A Second Helping of Murder

by Christine Wenger

  “I heard. We can handle it. We live in New York City,” one of Buddy’s friends said.

  Buddy nodded, and I snapped to attention. “How many cottages would you like?”

  “Ten,” Buddy said. “If you don’t have the room, we can stay at Singing Waters. I called from the road, and we have reservations there. You didn’t answer your phone, Trixie.”

  I remember walking by the blinking light a hundred times, thinking that there were more cancellations. I never dreamed that people would actually be calling for reservations.

  “I’ve been having trouble with my landline,” I lied. “But I’ll get you all keys and you can figure out who wants to stay in what cottage.”

  “You can bill me,” Buddy said, handing me a credit card. “I’ll collect from my friends later.”

  “Will do,” I said, slipping his credit card into my pocket. Maybe Ty could run a check on it. “I hope you brought your bathing suits. It should be a beautiful day for swimming.”

  “You know, it’s so green here,” said a woman with flaming red hair and a pronounced Brooklyn accent. “And I’ve never seen so many cows. They’re, like, huge and roaming free.”

  I chuckled. “Dairy cows are definitely a wild, carefree bunch, but I think we still fence them in.”

  That got a round of chuckles.

  Then I wondered how the not-reverend Buddy had heard about the Dance Fest way over in New York City. The ink hadn’t yet dried on the posters.

  “Buddy, how on earth did you hear about the Dance Fest and manage to get such a large group together in such a short time, then drive the sevenish hours to get here?”

  “I received an e-mail announcement. And we were altogether at a party in Soho and just decided to hop on a limo bus—it’s Andre’s company—”

  A man with spiked white hair and black roots raised two fingers in a salute, and I smiled at him. He had nice brown eyes.

  “The Gadabout Limo Company,” he said, dipping into his pocket and handing me a business card.

  “So Andre drove us here, and here we are,” Buddy finished. “I just had to take them to the Silver Bullet as soon as we arrived. They are going to love the cottages. They are so . . . rustic.”

  “They are just the cutest little houses!” said the woman sitting next to Andre with the same hairstyle.

  “Just like a SoHo loft,” I said.

  I motioned for Buddy to take his seat, and he nodded to me as he sat.

  “Trixie, do you know that I used to work here in my teens?”

  Oh! My cheeks heated. “I remember you now! Weren’t you the lifeguard at the beach? And didn’t you always wear a red bathing suit with white flowers?”

  That resulted in some comments from his friends: “Lifeguard?” “Red bathing suit with flowers?” “I’ll bet you were hot!”

  But I wasn’t finished yet.

  “But you weren’t called Buddy.” I snapped my fingers as his real name came to me. “Isn’t your real name Donald?”

  I hadn’t put the two names together and his teachers—Mrs. Leddy, May, and June—and the Sandy Harbor Class of 1989 yearbook never mentioned that his real name was Donald.

  Buddy’s eyes flashed as his friends teased him even more.

  “No one ever—never—called me Donald, Donnie, Don, or any other variation,” he said loudly.

  His friends were unmerciful.

  “Donald Duck!”

  “Donnie with the red bathing suit.”

  “Sandy Harbor Donnie.”

  “Donnie the lifeguard.”

  A vein pumped in his neck. “See what you started?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t know that you didn’t like your name. But, D, uh, Buddy, weren’t you friends with Claire Jacobson?”

  My memory was working overtime. Thoughts of making sand castles and mud pies and diving underwater for quarters with Phil and Claire came rushing back. And Buddy in that red bathing suit with the white flowers. I remembered him talking to Claire all the time on the beach and from his perch on the lifeguard chair.

  “I swear that Claire Jacobson called you Donnie,” I said, thinking back.

  “She was the only exception,” he said softly.

  Donnie “Buddy” Wilder just had to be the father of Claire’s baby!

  Then again, I thought that every man who’d reached puberty back in the fifties, sixties, or seventies was the father of Claire’s baby.

  He might have even surpassed Grant VanPlank as my number-one suspect.

  The letter that “B” wrote referred to himself as an older man. Well, Buddy was a year older than Claire. The whole graduating class was. Since Claire was a year younger, maybe he’d consider himself an older man.

  Grant VanPlank had much more to lose than Buddy Wilder. At the time, he had a political career that would implode when his voters discovered he had both a wife and an underage baby mama. That’s why he resigned from his run for the presidency.

  Buddy might have had a motive for killing Claire, too. I just didn’t know it yet.

  But I would!

  “Buddy, you said you received an e-mail about the Dance Fest. From who?”

  “I did. Very cute. The return e-mail address was interesting—Imastarhacker. One word.”

  “I’m a star hacker?” Ray!

  I turned to look at Ray. He was resetting a table with place mats, napkins, and silverware. At that same moment, he looked over at me, and I motioned for him to join me in the kitchen.

  I turned back to Buddy’s party. “Well, enjoy your lunch, everyone, and I’ll be back with the keys to the cottages. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay with us, as well as the Dance Fest.”

