The Chicken Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  “He’s angry,” Nelly said, dragging her fingers through her mousy brown hair, “because I got a spot in front of the fountain and he didn’t. He said that I have no right to be selling flowers at the front. That it should only be food stalls along the main path, and that I should give up my spot to him. That it was the right thing to do.”

  “Oh, Nelly, I hope you refused,” Grizzy replied. “That’s not fair of him.”

  “Of course I said no. That man is as stubborn as a mule, though. He kept following me. I mean, you saw…” she let out a frustrated grunt. “I don’t like arguing with people. Why can’t he leave me alone?”

  “Sounds like Sal’s got an ego problem. Or maybe it’s a financial problem?” I tapped my chin.

  “No, no, no, don’t you dare, Watson.” Grizzy poked me on the shoulder.

  “Dare what?”

  “You’re tapping your chin again. That’s your ‘I’m about to get involved’ tell. Sal’s issues are not yours to solve.”

  “Fine, fine,” I said, and lifted my hands. “I just think it’s interesting that he’s so eager for a front spot. What difference does it make?”

  “It’s hotly contested,” Nelly said. “They are prime spots. I just think it’s rude. I mean, half of the proceeds do go to charity. It doesn’t seem in keeping with the spirit of the Fair.” She readjusted her beige sweater. “Anyway, I’d better get back to the shop.”

  “Take care, Nelly,” Grizzy said.

  After the florist had left, we sat in silence eating our chicken burgers. My thoughts wandered from Sal’s strange behavior, to Sleepy Creek, to the Fair, and, finally, to my mother’s cold case. It was a cycle I was accustomed to.

  Now that it was quiet in the town, free of murders and cases to investigate, thank goodness, I had nothing much else to fixate on. Hopefully, it stayed that way.

  3

  “Ready to go?” Griz asked, from behind the counter in the Burger Bar.

  It was a sunny Friday morning and uncommonly warm outside. Every customer who’d come through the doors had commented on it, and the sales of milkshakes and soda floats were higher than they’d been in two weeks.

  The mood in the restaurant brought happiness to me that I hadn’t experienced in longer than I cared to admit. It gave me all kinds of questions—why was I happy now, when all I’d ever wanted was to be a homicide detective and find the truth? And if I was happier here than back in Boston, did that mean I would be unhappy when my sabbatical finally ended?

  I spun my tray on the tip of my finger, absently.

  “Christie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you ready to go?” Griz lifted a cardboard box, packed with takeaway boxes, and set it down on the counter. “We don’t want to be late. Mayor Samson is a stickler for punctuality.”

  “And for wearing plaid shirts,” I replied, and picked up the box. We were due at the town hall today to provide the Mayor and the appointed Food Fair council with tasters of what we’d be selling.

  “What’s wrong with plaid shirts?” Griz asked.

  “Nothing. It’s just … there are other colors, you know.” We waved to Martin on our way out, and the hero of the restaurant gave us a thumbs up back.

  I carried the box down the street, the sun warming my face, and Grizzy humming at my side. “I love spring,” she said. “It’s not too hot, not too cold, most of the time, and the smell of the flowers is on the air.” She drew in a deep breath.

  “And burgers,” I replied. “And pizza. Especially with the Food Fair coming up.”

  “Yeah, that’s a bonus. And it’s nice that we’ll be able to give something back too. Two years ago, the Fair didn’t even sponsor a charity.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah,” Grizzy said, as we turned the corner and moved past glass windows, wrought iron lamps and storefronts. “It was actually Dolores’ suggestion that we give half of the proceeds to a charity of the town’s choice. Naturally, Sal was furious about that.”

  “He was?”

  “Yes, but I think it was more because it was Dolores who suggested it. After that there was a resurgence in pizza and cake warfare.”

  “This place is something else,” I said.

  We fell silent, and I mulled over the morning, the upcoming fair, and tried my best to resist the scent of the burgers rising from the containers. My stomach growled. I had been holding off on snacking on burgers because it had been less than a month and I’d already packed on a few pounds.

