Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery (7 page)

“I wonder how Nick met Chad. Nick didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who’d run in Chad’s circles.”

“Maybe ACB can help fill in the blanks.”

“I think I’ll get a head start.” Ty tweaked his hat and went down the stairs two at a time. “See you in the morning for an early breakfast.”

*   *   *

I jumped into the shower, a cold shower. Maybe it would help me stay awake. I smiled as I slipped into my tomato-print pants and red chef’s coat with my name embroidered on it. Underneath that was C
HEF,
S
ILVER
B
ULLET
D
INER.

I put my wet hair into a ponytail. It’d dry eventually, maybe on the walk over. Then I tried to do something about my puffy eyes with the dark circles underneath. I didn’t have time for cold tea bags, so I pulled out all the concealer I could find and blotted it under my eyes.

I was tempted to wake up ACB and ask her for makeup help, but since she was going to have another difficult day with Nick’s calling hours at night and her nine o’clock interrogation in Ty’s office, I decided to let her sleep.

I got to the diner about fifteen minutes early, so I made myself a cup of coffee behind the counter. I was glad to see that the place was mostly full, and I hoped it’d stay that way. The time would go by faster if it was busy, and I wouldn’t be able to think about how I hadn’t slept in a day or two.

“How’s everything, Nancy?”

“Fine. Judy and I have been hopping all night. The customers just love the goulash and the Spanish rice, but they can’t stop talking about Antoinette Chloe stabbing the sausage and calling out Nick’s name when she did it.”

“That wasn’t her best moment,” I said. “Are they saying anything else about her?”

“Some are speculating whether she was the reason Nick Brownelli found himself in a ditch. Most people are imitating her. There isn’t a sausage that’s safe in this diner,” Nancy quipped.

I sighed. Small-town gossip can be overwhelming, but there wasn’t much I could do to stop it. Besides, I should be concentrating on my diner right now.

“I hope there’s enough goulash and Spanish rice to last until the morning. I don’t want to run out.”

Nothing bothers me more than when customers come in for the daily special and it’s gone. However, from a business standpoint, I suppose it’s a good thing.

I walked through the double doors and saw that Cindy Sherwood, who usually cooked from four to midnight, was mighty happy to see me.

“Trixie, I gotta fly. I have a date.”

“Anyone I know?”

“I don’t think so, but I’ll bring him by for dinner sometime. I’d love for you to meet him.”

“Can’t wait, Cindy. I’m sure he’s wonderful.”

Cindy worked very hard both here at the Silver Bullet and at home watching her brothers and sisters while her single mother worked at the box factory in Oswego. I knew that their family struggled to keep afloat.

“Cindy, before you go, take home some bread and luncheon meat. And I ordered way too much tuna fish. Take some of both.”

“No. I couldn’t, Trixie.”

“Yes, you can. Go freshen up for your date, and I’ll get it ready for you.”

She wrapped me in a big hug. “I know what you’re doing, Trixie,” she whispered. “And thanks.”

I turned her around and gave her a tiny push toward the ladies’ room by the walk-in freezer. “Go. Get ready. And come back here before you hurry out.”

I found a cardboard box and loaded it with everything I thought would be good for the kids’ lunches and dinners. I decided that they needed breakfast items, too, so I put in cereal, yogurt, and some cans of orange juice.

After I waved Cindy off, one of my third-shift waitresses, Chelsea Young, whom I enjoyed immensely, arrived. Chels was a free spirit, a flower
child who should have grown up in the sixties. She was tall and slender with a lot of energy, and her platinum hair was streaked with all the different colors of the rainbow. I hoped some of her energy would rub off on me.

Josephine Pirro, the other graveyard-shift waitress, was a very pretty twentysomething with big black eyes and long lashes. Her hair was thick and black with a little wave in it. She was short and could stand to lose a few pounds—
like me
—and she was a chronic giggler. Everyone loved to make Jo laugh—it didn’t take much. The truckers teased her often, but they never stepped over the line. If they did, Jo would point her finger at them and give them a stern warning, all punctuated by giggles.

It was going to be a fun night with Jo and Chelsea, and I needed some fun to put some pep back into my step.

I decided that I’d bake something fun as well. I was going to make some dog biscuits for Blondie. I even had a cookie cutter in the shape of a dog bone.

Very cool!

I got out all the ingredients, but before I could start, Jo came in with a large order, mostly for the daily specials, with a couple of orders from the breakfast menu.

