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

by Christine Wenger

  He thought for a moment. “I don’t know if he could tell us anything more than he has already, but it’s worth a try.”

  “Road trip?” I asked, wondering how I could possibly fit in a trip to the real Big House.

  “I’ll call him, Trixie. Stay out of it.”

  I poured him another cup of coffee. “Do you have any information about the goof who kept banging into ACB’s van?”

  “It was a rental car that was stolen from Harbor Rentals. They were washing the car and cleaning the inside. The keys were in the car, and someone wearing a black hoodie, black sweats, and sunglasses drove it away. They think it was some kid who just wanted to drive a hot car and get into a little trouble.”

  “And this car looked just like Chad Dodson’s? What are the odds?” I asked.

  “Nah, the colors were the same, but he has a T-Bird. What was stolen was a Camry.”

  “Camry? I was that far off?”

  “You were in panic mode. It’s totally understandable, Trixie.”

  “So, you think it’s a kid out for a joyride? Must be that I was in the way, so he had to keep bumping me.”

  “Vern McCoy found the Camry in a ditch on Cow Path Road. It was out of gas. Vern dusted for prints. We’ll find the person.”

  Cow Path Road wasn’t far from the point, and it ran parallel to Route 3. It was all hills and valleys, and the kids loved to race on it.

  “Ty, are you sure that the driver of the Camry wasn’t trying to run ACB off the road? I mean, it was me driving, but it was her van.”

  “It’s possible.”

  We said good-bye because I had to get ready for pageant practice.

  Then I wondered if I could call Sal before Ty did. I wanted to appeal to him as a friend of ACB’s, which I was. If he had any more information, I’d try to get it out of him.

  But when I went upstairs to my room and dialed the number that I had been given by jail personnel, I found out that I wasn’t on Sal Brown’s call list, so Auburn wouldn’t put me through to him, no matter how I pleaded and whined to Correctional Officer Stone.

  Darn! Antoinette Chloe would have to call Sal.

  Or maybe I could pretend to be ACB to get by Correctional Officer Stone.

  “Hello, Correctional Officer Stone. I’d like to speak with my ex-husband, Sal Brown. My name is Antoinette Chloe Brown.”

  “Miz Brown, don’t you know that you must speak with the inmate’s counselor first? Depending on how many personal calls he’s received already, he might not be eligible to talk with you. If he’s eligible, his counselor will then have to go to his cellblock to get him and call you back. Then, finally, the counselor will put the inmate on the phone.”

  Officer Stone recited his spiel like a robot. He must be bored to death. I wondered whom he offended or what rule he broke to be assigned to phone duty.

  I cleared my throat and tried to imitate the fluttery way that ACB spoke. “Would you kindly put Sal’s counselor on the line, Lieutenant Stone?”

  “Uh, it’s Correctional Officer Stone . . . but stay on the line for Correctional Officer Cuddy, please.”

  “Thank you so much!”

  Officer Cuddy had such a high voice I thought that I was speaking with a member of the Vienna Boys’ Choir, but he stated that Sal was eligible for one personal call and I was to stand by. I also had to answer several personal questions that only ACB would know the answer to, but, being a close friend of hers, I could answer correctly—with the exception of her Social Security number.

  I fluttered and stammered and finally flirted enough with Officer Cuddy that he gave me another question. Success!

  I was on edge. I couldn’t control the jumping of my foot or the drumming of my fingers on the phone stand. Then I thought about how Ty would kill me if he ever found out that I beat him to Sal.

  He’d be one ticked-off cop—that’s for sure.

  But he just didn’t move fast enough for me.

  The phone rang, and I jumped twenty feet in the air. As I returned to my chair, I greeted the incarcerated-for-life Sal Brown.

  “Don’t say anything, Mr. Brown, but this isn’t Antoinette Chloe. This is Trixie Matkowski.”

  “Oh, joy. Wassup?”

  “I just wanted to tell you that Antoinette Chloe was arrested for killing Nick. I need you to help me out, for Antoinette Chloe’s sake. She asked me to help her, so I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “I heard she was arrested. I’m in jail, not on Mars. How is my dearest darling? Is she doing okay?”

