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

by Christine Wenger

  Shaun laughed. “While it’s still your house!”

  “Knock it off, Shaun. You are about as funny as being laid off at Christmas.”

  He gave me a salute; then he just about skipped in the direction of the jail. I walked in the other direction to buy a pair of panty hose and visit Antoinette Chloe.

  Chapter 11

  Ty leaned back in his chair. “Sorry, Trixie, but apparently the county clerk has to do a bunch of things to your paperwork before he can put the point in your name. Shaun went over to the courthouse to yell at everyone, but they’ll probably let it go in one ear and out the other. He’s known for his hissy fits.”

  “And inconsiderate jokes.”

  Ty grinned and looked way too smug.

  “C’mon. You said you’d be her bodyguard. Can’t you make a couple of calls, turn on your Texas cowboy charm, and speed things up?”

  He raised his blue eyes to the ceiling and mumbled—something he did all the time. Ty’s a very religious man. Ha!

  He picked up the phone and started punching in numbers.

  “Ty, can I see Antoinette Chloe? I’d like to tell her that she might not get out today.”

  He picked up a metal mess of keys from the top drawer of his desk and separated two of them.

  “The small one is for the entry door. The bigger one is for the cell.”

  “You’re trusting me?”

  “Sure, but I’ll be calling in some favors from you. Like your fried chicken.”

  I laughed. I loved to cook for someone who enjoyed it.

  As I entered the cellblock, I saw Antoinette Chloe sitting on a rocking chair, crying.

  “Oh, sweetie. Are you okay?”

  She sniffed. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Don’t. I got Aunt Stella to sign over the point to me in my name. A couple of county departments have to do a couple of things to the paperwork first; then you’ll be bailed out. Oh, and Ty’s helping to speed things up.”

  “You put the point up for me?”

  “Yes. I told you I was going to. Too bad I had to deal with Shaun Williamson.”

  “He’s a punk.”

  “Yes, I know, but he’s the punk who’s going to help get you out of here.”

  “Bueno! Let’s go.” Whenever ACB was stressed, she always spoke in another language.

  “Not so fast,” I said.

  “Shall I pack up my things?” she asked.

  “Yes. Absolutely, but I thought that you were going to leave some of these things for the next inmate.”

  “Not all of it.”

  I did not want to haul all of her stuff out of here, not now anyway. I’d just moved her to the Big House not too long ago.

  “Can you just pack up what you absolutely need for now?”

  “Of course.”

  She removed some muumuus that were hanging on the bars. “I’ll need these.”

  She went to a big plastic cart on wheels and tapped it with a finger. “My fascinators and hats are in here. Oh, and I’ll need more underwear and flip-flops—just the sequined ones. And I have another cabinet with all my makeup, too.”

  A five-drawer cart filled with makeup?

  “You really need all this stuff?”

  “I might. I don’t know until I’m putting an outfit together.”

  We rolled two plastic carts as far as the hallway, when Ty entered.

  “What’s going on?” Ty asked.

  “We’re moving ACB out of Heartbreak Hotel.”

  “You can’t touch a thing until she’s bailed out,” Ty instructed.

  We moved the cabinets back into her cell.

  His phone rang, and he answered it. “Deputy Brisco.”

  There were a lot of okays and rights and thank you, darlin’s but eventually, he stopped talking and turned to us. “Okay, now you can officially leave.”

  * * *

  As ACB was settling back in, I looked out the windows for Ty, who was supposed to be protecting ACB.

  Then I saw Vern McCoy in his unmarked silver-green Prius. As my cheating ex, Deputy Doug, used to say, he should really patrol the perimeter. There were four entrances into the Big House.

  But I got distracted when I saw today’s issue of the Lure. It seemed that while I was in court, Aileen had entered the salmon derby and had come really close to winning. She caught the third-largest salmon of the day.

  Mr. Farnsworth, the owner of the bait shop next door, had taken her out on his guide boat.

