Flipped For Murder (13 page)

I pulsed a couple more times, merging the flavors, reducing the textures to an even mix, then stopped before it turned to mush. I could have used the meat grinder on the cookware shelves, but this was faster. A shadow fell over my work. A tall-enough shadow it could only be Buck. I twisted my head around and up.

“Yes?” I turned my whole self to face him before I got a crick in my neck.

“Guess you saw the story in the paper,” he drawled.

“I sure did. Guess everybody else in town did, too. So you've been hinting at evidence, have you?”

“Of course not. You know how reporters are. They twist every cussed thing you say.”

“Seems to me you'd better find the person who killed Stella, and soon, or I'm going to lose business faster than green grass through a goose.”

“I sure wouldn't want you to have to close.” His tongue swiped at a crumb of biscuit at the edge of his mouth before he wiped it off with a brush of his hand. “Your breakfasts bring me in mind of my grandmama's, God rest her soul. I used to spend summers with her down in Floyds Knobs. Just across the Ohio River from Louisville.”

I might have acquired a few local expressions, but I sure as heck didn't say the name of the biggest city to the south as “LOW-uh-vull” with the
L
sound swallowed at the end. But then again, this part of Indiana was almost Kentucky, so it made sense Buck sounded more Southern than Midwestern.

“Are you making any progress on the murder?” I had the feeling there was something else I wanted to ask Buck, but I couldn't think of what it was. I lined a deep rectangular container with a length of plastic wrap and reached for a spatula. Scraping the fish mixture into a bowl, I began to form patties, laying them side by side in the container. “Maybe you should, you know, call in the state police or something.” I filled the first layer and laid more wrap on top of it.

“Don't think we're going to need them. We're starting to get somewhere.”

I glanced up from my work and rubbed the side of my forehead with the back of one hand. “Oh?” A caper fell off my hand to the floor.

“Had a eyewitness place someone going into Stella's house the afternoon she got herself killed.”

“Who was it?” They needed to solve this case, and soon.

“Can't tell you.”

“What about the DNA on my pen? Is that going to help?”

“Ah, that's a problem. State lab's all backed up.” Buck shook his head. “Won't get results for quite some time. Could take longer than a visit from my mother-in-law.”

“Didn't realize you were married.” I checked his left hand. Sure enough, a gold band encircled his finger. “Stella was shot, so you must be looking into the gun. What kind it was, size of the bullets, stuff like that.”

He laughed. “You sure don't know dang-all about firearms, do you?”

“No, I don't. Answer my question.” I resumed working, but I formed the next patty with a little too much force and it squished out between my fingers. I swore and scraped the mix off my fingers and back into the bowl.

“Yes, Robbie, we're looking into the weapon.”

I glanced across the room, where Danna moved from table to table. She hummed softly as she laid out fresh silverware packets and checked the salt and pepper shakers on each table, getting ready for lunch. Wires trailing out of her ears led to her apron pocket.

“Danna said Corrine goes shooting regularly,” I said in a soft voice. “Sometimes with Ed Kowalski.”

“Do you think Corrine killed Stella?” he asked softly. “It's the odd person who don't own a gun around here, you realize. Persons like you.”

“Corrine sure as heck didn't like Stella. Told me she should have been able to pick her own assistant.”

“Well, we're investigating all possibilities. I expect we'll make a arrest any day now.”

Whether he meant it or not, I still had lunch to prep. An arrest would be great—as long as it wasn't my own. And from Buck's comment about how he wouldn't want me to have to close shop, I guessed he wasn't expecting to arrest me, either.

Chapter 21

By noon the place was bustling. Every table held customers, and a party of four browsed the cookware shelves, waiting for seats to open up.

“The sign must be doing the trick,” I said to Danna when she delivered an order to the grill. I'd posted a sandwich board out front an hour earlier with a notice about the tuna burger special.

“You hooked that up,” she answered, offering a high five.

I slapped her hand, but wrinkled my nose. “What does that mean?”

She laughed. “It means you did a good job with it. How old are you, anyway?” She turned back to the tables.

Twenty-seven, to be exact. But eight years made a big difference in knowing teenage slang. Plus I'd been working and supporting myself for a long time. Now that I owned a business, I felt a lot older than I might have if I were still in school, or out traveling and exploring the world, living carefree like there was no tomorrow.

I plated up three tuna, one veggie, and one turkey burger, added the specified sides, and hit the button on the round bell signaling they were ready. An hour later things calmed down enough for me to stuff a quick cheese sandwich into my mouth and use the restroom. When I emerged, Corrine held court at the table nearest the door. Don sat next to her, studying the menu, looking like he might have gotten over his antagonism toward her.

“Oh, Robbie,” Corrine called, beckoning me over. “I have a wonderful proposal.” When I passed Danna, she rolled her eyes. I continued toward the mayor.

I greeted her and Don. “What's up?”

“I want to hold a fund-raiser for the Brown County Animal Shelter. I think we should have it here Saturday night. I already have half the local merchants on board, right, Don?”

“Sort of.”

