Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery

by Christine Wenger

  Another biker? How does Antoinette Chloe find these guys?

  “Okay, Fingers. Keep up the great work. Call me if you need me. I don’t feel like cooking these days, but I will come if you need the help.”

  He nodded as he took a handful of orders from Debby.

  It seemed like Fingers was taking over ACB’s job as owner. Obviously, she trusted him to take care of the money, too.

  Wow.

  She’d known him for less than two weeks. I felt like saying something to her, but I thought now wasn’t the best time.

  Finally, we walked out the door and crammed into my sardine can of a car.

  “If I can forget about Nick, the next several days will be fun,” she said. “I can look forward to the contestants arriving and the pageant itself.”

  I turned down Main Street and headed to the Big House. Right now I was wishing it was bigger.

  “Just a few more days before we welcome the contestants, Antoinette Chloe. I have to get the Big House ready and get some groceries. I could use your help.”

  “You got it, Trix.”

  But I didn’t get any. She couldn’t stop thinking about Nick and spent her time constantly phoning Hal Manning, trying to pry something out of him about the circumstances of Nick’s death. She hung around the Silver Bullet, hoping to corner Ty Brisco for the same thing. She made numerous calls to everyone and their relatives. Any man or woman in uniform who came into the diner, she asked if they were working on Nick’s case.

  In between all that, she spent her time on the phone with the contestants and giving them directions, and meeting with Margie Grace about the performance part of the program.

  Oh yes. A tableau of salmon swimming upstream. Now, that had to be Broadway bound!

  At some point, we gave our statements to Ty. And then gave the same statements to the state police investigators. Ditto to every resident of Sandy Harbor who wanted to hear the story from the horse’s mouth.

  Just call me Seabiscuit.

  Somehow I managed to get everything ready by myself, in between cooking at the Silver Bullet and taking care of my eleven cottages when Clyde and Max needed me.

  On Saturday morning, three out of the twelve contestants arrived. One of them was Aileen Shubert, who was finally happy to find a place to stay.

  I prepared a sandwich-and-salad buffet for the girls and added another table in the kitchen, along with folding chairs so they could all sit together for meals. Besides, I wanted to get to know them.

  But there was no time for a lot of talk. As soon as they finished, ACB whisked them all away in her van to Margie Grace’s Dance Studio (aka Margie’s back deck) to introduce them to their new instructor and choreographer.

  And I got stuck cleaning everything up.

  I was just about to plop my butt into an Adirondack chair to relax on my covered porch, the one facing the lake, when Clyde and Max appeared.

  “Hi, guys. What’s up?”

  “The fishermen wanted me to ask you if they can have another cleaning station set up. Apparently they have to wait in line to use the two we have.”

  “Hmm. Where would we find another stainless-steel table at this time of the season?” I thought aloud. “We could supply another couple of trash cans and hook up a hose for running water. It could drain out into buckets or a drum. I could make up a sign to use that station last if the other two are being used.” But all that planning was for nothing if I couldn’t find a table of some sort.

  Clyde snapped his fingers. “I have a table behind my house you can have, Trixie. It’s in good shape and I don’t really use it anymore. I’ll use the one here or the one over at the bait shop, if I need to.”

  “Thanks. I’ll pay you for it.”

  “No need.” He shook his head. “No need at all.”

  Both Clyde and Max had been in the Army with Uncle Porky. They came to visit and never left, so Uncle Porky gave them jobs as handymen.

  “I’ll bring it over in my truck,” Clyde said. “Max’ll help me load it. Right, Maxie?”

  “Yup.” Max was a man of few words.

  Just as soon as they left, I noticed Ty walking up the path toward me with a white bakery bag. I really hoped that he was going to share whatever was in that bag with me, and maybe tell me some news about the investigation into Nick’s murder.

  Usually, Ty’s lips were tightly sealed when it came to pending investigations, but every now and then he’d let me in on something that was going to be public knowledge sooner or later.

  “Good evening, Trix,” he drawled.

