Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery (12 page)

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dog.”

By the time I got to the door of my house, the music was off and a couple of Rubbers were emptying trash cans of their liners and walking toward the Dumpster.

I’d never been blessed with children, but it’s good to know that my fictional children might have listened to me. After all, millionaires and biker-chefs did what I told them.

The house was blessedly silent.

In the kitchen was a note from Ty saying that he’d taken Blondie for a jog.
He sure got here quickly!

That reminded me to give Aunt Stella another call.

“Trixie, how good to hear your voice! I was going to call you back after my classes, but I have a little time now. Now, what is it you want me to do? Bail out Antoinette Chloe?”

“Would you please, Aunt Stella? She’s so pathetic sitting in jail. I’d do it, but everything I almost . . . sort of . . . kind of . . . own is in your name.”

She sighed. “Antoinette Chloe is an eccentric dresser, but she’s not a murderer.”

“I know.”

“I can’t bail her out, dear. No. I can’t,” Aunt Stella said.

I had felt for sure that Aunt Stella would come through. A feeling of hopelessness hit me like a blast of cold. “I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but I did sign everything over to you,” she said.

“But—”

“Trixie, all the papers transferring everything to you have been signed by me and are sitting in the gray file cabinet in the office marked
MISCELLANEOUS
. Just sign them and file them with the county clerk. You might have to pay some fees, but it shouldn’t be all that much.”

“Really?”

“Really! Remember how you didn’t want me to transfer ownership to you until you paid everything in full?”

“I remember.”

“Well, I still did the paperwork, because I knew
you’d pay me eventually, and no sense sending everything to Florida, so I did the next best thing. They’re all legal and ready. Just sign ’em and file ’em, sweetie.”

“You’re a gem, Aunt Stella.”

“So are you, Trixie, but are you sure you want to risk the point on Antoinette Chloe? She’s awfully flighty.”

“I’d put my money on her.”

“Then sign the papers,” she said. “Gray file cabinet. Call me if you need anything else, Trixie. I have to go to my Zumba class. Then tai chi and qigong.”

“What’s qigong?”

“I don’t have a clue, but when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

“One more thing: Did you take your cruise?”

“My friend Vivian, who booked the trip, got it all wrong. It was a paddle-wheel boat, and it never left the dock, but I won two hundred bucks on the slots.”

I laughed. “Talk to you later. Have fun with your classes and qigong-ing!”

“I will. Bye, now.”

Hurrying to my office, I found the gray file cabinet and found a file marked
EVERYTH
ING
INCLUDING
THE
KI
TCHEN
SINK
.

In the folder was a thick packet of papers, survey maps, and whatnot. I saw by the light-blue paper attached that said Janice Malloy was Aunt Stella’s attorney and Anthony Ricelli was the surveyor from Syracuse.

I signed under Aunt Stella’s name and left the
papers on the kitchen table, ready to go to the county clerk’s office.

But before I left for again, I needed to see if Aunt Stella had a nice purse upstairs in the attic that would go with the dress.

Going upstairs, I passed ACB’s bedroom. I really should clean it, maybe change the bed, for her release.

In the attic, I placed a call to Janice Malloy. I got her voice mail, but I left a message telling her how I was going to file the papers that would make me the owner of the point.

“So, I’m going to bail Antoinette Chloe out. Tell me how.”

I looked out the window as I was talking. There was a turret with windows on four sides where I remembered playing Cinderella with Susie. This was our castle.

Seeing two people way off in the distance, almost to ACB’s land, I wondered who they were, and guessed that it was Toxic Waste with none other than Aileen Shubert.

At least they weren’t rolling in the grass together again, or maybe I had missed that part, thank goodness.

Even though I’d had a little talk with Aileen and she’d vowed to adhere to the rules, she hadn’t. Why wasn’t she up at the Silver Bullet with the other ladies having lunch?

I found a pretty black, glittery purse that would go perfect with Aunt Stella’s dress. Great. Now I didn’t have to stop at the Spend A Buck, but I did need panty hose.

But what should I do with Aileen?

Nothing. The pageant would be over soon.

Thinking of Aileen got me thinking of Toxic Waste.
What a two-timer! Here he said that he was getting back with his girlfriend, Leslie McDermott, but he can’t seem to stay away from Aileen.

And Aileen must be attracted to bad-boy biker-chefs who owned Bavarian restaurants.

I could see that Aileen and Toxic were walking away from each other. She jogged to the Big House, and Toxic meandered to Tent Town.

