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

by Christine Wenger

What a snoop!

  I followed ACB to jail.

  * * *

  Ty was sitting at his desk with his feet on the top and was on the phone as usual. When he saw me standing there, he motioned for me to come over and take a seat.

  I stared out the window until he got off the phone.

  “That was painful to watch,” I said. “I feel so sorry for her.”

  “She’s fine. I got her a cell-phone charger, and she’s burning up the cell tower now. That woman sure can talk.”

  “Ty, dress rehearsal for the pageant is in a couple of days. She has to practice being an emcee. Believe me, she has to practice.”

  “Trixie, a man is dead and you’re worried about Miss Salmon?”

  “I’m worried about Antoinette Chloe. I’m sure you saw the letter that the ADA gave to Judge Butler—the one listing the value of her assets. Did it add up to three million bucks?”

  “No. Not even close.”

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “What about you?”

  “Do you think that the point is worth three million? The whole thing: the Silver Bullet, the Victorian, the eleven cottages, the thousand feet of prime lakefront?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then I’m going to bail her out. Or, rather, Aunt Stella is going to bail her out—everything is still in her name. I know you want to keep ACB under protective custody, but has anyone tried to kill her?”

  “Not yet. That’s why protective custody is working. Although I did see Toxic Waste hanging around the Bubbly Clean. He was also in the back of the courtroom. I wonder why he’s so interested in the case. I had Lou ask him if he’d voluntarily submit to a pat down, and he did. He was clean.”

  “I saw him, too, Ty. Oh my! Do you think he might’ve taken a shot at ACB, or something else?”

  “Just trying to be careful.”

  “Ty, can’t you just be her bodyguard while she’s doing the pageant?”

  “You know, all three of us have other duties. We just don’t have enough time to be guard dogs for ACB.”

  “Then I’ll do it,” I said.

  “You?”

  “Why not me? You do it when you can, and if you’re called away somewhere, I can dial nine-one-one if I run into trouble.”

  “It might be too late for nine-one-one.”

  “C’mon, Ty. Help me out here. I’ll give you free meals for a week.”

  He chuckled. “I know I’m going to regret this, but all right. We’ll both keep an eye on ACB.”

  I jumped up and impulsively gave him a hug around the neck. He smelled so good, like pine and cedar. Not that I noticed. “Oh, Ty! You’re such a doll! I’m going to call Aunt Stella right now. I hope I can get hold of her. She was going to take one of those paddleboat tours out of Missouri or New Orleans or someplace watery like that about now.”

  “And here I went to the trouble of keeping ACB in here. Now I’m helping you bail her out. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “You secretly want to make the first annual Miss Salmon pageant a success.”

  “Oh yeah. That’s it,” he said sarcastically.

  I stepped away from his desk and called Aunt Stella. No answer, so I left a message. Then I went to see ACB.

  Her cell was looking pretty good. I’d venture to say that the Sandy Harbor Jail had the best women’s accommodations of any jail in the United States.

  “Trixie, what am I going to do? That damned Marty Butler! I remember him with a face full of acne, chasing Olga Baumgartner. She wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

  “I’ll get you out of here, Antoinette Chloe. I already put in a call to Aunt Stella. She’s the one that actually has to bail you out, since everything is in her name.”

  She burst into tears. “Thank you.”

  “Hopefully everything will fall into place soon.”

  “Bless you.” She sniffed.

  “I’m going to go now. I have a feeling that I should get home and keep an eye on my squatters.”

  * * *

  I rolled into my usual parking space and saw Chad Dodson entertaining in front of his motor home. About a dozen of the Roving Rubbers were there, and they all seemed to be drinking. Chad was pouring champagne into the flutes of a gaggle of female Rubbers, while others were pulling longnecks from a cooler.

  Music was blaring so loud, it felt like it was going to shatter all the glass within a three-mile radius. I might be a party pooper, but I didn’t like the looks of that party in the making. It wasn’t even noon yet.

