Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (26 page)

“Nancy said that she’d get going on it.”

“Great!” I just loved how everyone worked together when needed. I didn’t have any complaints at all with my staff. Actually, most of them were hired by Aunt Stella prior to my taking over the diner. Well, maybe Clyde and Max should stop playing practical jokes on Juanita as much as they do, but Juanita puts them in their place quite nicely. Just in case they don’t get the gist of her
mixed Spanish and English hysterics, I make it clear to them that they should quit being so juvenile.

Then Juanita always tells me in confidence that she secretly likes their jokes, but she’d never tell them that. Neither will I. So the good-natured jokes continue and so does Juanita’s yelling.

I quickly made the order. I was quite good at multitasking and might prepare two or three orders at once, but this one was for a party of ten.

I rang the bell twice to let Bettylou know that the first part of her order was ready—six small chef salads and four vegetable soups. Immediately, she hurried into the kitchen. “The rest will be ready in a few minutes, Bettylou.”

It was important to give the guests time to finish their first course before I sent the main meal out. When I went out to eat, one of my pet peeves was having my main dish set in front of me while I was still working on a salad or soup. That was bad planning on the kitchen’s part.

Checking the other four orders hanging on the rack, I sent out their first courses, too.

One ring for Nancy. Two for Bettylou. Three for Connie.

“Don’t forget the bread sticks,” I reminded the waitresses. They were in charge of serving those from the front.

I went back to the first order and picked out what would take the longest to prepare: the two Delmonico steaks—one rare, one well done. Getting those going, I got the spaghetti ready. The
spaghetti was prepared during the day by Cindy Sherlock, rolled into individual servings, and then refrigerated in a big metal pan. I put the individual orders into a couple of metal “strainers” with big holes, and then dunked them into pans of boiling water. When the spaghetti was heated thoroughly, I strained it, put it on a heated plate, and scooped our special sauce over it from the steam table. I added meatballs to six orders, sausage to two. The steaks came out perfect, and I added mashed potatoes to them with gravy. I put all the finished plates on large trays under heat lamps and rang the bell twice for Bettylou.

She came in while I was checking the order. “Six lead pipes with rounded cows. Two lead pipes with zeppelins. One bossy that’s walkin’ and one bossy that’s sunburned.” I slipped the order under a plate. “It’s all here, Bettylou.”

Bettylou, the new hire, laughed.

“It’s Dinerese. You’ll get the hang of it, Bettylou. I did!” I said as she picked up the tray and headed for the double doors.

Juanita grunted. “But it took you a while. And most of the time you make up your own words.”

“Just like you!” I shot back. We carried on a cheerful conversation while we worked.

Just as Juanita finished the take-out order, two of the fishermen came to pick it up. I helped the waitresses carry the boxes of foam containers to the front counter. Nancy checked them out. Max and Clyde, who just walked into the diner, helped load everything into their car.

I finished up my last order and rang once for Nancy.

“A cowboy on a raft, two lead pipes with zeppelins, and one bowwow with bullets.” I just loved Dinerese!

Nancy smiled as she checked her order. “A western omelet on toast, two spaghettis with sausage, and one hot dog with beans. That’s correct, Trixie.”

“Good,” I said to her, then turned to Juanita. “That’s all I have.”

Juanita waved a long stirring spoon at me. “I can take over now. Why don’t you relax until your shift?”

I checked the clock on the wall. My shift didn’t start until midnight. It was only seven o’clock. “By the way, have you heard from the elusive Bob, the alleged morning cook?”

Juanita shrugged. “The last I knew, he was in Las Vegas.”

“The last I heard, he was in Atlantic City.”

I have never met Bob, who apparently worked as a cook in the army with Uncle Porky. He was supposed to be the morning cook, but I had to hire Cindy Sherlock to take his place. Cindy was working out great, so I guess I really didn’t need Bob, but I sure could use him as a sub.

“Hmm…” I didn’t know what to say about Bob anymore.

I kept my apron on, and went back out front. I visited my customers, greeting everyone that I
knew and introducing myself to anyone that I didn’t know.

Laurie Cleary was there with her husband and daughter. She grabbed my hand as if she were drowning and I were a lifeguard. “I was hoping you’d be here, Trixie.”

I grinned. “It seems like I’m always here, Laurie, but don’t you usually come in earlier than seven o’clock at night?”

“A lot of us went to the grand reopening of the Bijou. They showed the latest James Bond, and it just let out.”

“I heard it was fabulous,” I said, remembering the Bijou from my summers at the cottages.

“What’s fabulous? The Bijou or James Bond?” Laurie asked.

“Both.”

“Yes.
They
were both fabulous, but I need to ask you something.”

“Fire away, Laurie.”

“Since Roberta Cummings is serving a life term at Bedford Hills, you may have heard that I’m the new editor of the
Sandy Harbor Lure
.”

“No, I haven’t heard, but I’m sure that you’ll do a great job.” I was afraid to guess what her question was.

“Would you let me do a story on you? How you investigated. How you caught the murderers. How you got away when you were tied up in Salvatore Brown’s van. You know, the whole enchilada.”

“Enchiladas are Juanita’s lunch special on Thursday.” I made a feeble attempt to change the subject. “Juanita feels that the menu should be more diverse, and who can make better Mexican food than Juanita?”

“So, you’re not needed here around lunch on Thursday?” Laurie whipped out a black appointment book and made a note. “I’ll be here at noon to interview you.”

“Laurie, I don’t think that I want to rehash the whole thing again.”

“This is going to be a great story!”

I shrugged. What more was there to say? I’d told the story several times to Deputy Ty Brisco as he laboriously typed out my affidavit of the incident. I told the whole thing again at Roberta’s trial and yet again at Sal Brown’s trial.

