A Potluck of Murder and Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  “I didn’t uncover anything.”

  “You listened in on the President and those other two dopes. And you would have figured out things soon enough. Especially about the murder, which was my main concern.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened. Like you said earlier, I’m not that bright. In fact, if you let me go, we can forget this whole thing.” Not a chance in hell. But, again, he didn’t need to know that.

  “I don’t think so, Miss Malloy.” He straightened and stepped forward, giving me the feeling my time was just about up.

  “What about the President?” I was grasping at straws. “If he’s arrested for fraud, won’t he or Booger or Delmont confess your role in Boo-Boo’s death?”

  He offered me a droll smile. “I took care of that. Remember, I’m a pretty smart guy.” He tapped his right temple. “My wife’s prepared to swear she refused the President’s advances, which infuriated him. She’ll say he swore he’d get back at her. So, if he insinuates anything, we’ll contend he simply has an ax to grind.”

  “Why? Why would she go along with that?”

  “She doesn’t want her daddy upset with her. And he would be upset if he learned she’d been involved in a series of . . . inappropriate liaisons. Even if she was coerced.”

  “What about Booger and Delmont? What will stop them from talking?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Everyone knows they do whatever the President says. Given that, their statements would never hold much credence.”

  He stepped directly in front of me, and my mind went blank, as if it knew the end was near. As if it knew there was no point in further fighting the inevitable.

  Tears clouded my vision, and I was just about to ask if he’d let Otto go before he did whatever he was going to do to me, when I heard what sounded like a car door slam in the alley.

  The sheriff must have heard it, too, because he said, “I’ve enjoyed our little chat, but I better leave now.”

  I wondered how he planned to kill me and decided to ask. “What about me?”

  The man calmly replied, “Well, the Hot Dish Heaven Café is about to burn down, and you’ll be trapped in the fire.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  As if propelled by a force far greater than me, I then lunged at him.I was determined to stop him from burning down the café. And determined to save Otto and myself. But, as I pushed against him, I caught a glimpse of a shiny metal object in his hand. I also heard my cell phone ring. Then, my world went dark.

  Part IV

  Eat It All Up

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I PRESUMED I WAS DEAD. And because I smelled smoke, I doubted eternity was going to be very pleasant. I couldn’t imagine what I had done to warrant a sentence to hell, but, obviously, I’d been sent there. In addition to being smoky, it was dark and smelly. And it scared me to death—well, you know what I mean.

  I couldn’t overcome the notion that there had been a mistake. That I’d been directed to this place in error. But, if that was true, how did I ask for a review? How did I request a do-over?

  My cheek itched. Or was it a tickle? I couldn’t rub it. I had no arms. Either that or they just wouldn’t work. Figures. Hell was being unable to scratch an itch.

  Another tickle. Although this one was wet. And it was followed by several more, all of them accompanied by whining.

  Admittedly, I was an accomplished whiner. But I wasn’t making these noises. No, it wasn’t me. It was someone—or something—else. A dog, perhaps? Yes, a dog. My dog. It was Otto.

  How cruel! That was my first thought. How could a little dog be sent to hell? The worst he had ever done was piddle against my indoor flower pots. Otto wasn’t particularly smart. All the more reason to judge him with leniency.

  More licking and whimpering until I forced my eyes open. They only fluttered, yet it was enough to see Otto sitting on my chest, watching me with deep concern. Once more I went to lift my arms, and this time I succeeded. Barely. I patted his back. “It’s okay, little guy.” My voice sounded like tires on gravel. “It’s okay.”

  My dog didn’t appear convinced. And surveying my surroundings, I understood why. While we weren’t in hell or even dead for that matter, we were shut up in my room. And it was rapidly filling with smoke.

  Of course we had to get out, but I wasn’t sure how to stand up to make that happen. I rolled onto my side and pushed myself into a quasi-sitting position. My head felt like it was about to pop, and when I lifted my hand to inspect it, I discovered a bump the size of a hockey puck. The sheriff must have knocked me out with his gun. I thought I recalled something like that. Again I gently patted the lump, my fingers sticky from the blood matted to my hair. “Otto, we have to go.”

