Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (18 page)

I took my time drinking my coffee and eating the pie. Finally, Sal Brown stood in front of me. He had crumbs and some other kind of crud in his beard.

“Can I help you?” He had beautiful brown eyes that matched his name.

“I just wanted to introduce myself, Mr. Brown. I’m Trixie Matkowski of the Silver Bullet Diner.”

He visibly relaxed. Maybe he thought I was from the IRS or was Mr. Cogswell’s replacement from the health department.

“Glad to meet you. And call me Sal.” He extended his hand, and his eyes twinkled. We shook and his grip was strong and warm. I liked him immediately.

“You have quite the business here. Is it always this crowded?” I asked.

“Only since the…uh…since Cogswell…well, since all that happened at your diner. With everyone passing up the Silver Bullet, we’ve gotten a lot of business.”

“And so has Tingsley’s Crossroads.”

He nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I’ve had to put on more help—my brother.”

“I thought you looked alike.” I smiled. “And I’ve met Antoinette Chloe on a couple of occasions. Matter of fact, we had tea just this morning.”

Sal smiled and tips of perfect white teeth peeked out from the hair around his mouth. “That’s good. She doesn’t have enough gal pals. And she loves to entertain.”

“She seems really thrilled at all the new business,” I said.

“Antoinette Chloe has really blossomed lately.”

And I’d bet he wasn’t just referring to her muumuus.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry that our good fortune has been the result of your bad fortune. Obviously, someone was out to get Cogswell. He wasn’t exactly well loved by anyone around town.”

“But who hated him enough to poison him?”

He shrugged. “Beat’s me. But, God help me, I don’t miss him.”

I took a deep breath. For some reason, I didn’t think that Sal Brown was the type to poison anyone. He looked like a big teddy bear, and he seemed truly in love with his wife.

“I have to go, but as soon as I get a chance, I’ll take a ride up to the Bullet. Do you still have the tuna noodle casserole special on Fridays?”

“For you, Sal, I’ll have the tuna noodle special.”

He slapped me on the back, and I had to catch my breath. He told the waitress that my order was on him. We shook hands again and went our separate ways. Sal went back to cooking, and I walked over to Tingsley’s Crossroads.

The sun had turned the parking lot and the road into a biohazardous mix of salt, sand, and murky water. And, yes, my darn boots were leaking again. I should just buy a pair of waders from Mr. Farnsworth’s bait shop and wear those until summer, for heaven’s sake.

The Crossroads was a long, low structure that was made of logs painted a dark brown. Various neon signs promoting different brands of beer hung from each of several windows that faced the main street.

The entire rambling building seemed out of place for such a Victorian-style downtown, unless Davy Crockett once lived (or ate) there.

The battered wooden door was several inches thick, and it took two hands to open it. Once I was
inside, it took a while for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Davy Crockett must not have paid the electric bill.

The place was hopping, just like Brown’s, but I didn’t have to wait. “Just a cup of coffee,” I told the hostess. “I’ll sit at the counter.”

But the counter was really a bar. The jukebox was playing a loud country tune, and a group of men were hunched together, trying to talk over the loud music. I took a bar stool at the end.

Yep, the music was way too loud. My head started to pound in time with the beat. I looked down at the counter, decorated with thousands of bright, shiny pennies under some kind of plastic varnish. Exquisite.

“What can I get you?” A cardboard coaster spun in front of me.

I looked up, right into the surprised face of Roberta Cummings.

“It’s you!”

Isn’t this my lucky day?

“I’ll get someone else to wait on you.” She looked around but didn’t seem to find the person she was looking for.

“All I want is a cup of coffee,” I said, and prayed that she wouldn’t spit in it.

She hesitated, then poured coffee into a mug. She set it in front of me on the coaster.

“Cream or sugar?” she mumbled.

“Just black. Thanks.” She was just turning around when I decided to make nice. “Roberta, can we talk?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m working.”

“I see, but you don’t seem that busy right now.”

“There’s nothing more you can say to me.” She raised her voice, and the men stopped talking and looked up. “You poisoned my Marvin, Trixie Matkowski.”

I raised my voice, too. “What can I do to convince you that I had nothing to do with Marvin’s death?”

