Smothered in Onions

by Tracey Quinn

  I had mentally zoned out while he droned on and I was jolted back to reality by his question.

  “Lunch special?” I repeated. “Oh, uh, that would be a ham sausage and cheese sub, French fries or mixed greens and walnut salad, bacon mac and cheese or barbecued baked beans, and for dessert we have chocolate chip shortbread with strawberries and whipped cream. You can order in advance over your phone if you're in a hurry to get back for your speech.”

  “No, no,” he replied. “I don't mind waiting. You know how it is every time I go into the diner. People stop eating and rush over to shake my hand, some want autographs. I have a duty to be an example for the people in this town to show that no cowardly villain will force us into hiding. By the way, if I drop the salad can I get both the mac and cheese and baked beans along with the fries?”

  “Sure,” I said. “No problem.”

  As we left the booth Mark said, “Was it just me or did Mayor Pumphrey seem more worried about being suspected of murdering Lloyd Duval than he was about being murdered himself, as he claimed?”

  “He's got you to thank for that,” I replied.

  “Me? Why?”

  “When you weaseled your way out of talking to Helen and Heather and stuck me with them like a cowardly backstabber, which as you can see I've completely forgiven you for, they told me that one of Mayor Pumphrey's neighbors saw him drive away from his house on the night of Lloyd Duval's murder and he was gone all night.”

  “And you think he was out at the rec center using Lloyd Duval for target practice?”

  “Someone killed him and it wasn't Gene McGee. I'd like to know where Mayor Pumphrey went that night. Let's face it, he wasn't going to get up in the middle of the night to do anything related to his duties as mayor.”

  We were approaching the horse-race game booth and I could see that Suze already had a good crowd of bettors even at this early hour. It seemed like something that the authorities should shut down, but then again, most things that Suze did seemed like that so I guess this was just par for the course. I saw Katie West near the crowd of onlookers, pushing a stroller with her toddler Wendy in it. Katie is the wife of Jerry West, an old school friend of mine and coach of the East Spoon Creek High School basketball team.

  She saw us too and called, “Once I can drag the kids away from these games I'm going straight to your booth! I missed breakfast today and I could eat a horse!”

  “I hope you'll settle for a corn dog,” I replied.

  “Make it two corn dogs and it's a deal,” Katie laughed. “The boys are waiting in line to get a turn to play this horse-racing game. It must be a lot of fun; look at how big the crowd is for it!”

  “Er, yes, it certainly has a lot to offer people of all ages.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot, Jerry said to tell you that Jimmy is going to be the starting forward in the next basketball game. He thought you guys might want to come and see it.”

  “Jimmy? You mean Jimmy from the Breezy Spoon?” Mark asked incredulously.

  “Yes, it's his first game. He's had a hard time getting onto the team since he's only about 5' 6” but four of the starting players came down with some kind of flu so Jerry's giving him a chance. Jimmy's really excited about getting to play.”

  “Well, I wouldn't want to miss that,” I said. “We'll try to be there.”

  After we left Mark said, “It's too bad Suze doesn't know that Jimmy's playing. I wouldn't mind making a bet on the other team.”

  “You'd never get anyone to take that bet,” I said. “So are you okay going with me to the basketball game so we can be supportive of Jimmy?”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I'm okay with it.”

  My phone was ringing and I pulled it out of my pocket and saw that it was Charlene once again. “Someday when I'm rich I'm going to have a secretary whose job is to handle phone calls from people I don't want to talk to,” I said.

  “It's Charlene, is it?” Mark asked.

  “Who else?” I hit the call button on the phone and said, “What is it, Charlene?”

  “Hi, Miss O'Shea. Where do we buy the disposable gloves we use for cleaning?”

  The disposable gloves again! What was her obsession with them? It's not like she ever did any cleaning! “I don't know where we buy them, Charlene. If we're not out of them, why does it matter?”

  “Well, I suppose it doesn't unless we buy them from the Kettletown glove factory,” Charlene said. “The Breezy Spoon is boycotting the glove factory.”