I glanced through the pass-through window to see who was in the diner. Vern McCoy was with Lou Rutledge. They were the other two members of the Sandy Harbor Sheriff’s Department. They saw me peeking at them and waved. They were sitting
with John Nunnamaker, the commander of the American Legion, and Mr. Farnsworth, the owner of the bait shop next door.

I didn’t see Ty—not that I was looking for him. He was probably investigating Chad Dodson. By the time ACB moseyed over to the sheriff’s department office on Main Street in the morning, Ty would probably know more about the brawl at the Boston barbecue than Antoinette Chloe did.

I went back to making Blondie’s dog biscuits. As I was kneading the dough, I had a scathingly brilliant idea: I’d put six treats each in a bunch of plastic bags, tie them with a pretty ribbon, sell them at the counter, and donate the money to the ASPCA.

Feeling like a woman with a mission, I made a triple batch.

In between orders, banter with Chelsea and Jo, and making the dog biscuits, the time flew. Before I knew it, it was seven o’clock and Juanita Holgado was arriving for her morning shift.

Juanita picked up a bag of biscuits. I didn’t have ribbon or a cute basket here in the kitchen, so I’d have to go back to the Big House and get both.

“These are terrific, Trixie.” She held up the plastic bag to take a better look.

“Thanks. I’m going to class up the packaging and add ribbon, maybe a label. All proceeds will go to the ASPCA.”

“Brilliant,
chica.
My Pancho will love them.”

I untied my apron. “I am dead on my feet, Juanita. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Adios.”

My feet were throbbing, but surprisingly I felt really good for being a zombie with no sleep. I had energy spurting up from I don’t know where.

When I got back to the Big House, the noise level was breaking the sound barrier. The girls were dressed and getting ready for dance practice, but they were having a grand buffet of cookies, Danishes, donuts and other sweets.

I took Antoinette Chloe aside. “Where are the committee ladies? Aren’t they supposed to help you cook breakfast and lunch?”

She looked quite satisfied with herself. “Yes, but I gave them the morning off and had all this delivered from Gas and Grab. Jean Harrington gave me a discount.”

“But why didn’t you let the committee cook?” I asked.

“I didn’t want them to try talking to me about Nick. The obit is in the
Lure
this morning, and my cell phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

“Oh,” I said, and changed the subject. “I’m guessing you’re going to Margie Grace’s today.”

It wasn’t hard to guess. ACB was dressed for a morning on Margie’s deck. It was one of those rare occasions when ACB was muumuu-less. She had a sweatband wrapped around her head, and it wasn’t just any sweatband. She’d embellished it with sequins and feathers.

She wore bright orange and red sweatpants and a sweatshirt. And, of course, both were embellished with sequins and glitter glue.

Her earrings had a metal pair of white-and-black sneakers hanging from them, but instead of
the real thing on her feet, she had on—
you guessed it
—orange flip-flops.

“Antoinette Chloe, your flip-flops are so . . . plain.”

“Well, of course, dear. These are the flip-flops I dance in. However, the ones I wear as emcee will just dazzle you.”

“I’m sure they will!” And that reminded me that I needed a dress.

When no one was looking, I grabbed her arm and steered her to the front room, well out of the hearing of the girls, who seemed to be enjoying their sugary breakfast.

“Antoinette Chloe, Ty Brisco wants to talk to you at nine a.m. in his office downtown.”

“Why so early?”

“It would have been eight o’clock, but I got you an hour’s reprieve because I told him a little about the incident in Boston between Chad and Nick. However, he wants to hear it all from you. And beware. He types with two fingers and a thumb, so it’ll take forever.”

“Oh, dear. I can’t be there all day, Trix. I have to get to Margie’s for the rehearsal!”

“Then you’d better get going, and talk slowly to the nice deputy about the Boston barbecue brawl while he types. Or you could always type it for him. Actually, you’re probably a better typist.”

“I feel funny about naming names. I don’t want to point the finger at someone based on an old incident.”

“It’s not that old. Besides, Ty will eliminate
Chad Dodson as a suspect if things don’t point in that direction. Don’t worry.”

“Well, okay, but I’m still worried about another thing.”

“Talk to me, friend.”

She hesitated, looking at her fake fingernails. They were too long and clawlike for my taste, and the one on the little finger of her left hand was unlike the others. All the rest were a sparkly leopard print, but her pinkie finger was bright pink with white daisies.