Tears flooded her eyes, and my heart went out to her. She must have really loved him.

I remembered what Ty had said, off the record, that the Sandy Harbor sheriff’s department had been called to their residence for domestic violence on several occasions.

Maybe Roberta had tired of being Marvin’s punching bag and reached her breaking point.

Could she have poisoned Marvin?

She of all people would have known Marvin’s schedule.

Nope. According to Juanita, Roberta was in the front of the Silver Bullet returning Juanita’s cell phone to her when Mr. Cogswell was poisoned.

So Roberta couldn’t have poisoned her boyfriend.

Antoinette Chloe Brown, the new queen of Sandy Harbor with the damaged gardenia muumuu, was still on the top of my list.

“H
ow long have you worked here, Roberta?” I thought it was a simple-enough question, but she squinted her eyes, and took her sweet time answering, as if she suspected me of having an ulterior motive for asking her such a question—which I did. I wanted to know just how close she was to the Tingsleys.

“About six months. Laura needed the help, and I can work my schedule around the
Sandy Harbor Lure
.”

I remembered reading the scathing article she’d written about the Silver Bullet and how Mr. Cogswell had died in its kitchen. Then the diner had become a ghost town.

Hmm…Maybe I could use the
Lure
to my advantage!

“Roberta, I’ve been meaning to take an ad out in the
Lure
. I want to advertise the daily specials at the Silver Bullet and maybe put in a ‘two for one’ coupon.” I raised an eyebrow. “Who would I see there to help me with it?”

“Me.” She relaxed somewhat. “I pretty much do everything. It’s part of my job to design ads.”

“That’d be terrific. When can we meet?”

She took a deep breath and smoothed down her
gray pants, which she wore with a gray satin blouse. The outfit didn’t do anything for her pale coloring and fairer skin and blond-white hair. She looked…icy.

It was obvious that she didn’t want to meet with me, but I was sure she wanted the advertising money.

“How about my office at the paper?” She pulled out her cell phone and punched in something. “Tuesday. Nine o’clock?”

“Sounds good to me.”

A woman with dark hair, sunglasses, and a kerchief walked through the door of the Crossroads. If she was trying to look like Jackie Kennedy Onassis, she was pulling it off. Roberta raised a hand in greeting and smiled warmly.

“Hi, Laura!”

Laura slipped out of her coat, uncovering a light blue suit with a pink blouse and white pearls. I noticed that she wore white heels, an interesting choice in this slush and before Memorial Day no less! Some people would consider pastels and white heels in mid-March a horrible faux pas. I simply admired her bravery for going without boots.

“How are things?” Laura asked, patting her black hair into place, but not a hair had the courage to move. The ends flipped up around the back of her head in a perfect semicircle.

“Very busy,” Roberta said.

Laura turned to me. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Laura Tingsley, the owner of the Crossroads and the mayor’s wife.”

I offered my hand. “Trixie Matkowski, the new owner of the Silver Bullet Diner and the point.”

She took my hand and gave me a cold, limp handshake. “I’ve been meaning to call on you, but I’ve been terribly busy.”

“Feel free to stop in anytime. I’ve already met your husband—twice.”

“Oh yes. The mayor is always on top of things. He’s just…wonderful. He’s done so much for Sandy Harbor, and”—she winked—“there’s so much more to come!”

She sounded like his campaign manager or a doting wife.

I smiled. “I understand that he runs a real estate company and an investment firm. And then he owns the Crossroads? Where does he find the time?”

“The Crossroads is in my name.” Laura Tingsley lowered her voice. “Besides, it wouldn’t reflect positively on the mayor to own a bar, especially if he has his sights set on the state senate.”

“I see.”

Roberta backed away from us, probably glad to be free of me. That was okay; I’d see her on Tuesday. Maybe I could get some more information from her then.

“Excuse me, please. I have to make sure that everything’s running smoothly.” Laura walked away, her shoes making a nice click-click on the hardwood floor.

In her perfect suit, pearls, and shoes, and what looked like a fresh manicure, I couldn’t see her cooking or doing much work, other than greeting
customers. In that way, Antoinette Chloe Brown and Laura Tingsley were alike.