  “You know her. She always lands on her flip-flops.”

  “Yeah. What a broad! I wish she’d never divorced me.”

  “I don’t know what she was thinking,” I said with frost hanging from each word. “And broad? Did you really say broad?”

  “Oh, excuse me, Miz Matkowski. I’ll immediately enroll in a politically correct terminology class in the cellblock.”

  He was being sarcastic, and I tried not to laugh, but it was nearly impossible when he was trying to be the star of a 1950s gangster B movie. Maybe it was simply a case of jail survival, but I think that Sal should update his slang for the times.

  “Sal, didn’t you say that you were jealous of Nick dating Antoinette Chloe?”

  “Yeah. It tore my heart out when I heard about them. When I told Nicky to take care of her, I didn’t mean sleep with her.” I could hear the sadness in his voice. “But she could never kill anyone. Has Ty’s cheese slipped off his cracker?”

  Sal Brown was absolutely right about ACB, but I felt a need to defend Ty.

  “I think someone is trying to frame her, Sal. I don’t know who yet, but it’s obvious. Her stuff was littered around the crime scene. It was obviously planted there. Ty had no choice but to arrest her. Besides, it was for her own protection, but she begged me to get her out so she could emcee the Miss Salmon Contest.”

  “Who would want to frame my beloved Antoinette Chloe?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Damned if I know. She’s a saint.” Suddenly Sal shouted, “I did it. I killed Nicky. Tell Ty that I’ll give a statement that I did it. I killed Nicky. I killed my brother. I didn’t like the fact that he was sleeping with my wife.”

  “But, Sal, you were in jail at the time Nick was killed.”

  “You can get anything done in here, if you know the right people, and I do,” he said. “I’ll take the rap for killing Nicky, not my Antoinette Chloe.”

  “Sal, that’s really so sweet of you, but I don’t believe you, so I doubt Ty will. So, listen. Can you think of anything—anything at all that could help Antoinette Chloe?”

  There was silence for a while. “Okay. I didn’t want to tell Ty this because I was afraid that they’d audit our restaurant, but I was involved with Chad Dodson and helping him launder money. It was gambling money from hot games in the basement of Nicky’s restaurant.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “One day, Nicky stumbled into our private gambling club that was meeting in his basement. His restaurant was closed on Monday, so why the hell didn’t he stay away?”

  “So, you were all gambling, Sal?” I asked.

  “I love Texas Hold ’Em, and I would disappear every Sunday night. I told Antoinette Chloe that I was seeing our friend, Alan Lohman, at a nursing home in Boston, but Al died years ago. Instead I was going to play cards. We would start early on Monday morning and play until eight o’clock. Chad had a great business going with the private club. He charged a couple of grand for players to belong, and the house took a cut on each game. The money would go through the restaurant and come out squeaky-clean.”

  “And then Nick found out?” I asked.

  “And he had a fit—said that no one was going to use his restaurant and smear his good name to launder money from illegal gambling or illegal an
ything. He hopped on his motorcycle and drove through the dining room and kitchen and wrecked the place, and took off down the highway. Crazy fool. It was a gold mine for me and Chad. We would have cut Nicky in, but he was too straight. Everyone was scared that Nicky would go to the cops, so we all took to the wind.”

  “Did you launder money through Brown’s Four Corners, too?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Nick broke his partnership agreement with Chad and left him high and dry. Now Chad is broke. You should also know that Chad is sniffing around Nick’s life-insurance policy that names Antoinette Chloe, then Chad and you as beneficiaries. Do you think that someone’s trying to get Antoinette Chloe into jail and out of the way?”

  Sal let loose a few nice swearwords. “Sorry, Trixie.” Then he took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not the one trying to get my darling in jail. My sweet lady would fade like a cut rose in jail. I’d place a bet on Chad, though. He’s a slippery one, and he needs fast money. If I find out that Chad is doing anything against my Antoinette Chloe, I’ll take care of him. I got nothing to lose.”

  “Sal, this was very helpful, but I have to go. Antoinette Chloe and I have to get going to the Miss Salmon reception and the dress rehearsal.”

