A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery

by Jeanne Cooney

  Barbie scuffed at the dirt before gazing up at him, chagrin painting her cheeks a ruddy red. “Sorry. It was worth a shot.”

  He shook his head. “Now start again. Tell me what you need and be nice about it. Then I’ll see if I can help.”

  She squinted into the sun. “I need to see into the scale pit, so I can get a picture of it in my mind. If I don’t, I can’t properly write about the case.”

  “You can’t go down inside.” He towered over us, serving as a wind break.

  Barbie leveled her hand across her forehead to shield the sunlight that beamed over his shoulders. “I don’t have to.”

  “Well, if you only want to look, I don’t see a problem. Go ahead.”

  Barbie glanced at me and back to Ed. “She’s with me.”

  “I know who she is.”

  Ed needed just two long-legged strides to reach the crime-scene area. He then lifted the tape to allow Barbie and me to pass under it.

  “Sandy told me you bowled a hell of a series last week,” Ed said as he followed us. It was much harder for him to do the crime-tape limbo since he was at least six-foot-six.

  Barbie spared a glance in my direction. “Ed’s wife is on my bowling team.” Then to him she said, “It was the best I’ve ever done. I broke two hundred twice.” She grinned broadly.

  “Not bad for a girl.”

  “Hey!”

  He chuckled as he removed the manhole cover farthest away from us. “This will give you the best view of where the body was found.” He set the cover on the ground. “And, Barbie, like I’ve told you a hundred times before, you’d get a whole lot farther with folks if you were friendlier. But you’re always so gall-darn ready to pick a fight. Right off the bat, you assume we’re going to try and stop you from doing your job.”

  “That’s because your boss usually does try and stop me from doing my job.”

  “Well, hopefully not for long.” Ed waffled. I think he wanted to say something more about the sheriff, but instead he simply uttered, “Now, no funny business.”

  Barbie saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  He shook his head and walked away, this time scissoring his legs over the yellow tape. When he got back to his car, he leaned against the hood, folded his arms across his chest, and hooked one foot over the other. He then stared across the flat snow-covered field on the opposite side of the highway.

  “He seems like a nice enough guy,” I whispered to Barbie as we dropped to our knees, and from there, our bellies.

  “Oh, yeah, most of the deputies are nice.” She smiled. “Including Randy Ryden.”

  I was about to glower when I remembered she wasn’t privy to what had transpired or, more accurately, hadn’t transpired between Randy and me. So she didn’t deserve my snarkiness.

  “But for a few,” she proceeded to say, “they really know their stuff too.”

  We lowered our heads and peered into the dark abyss. I wiggled around, striving for a bit more comfort. There wasn’t much chance of that since we were lying on a mixture of ice and gravel. “So what’s the deal with the sheriff?” I yanked a stone from where it had been poking me in the chest and tossed it across the snowy ground.

  “As I said before, he’s shrewd. And he’s an asshole.”

  “How’d he get elected then?”

  “Like assholes never win elections?” Barbie curled her lip. “He got voted in three years ago. And next year he’ll get voted out. People realize their mistake. And a couple deputies, including Ed over there, are ready to take him on.” Barbie stopped for a beat. “Ed’s the deputy Guy and Jarod were referring to. The one who’s actually investigating this case.”

  “If the sheriff’s defeated, Barbie, you’ll probably lose Guy and Jarod as sources of information.”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Like me, Barbie wore a parka. But unlike mine, hers was neon pink, snug, and barely covered her back. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “Nah, not really.” She bent her denim-clad legs, drawing her feet into the air behind her. Again no socks in her UGG slippers.

  “Hey, Ed,” she yelled, waving one arm wildly to capture his attention. He was fiddling with his cell phone. “Can I borrow your Maglite? I can’t see a damn thing down there.”

  Ed grabbed a flashlight from his car and hauled it over. Handing it to her, he warned, “Don’t drop it!”

  Barbie grunted a reply, and he walked away.