She sighed. “After I put these all on, I remembered that one of them was missing, and I had only nine. And I wasn’t going to take them all off, so I added one from another box. I like it! Maybe the next time I’ll do all ten in a different design.”

Her tone was clipped and her voice warbled. I could tell something was up.

“You never answered me, Antoinette Chloe. What else has made you nervous?”

“I think I might have found Suspect Number Two.”

A
ntoinette Chloe played with her necklace of blue scallop shells and red sea horses, and I waited until she was ready to tell me what was on her mind.

“Toxic Waste, the guy that Sal mentioned when we were visiting, called me earlier this morning. He said that he’d heard about Nick’s passing from Mad Dog Morgan, his second in command. Anyway, Toxic said that he would like to speak at Nick’s wake or at the cemetery and wanted my permission to do so.”

“So far, so good,” I said, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I asked him if he was going to speak on behalf of the Rubbers, and he said yes, but that he also had a lot of personal things to say about Nick to send him off on his final ride.”

“Like what?”

“Like how Nick welched on a deal. Apparently he was supposed to sell Toxic a vintage Panhead Harley, but Nick sold it to someone else. And then there was even more bad blood when Nick tried to start a coup to overthrow Toxic as leader of the
Rubbers because Toxic had lost his three-star Michelin rating. It was knocked down to two stars. When the Michelin evaluator was at the restaurant, Nick brought him curled-up slices of pizza instead of the sauerbraten that he ordered. According to Nick, it was just a joke. He swore he thought the guy was a friend of Toxic Waste’s.”

I must have looked confused, because she explained.

“The highest rating that Michelin awards is three stars. And only chefs with three-star ratings can be the leader, according to the Roving Rubbers operating manual.”

“That doesn’t sound so awful to me. It’s certainly not worth killing over, and I definitely hope he doesn’t bring this up during a eulogy that’s supposed to be nice,” I said.

ACB took a breath. There was more. “The third strike against Nick was when Toxic’s longtime girlfriend, Leslie, left him for Nick. Toxic Waste was a basket case—a total wastebasket!”

She chuckled, pretty proud of that joke.

She continued. “Nick didn’t ask Leslie to leave Toxic, but when she did, the two of them struck up a romance, and it got pretty serious—I mean, Nick asked her to marry him. The plans were made, the announcement was in the paper—the whole enchilada.”

“This is a biggie,” I said. “I can totally understand Toxic being mad, and then some. What happened?”

“Nick left Leslie at the altar.”

“Well, I can see her being furious and hurt and
embarrassed,” I said, shaking my head. “And that was pretty cowardly of Nick.”

ACB was quick to defend him. “Nick said he felt trapped. Once he’d asked her to marry him, the relationship stopped being fun, and she became overbearing and obnoxious. He tried to call it off a couple of times, but Leslie would always guilt him into staying. She kept telling him that he was just getting cold feet and he’d get over it.”

“And then?”

“This was about the same time as his motorcycle ride through the dining room and kitchen of his restaurant. Between all the drama with his partner, Chad, and his fiancée, he split, moved to Sandy Harbor, and started cooking at the restaurant with Sal. Then when Sal got into trouble, Nick saw me through it all, and we started dating. You know the rest.”

“Getting left at the altar is a horrible thing. I’d be furious,” I said.

ACB sighed. “I guess I’d better tell Ty about everything, starting with Chad Dodson. I might be a while.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Ty can type at least eight words a minute,” I said jokingly, but then turned serious. I wanted to ask my friend a very personal question—a question that was burning a hole in my brain. “Antoinette Chloe, was Nick that great of a catch?”

“He was a dream, Trixie. A real good bad boy. Know what I mean?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“He was tall, dark, and handsome. He kind of
looked like Elvis. He looked hot in black. And those lips and tongue of his . . . well . . . you know.”

Well, actually I didn’t know. It had been a long time, and Deputy Doug . . . nah, I wasn’t going to go there.

“
And
the man loved to cook—breakfast in bed, lunch in bed, dinner in bed.” She sighed, remembering, and then tears welled in her eyes. “He was something real special, Trixie.”

I put my arm around her and led her to the door.

“It’s eight forty-five. You’d better get to Ty’s office before he comes to fetch you in his sheriff’s car.”

She sighed. “Do I look okay?”

“You look fine. Is that a new muumuu?”

