Wags to Riches Read online

I shook my head. “Just here to talk to Jonah.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What about? You looking for a job or something? I thought you were a dog walker, not a cook.”

  “I am a dog walker,” I said. “I just need to talk to him.”

  She pulled out an order pad and reached for the pen stuck behind her ear. “You wanna eat something while you wait? Got a fried fish sandwich for lunch today, served with your choice of sweet potato tots or collard greens. Only six bucks.”

  She clearly hadn’t noticed the bag I’d set on the table. “I…I’m not hungry.”

  She smirked. “Oh, that’s right. You just like your clam chowder, don’t you?”

  Had word traveled through the whole restaurant about my particular eating habits?

  “Guilty,” I admitted. I gave her a quick once-over and decided to change the subject. “How have you been? We didn’t really get a chance to talk the other day.”

  Brenda shrugged. “I’ve been alright.”

  “I like your new haircut.”

  Her hand automatically flew to her hair and she patted it self-consciously. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “I like the highlights, too.”

  “Figured I deserved to treat myself to a little something after everything that’s happened.”

  I didn’t know for sure, of course, but I assumed she was talking about losing Tony.

  “I’m sorry. How are you holding up?”

  She offered another shrug. “As well as can be expected, I guess. Wish I was getting more hours and that tips were a little better, but I can’t control any of that, now can I?”

  I’d expected to hear her talk about Tony and how she was coping with his death. Instead, she was talking about work.

  “What about your hours?” I asked.

  She waved an impatient hand. “Oh, they got cut. Jonah hired some new waitress and she’s picked up some of my shifts.”

  “Did Jonah give you a reason why?”

  She nodded. “Sure did. He told me he wanted to lighten my schedule a little, give me time to grieve if I needed it.” She made a face. “I told him I didn’t, but Lucy is still working two shifts that used to be mine.”

  “Well, I’m sure if you tell him, he’ll work something out with you.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” She shook her head. “I don’t count on anyone to solve my problems these days. It’s up to me to figure things out. If I can’t get what I need from this job, I’ll get it somewhere else. That’s just the way it is.”

  She sounded so matter-of-fact about it, which was the exact opposite way I approached my financial woes.

  “You want a soda or something while you wait?” She stuffed the order pad back in her apron pocket. “Maybe some sweet tea?”

  “I’d love a glass of water,” I said.

  “Coming right up.”

  She headed toward the drink machine behind the bussing station. Ice clinked into a cup and I watched as she pushed a button on the machine. Thirty seconds later and she was back at my table, handing the glass to me instead of setting it on the table. Her hand released from the cup before I got a grip on it and we both watched in horror as it fell to the ground, splashing her feet and mine with ice-cold water.

  “Oh, dear.” Brenda was immediately on her knees, picking up ice cubes and depositing them into the now empty glass, and I wondered if her propensity for spilling things had anything to do with the mediocre tips she’d mentioned. Because this was my second time with her serving as my waitress and she’d spilled something both times.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll get you another.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  But she was already hustling back to the drink station.

  She handed me my new drink, this time without incident, and then turned to attend to a table that had just been seated. I sipped the water, letting the icy liquid slide down my throat. With the drink and the air-conditioning pumping cool air, I was actually getting goose bumps.

  I set my drink down and rubbed my arms, trying to warm myself up. I knew I could open the bag sitting next to me and have a bite of chowder. With any luck, it might still be warm. But Maggie had warned me about bringing in outside food and I’d promised her I wouldn’t touch it. Good smells emanated from the kitchen, along with the sounds of pots and pans clanging and the faint murmur of voices. I could just order another bowl here, I thought. Have one now and take Gunther’s home for later.

  I was mulling this over when the sound of voices grew louder. I cocked my head. It sounded like someone was arguing. A male voice, and another.

  I leaned back in my chair, lifting the two front legs off the floor in the process, so that I could hear them better. Was someone arguing in the kitchen?

  A door swung open and the voices got significantly louder. So loud, in fact, that I startled. The chair I was sitting in rocked backward and I jerked forward, trying to bring it back to rest on all four legs.

  Instead, the chair tipped, toppling me to the ground.

  Brenda was rounding the corner, carrying a basket of hush puppies and cornbread, her eyes focused on her table, not on the obstacle in her path: me.

  She tripped over my foot, both baskets flew in the air, and she was on her rear end, the food she’d been carrying now scattered across her lap and in my hair.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my goodness! What are you doing on the floor?”

  I brushed my hair, watching as hunks of cornbread shook loose. “I…my chair tipped.”

  Brenda didn’t get a chance to respond because a man stalked into the dining area, pulling up short when he saw Brenda and I splayed out on the floor. With silver hair and dressed in a distinguished pinstriped suit, he looked like he belonged in New York City rather than the tiny town of Sweetwater Island.

  His lips curled in disdain and, rather than asking if we were okay or seeing if we needed help, he simply stepped over us and continued toward the front entrance of the restaurant.