I rushed out of the attic and walked down the hall to my room. I decided it was time to try on the dress. It was okay in the boobs, and it fell nicely to midcalf. I loved how it looked, especially the copper-colored sequins on the bodice. Antoinette Chloe’s sequin obsession must be rubbing off on me.

The purse worked with the dress. My black flats matched, too. Hooray!

I heard footsteps down the hall.
Must be Aileen
. I opened my door and stuck my head out.

Her hand flew to her heart. “Oh, Trixie! I didn’t know you were here.” She oozed guilt like my corned beef sandwiches oozed corned beef.

“Obviously. What have you been doing?”

“Nothing. Just taking a walk. It’s such a beautiful day.”

“Yes. It’s a beautiful day for fall.”

We were making small talk, and I could tell that Aileen was ready to bolt. She wouldn’t look me in the eye and she was squirming like a worm.

“Where are the rest of the ladies?” I asked.

“One of the committee members arranged a
pontoon boat tour of the coast. That’s where they are. On a boat tour.”

“Why on earth didn’t you go?”

She shifted on her feet. “I get seasick.”

“Gee, that’s too bad,” I said, not wanting to tell her that the Miss Salmon winner should embrace water sports.

“How did Antoinette Chloe’s court appearance go?” Aileen changed the subject.

“She’s going to make bail.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said.

Her eyes sparkled. She seemed to really be happy that ACB would be out of jail. Well, any friend of ACB was a friend of mine.

“I gotta go, Trixie. I have studying to do.”

“You’re in school?”

“Graduate school. I’m in the business-management program at Syracuse University.”

“Fabulous,” I said, wishing that I’d gone to grad school for my business degree, or maybe culinary school. I still want to do that someday. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, Aileen. Go and study!”

But I didn’t believe her for a New York minute. Not at all. Especially since I didn’t remember any of the Miss Salmon applicants saying that they’d gone to my alma mater. So, once I arrived at the courthouse, I pulled into a nice parking space and called Syracuse University. Eventually I got ahold of my friend from first grade, Lorraine Fletcher, who, as luck would have it, worked there.

Lorraine said that the graduate school of business management never heard of Aileen.

Surprise, surprise!

I wondered why she lied.
To make herself shine so she’d make a better Miss Salmon contestant? She knows I’m a judge, and maybe she thought that being in a graduate program at SU would impress me because I had a football banner in my living room. Go, Orange!

But I wasn’t impressed.

After going from office to office at the courthouse like a steel ball in a pinball machine, I finally got the papers filed.

Then I met the bail bondsman in front of the courthouse by the war memorial. As I waited, I read the names of all the residents of Sandy Harbor who had served in various wars—starting with the Revolutionary War and ending with the Gulf War. They’d soon have to add Afghanistan. I said a few prayers, and noticed a man approaching. It was Shaun Williamson, who ran the florist shop, Buds and Blooms, on the corner of Tulip Terrace and First Street.

“Shaun, you’re a bondsman, too?”

“I am.”

It must be some kind of Sandy Harbor code that everyone must have two different occupations.

“Well, okay.” I took a deep breath. “I want to put up the point. Hopefully you’ll think everything is worth three million bucks so I can get Antoinette Chloe out.”

“You really want to put up the point?”

“Not particularly, but it’s the only way to get her out, so write the bond, please.”

He knew what Aunt Stella had owned. He’d been over at the Silver Bullet enough times. Besides, he had grown up here.

Shaun Williamson, bail bondsman and florist, opened his briefcase and pulled out a packet of legal-looking papers in the smallest font known to humanity. I pulled out my glasses from my purse.

We walked over to a picnic table and sat down. I waited for him to start.

“When Janice Malloy called me, I looked at the survey maps of everything on the point, priced similar properties, should I have to sell it all, and I can absolutely bond you for three million.”

I broke out in a sweat in spite of the cool weather. “Sell it all?”

“If Antoinette Chloe doesn’t appear for her court dates or absconds, I can sell your property to reclaim the money that I spent insuring her release, or I can keep it.”

“Wow.”

“Usually, people put up their own homes and property, but Antoinette’s holdings aren’t worth three million bucks. Although I’d love to get my hands on her waterfront land.”

“Shaun, don’t you think Antoinette Chloe will appear in court?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d stick around with a murder charge hanging over my head like a guillotine.”