  “Hi.”

  “No company?”

  “Blissful silence, for now. The girls that arrived today, including ACB, are all practicing their Miss Salmon number over on Margie Grace’s deck.”

  He laughed. “I know.” He made like he was holding a clipboard and pretended to read off it: “‘Earlier, I dispatched Sandy Harbor deputy sheriff Vern McCoy to the residence of Mr. Joe Jensen at 4578 Shipwreck Drive. Mr. Jensen, our complainant, reported that when he was about to go to the Elk’s Lodge to get set up for bingo, he noticed that all of his fishing rods had absconded from the back end of his pickup truck. Well, Deputy McCoy, being the excellent Sandy Harbor deputy that he is, heard laughing and giggling and went to investigate. After the subsequent questioning of an individual known to Deputy McCoy as Antoinette Chloe Brown, she informed said deputy that she noticed said fishing rods doing nothing but reclining in the back of the Jensen truck bed and asked Agnes Jensen, spouse of victim, if she could borrow them for the dance practice currently in progress. However, said Agnes forgot to tell said spouse, Joe. Property recovered. Investigation closed.’”

  I couldn’t stop laughing. Legalese rolled off his tongue like Dinerese rolled off mine.

  “Oh, but wait. You haven’t heard the best part.”

  “Do tell, Deputy Brisco.”

  “‘Deputy McCoy related that he saw a bit of the aforementioned, quote, Run of the Salmon, rehearsal, complete with the Jensen fishing rods, unquote, and he had to leave because he, quote, peed his uniform pants, he was laughing so hard, unquote.’”

  “Oh no! Then what?”

  “I told him to go home and change his pants.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but laugh hysterically.

  Ty leaned against the railing, facing me. As I regained my composure, he reached into the bag and handed me an almond bear claw. Mrs. Sarah Stolfus must have made her baked-goods delivery. I had standing orders with her and she supplied the Silver Bullet, keeping the revolving case stocked full of delicious desserts.

  I loved her bear claws, her hand pies, her Danishes, and her . . . well, you get the drift. And I had to get exercising.

  Ty looked out over the lake and stared for a while. Based on our yearlong friendship, I knew that he was mulling something over and that he’d talk when he was ready.

  In the meantime, I munched on the bear claw, enjoying the sweetness of the glaze and the cinnamon that gave it just the right taste. Then I wondered if Sarah delivered the apricot and cheese Danishes like she usually did. Talk about delicious.

  Pilates. That’s what I was going to do.

  Ty finally turned to me. “We’re releasing Nick’s body the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I’m going to go to Auburn prison and break the news to Sal. I don’t know if he knows yet. I asked his counselor there to try to keep the news away from him until I got a chance to tell him. But who knows?”

  The mention of Sal’s name got my attention. I shuddered, remembering the wintery day that he almost killed ACB and me.

  “Ty, did you know that Antoinette Chloe wants to tell him herself?”

  “No way.”

  “Way.”

  “I don’t want her doing that.”

  I sighed. “Why not? She was Sal’s brother’s girlf
riend. Besides, ACB wants to find out if Sal knows what Nick’s last wishes were. She feels that she should be the one to take care of the funeral arrangements. She was talking about driving to Auburn, but I told her that she has a lot of time yet, since Nick’s body wouldn’t be released for a while. Now she’ll be itching to go.”

  “Why can’t she call him instead? I can get a call through to him via his in-house counselor. She can talk to him then.”

  “Ty, really. This isn’t the kind of news that you want to tell someone over the phone.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Why does she care about being polite? He was planning to run away with his girlfriend! And he tried to kill ACB!”

  “What can I say? She still has feelings of what might have been for Sal. They were married for more than twenty happy years before it all turned to crap. And they had so many nice plans for their retirement. Unfortunately, that was the money he took to run away with his girlfriend with.”

  A reddish-purple-gold sunset was taking place behind him, but he didn’t notice. He’d taken his cowboy hat off and was studying the inside of it, for some reason. Then he raked his fingers through his straight black hair with its chestnut sun streaks.

