Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery (14 page)

There goes my power nap.
I had to clean up this mess and help ACB.

Then I noticed that my spiral notebook was missing. It contained my Miss Salmon notes, but there was nothing exciting in it. Just committee
plans. There was nothing about any of the contestants in it.

I went back to ACB’s room. Ty was taking photos of her room. He stopped, waiting for my report.

“My room was just tossed. It’s a mess, but nothing was cut. Nothing important is missing that I can tell, except my Miss Salmon notebook. But there was nothing exciting in it.”

“My folder had the timetable for the ceremony. I need it for the dress rehearsal and the pageant. Oh, what am I going to do?” ACB said.

Ty had his hands on his hips. I knew from my past experiences with him that he was beyond angry.

“I want to know who did this and how they got past me.”

“It could have happened earlier, Ty. On Vern McCoy’s watch. Who knows? My house is always open.”

“But your rooms were specifically targeted,” he said. “I asked when everyone was in the hall, and none of their things were bothered.”

“But our rooms are the first ones that someone would come upon when they came upstairs.” I paused, letting that sink in. “They seem to have unleashed their fury on Antoinette Chloe’s room. Mine seems more like it was an afterthought, unless they were interrupted and didn’t get to the slashing.”

ACB plopped down on a Queen Anne chair by the window. “Who hates me enough to do this? I don’t have any enemies. I’m kind to everyone.”

She really was kind to everyone. I went over to
her and gave her a big hug and let her cry for a while.

“Whoever did this wanted the pageant stuff,” I said. “Why else would they do it?”

Ty pulled out his notebook and stubby pencil. “You ladies figure that out. I’m going to talk to the contestants and see if they saw or heard anything.”

“Thank goodness my dress muumuus are still at the jail.”

“That’s good news,” I said. Always a silver lining with ACB.

Ty noticed a piece of paper on the floor. I could see the black print bleeding though. He read it and swore under his breath.

“What is it?” ACB asked.

Ty hesitated.

ACB had a white-knuckle grip on the arms of the chair. “I want to know.”

Ty handed her the paper, and I read over her shoulder:

YOU ARE NEXT!

*   *   *

I double-checked my measurements for peanut butter cookies, because I couldn’t get my brain to focus. All I could think of was how ACB’s room had been trashed and her muumuus slashed.

ACB had been with Aileen most of the evening. Toxic and Dog had been there. The only one missing from the scenario was the less-than-delightful Chad Dodson.

I spooned out the peanut butter from an industrial-size jar and got my big mixer turning. Slow at first, so the flour didn’t slop all over the floor, then faster.

I prepared my pans, cutting parchment paper to size. I swear by parchment paper and use it for cookies all the time.

With a soup spoon, I scooped out the mixture, rolled it into a ball, and put it on the parchment, spacing the balls evenly. Dipping the bottom of a glass in sugar, I squished each ball. Then I took a fork and made a crisscross pattern on the top, for no reason other than that my mother used to do it and they look cute that way.

I gathered what I needed for my chocolate chip cookies. But first I had to eat some chips for quality control.

Just as I finished mixing the chocolate chip cookie batter and started taking the peanut butter cookies out of the oven, Chelsea came bouncing in.

“The Roving Rubbers are here. It looks like all of them.”

I checked my watch. It was two in the morning. Didn’t those motorcycling chefs ever sleep?

“What’s up with them?”

“They’re leaving at sunup. Something about eating and roving where the rubber meets the road,” Chelsea said.

I wondered if Ty knew that two of his suspects were going to rove.

“Well, bring on the orders. I’m ready.”

“Trixie, here’s a good one. Toxic Waste said to tell you that he’d like to cook with you.”

I thought about that for a bit. “I guess it’s okay.”

Actually, it was more than okay. I’d be able to question him more.

I almost fainted when Toxic walked into the kitchen through the swinging doors. He wore a white chef’s coat and white hat, black jeans, and black sneakers. He was freshly shaved and looked so unlike the Toxic Waste that I knew.

“Can I call you by your real name in my kitchen, Chef?”

“Billy. Last name is Gerard.”

“Billy it is,” I said. “Before the orders come in, I need to get my chocolate chip cookies out of the oven and onto the cooling rack.”