  I used the bed to leverage myself to my feet. Then, with my pup in my arms, I staggered to the bedroom door. This time I forgot to check the knob, and when I grabbed it, I burned my fingers. Even so, I pulled the door open and peered down the hall. The smoke caused my eyes to water, and I had to rub them a number of times before I got a clear picture of the flames licking their way up the staircase. It wasn’t one of the sheriff’s tricks. It was the real deal. The café was on fire. And Otto and I were trapped.

  Bending over and barely clearing Otto’s head, I threw up everything I’d eaten that day. And when done being sick, I collapsed on the floor, completely spent. I wanted to save myself and Otto, but I was too worn out to move. Besides, I had no clue where to go. The flames had ascended the staircase and were making their way down the hall. It wouldn’t be long before they overwhelmed us.

  My head was fogging up again. I knew Otto was nestled against my chest, and I assumed he was getting sleepy, just like me, but beyond that, I couldn’t comprehend much. I needed rest. More rest. After that, I’d be able to . . .

  As I fell deeper into the smoky abyss, I heard my furry little friend whimper. Then, he coughed. And even in my stupor, it sounded pathetic. But not nearly as pathetic as the sound he made when he began to gag. That was so wretched I pressed myself back to consciousness just to check on him.

  Peering through my matted lashes, I saw him staring at me. By way of another whine, he asked why I wasn’t helping him. I tried to answer but couldn’t. My mouth was too raw. A coughing fit of my own then led me to scrunch my eyes shut against the pain. And that’s when I heard him gag again. No doubt about it, he was dying. My little buddy was dying. If I didn’t do something soon, it would be too late.

  Calling on every last bit of strength, I wrenched my eyes open and shoved myself to my knees. After that, I crawled back into the bedroom, determined to save Otto or die trying.

  THE ONLY ESCAPE ROUTE was the sole second-story window at the back of my room, and I crawled toward it. Reaching the nightstand, I grabbed the lamp and inadvertently knocked my plate of desserts to the floor. Then, yanking the lamp’s plug from the wall socket, I shuffled along on my knees.

  At the window, between body-racking coughs, I lifted the lamp over my head, extending its base out in front of me. I was about to swing it at the glass when the fire siren blasted down the street, startling me backwards, onto my butt.

  The blaring noise filled my head, while renewed hope overflowed my heart. Evidently, people were on their way. Yet, when I saw Otto’s limp form in my arms and heard the staircase collapse behind me, much of that hope fell away.

  The town of Kennedy was small, and the fire station was located just down the road from the Hot Dish Heaven Café. But, as was the case in many small communities, Kennedy’s firefighters were volunteers, which meant they had to race from their homes to the fire hall to get their equipment before answering any calls. And that took time. Otto and I didn’t have time.

  No doubt, if we were to survive, I’d have to make it happen myself. So, with desperate urgency driving me, I buried Otto’s face in my chest, shut my eyes, and smashed the lamp against the window. Peeking out from beneath my half-closed eyelids, I found I had broken through the insid
e pane as well as the old storm window.

  Using the base of the lamp, I went on to poke away the stubborn pieces of glass. And, once that was done, I dropped the lamp and nabbed a pillow off the bed to wipe the shards from the ledge. I then leaned through the window and spotted a few cars headed into town, but I was certain the people in them wouldn’t be able to help us. The smoke was getting thicker. I was having difficulty breathing. And the flames were all but racing into the room.

  Barely able to see, I pulled what I hoped was the quilt from the bed and doubled it over the window ledge. Next, I positioned myself on the ledge, as if mounting a horse. Lifting my inside foot out, I contorted my torso until I was perched on the opening, one arm cradling Otto, the other braced against the window frame to keep me from falling. Another glimpse down the road, and I realized I had no choice. My only hope was to jump and pray I didn’t die when I hit the icy sidewalk.