I wanted to put it all behind me and concentrate on my diner and cottages. The cottages were due to open in a month, and they needed to be ready.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Trixie,” Laurie reiterated.

“Okay,” I said with my heart not into it.

The counter was still fairly empty, so I returned to my stool and to my laptop.

Speaking of Ty, he just pushed the front door open and was walking into the diner. It’s strange that I can sense when he’s near. His presence is like a force of nature. He walked down the aisle, his boots making a hollow sound on the tile floor as he walked like they always did. Ty smiled and tipped his black cowboy hat to the ladies and nodded to the men. He was greeted by friendly waves and handshakes.

Everyone liked him, and everyone respected him even more since he arrested Roberta Cummings and Salvatore Brown.

He wore a black bomber jacket and dark jeans with a crease down the front. The crease must be a Texas thing—no one creases their jeans here in the north. He was born to wear jeans—they accentuated his long legs and tight butt—but I wasn’t looking.

Ty spotted me sitting at the counter and shot me a knee-weakening grin that made me glad that I was sitting. He sat on the stool beside me.

Aunt Stella would have to wait again. I hit the Screen Saver button and turned to Ty. “How are you?”

“Doin’ great. Mostly, we’re getting calls from campgrounds and hotels about drunk fishermen, being loud and causing a ruckus. I can’t tell you how many drinks I’ve been offered along with trout. Too bad I’m on duty.”

“The special is spaghetti.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’d never miss Spaghetti Saturday. How are you doing?”

I shrugged. “My divorce lawyer called me. Among other things, she told me that my ex-husband and his new wife had twin girls: Tiffany and Brittany.”

His deep blue eyes studied my face. “Are you okay?”

I’d never told him that I couldn’t get pregnant in spite of many years of marriage with Deputy Doug, but obviously he’d had no problem getting
Wendy pregnant, so the fertility problem was with me. And they had twins, no less.

I had many years of angst, wanting children and doing everything but standing on my head to get pregnant. Whenever I thought about it, like now, it felt like an arrow was stuck in my heart.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I finally said, not wanting to confide something so personal to Ty. I didn’t know why I even brought it up. Maybe it was because he was my first friend in Sandy Harbor. He sent business to the Silver Bullet, which kept it afloat in the aftermath of Mr. Cogswell’s death in the kitchen, and I’d always be grateful to him for that.

Nancy appeared in front of him. “Can I get you something, Ty?” She batted her eyes like she had a nervous tic, and I could swear that she popped another button on her black uniform dress. Even though Nancy had only worked here for ten days or so, she already was hunting Ty. Correction: She was one of many who were hunting Ty.

He grinned, showing perfect rows of brilliant white teeth. “Howdy, darlin’. I’ll have a cup of coffee and the spaghetti special with meatballs. Thousand Island dressing on my salad.”

Nancy scribbled on her order pad, and immediately poured him a cup of coffee. “I know you take it black, Ty.”

“That’s absolutely correct. And strong enough so a horseshoe can float on top.”

Nancy giggled—yes, giggled—like it was the best joke she’d ever heard.

Not talking her eyes off Ty, she backed away
from the counter and backed through the double doors that led to the kitchen. She was enthralled with Ty. He knew it, too, but he wasn’t leading her on or playing with her emotions; that’s just how he was—friendly.

Sandy Harbor was loaded with fishermen and farmers, so a cowboy from Texas was a novelty.

I wasn’t immune to Ty either, but I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I had to concentrate on my diner and the cottages.

He took a draw of coffee. “What else is new, Trixie?”

“Max and Clyde are getting the cottages ready for renters. They need to be painted, some calking, and some need new windows, funds permitting. I’m hoping that as soon as college and high school lets out, Aunt Stella’s summer help will return. I need maids.”

I shuddered at the thought of cleaning twelve cottages myself and cooking at the diner at the same time. Even though they were housekeeping cottages and rented by the week or month, there was still a lot to clean when each party left.

“Oh, I have some news. You’ll be interested to hear this,” Ty said.

“Spill. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It seems that Antoinette Chloe Brown is divorcing Sal. Sal’s brother has moved in with her, and they went to Hawaii together, and they were seen making out at the Bijou and not watching the James Bond movie.”

“Get out!”

“It’s true. I worked the traffic detail, and they walked out with their lips glued together and their hands on each other’s butt. It must be serious because ACB was wearing jeans under her muumuu.”

I laughed. “And she wore flip-flops?”

“Nope. She had on boots.”

“No way!” I said, remembering the two feet of snow where we tackled Roberta Cummings. “ACB wears flip-flops in any kind of weather. What else can you tell me?”

“She did have bright red hair with a yellow flower behind each ear and huge feather earrings that dangled down her coat.”

“It’s good to know that ACB is still ACB.” I picked up my coffee cup, only to find that it was empty. “I bonded with her during our recent kidnapping and almost death.”

“I almost lost you.” He mumbled this, but I still heard him.

My heart started to beat wildly in my chest. Too much coffee, I thought. I should quit the stuff.

He turned my stool so I would be facing him. “You know, Trixie, you never promised me that you’ll let me handle things from now on.”

“Things?”

“Murders.” He whispered the word, and it sounded creepy.

I shivered. “I hope there are no more murders in little Sandy Harbor.”

“Me, too, but if there are, stay away.”

Nancy walked behind the counter and delivered
Ty’s chef salad with a swoop of her hand. She refilled both of our coffee cups, then backed away.

“You got it,” I said when Nancy left.

“Good!”

Hmm. I didn’t promise, but Ty didn’t seem to notice. If something happened, and it concerned my point, I definitely would get involved.

We made small talk through Ty’s spaghetti and meatballs, dessert, and several more cups of coffee.