A Second Helping of Murder

by Christine Wenger

  “No, thank goodness, but I helped them search for her. I liked Claire a lot.”

  “I don’t remember you. I was there every summer, too.”

  “They used to call me Peaches.”

  “Peaches? Oh yes! I remember a girl named Peaches. You?”

  “I was quite a bit heavier back then. Even recently. I had a gastric bypass four years ago.”

  “Oh! Tell me something about Claire that you remember, Donna.”

  “I remember how she was always nice to everyone, no matter who.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh! Speaking of Judge Newell—”

  “Were we speaking of him?” I asked.

  “We are now. But speaking of Judge Newell, he had a major crush on her. They dated a couple of times.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “And what happened?” I asked, unwrapping the meat tray, ready to pluck off one of the rolls of roast beef.

  “Well, I guess it was pretty ugly. Claire asked him not to stalk her.”

  “Stalk?”

  “I guess he was a bit too overbearing.”

  Ty never said anything about this. “Was Joe arrested?”

  “No. Claire didn’t want to do that to him because she knew he wanted to become a lawyer.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Apparently, her boyfriend beat the snot out of Joe, and Joe packed up and headed off to Boston somewhere. We never saw him again until he surfaced here as a lawyer, but that was well after Claire’s death.”

  So Claire had both a stalker and a semiviolent boyfriend. Both would make good suspects.

  “Donna, who was her boyfriend?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have a clue, but the man was legendary after he beat up Joe. No one would even smile at Claire unless they were looking for a beating. He got a nickname as the Phantom because no one ever saw him.”

  “Did he beat up a lot of high schoolers?”

  “I hear he did. And he beat up one old guy who was hanging around Claire.”

  “Really? An old guy? How old?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that either, but rumor had it that he was Laura VanPlank’s father.”

  Before I could react, Donna was immediately penitent. “Oh, I shouldn’t spread gossip like that. I know how it feels with Ray and all. The gossips accused him of everything from hacking into the IRS to change our taxes to siphoning off money from the Sandy Harbor Federal Credit Union so we can buy a motor home.”

  “My lips are sealed. I won’t say anything.”

  After that tidbit of information, I pulled out a piece of roast beef and took a small bite. I was famished, but that warred with my investigative instincts. “Too bad that his nickname didn’t start with a B.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. It’s not important.”

  Donna asked everyone to come and eat. More neighbors stopped in whom I hadn’t met, but I liked them immediately. Ty seemed to know them.

  Liz’s cake was cut, and it wasn’t bad for a lemon box cake.

  It was a nice time, and I was glad we went.

  One of the neighbors, Mrs. Gillman, turned to me. “Are you and Sheriff Brisco dating?”

  Ty heard the question. I could tell by the sparkle of amusement in his turquoise eyes.

  “Uh, no,” I said, although my heart skipped a beat at the thought. “Ty and I are like brother and sister.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that statement.

  My heart started pounding. I really should get myself checked out.

  Mrs. Gillman smiled. “But the two of you seem so close, you really seem like lovers to me.”

  Why did she think that? Because we were sitting on the couch together? Or maybe she was just baiting us.

  Still, I almost choked on Donna’s macaroni salad with the dill weed. The word lovers seemed to be such an intimate word to me. And the way that Mrs. Gillman said it, “lahv-ahs,” so breathy, slow, and low, I wanted to open a door on the center island and crawl in there. At least I’d be hidden, but closer to the food.

  Ty, however, was totally amused. Maybe it was the way he held up his mug of coffee in the air like a toast to me. It was his way of saying, “Try and get out of this one.”

  I’ll show him.

  “Mrs. Gillman, we can’t be lahv-ahs,” I said in a loud whisper. “Deputy Brisco told me that he had a training accident at the shooting range, and he, well . . . he was shot in a very, very private place.”

  “Oh!” she said.

  “Oh!” said Donna.

  “Oy,” said Ed and Mr. Gillman in unison.

