The Fiesta Burger Murder
A Burger Bar Mystery Book 1
Rosie A. Point
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
The Recipes
Copyright © 2017 by Rosie A. Point
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.
Chapter 1
Sleepy Creek had a million secrets.
Some of them drifted just below the surface like water trapped beneath a slick of oil, others were ocean deep. Those were the secrets which tempted me the most.
I’d returned to the small town where time stood still, nudged to motion by the quirky inhabitants only when it suited them.
I adjusted the straps of my backpack and moved away from the bus station. "Here we go again," I whispered.
I hadn't planned on coming back to this place, my ‘hometown’ when I'd left years ago. I'd sworn against it. Banned myself, because coming back meant facing those secrets and the pain that came with them. It meant thinking about my mother.
But now, I didn't have much of a choice. I had to be here.
"Doesn't mean I have to deal with that," I said.
"Talking to yourself, dear?" An old lady hopped off the grated steps of the bus behind me. "You know what they say about that, don't you?"
"It's the first sign of insanity."
"No, no. It's a sign of clinical loneliness," she replied.
I blinked at her and shook my head. Only in Sleepy Creek.
"You should get a cat," the woman said. "Did you know they're capable of eating an entire human being? A dead one, of course."
"Uh, what?”
“It’s true. I saw it on that Discovery Channel.”
“Who are you?" I scanned her lined cheeks. She had a speck of chocolate on her lip - bus time snack.
"I'm Missi, dear, short for Mississippi," she replied. "Cats are good housekeepers. If you die while you're here you won't have to worry about the clean-up."
"I'm thirty," I said, because how on earth was I supposed to respond to that?
"Accidents happen." Missi winked, then shuffled off, her silver curls bobbling atop her head.
Yeah, I definitely didn't like being back here. Any other city in Ohio would've been fine, but here...
"Christie?"
I spotted my friend outside the windows of an old-timey lookin’ barber shop, complete with a striped barber’s pole.
Blond hair, tied back, escaped strand hung loose next to her ear. That hair had a kink in it, but not from the hair tie. No, it was from a pillow.
She'd overslept.
My gaze flicked over the lipstick smudged in the right corner of her mouth, then to the clump of mascara on her left eyelid.
"I did call ahead to give you enough time," I said.
"I - uh?" My blast from the past high school best friend, Grizzy, stopped in front of me. "Huh?"
"You overslept."
"How did you know? Wait, you're doing that thing again, aren't you? That Sherlock Holmes thing."
Ugh, Grizzy knew I hated that reference probably because it was true. I'd read a lot of crime novels growing up due to my mother's obsession with them. It was the reason she'd named me Christie. After Agatha Christie, of course.
"Attention to detail." I shrugged off my backpack and held it in my left hand. "How are you?" She was tired, obviously. It'd be rude to point that out, though.
"I'm good. But what does that matter?" Grizzy asked. She grasped my forearm and half-walked, half-dragged me down the sidewalk, past groups of elderly citizens and young mothers out early for their own reasons.
The old folks because sleep had eluded them, and the mother's for the same reason but a different cause: the screaming babies.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To talk. We haven't talked in what, like, ten years? I need to get a good look at you."
I wrinkled my nose. "It's been two days since we last Skyped, Griz."
"That's not the same thing and you know it." She stopped in front of her restaurant and relinquished her grip on me. She rammed her fists onto her hips. "What happened?"
"I - " I didn't want to tell her what'd happened. "I needed a break."
"Liar."
"I'm serious."
"Why did you need a break? You love Boston. You love your job."
"Loved," I said. "Loved it. Past tense."
Understanding flashed across her face. "Oh. Oh, no. I'm sorry, Chris. I'm real sorry about that."
"It's not your fault." It was mine.
I'd overstepped the line when I'd questioned a witness. The only witness in a murder trial who happened to be a senator's daughter. The same woman who’s boyfriend had turned up dead in the harbor. I'd had my suspicions about her – something in her manner which I still couldn't place, here, standing on the sidewalk in sunny Sleepy Creek.
I'd pushed too hard, tracked her down at her apartment and the minute she'd opened the door I'd forced my way in.
They'd called it harassment. I called it desperation.
After ten years as a homicide detective with the department, I still hadn't been offered a promotion. I hadn't led an investigation, though I’d solved countless cases.
I was my own worst enemy. Too impulsive. Not fit to lead. Those were the terms the Captain had used.
"Chris?"
"Yeah," I said. "I zoned out for a second there, didn't I?"
The pity on my best friend's face made my hot cheeks want to peel right off my face. "You want a burger? On the house."
The restaurant’s sign dominated the bricks overhead. "Grizzy's Burger Bar - Best Grilled Burgers in Sleepy Creek."
"And don't you forget it," she said. "Come on. I've got the Mexican Fiesta special going at the moment. You'll love it." Grizzy pushed into the interior of her restaurant, and I followed her in, ignoring the curiosity of the inhabitants and the multitude of information which assaulted my senses.
