The Chicken Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  And if I went down there I’d have the chance to chat to Dolores.

  Dolores who had put up a huge clapboard sign outside her bakery—SPECIALS ALL DAY IN CELEBRATION OF THE END OF THE PIZZA-CAKE WAR. It was both jokey and crass. Disrespectful too, but there was a line out there that moved pretty quickly, and folks who went in, exited minutes later with little bags bearing Dolores’ Bakery’s logo.

  Basically, this was profit for Dolores. Sal’s death was profit.

  “Gross,” I said, under my breath.

  “Is this your plan for the foreseeable future?” Missi spoke behind me, her voice whip-crack sharp.

  I managed not to jump, thank goodness. If I had, Missi would never have let it slide. I turned my head and gave her my best ‘I’m scrutinizing you’ face.

  Missi rolled her crystal blue eyes. “Oh please, Watson, you know better than to try that with me. Now, is this what you plan on doing with your day? Lying around up here and waiting for something to happen?”

  “I’m not lying around,” I said, and gestured to the futon. “I’m standing around. There’s a difference.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in the antique shop?” I asked.

  The twins owned the Terrible Two’s Antiques store downstairs. Missi and Vee were passionate about two things: antiques and burgers. “I’m taking a break,” Missi said. “I came to fetch my handbag, not that it’s any of your business, Watson.”

  More like she’d come to harass me. “I was just leaving.”

  “To go where?”

  “Get a bite to eat.”

  “From where?”

  “When did you become the detective?” I asked. “Did we have a Freaky Friday moment without me realizing it?”

  Missi harrumphed. “If you’re going to the Burger Bar, you can come with us. The sun’s out today. Lovely weather.”

  I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Unless, of course, you’re going to the bakery downstairs. They do a wonderful croissant.”

  “I know.”

  A silence followed, and Missi pruned up her lips, grabbed her handbag off the side table and slung it over her shoulder. It was huge, big enough to hide a pepper grinder or a bottle of hot sauce, or, potentially, a burger. “Fine,” she said, “keep your secrets. Just don’t keep them in here.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I picked up my spare key off the coffee table, tucked it into the pocket of my jeans, then tied up my hair and followed her out through the main exit. It led directly down into the back of the antique shop.

  I wound between old books and furniture, carvings and statuettes, and waved to Vee before stepping out onto the sidewalk outside. It was a perfect day to grab a bite to eat, maybe take a walk in the park, sit by the fountain, catch up with some of the residents. Go shopping even.

  There wasn’t that much to do in Sleepy Creek, but I grasped at the possibilities to keep myself from taking a left turn and joining the fast-moving queue that disappeared inside Dolores’ Bakery.

  It didn’t work.

  I joined the back of the line. My thoughts whirred. Dolores profiting off Sal and Francesca’s deaths, mostly Sal’s but still. People chattering and gossiping. Francesca had tried to get me to meet with her. Why? What had she wanted to tell me? Was it a coincidence that she’d died only moments later? I couldn’t switch off.

  “—don’t think she really did it, do you?” a man said, up ahead.

  The longstanding belief was that women were huge gossips. I’d figured out, in my time in both Boston and Sleepy Creek, that men talked an equal amount of manure.

  The one ahead of me in line held a woman’s hand. She was a head shorter than him, and leaned against his side like she couldn’t stand without him. “You never know in this town. Anything’s possible.”

  “Anything? Unicorns in tutus and pigs in silk and—”

  “Stop.” She reached up and pinched his wobbly double chin. “You know I don’t like it when you talk like that.”

  He went quiet as the row shifted forward, rapidly, and more people exited the bakery with their treats or cups of coffee.

  “But what if it’s really her?”

  “I don’t know, honey bunny, but if it is—

  “Shush, shush, there she is.” The man placed his arm around his partner and drew her close.

  The crowd and shifted, and Nelly Boggs, the florist, stepped out from within. Wherever she went, heads turned and eyes narrowed. She blushed a bright pink and hurried down the street, away from the watchers.