“I ordered it from Hawaii—Muumuus ’R’ Us. I love hibiscus.”

“It looks great,” I said. “Go. See you later.”

She turned to wave good-bye, and just as I went to walk into the kitchen, a movement caught my eye. Was someone listening to our conversation? I mostly just caught a shadow. Then Blondie came bounding into the room. It must have been her coming down the stairs.

Blondie needed some attention, so we snuggled together on the couch as I thought about all the people who had a grudge against Nick Brownelli.

First, there was Sal Brownelli. With nothing to do in Auburn Correctional Facility except get tattooed, he might have become obsessed enough about ACB and his brother’s relationship that he could have arranged for a hit on Nick. Sal still loved ACB
dearly, and he had nothing to lose. It wasn’t as if he was going to ever get out of jail in his lifetime, so what would another life sentence tacked onto the one he was already serving be to him?

Second, there was Chad Dodson, millionaire from a rich family and former partner of Nick’s in a five-star restaurant that bore Nick’s name. Something had happened to their partnership and friendship, and they disliked each other enough to draw blood at a barbecue.

Third, we had Toxic Waste, the leader of the Roving Rubbers. Nick had reneged on a Panhead deal, he tried to unseat Toxic, and Toxic’s girlfriend, Leslie, ran to Nick Brownelli—he of the full lips and bedroom meal delivery.

As I sat there petting Blondie’s soft fur, I wondered if there were any other people that Nick had ticked off. If so, Nick’s calling hours this evening might prove to be an interesting experience if someone decided to bring out some hard feelings.

But I didn’t want ACB upset by any derogatory remarks about Nick. She had enough to deal with. And besides, she had loved him and probably still did.

ACB loved Nick. Nick had loved ACB. Sal loved ACB. ACB still had some retro feelings for Sal. ACB still loved Nick. What a mess!

That was enough of that! I got up from the couch and let Blondie spread out. She could be such a lazy pup sometimes. Stopping in the kitchen, I greeted the pageant contestants.

“Hi, ladies! Is everything okay? Do you need anything?” I asked, turning to a contestant who
had her hand raised. I stifled a smile. “Hello. You don’t have to raise your hand to speak to me.”

“Uh . . . Miz Matkowski, we didn’t know you were a judge at the pageant until Antoinette Chloe told us.” The speaker was a beautiful olive-skinned woman with almond-shaped eyes and long, shiny black hair.

“Call me Trixie. And you are?”

“Cher. Cher LaMontagne. I’m from Poughkeepsie.”

“That’s a long way from here. How did you hear about Miss Salmon?”

“My father’s a fisherman. He was up here not too long ago, and brought a copy of the
Lure
back with him. I saw an article about the pageant in there, so I decided to try it.”

“Well, Cher, I am a judge, but don’t hold that against me. Though now that I think about it, I do have an unfair advantage over the other judges, since I get to know all of you ahead of time. I should probably talk to the committee members about it and sequester myself as much as possible.”

“No, don’t do that, Trixie!” said Aileen Shubert. “We love your company. And we are so sorry we talked about Antoinette Chloe behind her back. We feel absolutely awful. She really is a lovely person.”

“Yes. Yes, she is.”

“And we are all carpooling tonight to go to her boyfriend’s wake,” added a redhead with streaks of gold in her hair. She wore a black athletic bra and black spandex capris with a fuchsia stripe down the sides.

A person who looked that fabulous in exercise clothes didn’t have to exercise. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

“I hate to interrupt your sugar high, but shouldn’t you all be getting to Margie’s?” I asked.

There were groans all around and a couple of
lame
s. Then someone whispered “Judge,” and their tone completely changed.

They had started to rush out of the kitchen when I called them back.

“Hey, ladies! Please put your dishes in the dishwasher! And put what’s left of the pastries away. The empty boxes go into the recycling bin. And wipe off the table.”

There was a litany of “Sorry, Trixie,” and I left them to clean up. Going upstairs with my sweetie of a dog following me, I thought of my big, comfy brass bed with each step.

I was just about to collapse onto it when I remembered that I needed an evening gown. I made a U-turn toward the attic stairs and Aunt Stella’s cedar-lined closet. She’d told me to help myself to whatever I wanted and to donate the rest, but I hadn’t had a chance yet.

Aunt Stella and I weren’t really close to being the same size. For one, she was about a foot shorter than I. She had bigger boobs than I, and I have hips with their own zip code. But I figured it couldn’t hurt to try—you never know!