I was back, all right. And my conscience nudged me – that niggling voice in the back of my mind which annoyed me to no end. It wanted me to investigate the one case I’d sworn I’d never touch.
My mother's murder.
Chapter 2
"Pull up a chair, gorgeous," Grizzy said, and patted one of the stools in front of the long counter at the back of the bar.
I slid onto it and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror which spanned the wall opposite. Oh heavens, I had to get a haircut. Those loose tendrils of dark brown hair had too many split-ends to count. Back in Boston, I'd lost all my girly habits.
I'd conditioned but never styled, and forget about nail polish. The only thing I'd refreshed regularly was my trusty tube of mascara. My mother had maintained that a flick of mascara on the lashes was a woman's best weapon.
The habit had stuck, though I didn't agree with the sentiment.
Grizzy whip
ped out a soda glass and set about preparing my favorite. A root beer float. "So?"
"So," I said, and shrugged off my bag. I dropped it to the tiles.
The store’s warm atmosphere curled around my shoulders and eased the tension from the long bus ride. Chatter, and clinking glasses and plates, punctuated the hum from the coffee machine in the corner.
"Come on, give me the scoop." Grizzy tinged a bell on the counter in an open window.
A man with a shining dark face appeared and scrutinized her. He shoved his chef's hat to one side. "What's happenin?" He had a thick Jamaican accent.
"I need a Mexican Fiesta, Jarvis," Grizzy said.
The man lifted a maraca, rattled it once, then grinned. "Comin' a right up, mon."
I blinked at the interaction. "I - uh - what was the question?"
"The scoop, Chris, the scoop. I know you're on the outs with your job now, but what's the deal?"
"I pushed a little too hard, a little too fast," I said. "And yeah, they suspended me."
"Oh, thank heavens," Grizzy said, and slid the root beer float onto the polished Formica counter top. "I thought it was over for good."
"If it was over for good I wouldn't have come back here," I said.
"Why did you come back?"
"I had free time," I replied, and focused on the blob of vanilla ice cream floating in a sea of fizz. "It was about time I came and paid you a visit, know what I mean?"
"Uh huh, uh huh. I'm not buying it," she said. Of the two of us, Griselda was the perceptive one, and that said a lot.
I was a cop, after all. "C'mon, Grizz."
"Don't you, ‘c'mon, Griz,’ me, Christie Lilith Watson," she said. "I know why you're back, and it's got nothing to do with me. It's the ghost, isn't it?"
The ghost. The invisible pressure that chased me around and forced me onward and upward. The ghost had driven me to become a police officer. The ghost had seen me graduate at the top of my class. And the ghost had seen me verbally harass a witness in a desperate attempt to get her to admit to a crime.
"We shouldn't talk about it here," I said.
"Ha, I knew it."
We didn't have to name the ghost, but we both knew what it was. It was my mother's memory.
"You're going to investigate it, aren't you?" Grizzy whispered. "That's the real reason you drove out here."
"I didn't drive," I said, and poked the ice cream with my straw. "I bussed."
"Now you're just avoiding the question."
Truthfully, I was torn about investigating what had happened to mom. I'd carried that weight around with me for twelve years. I'd buried my pain over what'd happened deep, and investigating meant scratching it out into the open again.
I didn't want to deal with that, but I craved answers. They'd never solved her case. At the time they hadn't had the manpower, and I'd been too young to do anything about it.
Grizzy pursed her lips at me, but I didn't give her the response she desired.
"Suit yourself, then. But this isn't the end of it, woman. If you're going to live under my roof, it's going to be by my rules. And that means no secrets."
I snorted.
"I'm serious. And you're going to earn your keep. You're going to waitress in the Burger Bar."
"Is that how you plan on keeping me out of trouble?" I asked. "You know that will only cause more of it." I'd never been a 'people person' and she knew it.
"You said you’re suspended," Grizzy replied, "and that means you've got to behave yourself."
She was right, of course. I'd had my hearing and they'd determined I needed a three-month sabbatical with pay. They'd review my psychological health after that period. Captain Wilkes had practically shoved me out of the doors, but not before he'd warned me that I was to stay out of trouble and out of investigations or, “You’re toast, Watson.”
"Griz, I -"
The bell tinged and Jarvis reappeared. He placed a red basket, complete with a checked napkin, on the counter top, then knocked once. "Mexican Fiesta Burger, mon." He rattled the colorful maracas again.
"Thank you," I called out.
Grizzy swept the basket over, placed it in front of me. “After you’re done, we’ll head on back to my place and get you settled. All right?”
“I could go on my own.”
Grizzy blew out her disdain – reminded me of a horse flappin’ its lips. “Don’t start with that. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Besides, Jarvis’s cousin Martin is coming in for his shift in a half hour. I’m free after that.”
“If you’re sure,” I said. I didn’t want to be a nuisance. Just because I had a ‘vacation’ didn’t mean I could roll into Sleepy Creek and upset her schedule.
“Duh,” Grizzy said, and winked at me.