  They were talking about her.

  Nelly, guilty of murder? I would have snorted if the guy in front of me hadn’t mentioned pigs in silk.

  I slipped out of the line and followed the florist down the street. She crossed it, glancing both ways three times, her head swiveling and her mousy brown hair duller than usual, then entered the florists’. The glass door with its flowery, curling writing slammed closed behind her.

  “What’s this about?” I followed her across the road then ducked into the shop. I was embraced by the smell of flowers. Flowers so weren’t my thing. The only scent I really enjoyed flower-wise was lavender, and even that in moderation.

  I stopped, frowning.

  Rows and rows of flowers in metal buckets on wooden tables filled the room. There was a counter at the front, but Nelly wasn’t behind it.

  I took another step into the shop, and my nose itched. I sneezed.

  A cry sounded from behind the counter, and Nelly Boggs popped up from the floor. “Oh my goodness,” she said, and flattened her hair to her cheeks, tucked it behind her ears. “Christie. Is—? I didn’t see you there.”

  “You OK?” Bit of pastry on her cheek, red eyes, puffy—had been crying. Hair unwashed. Her long cardigan’s sleeves were stained on the ends like she’d been… what, working with dirt? That would’ve made sense if this was a nursery, not a florist’s.

  “I’m fine,” Nelly squeaked, but her bottom lip trembled.

  “Are you?”

  “No.” A tear escaped her eye and traveled down her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s everything.” Nelly scuttled out from behind the counter and moved toward the door. She peered out, grabbed hold of the sign that hung against it and flipped it from OPEN to CLOSED. “Sorry, I just— there’s no point.”

  “No point in what?” I asked.

  “Keeping the store open. Everyone who’s come in here today has only wanted to talk to me about Sal or Francesca. And not because they want flowers for the funeral, either.”

  “Then why?”

  “They think… they think I did it. That I killed them both.” Nelly burst into tears and lifted her stained sleeves to her face and wiped it. “But I didn’t, Christie, I swear. I didn’t do anything. I just—”

  I came forward and put my arm around her shoulder. I wasn’t good at this kind of thing, but sheesh, I had to try. Couldn’t just let her cry like this. I patted her awkwardly, and her sniffles slowed.

  Nelly sighed. “I miss her.”

  “Who?”

  “Francesca. That’s what makes this worse,” she continued, “she was a close friend of mine, and now she’s gone, and I feel like it’s all my fault because everyone else is saying that I was involved when really I wasn’t and I just—”

  “Take a breath, Nelly,” I said. “You’re going to pass out.”

  She took several.

  “You and Francesca were close?” I asked, once she’d finished her yoga breaths.

  “Yes. Very close. Poor Francesca. She loved Sal so dearly. He was sick for a week before the… incident. She couldn’t get him to go to the hospital. Every time she asked him to go, he said that he wouldn’t because it was what ‘they’ wanted.”

  “They?”

  “I have no idea.” Nelly shrugged. “And now poor Fran is gone too. She was such a good person. She didn’t deserve to go like that. I mean, no one does. And now, everyone—”

  I
hugged her again as she dissolved into a flurry of tears. “Listen, it’s OK. Why don’t you come by to Missi and Vee’s tonight? We’re all having dinner there. You can talk about how you feel and so on and yeah, everyone will be really supportive.” More supportive than I could be. If only Griselda was here—she was the emotional one. She’d know the right thing to say to Nelly to calm her down.

  “You would do that? Even though everyone thinks—”

  “Forget about what everyone thinks,” I said, and waved a hand at her. “It only matters what the cops think. Come on over tonight. Missi and Vee won’t mind. We can toast to Francesca. She’s in a better place now.”

  Nelly nodded. “You’re right. I-I will. Thanks, Christie. I needed to talk to someone about this.”

  “Listen, you can talk to me anytime.” And by that, I meant she could give me leads on who had murdered Sal and Francesca.