  “T-Trixie, wh-what the hell . . . ?” sputtered Ty.

  Ray and Liz laughed. They knew that I was joking, but they were the only ones.

  “Oops! I forgot that I had to ride home with Ty!”

  Chapter 12

  There’s nothing like a yearbook to find out information about people when they were younger.

  That was why I was inhaling nonfiction book dust at the Sandy Harbor Library. I scratched my nose as I leafed through the muddy brown hardcover yearbook of the class of 1989.

  Go, Trout!

  I ran my finger down the list of graduates looking for male B’s. There were two Roberts/Bobbys, one William/Billy, and one Buddy, but that was about it. I wrote down their names to check them out. Or maybe Ty could check them out much quicker.

  There was Robert Godfrey and Robert Lawless, Billy Swenti, and Buddy Wilder.

  I’d never heard of any of them, but that didn’t mean anything. I studied their pictures. All of the five were fairly good-looking, and I could see how Claire could fall for any of them.

  “Trixie! So good to see you.”

  That scratchy voice belonged to Mrs. Leddy, my former college professor, now retired, who was now president of the historical association. She was leafing through a magazine and sitting in a flowered Queen Anne chair that had a pattern almost identical to her dress. No wonder I didn’t see her.

  “Mrs. Leddy, I’m glad that I ran into you.”

  “Before I forget, my dear Trixie, I wanted to let you know that I’m coming to the Dance Fest. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m going to kick up my heels. And if my husband doesn’t dance with me—he can be such a poop, you know—I’ll just have to find someone else. Maybe I’ll dance with that handsome cowboy sheriff, unless you’ve already spoken for him.”

  My mouth suddenly went dry. What I wouldn’t give for a tall glass of sweet tea with a ton of ice, but instead of tea, I wanted vodka. Instead of sugar, I wanted tonic. I’d keep the ice.

  I could easily fall for Ty Brisco like a cut Christmas tree. He was the epitome of a hunk. He had that Texas drawl, which was my most favorite accent, tied with Aussie. He was smart, polite, and loved Blondie as much as I did.

  But I hadn’t spoken for him. Had I? Why was everyone so sure we were an item these days?

  “Trixie?”

  “Huh?”

  “We were talking about Deputy Ty, and you drifted away.”

  “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Leddy.” I swallowed hard. “I’m sure that Deputy Brisco would love to dance with you. He keeps telling me that he does a mean two-step.”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl.

  “Mrs. Leddy, you said that you taught at Sandy Harbor High School before you taught college.”

  “That’s right, my dear.”

  “I’m hoping that you know what happened to some of the old graduates from the class of 1989.”

  Mrs. Leddy tilted her head. “Does this have anything to do with Claire Jacobson?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  I handed her my list. “Do you know what happened to Robert Godfrey, Robert Lawless, Billy Swenti, or Bud
dy Wilder?”

  May and June Burke, who were sisters and former teachers and who now volunteered at the library, came over to where I sat with Mrs. Leddy. They both had bluish hair done up in an elaborate style and sprayed with a can or two of hair spray. They were dressed in jersey shirtwaist dresses with tiny flowers. May’s mostly violets, and June’s was lilacs. They were probably in their mideighties. I should look so good at that age.

  They were both very welcoming to me when I first moved to Sandy Harbor, and I’d always appreciated that.

  “You girls are making way too much noise,” May said, taking a seat next to me.

  “We’re going to have to ask you to leave,” June added, leaning an elbow on her sister’s Queen Anne chair.

  They both giggled, and I knew that they were only joking and really wanted to participate in the conversation. Why not? The more the merrier.

  “Mrs. Leddy and I were talking about some of the graduates of the high school: Robert Godfrey, Robert Lawless, Billy Swenti, and Buddy Wilder.”

  Mrs. Leddy studied the list I handed her. “Robert Godfrey got a scholarship to Harvard Med. He’s a plastic surgeon in Los Angeles. I hear that he’s Botoxed or operated on half of Hollywood, but not my Harrison Ford, I’m sure. Even though Harrison is with that skinny actress, I haven’t given up on him.”