  “So,” she said, switching on the light and waving it in the hole, “let’s see what we’ve got here.” Once again she lowered her head, and I did the same.

  Surprisingly, the scale pit was only about four feet deep, although it extended sixty or seventy feet in length and about twenty feet in width. The cement that lined it was littered with dirt that must have seeped in along the edges of the platform above ground. The pit encased two rails that ran its entire length, each balancing four, evenly spaced, load sensors. That’s what the police called them at any rate. And according to Barbie, those sensors determined the weight of the trucks.

  Barbie wielded the flashlight around until a ray of light fell on the back corner of the pit. It too was marked by crime tape. “That’s where the body was found,” she pointed out. “Since it’s not deep enough down there for an adult to stand up, the police believe the killer crawled or duck-walked all the way back there, pulling Raleigh’s body along.”

  She raised her eyes. “The only thing worse than duck-walking is rope climbing. Ever have to do that in phy. ed.?”

  I smiled at the odd change of subject but decided to go along with it. “Nope. But we did attend mass every morning.”

  “And?”

  My smile morphed into a chuckle. “And . . . I’m pretty sure it beat rope climbing or duck-walking.” I pulled my hood over my head, holding it away from my face with one hand. “Even though I never would have admitted it back then, I liked morning mass. I was a nervous kid, and it helped me start my days off calmly.”

  Barbie nodded. “Sort of like meditation, huh?”

  “Exactly.”

  And we dropped our heads back into the dark.

  “Barbie, I just don’t get it.” My voice echoed through the empty space. “Why would the killer go through all this work? It has to be twenty feet from here to that corner. That’s a long way to drag a body, especially if you’re crawling or duck-walking. Why not just dump it somewhere? Or throw it in the river?” As soon as I spoke those words, I was reminded once more of that prior murder. In that case, the victim was buried in a shallow grave, only to get caught up in flood water and washed onto the river bank, where she was later discovered.

  Barbie evidently had the same recollection. “That doesn’t always work well either, does it? Maybe the killer remembered that.” She paused. “The police say Raleigh was murdered on the twin’s farm, right down the road. My guess is he or she didn’t want to leave the body there because it’d be too easily discovered but, at the same time, didn’t want to take it very far for fear of getting caught.”

  “Which tells us the crime wasn’t premeditated. The killer didn’t have anything planned.”

  Barbie switched off the flashlight and rose to her feet. “Let’s go talk all this over with Margie.”

  I got up and brushed snow and sand from my jeans and Margie’s jacket. “I sure hope she has some sweets to munch on. I’m not really hungry for lunch, but I could go for a little something.”

  “I know she was planning to make a Pumpkin Roll today.”

  My hood fell over my face, and I pushed it back with jacket sleeves that extended well beyond my hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever had Pumpkin Roll.”

  “Then you’re in for a treat. It’s a cross between bread and cake, and she slathers it with cream cheese frosting.”

  “Sounds delicious. But I won�
�t get my hopes up. When I left, Margie looked too upset to do much baking.”

  Barbie snorted. “She bakes even more when she’s troubled. So who knows? By the time we get back there, the café might be overflowing with goodies.”

  I licked my lips at the prospect. “That certainly would be good for me. I always think better when I eat.”

  “Yeah, I seem to remember that about you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Barbie and I pulled up in front of Hot Dish Heaven shortly after lunchtime. We met Margie at the door. She was holding the small white dog I’d encountered when I first got to town. The one Barbie almost ran over.

  “Oh, for cute.” I petted the pooch. “You’ve got a new friend.”

  “I found him out here almost frozen to death. I took him in to get him somethin’ to eat, but he started to whine. So I brought him back out. And now that he’s done spray paintin’ the snow, we’ll go in and try some food again.”

  “Who’d leave a dog out in this weather?”

