Death Over Easy

by Maddie Day

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “Maria, she’s reading the news from home. Pia’s murder is the big story. And the story says we, my wife and I, are involved.”

  “That’s crazy. You’re involved because you’re staying in the next town from where somebody was killed?” How had the reporter even found out?

  “Colpevole,” Maria whispered, her face drained of color.

  “What?” I asked.

  Roberto squeezed Maria’s hand. “It says we are guilty.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  I yawned as I headed for the coffeepot in the restaurant at six the next morning. It had taken both Roberto and me to talk Maria off the cliff. I didn’t understand why an Italian news agency would make such an accusation, or even how they knew my father and his wife were here. Roberto kept stroking Maria’s hand and talking calmly to her in Italian, and they finally went up to bed. I’d encouraged them to lock their room door, and I made sure to turn the bolt on the door to my apartment, too.

  This business of one, possibly two murderers still not apprehended was getting old, and it made me nervous that I might be harboring one—or both?—of them upstairs. I wondered if providing keys to the second egress had been the smartest idea in the world. On my next day off, I was buying and installing the camera as the detective had recommended to track the comings and goings of my guests. For now good locks were going to have to suffice.

  After I started the coffee and lit the oven, I rolled and cut biscuits, and slid the first couple of batches into the oven to bake. The second baking sheet grated on the oven shelf. My eyes flew wide open. I remembered hearing a sound resembling that in the middle of the night. A scraping, almost chipping kind of noise. It had seemed to be part of the dream I was immersed in—until it roused me. I hadn’t really awoken enough for the sound to worry me, though, and had sunk back into the odd semi-real world of dreams.

  But with a murderer or two at large and me now fully awake, I very much wanted to know what had made the noise. I knew it wasn’t a cat noise, and besides, Birdy had been sound asleep on my feet. I walked over to the door to my apartment. It was intact. I hurried through my apartment to the back door.

  And sucked in a harsh breath. Scratch marks surrounded the metal plate that held the keyhole and handle to the door. My heart departed to the Arctic. Someone had tried to get to me in the night. Who else besides the killer? Or one of them?

  I made myself return to my prep and practiced deep calming breathing. It was still only six-twenty when Danna burst in. Her eyes were wide and her dreds flew every which way.

  “What’s the matter, Danna? You look like a ghost was chasing you.”

  “I can’t find Isaac.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t find him?”

  “He’s gone. I couldn’t reach him last night. We were supposed to go to the music festival and he never came to get me.” The words rushed out of her. “He didn’t answer my texts or my e-mails, and didn’t pick up when I called. I went over to his place but his truck isn’t there!”

  “Try to calm down a little, okay? Maybe he got an emergency call and had to leave.”

  “But he at least would have texted me.”

  “Where do his parents live? Could he have gone to see them?”

  “His dad is in the halfway house.”

  “Right. I forgot. How about his mom?”

  “She lives up in Zionsville, you know, near Indy. I don’t know her number or anything,” she wailed. “Robbie, what if Isaac was murdered, too?”

  My ultracompetent assistant was only twenty, and I knew she’d fallen hard for Isaac. But given what she’d said, that he was a veteran and prone to flashes of temper, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d gone off somewhere to be alone. Or was he trying to escape the police? Maybe Henderson had asked him in for more questioning and he didn’t want to go. Because he was guilty, colpevole? Or he went and the police had detained him overnight. Wouldn’t they have to arrest him to keep him for so long? I knew they had to have evidence to make an arrest. But Isaac murdered, too? That was a possibility I didn’t even want to consider.

  “Listen, Danna. I need your help this morning, but after Turner comes in, why don’t you take a break? Make some calls. See if he’s at his mother’s place. Or maybe he’s at the police station. Let’s not jump to another murder so quickly.”

  She shook her head fast. “But he didn’t do anything wrong. I know he didn’t.”