  Jonah appeared a few seconds later, his face contorted in anger. Concern soon replaced it, though, as he took in the two of us covered in crumbs.

  “Are you guys okay?” He bent down and grabbed the two overturned baskets.

  Brenda was already on her knees, gathering hush puppies and hunks of cornbread into a tidy little pile. “I don’t know what happened,” she wailed. “I was bringing this food out and she was just…there.”

  “It’s my fault,” I said quickly. “I was rocking back in the chair and it slipped out from under me.”

  Jonah nodded but I could tell he wasn’t listening.

  But I was.

  And I’d noticed the yelling I’d heard earlier—the yelling that had caused me to tip back the chair in the first place—had fallen silent.

  I scrambled to my knees, using the table to bring myself back to a standing position. I dusted off my legs and more crumbs fell to the floor.

  Brenda had grabbed the baskets from Jonah and was scooping handfuls of hush puppies and broken cornbread back into them. She worried her lip. “I don’t suppose they’ll want this anymore, right?”

  Jonah shot her an incredulous look. “Uh, no. Take that into the kitchen and get fresh ones.”

  She nodded as she got to her feet. “Right. What do you want me to do with this?” She held out the baskets of broken food.

  He stared at her. “Throw it away?”

  “Why? They’re still perfectly fi–”

  “Throw the food away, Brenda.” Jonah’s voice was firm.

  She looked like she wanted to argue her point but Jonah crossed his arms and pointed to the kitchen. She trudged off. As soon as she was gone, he wiped his brow and sighed.

  “That woman,” he muttered.

  I tended to agree. But I didn’t want to talk about Brenda.

  “Who was that man who just walked out of here?” I asked. “The man in the suit?”

  Jonah’s expression darkened. “Jeb O’Neill.”

  I thought h
ard, trying to remember if I’d heard that name before. It didn’t sound the least bit familiar.

  “Is he from around here?”

  Jonah shook his head.

  “How do you know him?”

  “He’s the owner of a restaurant I used to work at.”

  I didn’t know for sure, of course, but I thought this might be the restaurant he used to work at in Charleston.

  “Why was he here? Just to visit?” I didn’t think that was the case, especially if my hunch turned out to be right and those were the two I’d heard arguing.

  Jonah’s answering laugh was harsh. “No. He wanted to know if I wanted my old job back. You know, now that my own restaurant is doomed.”

  TWELVE

  “How did he know?”

  I was sitting in Jonah’s office now, relatively free of crumbs and with a fresh glass of water. He’d gotten it for me since I’d left my own out on the table.

  “How did he know what?” Jonah asked.

  “About the restaurant.”

  Jonah rifled through a stack of papers on his desk, looking for something. “I didn’t keep the restaurant a secret from him, Wendy.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I mean, how did he know your restaurant was in trouble?” I paused. “Did he know about the missing money?”

  Jonah shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, answering the first question but not the second. “I guess word just got around.”

  “And where was the restaurant? The one you worked at?”

  “Charleston. A place called Anthony’s.”

  My suspicions were growing. “Don’t you think it’s weird that word ‘got around’ all the way up to Charleston?” The city was easily a two-hour drive from Sweetwater.

  “The restaurant world is pretty small,” Jonah said. He pulled a sheet from the stack and grabbed a pen. He started circling numbers.

  I doubted it was small enough that news would travel that fast…unless a whole lot of people knew about it.

  “How many people did you tell?” I asked.

  He glanced up. “Tell what?”

  “About the money being gone.”

  “Oh.” He tapped his pen on the side of the desk and stared up at the ceiling, thinking. “Pretty sure it was just you and Tate.”

  I thought about this. Carmen knew, too, because I’d mentioned it to her. And there was no way of knowing who might have overheard Jonah talking to me or Tate, or if he’d verbalized anything when he first discovered the money was gone.

  “So, what have you found out?” he asked. “Anything?”

  I picked up the water and took a sip. “I went and talked to Carmen.”

  His eyes rounded in surprise. “You did? Did she confess?”

  “No,” I said. “She didn’t know anything about it. At least that’s what she told me.”

  His lip curled. “Of course she’d say that. How do you know she wasn’t lying? She’s good at that, you know.”

  “I don’t,” I admitted. “And she very well could be the one responsible.”

  “Did you ask her?”

  “No.” He frowned and I added, “I wanted to feel her out a little. See if she had any information she might willingly share before I went around accusing her of robbing you.”

  “Did she?”

  “She mentioned a name.”

  He set the pen down. “Who?”

  “Gunther Lawrence.”

  Jonah’s palm smacked the top of his desk. “I knew it! I knew he did it!”

  I held up my hand. “Whoa. We don’t know anything yet.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jonah said. “You just said Carmen said he did it.”

  “No, that’s not what I said at all.” I tried to keep my voice as calm as possible, mostly to try to temper his overzealous reaction. I hadn’t been expecting it. “I said she mentioned a name.”

  “Right. Of the person who stole the money.”

  “No,” I said again. “I asked her if she knew of anyone who might not like you.”