“I’m on it,” Billy said.

“Then I’ll start the batter for snickerdoodle cookies.”

Billy loaded the last pan of cookies, then yelled over to me. “I’ll chop up more lettuce for salads. I see that the special is spaghetti and meatballs. Got enough?”

“How about boiling more spaghetti? I’ll throw a pan of meatballs into the oven to heat them up.” Luckily, I had a pan already cooked and sitting in the cooler.

“How about sauce?”

“In the cooler. A huge pot of it. Needs to be heated.”

“I’ll get it,” Billy said.

I was impressed. Billy was a self-starter.

He got everything bubbling on the stove, and I got the snickerdoodle dough covered with plastic wrap and in the cooler. It needed to chill for four hours.

By then, the Rubbers should be on the road. Which reminded me . . .

“Billy, are you going to be leaving town with the rest of the Rubbers?”

“I asked Deputy Brisco if I could go, and he said no. I still have to stick around,” he said. “I’m going stir-crazy, so I figured I’d help you out.”

“I can put you to work. Graveyard shift.” I couldn’t believe that had just come out of my mouth, especially when I was just criticizing ACB for fraternizing with the questionable.

But I did need a break. At least to get my house back in order and find a spa and pamper myself.

“I’ll take you up on that,” he said.

Billy and I worked side by side as the orders came in. Most everyone ordered the special with a side of today’s soup—chicken noodle—and a chef’s salad. Several ordered breakfast.

Then the poker club came in, about twenty-two of them. They had just played a high-stakes game—a dollar—and the winner of the game got to have dinner on the treasury.

Margie Grace was the winner. She wanted fried chicken with mashed potatoes, gravy, and peas.

Billy and I did the Silver Bullet Shuffle, crossing back and forth in front of and behind each another. Billy sure could dance. I enjoyed my time with him, and we laughed and joked. I felt that we bonded.

Finally, I blurted, “Billy, who do you think killed Nick?”

He didn’t speak for several seconds. “I think Cowboy Ty arrested the right person: Nick’s nutso girlfriend. It’s a money thing. It always is.”

“You think Antoinette Chloe did it? She doesn’t have it in her.”

“Each one of us can kill if the conditions are right,” he said. “Maybe they had a fight and she saw her opportunity to off him and collect some money to boot.”

“The insurance won’t pay if she’s convicted of killing him. Chad Dodson would get it,” I said.

“No kidding?”

Oops. Chocolate chip cookies loosen the lips.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that.” I plucked another order off the clip and started putting it together. Corned beef and cabbage on rye with Thousand Island dressing.

“You know, I don’t care. I just want to get back to my restaurant,” Billy said, chopping lettuce with a knife like the pro he was.

He sure was skilled with a knife.

“Maybe you’re right. I remember you telling me that you could have killed Nick because of the things he did to you. I think that stealing your girlfriend was the worst. But, Billy, didn’t you think she wanted to go?” I sliced the corned beef on the big slicer.

“He charmed the pants off Leslie and then left her broken and mortified. She came back to me for a while and I helped her pick up the pieces, though
things were never the same between us. But I still love her.”

“But you’re dating Aileen Shubert. Maybe things will work out all right this time.”

I put the rye bread on a plate, heaped on the corned beef and the cabbage, and squirted the dressing on it all. I put long, fancy toothpicks in it and cut it in half.

“Maybe you’re right.”

“And Antoinette Chloe is
not
nutso.”

He laughed as he spooned tomato sauce on a plate of spaghetti.

“Billy, speaking of Antoinette Chloe, what were you doing at her arraignment? I saw you hanging out by the Laundromat, and then you came into the bar—I mean, courtroom.”

“I was wondering if a friend would be there.”

“Was she?”

“What makes you think I was waiting for a female?”

He had a twinkle in his eye. Yeah, I’d bet one of my cottages that he was waiting for a woman. But he wasn’t going to spill the details.

Curious.

Billy was such a skilled chef, and I was kind of . . . sort of . . . mostly liking him.

But I couldn’t rule him out as a suspect. After all, he was really skilled with a knife.

I
finished my snickerdoodles, packed all the cookies in separate trays, and covered them with plastic wrap. I shook hands with Billy, welcomed Juanita, and zombie-walked to my magnificent brass bed.

