Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery

by Christine Wenger

  “Don’t worry, please.”

  “Can I offer you some tea? Coffee?” I didn’t know what the Amish could drink. “Water?”

  Dammit…oops…I mean darn. I didn’t have anything sweet to offer her.

  “I’m fine. Thank you, Miss Matkowski.”

  “Please, call me Trixie.”

  “I will. And my name is Sarah.”

  “Hello, Sarah.”

  She opened the lid of her basket. “I might as well come to the point of my visit. I bake, and I was wondering if you could use any of my baked goods in your restaurant.” She pulled out a tray of samples and handed it to me. “You don’t have to answer now,” she said. “Please just think about it.”

  “I don’t have to think about it, Sarah. I was going to contact you earlier, but then the diner…well, it wasn’t doing much business, but things are picking up. We have some groups from the American Legion who are meeting at the diner now, and they definitely like their sweets.”

  I saw what I thought was a hand pie: fruit filling in a flaky crust and crimped on the side. Mrs. Stolfus’s had a sugar glaze, and I started drooling like one of Pavlov’s dogs.

  “Sarah, I’ll take a dozen of everything every three days. Can you handle more if there are more meetings? Of course, I’ll give you as much notice as I can. How would I get ahold of you?”

  “Would you like to know my prices?”

  “No. I trust you to be fair.”

  “I shall be fair,” Mrs. Stolfus said solemnly. “Send a note with Sandra, your waitress. She lives nearby. And thank you, Trixie.”

  “Thank you, Sarah. Your baked goods will be a most welcome addition to the Silver Bullet. Oh, and I hear that you have just moved to Sandy Harbor. I’m new, too. Well, I’m sorta new.”

  She smiled. “Several families came here from Lancaster. We heard that there was good farmland and people who would welcome us.”

  “I came from Philadelphia. We were almost neighbors! And yes, there are good people here.”

  Except whoever murdered Marvin Cogswell.

  “Sarah, have any of your people bought the land west of mine? Along the water?”

  “My husband looked into that land. It was much too expensive, being on the water, and there was no house or barn or silo. We try to buy farms that are already…established.”

  “By any chance would you remember who was selling the land?”

  “An Italian gentleman, by the name of—”

  “Salvatore Brownelli?” I asked, my heart beating rapidly.

  “Yes! That was his name.”

  “I wonder who bought it,” I said.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

  “That’s okay. I was just wondering, since I’m going to get a new neighbor.” Plus, it would have saved me a trip to downtown Sandy Harbor.

  As I munched on Sarah’s tray of goodies, we made small talk, and I found myself enjoying her company very much.

  As she was leaving, she invited me to her farm to meet her husband, Levi, and their four little Stolfuses, two girls and two boys. It was then I noticed glints of metal on her dress, and realized that her outfit was held together with straight pins.

  Fascinating.

  I couldn’t wait to chuck the rain slicker. I was sweating like a racehorse in the rubberized coat. Slipping it off, I felt that I could breathe.

  I should go to bed. That was what I should do, but no. Not me. I had to go to the assessor’s office and find out who owned the land, or I’d never be able to sleep.

  I pulled myself up the stairs, slipped into jeans, and a T-shirt. I slipped on a pair of pink socks and went back downstairs to dig in my boxes to find another pair of sneakers. I’d left my other pair at the diner. And I needed a coat of some sort. I scored on both, finding a navy blue peacoat in another box.

  I went into the laundry room, transferred everything into the dryer, and turned the machine on.

  Then I threw my winter boots away. Maybe I’d stop at the Dollar-O-Rama and see whether they had any boots. I fed Blondie, gave her a pat on the head, and headed for my car, hoping that Wyatt Earp wasn’t watching the parking lot.

  I was the only one in the assessor’s office. Finally, a pink-faced gentleman, his white hair standing up like a dandelion puffball, walked to the counter.

  “What can I do for you today?”

  “I’m Trixie Matkowski and I own the point, or I will after I buy it from my aunt Stella.”