“Well, she would. She’d want to prove that she didn’t kill her boyfriend. Besides, she’s lived here forever, and her business is here.”

“It’s your call.” He leafed through the papers. “Sign here, here, and here. Initial that this is your signature. Sign that those are your initials.”

Sign my name where I initialed? This was more legal than my divorce!

“I’ll walk it over to the sheriff’s department.” He checked his watch. “Ty will be there. I think he’s on office duty. He’ll process her out.”

“I’m going over to the Spend A Buck. Then I’ll be over to the jail to pick up Antoinette Chloe and drive her to my house.”

Shaun laughed. “While it’s still your house!”

“Knock it off, Shaun. You are about as funny as being laid off at Christmas.”

He gave me a salute; then he just about skipped in the direction of the jail. I walked in the other direction to buy a pair of panty hose and visit Antoinette Chloe.

T
y leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, Trixie, but apparently the county clerk has to do a bunch of things to your paperwork before he can put the point in your name. Shaun went over to the courthouse to yell at everyone, but they’ll probably let it go in one ear and out the other. He’s known for his hissy fits.”

“And inconsiderate jokes.”

Ty grinned and looked way too smug.

“C’mon. You said you’d be her bodyguard. Can’t you make a couple of calls, turn on your Texas cowboy charm, and speed things up?”

He raised his blue eyes to the ceiling and mumbled—something he did all the time. Ty’s a very religious man.
Ha!

He picked up the phone and started punching in numbers.

“Ty, can I see Antoinette Chloe? I’d like to tell her that she might not get out today.”

He picked up a metal mess of keys from the top drawer of his desk and separated two of them.

“The small one is for the entry door. The bigger one is for the cell.”

“You’re trusting me?”

“Sure, but I’ll be calling in some favors from you. Like your fried chicken.”

I laughed. I loved to cook for someone who enjoyed it.

As I entered the cellblock, I saw Antoinette Chloe sitting on a rocking chair, crying.

“Oh, sweetie. Are you okay?”

She sniffed. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

“Don’t. I got Aunt Stella to sign over the point to me in my name. A couple of county departments have to do a couple of things to the paperwork first; then you’ll be bailed out. Oh, and Ty’s helping to speed things up.”

“You put the point up for me?”

“Yes. I told you I was going to. Too bad I had to deal with Shaun Williamson.”

“He’s a punk.”

“Yes, I know, but he’s the punk who’s going to help get you out of here.”

“
Bueno!
Let’s go.” Whenever ACB was stressed, she always spoke in another language.

“Not so fast,” I said.

“Shall I pack up my things?” she asked.

“Yes. Absolutely, but I thought that you were going to leave some of these things for the next inmate.”

“Not all of it.”

I did not want to haul all of her stuff out of here, not now anyway. I’d just moved her to the Big House not too long ago.

“Can you just pack up what you absolutely need for now?”

“Of course.”

She removed some muumuus that were hanging on the bars. “I’ll need these.”

She went to a big plastic cart on wheels and tapped it with a finger. “My fascinators and hats are in here. Oh, and I’ll need more underwear and flip-flops—just the sequined ones. And I have another cabinet with all my makeup, too.”

A five-drawer cart filled with makeup?

“You really need all this stuff?”

“I might. I don’t know until I’m putting an outfit together.”

We rolled two plastic carts as far as the hallway, when Ty entered.

“What’s going on?” Ty asked.

“We’re moving ACB out of Heartbreak Hotel.”

“You can’t touch a thing until she’s bailed out,” Ty instructed.

We moved the cabinets back into her cell.

His phone rang, and he answered it. “Deputy Brisco.”

There were a lot of
okay
s and
right
s and
thank you, darlin’
s but eventually, he stopped talking and turned to us. “Okay, now you can officially leave.”

*   *   *

As ACB was settling back in, I looked out the windows for Ty, who was supposed to be protecting ACB.

Then I saw Vern McCoy in his unmarked silver-green Prius. As my cheating ex, Deputy Doug, used to say, he should really patrol the perimeter. There were four entrances into the Big House.

But I got distracted when I saw today’s issue of the
Lure
. It seemed that while I was in court, Aileen had entered the salmon derby and had come really close to winning. She caught the third-largest salmon of the day.

Mr. Farnsworth, the owner of the bait shop next door, had taken her out on his guide boat.

Joan Paris even printed her picture in the
Lure
. It showed Aileen with her white blond hair, shorter-than-short shorts, halter top, and magnificent tan, holding up her third-place salmon as several hulky fishermen gathered around her.