  The stress of investigating under the radar hadn’t burned enough calories to keep me slim. And Jarvis did love to go heavy on the cheese.

  We arrived at the town hall and entered to find the place packed with people and tables already arrayed with tasty bites. There were slices of Sal’s pizza in the far corner of the room, and Dolores had stacked her cupcakes in neat little boxes with clear tops. The two cast glares at each other between the crowds of townsfolk.

  “Let’s set up here,” Griz said.

  I followed her over to one of the empty spaces at a table far enough from Dolores and Sal to avoid the ‘heat in the kitchen.’ The hall filled up quite quickly, folks coming with food or to try it. The mayor and the other Food Fair committee members roved through the crowd, stopping to taste samples as they went.

  They started near the walnut doors, which had been thrown wide open, and worked their way clockwise around the hall. The chatter was loud and merry and the smells delicious.

  “Good morning, Griselda,” Mayor Samson said, stopping in front of our section on one of the tables. “And good morning, Christie.”

  “Hi,” we said, in unison.

  “What have you got for us to sample today?” he asked.

  The other committee members gathered as well, smiling amiably at the boxes.

  Griselda lifted one of the boxes and opened it. “I present to you, the humble Chicken Burger.”

  A collection of ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahs’ traveled through the group, and some of the others in the hall gathered round to take a peek.

  “We’ve cut them into quarters so that it’s easier for everyone to taste test,” I said, and began opening the other takeaway boxes.

  The committee members nudged in closer, bumping elbows, some of them licking their lips. They tried the food and chewed enthusiastically, nodding.

  “This is fantastic,” Mayor Samson said, and accepted a napkin from Grizzy. “And you think you’ll be able to prepare these with ease?”

  “Jarvis is set, and I’ll be helping him along. Christie and Martin too. We’re all hands on deck for the Food Fair.”

  Now, I wasn’t one for Fairs or crowds, but this was kind of fun. The vibe in the hall was warm and friendly, and I’d grown accustomed to the Sleepy Creek credo over the past few weeks—gossip, food, and oddities.

  “Fantastic,” the mayor said. “Well, that’s settled then. I think we’ll—”

  A shout followed by gasps and the stamp of feet interrupted him. The crowd further back in the hall pushed and shoved, and a few people cried out for help.

  “What’s going on there?” Mayor Samson raised his voice. “Settle down, settle down. Excuse me, ladies.” He bustled off with his committee members in tow.

  “What do you think that’s about?” Grizzy asked.

  “Only one way to find out.” My curiosity peaked. I stepped out from behind the trestle table and squeezed past members of the crowd. Finally, I burst out into a small clearing in the corner of the hall, right next to Sal’s table of pizza slices.

  The mayor stood a few feet from it, his jaw dropped. One of the committee members had fainted, and was being held upright by the man behind her. The people jostling next to me and behind were pale, their eyes wide.

  I didn’t blame them.

  Sal from the pizzeria lay face down on the floor. Head turned to the left. Eyes closed. Piece of pizza lying next to him. Had he passed out? Or was it something worse than that?

  “Someone do something!” A y
ell from the crowd.

  I rushed forward and pressed my fingers to the side of his neck. “No pulse,” I whispered.

  “Someone call an ambulance!” a man shouted further back.

  But it was already too late for that.

  The jury was out on whether it was murder, but I wasn’t about to take my chances hanging around next to his body. I backed up a few steps and rejoined the crowd, shaking my head. The crowd pushed and shoved to get to the front, and I slipped back in among them.

  Already, those truth-seeking urges rose inside me.

  Had Sal been killed? Poisoned like Haley had been? Was he connected to…?

  “Chris?” Grizzy took hold of my forearm. She guided me back to the table and the empty burger boxes. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  I focused my attention on her.

  “What? Goodness, you look crazed. Your eyes are as big as … burger buns.”

  I blinked.

  “And you didn’t even tease me for using ‘burger buns’ as a simile.”

