Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (13 page)

“One more thing, Deputy. Is everyone okay?” I needed to know.

“So far, so good. Some minor injuries. But more are still trapped inside. But you have to move along now.”

“You got it,” Clyde said, slowly pulling away through the maze of vehicles scattered along the street.

I scanned the area to see where Ty might be, but I didn’t find him.

Clyde slid into the parking lot of the fire barn. While he parked the van by the door to unload it, I scooted in. I noticed that a couple of ladies had tables and chairs set up, and not much more. At least there was heat. They turned toward me and smiled. I smiled back.

“I’m Trixie Matkowski, the new owner of the Silver Bullet Diner and cottages. I have a van loaded with coffee and food for the workers. Deputy McCoy said that I could set it up here.”

“How wonderful of you, Trixie! We’ve passed the word for donations, but it’ll take a while for things to come in.” She offered her hand. “I’m May Sandler, and this is my sister, June Burke.”

May and June. I’d try to remember that.

They slipped into their jackets, and we all went to unload the van. Clyde met us at the door with the coffee urn and deposited it on one of the tables.

The three of us worked together, unpacking the sandwiches and putting them in a fairly empty refrigerator while Clyde ate snowballs like popcorn. We were soon ready for anyone who needed warmth and food.

Men and women came and went, getting equipment and using the restroom. They snatched cups of coffee and stuffed cookies and sandwiches into their pockets. “Thanks,” they mumbled, hustling back out the door.

As I ate a tuna fish sandwich and washed
it down with coffee, I got to know May and June. I learned that they were both retired teachers from the Sandy Harbor Grammar School, and that they had heard that Marvin P. Cogswell had died in my kitchen.

It was then that I noticed that they hadn’t eaten anything, not even one snowball. Nor had they drunk even a sip of coffee.

“Ladies, I didn’t do it. I didn’t know him. Please believe me.” I took a deep breath. “At least have a cinnamon bun. I didn’t make them. Cindy Sherlock made them. She’s my new cook at the Silver Bullet.”

“Oh, I taught little Cindy Sherlock in fourth grade. What a good student she was.” June patted her tightly curled hair. Not a curl was out of place and it looked like a helmet, but she fussed like it was sliding off her head. Maybe it was a wig.

“Well, you don’t seem like a killer, Trixie,” May said.

“I agree.” June nodded. “And I think I’ll have a cup of coffee and a cinnamon bun. Sister?”

“I think I’ll have the same.”

More time passed and donations came in: a cake, a platter of crackers and cheese, another chef salad, four sheet pizzas from the Gas and Grab on the corner of Main and Route 3, and several cases of soda.

And then Roberta Cummings walked in carrying boxes of doughnuts.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw me, and her jaw dropped open. I held my breath. I
wasn’t in the mood to defend myself any more, and I was feeling like a pariah in my new town.

And I hadn’t poisoned her boyfriend.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. This wasn’t a good sign. “What are
you
doing here?” she bellowed, moving toward me.

“Now, Roberta,” June said. “Trixie is here to help. She brought a lot of food and sweets. Let’s all get along and play nice.”

I felt like I was back in fourth grade, but I extended my hand. “I’d like to again express my condolences, Miss Cummings.”

Roberta dropped the boxes of doughnuts on the table.

“I said that I was going to put you out of business, and I meant it,” she said, hands on hips.

I wanted to say that she’d nearly succeeded in doing that, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“Miss Cummings, I doubt that we’ll ever be friends,” I began. “But let’s just call a truce for the time being, considering the circumstances that brought us all here. Agreed?”

Gee, that was a terrific speech, but it didn’t have much of an effect on Roberta.

“No one deserves to be poisoned in a sleazy, filthy, two-bit diner,” she hissed.

“Miss Cummings, that’s enough!” I spewed. “If you can’t be civil, then just…shut up!”

Whew! That felt good.

Just then, a crowd filed through the doors, and the two sisters—who seemed a little shaken by my
exchange with Roberta—and I manned the tables of food, refilling whatever was needed and making more coffee.

Just as Roberta stomped into the kitchen, Ty Brisco walked into the room. I watched him slip out of his bright yellow raincoat and hang it on a peg by the door. He was wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt, perfectly faded jeans, and black rubber rain boots that almost reached his knees.