  Joan Paris even printed her picture in the Lure. It showed Aileen with her white blond hair, shorter-than-short shorts, halter top, and magnificent tan, holding up her third-place salmon as several hulky fishermen gathered around her.

  Where were her shoes? More importantly, where were her ugly green rubber waders? Even better, what happened to her story that she got seasick on the water?

  Another lie, Aileen? Looks like you don’t get any more seasick than I do.

  As I was sitting on the porch, Aileen came around the corner, saw what I was reading, and giggled about the picture to the other girls.

  “My father taught me how to fish,” she said.

  “And you bait the hook?” asked Betsy Dyson.

  “Of course I do.” She tossed her hair.

  “What about cleaning them?” I asked.

  “Oh, sure. I clean them, too.”

  “You’re going to have to prove that one, Aileen. Right, girls?” I was egging her on just to prove that she was a liar in front of all the girls.

  I hurried to the basement to find one of Uncle Porky’s fillet knives.

  Oh! There was an empty hook on the Peg-Board where another knife should have been. I remembered four fillet knives hanging from those hooks. Only three were left.

  Maybe Ty had borrowed it. I did give him blanket permission to help himself to any of Uncle Porky’s fishing things. I reminded myself to ask him when he stopped by later.

  I grabbed one of the other fillet knives and went back upstairs. Then I walked across the lawn to one of the fish-cleaning stations and asked one of the men if I could borrow a couple of salmon, and when he said yes, I motioned for Aileen to come over.

  The other pageant girls came with her.

  “Okay, Aileen. I’d love to see how you fillet.”

  Joan Paris happened to be nearby, taking photos of everyone’s catches. I motioned for her to join us.

  “This could be another photo op for you, Joan.”

  “I’m always looking for those.”

  When I handed Aileen one of Uncle Porky’s knives, she hesitated for a second, then took it and stared at it for another moment.

  Then she got right to work, gutting and filleting the fish like an old pro. She handled the knife like an expert, posing for pictures and tossing her hair.

  The fishermen who were watching cheered her on, and she filleted three salmon in no time.

  When Joan stopped taking pictures, Aileen stopped smiling. Bored with the whole thing, she announced that she was going to go jogging. Some of the other girls decided to join her.

  And I decided to do a little jogging of my own, over to the diner to get something to eat. I was so busy trying to find a way to bail out Antoinette Chloe that I didn’t remember to eat anything. Which just went to show how stressed-out I’d been—I never, ever, never miss a meal.

  Well, I didn’t really jog. I walked a little faster than usual because I was hungry. On the way, I called ACB and asked her if she wanted me to bring her anything.

  “A bacon club,” she said.

  “You mean a bacon, lettuce, and tomato club?”

  “No. Just bacon.”

  “Got it,” I said, thinking how I might add a B-B-B club to my menu.

  “And a chocolate milk shake.”
r />   “Okay.”

  “And maybe one of Sarah Stolfus’s cherry hand pies. No, make that two hand pies.”

  “You got it. See you soon.”

  Ty was just walking into the diner as I was. “Let’s get a booth, Ty. I want to share information with you.”

  “Okay.”

  There was one last booth, way in the back. I slid onto the red vinyl bench seat.

  Chelsea hurried over to us.

  “Chels, I’ll have a bowl of split pea soup and a grilled cheese and ham sandwich on white,” I said.

  “I’ll have the same, but I’d like tomato soup instead of pea, and a Reuben on dark rye with coleslaw instead of the ham and cheese.”

  He was just so funny—not!

  Chelsea doubled over with laughter. She was overdoing it a little, but like every other woman within a thousand-mile radius of Sandy Harbor, she had the hots for Ty.

  I didn’t. I had a wall surrounding me that I’d built brick by brick. And it was completely cop-proof.

  Well, maybe I could blast a section off for Ty.

  No, I couldn’t.

  Yes, I could.