  Margie cocked an eyebrow. “I think he belonged to Raleigh Cummin’s. I phoned a few folks, and none of them remembers seein’ this little guy prior to a few days ago. So I’m pretty sure he belonged to Raleigh. He must of gotten out of the house somehow and has been roamin’ around ever since. See, he’s got a collar but no tags.”

  The pup winched his head to lick my hand. “May I hold him?”

  Margie handed him over, and he cuddled in my arms, his dark-brown eyes peeking through matted white fur. “Are you hungry, pup? Want some dinner?” He snuggled closer, his tiny pink tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds. “Margie, after he eats, we should give him a bath. He’s kind of stinky.”

  Barbie lifted her arms and proclaimed, “People pamper their pets way too much. If anyone’s to get fed and bathed by someone else this afternoon, I think it should be me. And I have in mind just the person to do it. Only problem is he’s unavailable.” She extended her bottom lip into a pout.

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” Margie grumbled, “I thought ya got all that out of your system on date night?”

  Barbie opened the café door, and we all shuffled in to the sounds of Faith Hill and Tim McGraw on the juke box. They were singing “It’s Your Love.” Ugh!

  As I said, I was happy for Margie. Really I was. Still, I didn’t want to be subjected to the musical interpretations of her romantic needs and sexual desires every time I walked into the café. “It’s your love,” McGraw purred. “Does somethin’ to me. Sends a shock right through me. I can’t get enough.” Double ugh!

  “I missed date night,” Barbie reported. “The weather was so bad that by the time I got home, my sweetie was fast asleep, and I couldn’t wake him up no matter what I did. And believe me, I tried.” She swiveled her hips and opened her mouth.

  “Please, Barbie,” I begged, my hands covering my face, “no details!”

  She regarded me with dismay. “You’re a party pooper, you know that?”

  “Call me whatever you want. Just keep your exploits to yourself.”

  “Your loss.” She fingered her spiked hair. “Anyhow, because he’s such a dedicated band instructor, he was busy at school all day yesterday. And this morning he was out the door early, taking some ensemble somewhere for something or other. I didn’t really listen after he told me he wouldn’t be able to meet up with me until later tonight, at the costume party. So in answer to your question, no, I haven’t gotten any lovin’ in several days, and it’s left me a bit needy.”

  “Well,” Margie replied, “I suppose that can happen.”

  “Really?” I asked. “How do you know?” I winked, and Margie scowled.

  Barbie circled back around. “Did I miss something?”

  Margie pleaded with me. She didn’t say a word, but she pleaded all the same. It was plain to see in her expression.

  “No,” I answered, “you didn’t miss a thing. I was just asking about the costume party.”

  Gratitude washed over Margie’s face. “I told ya about it a couple weeks back, when we were talkin’ on the phone. I said the ‘V’ was hostin’ a masquerade party on Halloween night, just like every year, so ya needed to bring a costume.”

  For someone who wanted something from me—namely, my silence—she wasn’t offering much in return. “I don’t remember that, Margie. Though I may have heard you mention something along those lines this morning, when you were talking to—”

  “No!” She clamped a hand on my shoulder and spoke with new understanding. “Come to think of it, I meant to tell ya but forgot.”

  Satisfaction warmed my face. Of course, I knew about the party. But I hadn’t bothered with a costume because I had no intention of dressing up and pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I hated doing that. “Oh, that’s okay, Margie. Don’t worry about it.” I was barely able to contain my joy. “Maybe next year.”

  Barbie, it seems, didn’t see the point of waiting. “Oh, Emme, I brought my costume trunk with me. It’s in my car. I know we can find something for you in there.”

  “What?” Just like that—my joy vanished, replaced by a dull ache behind my eyes. “No, Barbie, there’s no need for you to go to any trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble.” She clapped her hands. “None whatsoever.”

  “Wait!” The ache was quickly becoming an intense throb. “We shouldn’t even be talking about going to a party, should we? We have work to do. We have to dig up all the information we can about the murder, so we can pass it on to Buddy’s lawyer.”