I told myself that I was glad to see him just because he was a friendly face in the crowd. At least there was one person who thought that I didn’t kill Cogswell.

He was surrounded by a group of men, but he managed to wave to me as he was pulling off big black gloves. I walked over and handed him a cup of coffee, black.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said, inhaling the coffee’s scent, then taking a couple of sips. His eyes closed as he let the hot liquid warm him.

“Ty, how about a ham and cheese on rye? Or pizza?” I turned to the men who arrived with him. They stood together and looked like they were involved in a serious discussion. “Take a seat at one of the tables, and I’ll serve you,” I said to Ty and the group. “You all must be bone tired.”

They nodded their appreciation and sat down together at a rectangular table. They looked weary and half frozen.

Grabbing a box lid to serve as a tray, I poured six coffees, grabbed handfuls of sugar packets and creamer, and dashed back to them. They expressed
their gratitude and helped themselves. When I returned with assorted sandwiches, slices of pizza, and cookies, they lavished more praise because I was waiting on them.

A warm feeling came over me because I was helping in my own way, doing what I did best. After the verbal brawl with Roberta Cummings, I needed to channel my energy into something positive, and this was it.

“How is everyone who was at the Legion, Ty?” I asked.

“Everyone’s out of the rubble and being checked at the hospital,” he said. “Luckily, they were having their meeting away from the area of the major collapse. There were only a couple of minor cuts and scrapes from when they tried to dig out by themselves, without waiting. Oh, and I heard that Lori Davendorf has a broken arm.” He explained further. “She tripped and fell over some debris.”

“Thank goodness it wasn’t worse,” I said.

I felt a tug on my shirtsleeve and reluctantly turned away. It was Clyde, with powdered sugar on his upper lip from eating snowballs. “Trixie, the two sisters wonder if there are any more sandwiches.” He shrugged. “They’re all gone.”

“Oh!” I pulled out my cell. “I’ll call Cindy and ask her and Nancy to start making up another bunch. I think there are still a lot more volunteers who haven’t come in yet.”

“That’s correct.” Ty nodded. “And there are a lot of workers still at the Legion who are trying to shore up the place and drape some tarps, to prevent
more water damage. They’ll probably come in later.”

It was getting dark outside. Not much more could be done unless there was lighting equipment. But this was a resourceful town; it was probably already there.

“Trixie?” Ty looked around the room and shook his head. “Did you do all this?”

The men at his table and others within hearing distance all looked up with interest.

“She sure did,” said May, who happened to be walking by. “Trixie was the first to arrive with a van full of…just about everything.”

“Not the pizza. That was from the Gas and Grab,” clarified June. “But most everything else is from Trixie.”

Ty stood, holding up his cup of coffee. Someone gave a shrill whistle, and the room became silent.

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Ty Brisco. I beat Trixie Matkowski to Sandy Harbor by only a couple of months, but I’d like to offer a toast to her.”

People in the room held up bottles, cups, and an assortment of cans.

“Thanks for everything that you did today, Trixie,” Ty said. “And welcome to Sandy Harbor. We are grateful to you and happy to have you as a resident and as the new owner of the point.”

There was an appreciative flutter that went through the room and some “To Trixie” shouts. Although somewhat embarrassed, I glanced at Ty in gratitude, and waved away the attention. He
smiled in that little half grin that I’d come to like and his sky blue eyes twinkled. I knew that he was trying to help me out by trying to help erase the stigma of being a suspect.

That was nice of him.

Maybe Ty’s generous toast would help business at the Silver Bullet.

My eyes focused on Roberta Cummings noisily stomping out of the room and yelling, “I can’t believe you people. She murdered my Marvin!” before slamming the door.

Hmm…Then again, maybe business would remain the same.

T
here was dead silence, pardon the expression, in the room, and I wished someone would say something, anything. Then the twittering started.

Ty came to my rescue again, bless his cowboy twang. He raised his hand, indicating that he had more to say.

Another man in a heavy green parka and a black ski cap stood up and moved next to him, hand also raised. It was Mr. Farnsworth, the bait shop/grape lollipop guy. He looked different without his usual attire of a flannel shirt and jeans.