  “Metaphor,” I muttered. “No, simile. I don’t care.”

  “What happened?”

  “Sal’s dead,” I replied, as a siren whooped in the street outside.

  Once again, Sleepy Creek was about to become a lot less sleepy and a lot more suspicious.

  4

  The Burger Bar was abuzz with the news of Sal’s passing the next day. The questions, comments and intrigue lasted through the morning burger rush to brunch, when a lot of folks had already headed off to work. Or to share more gossip stories with their book clubs or knitting circles.

  I’d done what I could to insulate myself from the rumors—that way I could keep my head out of investigating the death of Sal the pizzeria man. Problem was, most of the folks in Sleepy Creek didn’t care what I wanted.

  “Information is made to be shared,” Missi said, from her favorite spot in the Burger Bar—the corner booth.

  Her sister, Virginia, sat across from her and fluffed her plum-gray hair. “She’s right, you know. Made to be shared.”

  “Sounds like an excuse for gossip,” I said, as I placed their milkshake orders, one double thick choc and one vanilla, on the table in front of them.

  “And what’s wrong with that?” Vee asked. “When it’s for a good cause, of course.” She plucked her cherry off the dollop of cream on top of the milkshake and inserted it between her lips. She crunched on it.

  “I know your game,” I said. “You want me to get involved, and you know I can’t get involved.”

  “Oh, she does think she’s special,” Missi clucked. “What makes you think we’re interested in you investigating Sal’s untimely, and slightly welcome, demise?”

  “You asked me to do it for the last murder.” I glanced over my shoulder to check my other tables were fine. Things had quieted down in the restaurant, and the customers left were preoccupied with their burgers. Chicken was the flavor of the day.

  “Hmmm.” Vee tapped her chin. “She has a point.”

  “Sit down, Watson. You’re giving me a neck ache.”

  “I should get back to—”

  “Sit,” Missi hissed.

  I cast a final glance in Grizzy’s direction—she was glued to her cellphone behind the bar, not literally but she might as well have been with that grin on her face.

  “Fine.” I sank into the chair next to Virginia and placed my tray on the tabletop. “But I’m not going to do any investigating on this one. From what I heard, Sal wasn’t murdered.”

  “From what you heard? Now, who’s been gossiping?” Missi smirked.

  “I wasn’t gossiping. I overheard it.”

  “Hmm, overheard or eavesdropped?” Vee asked.

  “Bit of both. My curiosity got the better of me,” I said, and threw caution to the wind. “It’s weird, don’t you think?”

  “That he died?” Missi asked. “Not really. He was incredibly unhealthy. General consensus on the street is that Sal ate so much cheese he was pretty much half-cheese himself. My humble prediction was that he’d throw himself at the front of Dolores’ bakery during the next uprising of the pizza versus the cake.”

  “There’s a pleasant image.”

  “She’s right.” Vee slurped on her vanilla milkshake. “The man could eat. And that’s saying something in this town. Cholesterol problems.”

  I’d heard much the same during the morning of serving burgers and batting away prying questions about what I’d seen in the town hall. “Cholesterol problems. What a way to go.”

  “I heard he died right after taking a bite of his own pizza,” Missi said. “Apparently, he got tired of waiting for the committee to come over to his stand and helped himself. Total glutton.”

  “Missi, dear, it’s not in good form to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Oh please, Virginia. He’s down there talking ill of all of us, right now. Mark my words.”

  “Down there?” I grimaced. “He wasn’t that bad, was he?”

  “He tried to kill Maura’s cats. And he liked throwing food around. And he was very grumpy,” Missi said.

  “You know, you’re at least one of those things.” I shifted my tray. “Tell you the truth, I’m kinda glad that this isn’t a murder investigation.”

  “Because you have the compulsive need to investigate?” Vee asked.

  “She can’t help sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “That’s rich coming from you two,” I said. “If it wasn’t for my nose, your antique store would be closed, right now.”

  Missi grunted. “Ever the humble one.”

