It's a Wonderful Knife

by Christine Wenger

  “The Community Church needed her, huh? I was told that she wrote the church bulletin and did some computerization of their records, but had a lot more to go.”

  “Good for her,” Aunt Stella said. “Now, who made these fruit pies? Juanita?”

  “Sarah Stolfus. She an Amish friend of mine who moved here about the same time I did. A whole community of Amish settled here and bought up a lot of the abandoned farms. Sarah is such a great baker, so I feature her goods at the diner.”

  “Brilliant. I also see that you have some healthier additions to the menu, and have kept the Polish entrees.”

  “Who doesn’t like a dry kale salad?” I rolled my eyes. “And who doesn’t like potato and cheese pierogi fried in onions with a side of kielbasa?” I laughed.

  She squeezed my hand. “You’ve done many wonderful things with the diner. I’m proud, and your uncle Porky would have been proud, too.”

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t get misty. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

  “So, I’m here to help, and I brought my friends. We call ourselves the Busy Babes of Boca.”

  “Just how many Busy Babes of Boca did you bring?” I hoped that I could accommodate all of them in the Big House.

  “Eight. Nine, counting me. They all wanted to ride in Bob’s plane and come up north for a white Christmas. And they wanted to help.”

  “What a nice surprise! I could certainly use the help.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing. The Babes will take care of it. You just rest and take care of the Christmas pageant. You need to enjoy Christmas. I know how much you love it!”

  “Where are all the Babes now?”

  “In the dining room eating meat loaf. They are raving about it. Salsa, right?” She waved, and eight ladies waved back. A couple blew kisses.

  I blew kisses back. “Yes. I drain salsa and add it to the meat loaf. We all go by Uncle Porky’s recipe here at the diner.”

  “Delicious.”

  “I’m going to join them. Later tonight we’ll have a meeting at the farmhouse. Oh, I hear you call it the Big House now,” she laughed. “You’re right. It is quite big!”

  “Antoinette Chloe is staying with me, too. Bob is staying with Clyde.”

  Her eyes went to the pass-through window, where we could see Bob cooking with Juanita. She smiled slightly.

  Hmm . . . I’d never noticed it before, but as much as Bob resembled Santa, my aunt Stella resembled Mrs. Claus. And Stella Claus seemed to be interested in Bob Claus.

  Uncle Porky had been gone for almost four years. Maybe it was time for someone special in her life again.

  I glanced over at ACB and Glennie. They were deep in conversation and a rosy glow seemed to radiate from them. Aunt Stella went back into the kitchen.

  Christmas romance was in the air. Or maybe it was Christmas magic.

  Thinking of Christmas reminded me of the pageant and the fact that I needed to get back to investigating Liz’s murder.

  Yes, call me crazy. Call me certifiable, even. I wasn’t looking to antagonize Ty or ruin any clues or trample any crime scenes, but I couldn’t get the image of poor Liz out of my head. She was lying on the kitchen floor with my knife sticking out of her back, her blouse stained with blood.

  I flipped my place mat over, found a pen in my coat pocket, and started making notes.

  Now, I knew that Liz volunteered her time at various agencies. Liz was worried about being lonely. Liz had a lot of friends. She retired and moved to Sandy Harbor about three years ago, about the same time as I did. She was helping the Sandy Harbor Community Church get computerized. She was in charge of the community’s Christmas pageant and the stage-door parents were giving her a sleigh-load of crap.

  And Margie Grace was number one on my suspect list. She just wasn’t coping appropriately with someone else taking over the Christmas pageant. It was as if she’d lost her whole identity as—what had Antoinette Chloe called her? Oh, yes. Broadway royalty.

  Sweet little Margie suddenly seemed like Sweeney Todd.

  I shuddered.

  Margie and Liz had a rocky history together. And where was Margie when Liz was murdered?

  Margie might have been in her golden years, but she didn’t seem frail to me. And I thought that in a rage, she could easily plunge a knife into Liz’s back.

  The door opened, and Ty walked in. I yanked the place mat from the counter and shoved it into my coat pocket. If he saw me still mulling over the case, he’d break my other leg.