  “Boycotting the glove factory? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, Jolene told me how a big truck that said 'Kettletown Glove Factory' on the side ran into Dr. Griffin's car down by the rec center and then it just drove away without stopping or anything! It was a hit and run; can you imagine? He called the sheriff but that was the night of the bank robbery so the sheriff didn't come and the truck got away. Jolene says everybody in town should boycott the glove factory until they do right by poor Dr. Griffin and pay to fix his car, so I've been telling everyone who comes in to the diner not to buy gloves from them, but then I saw our gloves for cleaning and I thought I should call you to see if we needed to throw them away to make a point.”

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing from Charlene, and not just for the usually reasons; a truck from the Kettletown glove factory had been driving down the street by the rec center on the night of the bank robbery! And it hadn't stopped when it got into an accident, probably because either Maurice Sharp or his son had just killed Lloyd Duval in the bank vault and had to get away from the scene of the crime! I needed to have another conversation with Maurice Sharp, and soon.

  “Don't throw away the gloves,” I said. “Just wait on the customers, okay?”

  “What about the men from the glove factory?” Charlene asked. “Is it okay to wait on them?”

  “What men?”

  “There are two men from the glove factory here and they want to talk to you. Should I wait on them or do you want me to boycott their order?”

  “I'll be right there,” I said.

  “Lake monster attacking the Breezy Spoon?” Mark inquired as I hung up.

  “Something like that. I'm sorry but I've got to get over there so we'll have to cut short the tour.”

  “That's okay. If we went much further I was going to have to start crawling on all fours to stay out of Dora's line of sight, so this works for me.”

  Chapter 13

  When I walked into the Breezy Spoon I saw Maurice Sharp and his son Todd sitting at a booth in the corner, eating omelets and hash browns. Don was behind the counter and he grinned at me as I came in.

  “The guy said they weren't going to leave until they could talk to you, but I told them they couldn't stay unless they ordered something,” he said.

  “Good thinking.”

  “Hey, I never miss a chance to make a sale!”

  I walked over to the Sharps' booth, but before I could say anything, Maurice snarled, “It's about time you showed up! What's the idea of telling everybody to boycott us?! If you wanna play hardball, we can play hardball, too!”

  “You mean like you did with Lloyd Duval?” I asked.

  “Is that what this is about?” Maurice demanded. “So you're still trying to pin the murder on us, are you? Why don't you get a different hobby, lady!”

  “Hey, can I get onions on my hash browns?” Todd asked. “I like 'em better with onions.”

  “No you can't, dummy!” Maurice snapped. “Don't you know where those onions have been?!”

  I wished I had my black light with me. It wasn't good for finding stains anymore but I could still hit someone over the head with it. “I think you're the one who needs a different hobby,” I said. “Apparently the pool game in Chucky's Bar didn't hold your attention enough to keep you from going out to see Lloyd Duval on the night he was murdered. And the next time you try to sneak away from the scene of a crime, try not to hit other cars. That's 'how to get
away with murder' 101.”

  Maurice scowled at me as he took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirtfront, which was dirtier than the glasses were. When he spoke, it was in a hushed voice: “Look, take it easy with the murder stuff, lady! Okay, so we drove out to that dump where Duval gave his lectures, but that's no crime; we didn't do nothing wrong! We didn't even see him!”

  “We didn't wanna see him!” Todd added.

  “Shut up and let me handle this, will ya?” Maurice retorted.

  “So you expect me to believe that you were just driving around to get some fresh air and you decided to play pinball with other cars for fun?” I said. “You went there because Lloyd was there.”

  “No, we went there because Lloyd's car was there. You've seen that car he drives, right? Pretty fancy wheels for a crumb like Lloyd. It had to be worth at least as much as the $15,000 he stole from me, so I figured I'd give him a taste of his own medicine!”

  “You were going to steal his car?”

  “Not steal; just hang on to it until that crook paid me my money back! The cops weren't doing anything to help me, so I had to help myself! In my book that's serving justice, not stealing!”