  He stuck out his hand. “I’m George Shea. I remember you from Stella and Porky’s parties. How you loved to dance!”

  We shook hands, and I immediately liked George Shea. He was warm and had twinkling green eyes.

  “Mr. Shea, I’d like to know who owns the land to the west of mine. I saw survey markers on the property line, and it seems like someone is getting ready to buy, sell, or build.”

  I thought he’d lift one of the heavy bound books lined up around the room, or maybe type something onto the huge computer sitting on a desk, but he didn’t.

  “That’d be Mayor Tingsley’s in-laws. They bought the land just last week from Salvatore Brownelli, or Sal Brown, as he goes by.”

  “I remember that there were cows on the property once.”

  “Sal didn’t want to farm way back when. That flashy wife of his wouldn’t stand for being on a farm.”

  “So they built a restaurant instead.”

  “Yeah.” Mr. Shea shook his head. “And it’s just too bad. That parcel of land has been in the Brownelli family for generations. Sal’s had many offers throughout the years, but he always turned them down. He said he wanted to leave the land wild—for the birds, the native plants, and to protect the sand dunes. A lot of people forgot that he owned it. It was just there.”

  “Then why did Sal sell it now?”

  “I asked him, and he just shrugged.”

  “And Mayor Tingsley’s father-in-law bought it,” I stated, wanting another confirmation from Mr. Shea.

  “Yep. But the man’s in Florida. I’m wondering what he wants with it.”

  I rubbed my chin, thinking. “I’m wondering, too, but I hear that Tingsley is talking of developing it. He must be partnering with his in-laws.”

  “It’s a big parcel, but it’s not big enough for what he wants to do.”

  “And what does he want to do?”

  “He wants to put up a five-star resort. Attract the big spenders. Hollywood people. And he wants to put up condos, a marina, a fancy restaurant.”

  “That’s what I heard, too. But you say that there’s not enough land.”

  Mr. Shea shook his head. “Not by a long shot.” He lowered his voice. “You know, he asked me about the value of your land.”

  “No!” I feigned righteous indignation.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “I told the lazy slug to look it up on the Internet. We have a Web site, you know. All the assessments are public information.”

  I chuckled.

  But what did it all mean? I still had a nagging suspicion that someone wanted to put me out of business so that he could buy the point.

  Tingsley had the most to gain by putting me out of business.

  Why would Sal Brown sell? Why now? What had happened to his dream of birds, dunes, and native plants?

  Plants?

  I’d bet the diner that Sal Brown knew there were Destroying Angels growing on that piece of land. Someone dug them up under that tree in the woods.

  But I had no reason to suspect Sal Brown. If he sold his land, he wouldn’t have any reason to lust after mine. And how did his wife fit in with her ripped muumuu?

  Rick Tingsley just zoomed past ACB on my list of suspects.

  But I was going by my “land lust” theory. What about my love-triangle theory?

  Was Mr. Cogswell cheating on Roberta? She had an alibi; she was in the front of the diner at the time of the victim’s death.

  I sighed. I was going in circles like the dough hook in th
e big mixer.

  Chapter 15

  As I was coming out of the assessor’s office, Ty held the door open for me.

  “What are you, my bodyguard?”

  He chuckled. “You might need rescuing from another Dumpster. I’m your man.” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought—again—that you were going to get some sleep.”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I had to know who owned the land by me.”

  “Tingsley’s in-laws. They live in Florida. They bought it a week ago from Sal Brown,” he said.

  “How on earth did you know?”

  He grinned. “My laptop. It’s amazing what you can find without even leaving your home.”

  “Sure, I could have done that, but then I wouldn’t have met Mr. Shea, and I wouldn’t have heard about Sal’s reluctance to sell for years. Then suddenly he does. To our mayor’s in-laws.”

  We walked toward my car. “I think we can conclude that Tingsley’s in-laws bought it for Tingsley and his lofty dreams.”

  “Yes. But why did Sal sell now? Did Tingsley have something against Sal? Did he blackmail him into selling?”