  Tent Town seemed like it was jumping, too. There were Rubbers in groups, also drinking. And more loud rock music was playing.

  This wasn’t good. Not for the fishermen, not for my customers at the diner, and certainly not for the Miss Salmon contestants, who needed their beauty sleep.

  First, I marched over to Chad Dodson. “Mr. Dodson, end this . . . ah . . . party, please. It’s too noisy, and I have guests and customers.”

  He gave me his usual mocking smile. “I can turn the music down. How’s that?” He lifted his hand into the air and I saw that he was holding a remote. He lowered the music all of two decibels.

  “That’s not enough,” I said.

  He pushed a button. It barely made a difference.

  “Shut it off completely, please.”

  There was a collective groan and at least two called me a party pooper.

  Such tough talk from a group of chefs.

  I waited, hands on hips, until Chad turned off the music.

  “Better?” he said.

  “Yes.” I walked toward Tent Town, then changed my mind and turned back. “If you don’t like it, you can find another place to park your rig.”

  “I’ll have to go to Canada to find a spot.”

  “Well, what’s stopping you?” I shrugged. “Oh, that’s right. You have to stay in our little village for further questioning.”

  I smiled, and this time my smile was smarmy. His disappeared completely.

  “And I heard that your pal had her bail set at three million dollars.”

  “Oh? How did you hear that?”

  “A little bird told me.”

  Toxic Waste. He had been there. But why did he find it necessary to tell Chad Dodson?

  Were they in cahoots together? My suspicions from the other night when I was taking out the trash were definitely confirmed now.

  I turned and stomped over to Tent Town, heading straight for Toxic Waste’s abode. I ran into Mad Dog first. “Where’s the leader of the pack?”

  “I don’t know. Something you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him to turn down the music. If I can hear it, it’s too loud. And tell him clean the place up and take the trash to the Dumpsters. My staff isn’t waiting on you.” The wind shifted. “And call to have the toilets emptied, for heaven’s sake. And if Mr. Waste or anyone else doesn’t like it, tell them to hop on their bikes and head out. I hear that there are a couple of spots in Canada.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dog.”

  By the time I got to the door of my house, the music was off and a couple of Rubbers were emptying trash cans of their liners and walking toward the Dumpster.

  I’d never been blessed with children, but it’s good to know that my fictional children might have listened to me. After all, millionaires and biker-chefs did what I told them.

  The house was blessedly silent.

  In the kitchen was a note from Ty saying that he’d taken Blondie for a jog. He sure got here quickly!

  That reminded me to give Aunt Stella another call.

  “Trixie, how good to hear your voice! I was going to call you back after my classes, but I have a little time now. Now, what is it you want me to do? Bail out Antoinette Chloe?”

 
“Would you please, Aunt Stella? She’s so pathetic sitting in jail. I’d do it, but everything I almost . . . sort of . . . kind of . . . own is in your name.”

  She sighed. “Antoinette Chloe is an eccentric dresser, but she’s not a murderer.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t bail her out, dear. No. I can’t,” Aunt Stella said.

  I had felt for sure that Aunt Stella would come through. A feeling of hopelessness hit me like a blast of cold. “I understand.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I did sign everything over to you,” she said.

  “But—”

  “Trixie, all the papers transferring everything to you have been signed by me and are sitting in the gray file cabinet in the office marked MISCELLANEOUS. Just sign them and file them with the county clerk. You might have to pay some fees, but it shouldn’t be all that much.”

  “Really?”

  “Really! Remember how you didn’t want me to transfer ownership to you until you paid everything in full?”

  “I remember.”

  “Well, I still did the paperwork, because I knew you’d pay me eventually, and no sense sending everything to Florida, so I did the next best thing. They’re all legal and ready. Just sign ’em and file ’em, sweetie.”

  “You’re a gem, Aunt Stella.”