  “Gunther definitely doesn’t like me,” Jonah agreed. “Which makes him the perfect suspect.”

  I bit back a sigh. He was putting the cart before the horse and I was beginning to lose my patience. “There’s no proof that he did it.”

  “But he doesn’t like me. Isn’t that enough proof?”

  “No. All that does is establish a possible motive.” I took a deep breath. “But even if he has a motive to do something like that, to put you out of business or whatever, there is nothing that puts him here, nothing that serves as evidence that he was the one who committed the robbery.”

  Jonah slumped forward. “There isn’t?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, there might be,” a timid voice said from behind me.

  Jonah looked up and I spun around in my chair.

  Brenda was standing in the doorway to Jonah’s office.

  “What?” I said.

  She glanced at the ground. There were still cornbread crumbs on her shirt.

  “Brenda?” Jonah said, waiting. “What do you know?”

  She sighed. “Gunther broke into the restaurant. And I saw him do it.”

  THIRTEEN

  I grabbed Brenda by the arm and marched her to the chair I’d just vacated.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “What exactly did you see?”

  Brenda’s cheeks were flushed red and her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I…I came in early one morning last week to pick up my paycheck.”

  Jonah leaned forward. “And you saw him steal the money? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “No,” Brenda said. “But I saw him by the back door. At first I thought it might be one of the cooks or something. But then I saw his bald head and his mustache and I thought to myself, ‘I don’t think we have any cooks who are bald or who have mustaches like that.’”

  “You’re sure it was Gunther?” I asked.

  She nodded. “More than sure.”

  I was standing next to her, in a position where I could see both her and Jonah. “But you didn’t see him with the money?”

  “No.”

  I frowned. If she didn’t see him take anything, we still didn’t have much more to go on. Yes, we could accuse him of trespassing, and possibly breaking and entering if he’d forced a door open or something, but that wasn’t the same as pinning the robbery on him.

  “He wasn’t holding a box?” Jonah pressed.

  She shook her head.

  He sighed and resumed his slumped position.

  “He did have an envelope in his hands, though,” she said.

  Jonah immediately perked up. “He did? How big of one?”

  “I don’t know.” Brenda thought for a minute, then held up her hands to roughly demonstrate its size. “I guess about this big.”

  “Did it look big enough to hold a large sum of money?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brenda said uncertainly. “Maybe?”

  Jonah leaped to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m going to get my money back.” His voice was filled with grim determination.

  I reached for his arm. “Whoa.”

  He gave me an icy glare and shirked away from me.

  “We don’t know he took it,” I reminded him.

  “She just said he did!”

  Jonah had this uncanny ability to hear only what he wanted to hear. Because Brenda had said nothing of the sort.

  I turned to Brenda. “Can you tell us exactly what you saw? From the beginning?”

  Brenda hesitated. “I’ll try.” She bit her lip. “Um, so I saw him by the back door of the restaurant.”

  “Inside or outside?”

  “Outside,” she said promptly. “But right by the door.”

  “So you didn’t actually see him in the restaurant?”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Well, no,” she admitted. “But why else would he be by the back door? And he was holding an
envelope…” She reached into her apron pocket and whipped out her phone. “Look, I even have a picture.”

  “You took a picture?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Of course. The sun was shining off his bald head and I thought it looked cool. And now I know he was skulking about the back of the restaurant. You don’t see that every day, now do you?”

  It also wasn’t every day that I heard someone use the word ‘skulking.’

  Brenda held up her phone. Sure enough, she had a photo of Gunther standing a foot or two away from the back door of the restaurant holding an envelope in his hands.

  Jonah growled and lunged forward again, headed toward the door. “I’m going to kill him,” he gritted out.

  It took every ounce of strength I had to pull him back. “Stop it.”

  He squirmed, trying to work himself out of my grasp.

  “Jonah.” Even I could hear the desperation in my voice. “Let me handle it. Please.”

  “He stole my money!” he roared.

  “I know, I know,” I said. “We just need to make sure he’s the one who did it, okay? That’s all. We just need to make sure.”

  He stared at me with wild eyes.

  That wasn’t the only reason I was trying to rein him in, of course.

  I was beginning to realize that I was the one who needed to confront Gunther for multiple reasons.

  Because if Jonah did, I wasn’t sure Gunther would stay alive to confess to the crime.

  FOURTEEN

  “You’re back.”

  The hostess at Shawnty’s didn’t look thrilled to see me.

  I pasted on a smile. “I was hoping to talk to Gunther again.”

  Her shoulders lifted, almost as if preparing a speech to address my request.

  “I loved the chowder,” I lied. The truth was, I’d thrown it away on my way out of Jonah’s restaurant. I was sure I was still hungry but there was no way I could have eaten with the amount of nervous energy zinging through me.

  I knew I had to go and talk to Gunther, confront him, even, over his possible involvement in Jonah’s missing money. Because if I didn’t Jonah would, and he seemed mad enough to do something really drastic about it. Like kill him.