  Not that I’d noticed.

  “Trixie, can you get anyone to babysit the contestants tomorrow?”

  “Antoinette Chloe can if—”

  “No. I mean, can anyone take care of things while you and ACB are gone for the day?”

  “Well, I can have someone from the Miss Salmon Committee come over.”

  “Then spring them into action for tomorrow.”

  “Ty, can you back up a bit? Or can I buy a clue?”

  “I want to go to Auburn to talk to Sal before ACB does, and since I probably can’t stop ACB from going by herself, I want to bring her along.”

  “Then why do you need me?”

  The eyebrow went up, and the half smile appeared.

  “Oh, I see. You need a bodyguard.”

  He slipped his hat back on and tweaked the brim. So sexy.

  As he walked away, I wondered why he wanted to get to Sal before ACB.

  Oh, I know! To see Sal’s reaction to the news of Nick’s death. Would it be sadness, gladness, or satisfaction that he saw gleaming in Nick’s eyes? Ty would definitely be looking for some kind of tell—a twitch of the eye, a movement at the corner of his mouth, or some other nervous tic.

  Thinking about it, Sal could easily order a hit from prison. But would he do so on his brother? They had been great buddies in the past up until Sal tried to kill me and ACB. They motorcycled together. They cooked together at Brown’s Four Corners.

  I just can’t imagine why Ty would suspect Sal of something so heinous.

  Heinous? Heinous was Sal’s middle name! The man was in jail for one count of murder and two counts of attempted murder. And one of those counts was for my attempted murder, for heaven’s sake.

  Then I thought of something else the brothers had in common: ACB.

  Could Sal be jealous enough of Nick to arrange a hit on him from jail?

  Chapter 4

  We met at the crack of sunrise for breakfast at the Silver Bullet. With it raining like Noah’s flood and ACB yakking nonstop, it’d be a long trip to Auburn Correctional Facility, the home of the first electric chair.

  She was in the backseat, refreshing her makeup, which meant more coats of everything. When she pulled out a gallon jug of perfume, I asked her to wait until we got outside.

  It’s not that I objected to perfume; I just needed to breathe a bit. And she’d already sprayed at least three times.

  She said that she was wearing the muumuu that Sal had bought her for their twentieth anniversary. It had stems of gladiolas circling it. Their roots started at the hem, and their green stalks ran vertically up the garment until the flowers started blooming at her knees, all the way to her neck. She wore several necklaces—from chunky faux stones to a circle of seashells. Her earrings were six-inch starfish, and matched the starfish on her flip-flops. Her fascinator was a nest of plastic pelicans in a nest of feathers in a nest of white lace.

  I couldn’t help but smile every time I saw my friend. ACB definitely marched . . . er . . . flip-flopped to beat of her own drummer. She dressed the way that pleased her, and probably the Brownelli brothers, too. If ACB had ever continued with her fashion career in New York City, she would have shaken the place to its very girders.

  Ty had warned ACB at breakfast that Auburn probably wouldn’t let her in the door with her jewelry and hat, and that she could be sure of a thorough search due to her dress.

  “Do they think that I have an Uzi strapped to my thigh with duct tape?”

  Ty shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, Antoinette Chloe.”

  Ty broke free of us and breezed through the prison equivalent of Homeland Security, thanks to his law-enforcement status. After he unloaded his gun in the designated UNLOAD AND STORE FIREARMS HERE area and stashed it in a special locker, he waved to us as if he was cleared for takeoff. The door and bars, and doors with bars, and bars without doors, clanged open and shut behind him.

  Ty was indeed right. ACB received more scrutiny than a twenty-dollar bill at the discount store. A team of female correctional officers took her into a special room, and I could hear ACB using very, very special words.

  When she came back into the waiting room, she was wearing a totally boring white jumpsuit with AUBURN CORRECTIONAL FACILITY stenciled on the back. Her hair was flat and her fascinator was gone, along with every piece of jewelry. Even her long, glittery, fake fingernails were gone. They let her keep her flip-flops, minus the starfish.