Where were her shoes? More importantly, where were her ugly green rubber waders? Even better, what happened to her story that she got seasick on the water?

Another lie, Aileen? Looks like you don’t get any more seasick than I do.

As I was sitting on the porch, Aileen came around the corner, saw what I was reading, and giggled about the picture to the other girls.

“My father taught me how to fish,” she said.

“And you bait the hook?” asked Betsy Dyson.

“Of course I do.” She tossed her hair.

“What about cleaning them?” I asked.

“Oh, sure. I clean them, too.”

“You’re going to have to prove that one, Aileen. Right, girls?” I was egging her on just to prove that she was a liar in front of all the girls.

I hurried to the basement to find one of Uncle Porky’s fillet knives.

Oh!
There was an empty hook on the Peg-Board where another knife should have been. I
remembered four fillet knives hanging from those hooks. Only three were left.

Maybe Ty had borrowed it. I did give him blanket permission to help himself to any of Uncle Porky’s fishing things. I reminded myself to ask him when he stopped by later.

I grabbed one of the other fillet knives and went back upstairs. Then I walked across the lawn to one of the fish-cleaning stations and asked one of the men if I could borrow a couple of salmon, and when he said yes, I motioned for Aileen to come over.

The other pageant girls came with her.

“Okay, Aileen. I’d love to see how you fillet.”

Joan Paris happened to be nearby, taking photos of everyone’s catches. I motioned for her to join us.

“This could be another photo op for you, Joan.”

“I’m always looking for those.”

When I handed Aileen one of Uncle Porky’s knives, she hesitated for a second, then took it and stared at it for another moment.

Then she got right to work, gutting and filleting the fish like an old pro. She handled the knife like an expert, posing for pictures and tossing her hair.

The fishermen who were watching cheered her on, and she filleted three salmon in no time.

When Joan stopped taking pictures, Aileen stopped smiling. Bored with the whole thing, she announced that she was going to go jogging. Some of the other girls decided to join her.

And I decided to do a little jogging of my own, over to the diner to get something to eat. I was so
busy trying to find a way to bail out Antoinette Chloe that I didn’t remember to eat anything. Which just went to show how stressed-out I’d been—I never, ever, never miss a meal.

Well, I didn’t really jog. I walked a little faster than usual because I was hungry. On the way, I called ACB and asked her if she wanted me to bring her anything.

“A bacon club,” she said.

“You mean a bacon, lettuce, and tomato club?”

“No. Just bacon.”

“Got it,” I said, thinking how I might add a B-B-B club to my menu.

“And a chocolate milk shake.”

“Okay.”

“And maybe one of Sarah Stolfus’s cherry hand pies. No, make that two hand pies.”

“You got it. See you soon.”

Ty was just walking into the diner as I was. “Let’s get a booth, Ty. I want to share information with you.”

“Okay.”

There was one last booth, way in the back. I slid onto the red vinyl bench seat.

Chelsea hurried over to us.

“Chels, I’ll have a bowl of split pea soup and a grilled cheese and ham sandwich on white,” I said.

“I’ll have the same, but I’d like tomato soup instead of pea, and a Reuben on dark rye with coleslaw instead of the ham and cheese.”

He was just so funny—not!

Chelsea doubled over with laughter. She was
overdoing it a little, but like every other woman within a thousand-mile radius of Sandy Harbor, she had the hots for Ty.

I didn’t. I had a wall surrounding me that I’d built brick by brick. And it was completely cop-proof.

Well, maybe I could blast a section off for Ty.

No, I couldn’t.

Yes, I could.

“So, what do you want to tell me?” he asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

“I wanted to get your advice on one of the Miss Salmon contestants, Aileen Shubert.”

“Do I know her?” Ty asked.

“She’s the one with the picture-perfect blond hair with white streaks. She’s tall, beautiful, has a toothy white smile, and is Miss Personality and Miss Congeniality combined.”

“Real short white shorts with a fringe on the bottom and pockets that hang lower than her hems? Did she have an aqua tube top on today, along with gold hoop earrings? And she never wears shoes and has bright pink nail polish on her toes with a sparkly ankle bracelet?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, so you haven’t noticed her?”

“No. I haven’t noticed her at all.”

“I can tell.” I grinned. “But anyway, I think she lied on her Miss Salmon application.”

“That’s a crime punishable by life in prison!”