  “My Antoinette Chloe should be entered in the pageant. She’d win. She’s just beautiful,” Sal said just before a tape recording told us his time was up.

  “She’s the emcee. She can’t enter.” I thanked Sal for the information and promised to watch out for ACB.

  I was thrilled. I got a lot of information from Sal. I knew I’d have to tell Ty and incur his wrath, but I’d postpone that for later. I was a pro at procrastination.

  Climbing the stairs, I found the pageant contestants and ACB in a state of panic. How hard was it to pack up all their stuff for a dress rehearsal? They just had to hang their evening dresses in garment bags and pack the rest of their things—shoes, a bathing suit, and a salmon costume—into a tote bag.

  I hadn’t seen the salmon costumes yet. The other members of the committee had sewed the costumes from yards and yards of shiny gray material donated by Notions and Potions, a sewing and New Age store downtown.

  I wasn’t a part of the sewing. Knowing my lack of skills, the committee decided that I was doing enough just by being a judge, opening my house, and feeding the contestants at the Silver Bullet.

  ACB was supposed to be in charge of breakfast and lunch, but because of her unfortunate stint in her comfy cell at the Sandy Harbor Hilton, the committee had to help out more.

  I knocked on her open door and walked in. “Antoinette Chloe, you can drive with me. I’m not going to be at the entire dress rehearsal, just the reception. You’ll have to get a ride back.”

  “I can do that.”

  I sat down on the Queen Anne chair, since her bed was once again loaded with clothes. Sighing, I remembered how that bed was once cleared off after the slasher incident. ACB and I worked like rented mules putting everything back together and throwing wounded muumuus and fascinators away. But ACB had a system, and she knew just where everything was.

  Pam, one of the Miss Salmon committee members, stomped into the room.

  “Are you two coming to the high school with us? The reception is starting soon and the van is leaving!” Pam said impatiently.

  “Pam, thanks anyway, but Antoinette Chloe and I are driving to the reception together. Go ahead without us. But would you stop at the Silver Bullet first and pick up my trays of cookies, please?” I said, shutting the door before she had a chance to answer.

  Then I filled in ACB on my conversation with Sal and why I had pretended to be her when I called Auburn.

  She listened as she stuffed a couple of pairs of flip-flops into a tote bag. “I never knew about the money laundering, and I guess it’s good that Sal didn’t tell Ty, so I wouldn’t be audited. And I never knew the truth about the big argument that drove a wedge between Chad and Nick. Nick would never tell me.”

  I shook my head. “I think that Ty needs to move Chad Dodson up the suspect list to the number one position. Chad couldn’t start another poker club until Nick was out of the way, or Nick might squeal. Sal was already out of the way. With you in jail for murdering Nick, Chad would hit the beneficiary bonanza. Plus he’s broke and has to act fast. Right?”

  I felt that I’d gone over this information before, but the laundering of gambling money was a new twist.

  As I left ACB’s room, I gave her ten more minutes to stuff everything she could into her tote bags and into her cleavage.

  Then I decided to check the contestants’ rooms. Like Ty, I thought that the trashing and slashing was an inside job. It was probably illegal for me to paw around their rooms, and Ty was in the process of getting warrants, but this was my house, I reasoned, so I could do whatever I wanted.

  And I was going to start with Aileen Shubert’s room. It was right next door to ACB’s, and Aileen could probably hear everything that ACB was doing and saying.

  Antoinette Chloe wasn’t exactly demure and talked in a booming voice, mostly to herself.

  So I twisted the knob and let myself in. Talk about perfume! The place smelled like the cosmetics corner at Spend A Buck.

  Aileen’s bed was made, her room was spotless, and nothing was on the dresser except makeup, perfume, and a huge jewelry box.

  I was a bit of a jewelry snoop. I never really wore it, but I had a couple of nice pieces for weddings, funerals, and the like. Nothing expensive, just semiprecious stones and some colored glass.

  Opening Aileen’s jewelry box, I was dazzled. It looked like the real thing, but I didn’t know a real diamond from cubic zirconia.