  No, he wouldn’t. He’d take me to jail, find a judge that wouldn’t drool over Antoinette Chloe, and throw the book at me.

  So I’d just have to be sneakier this time around. With all this help, I wouldn’t be needed in the kitchen. And I wasn’t going to get ACB involved unless I needed a ride.

  Darn. I was going to need a ride everywhere. It wasn’t as if there were subways and a fleet of taxis in little Sandy Harbor. There were snowmobiles, pickups, ATVs, and SUVs, but I couldn’t drive any of those either.

  Ty took the seat next to me that had just been vacated by Aunt Stella. No one had cleaned up her area just yet.

  “Was someone sitting here?” he asked.

  “Believe it or not, my aunt Stella was. Now she’s talking to her friends—the Busy Boca Babes.”

  “I see . . . I guess.”

  “Bob flew them all up in his—get this—private plane. Apparently he won it in a card game in Reno.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive.”

  I nodded. I was still ticked at Ty. Although deep down, I knew he was right, but sheesh, we were only trying to help.

  “Listen, Trixie, about my taking you down to the station—”

  I held up my hand. I just didn’t want to discuss it anymore. “We’re good.”

  “I just—”

  “I get it, Ty. Let’s not rehash the rehash. And since you already had the meat loaf special when ACB and I were incarcerated, I suggest you try the spaghetti and meatballs. It comes with a small antipasto and garlic toast.”

  “Trixie, I want to explain. Just sit and listen for a second. I wanted to really impress on you that you two are in over your heads. You’re putting yourself right in Liz’s place in the pageant, and if you’re going to snoop around . . . why don’t you just paint a target on your back?”

  “Whoever killed Liz didn’t need a target painted on her back. The coward just waited for her to turn around.”

  “Exactly my point. And I don’t want you two contaminating my crime scene. At Liz’s house, you might have trampled on evidence that would have been important.”

  “Did we?” I asked.

  “Not that I can tell—yet.”

  I was relieved about that. “We were pretty careful, Ty. But the place was a mess. And all we discovered was a tiny ice scraper instead of a—”

  “Flash drive?” he asked. “I think that the burglar was looking for a flash drive, too.”

  “Okay, Ty. We’re good. I know that you arrested us to prove a point. Point proven. Now get something to eat.”

  I made a motion to Nancy with my head. She rushed right over. She always hurried to wait on Ty.

  I took that opportunity to crutch into the kitchen to see how Juanita and Bob were doing.

  They were busy, and it seemed like they were doing the Silver Bullet Shuffle as if they were on Dancing with the Stars. The Silver Bullet Shuffle is what I call the ballet of the diner chef—a twirl to the fridge, a twirl back to the grill. A leap to the toaster Ferris wheel, another leap back to the fryer.

  “Hi, Bob . . . Juanita. How is everything going?”

  “Couldn’t be better, boss Trixie,” Juanita said. “We have lots of help with las chicas here.”

  “Las chicas de la Boca Raton?” My Spanish was hit-or-miss. “I think I just said ‘the girls from the mouth of t
he rat.’”

  Juanita and Bob chuckled.

  “Sí. Boca Raton. Mouth of the rat,” Juanita nodded. “Very good, boss Trixie.”

  “How is everything going for the shower tomorrow night?” I asked Bob.

  “We have help making the appetizers, you ordered everything that we needed, and Ray, Stella, and I and the Boca Babes are going to make the delivery, set up, and serve. Louise McDowney and the kid she’s marrying will have a bridal shower better than White House dinners for heads of state.”

  Bob flipped the page on my calendar. “I see you have Chet and Lottie Campbell’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. That’s on December second. We’ll have to get ready for that, too.”

  “I already ordered the food for it while I was in jail,” I said. “They want prime rib, chicken parmesan, and broiled haddock. Everything should arrive tomorrow.” I was relieved that I was on top of things. “Tomorrow there’s a Christmas party for the library workers and the library volunteers. That’s from two to six. They want finger foods, various cheeses, wine and beer, and my rum cake for dessert.”