I turned my attention to the meal. The tower of meat, melted cheese and soft, sesame-speckled buns induced a flood of drool. Gosh, I'd forgotten my hunger in all that morose reflection. "This smells amazing," I said, and swallowed.
"Don't get your hopes up," a man said, behind me.
I turned my head and caught sight of the fella. Viciously hooked nose which suited the snarl in his tone, crane tall, hunched over at the top. His left eyelid drooped - medical disorder? Stroke?
He twitched into the chair next to mine. "That," he said, and pointed at the burger, "is a one-way ticket to the bathroom. You mark my words. You'll regret that later."
"Good morning, Paul," Grizzy said, in a long-suffering tone. "What can I get you?"
"Who puts jalapenos on a burger, huh? What kind of crazy lady thinks that's a good idea?"
I took off the burger’s bun and studied the red jalapeno relish on top. "Looks good to me," I said. That was my calm response.
“Keep your nose clean,” Captain had said, and that was exactly what I intended to do. But if he insulted Grizzy again, I might forget about good behavior and decorate him with the relish instead of eating it.
"What do you know?" Paul asked, and sneered at me. "You're an out-of-towner, ain't ya? Never seen you around here before. Little Miss Nobody. Little Miss Jalapeno Lover."
"The manners in this town have taken a dive." I popped my burger bun back into place.
"What you know about manners, out-of-towner?" Paul asked, and smoothed tapered fingers over his bald crown. "You smell like bus and smog."
"Anything's better than," I paused, leaned in and sniffed, "cat urine. Is that cat urine?"
Paul scrambled off his seat, all arms and legs, like an overgrown spider. The chatter in the restaurant hushed and the customers turned to watch the show. "Little woman, you'd better take that back or I'll -”
"That's enough," Grizzy said. The musical quality to her voice suited a choir, but now, she'd gone rough around the edges. "That's more than enough. Paul, I won't stand for you upsetting my customers and my guests," she said, and nodded toward me. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"And what if I don't go?" Paul asked.
The silver kitchen door flicked open and Jarvis ambled up. "We gotta problem?" He folded his meaty arms across his chest, and his biceps strained against the short sleeves of his chef's shirt. The end of the spatula poked out of his boulder-sized fist.
Spider Paul's gaze swept over Jarvis from head to toe. He paled, narrowed his eyes at Grizzy. "You'll regret this, missy. You hear me now. You'll regret this." He gave Jarvis another once over, then clattered off and out into the street.
Under different circumstances, I would've flashed him my badge and asked him if he deemed verbal threats appropriate. Shoot, I might've pulled him into the station for a chat about disturbing the peace.
Grizzy clapped her hands. "All right, show's over everybody. You get back to your Fiestas and Double Cheeses."
"Don't forget the Breakfast Burger," a man called out. Some of the customers chuckled and the noise resumed, a slow swell of sound which rushed to fill the spaces Paul had created.
"Loopy Paul giving you trouble again, Griselda?" The woman I'd met a
t the bus sat in the stool Paul had vacated. She nodded at me, but didn’t recognize me. Her voice sounded deeper, and wait, hadn't that Missi woman's hair been silver, not tinged purple?
"Hey, Virginia," Griz said.
So she wasn't Missi. But they were almost identical. Had Sleepy Creek upgraded from its usual secrets to cloning its inhabitants? I took a bite of my burger.
Grizzy continued, "You know Paul. Always causing a fuss. What can I get for you?"
"I'll take one of the Mexican Fiestas, dear."
"Comin' right up."
"One second, one second." Jarvis shot back into the kitchen and grabbed his maracas.
I got the distinct impression that my vacation in Sleepy Creek would be anything but peaceful. The concept didn't bother me too much.
Chapter 3
“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “I could get a hotel room. It wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Whatever,” Grizzy replied. “Like I’ll let you camp out in Sleepy Creek motel. I mean, we’re on the map but it’s still all moth-eaten sheets and brown stains on the mattresses.”
“Ew.”
“Exactly. Besides, I haven’t seen you in years. This will give us the perfect opportunity to catch up.” Grizzy unlocked the front door of her house.
I stifled a yawn and swayed behind her, the cold nighttime breeze grazing the back of my neck. We’d walked to Grizzy’s place from the Burger Bar and caught sight of all the town’s highlights, shrouded by the dark or highlighted by decorative street lamps.
The Sleepy Creek Park, Public Library, and the old Town Hall which’d been converted into a youth center, all offset by the chirp of crickets. Then we’d entered suburbia, and the landmarks had been replaced by homes, lit windows, and the scent of home cookin’.
Grizzy led me into the hall of her two story – it’d belonged to her grandmother – then double locked behind us. “You can never be too careful,” she said, and tapped the side of her nose.
“It’s Sleepy Creek,” I said. “What could possibly happen?” I regretted it, instantly. My mother’s murder had happened here. Griselda had a point.
My friend shrugged off the question. “Let’s get you settled in. I’ve got a guest room on the second floor with your name on it. Not literally, but it’s outfitted in pink frills and flowers.”
The Fiesta Burger Murder (A Burger Bar Mystery Book 1) Page 1