  I pushed open the double doors, and Ray was standing there.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Ray, did you e-mail the posters to people?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “I appreciate that you did. It got us that party of twenty over there. They drove from New York City. But, Ray, where did you get the e-mail addresses?”

  “From the Sandy Harbor Lure’s subscription list. I just e-mailed the out-of-towners who subscribe to the Lure, figuring that they wouldn’t get the paper in time to see the ad about the Dance Fest in it.”

  “That was good thinking, but how did you get the e-mail addresses?”

  “From Lizzy Ann Gladnello, my girlfriend. She works part-time in the circulation department there. It’s perfectly legit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I guess that’s what I’m asking.”

  “Lizzy cleared it with her boss, Joan Paris. She said that it was for you, and that you needed the information.”

  That was nice of Joan. “Ray, why didn’t you tell me?”

  Oops, I remembered that I was going to call Joan and get together with her. Maybe she had more information from her main squeeze, Hal Manning, Sandy Harbor’s only funeral director and coroner.

  Hal had loose lips.

  Ray’s face turned redder than Santa’s suit. “I only thought of it after I left the other night. I tried to call you, but you didn’t call me back. Then I was going to bike over here this morning, but my wheels were flat. It took me all morning to walk to the bike shop and back home. Then I was going to tell you this morning, but then the big party walked in and you got busy.”

  I pulled out my cell phone from my pocket and checked it. There were several phone calls and two text messages, all from Ray.

  “I never heard the phone ring.” I showed him the phone, and he took it out of my hand and pushed some buttons.

  “You have it on mute.”

  “I do?”

  He nodded and pushed another button. “It’s okay now.”

  “Uh, Ray? How many names did you e-mail?”

  “About three hundred.”

&nb
sp; “Wow. I’d better make more food.”

  “I had them RSVP to me. So far, only about a hundred and twenty-five are coming. That was since eleven this morning.”

  “Only?” That was over twenty-five percent of those he e-mailed, and I didn’t know math.

  “Did I screw up?” he asked.

  “You did not! Actually you did me a real favor, and I want to thank you.”

  “I thought you were going to fire me.”

  “Not a chance. Not when you’ve used your head and helped me above and beyond the call of duty. And thanks for distributing the posters all over town, too. I don’t think I thanked you for that yet.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Thank you again so very much, Ray.” I held my hand out because I didn’t think he’d welcome a hug just yet. We shook.

  He gave me a thumbs-up and went back to the main diner. I reminded myself to get him a logo golf shirt or two.

  Along with that new bike.

  As I walked back into the diner to get yet another cup of coffee, Ty walked in. He always had exquisite timing. Just when I needed to speak with him, he appeared.

  I couldn’t wait to see his face when I told him where he could find Donald “Buddy” Wilder!

  Chapter 14

  Just as Ty was about to take a seat at the counter, I whispered, “Go outside. Right now.” He was dressed in his sheriff’s uniform, and I didn’t want to scare off Buddy.

  Ty didn’t miss a beat. He snapped his fingers as if he forgot something, and left.

  I went out the back door and was going to meet him out front, but he was waiting for me behind the diner.

  “What’s up, Trixie?”

  I always enjoyed when Ty said my name with his full Texas twang. My two syllables lasted longer than it took to roast a fifteen-pound prime rib, done well.

  “You will never, ever guess who is sitting in my diner right at this very second.”

  “Let’s see.” He scratched his forehead. “Do you want me to really guess?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then why don’t you just tell me?”

  “Buddy Wilder.”

  Ty’s turquoise eyes grew to the size of his cowboy belt buckles. “No way.”

  “Way.”

  “Donald Buddy Wilder. Who would have thought?”

  “You know his real name?” I asked.

  He made a face.

  “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you ran a record check on the B List. I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t know anything. Sorry.”

  He nodded. “Trixie, believe me when I tell you that I’m working on the cases. I have other duties, but I’m really working on them.”

  “It’s just not moving fast enough for me. I want to hurry things along.”

  He looked up at the sky. “Gee, Ms. Patience, where have I heard that before?”

  “Anyway, he and some pals took a limo bus from New York City, and they are renting my cottages. They heard about the Dance Fest.”

  “But how—”

  “Did they hear about it? My newly hired computer genius, Ray Myerson. Ray decided to e-mail some out-of-town Lure subscribers, and guess who showed up?”

  “Should I guess now?” Ty asked.

  “If you can’t guess this one, you aren’t fit to wear that uniform.”

  “Buddy Wilder.”

  “Bingo.”

  “And he’s having lunch inside right now?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Stop it, Ty!”

  He grinned, full of himself.

  “Wait a minute!” I said. “Did you happen to suggest to Ray that he might want to invite the out-of-town Lure subscribers to the Dance Fest?”

  “Nope. I can’t take the credit. Ray suggested it to me, and I told him that it was a fabulous idea. And then I told him the right way to go about it, like asking Joan Paris, but that he should ask you first.”

  “He tried, but he couldn’t get a hold of me. He tried to bike here, but I guess his tires were flat. He went ahead and did it anyway because time was running out.”