  “That sounds easy enough,” Bob said. “We’ll be ready. If it starts at two at the library, we’ll leave here at noon, with the van loaded. I’ll handle it, Trixie.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “I’ll make up a couple of cheese platters right here. You can add the crackers, pita, and sliced baguettes later. Juanita or Cindy can make the cake. We’re probably going to need four of them. And we’ll want to make some Christmas cookies. Maybe we can put the Boca Babes and ACB on that.”

  “Got it.”

  “Who’s going to help you for the library party?” I asked.

  “Stella, Ray, and the Babes.”

  “I have the Christmas tablecloths, cups, paper goods, and plastic utensils ready to go. We had better take two cars. Aunt Stella can drive my car.”

  He whirled around Juanita and got a handful of hamburgers from the fridge and put them on the grill like he was dealing a deck of cards. After a perfectly executed pirouette, he had a tray of freshly baked hamburger rolls and placed six on the Ferris wheel toaster. Another twist later, he was setting up plates with lettuce, sliced tomato, and sliced onion, a handful of carrot curls, and some radish roses.

  Beautiful.

  In the meantime, Juanita was preparing plates of spaghetti, ziti, and Spanish rice.

  One of the plates of spaghetti must be Ty’s. At any other time, I’d grab a tray and serve him. But not now. It was hard to serve with crutches, and even if I could, I think we needed some distance from each other for a while.

  Speaking of Ty . . .

  “Bob, is Ty Brisco helping you tomorrow?”

  “Nope. I told him about the Boca Babes and Stella when I was flying us from Hatteras. He said that he and the other two deputies were going to concentrate on interviewing everyone who was at the church when Liz was killed.”

  “Oh! The church! Tonight is the memorial service for Liz. I’d like to attend.” I checked the clock on the wall. “It starts in an hour. I’ll see if Antoinette Chloe wants to go, along with Aunt Stella. Juanita, how about you?”

  “Oh, sí. I’d like to go, too.” She wiped her hands on her apron and looked down at her chef’s outfit: red and green chili peppers on her pants and a red blouse monogrammed with her name and SILVER BULLET DINER under it. “But I don’t look so good.”

  “You’ll have a coat on. Don’t worry about it.”

  The memorial service would be a good opportunity to watch and learn, and to pay my respects to Liz, of course. And I could do this all without being scrutinized by Wyatt Earp, who was at the counter right this minute eating spaghetti and meatballs.

  I didn’t count on the fact that he was going to attend also, and was going to take as many as could fit in the Sandy Harbor Sheriff’s Department paddy wagon.

  • • •

  Pastor Fritz looked appropriately serious, overly pious, and very pompous. But it struck me that his tribute to Liz was pretty generic, like he didn’t know her very well.

  Darlene had more to say about Liz. “Liz was a hard worker and had the sweetest disposition of anyone that I’d ever met. She was brilliant with computers and was bringing our bookkeeping methods into the modern age. I’m afraid that all of Liz’s progress will be halted now. But most of all, when Liz saw an injustice, she strove to correct it. And that is the mark of a genuine person and a true friend. God bless you, my friend.”

  Now, that was a curious thing to say. Did Darlene or someone close to Liz suffer an injustice? A friend? How was Liz trying to correct it? I filed this in my brain for future consideration.

  “Now, Margie Grace would like to say a few words,” Pastor Fritz said as Darlene sat down.

  “What?” ACB nudged me in the ribs, and I gasped from the pain. Margie stopped in her tracks, gave me a scathing look, then continued to the podium.

  “It’s no secret that I didn’t like Liz Fellows and that we fought over the Christmas pageant. It was her fault that I was unceremoniously dumped as director and she took over.”

  Ty sat up straighter next to me. Was Margie confessing?

  Margie continued. “I had a wonderful vision for the pageant this year. Santa’s sleigh was going to be pulled by a team of salmon with red noses, and the elves were going to be trout. I believe in showcasing the resources of Sandy Harbor, but my vision wasn’t shared by Liz.”

  Someone ought to get the hook and get Margie off the podium.