  “So when you just told me you didn't do anything wrong, that didn't include grand theft auto,” I said.

  “We didn't even take the car,” Todd replied. “The other guy wouldn't let us.”

  “What other guy?”

  “Todd, quit interrupting,” Maurice grumbled. “Yeah, so it didn't work out. We backed the truck up to the front of Duval's car but then we saw this tow truck was getting in position to hook it up from the back! I had Todd go tell the guy to take a hike, that the car belonged to us, but he wouldn't budge!”

  “I tried to make him leave,” Todd added, “but then he got mad and jumped out of the tow truck and started coming after me with a crowbar! The dude was huge! He looked like a- like a....”

  “Grizzly bear?” I asked.

  “Yeah, kinda like that!”

  “We didn't want any trouble with this maniac, we just wanted the car,” Maurice continued. “I tried to reason with him but there was no talking to the hot head! He was getting ready to ram our truck! Then we see headlights coming towards us and we had to get out of there! The guy in the tow truck peeled outta there fast too, so I guess he was some kinda crook only trying to steal the car for himself. It's his fault I swung a little wide and clipped the car driving towards us! He's the guy you ought to boycott!”

  Believe me, I plan to, I thought. One trip in Ray Belcher's tow truck was more than enough for me. I hated to admit it, but Maurice Sharp's story sounded plausible, and if it was true it meant that not only did I have to cross him and his son off my list of suspects, but I'd have to do the same with Ray Belcher.

  “Look, I told you what you wanted to know,” Maurice said. “Can we drop this whole boycott nonsense?”

  “And can I get some onions on my hash browns?” Todd asked.

  As I drove back to the fair I reflected glumly on what I had just learned. I supposed it was possible that either Sharp or Belcher could have circled around and come back to the rec center after the other had left; perhaps once the plan to steal Duval's car had been foiled, the only chance that remained for revenge was to kill him. But I had to admit that it would have been stupid to murder Lloyd right after a witness had just seen them at the scene of the crime.

  That left only Mayor Pumphrey as someone with a real motive for murder- well, the only one other than Gene McGee, and I wasn't about to believe that he was guilty. No, it was clear someone was framing him, not only for the murder but for the bank robbery as well. Was Mayor Pumphrey smart enough to pull that off successfully? It's true he wasn't good at much, but then again he didn't seem to put much effort into anything he did; maybe if he fully put his mind to something, he was more clever than he seemed. Somehow I'd have to find out where he went on the night Duval was killed; there had to be some way to find out if he went to the rec center.

  By the time I reached the fair it was just after noon and the crowds were thick around the booths and games. Mayor Pumphrey was standing at a podium in the center of the square preparing to deliver his eulogy/campaign speech. It was about the only spot in the fair that wasn't drawing a crowd. As I slipped between two of the booths I saw that one of them was selling colorful silk sarongs and scarves, and Teela was sitting behind the counter.

  “Ah, Miss Dani!” Teela called. “I have beautiful new silk sarongs from the islands. You will like to buy them I am sure.”

  Teela and her husband Bildad, a big surly brute who manages Sammy's Lounge, come from “the islands” as she calls them. Several times I've tried to find out from her which islands they are, but so far I'm no closer to knowing the answer.

  “They're quite beautiful,” I said. They were, too, but somehow I had difficulty picturing myself in a sarong. There are sarong people and there are not-sarong people and I was definitely in the latter category.

  Just then a high-pitched whine of feedback blasted out from the microphone on the stage, followed by the crackling voice of Mayor Pumphrey. “Testing, one, two, three. Testing, one, two, three.”

  “Not ready for prime time, as usual,” I muttered.

  “For mayor, he is not a good man,” Teela sniffed. “Always with the loud speeches, and always with the making of trouble! Just few nights ago Bildad not come home all night, and why not?”

  I decided not to hazard a guess.

  “It is mayor, that is why!” Teela continued. “He drink too much at lounge and then he fall asleep on pool table. Sammy tell Bildad that he have to stay watching the mayor so he not fall off the table and sue him. Bildad keep trying to wake him but even when all the sirens from police cars go by, mayor keeps snoring and not waking up. He is very bad man.”

