr. Al from the Second Street Market had for me, and my mother and I went through it. To my surprise, many of the books were new, even some signed by the authors. I didn’t know where he could have gotten them from, but they definitely weren’t in the back room and not on the shelves, like I’d thought. I’d have to be sure to send him a thank-you note.
My mother suggested I give them away since I got them for free. A good marketing tactic. I thought that was a good idea. I knew just how I’d do it.
We were drinking tea—my mom’s hot, mine iced—at one of the tables, without the tablecloths on, while Koby and Pete were hanging foodie prints by John Holyfield when there was a rat-a-tat-tat on the window.
It caught all of our attention.
“Mama Zola!” Koby said, and stepped down from the chair, handing the hammer over to Pete.
Zola Jackson, one of Koby’s foster moms, was peeking through the Second Street door that led right into the café.
Koby opened the door and hugged her before she could get through it. “What are you doing here?”
“What? I can’t come here? You got a ban on who you’ll serve?”
“Of course not,” he said, and chuckled. “You’re always welcome, I just wasn’t expecting you. And you know we’re not open yet.”
“Hi, Miss Jackson,” I said. Seeing her brought a smile to my face. She was so nice and felt like the grandmother that any child would wish for.
“Well, I’d be dried up like a prune if I sat around and waited for you to come and bring me out here.” She came over and gave me a hug. “Now, I’ve told you to call me Mama Zola. Just like all my other kids do.”
“This place is nice,” she said, a smile in her eyes. She let them wander around the room. She made her voice sound fancy, drawing her next words out. “I like.” She smacked a hand at Koby.
Miss Jackson—or rather, Mama Zola—was fancy herself. A good-looking Black woman, her skin was dark and her hair salt and pepper. She always wore stylish clothes, and I often wondered, the times when I’d seen her, where she was dressed to go. Her hair and nails done, strutting around in heels that were higher than any I’d ever wear. Even my mother’s work attire had a more sensible shoe heel as part of it.
Mama Zola was right, the café did look nice. I hadn’t had time to admire what they’d done while I was out sleuthing. I came back to Detective Chow and word on what happened to Reef and had gotten all distracted.
Koby’s decor was reminiscent of what he said was an old Southern kitchen. I wasn’t sure how he thought one looked, but it certainly had the feel of one—cozy with smells that made your mouth water and made you want to grab a plate, pile it up high and sit down to eat.
There was an old-fashioned cash register that sat on a counter, built out like a peninsula from the wall that was made of reclaimed wood. All the tables were square and sat four. When I asked about bigger tables that sat more customers, anticipating the popularity of our new venture, Koby didn’t waver in what he wanted. He said we’d just push two of them together.
Koby wanted hardwood floors (that I opted to have on the bookstore side, too), wood beams in the ceiling, gingham curtains and valances. In vases atop the white tablecloths, he found the most realistic-looking silk twinflowers. (Yep! That’s a thing.) Cheery, bright, welcoming people to just come in and sit a spell. Sip tea. Gossip over a slice of sweet potato pie. Hanging from the ceiling were black metal farmhouse pendant lights and matching sconces all along the walls that were painted white and had beadboard under a chair rail.
“I know you’re not open yet,” Miss Jackson said after a long pause. “I came because I’ve got something for you.”
“Something for me?” He looked down at her hands, which were empty, then looked at her with a puzzled look on his face. “Well. Come on in then,” Koby said. “And I just wanted to wait to show it off to you once it was all done.”
“Well, I love it,” she said.
Standing behind the door, Koby went to close it, but he got some resistance.
I saw a tall guy with his hand on the knob. I moved in closer to the door, thinking it was someone who mistakenly thought we were open. We had had a couple people coming through today.
“We’re not open,” I said, alerting Koby there was someone there.
“He’s with me,” Zola said.
Koby peeked around the door. “Capt’n Hook!” He gave the big guy a hug.
So, this was the policeman Koby liked, although he had retired from the force. I had heard a lot about him but had yet to meet him.
“Thought you could get away from me by hanging out here in Timber Lake, did you?”
“I know I can’t get away from you,” Koby said. “But if I knew you guys were coming, I would have cooked you up something to eat.”
“No worries,” Koby’s Captain said. “And hey, looka here. This has got to be your sister.” He turned to me. “She looks just like you.” His grin so wide it was easy to see under his bushy, white mustache. “Nice to meet you, Keaton.”
I stuck out my hand to shake, but he grabbed me into a bear hug. “Nice. To. Meet. You. Too.” I could hardly get enough air to get the words out. “Captain Hook,” I said once he let me go.