  “It’s one possibility.” So was murder. I was pretty sure Isaac hadn’t come to my door trying to get in, but it was theoretically possible. “Buck usually comes in for breakfast. We can ask him what he knows.” I took a deep breath and let it out, modeling for her. “Take a deep breath. Grab an apron. That sign is getting turned to OPEN in half an hour, and we need to be ready.” She knew the routine, and I hoped it would steady her to do familiar work in a safe, familiar place.

  She accomplished her own deep inhale and exhale. “All right.” She dug a purple bandanna out of her bag before she stashed it under the counter and tied the bandanna around her head. “I’m sorry, Robbie. It’s so not like him to take off without telling me.” She hurried into the walk-in and came out with the tray full of condiment caddies we put on each table.

  I beat the wet ingredients into the dry pancake mix and started a dozen sausages on the grill as Danna distributed the caddies.

  “By the way, I put the order in yesterday afternoon, but if they don’t deliver this morning, we won’t be able to do the Hot Brown sandwich or Turner’s Asian noodle dish,” I said. “My bad.”

  “We can do them tomorrow, instead. I was thinking to whip up some blueberry muffins this morning. We have frozen berries.”

  “Great idea.” I was glad her distress wasn’t dimming her creativity for thinking up specials.

  When seven o’clock hit, we were ready, including several dozen fruity muffins in the oven adding the aromatic lure of baked goods to the air. I turned the sign to OPEN and pulled open the door to six customers already waiting on the porch.

  “Good morning everyone,” I said, smiling my welcoming-proprietor face, no matter what was going on behind it. “Come on in.” I stood back to let them enter, then surveyed the day for a minute. The air was already warm and the sky was clear, the sun rising above the green-leafed trees across the road. It was forecast to be a scorcher today, which was unusual for early June. But a hot sunny day was a lot better for festivalgoers than a rainy one. I hoped it would be a good day for Detective Henderson, too. It was time to get the murderer caught and safely behind bars. Unless it was Isaac and he was already there.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  By seven-thirty the place was nearly full. I glanced up from the grill as the cowbell jangled again. It was Phil, arms loaded with brownies.

  “Bring them on over,” I called. I kept working, a stainless turner in each hand so I could flip pancakes, move omelets around, turn sausages, sauté onions and peppers, and accomplish all the other tasks of a short-order cook.

  As Phil set the trays on the counter, the delectable aroma of chocolate wafted straight into my brain. “You just baked those? I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, got up early, thought I’d use the time wisely.” The smile slid away. “The music department is having a memorial for Pia at the end of the day today. Any chance you want to come?”

  “I didn’t know her very well. She’d only recently joined my puzzle group. I’ll send out a text to the group about the service, though. Where will it be?”

  “At four o’clock in Beck Chapel on the IU campus. Afterward a bunch of us are going to eat at DeAngelo’s.”

  “Italian food in memory of an Italian. Good idea.” I flipped four pancakes and laid three pieces of bacon on the hot grill. “My father and Maria were supposed to leave this afternoon but their flight got postponed, so I’m not sure what I’ll be doing with them after I close today.”

  “I read a
bout the volcanic ash disrupting all kinds of things.”

  Danna hurried over with two more orders, slapping the slips on the carousel. “Hey, Phil. You haven’t seen Isaac around town, have you?”

  “No. Did you lose him?”

  “Kind of. If you spot him, will you text me? And ask him to call?” She loaded up her arms with two ready platters.

  “Sure. Hope he turns up,” Phil added.

  “You and me both, dude.” Danna carried the plates to their destination.

  “What’s up with her?” Phil asked me.

  “Isaac stood her up last night. He appears to be incommunicado, and his truck wasn’t at his place this morning. She’s worried.”

  “Do you think he had something to do with Pia’s death?”

  “I don’t know what to think. I don’t know the guy at all.” The cowbell jangled again. “But here’s somebody who can at least tell us if Isaac is or isn’t at the police station. Morning, Buck,” I called.