  “So are you, Trixie, but are you sure you want to risk the point on Antoinette Chloe? She’s awfully flighty.”

  “I’d put my money on her.”

  “Then sign the papers,” she said. “Gray file cabinet. Call me if you need anything else, Trixie. I have to go to my Zumba class. Then tai chi and qigong.”

  “What’s qigong?”

  “I don’t have a clue, but when I find out, I’ll let you know.”

  “One more thing: Did you take your cruise?”

  “My friend Vivian, who booked the trip, got it all wrong. It was a paddle-wheel boat, and it never left the dock, but I won two hundred bucks on the slots.”

  I laughed. “Talk to you later. Have fun with your classes and qigong-ing!”

  “I will. Bye, now.”

  Hurrying to my office, I found the gray file cabinet and found a file marked EVERYTHING INCLUDING THE KITCHEN SINK.

  In the folder was a thick packet of papers, survey maps, and whatnot. I saw by the light-blue paper attached that said Janice Malloy was Aunt Stella’s attorney and Anthony Ricelli was the surveyor from Syracuse.

  I signed under Aunt Stella’s name and left the papers on the kitchen table, ready to go to the county clerk’s office.

  But before I left for again, I needed to see if Aunt Stella had a nice purse upstairs in the attic that would go with the dress.

  Going upstairs, I passed ACB’s bedroom. I really should clean it, maybe change the bed, for her release.

  In the attic, I placed a call to Janice Malloy. I got her voice mail, but I left a message telling her how I was going to file the papers that would make me the owner of the point.

  “So, I’m going to bail Antoinette Chloe out. Tell me how.”

  I looked out the window as I was talking. There was a turret with windows on four sides where I remembered playing Cinderella with Susie. This was our castle.

  Seeing two people way off in the distance, almost to ACB’s land, I wondered who they were, and guessed that it was Toxic Waste with none other than Aileen Shubert.

  At least they weren’t rolling in the grass together again, or maybe I had missed that part, thank goodness.

  Even though I’d had a little talk with Aileen and she’d vowed to adhere to the rules, she hadn’t. Why wasn’t she up at the Silver Bullet with the other ladies having lunch?

  I found a pretty black, glittery purse that would go perfect with Aunt Stella’s dress. Great. Now I didn’t have to stop at the Spend A Buck, but I did need panty hose.

  But what should I do with Aileen?

  Nothing. The pageant would be over soon.

  Thinking of Aileen got me thinking of Toxic Waste. What a two-timer! Here he said that he was getting back with his girlfriend, Leslie McDermott, but he can’t seem to stay away from Aileen.

  And Aileen must be attracted to bad-boy biker-chefs who owned Bavarian restaurants.

  I could see that Aileen and Toxic were walking away from each other. She jogged to the Big House, and Toxic meandered to Tent Town.

  I rushed out of the attic and walked down the hall to my room. I decided it was time to try on the dress. It was okay in the boobs, and it fell nicely to midcalf. I loved how it looked, especially the copper-colored sequins on the bodice. Antoinette Chloe’s sequin obsession must be rubbing off on me.

  The purse worked with the dress. My black flats matched, too. Hooray!

  I heard footsteps down the hall. Must be Aileen. I opened my door and stuck my head out.

  Her hand flew to her heart. “Oh, Trixie! I didn’t know you were here.” She oozed guilt like my corned beef sandwiches oozed corned beef.

  “Obviously. What have you been doing?”

  “Nothing. Just taking a walk. It’s such a beautiful day.”

  “Yes. It’s a beautiful day for fall.”

  We were making small talk, and I could tell that Aileen was ready to bolt. She wouldn’t look me in the eye and she was squirming like a worm.

  “Where are the rest of the ladies?” I asked.

  “One of the committee members arranged a pontoon boat tour of the coast. That’s where they are. On a boat tour.”

  “Why on earth didn’t you go?”

  She shifted on her feet. “I get seasick.”

