Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (28 page)

I’d be doubly busy when the cottages opened!

Thank goodness my handymen, Clyde and Max, had
slapped a fresh coat of white paint on the cottages and freshened up their shutters and trim in forest green.

They did the same to my Victorian farmhouse, which I called the Big House, not that it looked like a prison in the least, but because it was way too big for one person.

The Big House was next to the diner. Now every-thing matched. I chuckled, thinking that it looked like the big Victorian gave birth to a litter of little cottages.

I remembered giving Aunt Stella, whose interest in the diner plummeted after Uncle Porky died, a down payment after we’d worked out the numbers on a Silver Bullet place mat. Aunt Stella had handed me a fistful of keys, given me a quick kiss, and headed for a long cruise to Alaska. Then she slid right into retirement in Boca with a gaggle of her friends.

I had always loved cooking, but to own and manage the Silver Bullet and twelve cottages seemed overwhelming at times. However, keeping busy took my mind off my divorce from Deputy Doug and his very fertile trophy bride.

I wondered why I was thinking about ancient history. I liked to believe that I had moved on from Doug. I took back my maiden name and was making a new life for myself in Sandy Harbor, so what was my problem?

I rang the ship’s bell, placing the breakfast orders under the heat lamps. Chelsea needed to hurry, or the eggs would keep cooking. “Order up.”

Wipe off hands on towel; fling towel over shoulder; fill another order. Ring bell. Repeat.

I helped Chelsea stack the plates onto two more trays and met her at the kitchen door to relay the orders to her.

Back at the prep table, as I made four large antipastos, six small house salads, and two Cobbs for what looked like a party of twelve, I mentally ran through a checklist of all the things I had to do to prepare for our busy summer season.

Then it dawned on me that I probably needed to hire more maids, er—housekeeping attendants—to clean the cottages. All of the cottages were designated as “bring your own stuff,” but some customers opted for daily service.

I pulled my ever-faithful notebook from the pocket of my tomato-printed pants and scribbled “Hire more housekeepers. Put an ad in the
Sandy Harbor Lure
.”

Most of the cottages were rented for the entire season and beyond, with the same families returning year after year. That was just what my family had done. Cottage Number Six had been the Matkowski family’s standard rental.

Where’s Chelsea?
I wondered, looking at all the antipasti and salads languishing on the shelf. I rang the ship’s bell again.

Then I looked over at the pass-through window. I never used it to pass orders through, but it gave me a look into the dining area.

Chelsea was leaning over the counter, along with my two handymen and a dozen or so regulars. They were all reading what seemed to be the morning edition of the
Sandy Harbor Lure
.

Deputy Ty Brisco, my studly neighbor, who lived above the bait shop next door, was holding court and gulping down coffee. He was with the two other cops who made up the entire Sandy Harbor sheriff’s department.

“It’s been a long time,” said Mrs. Leddy, the president of the Sandy Harbor Historical Society. “I’ve always wondered what happened to her.”

Who were they talking about?

“‘Several local children had been exploring Rocky Bluffs and stumbled upon a cavelike place,’” read Clyde. He turned toward those who were gathered, waving his hands. “And there she was. It probably scared the pants off them.”

Who was in a cavelike place?

I looked over to where the party of twelve should be sitting and waiting for their salads. Half of them were missing, probably part of the crowd around the deputies and their staff.

“Chelsea, your order is up,” I said, louder than usual.

She gave a nod in my direction and reluctantly tore herself away from the group, who were now all talking at once.

I could catch only pieces of the conversation, but I was dying to find out what the hot topic was. Ty Brisco suddenly looked up and smiled.

My face heated up as if I’d just opened the big pizza oven. Why did the former Houston cop have to be such eye candy? And why did he have to be a deputy like my ex?

Not that I was interested in the least. No. Not interested.

I gave a half wave to Ty and returned to my spot behind a big aluminum table just as Chelsea walked in. Time to get the big order started.

Time to cross-examine Chelsea.

“Chels, what’s going on?”

“Some kids were climbing the rocks by the bluff, and somehow they discovered a cave. Inside the cave was a body.” Chelsea’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “The newspaper said that according to Hal Manning, the Sandy Harbor coroner, it’s the body of a woman. Hal identified her, but I forgot her name. He checked the remains against dental records.” She shuddered. “Everyone knows her. Oh, I forget her name….Um…uh…”

“Claire Jacobson.” I could barely breathe. I remembered Claire from when I was about eight years old. Claire was the prettiest and coolest high schooler I’d ever met, and she was so nice to me.

“That’s the name.” Chelsea hoisted the trayful of salads. “She disappeared from here a zillion years ago, from Cottage Eight, the one that everyone thinks is haunted.”

After Claire’s disappearance, I always thought Cottage Eight was haunted, too. Aunt Stella said that it was always the last cottage to be rented, and not to old customers, but to new customers who hadn’t heard the story yet.

The back door of the diner opened and I knew it was Juanita Holgado, one of the day cooks. She seemed to appear right out of the fog and darkness. Or maybe I was just feeling overdramatic because of the news about Claire.

“
Hola
, Trixie!” She walked around the steam table and gave me a hug. Juanita was definitely a morning person. She
always arrived happy and cheerful. “Look at you! Nice tomatoes!” She eyed my baggy chef’s pants, grinning.

Juanita had been working as a housekeeping attendant at the cottages during the summer Claire Jacobson went missing. Juanita had helped search for her.

The recent news about Claire could wait.

“Hey, Juanita. Good morning. I have a surprise for you.”

I handed her a gift bag and enjoyed watching my friend’s face as she opened it.