  I’d always stick up for myself when backed into a corner. Even if I was backed into a corner by Missi, who happened to be old, harmless and absolutely terrifying all wrapped into one. I’d been on homicide investigations that had involved the mob back in Boston and even those hadn’t given me the chills like a stare from Missi did. She reminded me of my school teacher from the first grade.

  “Well,” I said, “if you’ve got no other gossip—”

  “Wisdom.” Missi glared.

  “—gossip to impart, then I’ll get back to waiting tables and keeping my nose out of Sal’s death.”

  “Always better to protect the nose whenever Sal’s involved.” Missi nodded.

  I slipped out of the booth, collected my tray, and headed back to the counter. Grizzy whistled under her breath and didn’t pay me any mind as I approached.

  “Talking to your boyfriend?” I asked.

  Her head snapped up. “He’s not my boyfriend! He’s just… Arthur’s a friend.”

  “A friend you go on dates with and talk to all the time. Sure, just a friend.” I grinned at her. For all my teasing, I was pretty happy that Griz finally had someone to spend time with other than her slightly overweight cat, Curly Fries. Or me.

  I held no delusions about how entertaining I was. I mostly stuck to myself, read books when I wasn’t going off to ‘stick my nose where it didn’t belong,’ and I’d never been a people person. Thankfully, Griz accepted me for who I was.

  “What did the twins have to say?” Grizzy asked.

  “Oh the usual. Doom, gloom and milkshakes.”

  “I supposed they’re curious about what happened to Sal?”

  “Everyone’s curious about what happened to Sal,” I said, and leaned my forearms on the table. “But it looks like my services won’t be needed this time around.”

  “Isn’t that a relief?” Griz asked.

  “I suppose.” It gave me more time to mentally reprimand myself for not trying to find out what had happened with my mother’s cold case. I both wanted to investigate and was wary of doing so. If one case would draw me into the deep end, it was that one. Once I had started, I wouldn’t stop until I found the answers I needed. And if someone got in the way … well, it wouldn’t matter who it was. I’d steamroll whatever obstacles stood in my path.

  The bell above the glass front door tinkled, and I switched my gaze to the mirror.
<
br />   Dolores the baker entered the Burger Bar, her fiery red hair loose at her shoulders. She wore a polka dot dress with a striped cardigan—a jarring effect—and grinned around the restaurant. “Lovely morning isn’t it?” she said, loudly, and hummed her way over to the bar.

  She parked her behind on one of the puffy stools and tapped her fingers on the countertop. “Hello, Griselda, darling. And there you are, Christie.”

  “You know my name?” I’d only bought a croissant from her once before.

  “Of course I do,” she said, and tipped two fingers to her forehead in a salute. “You’re the detective from Boston. You like croissants with chocolate dipping sauce. I never forget an order or a face.”

  “How are you this morning, Dolores?” Grizzy asked. “Anything special I can get for you?”

  “How am I?” Dolores asked. “How am I? I’ve never been better! Never been better.”

  “Why’s that?” I had an inkling as to why, but this attitude intrigued me. I wasn’t exactly besties with the baker, but the last time I’d seen her in the town hall, she hadn’t been this chipper.

  “Because spring has sprung, it’s a beautiful day, and I am officially free of that horrible, terrible, no good human being, Sal Russo. He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s never going to bother me again.”

  “You two really didn’t get along.”

  “Understatement of all eternity,” she said. “I hated the man. Hated him. And I’m sure it’s very sad that he died of coronary heart disease or cheese for blood for some people, at least, but for me, it’s like a new dawn.”

  “He gave you that much trouble?”

  Dolores inhaled through her nostrils. “He once shoved an entire slice of pizza up the exhaust pipe of my new delivery van.”

  “Wow.”

  “And now, he’s gone. Griselda, I’ll take a Chicken Burger with all the toppings, please. I can’t wait to try out your treat for the Fair this coming weekend. It’ll taste so much better knowing that I’ll have the stall right across from yours. Customers can stop at your stall, then head to mine for dessert.”