“Ty, what I’m trying to say is that I think Aileen Shubert is intentionally trying to fool the pageant committee.”

“Now you’re talking. That’s the electric chair.”

I took a deep breath. He wasn’t taking me seriously.

“She said she was going to the graduate school of business management at SU. And, well, they don’t know her. I didn’t remember anything on her application about her taking graduate courses at Syracuse, so, for the heck of it, I called a friend of mine who works there.”

“Trixie, it’s probably nothing more than some beauty queen trying to look good and win the pageant.”

“Yeah, but she’ll win a whopping five hundred dollars and a ride in Hal Manning’s relic of a car at the front of the Salmon Parade. And I won’t stand for that.”

“All right, all right. I’ll run a record check on Aileen Shubert. Give me her date of birth from her questionnaire.”

“It’s February 21, 1986. I remember that distinctly. It’s the same date as a friend’s birthday.”

He pulled out a little notebook from his shirt pocket and wrote it down with the stub of a pencil.

“Will you let me know what you find out?”

“I doubt it,” he said.

“You know, I give you everything I find out, but you don’t give me any information at all.”

“Trixie, you know I can’t give you information from a current investigation.”

I knew that. I did. However, when the good Lord passed out patience, I got out of line because the line was moving too slowly.

“Okay, Ty. In the spirit of me telling you
everything
and you telling me
nothing
, here’s some major information: One of Uncle Porky’s four fillet knives is missing from the basement. Did the murder weapon look like this?”

I plopped the knife on the table.

He hesitated, but I shot him a look that would wither a dozen roses. “Uh, yes, it did.”

“Uncle Porky’s have unique handles—ivory. They’re probably illegal now.”

“They are, but a lot of the old ones have ivory handles. Nick’s fillet knives, for instance, have ivory handles. And so do Sal’s.”

“Do you know whose collection the murder weapon came from?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh yes, you absolutely can.”

“No. I can’t. I’ll have to have this one compared to the one we found wrapped in Antoinette Chloe’s Easter fascinator. Do you know if all of your uncle Porky’s knives looked alike?”

“I—I don’t know. I can give you the other ones, too.”

“Good.”

Ty didn’t have to tell me whose collection the murder weapon came from. It was Uncle Porky’s. Somehow the murderer snuck into the basement and stole a knife.

Our meals arrived, and we stopped talking about the case for a while—just a little while. Then I made a U-turn back to the investigation.

“Ty, when are you planning you let the Rubbers go? And how about Chad Dodson?”

“I’m getting there. Give me a couple of days.”

“I don’t want you to let them go! You need to find one of them guilty, so ACB will be off the hook.”

“Trix, you stick to cooking, and I’ll stick to my job.”

“But tomorrow’s dress-rehearsal day.”

“I know. And I’m on ACB watch. I can’t think of anything more fun than the Miss Salmon dress rehearsal.” He made a painful face, then grinned. “But Aileen and all the other gorgeous girls will be there.”

“Along with the five Wheelchair Grannies from the Sandy Harbor Golden Age Apartments.”

He smiled. “I don’t age discriminate.”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. Was I doomed to banter with Ty Brisco until the end of my days? But I had to admit that I enjoyed his company immensely.

Ty insisted on paying for his meal, but I pried the check out of his fingers and tore it up.

“Leave Chelsea a nice, big tip, and we’ll call it even,” I said.

We parted ways, and I went into the kitchen to thank Juanita for the fabulous meal.

“Juanita, the pea soup and grilled cheese and ham sandwich were delicious, and Ty loved the tomato soup and Reuben. And the little garnishes you do are adorable.”

“Thanks,
amiga
.”

Other restaurants put a tomato slice on a lettuce leaf and call it a garnish. We try to make the garnish edible and unique.

Juanita is all about carrot curls, radish roses, and zigzagged cucumber chunks. In season, she’d add rosemary sprigs or edible flowers that looked like orchids. She was very creative and had taught Chelsea how to dress up plates with garnish.

Juanita has taught me, too. I’d found a book at the library’s book sale about making garnishes, but I haven’t had a chance to read it. She would probably like it.

“The kitchen looks absolutely fabulous,” I told Juanita.

“You did most of it the other day. I just kept on going, and so did Cindy.”

“Then we all did a good job. Anything you need Juanita? Anything I can do to help?”

“
Nada
. I’m good.” She paused for a second, then whispered to me. “I see you sitting with Deputy Ty. He’s a good man, Trixie. And very handsome.”