  I pulled open every drawer of the box, being careful not to touch anything. In the bottom drawer I found an envelope. Of course I looked inside and found a newspaper clipping from the bridal section of the Boston Globe. I read:

  SOCIALITE LESLIE MCDERMOTT

  TO WED

  RESTAURATEUR DOMENICK BROWNELLI

  Leslie McDermott of Greenwich, Connecticut, will marry Domenick Brownelli of Sandy Harbor, New York, at a moonlight ceremony Saturday evening at the home of the bride’s family.

  The bride is the daughter of Irene (O’Connor) McDermott and Bart Francis McDermott. The bride’s mother is a corporate efficiency consultant. The bride’s father owns sixteen car dealerships across New England.

  The bride works for her father’s company. The groom formerly owned Chef Nick’s Restaurant on Beacon Hill and enjoys designing and making custom motorcycles.

  After a honeymoon cruise to Hawaii, the couple will reside in Sandy Harbor, New York.

  Poor Leslie. She was ready to get married, but it never happened. I stared numbly at the picture of Leslie McDermott, with her perfectly straight blond hair and her beautiful gown and flowers. . . .

  And that’s when it hit me. The woman in the picture was Aileen Shubert!

  Chapter 14

  So, Leslie McDermott was really Aileen Shubert. No. It was the other way around. Aileen Shubert was really Leslie McDermott.

  No wonder Toxic Waste and Aileen were hotter than dinner rolls from my oven. They were picking up where they had left off before Nick drove a wedge between them.

  But why would she enter the Miss Salmon pageant under another name?

  When we finally walked down the stairs, I was carrying several tote bags for ACB. She had even more.

  Ty jumped to his feet. “Need help?”

  “We got it. We just need to keep walking to keep our momentum going,” I said, trying to avoid him. I still felt guilty about going behind his back and calling Sal, and prayed that Sal wouldn’t tell him. “I’m driving us to the high school in my car.”

  “I’ll follow you both,” he said.

  I felt my face heat, and I knew I was getting the red Crawling Crud of Guilt. It starts on my nec
k and stops at my cheeks. I also had to spill that I had searched Aileen/Leslie’s room.

  Why would Leslie want to enter the Miss Salmon pageant? To hang around Sandy Harbor so she could be near Nick and maybe get back with him? Or simply to kill him?

  Finding out that Aileen was Leslie was big news! I wanted to tell ACB, but my gut told me to tell Ty first, because I knew ACB would go off the deep end.

  I’d have to wait to get Ty alone.

  Hiding my face with tote bags because Ty knew my guilt tell, I put everything in the trunk of my car. ACB’s items, too. Everything barely fit.

  As ACB went back into the house to get more of her things with Ty, I called Juanita. “Did Connie pick up the cookie trays?”

  “Sí. Not too long ago.”

  “Good. Is everything okay?”

  “Lots of business. I’ve been busy,” she said.

  “Do you need me to help you?” I could skip the reception, if I had to, although now I wanted to keep an eye on both Antoinette Chloe and Leslie.

  “Everything is good. Mr. Billy came in to eat and he helped me for a while. He said that he cooked with you on the graveyard shift, so I said okay. He said that he’s bored waiting around. I like Mr. Billy.”

  “He definitely knows his way around a kitchen.”

  “Sí. And he likes Raymond. The two of them were throwing a football back and forth on Ray’s break.”

  Ray was the best dishwasher and all-around kid that I’ve ever hired, and when he quit hacking into his school’s computer to raise everyone’s grades, I paid him extra to be my computer geek.

  “Okay, I’m going up to the reception with Antoinette Chloe, who’s basically a wreck because the slasher took all of her notes. I think she’s more worried about being a terrible emcee than the murder charge. Talk to you later.”

  “Have a good time.”

  Followed by Ty, Antoinette Chloe finally emerged. They were both carrying garment bags, probably more muumuus that weren’t maimed. They laid them across the backseat.

  Finally, we were off and headed to the auditorium. ACB looked particularly festive today. She wore a muumuu with palm trees and colorful surfboards all over it, sparkly purple flip-flops, and a straw hat with a toucan and a palm tree on top.