  Another two murders in Sleepy Creek. And a ‘they’ who Sal had been afraid of? Or defiant against? A ‘they.’ Could ‘they’ be the Somerville Spiders, the very same group I suspected had murdered my mother over twelve years ago?

  “Christie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Sorry, you were staring at my forehead.”

  “Oh!” I shook my head. “Listen, I’ll see you tonight. Stop by around seven.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  And so would I, with my list of questions in hand. I struggled to name Nelly as a suspect—she was the ‘wouldn’t hurt a wasp if it stung her’ type—but I had to keep my options open. Anyone could be connected to the murder.

  And the murders might be connected to my mom.

  “Here we go again,” I muttered, as I let myself out onto the street.

  8

  We sat around the small table in the twins’ kitchen, inhaling the delicious smells of Missi’s Mac and Cheese.

  Nelly had dried her eyes and changed out of her stained cardigan, Grizzy looked worse for wear after a gossip-imbued day in the Burger bar, and Vee was, well, Vee. Neat and elderly and sweet enough to give you a toothache.

  “It’s almost done,” Missi announced, from her position in front of the oven. “Give it another two minutes to brown the cheese.”

  Missi had never struck me as the nurturing type, but I’d stood corrected a few times when it came to the twins. Missi was a terrific cook, and Vee had her snappy moments when she didn’t get her way.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Vee asked, and patted Nelly on the back of her hand. “You look a bit pale.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Nelly took another sip of her soda—it was a foreign brand I didn’t recognize, but Virginia swore it was the best soda we’d ever taste. Dark and fizzy and way too sweet. “The sugar is helping.”

  “Good,” Missi said. “You need to keep your wits about you in this town. Never know who’s waiting to stab you in the back.”

  Nelly paled.

  “Poor choice of words,” I noted.

  Missi pursed her lips, but didn’t argue. She bent to check the crispiness of the cheese instead.

  “My sister meant that there are people here who are all about the gossip.”

  Griz sighed. “She’s right. I had about a million people come into the Burger Bar this morning and cross-question me about what I saw and where I was and who’d been the victim. A few of them even wanted to know if I’d done it.”

  “What?” I glared at her. “Who said that?”

  “The usual. Mona. You know how she is. Always willing to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Sounds like someone we know.” Missi flicked the back of my ponytail with her dishcloth. “No offense meant.”

  “What, you’re comparing me to Mona? At least I’m doing this for a good cause.”

  Grizzy turned toward me. “Doing what, exactly?”

  “Nothing. I meant—”

  “The last time you investigated, you got a warning. You won’t be so lucky next time, and you know it.” Griz pointed at me.

  “I know, I know.”

  “Wait, what?” Nelly had set her glass down on the table with a clunk. “What do you mean by investigated?”

  I glanced first at Grizzy then at Vee. Both women shrugged. It wasn’t a secret to them that I was about finding the truth. I’d figured that most of the folks in Sleepy Creek had to know by now. A few of them had even approached me with information of their own accord during my investigation the week before. “I sometimes look into these types of things, Nelly. Unofficially, of course.”

  “So, you could help me find who did it.”

  “Now, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.” If I wanted to prove anything, I needed evidence, and that was in seriously short supply this time around. All I knew was that people hated Sal, he’d had high cholesterol, and that Fran had been a victim as well. Hmmm, and then there’d been that mention of ‘they.’

  “Christie, you’re doing it again.” Griz clicked her fingers in front of my face.

  “I know,” I said. “I was just… thinking.”

  “Always a dangerous thing for you to do.” Missi opened the oven door, and the scent of cheese and noodles and delicious melty sauce rushed out into the kitchen. She drew the dish out and placed it on the counter, then switched her oven off. “Now it has to rest.”

  “But…” Nelly fiddled with her soda glass, looking down into its depths, then up at me. “But you could help, couldn’t you? You could prove that I didn’t do it. That I never would have done anything to hurt Sal and Francesca.”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Helping Nelly was hugely tempting, so was investigating, but I oscillated between going for it and hesitating again. Because I would get caught. I was bad at breaking the law, even if breaking the law meant trying to keep the law’s integrity by investigating a case surreptitiously.