Juanita pulled out a red chef’s coat that matched mine, but her chef’s pants were covered in red and green peppers. Juanita loved her peppers—the hotter the better.

“I love it. I just love it!” Juanita grabbed me in a big bear hug. “And my name is embroidered on it. We are really chefs now. We can have our own show on TV.”

Juanita hurried to the storage room, probably to change. I had another gift bag for Cindy Sherlock, another member of my kitchen staff. It was a red coat and pants covered with colorful slices of pizza. Cindy was known for making the best pizza at the Silver Bullet.

Then there was Bob, the missing fourth chef, who was supposed to be helping me on the graveyard shift. I hadn’t yet met or even talked to the elusive Bob in my several months as owner. He was always on sick leave and his doctors were suspiciously in either Vegas or Atlantic City.

I didn’t buy him anything. As a matter of fact, if he ever showed up, I would probably fire him.

I went back to preparing the order for the party of twelve. Sometimes it felt like I was dancing in the diner, doing the quickstep. I twirled to the fridge and grabbed a steak. I tangoed to the freezer and scooped up an order of fried clams. I pirouetted to the toaster and loaded buns and bread onto the Ferris wheel.

Three tens from the judges.

I rang the bell, and Chelsea took it all away without any more news from the group still gathered around Deputy Brisco.

I cut up more lettuce and tomatoes and restocked freshly baked rolls and loaves of bread that Juanita had set to raise, and I had baked when I’d started my shift. The diner patrons just loved the smell of baking bread. Who didn’t?

Soon Juanita appeared, twirling around the kitchen. “I just love the peppers!”

“I knew you would.” I hated to spoil Juanita’s good mood, but I had to tell her about Claire. “Juanita, they found Claire Jacobson.”

“Madre de Dios.”
Juanita reached out and steadied herself on the cast-iron dough mixer. “I remember her. What a sweet girl. Where?”

“Rocky Bluff.”

Juanita shook her head. “But everyone searched that area. I remember. I helped.”

“The waves, the ice, the flooding, storms…The rocks must have shifted.”

Juanita nodded.
“Si.”

“If you’re ready to take over, I think I’ll grab a cup of coffee and talk to Ty and the other deputies to see what I can find out.”

“Go ahead. Then you can tell me. And thank you again for the peppers, Trixie Matkowski. You are a good friend and a good boss.”

“Boss?” I chuckled as I headed for the double doors that led to the dining room. “Nah. We’re all a team—team Silver Bullet Diner and Sandy Harbor Cottages. Yeah, salmon! Go, trout! Come, tourists!”

Juanita pumped an arm into the air. “Go, team!”

Walking behind the counter, I poured myself a sorely needed cup of coffee and then decided that I had to have an apple hand pie made by Mrs. Stolfus, my Amish friend and an extraordinary baker. I put it on a dish and set it on the counter in front of a vacant stool next to Ty Brisco.

It became vacant only when I raised a blond, nonplucked eyebrow to my handyman Clyde. Clyde cleared his throat
and headed out the front door to either work or to find a place to sleep. I hoped it was the former.

I sat down on the stool and swiveled toward my coffee and hand pie. The crowd had broken up, the other two deputies had left, and I had Ty to myself. I sure could break up a crowd.

“Catch me up, Ty. I remember Claire Jacobson. I remember how we used to sit on the beach and talk, and she taught me how to float on my back. I thought she was the greatest. She reminded me of Olivia Newton-John in
Grease
.”

Ty showed me the headline of the
Sandy Harbor Lure
:
BODY OF MISSING TEEN FOUND AFTER 28 YEARS
. I skimmed the article. I decided I would rather hear the news from Ty, spoken with his delicious cowboy twang, than read the long tome.

“Is it really Claire?”

He nodded. “Her dental records happened to still be here from the initial search. Hal Manning, our resident coroner and funeral director, who has the biggest mouth in North
and
South America, said that the remains are Claire’s. We’re going to verify his findings with the state police lab. Hal should know better, but I guess he’s dating the new editor of the
Sandy Harbor Lure
and she was with him when everything hit the fan.”

“Wow. Claire Jacobson, after twenty-eight years…and she was only about a mile down the beach, entombed on the bluff, in the rocks.”

Ty nodded.

“I’ve always wondered what happened to her. I’d hoped that she’d run away to Europe with her Prince Charming and was ruling some country.” I took a bite of my apple hand pie and a sip of coffee. Delicious. “Can you tell me anything more, Ty?”

“Not much.” He sighed. “There was a kind of a cave where she was found, and we believe that some of the rocks that were placed in front of the cave’s opening got dislodged throughout
the years. Then the kids who were climbing on the rocks dislodged more, making the cave visible.”

I sat for a while, thinking. I took a sip of coffee, and then it dawned on me. “Ty, someone had to have known that there was a cave on the bluff. Seems to me that only a local or a regular summer vacationer would know to hide her body there! Don’t you see? Maybe a local person even killed her.”

Ty nodded slowly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Is there any chance that it was an accident?”

“No chance.”

“Why do you say that, Ty?”

“I can’t tell you. Confidential information.”

“I understand,” I said, but I really didn’t mean it. I wanted to know…everything. Claire was special to me. She had made time to pay attention to a little girl who wanted to be grown up and beautiful like she was.

“The killer could be someone we know,” I added, looking at the customers in the diner. Some were strangers, but most of them I knew from the community or because they frequented the diner.

Could I know Claire’s killer? Could I have talked to him or her? Maybe we were even friends.

A shiver went up my spine, then turned into a nagging headache that I couldn’t shake for several hours.