Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (12 page)

I swallowed. “And wouldn’t a brother, like Mark, be upset if he knew that Marvin was using his sister as a punching bag?”

“Upset enough to poison him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on what really happened. Maybe he really did assault Roberta, but she never said.”

“It’s worth checking into. I think I’ll have a little talk with Mr. Cummings.” He took another sip of his coffee and clamped the lid back on.

The beeping warning of a large motor vehicle backing up was loud enough to be heard in the next county. Blondie lifted her head, and her ears stuck up like radar. Then all three of us looked out the kitchen window at the diner.

Another bingo.

“You won’t have far to travel, Ty. The Sunshine Food Supply truck is here, and unless I’m totally mistaken, Mark Cummings will be driving.”

But why was he here? I wasn’t expecting another delivery until next week. Besides, I was thinking of cutting back on the standing order since no one was patronizing the diner.

I followed Ty out the door, slipping into my parka and hopping into my sopping wet boots as
I walked. Then I sank into the slush that I’d grown to hate.

We crossed the parking lot in record time and walked around to the back of the diner where deliveries were made and the door was always unlocked.

W
hen Ty and I approached, the Sunshine Food Supply deliveryman was wheeling a dolly stacked with cardboard boxes down a ramp.

I could see Ty reading the colorful printing on the sides of the boxes. I did the same.

“Pies, doughnuts, crushed tomatoes, American cheese, lettuce…and what’s that on the bottom?” I swallowed hard as I looked at the cartoon of smiling red toadstools dancing around the bottom of the box. “Sliced
mushrooms
?”

He pushed his cowboy hat back with a thumb. “You gotta be kidding!”

“I didn’t order them! Why on earth would I?” I shrugged. “Remember, the diner is a mushroom-free zone—or at least it used to be.”

Just as we were about to question the deliveryman, Ty’s radio went off. I couldn’t catch the garbled, static-filled message, but all cops seem to have some kind of radio ear.

He handed me Blondie’s leash along with some kind of rope that I assumed was to keep her from running away. “I gotta go. The roof of the American Legion collapsed from the weight of the snow.”

“Oh no! Were there people in it?”

“Yes.” He shot the reply over his shoulder as he ran to his SUV.

I could already hear the sirens of emergency vehicles in the distance, and I said a quick prayer that everyone was okay.

I wanted to hop in my car and see if I could help, but first I had to check out this delivery and do something with Blondie.

“Uh, hello. Could you stop a minute?” I asked the deliveryman, as he wheeled another dolly full of boxes down a ramp from the back of the Sunshine Food Supply truck toward the back door of the diner. “I’m Trixie Matkowski, the new owner of the Silver Bullet. And you are?”

He froze in place, and I thought he looked like a scarecrow. He was as thin as a rail, and his royal blue jumpsuit was three sizes too big.

“I know who you are.” He grunted. “You’re the one who poisoned Marvin Cogswell. I saw you at his calling hours.”

He must have been one of the few individuals sitting in the funeral parlor when I arrived with Ty. “You deserve a medal for offing him.”

Looked like he wasn’t a fan of Marvin. “No medal for me. I did not poison him,” I said sharply. I was ready to throw him off my property, but then I decided that I’d get more answers out of him by being sweeter.

I offered my hand, and after the seconds ticked by, he shook it, not even taking off his grimy glove. Blondie sniffed him, and he took a step back.

“Is that a friendly dog?” he asked.

“I think so. I’ve only known her for a grand total of about fifteen minutes, but she hasn’t bitten anyone yet.”

He didn’t crack a grin at my joke. As he looked down at Blondie, his lip curled on one side. Obviously, he wasn’t a dog fan.

“And you are?” I asked again.

“Mark. Mark Cummings.” He answered impatiently and pointed at the name embroidered on his jumpsuit.

Like I could see that through the folds of the material!

“You’re Roberta’s brother?”

He stared down his pointed nose at me.

“How did you know that?”

“Just a guess. Same last name. How’s she doing today?” I was truly concerned. If she loved Marvin the Third, it’d be a difficult loss for her to handle.

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her lately.” He pushed the dolly a couple of feet, but I held up my hand like a traffic cop for him to stop.

“Mr. Cummings, I just had a delivery a couple of days ago. I don’t need anything, and I never placed this order.”

