Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (11 page)

Thanking Juanita for her hospitality and for training Cindy, I pulled on my boots and accepted a huge piece of Wacky Cake to go. I had a plastic fork in the console of my car. That piece of cake would be lucky to make it back home alive.

But when I saw Ty Brisco’s black behemoth pull in behind me on Juanita’s driveway, I almost lost my appetite for it.

Almost.

T
y hustled out of his SUV as if his jeans were on fire.

“A little out of your way, isn’t this, Trixie?”

“Just visiting a friend. The last time I checked, that wasn’t illegal.”

Beads of rain sparkled on his black cowboy hat. It was nice and waterproof, so his hair remained dry—totally unlike my own.

Cujo started barking and pacing in front of the chain-link fence. Ty eyed the dog, and I wondered if he was carrying pepper spray. Cujo would probably just gargle with it.

“It’s only illegal if you’re interfering with a police investigation,” he said in a no-nonsense sheriff’s voice.

“I’d never interfere with a police investigation,” I said, and I meant it. “Just having coffee with Juanita. Coffee and cake. And I have proof.” I held up the bag containing the piece of cake.

“Why did you sneak away from the diner?”

“Did I?”

“Knock it off, Trixie. You know you did.”

A vein in his neck suddenly appeared. He was mad.

“And what did you two talk about? Anything
about the case?” He stood in front of me with his arms crossed. He might have been intimidating if I were shorter, but I wasn’t.

“Just girl talk, you know.” Juanita had said that she’d told Ty what she told me, so it wasn’t as if I were keeping information from him.

“I don’t know. Enlighten me. What did you girls talk about?”

“Girls?” I decided that the best defense was a good offense. “Aren’t you being sexist? We aren’t girls; we’re women.”

“You used the word first, Miz Matkowski. I never said you weren’t women. You did.”

“I said that we weren’t women? I never said that!”

“I distinctly heard you say—”

“Deputy Brisco, really. You need sensitivity training.” I got into my car, carefully placing the cake on the passenger’s seat. I thought about buckling it in.

He knocked on my window, and I rolled it down. “Yes?”

“In all seriousness, is there anything I should know about, darlin’?”

A change of tactic. He asked this oh so sweetly, with his full-blown Texas twang that made me get all squishy inside. I’d bet he knew it, too.

Darn him!

I took a deep breath. “Juanita reminded me that we had a delivery from Sunshine Food Supply. It just dawned on me after talking to Juanita that Sunshine Food Supply might know Mr. Cogswell’s
schedule. Maybe someone there had something against him. They had access to the back door of the diner.”

“So does half the world, Trixie. My investigation showed that that the back door never seems to be locked. What about Clyde and Max? What about one of your waitresses? What about Juanita herself? Then there’s the Dumpster haulers, and the list goes on.”

I waved a hand, dismissing his suspicions. “I can’t believe that anyone I know is involved.”

“You just moved here, Trixie. How well do you actually know anyone?”

Maybe he had a point.

“But still, can’t I help you?” I asked. “Please? I have a lot at stake. The Silver Bullet and all…Well, I have a large payment to make to Aunt Stella. And I don’t have any customers, and I need to get to the bottom of this in a hurry.”

He leaned forward, and a river of water flowed from his hat brim onto the sleeve of my parka, soaking it.

“Oops. Sorry about that, Trixie.” He stepped back. “Let’s continue this conversation someplace dry.”

“Does this mean you’ll let me help?”

“I don’t want to put you in danger. You’re a civilian, not law enforcement. Leave this to the experts.”

“Like you?”

“Yes, me.” He took a deep breath. “Have you
ever thought that the pork and scalloped potatoes with the poisoned mushrooms might have been meant for someone else? What about Clyde or Max? What about Juanita? Or another customer? Or—” He paused. “What about you? What if Cogswell ate it by mistake?”

“You think it might have been meant for me?” My stomach turned. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

He shrugged.