  “I thought of that, too. I’m going to take a ride to Brown’s Restaurant and have a talk with ACB.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Can I come?”

  “Of course not. This is official police business.”

  “I really need to hear what ACB has to say. C’mon, Ty. Maybe I can help. I’ve kind of bonded with her.”

  He sighed. “Okay, but don’t interfere with my investigation.”

  “I promise.” Maybe we’d have a breakthrough on the case. Even if we didn’t, I’d get to see Ty in action.

  He opened the door to his vehicle, and I got in. He drove the short distance to Brown’s, and we stood in line to be seated. ACB was the hostess, and she smiled when she saw us.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  She was wearing a muumuu with large green palm trees on it complete with coconuts. I had to admit that it was pretty mild for her. However, on her toes was red glitter nail polish, and she wore lime green flip-flops with sequins. She was missing her usual turban, but a big orange velvet bow was perched on the top of her head. Her hair, freshly dyed a bright red with purple streaks around her face, was cut in a choppy pageboy.

  Bangle bracelets of all shapes and sizes circled her wrists, and her earrings were balls of purple rhinestones that swayed when she moved.

  The place was still packed, but the Silver Bullet was picking up. Thankfully, I’d be able to make my first installment payment to Aunt Stella without dipping too much into the “get lost” money from Deputy Doug and his trophy wife, and that made me feel happy and independent. The next installment would be all profit, I hoped.

  ACB picked up two menus from a holder on the side of the podium. “Welcome to Brown’s Restaurant. I can seat you now.”

  Ty tweaked his hat brim. “Mrs. Brown, we are not going to eat. Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

  “Why, uh…As you can see, I’m very busy here.” She waved at a front table, but no one waved back. “See?” she asked. “Very busy.”

  “Can you get someone else to take over for you?” Ty asked.

  She just pulled out a sign that read SIT ANYWHERE and tacked it to the podium.

  Without saying a word, she led us to a roped-off area in the back of the restaurant. The faux marble floor was dirty and sticky, and the tables weren’t much better.

  We each took a seat on the wobbly wooden chairs.

  ACB’s lips were clamped together, or maybe they were stuck together with her pasty orange lipstick.

  “Mrs. Brown, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”

  “Why certainly not, Deputy Ty.”

  Suddenly, she was going to cooperate.

  Ty leaned back in his chair. “You should know that the dress you threw away was recovered from the Dumpster belonging to the Crossroads Restaurant. I have a witness who saw you dispose of it.”

  Her lips stayed shut, but her eyes opened wide. She finally said, “So? The dress was damaged.”

  “I want to ask you again. Do you know how it got damaged?” Ty asked.

  “I told you that I snagged it on my Dumpster when I was taking out a bag of trash. I was going to shorten it, but then I didn’t want to bother, so I threw it away.”

  She continued. “Why are you questioning me about my dress again? I just don’t understand why…I just don’t understand what this all means.”

  “It means that I believe that you were at the Silver Bullet the day Mr. Cogswell was poisoned,” Ty said.

  Her eyes grew as wide as saucers; then she turned toward the kitchen. Did she want her husband here, or did she want him to call her a lawyer?

  “Deputy, please believe me…I haven’t been to the Silver Bullet since Porky died and Stella had open house. And I didn’t wear the gardenia dress. I wore my black dahlia dress. I always wear the black dahlia for the departed.”

  She took a deep breath, slipped her hand into the vee of her dress, and adjusted her bra straps.

  Ty shook his head. It was obvious that he didn’t believe her.

  I took a deep breath. “Antoinette Chloe, I was the one who saw you throw it away over at the Crossroads,” I said. “How come you didn’t use your own Dumpster? You have two of them.”

  “They were full.”

  “You didn’t want anyone to find the dress, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She looked toward the kitchen. “No particular reason. I just wanted a quick walk in the fresh air. And I didn’t kill Mr. Cogswell, if that’s what you think.” Tears flooded her eyes and dropped onto her powdered cheeks. “I can’t talk about it.”

  “Antoinette Chloe, can I ask you a personal question?” I asked.

  “I suppose so.”