He shrugged. “It must be a standing order.”

“Maybe, but not mushrooms. Never mushrooms. We don’t use them at this diner. It’s a…custom. Could you tell me who ordered these items, please?”

My heart pounded. Was this a cruel joke?

With a noisy sigh, he put his dolly upright, trudged to the front seat of the truck, and pulled
out a clipboard. He scanned the paper on top with a bony finger. “It’s a phone order.”

“So, who phoned in the order?”

“It doesn’t say. Just says phone order.” He tossed the clipboard back onto the seat.

“Mr. Cummings, please call your office and ask who ordered it. Maybe someone remembers who phoned it in.”

“Lady, I’m busy. You call the office. So, do you want this stuff or not?”

“Not.”

He swore under his breath. Blondie growled next to me. She didn’t seem to like Mark Cummings any more than I did. Mark Cummings and his sister were totally unfriendly.

He rolled the dolly back up the ramp, slammed everything that he could possibly slam, got in the cab, and finally pulled away. I walked through the silver metal doors to call Sunshine Food Supply.

I tied Blondie to a nice dry spot, retrieved her water bowl, and gave her fresh water. I had to remember to ask Ty if he had dog food for her. Maybe I’d head over to the Dollar-O-Rama and pick some up.

Blondie was going to be Ty’s dog, but she was getting to know me, too. I petted her, and she licked my hand. I was falling in love with the blond-haired cutie.

Since there were no customers, Cindy and Nancy were out front having a cup of coffee. I gave them a wave through the pass-through window, and they waved back.

I pulled out my cell and phoned Juanita to ask her whether she’d placed a recent order with Sunshine.

“No, Trixie.
Nada
. We still have lots left. It’s going to spoil if we don’t get more customers.”

My stomach sank to my knees. I already knew this, but I didn’t want to think about it. I guess it was time to donate whatever couldn’t be frozen.

Maybe the emergency personnel and rescuers at the American Legion could use some sustenance. It would give me people to cook for, and I loved doing that.

I’d talk to Nancy and Cindy and among the three of us, we could prepare food and desserts for everyone. But first I dialed Sunshine Food Supply. I had to get to the bottom of the mushroom delivery.

“Let the sun shine with Sunshine Food Supply. This is Candy, and I’m here to take your order.”

“Candy, this is Trixie Matkowski over at the Silver Bullet Diner.”

“Oh, hi! Welcome to Sandy Harbor, Trixie.”

She was sweet, delightful, and perfectly named.

“Not even five minutes ago, Mark Cummings was here to deliver an order. Could you possibly tell me who placed that order?”

“Sure can.” I heard the typing of keys. “It was a phone order.”

“I know, but do you remember who placed it?”

“It was a woman. I thought it was you. I remember that she was in a hurry, and I was disappointed
that I didn’t get to welcome you to Sandy Harbor. So…welcome again!”

“Aww…thank you again.” She really was adorable. “Did you recognize the voice? Anything?”

Candy hesitated. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. Something is very wrong. I didn’t place the order, and I don’t know who did. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this so it doesn’t happen again.”

“I don’t remember anything else.…Oh, wait….”

“Yes?” I held my breath, waiting for a clue to drop.

“She ordered a case of sliced mushrooms in water. The Silver Bullet never orders mushrooms, so I thought that was peculiar. Porky and Stella hated them. So I said, ‘Mushrooms? Are you sure?’”

“Yeah, then what?”

“She said something like, ‘They’re a gift.’”

“A
gift
?” I asked.

“Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious,” I said, even though it was anything but. “Candy, from now on, take orders for the Silver Bullet only from me. We’ll have a code phrase, like…uh…Sandy Harbor is a beautiful place.”

“Okay! That’ll be fun.”

“Thanks for the information, Candy.”

“And thank you for calling Sunshine Food Supply, in business since 1949.”

I mulled things over. A woman ordered a case
of mushrooms to be delivered to the Silver Bullet. It certainly wasn’t me. I doubted that the waitresses, Nancy and Chelsea, would have a reason to do that, and Juanita certainly wouldn’t. But what did I know? I still hadn’t met some of the other waitresses—the part-timers or the subs.