  “Did he go to the bonfire that night?”

  “Who? Harrison Ford?”

  “Robert Godfrey.”

  “No. Bobby’s your basic loner.”

  I pretty much ruled him out as a suspect since he didn’t go to the bonfire, but I kept his name on the list.

  She squinted at the next name. “May and June, do you remember Robert Lawless?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” said May. “He was a terrible student. I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a criminal. He tried to live up to his last name, but I lost track of him.”

  Mr. Lawless moved to second on my list of suspects, just under the man with the severe case of zipperitis: Mr. Grant VanPlank.

  Mrs. Leddy continued. “Billy Swenti was at a wedding I attended. He was always such a good-natured boy with an easy smile and a handshake for everyone. He wasn’t a bad student either. He lives out on Route 237 with his partner—isn’t that an interesting term? His partner is Ronnie Owens. They both are organic farmers, and they adopted a passel of children with special needs, God bless them all. Billy is a disk jockey, too. That’s what he was doing at the wedding. Oh, what horrible music he played—thump, thump, thump! And the tattoos he had, oh my! Even on his neck. And he had earrings in his ears and his nose and eyebrows. Can you imagine? I said, ‘Billy, you were always such a good-looking boy. Why did you do that to yourself?’ But he just laughed, and he played ‘My Way’ by Frank Sinatra for me.”

  “I really liked him,” June said. “He was such a lonely boy, wasn’t he, May? None of the other boys wanted to play with him.”

  Then I remembered. “Oh, wait! I order vegetables from them. Is their farm called Various Veggies and Fruits?”

  “Yep, that’s them. Billy used to be such a handsome boy. He needs those tattoos and jewelry on his face like I need another boob,” June said.

  I burst out laughing, and got a “shush” or six from the library patrons and one volunteer librarian.

  Billy Swenti didn’t seem like a good suspect, and the fact that he and his partner had adopted a “passel of children” made me think that if Billy got Claire pregnant, he’d welcome his child.

  But I kept him on the list anyway.

  “What about Buddy Wilder?” I asked, wiping away tears of laughter.

  “The last I knew he was a priest in Brooklyn and was working with drug addicts,” Mrs. Leddy said. “We took up a collection for his program in church.”

  Buddy was a shaky suspect, but I kept him on the list, too.

  I’d turn over my “B List” to Ty. Maybe he could run their raps and see what shook out.

  Did I just think “raps”? Yikes! I sounded like Deputy Doug before he screwed up and was demoted to traffic.

  Soon they were off on a tangent about recipes, their volunteer schedule at the library, and a tirade about how department stores don’t sell slips anymore.

  I wondered if I could corral them back for more information. Maybe they hadn’t told me everything that they might know, but May saved me the trouble.

  “How come you’re asking us about those four boys?” she asked.

  “I don’t really want to say. I’m just checking out a letter that I found in one of the cottages,” I said. “Do you ladies have any more thoughts on any of them?”

  “I hear that Bobby Lawless continues to get into trouble,” June said. “And I heard that he was in San Quentin in California. Isn’t that just awful? And he was the cutest boy with freckles and a big smile. He loved to hot-wire cars and drive them around. Remember when he stole Antoinette Chloe’s car, sister?”

  “I do. He wanted to be an auto mechanic, and we always thought that he just stole cars to fix them,” Mrs. Leddy answered instead. “And Antoinette Chloe said that when Bobby Lawless stole her car, he brought it back in better shape.”

  They all nodded, laughing.

  “I kept hoping that he’d steal my Olds,” May said. “It needed a tune-up!”

  I wondered if Bobby Lawless had graduated from stealing cars to murder.

  “Ladies, anything more about Billy Swenti?”

  Mrs. Leddy raised a hand. “You should see them all come to church—wheelchairs, walkers, crutches—the whole congregation helps out Billy and his gang.”