“Why would anyone want to kill me?” I shook my head. “My high cholesterol will get me first.” I wondered if the people Aunt Stella mentioned who were interested in buying the point wanted it badly enough to kill to put me out of business, but that was a stretch. Wasn’t it?

“Nah. You’re fishing, Ty. Didn’t you tell me that the mushrooms were only in Mr. Cogswell’s meal? To me, that means he was the target.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I just want to stress to you that you could be playing with fire.”

“Understood. But I’ll take that risk.”

“It’s my job to see that you don’t take that risk,” he said, “so stay out of it.”

“I’ll be at my house,” I said, not wanting to continue this line of conversation. “I need some sleep.”

He tweaked the brim of his hat. Did I mention how I loved that?

Deputy Ty Brisco was getting to me.

No. I couldn’t let that happen. I had a lot to deal with right now, and I was still reeling from my divorce.

And I had so much to do.

But first, I had to eat my piece of Wacky Cake.

A shot of excitement ran through me every time I saw the Silver Bullet Diner sign in red neon. Today it blazed through the fog and guided my way home. I still couldn’t believe that it was all mine—my diner, my home, and my twelve cottages.

Well, it would be mine when I paid off Aunt Stella.

When I noticed the empty parking lot, my excitement disappeared faster than a box of mint Girl Scout cookies with a cold glass of milk. The parking lot was completely empty, and it was noon.

Where was the lunch crowd?

They must all be at Brown’s Four Corners or at the Crossroads Restaurant.

I could see Antoinette Chloe Brown now, with her flowered muumuu and turban, fluttering from table to table and thriving on the commotion and customers.

I remembered how Ty Brisco showed up at Juanita’s house. I was hoping that he’d say that by working together, we’d get the murder solved in half the time.

But he’d never said those words.

I would check out Sunshine Food Supply and see if I could find anything suspicious. It could be a dead end, but since there had been a delivery from them just before Mr. Cogswell was poisoned, it was worth looking into.

Hurrying inside my house, I kicked off my boots and shed my coat. I went into Aunt Stella’s office and fired up her laptop. I wanted to see if she kept track of what she ordered from Sunshine Food Supply.

Nothing.

From what I could tell, Aunt Stella used her laptop for buying clothes and for e-mail.

I checked a five-drawer oak filing cabinet. I opened the last one marked
S–Z
. There it was: a blue hanging file labeled
Sunshine Food Supply
.

All the invoices were there, with the exception of those from the last couple of months. I remembered that I had seen two envelopes from Sunshine Food Supply in the grocery bag that Nancy had given me.

I reached over and picked up the bag from the floor. Leafing through everything, I found just what I was looking for.

Of course, no mushrooms were listed. Not that I expected big, red letters that said “poison mushrooms, one can” along with the cost in the right-hand column; I just expected something—anything—to jump out at me.

I compared the two invoices. They were both basically a standing order for the same goods: tomato sauce, produce, assorted boxes of cereal, eggs, bread, several cuts of meat, cold cuts—on and on it went.

The delivery person was listed as “M.C.”

Funny, those were the same initials as the victim, Marvin Cogswell the Third.

Was this just a coincidence? Would Marvin’s father or son want him dead? And why?

Oh, wait! Roberta Cummings was his emergency contact, but did he have a next of kin? Was the obituary wrong? Was Ty wrong in not having discovered any relatives?

The doorbell rang, and I figured that it was Ty Brisco. He’d wanted to talk more, and I couldn’t wait to show him what I’d found.

I practically skipped to the door, invoices in hand. It was Ty with a cardboard box containing two take-out cups of coffee and a waxed paper bag that looked like it contained doughnuts.

Bless his heart. I’d save my cake for another time.

I opened the door, and he stepped into the living room. He was just about to step out of his boots, when I noticed that at his side was Blondie. She was washed and fluffed, and two little pink bows were over her ears.

“No one seems to be looking for her. No microchip,” Ty said, answering my unasked question. He petted the dog on her blond head. “So I’m going to foster her. When they put her up for adoption, I get first dibs.” He shot me a charming grin. “I hope it’s okay with my landlord if I have a dog in my apartment.”