Ty and Mr. Farnsworth both waited until the crowd became silent again.

“As lead investigator, I’d like to remind everyone that the investigation into Mr. Cogswell’s death is ongoing,” Ty said. “And if anyone has any information, see me or one of the other deputies immediately. Until this case is resolved, please don’t jump to conclusions.”

Mr. Farnsworth cleared his throat. “And I’ve known Trixie Matkowski since she was knee-high to a grasshopper. You all know her as Stella and Porky’s niece. She’s been vacationing here at the point for most every summer at the cottages, and she’s a good girl.”

I hoped that one of the firemen would toss some water on my flaming cheeks.

Mr. Farnsworth rubbed his chin. “Trixie was just divorced, you know, and she might have jumped into the frying pan by buying everything from Stella, but she’s trying her best. And now no one is coming into the Silver Bullet, due to this poisoning nonsense. So she’s in a real jam.”

Okay. That was enough. Pretty soon he was going to tell everyone that I was addicted to grape lollipops.

I had to end this, so I raised my hand to speak, and Mr. Farnsworth nodded at me.

“I’d just like to say a few words to clear the air,” I said. “I know everyone is tired and eager to get home, but I just want to say that I hope that the mystery of Mr. Cogswell’s death is solved soon, so we can all move on. And, second, I am looking forward to getting to know all of you and becoming a part of this community.”

There was light applause; then it became louder. At least I wasn’t going to be run out of town on a snowmobile tonight.

But I had to get away from the spotlight for a while and regroup. The answer came when I spotted a big plastic trash can. I could clean.

May, June, and I cleared off the tables and got everything ready for the next wave of workers. More individual donations came in, but I was surprised not to see anything from Brown’s or even the Corner Restaurant, the place that belonged to the mayor.

Maybe they were busy.

No, they couldn’t be. Most of the town was at the American Legion or here at the fire barn.

Clyde finally returned from the Silver Bullet with tons of sandwiches and a big pot of chili. Nancy and Cindy had done a great job.

“More people are walking across the street,” Clyde said to me. “And they look hungry and tired.”

“We got it covered,” I said, nodding at May and June. Three other ladies, whose names escaped me at the moment, hurried behind the tables and began arranging the sandwiches.

Just when I thought no more drama could happen, Antoinette Chloe Brown floated in, wearing a muumuu covered in large red bird of paradise flowers. It was a foot short of meeting her Maine hunting boots. She wore a bright lime green rain slicker, and her hair had a cluster of matching silk bird of paradise flowers gathered over her left ear.

She was holding an aluminum pan and stood in the doorway, scanning the room.

“I have Brown’s world-famous chicken wings, mild, and our homemade blue cheese dip,” she announced. “I hope we’re not too late, but we were so very, very busy. We just couldn’t make it here until now. Right, Sal?” She looked at the man at her side. He wore the black leather of a biker, and I couldn’t tell where his hair stopped and his moustache and beard began. He was big and heavy, and he had kind brown eyes.

He looked down at his wife adoringly, and I
had to smile. Love. He took the pan from her and made his way to the buffet table.

I walked toward her. “You’re certainly not late, Mrs. Brown. There are more volunteers who have yet to come in.”

Her thinly plucked eyebrows came together. “Do I know you?” Then she snapped her fingers. “Oh yes, Trixie. The owner of the Silver Bullet.” She raised her voice. “Have you had much business, dear?”

Interesting that she should ask that.

“I’m doing okay. Thanks for asking, Mrs. Brown.”

She put a hand on my arm, and I noticed red glitter nail polish. “Please call me Antoinette Chloe.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “I use both names.”

“Okay. Antoinette Chloe it is.”

I made my way far, far away from her, and continued to pick up trash.

Ty was slipping into his yellow raincoat as I cleaned off his table, dropping everything into the trash can.

“We could have done that ourselves,” he said.

“No problem,” I said. “You’re going back out there?”

He nodded. “Vern, Lou, and I will be working in shifts. We have to keep everyone away from there. It’s an accident waiting to happen. Some of the guys think that more of the roof is going to fall, so everyone has to be careful when shutting off the furnace, the electrical, and even the plumbing.
I don’t know exactly what’s involved, but we have some people on board who do.”