  Buck ambled over and greeted us. “Going to snag me a table.”

  “And you want the usual?” I asked.

  “I surely do. I’ve got a pit the size of the Grand Canyon in my stomach.”

  Phil murmured, “For a change.”

  “Ain’t that the way of it?” Buck said.

  I spied Danna watching us. “Buck, before you sit down, would you happen to know if Detective Henderson has Isaac in custody?”

  “The Rowling fella?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Hey Robbie, I have to split,” Phil said. “Maybe I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “See ya, Buck.”

  Buck waved his hand. “Welp, I’m not sure I know the answer to your question. We don’t have him here in South Lick, but that don’t mean Anne don’t have him in the sheriff’s clink over to Nashville.”

  By now Danna had joined us. I sniffed. And swore, turning back to the grill. While I was neglecting my job, the pancakes had burned on the bottom. I scraped them into the compost bucket and started over. A couple of other orders were done, so I plated them up.

  “What did you say?” Danna asked Buck.

  “I said we don’t have Rowling in the South Lick jail, but the sheriff might could be detaining him.”

  “All night long?” she screeched.

  “Now, now, Miss Danna,” Buck said, making a slowdown gesture with his hand. “Don’t get your britches in a twist. I’ll do you a favor and make a call to Detective Henderson, once I get some sustenance into me.”

  “You will?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Thank you,” Danna said. “You’re the best.”

  “Miss?” a customer called from across the room.

  “These are ready, Danna.” I pointed to the full plates. “We both need to get back to work.”

  She nodded as she grabbed the plates. Buck strolled to his favorite table, hands in his pockets. I probably should just put a RESERVED sign on it, he was in here that often. I assembled his usual order, gargantuan in proportion. Two over easy, a stack of pancakes, four pieces of bacon, wheat toast, two biscuits with sausage gravy, and a muffin. I knew he’d eat every bite and still have room for lunch later. Danna was busy, so I carried it over to him, and he thanked me.

  “Danna’s really worried about Isaac,” I said in a low voice, my back to the other diners nearby. “She thinks he might have been murdered, too.”

  “Welp, you know what think did. Followed a dustcart and thought it was a wedding.” He took a huge bite of muffin. “Mmm. This muffin is granny-slappin’ good. Tell you what. I’ll go ahead and call right now, put that girl’s mind at ease.” He wiped his hands and pulled out a phone.

  “Thanks. I have to get back to the grill. Let Danna know what you hear, okay?”

  He nodded and I went back to my cooking. I saw Danna hovering near Buck. I saw Buck speak to her. I saw her posture collapse in dejection. The news could be that her man was locked up. Or it could be Henderson didn’t have him. I was pretty sure she hadn’t been told he’d been murdered, though. She would be in a lot worse shape if she had.

  Chapter Thirty

  It wasn’t until after eight that I had a chance to ask Danna what Buck had said. Turner had arrived on time and taken over at the grill after I’d filled him in on Danna’s worries. Buck had consumed every crumb of his hungry-man’s breakfast and left a few minutes ago.

  “Nobody knows where Isaac is,” she said, her arms full of dishes. “Buck called the detective, but she doesn’t have him. Buck says his people will keep an eye out for him around the area. But if Isaac doesn’t want to be found or is in trouble somewhere, they’re not going to spot him going shopping or filling up his truck with gas or anything.”

  “And Isaac’s mom?” I asked. “Were you able to reach her?”

  Danna shook her head. “I dug up a number for her on the Web, but when I called it was disconnected. She must have canceled her landline.”

  “You don’t know where she works?”

  “Ize didn’t really talk about his family much, except recently telling me his dad got out of prison. I called his father at the halfway house. Isaac isn’t there, either. Robbie, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m sorry, Danna. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

  Turner, who had been following our conversation, said, “Is there an old hunting shed on his property? Maybe he’s hiding out there.” He gave a wry smile.

  Earlier in the spring his own father had done exactly that.