  “She can’t help,” Grizzy said. “I’m sorry, Nelly, but if she does, she’ll get in a lot of trouble.”

  “Oh.” Nelly’s shoulders sagged. “All right, I understand.”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” I said. “Maybe there’s something Nelly can tell us that would lay some light on the whole investigation.”

  “Oh boy.” Grizzy shook her head, her blonde locks swaying in her ponytail. “Here we go.”

  “Nelly,” I said, doing my best to ignore her and the whines of hunger from my stomach. Surely, the Mac and Cheese had rested for long enough, now? “What can you tell me about Francesca and Sal? Did they have any enemies that you know of?”

  “Enemies? No, not really. I mean, Sal had plenty of enemies.”

  “Can say that again,” Missi muttered. “The man was a walking insult.”

  “Don’t start,” Vee hissed. “He was merely pointing out that you’d stepped in something. He wasn’t saying you had put your foot in it.”

  “I fail to see the difference.”

  “That’s because you’re stubborn. Now, how’s that Mac and Cheese coming on?” Vee asked.

  “It’ll be ready when it’s ready.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t rush me, sister, it has to be perfect.”

  “Stubborn as a mule,” Virginia sighed.

  “Sorry, Nelly, what were you saying about enemies?” I asked.

  “Sal had a lot of them.” The florist lifted her glasses off her face and polished them, blinking owlishly beneath the kitchen fluorescents. “The most obvious one was Dolores the baker. You know, she really didn’t like him. And I don’t mean in a professional sense. Every time they ran into each other, they fought.”

  But hadn’t we seen Sal fighting with Nelly too? Interesting. “Anyone else?”

  “Not that I can think of. Oh, but I know that Francesca and Sal had some extra stress lately.”

  “About what?”

  “Distant relatives that moved in,” Nelly said. “A friend of Franny’s family and then Sal’s cousin. They were struggling to pay the bills already, and after the others arrived, well, things only got more stress
ful. At the time, I figured that was why Sal was so ill. Stress.”

  So, out of town relatives had come to stay, Sal had made plenty of enemies, and now he was dead. That got me no closer to the truth, but it was something. The fact that the family had been having financial troubles was another point of intrigue. Money and love were leading motivations for murder. When it wasn’t mob or drug-related, of course.

  “All right,” Missi said, behind us. “It’s ready.” She lifted the mac and cheese dish onto the table and set it down, then brought out the plates and the cutlery.

  I spooned a massive helping of cheesy oozy goodness onto my plate, tucked in and crunched on something salty and flavorful. “Wow, is that…?”

  “Bacon,” Missi said, proudly. “My little stroke of genius. Brings a whole new level to the mac and cheese, don’t you think?”

  “It’s delicious,” I replied.

  We filled our bellies to the brim, and I could almost feel the pounds packing on. After, we all settled in the living room for some coffee and cookies, and Nelly told us more about Francesca—how lovely she’d been, how caring, and how Nelly had always thought that Francesca deserved better than Sal.

  “Of course, that’s a horrible thing to say, but it was true. Sal was mean, and she deserved better.”

  “Was he cruel to her?” Virginia asked, and gave a little shudder to show what she thought of that.

  “No, not cruel, I don’t think. She didn’t complain about stuff like that. Just that he had bad habits and maybe a bit of a wandering eye.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Money issues, check. Potential love issues, check. If Francesca hadn’t passed on herself, she would definitely have been a suspect.

  “What do you think, Christie?” Nelly turned to me. “Would you be able to get to the bottom of it? People know that I didn’t approve of Sal. That’s the only reason why I can think they’d believe I’d had anything to do with it.”

  Grizzy didn’t say anything, but she did throw the slightest head shake in my direction. She didn’t want me to put myself in jeopardy—Chief Wilkes had already given me my final warning. The next time I was found out, my job in Boston was gone.