As I reached the Big House, I saw Ty sitting on the front porch, facing Tent Town. He must have been watching the exodus.

There was not much left except overflowing trash cans, litter that didn’t make the cans, and lots and lots of mud.

Oh, and one tent: Billy’s.

The potty and shower vendor was loading the blue plastic facilities on a truck. One potty and one shower remained behind: Billy’s private facilities.

I took a seat next to Ty. “What’s going on with the contestants?”

He smacked his lips. “Two committee members brought breakfast over. I smell bacon and coffee, and I’m drooling.”

“I’ll bring you something.”

I went into the Big House and found everyone gathered around the oak table. The food was set
up on my counter, like a buffet. Picking up a plate, I fixed breakfast for Ty, and poured him a cup of coffee. Black.

“Anything new on the room mess?” Aileen said. “I see that Ty’s watching the house.”

“Yeah, he is. This plate of food and the coffee are for him. Did any of you ladies hear anything yesterday?”

“Nothing,” said Jane. “But I did tell Ty that I smelled something.”

“Like what?” I perked up.

“Cologne. Strong stuff,” she said. “Like the stuff Antoinette Chloe wears.”

ACB heard her name and turned. “I make my own perfume from essential oils, and I wouldn’t destroy my own things, Jane, dear.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean that you did. I meant that I smelled perfume like yours. It’s unique—and overpowering.”

“Maybe a bottle was spilled by the criminal,” I suggested, noting that ACB’s feelings were hurt. “But I was in the room right after, and didn’t notice a strong smell of perfume.”

I turned to the committee members, Pam Grassley and Jean Harrington, who were on duty today.

“When are you leaving for the auditorium? I want to go to the reception and meet the rest of the contestants,” I said.

“We’re rolling out in exactly a half hour,” Pam said. “It’s finally pageant dress-rehearsal time!”

The screams that came from the contestants—and ACB—had to be disturbing the salmon on their swim upstream. I could envision them all
making a U-turn and doing the breaststroke back to wherever it was that they came from.

Ty ran into the room, ready for action. At the sight of his drawn gun, the contestants launched into more screams. He holstered it as the ladies ran upstairs.

“What the devil?” Ty looked baffled. He probably expected a hale and hearty criminal, not a bunch of screaming Miss Salmon hopefuls.

“They’re just excited. It’s dress-rehearsal day,” I said, putting his plate and coffee on the kitchen table. “Have a seat, Ty.”

He moved his plate and coffee where he could see the stairs and the side of the Big House through the bay window and sat down.

Pam and Jean smiled at Ty, leaned closer to him, and hurried to pass him the cream and sugar, in spite of the fact that he’d told them four times that he liked his coffee black. He seemed amused as they went back and forth to the buffet to refill his plate and microwave it back to hotness.

In the meantime, I was putting everything away. If we were rolling in a half hour, I’d better get the Big House cleaned up.

And thank goodness they’d all be leaving with their parents or whomever after the pageant tomorrow night.

I’d have my house back, and peace and quiet would reign once again.

Blondie whined loudly. It was her “I really have to go” whine. I must have missed the pre-whine before with all of the commotion.

I let her out the front door, and sat down on the
stoop to call Clyde and get him working on the cleanup of Tent Town. Right now, with only Billy’s tent left, it looked like Little Tent on the Prairie.

Surprisingly, Chad and Billy were talking together. I don’t know why that surprised me again. I’d seen them talking before.

Maybe they were chatting about the break-in. Maybe they were the ones who broke in. I could believe anything about Chad Dodson, but since I had gotten to know Billy, I liked him. But I couldn’t rule him out as Nick’s killer yet.

I got ahold of Clyde, and he was already on the scene with his four-wheeler, dragging the utility wagon behind. He was picking up all the trash cans and probably taking them back to the fishing stations after he dumped everything into the Dumpster.

Then my mind wandered. I wondered if I could squeeze any more information out of Sal. He’d just hate the fact that ACB was arrested.

I needed a trip with Ty to Auburn Correctional Facility to see Sal again. Or maybe I could just call him.

I hurried back inside with Blondie. Ty was still eating, but everyone was out of the kitchen.

“Ty, does Sal know that ACB was arrested for killing Nick?”