  To improve my odds by getting five feet closer to the ground, I wiggled around until I was dangling from the window, my free arm clamped like a vise on the ledge. Another loud crash from inside. Probably the floor giving way. I tightened my grip on Otto, made a silent plea to God, and let go. It was then that my world once again faded to black.

  WHEN I CAME TO, I was on a gurney, inside an ambulance. I was covered with blankets, an oxygen mask over my mouth. It was dark, but because of the moonlight shining through the open door, I was able to make out the shadowed figure next to me. It was Randy.

  “Welcome back.” He bent down and kissed my forehead.

  “Otto?” I mumbled through my mask.

  “He’s fine.” A smile lurked at the edges of his mouth. “The guys gave him oxygen, but they’ll also have the vet in Greenbush check him out.”

  I had lots of questions, but I was in too much pain to concentrate on them. “I hurt.”

  He caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I can only imagine. You have a concussion. In a few minutes, you’re going to the hospital in Hallock. You’ll spend the rest of the night there with Doc Watson. Remember him?”

  I pulled my mask down. “I’ve spent more time with him than with you.” During my first trip to Kennedy, I’d ended up in the hospital, under the care of Doctor Watson, a grisly, old man with a gruff manner but a soft heart. “I don’t—”

  “Emme, you’ll hurt his feelings if you don’t go.” He was clearly teasing, although his countenance didn’t match his words. He appeared worried and, perhaps, even a little scared. “Plus, you have to get checked out. It could have been a whole lot worse. Thankfully, Shitty broke your fall.”

  “What?” Shitty was a portly plumber who drove a van with a sign on the side that read, “Your Sh** Is My Bread and Butter.” Yep, he was a class act. And, from the sound of it, my hero.

  “He’s a volunteer with the fire department. He was on his way to the fire hall when he spotted you climbing out the window. He stopped his van in the middle of the highway and ran to help. He got there just as you let go. You landed on top of him.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Yeah. Doc’s going to take a few x-rays. But, he seems fine.”

  I coughed, and Randy returned the oxygen mask to its rightful place over my face. “Rest now. You’ve got quite an egg on your head and several lacerations. Doc says you’ll need stitches.”

  “Randy.”

  He nervously fidgeted with my blanket. “You know, if you were that desperate for me to visit, you could have called.” Obviously, he wasn’t sure what to say and was doing his best to mask his unease. “You didn’t have to start the building on fire.”

  I whispered, “I did call.”

  He dropped all pretense. “I know.” His voice was raspy with emotion. “I got here as soon as I could.”

  “Did you catch ’im?”

  He let go of an exasperated breath. “You mean Booger and Delmont? Well, I lost track of them, and that made me worried about you. I phoned, but you didn’t answer. I thought that was odd, so I drove over to make sure you were okay.” He sighed. “As I turned down the alley, I spotted the two of them. Booger and Delmont. They were standing next to Delmont’s pickup, talking with the sheriff. I pulled up, and the sheriff closed Delmont’s truck topper.” He shrugged. “The sheriff then sent Booger and Delmont on their way and ordered me back to the office. Said that after questioning them, he saw no point in following them. Said he was positive they had nothing to do with Bair’s death. He insisted we start concentrating all our efforts on building a case against Tom.”

  He took my hand. “I was almost to Hallock when Ed radioed me that the café was on fire. Right away I figured there was a connection to Booger and Delmont.”

  With his free hand, he brushed my hair off my forehead. “I couldn’t get back here fast enough. Ed said he suspected you were trapped inside. He said he’d already called for an ambulance.” He swallowed hard. “I was really scared, Emme. Scared that . . .” He didn’t finish. There was no need.

  Once more I pulled the mask down. “Booger and Delmont weren’t there, Randy. Not when the sheriff was with me.”

  “What?” His hand tightened around mine. “What do you mean, ‘when the sheriff was with you’?”

  I cleared my throat. “He conned me into opening my bedroom door. Said he had to kill me because I was on to him. I wasn’t, but he thought . . .” I touched the welt on my head. “I got him to tell me most everything before he knocked me out and left me to die.”