  “I know that you and Mr. Cogswell had a relationship in high school. Did you still…uh…have a relationship with him?”

  Tears flooded her eyes and black mascara dripped down her cheeks in small streams.

  “I’m a married woman, Miss Matkowski.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue that I handed her.

  Suddenly, I felt sorry for ACB. It would be awful to have loved someone since high school and decades later still be in love with him, but be married to someone else.

  If she was in love with Marvin Cogswell, why did she marry Salvatore Brownelli?

  I didn’t have a chance to ask that. Ty’s cell phone started ringing.

  “But I’m in the middle of something, Lou,” I heard him say. “Okay, I’ll be right there.”

  He looked at me. “I have to go.”

  “Go right ahead,” I said. “I can walk to my car.”

  “Why don’t you let me drive you?”

  “I’m fine, Ty. I’m going to talk to Antoinette Chloe some more. Girl talk. You go and take care of business.”

  He glared at me, straightened his hat on his head, and hurried out of the restaurant, without so much as a good-bye.

  ACB’s eyes darted to the kitchen again.

  I spoke up. “Antoinette Chloe, I understand that all three of you went to high school together: you, Sal, and Marvin Cogswell.”

  “And Laura VanPlank Tingsley and Rick Tingsley. Roberta Cummings was a year behind us. Most of the town went to SHHS.”

  “But you and Marvin Cogswell were a couple,” I said, “And you never stopped loving him, did you?” I put my hand over hers.

  She nodded, tears dripping down her face. “I loved Marv in high school,” she finally said. “I’ve always considered him a good friend, but I love Sal now. And, Trixie, I don’t know how a piece of my dress came to be at your diner. I’d never kill Marvin. Never!”

  “Why did you marry Sal just out of high school if you loved Marv?” I asked, gently.

  “I—I was pregnant, and Marvin…well, he wasn’t the marrying type.”

  “Was it Marv’s baby?” I asked gently.

  She nod
ded, sobbing harder. “Sal married me so I could save face, but then…but then I lost the baby, but I stayed with Sal. He’s a good man, and I owe him for marrying me. It was a different time back then.”

  She looked down, as if embarrassed. “I really need to get back to work.”

  I decided to change the subject, but I pushed on. “Antoinette Chloe, you really never said why you tossed your muumuu over the fence to the Crossroads Dumpster. It seemed like you were hiding it.”

  If looks could kill, I’d be the next thing she tossed in the Dumpster.

  “I said that ours were full.”

  I didn’t believe her. “But there certainly would have been enough room for a little bag.”

  “I just wanted to go for a little walk, to get some fresh air. The sun was shining, and I didn’t think that Laura Tingsley would mind me using her Dumpster, for heaven’s sake.”

  She dabbed at her eyes and raised her head. I could tell that our conversation was over.

  “I know you were lying about wanting my house to be on the historical society’s tour, you know.”

  “I most certainly was not lying. I’m the chairperson of the tour. Just ask Mrs. Leddy.”

  “Oh! Oh, that’s wonderful! Have you made a decision on my home yet?”

  She’d been sitting at the table with a deputy sheriff and had been questioned about a murder, but she was still concerned about being included on a house tour. Go figure.

  ACB was either very naïve or very innocent. Maybe both. Or maybe she was just a good actress.

  “I haven’t made a decision yet, Antoinette Chloe, but as soon as possible, I’ll let you know.” I stood to go, but then decided we still had some unfinished business.

  “I hear that congratulations are in order. I understand that Sal finally sold his property on the lake.”

  If possible, ACB went white under her heavy makeup. “He did what?”

  I ignored her shock. “Are you and Sal going to do something special with the money? Maybe take a European cruise? Add that ice-cream stand onto the restaurant?”

  For a moment, I thought she was going to faint.

  “I just came from the assessor’s office,” I said. “Sal sold the land.”

  “We were going to build our retirement home on the waterfront,” she mumbled to herself. She looked down at her glittery fingernails, and then gripped the edge of the table with her hands until her knuckles turned white.