“Not that I know of.”

“But her arrest is important to him. If he still loves her like I think he does, he’ll be crazy with worry. Do you think he’d be persuaded to help with ACB’s future on his mind? Maybe he was holding something back.”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know if he could tell us anything more than he has already, but it’s worth a try.”

“Road trip?” I asked, wondering how I could possibly fit in a trip to the real Big House.

“I’ll call him, Trixie. Stay out of it.”

I poured him another cup of coffee. “Do you have any information about the goof who kept banging into ACB’s van?”

“It was a rental car that was stolen from Harbor Rentals. They were washing the car and cleaning the inside. The keys were in the car, and someone wearing a black hoodie, black sweats, and sunglasses drove it away. They think it was some kid who just wanted to drive a hot car and get into a little trouble.”

“And this car looked just like Chad Dodson’s? What are the odds?” I asked.

“Nah, the colors were the same, but he has a T-Bird. What was stolen was a Camry.”

“Camry? I was that far off?”

“You were in panic mode. It’s totally understandable, Trixie.”

“So, you think it’s a kid out for a joyride? Must be that I was in the way, so he had to keep bumping me.”

“Vern McCoy found the Camry in a ditch on Cow Path Road. It was out of gas. Vern dusted for prints. We’ll find the person.”

Cow Path Road wasn’t far from the point, and it ran parallel to Route 3. It was all hills and valleys, and the kids loved to race on it.

“Ty, are you sure that the driver of the Camry
wasn’t trying to run ACB off the road? I mean, it was me driving, but it was her van.”

“It’s possible.”

We said good-bye because I had to get ready for pageant practice.

Then I wondered if I could call Sal before Ty did. I wanted to appeal to him as a friend of ACB’s, which I was. If he had any more information, I’d try to get it out of him.

But when I went upstairs to my room and dialed the number that I had been given by jail personnel, I found out that I wasn’t on Sal Brown’s call list, so Auburn wouldn’t put me through to him, no matter how I pleaded and whined to Correctional Officer Stone.

Darn! Antoinette Chloe would have to call Sal.

Or maybe I could pretend to be ACB to get by Correctional Officer Stone.

“Hello, Correctional Officer Stone. I’d like to speak with my ex-husband, Sal Brown. My name is Antoinette Chloe Brown.”

“Miz Brown, don’t you know that you must speak with the inmate’s counselor first? Depending on how many personal calls he’s received already, he might not be eligible to talk with you. If he’s eligible, his counselor will then have to go to his cellblock to get him and call you back. Then, finally, the counselor will put the inmate on the phone.”

Officer Stone recited his spiel like a robot. He must be bored to death. I wondered whom he offended or what rule he broke to be assigned to phone duty.

I cleared my throat and tried to imitate the
fluttery way that ACB spoke. “Would you kindly put Sal’s counselor on the line, Lieutenant Stone?”

“Uh, it’s Correctional Officer Stone . . . but stay on the line for Correctional Officer Cuddy, please.”

“Thank you so much!”

Officer Cuddy had such a high voice I thought that I was speaking with a member of the Vienna Boys’ Choir, but he stated that Sal was eligible for one personal call and I was to stand by. I also had to answer several personal questions that only ACB would know the answer to, but, being a close friend of hers, I could answer correctly—with the exception of her Social Security number.

I fluttered and stammered and finally flirted enough with Officer Cuddy that he gave me another question. Success!

I was on edge. I couldn’t control the jumping of my foot or the drumming of my fingers on the phone stand. Then I thought about how Ty would kill me if he ever found out that I beat him to Sal.

He’d be one ticked-off cop—that’s for sure.

But he just didn’t move fast enough for me.

The phone rang, and I jumped twenty feet in the air. As I returned to my chair, I greeted the incarcerated-for-life Sal Brown.

“Don’t say anything, Mr. Brown, but this isn’t Antoinette Chloe. This is Trixie Matkowski.”

“Oh, joy. Wassup?”

“I just wanted to tell you that Antoinette Chloe was arrested for killing Nick. I need you to help me out, for Antoinette Chloe’s sake. She asked me to help her, so I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

“I heard she was arrested. I’m in jail, not on Mars. How is my dearest darling? Is she doing okay?”

