Thursday, September 18

“You don’t have to fix breakfast for me, Mr. Racine,” Maggie said, but her mouth was already watering from the aroma of hash browns and sausage sizzling in one skillet while Luc prepared another with scrambled eggs.

“No, no, I want to. God! I miss this.” He splashed some milk and fresh ground pepper into the scrambled eggs, stirring and flipping with the expertise of a short-order cook. “I don’t get to do this anymore. I don’t trust myself to shut off the stove.” He glanced back at her. “I’m only telling you so you’ll keep an eye on things and make sure that I don’t leave something on. Would you do that, please?”

He kept his back to her. Maggie knew it was not an easy thing for him to ask. She wondered if that was the real reason he wouldn’t let her call Julia. Did his daughter know that he was deteriorating?

“Sure. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nope. Got the table all set.” He looked around. “Maybe some orange juice. I noticed your friend brought some last night.” He opened one cupboard door, then another and one more before grabbing two glasses to hand to her. This time he couldn’t hide the slight flush of embarrassment. “I think he likes you.”

“What?”

“The professor, he likes you.”

This time she felt a slight flush. She found the juice and poured. “We’re working on a case together. That’s all.”

“What? You don’t like him?” He glanced at her over his shoulder.

“No, I didn’t say that. It’s just that I guess I haven’t thought about him that way.”

“Why not? He’s a handsome young man. I noticed you’re unattached.”

“I don’t know why not. I’m just…I’m not…” She realized that she sounded like some tongue-tied teenager. She wasn’t sure why she thought she needed to explain it to him. “I’m not looking right now. My divorce was just finalized. I’m not ready to start another relationship.”

“Oh, okay.” He glanced back at her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stick my nose in your business.” He started cleaning the counter. “I like you. You remind me of Julia. I guess I miss her.”

“I was thinking about that, Mr. Racine. I think—”

“I wish you’d call me Luc.”

“Okay, but I was thinking maybe you should call Julia. I think she would like to know. Actually, I’d feel better if she knew.”

He was putting away what he didn’t use, sliding the egg carton back into the refrigerator and wrapping up the leftover sausage.

Maggie stopped him. “Where did you get this?” She pointed to the sausage he rolled tight into the white butcher-block paper.

“This? It’s scrapple. I think they call it that because it’s made from pork scraps,” he said, misunderstanding what she meant and unwrapping the sausage to show her. “My wife was from Philadelphia. That’s where they have the best. This stuff always reminds me of her. Partly why I named my best buddy Scrapple.” He glanced down at the dog who, as if on cue, sat up to beg for a piece of his namesake. “Can’t find it around here, though.” Luc continued wrapping the sausage. “Last winter I had Steve Earlman make it for me out of some pork shoulder. He did a pretty good job, too. I think you’ll like it.”

Maggie wondered if Luc knew they had found Steve at the quarry. He had been to the site enough times he may have heard the rumors. Maybe he couldn’t remember. Once again, she was reminded of that white paper that kept showing up. What was she missing?

“Luc, what did they do with the butcher shop when Steve passed away? Didn’t he have any sons or daughters to keep the shop open?”

He scooped up hash browns, sausage and scrambled eggs, dividing the bounty between their two plates. It looked wonderful and she followed him to the table, bringing their juice.

“No, Steve never married. A nice guy, too.” He pulled out a chair for her, waiting for her to get comfortable before he took his place. “It was sad to see the shop close. I remember hearing that someone bought all the equipment at the estate sale. I thought maybe whoever it was would keep the shop open or start a new one, but I guess not.”

“Do you remember who bought all the equipment?”

Luc stared at her, his forehead furrowed in thought, the frustration playing in his eyes. “I should know that.”

“It’s okay if you can’t remember. I was just curious.”

“No, I should know. It was somebody I know.”

Maggie’s cell phone started ringing from the other room and Scrapple, who had taken his begging place under the table, now began to bark.

“Scrapple, that’s enough. Hush.”

“Excuse me. I need to get that,” Maggie said as she hunted for her jacket, following the sound of the ringing. Finally. “Maggie O’Dell.”

“O’Dell, it’s Watermeier. I’m at Hubbard Park, the West Peak. We found something. I think you’ll want to see this.”