  Danna narrowed her eyes. “He does own ten acres. I have no idea if there’s a shed out there in the woods.”

  “Remind me where his house is,” I said.

  “It’s off the road to Helmsburg. You know, Route 45. I wish I could . . .” She glanced around the full, buzzing restaurant. “Nah, never mind.”

  “You wish you could go hunt for him. I know the feeling. If we get a good midmorning lull, you can take off for an hour or two, but I really need you now. Does that work?”

  “Thanks.” Her strained face relaxed a notch. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  Turner dinged the bell indicating an order was ready, even though Danna and I were standing only feet away. A customer caught my gaze and pointed to her coffee cup. Four women pushed through the door from outside. A couple at a table full of empty dishes stood, ready for their check. We really didn’t have time to stand around chatting about a missing boyfriend. And I wasn’t so sure it was safe for Danna to go traipsing through unfamiliar woods in search of a man, possibly PTSD-beset, whom the detective considered a person of interest in Pia’s murder.

  Roberto and Maria came downstairs a few minutes later. All the tables were full, so I took them each a cup of coffee, dosed with sugar and cream as I’d learned they both preferred it. Maria thanked me and took her mug into the cookware area.

  “There will be a memorial service for Pia this afternoon at IU,” I told Roberto. “Do you and Maria want to go?”

  “I will ask her. I think she will say yes. You are going, too?”

  I nodded. “If you want to go, I’ll go with you. I can show you on a map a couple side trips you could do today before the service, if you want. Down to French Lick and the restored casino. Or out east to Columbus, which has lots of cool architecture.”

  “I will ask my wife. But after breakfast I have coffee with Don.”

  “Right. How is Maria doing?” I asked my father. “You know, that thing she read in the Italian news last night?”

  “She is concerned, but we can do nothing until we return.”

  “You still have no idea how they learned you were here?”

  “No, but I have the suspicion. The man Maria’s brother did wrong to? He has been following my wife.” He kept his voice low and gazed after Maria.

  “Like following her around?”

  “No, but how do you say . . . keeping the track on her.”

  “Keeping track of her.”

  “
Yes. Where she goes, what she does. I think this man knows we are here. He looks up the news on the Internet. He tells a false story to the newspaper.”

  “Can’t you get a restraining order on him? You know, complain to the police this guy is harassing Maria.”

  He shook his head. His deep brown eyes, so exactly like mine, pulled down with worry. “She won’t let me go to polizia. It is a difficult situation, Robbie. And the man, he is cousin to Pia.”

  My eyes flipped wide open. “Pia’s cousin?” How intertwined could this murder get? I wondered if the detective knew about that connection. If she did, she might also suspect Maria and Roberto of killing Pia to get back at the stalker cousin. Which made no sense at all, of course.

  Danna caught my gaze and beckoned.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, Babbo. I have to get back to work now, but the next table that opens up is yours.” I gave him a quick hug and hurried back to my business. I topped off coffees and carried plates full of omelets and biscuits and bacon to hungry diners. I freed Danna to whip up more blueberry muffins since they’d proved so popular we already were running low. But my mind stayed on Maria’s stalker. How terrible to have somebody with a grudge who tracked your every movement, which was made easy by the Internet. And to distrust the authorities so much you didn’t want to ask them for help.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Roberto and Maria had lingered over breakfast, him reading the Brown County Democrat, her perusing her phone. Twenty minutes ago a touring van had driven up, and fifteen women poured into my establishment, exclaiming over the charming store, the vintage cookware, and how delicious the menu items sounded. Maybe they’d seen my ad in the bluegrass festival program book. Directly after they arrived, the delivery person had buzzed at the service door, so Asian noodles or the Hot Brown could be our lunch special if we ever got time to prepare them.

  I glanced at Danna and shook my head, mouthing, “Sorry.” No way I could let her go on an Isaac hunt this morning. My other B&B guests would probably be down shortly, too. At least Chase would.