  “Gee, that’s too bad,” I said, not wanting to tell her that the Miss Salmon winner should embrace water sports.

  “How did Antoinette Chloe’s court appearance go?” Aileen changed the subject.

  “She’s going to make bail.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I said.

  Her eyes sparkled. She seemed to really be happy that ACB would be out of jail. Well, any friend of ACB was a friend of mine.

  “I gotta go, Trixie. I have studying to do.”

  “You’re in school?”

  “Graduate school. I’m in the business-management program at Syracuse University.”

  “Fabulous,” I said, wishing that I’d gone to grad school for my business degree, or maybe culinary school. I still want to do that someday. “Well, I don’t want to keep you, Aileen. Go and study!”

  But I didn’t believe her for a New York minute. Not at all. Especially since I didn’t remember any of the Miss Salmon applicants saying that they’d gone to my alma mater. So, once I arrived at the courthouse, I pulled into a nice parking space and called Syracuse University. Eventually I got ahold of my friend from first grade, Lorraine Fletcher, who, as luck would have it, worked there.

  Lorraine said that the graduate school of business management never heard of Aileen.

  Surprise, surprise!

  I wondered why she lied. To make herself shine so she’d make a better Miss Salmon contestant? She knows I’m a judge, and maybe she thought that being in a graduate program at SU would impress me because I had a football banner in my living room. Go, Orange!

  But I wasn’t impressed.

  After going from office to office at the courthouse like a steel ball in a pinball machine, I finally got the papers filed.

  Then I met the bail bondsman in front of the courthouse by the war memorial. As I waited, I read the names of all the residents of Sandy Harbor who had served in various wars—starting with the Revolutionary War and ending with the Gulf War. They’d soon have to add Afghanistan. I said a few prayers, and noticed a man approaching. It was Shaun Williamson, who ran the florist shop, Buds and Blooms, on the corner of Tulip Terrace and First Street.

  “Shaun, you’re a bondsman, too
?”

  “I am.”

  It must be some kind of Sandy Harbor code that everyone must have two different occupations.

  “Well, okay.” I took a deep breath. “I want to put up the point. Hopefully you’ll think everything is worth three million bucks so I can get Antoinette Chloe out.”

  “You really want to put up the point?”

  “Not particularly, but it’s the only way to get her out, so write the bond, please.”

  He knew what Aunt Stella had owned. He’d been over at the Silver Bullet enough times. Besides, he had grown up here.

  Shaun Williamson, bail bondsman and florist, opened his briefcase and pulled out a packet of legal-looking papers in the smallest font known to humanity. I pulled out my glasses from my purse.

  We walked over to a picnic table and sat down. I waited for him to start.

  “When Janice Malloy called me, I looked at the survey maps of everything on the point, priced similar properties, should I have to sell it all, and I can absolutely bond you for three million.”

  I broke out in a sweat in spite of the cool weather. “Sell it all?”

  “If Antoinette Chloe doesn’t appear for her court dates or absconds, I can sell your property to reclaim the money that I spent insuring her release, or I can keep it.”

  “Wow.”

  “Usually, people put up their own homes and property, but Antoinette’s holdings aren’t worth three million bucks. Although I’d love to get my hands on her waterfront land.”

  “Shaun, don’t you think Antoinette Chloe will appear in court?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d stick around with a murder charge hanging over my head like a guillotine.”

  “Well, she would. She’d want to prove that she didn’t kill her boyfriend. Besides, she’s lived here forever, and her business is here.”

  “It’s your call.” He leafed through the papers. “Sign here, here, and here. Initial that this is your signature. Sign that those are your initials.”

  Sign my name where I initialed? This was more legal than my divorce!

  “I’ll walk it over to the sheriff’s department.” He checked his watch. “Ty will be there. I think he’s on office duty. He’ll process her out.”

  “I’m going over to the Spend A Buck. Then I’ll be over to the jail to pick up Antoinette Chloe and drive her to my house.”