“But you did marry him, Kayana.”
She smiled. “Yes, I did. Initially, I felt as if he was using the ploy as leverage to get me to marry him, but when I realized I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life without him, I accepted his proposal. And now there are no secrets between us. I’m no longer a practicing psychiatric social worker, but I’m going to give you the same advice I gave Leah. Do not get so deep into a relationship that love supersedes trust. You can fall in and out of love. But once you lose trust, the relationship usually can’t be made whole again because you’re always suspicious.”
Cherie felt as if Kayana was talking directly to her. She had fallen in love with Weylin, and then he’d deceived her. She’d trusted him when he claimed he wanted her to have his love child, never imagining he’d planned to raise it not with his lover but his wife.
“One of these days, I’ll ask you to put on your social worker’s hat, but only when I feel comfortable enough to tell you my secret.” She paused. “Now, tell me where I should begin cleaning up.”
“I’ll show you where we keep the cleaning supplies. You can begin by wiping down the tables and sweeping the floors. After that, you can clean the restrooms. Meanwhile, I’ll take care of the kitchen. I should be out of your way before you begin mopping.”
Smiling, Cherie gave her a mock salute. “Aye, aye, boss.”
“One more reference to my being your boss, and I’ll fire you.”
“Got it!”
Chapter 7
It took Cherie two weeks to feel like an employee of the Seaside Café. She had a key to the rear door, and Derrick had given her the code to the security system. She usually arrived around one to watch Kayana and her brother prepare dishes for the next day and waited for diners to leave before she began cleaning off tables and chairs.
The fixed price for the all-you-can-eat buffet was lower during the off-season, and seniors were half-price year-round. She had also become familiar with the regulars who came in most days at the same time. One elderly couple admitted they no longer cooked other than to brew coffee and make toast, and the food at the café sustained them for the entire day. Cherie noticed that occasionally Kayana would fill a to-go container with food for them to take home, and she suspected they were on a fixed income, like many of the retirees on the island. Now she understood why so many of them rented their homes to vacationers during the summer season.
Cherie had also become familiar with a middle-aged man with cold blue eyes and a receding hairline; he came in several days a week around noon and lingered until closing. He sat at the same table and selected the same items every time. That didn’t bother her as much as his staring. At first, she suspected he’d seen her from somewhere, but quickly dismissed that notion. Despite the fact that he was what she thought of as nondescript, Cherie was certain that, if she knew him from somewhere, she would’ve recognized him because of the glacial iciness of his eyes. And whenever her eyes met his, he would switch his focus to one of several muted television sets placed around the dining area. She waited until the last diner left, then locked the door and turned over theCLOSEDsign.
Reaching for a remote device, she turned off all the televisions but one, tuning it to an all-news cable channel, and turned off the closed captioning. It was her time to catch up on what was happening around the world while she cleaned up.
Derrick came out of the kitchen and pushed his tattered painter’s cap off his forehead. “I’m frying up a tray of Creole chicken for the sheriff’s department. They’re throwing a surprise get-together for the chief’s birthday. By the way, I made up some mac and cheese, and if you want, I can put some in a to-go container for you, along with the chicken, as soon as it comes out of the oven.”
Cherie affected a dreamy expression. The Johnsons were renowned for their Creole chicken and mac and cheese. “Please and thank you.”
Derrick smiled. “Consider it done.” He sobered and adjusted his cap. “I don’t know if Kay told you, but we really appreciate you cleaning up because even when Kay and I alternate cooking every two weeks, we still come in after the café closes to clean up so we can get a jump on the next day’s menu.”
“I really don’t mind, Derrick, because it gives me something to do before I go back to school. I worked for twelve straight years, and I still wake up the same time every morning as if I had to punch a clock.”
Cherie liked Derrick Johnson. Kayana’s brother was brainy, tall, dark, and handsome, with a matching set of deep dimples. And it wasn’t the first time she realized why Leah had been attracted to and fallen in love with the drop-dead-gorgeous and very talented cook. Whenever she saw them together, Cherie realized they complemented each other. Derrick hadn’t denied Leah the freedom she needed to become a mature, independent woman capable of doing what she loved. The former schoolteacher and headmistress was now enjoying life as the Seaside Café’s baker.
“I know the feeling. Once I left Wall Street and moved back here, I found myself still on New York City mode until my mother told me it was all right to slow down and stop living my life by a clock.”
“How long did that take?”
“Probably about six months.” He smiled. “I better get back to the kitchen—that chicken can’t fry itself.”
Cherie nodded. If Derrick and Kayana appreciated her cleaning the restaurant after closing hours, then she also appreciated them for paying and feeding her. Every night, she went home with enough food for dinner and lunch the following day. She didn’t know how they did it, but Kayana and Derrick prepared enough food each day but with little or no leftovers. Their methods were in keeping with the plaques on the walls around the restaurant: WASTENOT, WANTNOT. And if there were leftovers, they called the local church’s outreach to pick up the food for their soup kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, she shut off the television and heard music coming from the kitchen. Derrick had turned up the volume on a channel featuring music from the sixties and seventies. Her mother loved the music of Stevie Wonder and had named her Cherie for his “My Cherie Amour.” Cherie’s music compilation paled in comparison to her book and movie collection, and once she set up her home office, she planned to have enough shelves on which to display them.
She hummed along with some of the more familiar tunes. There were times when Edwina would play the same CDs over and over, while sitting in a darkened room with a bottle of beer. This was when Cherie knew her mother was in a funk and refused to talk or go near her. It would go on for days, and then, unexpectedly, she would emerge smiling, as if nothing had happened. The first and last time Cherie had suggested Edwina see a therapist, the discussion had ended in a shouting match between the two women. She knew her mother needed help, but also knew that wasn’t going to happen until Edwina admitted that she did.
It was close to four when she finished her chores and put everything away. The aromas of spicy chicken and mac and cheese wafted to her nostrils as she walked back into the kitchen.
Derrick handed her a large shopping bag. “I put a few extras in the bag for you.”
“Thank you, Derrick.”
Cherie removed her apron and bandana, placing both in the receptacle for soiled laundry, and slipped her arms into a puffy coat. She looped the straps of her crossbody over her chest and, clutching the shopping bag, took the back staircase leading directly to the parking lot. She’d just closed the door when a large figure loomed in front of her, and she wasn’t given time to react when a hand snaked around her throat, fingers tightening and making it impossible for her to scream or draw a normal breath. Objects floated in front of her eyes, and just when she felt herself going limp, the hand fell away, and she slumped against the side of the building.
“Move and I will blow your brains out!”
The buzzing in her head vanished, and she recognized the voice. It was Reese Matthews. He’d come along in time to save her from someone attempting to assault or possibly kill her. Her vision cleared, and she recognized the man who came into the restaurant and couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was obvious that he had been stalking her.