  “So, what do you want to tell me?” he asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

  “I wanted to get your advice on one of the Miss Salmon contestants, Aileen Shubert.”

  “Do I know her?” Ty asked.

  “She’s the one with the picture-perfect blond hair with white streaks. She’s tall, beautiful, has a toothy white smile, and is Miss Personality and Miss Congeniality combined.”

  “Real short white shorts with a fringe on the bottom and pockets that hang lower than her hems? Did she have an aqua tube top on today, along with gold hoop earrings? And she never wears shoes and has bright pink nail polish on her toes with a sparkly ankle bracelet?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, so you haven’t noticed her?”

  “No. I haven’t noticed her at all.”

  “I can tell.” I grinned. “But anyway, I think she lied on her Miss Salmon application.”

  “That’s a crime punishable by life in prison!”

  “Ty, what I’m trying to say is that I think Aileen Shubert is intentionally trying to fool the pageant committee.”

  “Now you’re talking. That’s the electric chair.”

  I took a deep breath. He wasn’t taking me seriously.

  “She said she was going to the graduate school of business management at SU. And, well, they don’t know her. I didn’t remember anything on her application about her taking graduate courses at Syracuse, so, for the heck of it, I called a friend of mine who works there.”

  “Trixie, it’s probably nothing more than some beauty queen trying to look good and win the pageant.”

  “Yeah, but she’ll win a whopping five hundred dollars and a ride in Hal Manning’s relic of a car at the front of the Salmon Parade. And I won’t stand for that.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll run a record check on Aileen Shubert. Give me her date of birth from her questionnaire.”

  “It’s February 21, 1986. I remember that distinctly. It’s the same date as a friend’s birthday.”

  He pulled out a little notebook from his shirt pocket and wrote it down with the stub of a pencil.

  “Will you let me know what you find out?”

  “I doubt it,” he said.

  “You know, I give you everything I find out, but you don’t give me any information at all.”

  “Trixie, you know I can’t give you information from a current investigation.”

  I knew that. I did. However, when the good Lord passed out patience, I got out of line because the line was moving too slowly.

  “Okay, Ty. In the spirit of me telling you everything and you telling me nothing, here’s some major information: One of Uncle Porky’s four fillet knives is missing from the basement. Did the murder weapon look like this?”

  I plopped the knife on the table.

  He hesitated, but I shot him a look that would wither a dozen roses. “Uh, yes, it did.”

  “Uncle Porky’s have unique handles—ivory. They’re probably illegal now.”

  “They are, but a lot of the old ones have ivory handles. Nick’s fillet knives, for instance, have ivory handles. And so do Sal’s.”

  “Do you know whose collection the murder weapon came from?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Oh yes, you absolutely can.”

  “No. I can’t. I’ll have to have this one compared to the one we found wrapped in Antoinette Chloe’s Easter fascinator. Do you know if all of your uncle Porky’s knives looked alike?”

  “I—I don’t know. I can give you the other ones, too.”

  “Good.”

  Ty didn’t have to tell me whose collection the murder weapon came from. It was Uncle Porky’s. Somehow the murderer snuck into the basement and stole a knife.

  Our meals arrived, and we stopped talking about the case for a while—just a little while. Then I made a U-turn back to the investigation.

  “Ty, when are you planning you let the Rubbers go? And how about Chad Dodson?”

  “I’m getting there. Give me a couple of days.”

  “I don’t want you to let them go! You need to find one of them guilty, so ACB will be off the hook.”

  “Trix, you stick to cooking, and I’ll stick to my job.”

  “But tomorrow’s dress-rehearsal day.”

  “I know. And I’m on ACB watch. I can’t think of anything more fun than the Miss Salmon dress rehearsal.” He made a painful face, then grinned. “But Aileen and all the other gorgeous girls will be there.”

  “Along with the five Wheelchair Grannies from the Sandy Harbor Golden Age Apartments.”