  Randy’s body tensed. His muscles coiled against my skin. “The sheriff?”

  “I thought you knew. You said—”

  “I told Ed to pick up Booger and Delmont. He found a couple empty gasoline cans in the back of their truck. Not exactly hard evidence, but he still arrested them on suspicion of arson. They started spilling their guts before he even got them cuffed. Claimed they had nothing to do with the fire. Insisted it had to be the sheriff’s doing. Naturally, Ed didn’t take them seriously.”

  “The sheriff wanted me dead, Randy. He was going to make it look like an accident. Like I got caught in the fire.”

  He shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. He knows it’ll take the fire marshal less than two minutes to determine that this was arson.”

  “So? With me dead, no one but Booger and Delmont could point the finger at him.”

  Randy continued along that same line of thought. “And, if the gas cans in the back of Delmont’s pickup got tied to the fire, their statements would be worthless.”

  The wheels were spinning in his head. “Tiny and his fed buddies picked him up, Emme. The sheriff, I mean. They had to in light of Booger and Delmont’s claims.” He glanced over his shoulder. “He’s expected to be released soon, though. I need to call Ed and bring him up to date.”

  “He killed Boo-Boo.”

  He pulled his head back, as if he’d been cuffed along the jaw. “The sheriff? He confessed to you?”

  “Uh-huh. Though the way he tells it, it was more of an accident.”

  “Why? Did he say why he did it?”

  “Boo-Boo had an affair with his wife.”

  He frowned. “I thought she was involved with the President.”

  “She was.”

  I stopped for a much needed breather. “Randy, the President was part of the fraud conspiracy.”

  “He’s not in custody. No one can find him. When the fire started, Tiny dropped his surveillance. Thought he should be here, instead. Then, after Booger and Delmont started running off at the mouth, Tiny volunteered to pick up the sheriff. We decided it would be better for everyone if us deputies kept our distance.”

  The pain in my head was getting to me, and I may have winced.

  “You need to get to the hospital.” He gently kissed my lips before once again placing the oxygen mask over my mouth. “I have to go. But I’ll check in on you later.”

  “Be careful,” I mumbled.

  He chuckled. “Says the woman lying on the gurney in the ambulance.”

  Ch
apter Thirty

  IT WAS NEW YEAR’S DAY, and we were sitting around a table at the Kennedy Senior Center. Randy had picked me up at the hospital around noon. My face was battered, my knees were scratched, the palm of my right hand was burned and patched, and my right ankle was deeply bruised, necessitating crutches for the next week or so.

  Before I was released, Randy and Ed interviewed me at length, after which, I borrowed Randy’s phone and called my editor. I agreed to file a story about what had happened. I promised to e-mail it to him within the next twenty-four hours. He assured me I’d get a byline. He also wanted to talk to me about changing my assignment. Moving me to hard news. I told him we could discuss it when I returned to the office. But, first, I was taking a two-week vacation.

  The nurses at the hospital helped me get the blood out of my hair, and Barbie promised to trim it to hide the bald spot, where stitches stretched for more than an inch. But there wasn’t anything they could do to save my pajamas, so I was wearing one of Margie’s old sweat suits. It was pink and pilled, with a pair of kittens embroidered on the top. As for the bottoms, they were so big I had to bunch them at the waist and secure the knot with a safety pin. And, if that weren’t bad enough, because all my belongings were burned to a crisp, I was presently going commando.

  Given that, Margie didn’t want her sweat suit back. And while Randy agreed to take me shopping in Grand Forks the following morning, he only did so after laughing at my predicament, until I threatened to hit him with my crutch.

  BARBIE SERVED COFFEE and Breakfast Hot Dish along with rolls she’d picked up at the Farmer Store before making her way down to Kennedy. She said she was there, with us, as a friend first and a reporter second. But Margie confided in me that our friend needed our company as much as we needed hers. “Tom’s sponsor took him to an in-house treatment center this mornin’,” she explained. “She can’t see him for a while, so she’s feeling kind of lost, don’t ya know. I’m not sure what she’s gonna do.”