  “Sirens from police cars? Was this the night that Lloyd Duval was murdered?” I asked.

  “Yes, it is night when bank is robbed and that man is killed. Mayor should be watching to make sure people in town are safe but instead Bildad watch him all night!”

  “That sounds about right,” I sighed.

  I was almost in a daze as I made my way through the crowd back to the Breezy Spoon booth. In a matter of an hour my whole suspect list had been torn to shreds! First Maurice Sharp gives himself and Ray Belcher an alibi, and now it seemed like Mayor Pumphrey was in the clear, too! This couldn't be happening; somewhere there was an angle I was missing. There had to be a clue that I wasn't seeing, and I needed to figure out what it was, and fast. If I didn't get to the bottom of this Gene McGee would be locked up for a long time for a murder he didn't commit, and I might never sell an onion ring again.

  That night as I sat in my office at the Breezy Spoon, I felt like I was no closer to clearing things up. I looked at my watch and saw that it was getting close to closing time. I decided I should go home and get some sleep and hope something came to me in the morning. As I left the office I saw the last of the customers heading for the door. The man had just come from the restroom and as he passed a table he stopped to take a few napkins to dry his wet hands.

  “Jimmy!” I fumed. I stalked to the kitchen where Brendan was wiping down the stove top. “Where is Jimmy?!”

  “He's already gone home so you'll have to throttle him tomorrow,” Brendan replied.

  “This ends now!” I growled as I stomped into the restroom. I went to the paper towel dispenser on the wall and turned the knob on the side. A towel came out about an inch and stopped. I pulled on it but the end tore off in my hand without bringing the paper towels out any further. I took the round plastic top off the dispenser, but I couldn't see anything inside. We have a small step stool under the washbowl for kids to reach the soap and water, and I dragged it to the dispenser and climbed up on it to get a better look.

  I still couldn't see what was jamming the dispenser, but now I could reach in. I tried turning the roll manually but it wouldn't budge. I tried running my hand all around the outer edge of the pap
er towels and then across the plastic cylinder in the middle of the dispenser that holds the roll. There! I could feel something like a piece of plastic that was jammed in the cylinder. I could just touch it with my fingertips and move it around a little, but I couldn't quite reach it well enough to pull it out.

  I called to Brendan, “Can you bring me the salad tongs? I can't get this thing out of here.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a bran muffin?” he called back.

  “You're hilarious. Remind me to roll on the floor laughing later.”

  Brendan pushed open the door and handed me the tongs. “What are you trying to do?” he asked.

  “There's a piece of plastic jamming this stupid towel dispenser and I can't reach it,” I said. I took the tongs and tried to fish it out, but whatever it was had rounded edges and I couldn't get a good grip on it.

  Brendan left and came back a minute later with a small ball of pizza dough. “Try putting some of this on each side of the tongs,” he said.

  I stuck the dough on the tongs and tried again. Sure enough, the dough stuck to the piece of plastic and I felt it slip free from the spot where it had lodged.

  “Brendan, you're a genius!” I said. “A lousy comedian, but a genius.”

  “Hey, we can't have everything.”

  Carefully I pulled the tongs free of the roll of paper towels and looked at what I had brought up. “It's a cell phone!” I exclaimed. “Who would drop their cell phone down a paper towel dispenser and not try to get it out?”

  “It doesn't look like one that belongs to anyone that works here,” Brendan said. “Let's turn it on an see if we can find out who owns it.”

  I pressed the button and the screen powered on. In a few seconds I saw whose phone it was and suddenly everything became clear.

  Chapter 14

  It was late the next morning in the lull between the end of the breakfast rush and the start of lunch service when I saw Zeke and Kristi Constable come into the Breezy Spoon. Zeke looked as uncomfortable and ill-tempered as ever in his hat and scarf, and as they came into the dining room I heard him say, “Of course I'm taking it off! I'm burning up in this blasted thing!”