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

by Christine Wenger

  “What?” I asked Ty. “What’s going on?”

  Ty didn’t have to answer. “The library’s roof collapsed” was the response twittered around the diner, after dozens of phones and radios were shut off.

  Just about all my customers stood up at the same time and shrugged into coats and gloves and plopped hats on their heads.

  “Thank goodness the library was closed,” Ty said, slipping into his jacket.

  I sighed. “A couple of years ago, it was the court house. Last year it was the American Legion and now the library. What next?” I asked.

  He adjusted the rain bonnet on his cowboy hat. “Maybe we need some roof inspectors before anyone gets seriously hurt. The weather here is just plain . . .”

  “Hideous,” I supplied.

  “Yeah.” He swung his hat and plopped it on his head, tapping it with a couple of fingers into a comfortable spot.

  “Ty, it’s awful out there to drive, and all these people are going to drive down the highway, where there is zero visibility, and into town, where there’re narrow streets and nowhere to put the snow even if the plows got there. Can you at least call Karen and get her or someone else to plow your way?”

  “Already done. You must have missed that on the radio.”

  “A police radio is like Dinerese. You have to develop an ear for it. I never did.”

  He put his gloves on and turned to the big line of villagers down the center aisle of my diner ready to respond.

  Ty raised a hand for quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, I want everyone to take their time driving in this weather. The village plows have cleared a path for us, but it’s still treacherous out there. From what I understand, no one was in the library, so there is no rush. We’ll try to tarp it to save some of the books and whatnot, but first, the town engineer, Emmett Woolsey, will decide if what’s left of the roof is stable enough for us to go in there.”

  Ty’s radio went off again. Same type of mumbling, same static.

  “I stand corrected,” Ty said. He hooked his radio onto his belt and was ready to rush out the door as if his jeans—which fit perfectly (not that I noticed)—were on fire. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Is anyone hurt?” I asked.

  “Can’t say.”

  He never can say.

  “Please call me. I have a diner full of people who care,” I instructed.

  He didn’t answer. He was sliding down the sidewalk to his big black monolith of an SUV. I kidded him about it, but a megatruck or an SUV was pretty much mandatory in these parts.

  “Did I hear the words ‘Tidy Trio’ on the radio?” Leo Sousa, an EMT, asked.

  “I heard that, too,” Megan Hunter said, then turned to me. “The Tidy Trio is Donna Palmeri, Sue Lewandursky, and Mary Ann Malone. They’ve been cleaning the library for years.” Megan Hunter owned an antiques shop and restoration business in downtown Sandy Harbor and was a bundle of energy like an elf at Christmas. “I sure hope they’re okay.”

  Everyone’s phone went off yet again. “Tidy Trio” was murmured throughout the diner. What customers were left dropped their forks and stood, then slipped into their coats.

  I held open the exit door as most everyone hurried out.

  “Be careful!” I said. My plea was echoed by those they’d left behind with unfinished meals and stuck with the bills.

  The Silver Bullet was quiet now. Only a handful of customers dotted the inside of the diner, eating in relative silence, thinking and praying that the Tidy Trio was okay.

  It seemed like an eternity before Ty called. I was buzzed on enough coffee to float a battleship.

  “They’re all okay,” Ty said. “They were just scared out of their wits with the cracking of the wood and the noise. The big stained-glass dome is now in shards on the floor. Luckily, they were all away from the worst part when the roof collapsed.”

  As I looked up, every pair of eyes was trained on me. “They’re all okay, Deputy Brisco said. Just scared.”

  There was a round of applause and a jovial atmosphere returned to the Silver Bullet.

  “How did the rest of the library fare?” I asked Ty.

  “Everything’s wet with the exception of the archive room and a couple of offices. When this roof decided to cave-in, it did a bang-up job. It’s too late to tarp the books. They are gone. Very gone.”

  “Oh, no! All those beautiful books,” I said. “And all that marble.”