  He smiled. “I don’t age discriminate.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. Was I doomed to banter with Ty Brisco until the end of my days? But I had to admit that I enjoyed his company immensely.

  Ty insisted on paying for his meal, but I pried the check out of his fingers and tore it up.

  “Leave Chelsea a nice, big tip, and we’ll call it even,” I said.

  We parted ways, and I went into the kitchen to thank Juanita for the fabulous meal.

  “Juanita, the pea soup and grilled cheese and ham sandwich were delicious, and Ty loved the tomato soup and Reuben. And the little garnishes you do are adorable.”

  “Thanks, amiga.”

  Other restaurants put a tomato slice on a lettuce leaf and call it a garnish. We try to make the garnish edible and unique.

  Juanita is all about carrot curls, radish roses, and zigzagged cucumber chunks. In season, she’d add rosemary sprigs or edible flowers that looked like orchids. She was very creative and had taught Chelsea how to dress up plates with garnish.

  Juanita has taught me, too. I’d found a book at the library’s book sale about making garnishes, but I haven’t had a chance to read it. She would probably like it.

  “The kitchen looks absolutely fabulous,” I told Juanita.

  “You did most of it the other day. I just kept on going, and so did Cindy.”

  “Then we all did a good job. Anything you need Juanita? Anything I can do to help?”

  “Nada. I’m good.” She paused for a second, then whispered to me. “I see you sitting with Deputy Ty. He’s a good man, Trixie. And very handsome.”

  My mouth went dry. “Chica, are you trying to match-make?”

  “Sí.” She peeked at me through her long black eyelashes. “You two make a nice couple.”

  I shook my head. “He’s not my type.”

  And I’m not his type. I thought of what he said about Aileen Shubert and her short shorts. Not my thing at all. However, I was planning on stunning him with my sequined dress—well, Aunt Stella’s sequined dress.

&nbs
p; No! I was wearing the elegant dress for myself, not for any transplanted cowboy from Houston.

  What was I thinking?

  I was thinking that I should get my hair colored or low-lighted. My blond hair looked a little washed-out. And maybe some white streaks in it would jazz it up. Wait. Aileen had white streaks, and I didn’t want to look like her—not that I could. So I’d skip the streaks, and go with the low lights and one of those new cuts with lots of layers.

  “See you later, Juanita.”

  “Adios.”

  I called Harbor Hair before I forgot. They had a cancellation and could take me in fifteen minutes. Other than that appointment, they were all booked with Miss Salmon contestants and couldn’t fit me in until after the pageant.

  “I’ll be there. Fifteen minutes.”

  I delivered to Antoinette Chloe her B-B-B, chocolate milk shake, and two cherry hand pies. When I arrived, she said that she was cleaning her room.

  I didn’t see any difference.

  Antoinette Chloe shook her head. “I can’t believe that my glittery pink fingernail is gone from the set. So is my motorcycle earring that I wore on my last ride with Nick. My favorite fascinator and the little yellow bunny are gone. That was the cutest bunny. I remember putting the hat and bunny on the windowsill. I was going to glue the bunny back on.” She reached for the take-out container. “Ty said that I’d get everything back when the case is over.”

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, and the old springs groaned in protest. Popping open the white foam container, she took a bite of her B-B-B club.

  “This is good,” she said. “Lots of mayonnaise.”

  Yikes.

  “And the milk shake is nice and thick,” she said.

  “Uh, Antoinette Chloe, I’m going to get my hair cut and dyed at Harbor Hair. Are you going to be okay here alone?”

  “Of course. I’m going to bed early.”

  “Do you mind if I take your van? I’m about of gas and I don’t have time to stop along the way.” I checked my watch. I had to get moving.

  “Of course.” She reached across her bed and handed me a fistful of key chains with one or two keys attached somewhere.

  As I left, I knocked on Vern McCoy’s car. Oops, I forgot to bring him a sandwich. That was thoughtless of me.