  But Margie didn’t stop. “Now, I understand that Trixie Matkowski is going to be in charge of the pageant, but this individual is also new to our community. She’s only been here three years, whereas I grew up here and know all the talented members of our community. Again I was shunned. And she can’t even teach the dance numbers with her broken leg—that is, if she even knows how to dance, which I doubt.”

  ACB grunted. “Why isn’t someone getting her off the podium?”

  “I am here to tell you that maybe Liz was a nice person, but not in my experience, and maybe she was murdered for a good reason, and—”

  “That’s it!” both Antoinette Chloe and Ty said at the same time. Muumuu flying and flip-flops slapping, ACB raced up the aisle, followed by Ty.

  Ty held her back, walked up to Margie, gently put his arm around her, and escorted her out of the room. Vern McCoy hurried out to assist.

  Pastor Fritz called for a moment of silence for everyone to regroup. Then he called upon several more people, who told some wonderful stories about Liz.

  Then it hit me. Liz and I had been in town for about the same amount of time. Whereas Liz had made such an impact on others, all I’d done was cook at my diner and rent out my cottages.

  She worked at two churches and volunteered where she saw the need. And anyone who had a glorious garden like Liz had the magic touch.

  Liz had left a positive impact on the people of Sandy Harbor—with the exception of her killer. I just added calories to their daily diet.

  Okay. No more feeling sorry for myself. It was Christmas. It was time to find poor Liz’s killer.

  ACB leaned over to me and whispered, “We have to find Liz’s murderer.”

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  “I think that Margie is crazy enough to kill her.”

  I nodded. “Maybe Ty will get a confession from her.”

  “Shhh!” Josephine Piranelli turned and rolled her eyes at us. I remembered from Liz’s notes that Josephine’s daughter and son were auditioning for the pageant. They were both singing and playing kazoos to “White Christmas.”

  I couldn’t wait to hear that—not!

  Pastor Fritz announced that everyone should gather in the community room for a reception.

  I’d decided to donate all the food that we’d prepared for the first audition. Because I couldn’t bear to go into the kitchen jus
t yet, I turned it all over to the members of the Elks Lodge. They did a wonderful job getting everything ready and setting it out.

  Most everyone who attended church came to the reception. I couldn’t help but think that just as she had during life, Liz would have enjoyed all the camaraderie and friendship from the people of Sandy Harbor. Several people attended whose lives she’d touched: the pastor and some parishioners from St. Luke’s, a shut-in who she shopped for, a Girl Scout troop that she led when their leader got sick . . .

  What a wonderful legacy.

  But even then it wasn’t enough to stop someone from plunging a knife into this lovely woman’s back.

  I took a seat as far away as I could from where I’d found Liz, and leaned my crutches against the table. Slipping out of my coat, I let it scrunch down behind me.

  Then I watched everyone, hoping for some kind of clue.

  Hal Manning, the owner of the Happy Repose Funeral Home and our resident coroner, sat down across from me. Hal loved to talk about his latest case, and usually spilled more beans than Ty ever would. All I had to do was ask leading questions.

  “Been busy, Hal?”

  “You know it. This thing with Liz has everyone stumped.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hal shook his head. “Liz was a pillar of the community. Everyone loved her. She had a clean rap sheet. And when she was killed, it seems that everyone was in the church at auditions or in the rest rooms with the exception of Margie Grace. Ty told me that he escorted her out of the church.”

  “I was one of those in the ladies’ room,” I said. “Me, some mothers, some girls, and a lot of hairspray.”

  “And what about that Margie Grace?” He whistled. “She’s the number one suspect in my book. I don’t know about Ty’s book. I think Margie’s cheese has slipped off her cracker. You be careful, Trixie. Ty’s worried that you might be next. He wants to cancel the pageant.”

  “Yeah, I know. Ty told me that I may as well paint a target on my back. But I can handle myself, and I won’t cancel the pageant. No way. It’s for the kids, Hal. They love the pageant, and everyone loves the community dinner after it. And the visit from Santa. It’d break their little hearts. I’ll talk to Ty about it and convince him that it shouldn’t be canceled.”