  Oddly enough Barbie agreed. “And there’s no better place to learn stuff than at a Halloween party.” She did a quick dip of her head for emphasis. “Practically everyone in the county drops by, and they drink more than they should, and since they’re in costume, they feel anonymous, which leads them to be less inhibited. More talkative. About all kinds of things.”

  “Ya know,” Margie said, “that makes a lot of sense.”

  I glared at her until she muttered, “Sorry, Emme, but it does.”

  I hated to admit it, but she was right. It did make sense—in a strange sort of way. Just the same, I didn’t want to dress up!

  “Emme?” Margie’s tone was extra sweet. No doubt she was worried I might reveal her secret about John Deere—or whatever his name was—now that she had sided with Barbie on the costume issue. “Maybe we can find somethin’ in Barbie’s case that you’ll actually like. Something that isn’t too provocative. Okay?”

  Barbie giggled. “What’s the point of dressing up if you’re not going to be provocative?”

  Margie pressed her thin lips together. “Ya aren’t helpin’ here, Barbie. Do ya want Emme in costume or not?”

  Barbie scoffed. “It’s just dress up. What’s the big deal?”

  I bristled. “I don’t like it.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Even as she said the words, her grin stretched across her face. “Two years ago I won first prize.”

  “As?”

  “Lady Godiva.” She performed a pirouette.

  “She rode a horse and everythin’.” Margie attempted to sound disgusted by the whole thing, but the underlying tone of her voice revealed just how impressed she really was by Barbie’s stunt.

  “You rode a horse into the ‘V’?”

  Barbie huffed. “Of course not. I rode a horse ‘through’ the ‘V.’ Then I tied it up out back. It was much warmer than today.”

  Margie headed for the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a large tray in hand. It held a carafe of coffee, a plate of sliced Pumpkin Roll, another with what she called Strawberry Pretzel Squares, three coffee cups, and a short stack of dessert plates. I also spotted a saucer of white rice and one of water. And next to them, a bone-shaped treat. At that I arched a brow.
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  “The rice and water are for the dog,” Margie explained. “The treat too.” Her smile was teamed with pride. But just a tad. “I make the dog treats, and the banker gives them out to all the dogs in town. See, they tend to hang out at the bank.”

  That made absolutely no sense. And because of the costume dust-up, I was feeling just contrary enough to reply, “Well, of course they do. Where else would dogs congregate?”

  Ignoring my sarcasm, Margie went on to inform me that she got the recipe for the doggie treats from Mary Dodge of Park Rapids. Mary was known throughout central Minnesota as “the pie and bread lady.” But apparently she could also find her way into a dog’s heart. “As with men,” Margie said, “it’s through their stomachs.”

  Snickering at her joke, she headed for the stairs, her tray balanced high above her right shoulder. “Hey, Barbie,” she yelled back over her head, “if it’s not too much trouble, why don’t ya go and get your costume trunk and meet us up in my bedroom. Maybe we can find somethin’ in there for Emme that won’t get her arrested.”

  Barbie put her hands to her hips. “I assumed she’d want to get arrested. Especially if the deputy doing the cuffing and pat-down was Randy Ryden.”

  Ugh!

  * * *

  As I entered Margie’s room, I noticed it was similar to the one I rented, though from what I’d gathered the night before, hers came with an option for extracurricular activities.

  The room was defined by a black wrought-iron bed and an oversized wood dresser with attached mirror. The small cloth-covered table next to the bed held a Tiffany-style lamp along with a clock-radio and CD player, most likely the source of the song stylings of Barry White. In the corner, next to the lace-draped window, sat an antique wooden chair, while the far wall featured a full-length mirror and two open doors, one to a walk-in closet and the other to a private bathroom.

  Margie placed the kitchen tray on the dresser and poured us each a cup of coffee. Meanwhile, I put the dog on the floor, next to his rice and water. And Barbie dropped her trunk on the bed with a thump.