Had Juanita already phoned them and told them not to come in due to the lack of business? Would one of them hold a grudge, or think that such a practical joke would be funny?

No. That couldn’t be it. I had just agreed to Juanita making the calls to them and cutting back their hours. No one would have had the chance to put together such a perfectly timed practical joke.

Would they?

Not to change the subject, but didn’t I have to relieve Cindy sometime today or tonight? And when was Bob, the other cook, due to return?

And where was my notebook?

Nancy walked into the kitchen and found me staring stupefied at the large plastic container of snowball cookies that I’d made—when?—a day ago? A couple of mornings ago? I was losing all track of time.

Cindy’s beautiful cinnamon buns were nicely arranged on a faux silver tray and covered in plastic wrap.

If only people were here to enjoy them.

“Trixie, are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Just thinking.” I forced a smile.

“My sister just called me,” Nancy said. “She lives near the Legion Hall.”

“Is everyone okay?” I was so caught up in my own worries, I’d forgotten about the collapsed roof. How horrible of me.

“They don’t know yet. They think that there were about a dozen people there. They were having some kind of meeting. I guess volunteers are digging through the debris—wood and shingles, ice and snow and water. It might take a while. My brother-in-law owns a construction company, so he’s called in his crew and brought in some equipment.”

My heart ached for those trapped inside and their families. I sprang into action.

“Nancy, grab Cindy. Let’s pack up some coffee and treats for the volunteers and whoever else is there. We’ll make sandwiches from whatever we can put together from the fridge.”

I grabbed boxes and bins and a huge coffee urn. I started pots of coffee brewing and packed up sugar, stirrers, and creamers.

Then I phoned Clyde on the cell. “Would you and Max mind coming to the diner? And would you mind driving me up to the American Legion in your van? We are going to bring the workers some refreshments.”

Nancy and Cindy were busy making sandwiches when I returned from the stockroom with a load of plastic utensils, paper plates, napkins, and a few bottles of salad dressing. I saw ham and cheese on rye, tuna subs with lettuce and tomatoes, and even peanut butter and jelly.

Max and Clyde took over the job of making coffee
when they arrived. I wrapped the sandwiches and made a chef salad. I added cases of soda and bottled water, my snowball cookies, and the tray of cinnamon buns to the pile of food to be loaded in the van.

I had a nagging feeling that I’d forgotten something. I made a mental inventory, added more napkins and more cans of coffee, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.

A movement in the corner of the kitchen caught my eye. Blondie!

“Cindy, would you cook Blondie up a couple of hamburgers?”

“Oh, good, a customer!” She quickly lowered her head when she looked at me. “I’m sorry, Trixie. I was just kidding.”

I gave her a “don’t worry” smile. “I know that.”

Cindy said that she could both wait on tables and cook up any orders. Max would stand by in case she needed him. More than likely, they’d clean up the kitchen and read the
Sandy Harbor Lure
, futilely hoping that a paying customer would arrive.

Then Clyde and I headed for the Legion Hall.

The fog and rain from earlier had turned into a lightly falling snow when we turned onto Route 3. And by the time we turned onto Main Street, it was a raging blizzard.

Deputy Vern McCoy, who’d told me on the day of Marvin P. Cogswell the Third’s unfortunate demise that he never missed a “Meat Loaf Tuesday,” stopped us before Clyde got too close to the scene.

I could see the collapsed building, and I felt like
a piece of Sandy Harbor history had fallen. I had always thought that the Legion Hall looked like a transplanted Southern plantation, complete with fat, white pillars and a balcony.

“Oh my!” I said. Maybe we should just get out of the way.

Many people were already on the scene. They brandished shovels and axes.

Deputy McCoy furiously waved us along.

“Hey, Vern.” Clyde stopped and rolled down the window. “Trixie brought coffee and sandwiches, cookies, pastries—my van is loaded.”

I leaned forward to talk over Clyde. “I could set it all up somewhere and everyone can help themselves whenever they want.”

“That’s nice of you, Trixie. And certainly welcome. Looks like we might be here for a long time. I suggest you bring it all to the…um…uh…fire barn, across the street. I’ll pass the word to everyone. But you have to move along now.”

Each word came out in a puff of steam, and the poor man looked like a frozen block of ice. We’d try to run a cup of hot coffee out to him as soon as possible.