“You know her. She always lands on her flip-flops.”

“Yeah. What a broad! I wish she’d never divorced me.”

“I don’t know what she was thinking,” I said with frost hanging from each word. “And
broad
? Did you really say
broad
?”

“Oh, excuse me, Miz Matkowski. I’ll immediately enroll in a politically correct terminology class in the cellblock.”

He was being sarcastic, and I tried not to laugh, but it was nearly impossible when he was trying to be the star of a 1950s gangster B movie. Maybe it was simply a case of jail survival, but I think that Sal should update his slang for the times.

“Sal, didn’t you say that you were jealous of Nick dating Antoinette Chloe?”

“Yeah. It tore my heart out when I heard about them. When I told Nicky to take care of her, I didn’t mean sleep with her.” I could hear the sadness in his voice. “But she could never kill anyone. Has Ty’s cheese slipped off his cracker?”

Sal Brown was absolutely right about ACB, but I felt a need to defend Ty.

“I think someone is trying to frame her, Sal. I don’t know who yet, but it’s obvious. Her stuff was littered around the crime scene. It was obviously planted there. Ty had no choice but to arrest her. Besides, it was for her own protection, but she
begged me to get her out so she could emcee the Miss Salmon Contest.”

“Who would want to frame my beloved Antoinette Chloe?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Damned if I know. She’s a saint.” Suddenly Sal shouted, “I did it. I killed Nicky. Tell Ty that I’ll give a statement that I did it. I killed Nicky. I killed my brother. I didn’t like the fact that he was sleeping with my wife.”

“But, Sal, you were in jail at the time Nick was killed.”

“You can get anything done in here, if you know the right people, and I do,” he said. “I’ll take the rap for killing Nicky, not my Antoinette Chloe.”

“Sal, that’s really so sweet of you, but I don’t believe you, so I doubt Ty will. So, listen. Can you think of anything—anything at all that could help Antoinette Chloe?”

There was silence for a while. “Okay. I didn’t want to tell Ty this because I was afraid that they’d audit our restaurant, but I was involved with Chad Dodson and helping him launder money. It was gambling money from hot games in the basement of Nicky’s restaurant.”

“Go ahead.”

“One day, Nicky stumbled into our private gambling club that was meeting in his basement. His restaurant was closed on Monday, so why the hell didn’t he stay away?”

“So, you were all gambling, Sal?” I asked.

“I love Texas Hold ’Em, and I would disappear every Sunday night. I told Antoinette Chloe that I was seeing our friend, Alan Lohman, at a nursing home in Boston, but Al died years ago. Instead I was going to play cards. We would start early on Monday morning and play until eight o’clock. Chad had a great business going with the private club. He charged a couple of grand for players to belong, and the house took a cut on each game. The money would go through the restaurant and come out squeaky-clean.”

“And then Nick found out?” I asked.

“And he had a fit—said that no one was going to use his restaurant and smear his good name to launder money from illegal gambling or illegal anything. He hopped on his motorcycle and drove through the dining room and kitchen and wrecked the place, and took off down the highway. Crazy fool. It was a gold mine for me and Chad. We would have cut Nicky in, but he was too straight. Everyone was scared that Nicky would go to the cops, so we all took to the wind.”

“Did you launder money through Brown’s Four Corners, too?” I asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Nick broke his partnership agreement with Chad and left him high and dry. Now Chad is broke. You should also know that Chad is sniffing around Nick’s life-insurance policy that names Antoinette Chloe, then Chad and you as beneficiaries. Do you think that someone’s trying to get Antoinette Chloe into jail and out of the way?”

Sal let loose a few nice swearwords. “Sorry,
Trixie.” Then he took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not the one trying to get my darling in jail. My sweet lady would fade like a cut rose in jail. I’d place a bet on Chad, though. He’s a slippery one, and he needs fast money. If I find out that Chad is doing anything against my Antoinette Chloe, I’ll take care of him. I got nothing to lose.”

“Sal, this was very helpful, but I have to go. Antoinette Chloe and I have to get going to the Miss Salmon reception and the dress rehearsal.”

“My Antoinette Chloe should be entered in the pageant. She’d win. She’s just beautiful,” Sal said just before a tape recording told us his time was up.