  Ty shook his head. “Damn. I’ll speak to him about that.”

  “Don’t you dare. Everything’s good. He has reservations for a hundred and twenty-five out-of-towners.”

  “I’m glad. He’s a good kid.”

  “And a smart one. I really like him. Today’s the first day I saw him in action, and I liked what I saw. Plus, all the staff is raving about him.”

  “Outstanding.”

  “Did you have any idea that Buddy Wilder would show up?”

  “I hoped he would. I love the fact that he’s here on my turf. However, the New York City Police Department will be mad that he skipped town. I’ll give them a call and tell them that he’s right here in little ol’ Sandy Harbor.”

  He had a grin the size of Texas. I knew he’d love this news.

  “There’s more. I haven’t even told you the best part.”

  “Do you want me to guess this?”

  “For heaven’s sake—”

  “Tell me!”

  “Donnie Wilder was a lifeguard here when he was in high school, and he paid particular interest to Claire Jacobson and her little brother, our victim number two.”

  “Nice job, Trixie, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  “But his nickname starts with a B. Then again, Claire called him Donnie. But he referred to himself as Buddy. Anyway, he’s a better suspect as a baby daddy than Grant VanPlank, who apparently never had a nickname.”

  “That’s according to his wife, if I remember correctly. She’s not exactly a good source.”

  “You’re wrong there. I think she knows more about him than anyone.”

  Ty chuckled. “I need more information on Donnie. Just because he was a lifeguard and he and Claire talked on the beach isn’t enough to assume that he’s our killer.”

  “Did the first investigation when Claire disappeared turn up anything about Donnie?”

  “Just that he was distraught when Claire vanished, like everyone else, but nothing unusual. He attended the bonfire, but all his time couldn’t be accounted for.”

  “See?”

  “Trixie, no one’s time could be fully accounted for that night. I think they were all in the sand dunes making out.”

  “Do you still think that there is only one killer?”

  “That’s still my theory, but I won’t know for sure until I find the murder weapon and run a ballistics test.”

  “Ty, I really feel that we’re not getting anywhere.”

  “We are. These little things add up. We’ll get a break in the case.”

  “So, what’s our plan now?” I asked, ready to go undercover.

  “Since he’s right under our noses, and because he’s on the B List, and because we know he actually spoke to Claire, which is more than most of your suspects . . .” He paused for effect and grinned.

  “There’re a million comedians out of work, and I’m glad you’re one of them.” I made a face, but I really did enjoy his sense of humor.

  “I think we should concentrate on Buddy Wilder for now.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing, Trixie. I can take it from here.”

  “Oh no, you don’t.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m part of this, Deputy Earp.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “You just eavesdrop on everyone at the Dance Fest and report back to me. I’ll do the rest.”

  Oh yeah?

  “Things might get dangerous,” he said. “I don’t want you hurt. I’m trained to do this. You’re not, and I don’t want a third victim on my hands. If something happened to you, where would I get a decent cup of coffee and a great meal?”

  I didn’t crack a smile. I was mad. Livid
. I was bringing him good stuff, and he didn’t seem to think that it was valuable information.

  He wouldn’t know a clue if it crashed on top of his cowboy hat.

  “Trixie?”

  “I want to find the killer, Ty, and fast. They are all going to be under our noses in a little while.” Turning to leave, I said over my shoulder, “I’m going to go back to my house and read Claire’s folder from Dr. Francis’s office. Then I’ll take it back and put it back in the file cabinet.”

  He knew that I was mad, but he didn’t say anything that resembled “Trixie, I totally need you to help me. Let’s be partners.”

  I kept walking, but it was easy for his long legs to catch up to me. I was ready to jog away from him, until I remembered that I don’t jog because my boobs bounce around like basketballs.

  “I’ll go with you to Dr. Huff’s office,” he said.

  “No, thanks. I can handle it myself.”

  “I can distract Shannon Shannon like I did before, and you can put the file back.”

  “No. You know nothing about the file. Remember? There was no court order. You could always get one and get the file legitimately.”

  “I could, but the file didn’t say anything. Not really. Why waste the time?”

  “Okay. Well . . . you just stay away. I’ll handle this,” I insisted.

  I’d love to have Ty help me, but I needed to do this on my own and not get him involved even though when he turns on his cowboy charm, he finds out more information from people than the CIA.

  “I’ll head over to the Big House and change before I return the file you definitely don’t know about.” My tomato-covered chef’s outfit was too memorable. “And then I have to get back and help with the cooking for the Dance Fest.”

  As I walked to the Big House, I texted Juanita that I was going to be away for a while, and that she should let the potatoes for the potato salad and the macaroni for the mac salad cool in the walk-in cooler.

  I know that, she texted back.

  In my kitchen, I pulled up a chair to the oak table and sighed. I felt we had so much to still investigate, but Ty wanted to concentrate on Buddy while he was here.

  I could handle Buddy when I got back. Ty could just stay in his apartment over the bait shop and leave me alone.