  I thought I would rule out Swenti. He was too good to be true, but maybe that was his cover.

  I ruled him back in.

  There were too many suspects. Aspirin. I needed aspirin.

  They were all talking at once about Saint Billy Swenti.

  I interrupted. “Buddy Wilder? Anything more about him?”

  “He was wonderful when he was in school,” June said, “but he always reminded me of Eddie Haskell, you know, that kid on Leave It to Beaver.”

  “I agree, sister,” May said.

  Mrs. Leddy clapped. “Yes! Eddie Haskell!”

  May smoothed her skirt and made sure that it was almost to her ankles. “He’s a priest now. Who would ever have guessed that?”

  “And I won the fifty-fifty raffle that we held to support his drug addicts. Of course, I donated the money back. It was the right thing to do,” said June.

  “That was nice of you.” Mrs. Leddy patted her on the knee.

  May checked her watch, then grunted as she got up from her chair. “Who’s left, dear? I have to get back to work. I’m reading The Ugly Duckling for children’s story time.”

  I checked my list. “Got anything more about Robert Godfrey?”

  “No. Just that he always was a brainiac and very shy,” June said. “And he had a bad case of shyness all four years of high school, poor boy. He threw himself into his books.”

  The conversation broke up with the ladies planning to meet at the Dance Fest, what they were going to wear, and promises of partnering up to polka.

  I said my good-byes and while sitting in my car, I made notes on each of the B’s before I forgot.

  A surgeon, a criminal, a priest, and a disk jockey who was gay and who adopted handicapped children.

  None of them really seemed like Claire’s type, but what did I know? Maybe one of them was the boyfriend I’d heard about.

  Maybe the B’s were interviewed twenty-five years ago by law enforcement. I think Ty had told me that the whole class was interviewed, whether or not they attended the bonfire.

  But really, back then, the Sandy Harbor Sheriff’s Department thought it was a missing person’s case, so how much did they really question everyone?

  I was going to turn over this information
to Ty and let him further investigate the B List.

  But right now I was going to go to Brown’s Family Restaurant and speak to Antoinette Chloe Brown.

  I couldn’t really call ACB a friend, as we didn’t know each other very well, but she was a definite character. She always dressed in flowery muumuus, flip-flops and clunky rhinestone jewelry until she ran off with her husband’s brother, Tony Brownelli. Then she turned biker chick with black leather, chains, and white hair with a black streak down the part.

  As I pulled up to her restaurant, Antoinette Chloe was back in muumuu mode, her hair was a fluorescent orange, and she was sitting on the middle step of her restaurant’s entrance.

  I swung into a parking space and hurried out. “Antoinette Chloe, are you okay?”

  She sniffed. “Tony took off on me. Said that he had to ride off into the sunset and be free. Said I was stifling him.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “With Sal doing life in Auburn and with Tony gone, I feel so lonely. Like no one wants me.”

  Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, and I prayed that they’d evaporate and wouldn’t trail down the orange tanner on her face or it was going to be striped.

  I sat down next to her. “I found that it’s best to keep busy. Throw yourself into your restaurant. Get that CLOSED sign down, for heaven’s sake. First you’re open, then closed. That’s not good for business.”

  “I know.”

  She unfolded a tissue and blotted her caked mascara, black glitter eyeliner, and thick turquoise eye shadow. The tissue reflected a perfect copy.

  “How can I help you?” I asked.

  “I’m going to close for a couple of weeks and get my restaurant all spiffed up—new paint, new wallpaper, new fixtures, new flooring, and a clean kitchen. I’ll hire it all out. Support the local economy.”

  “That’ll be nice.” Brown’s definitely needed some cleaning and updating. Antoinette Chloe had very flamboyant taste, and I’d love to bland down her cabbage rose wallpaper, but it was her place, and she could do what she wanted.

  “Trixie, you said you’d help me. Did you mean it?”

  “Sure. What can I do?” Please, let me help you pick out wallpaper.

  She tented her fingers. Each finger and thumb had at least three rings.