“As long as Blondie behaves herself, no one should mind.”

Blondie seemed to know that she was accepted. She licked my hand, and I just melted. I
bent over to pet her, and she rolled over onto her back.

“She wants you to rub her tummy,” Ty explained.

“Oh, okay.” I did so, and also petted her head and back for good measure. I just loved the feel of her soft fur. “I’ve never had a pet in my life.”

Ty smiled. “We can share Blondie.”

I liked that idea. “Blondie is more than welcome to come in. And Ty, forget about your boots,” I said. Another couple layers of winter crud couldn’t do much more harm.

As I spread out the two pieces of paper on the table in front of him, he set down the cardboard box. Blondie curled up in front of the furnace grate.

Smart dog.

“Look at these delivery slips,” I said, pointing to the initials of the delivery person. “‘M.C.’ was the delivery person on the last two occasions. Actually, I looked back even further. M.C. was the delivery person for all the deliveries in the last six months. Once a week, he came to the Silver Bullet.”

“M.C.?” He raised a perfect black eyebrow.

“Yes. The same initials as our victim, Marvin P. Cogswell the Third. Could there be a Marvin the Fourth?”

Ty popped the lid on a take-out cup and handed me the other. “We couldn’t find any living relatives when we went to look for the next of kin.
And this guy would be living in town, for heaven’s sake, if he delivers for Sunshine. That means he would have been at the funeral, or at least the cemetery.”

“Maybe not. Not if they were estranged.”

“True. This is a good lead. Good work, Trixie.”

I let myself bask in the glow of his compliment while I loaded cream and sugar into my coffee. “I’ll ask Max or Clyde. They’d know if there were more Cogswells around. They seem to know everyone. Or Juanita certainly would know. She’s lived in Sandy Harbor a long time.”

“Then why wouldn’t she have told me?” Ty asked.

My heart sank. I didn’t want Juanita implicated. “Good point, but maybe she forgot. Or maybe she really doesn’t know.”

“Small town,” Ty reminded me. “Everyone knows everyone.”

A peek out the window told me that Max was sprinkling more ice-melting granules onto the sidewalk leading to the diner. “Let me call Max,” I said, pulling out my cell. I punched in his number and could see him answer his phone.

“Hell-o. Max here.”

“Max, this is Trixie. Do you know the name of the man from Sunshine Food Supply who usually delivers to the Silver Bullet?”

“Yup.”

I raised my eyes to the heavens, praying for patience. “Would you like to tell me his name?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

“Then tell me his name!”

“Mark Cummings.”

“Mark Cummings,” I repeated for Ty’s sake, who then wrote it down on a small pad that he pulled from an inside pocket of his coat. “How long has he been delivering for Sunshine Food Supply?”

Max rubbed his chin. “For a long time. He delivers to all the restaurants in Sandy Harbor and round abouts.”

“Anything else I should know about Mark Cummings?”

Max hesitated. “I don’t think so. Other than his sister is Roberta. You know, the gal who was living with the health inspector who died in the kitchen.”

“Oh! Of course I know her.” I hung up the phone, and I repeated Max’s statement word for word before I forgot. Then I sat down at the kitchen table as did Ty.

Ty grinned. “So the delivery person, who delivered for Sunshine Food Supply just before Marvin was poisoned, is Mark Cummings, the brother of Marvin’s live-in girlfriend?”

“Bingo.” I reached for the bag of doughnuts, suddenly famished, and pulled out a peanut doughnut.

“Don’t get excited, Trixie. We have to find out if Mark had an ax to grind with Marvin.”

“Maybe he didn’t like something about Marvin. Maybe he didn’t like how Marvin was treating Roberta.”

Ty pushed his hat back with a thumb.

“I can tell you that Roberta called 911 three times on Marvin the Third. And he was charged with disorderly conduct. It’s public knowledge because all arrests are published in the paper, so I am free to tell you. I hear that that their fights are legendary.”