  “The marble is okay. It’s now a marble swimming pool.”

  “Sheesh.”

  “I gotta go, Trixie,” he said.

  “Wait! Ty, tell everyone there that I’ll deliver hot coffee and sandwiches.”

  “You’re a good egg, Trixie Matkowski.”

  I smiled. “Good to know.”

  “Bye,” Ty said.

  I turned to the patrons again. “Deputy Brisco said that most all of the books are ruined.”

  My heart was breaking. I grew up in libraries and loved the sounds and smells of them. A voracious reader, I loved to touch, feel, and smell a book in my hand and get lost in the world of words.

  “It’s such a beautiful building. I sure hope that all that beautiful wood doesn’t get ruined,” Megan Hunter said. “And those beautiful desks and brass lamps! What a shame!”

  Nursery school teacher Lorraine Matthews stood. “We definitely have to have a fund-raiser to repair the library and get replacement books.”

  “Yeah!” Several fists pumped the air.

  “We should have a chili cook-off during our Winter Carnival,” Lorraine added.

  “Please, no.” I shook my head. “Everyone does chili cook-offs. We need to come up with something bigger—something different.”

  “Like what do you have in mind, Trixie?” Megan asked, listening intently.

  I thought for a while, then snapped my fingers. “How about a macaroni and cheese cook-off? It’s pretty easy, and we’ll see who makes theirs stand out the most. They’ll get first prize. We could have three prizes—gold, silver, and bronze.”

  “I nominate Trixie Matkowski to be the chairperson of the library fund-raiser,” said Jean Vermer, whom I’d hunt down later.

  “Wha—”

  “Don’t worry, Trixie,” said Megan. “I’ll help you out. So will most of the town, whoever’s able.”

  “I second the nomination,” said Tess Drennan.

  “All those in favor, say aye,” Megan yelled.

  This was just way too crazy.

  “I don’t even have the time to tie my sneakers these days. Don’t say aye. No ayes!” I pointed my finger down the aisle. “Don’t you guys dare!”

  “Aye!”

  I sat down, trying to think of a way out of this. It’s not like I didn’t want to help—I just didn’t have the energy or the time to chair it.

  “The ayes have it,” said Megan. “You’re the chairperson of the library fund-raiser, and we are having a macaroni and cheese cook-off.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I’ll be your cochair,” Megan announced to a round of applause. “I’ll contact an old sorority sister of mine. I hear she’s breezing through town to go to Ottawa to tape her TV show there. I’m sure I could get her! Just wait until you all hear this name: Priscilla Finch-Smythe. ‘Cilla’ for short.”

  There was a general sense of awe. Add me to the list. I loved watching Cilla on TV. She was noted for making basic comfort food and for her published cookbooks, her latest being Comforting Comfort Food.

  “So, what do you think about Mabel Clunk coming to town to judge the contest, Trixie?” Megan asked while actually patting herself on the back.

  “Mabel Clunk? Who’s that? I thought you said Priscilla Finch-Smythe would judge it.”

  “They are one and the same person.”

  I guess you can’t be a TV personality
with a name like Mabel Clunk.

  “Oh, Trixie!” Megan shook my biceps until my teeth were ready to fall out. “The first prize could be a weekend in New York City with Cilla and an appearance on her TV show to cook the winning mac and cheese recipe. Wouldn’t that be incredible? We could get real chefs and wannabe chefs from all over the world by relentlessly using her name. We could charge an enormous entry fee. Incredible idea, huh?”

  “Just incredible,” I repeated. “Mabel Clunk.” I took a deep breath. “And everyone will help?”

  My patrons nodded and clapped, excited to rebuild the library. I was overwhelmed. All I’d said was “macaroni and cheese” and now I was in charge of an international cook-off?

  Mac and cheese was definitely a comfort food. With enough help, I could pull this off.

  But why didn’t I feel comforted?

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