“No one really calls me that anymore. Except Koby and Reef.” He hung his head and looked down at his big hands, seemingly the mention of Reef’s name making him remorseful. “Just call me Moran.”
“Mama Zola, Moran, this is Keaton’s, uh”—Koby rubbed his hands together—“m-mother. Dr. Rutledge.”
My mother stood up and stuck out her hand. She stood far enough back that Moran couldn’t wrap his arms around her. “Nice to meet you both.”
“I’ve told you about them, Mom,” I said.
“Yes. You did. They are Koby’s family.”
“Part of his family,” I said.
“C’mon,” Koby said. “Have a seat. I can bring you some sweet tea.”
“Sounds good,” Mama Zola said. “We’ll just sit right down here with Dr. Rutledge.”
“Imogene,” I said. I wanted us all to be family. “You can call her Imogene. Right, Mom?”
“Of course,” my mother said, giving one of her polite, clinical smiles. “Call me Imogene.”
Koby took no time in getting back with two ice-cold mason jars of what we hoped would be a customer favorite.
“So, Mama Zola,” Koby said, pulling up a fifth chair to the table between me and her. “Before you tell me what you’ve got to say, I have something to tell you.”
“What?”
“It’s bad news.”
“Couldn’t be no worse than what you dropped by to tell me last night.” She looked at Moran. “I couldn’t even sleep.”
“That’s why you were up so early calling me,” Moran said.
“I guess,” she said. “But I’m an early riser. I ain’t no slacker. Never have been. That’s what I loved about Reef, never minded giving me a helping hand.”
Koby laughed. It wasn’t a hearty one—it was the kind you do when you’re remembering a story about someone who is no longer there. I hadn’t too long ago learned all about doing that. “Well, the only thing he gave a helping hand with around here was emptying the pots and pans.”
“I believe it,” Mama Zola said. “He’d eat me out of house and home if I’d let him.”
Everyone around the table chuckled.
“What do you have to tell me?” Mama Zola asked.
“The detective who’s working on Reef’s case—”
“What’s his name?” Moran asked.
“Daniel Chow,” Koby said.
“I don’t know that I know him,” Moran said.
“Younger guy,” I said, adding the thing I always noticed—appearances. “Maybe midthirtyish.”
“What did he say?” Mama Zola asked.
“He said that Reef was murdered. Somebody poisoned him.”
“Oh no!” she said, and put her hand over her mouth, her eyes filling up with tears. Koby reached over and held her other hand.
“Who did it?” she asked.
That was everybody’s question. “They don’t know,” I said.
Mama Zola looked at my brother. “Koby. You don’t know who did it?”
“No, ma’am, I don’t.” He sniffed. Wasn’t sure if he wasn’t going to start crying. “But the police are looking into it.”
Mama Zola turned to Moran. She didn’t even have to say anything. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “See what I can find out.”
“Well, this makes what I have even more important,” Mama Zola said. “I didn’t want to spring this on you over the phone.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “That’s why I had Moran bring me to Timber Lake. To tell you in person.”
Koby placed a hand over his heart. “Mama, I can’t take no more bad news either. Please,” he said, and put an arm around her shoulders, “don’t tell me anything’s wrong with you.”
“No. I’m fine,” she said, and leaned into him. “It’s from Reef. Maybe it’ll help figure this out.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a sealed envelope. “Reef gave this to me and told me if anything happened to him, for me to give it to you.”
Koby didn’t reach for it, he left it dangling in her outstretched hand. “What is it?”
“Only one way to find out,” she said.
Koby had told me the story about how Zola Jackson was one of those foster moms who always had a house full of kids, and not just the ones who came from the group home. Even the neighborhood kids liked to hang out at her house.
He’d told me that he hadn’t been there long when he found that Reef’s foster family had sent him back to the group home. It was Christmastime and that, for most of the kids there, was the hardest. After Reef had looked out for him, ever since he could remember, Koby wanted to return the favor. He asked Mama Zola to get Reef from the home and give him a real home. Reef, Koby told me, didn’t have the best reputation in the foster family community. But he talked her into it, and Reef got to spend Christmas with them. After that, Reef never missed spending another holiday with Mama Zola, whether Koby was there or not.
Koby took the envelope reluctantly and opened it.
He pulled out a business card and, flipping it over, looked at both sides.
“What does it say?” Mama Zola asked.
“Brian Jenkins. Attorney-at-law.”
“Is that all that’s in there?” my mother asked.
“No,” Koby said, and took out a folded piece of paper. “It’s a letter, too.” He glanced over it. “From Reef.”