Walking past the bedrooms, I couldn’t resist looking wherever the doors were open. Most of the rooms were cluttered but clean. Most of the beds were made. I had to smile as I walked by
ACB’s room. It was a complete disaster. I wondered how she could ever find anything in that mishmash. It crossed my mind that maybe someone had been in ACB’s stuff, but ACB would probably be the only one who could tell. And even she would have trouble. I shook my head as I climbed the narrow stairs to the attic.

The closet with Aunt Stella’s clothes was just to the left of the entryway. It was a huge thing, and I remembered playing with dolls in it with my sister, Susie, when we were kids.

I opened the doors and caught the scent of cedar—the same scent I remembered from all those years ago.

I slid the hangers one at a time to take a good look. There were a couple of classic gowns—the kind that never go out of style. Of them, there was one that I really liked. It had a glittery copperish bodice and the rest was a creamy crepe. It’d never be long enough, but maybe I could pass it off as tea length.

Closing the closet, I took the gown back to my room and hung it on a hanger on the back of the bathroom door to let it air out.

I’d try it on later, but first I needed to sleep for a good twenty-four hours.

*   *   *

I don’t know how long I slept, but the sound of a phone ringing annoyed me like the buzzing of a grass trimmer.

Would someone please answer that?

Then I realized that the buzzing was my cell phone and it wasn’t going to stop.

I slid the green arrow thing. “Huh?”

“Trixie! Thank goodness!”

“What’s wrong, Antoinette Chloe?” She must have had me on speed dial.

“Chad Dodson is in town! He’s riding around in that classic red Thunderbird of his. I saw him pull up to the Crossroads and go in.”

“Hmm . . . he’s probably in town for Nick’s calling hours. Maybe we could talk to him tonight and find out what the bad blood was between him and Nick.”

“Should I tell Ty that I saw him?”

“You should. Yes.”

“But, Trixie, I’m just so tired. It was a long day with Ty, and although he’s positively a piece of eye candy and I just adore the way he speaks—you know, like a Houston cowboy—I am simply tired of thinking. I think I’ll just point Chad out to Ty tonight.”

“That’ll probably be okay.” I yawned. “Antoinette Chloe, what time is it?”

“Five o’clock.”

“No way!” Where had the time gone? I had a million things to do. Plus I had to get ready for the calling hours. “I’ll see you in a bit. Are you coming back here?”

“Yes. I have to get ready for tonight.”

“Just what I was thinking. See you in a while.”

I jumped in the shower. Every now and then, I scored on the perfect water temperature. Today was that day, and I didn’t want to get out. Finally I forced myself to turn off the water, and I blow-dried my hair with lots of product in it so I could
have some version of a hairdo for a while, until it drooped.

I slipped on my only black dress, bought purposely for wakes and funerals. Then I went down to the kitchen to get something to eat and to let Blondie out.

After emptying the dishwasher, I put everything away, made a tuna-fish sandwich on rye, poured myself an iced tea, and went out to the porch.

The fishermen were gathered around the cleaning stations and filleting their catches. Large white coolers were scattered around the lawn, and the gulls were squawking overhead.

It looked like they had had a successful catch.

A group of men were eating at the picnic table next to Cottage Two. A family was playing badminton. Cottage Nine’s residents were grilling something and it smelled divine, like burgers or steak. A couple was going out in a canoe.

I loved the fact that my cottages were full and that people were enjoying themselves.

Looking to the right, I saw Ty walking my way. He looked like he had on a pair of black khakis and a black blazer. As he got closer, I noticed that his hat was black, his shirt was white, his alligator boots were polished, and he didn’t wear a tie.

He looked marvelous, actually, not that I was looking or anything.

“Howdy, Trixie.” He tipped his black cowboy hat. “You’re looking mighty fine.”

“Thanks.” His compliment made me feel warm and fuzzy inside, and it’d been a long time since I’d felt warm and fuzzy. “Have a seat, Ty.”

He sat down in his usual chair. “I thought I’d find you sitting here, enjoying the nice day.”

“It’s a beautiful one for fall, isn’t it? It’s really warm. Would you like a tuna-fish sandwich or something to drink?”

“I’m good. I had an open steak at the Silver Bullet. Dee-licious.”

“Was it crowded?”

“Packed.”

“Good.

Ty ate most of his meals there. I really should give him a meal plan or a flat fee for the month.