I drained my coffee, nursing a sudden headache from the music, along with a caffeine buzz. I left money on the bar for my coffee and a big tip for Roberta.

After I pried open the heavy front door, the frigid, fresh air slapped me and almost brought me to my knees. So did going from the dimly lit restaurant into sunshine. My head felt like a throbbing drum on my neck.

I staggered in the direction of my car like a drunk. Where could I go for an aspirin?

There was a drugstore within walking distance, and I headed there. I’d get a bottle of aspirin and a bottled water to wash some down with.

I was just about to open the door when I heard a voice behind me.

“Thought you were going to get some sleep.”

I couldn’t mistake that slow, easy drawl—Deputy Ty Brisco. He had Blondie on a lime green leash, and she sported a fuchsia-colored bandanna around her neck. Cute.

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” I said, not quite meeting his eyes.

“So you visited Antoinette Chloe Brown at her home, Sal Brown at his restaurant, and now I see you coming out of the Crossroads, where you probably saw Roberta Cummings. You’ve had a busy morning.”

“You knew that Roberta works at the Crossroads?”

“Of course.”

He could have shared that with me. “Are you spying on me, Ty?”

“Yup.” He nodded. “What are you up to?”

“Just visiting my neighbors.”

“Uh-huh. Seems like I’ve heard that before.” He didn’t believe me at all, and I guess I didn’t expect him to. “So, what did you find out?”

“I found out that Antoinette Chloe Brown—let’s call her ACB to save time—has a chunk of material missing from her gardenia muumuu. It matches the size and shape of the swatch that Blondie found.”

He raised a black eyebrow. “How did you find this out?”

“I said that I was going to include her house on the historical society tour, and I got into her closet. The muumuu was there, on the floor, bottom right.”

“You did
what
?” He pushed his cowboy hat back with a thumb as if to see me better. He looked like a soufflé baking, all puffed up and ready to blow. “And?”

“She seems to be blooming with all the attention, according to her husband, Sal. And by the way, Sal looks like a big hairy biker, but he seems like a gentle soul. And he just adores ACB.”

“And was Roberta working?”

“Yep.”

“Go on.”

For some reason, I didn’t want to tell him that I had an appointment with Roberta on Tuesday.

“And then Laura Tingsley walked in. I haven’t
figured her out yet, but she seems like the woman behind the man. I believe that she knows about the development that her husband has in mind for my property. Actually, the whole town knows about it and is giddy with excitement. It’ll create jobs, you know, and this area needs jobs.”

“Who said that?”

“May, the sister of June. I ran into May at the library this morning when I was researching Destroying Angels.”

“Destroying Angels?”

“It’s a variety of amanita mushrooms that grows around here. You know, you were the one who said that the autopsy showed amanitas. I figured out that it was the Destroying Angel amanita that killed Marvin the Third.”

Ty smiled for the first time since we started talking. “You have been busy, and you’ve really scored on that garment of ACB’s. I’ll get a search warrant. But you have to be careful, Trixie. There’s a murderer on the loose here, and you’re shaking things up. I can’t believe that you’re still investigating when I specifically told you not to. So listen to me: I don’t want you investigating on your own anymore because I don’t have any more time to keep an eye on you. Hear me?”

“I can hear,” I said.

“And you were supposed to be sleeping!” He lowered his voice. “You purposely didn’t tell me that you were going to go off half-cocked and—”

“I didn’t go off half-cocked. I was fully cocked. And I knew you’d never let me search her closet.”

“Not in a million years.”

He opened the door for an elderly customer going into the drugstore and tweaked his hat brim to her. The woman visibly blushed. “Thank you, Deputy Ty.”

“You’re welcome, darlin’. And you have a glorious day, hear?”

She giggled, and he winked.

Oh brother!

He waited until she was gone, then repeated his warning. “I mean it, Trixie. I thought you wanted to work together.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t. And you’re not sharing things with me.”

“You know I can’t share everything, and—”

“Things are taking too long, Ty. I’m going broke.”

He snapped his fingers. “By the way, have you called the diner lately?”

“Is something wrong?” My heart started to race, and he waved away my concern.

“There’s an impromptu meeting of about thirty or so American Legion people at the Silver Bullet.”