  Sobbing, she showed me her hands. “No fingernails. They thought I might be smuggling in drugs under them. Can you believe that one?”

  I could believe that others might have done so.

  She burst into tears. “Look at me! I look like . . . white bread. So colorless and boring.”

  Yes, compared to her usual dress, but I thought she looked younger and skinnier. I didn’t know she even had a waist under all those muumuus!

  I took her arm and we headed to the ladies’ room. “Antoinette Chloe, you have to wash your face. You have streaks of makeup and mascara running down it.”

  “I had to lock up my purse. All my makeup is in it.”

  “Mine’s locked up, too, so I can’t help you there. I guess you’re just going to have to go . . . commando.”

  That got us both laughing, and after some scrubbing and scraping of her face with industrial paper towels and hand soap from a dispenser on the wall, she looked in the mirror, and a fresh batch of tears started.

  I thought she looked just wonderful and told her so. “You have a fabulous complexion and barely have wrinkles. I can’t say that about mine and I’m thirty years younger.”

  “Oh, stop.”

  It seemed as though we were in the eighth-grade locker room at St. Margaret’s Grammar School instead of a two-stall ladies’ room in a New York State correctional facility.

  Who would have thought?

  “Antoinette Chloe, I’m not particularly thrilled to be seeing Sal. I still have flashbacks about him holding a gun on us, but we are in this together, just like before, so let’s go to jail!”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Trixie. I need you for moral support.”

  I took a deep breath. “You got it!”

  My heart was pounding so hard that I thought it was going to pop out of my chest. It had better not. This was one of my best blouses. However, I needed to know if Sal ordered a hit on his brother because he’d been dating ACB. It seemed like something he was capable of, and when ACB was still married to Sal, she had told me how he was maniacally jealous of anyone who even looked at her. She’d told me about a couple of incidents where Sal actually threw punches at unsuspecting guys who just looked at ACB. She’
s so flashy, she attracts swivel necks wherever she goes, so I’m sure that it was just Sal’s imagination.

  ACB gripped my hand as we were escorted through the doors and bars, and then through more bars and doors. Finally, the metallic banging stopped, and we waited as two different correctional officers met us. They snickered as they noticed our hands clutched together in fear.

  “Grow up,” I said. “This is America.” Let them think whatever their tiny minds could fit.

  “Is there a problem here?”

  I’d know that drawl anywhere. I turned to see Ty behind us, looking every bit the six-foot-four-inch cop that he was. The two correctional officers were almost entirely dwarfed by his shadow.

  Ty put a hand on my shoulder and the other on ACB’s. Suddenly, I felt better about being here. ACB must have, too, because she let go of the death grip on my hand.

  “I’ll escort my friends to the private meeting room, if you two don’t mind. Has the prisoner been moved?” Ty was authoritative and commanding.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Thank you. I know the way.”

  Ty led us to a fairly large room with a gray steel table and several gray steel chairs.

  Sal stood as we walked into the room, and it was then I realized why we were given the Homeland Security treatment. There were no walls between Sal and us.

  Sal had the good sense to look uncomfortable when he saw me. As for ACB, his eyes kept darting back to her, looking puzzled.

  “I know you, don’t I?” he asked ACB.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Sal.”

  “Antoinette Chloe?” he asked incredulously. “You look so, so . . . different. In a good way, of course. You look so beautiful . . . and young! Did you lose weight?”

  “Save it, Sal. I look like a ghost. You’ve just been without a woman too long.”

  I really had to help my friend work on her self-esteem.

  She sighed. “We came here to tell you some bad news.”

  “Ty already told me about Nick. It breaks my heart. My baby brother! Oh, Nicky . . .”

  Sal seemed genuinely sad. His shoulders shook and his eyes pooled with tears. He wiped them on the sleeve of his orange jumpsuit. Then he put his hand over ACB’s.