“Eddie has a real soft spot for animals, too, and he's promised to sponsor the event in a big way,” Corrine added.

“So a week from tomorrow?” I asked. “That should be doable.”

“No-o-o.”
Don drew out the word. “She means Saturday, like in tomorrow. I think it's too soon.”

“Tomorrow night?” I tried not to screech.

“Are you busy?” Corrine demanded. “Think of all those poor kitties and doggies languishing in crowded little cells like common criminals.” She widened her eyes at me. “We can't wait a minute longer.”

“But what if people already have plans for tomorrow night?” I folded my arms. “It's pretty short notice.”

“This town needs something to take our minds off the, you know”—she waved me in closer and lowered her voice—“the murder. And it will be great publicity for you and your restaurant, Robbie. Set yourself down, now. Let's make plans.”

This woman was a force of nature. An answer of “no” was clearly out of the question. Don gave me a sympathetic look and raised one shoulder.

“I'll get banners made and strung up across Main Street,” Corrine said. “You can hang one out front, too. We'll print up flyers and deliver them to every household.”

“Who's
we
?” Don asked, rubbing his forehead.

“I snagged a intern from IU this week. He'll do it.”

“You realize it's Friday afternoon?” Don asked.

Corrine tsk-tsked. “Turner's an eager beaver. He'll stay as long as I need him. Now, what about food, Robbie?” Corrine folded her hands in front of her and batted black fake eyelashes at me.

“You mean, what am I going to prepare with one day's notice? I hope you don't think I'm donating the cost. I can't afford to do that yet.”

“We'll pay you back. Or, maybe you and another restaurant can work on it together.”

I thought for a minute. “I could ask my friend Christina over at the Nashville Inn. She's the chef there now and they're much more well-established. They might donate the raw materials to get the publicity, and she and I can prepare the food together.”

“Excellent. Just a bunch of appetizers is fine. Little meat pies and mini buffalo wings, you know, stuff you can eat with your fingers. And what's that Greek stuff called?”

“Spanakopita.” She'd just described the most labor-intensive kind of food. Maybe Christina and I could make a trip to the Costco freezer section and pass their hors d'oeuvres off as homemade. I shook my mental head.
Nah.

“That's it. Oh, Danna, take and bring us some coffee, baby, would you?” Corrine called, stirring the air with one lacquered hand.

“Are you sure you don't want to wait at least another week?” I asked. I'd been feeling tense before she showed up with her harebrained idea, and it sure wasn't helping to calm my stressed-out stomach.

“No, we need to do this now. I'll get a special liquor permit for you to serve wine and beer. Don, ask that cute brother of yours to bartend.”

“You mean Abe?” Don looked at me. “Is he cute?”

“Actually, he is.” I laughed at his bewildered reaction, the tension broken for a minute.

“Maybe we can auction stuff off, too.” Corrine tapped her nails on the table. “You'll donate a gift card from the store, Don, and we'll get Ed to do the same.”

Don nodded with a head made of lead, and the set to his mouth wasn't a happy one, either.

“Robbie, you ask Adele what she can give us for an auction,” Corrine continued. “That wool of hers is getting pretty famous. I'll think on what else.”

Danna set three mugs of coffee on the table without a word. I thanked her, but the words bounced off her back as she returned to the grill. She must figure she was getting roped into this crazy scheme, too. I imagined she was right.

Corrine drew out her phone and began tapping notes into it at what sounded like a hundred words a minute. If I tried that with fingernails like hers, it would be 100 percent typos, but she must have figured out how to make it work.

“All right, we're all set, then.” She took a sip of coffee and plonked the mug down. “Come on, Don, we have work to do.” She rose and sailed for the door. Don trailed behind her like an unhappy towed dinghy.

By the time I got over feeling like I'd been hit by a stun gun, they were gone. True, the event would be good exposure for Pans ‘N Pancakes. If people didn't think a murderer was poisoning their spanakopita, that is. Speaking of a town's worth of food, I pulled out my own phone and hit Christina's number as I watched Danna at the grill.

After I greeted my friend, I said, “I need a big favor from you and the Nashville Inn.”

“What's that?”

“Well, it's . . . Why do you sound like you're in stereo?”

“Because I'm right behind you.”

I whirled to see her bent over, laughing. “Dude, quit laughing at me,” I protested.

“You're funny.” She disconnected the call and slid her phone into the back pocket of skinny jeans she wore with a simple yellow sweater. “Nice place you've made here. I like it.” She gestured around the space.

“Thanks,” I said, putting away my own phone. “I kind of like it, too. But what are you doing here? You don't work Fridays?”

“I needed to pick something up in Bloomington and dinner prep's all done. I thought I'd stop by, see what you've got going on, maybe wangle lunch, too. But what's this big favor you need?”

“Sit down and let me fix you a tuna burger, then we'll talk.” I waved at a couple that was leaving and called out a thank-you.

“Ooh, sounds fab. I'm going to check out the pans while you cook.”

It didn't take me long to grill her burger and crisp up the bun, then assemble it with the sauce I'd made, plus lettuce and a big tomato slice. I added a scoop of potato salad and a pickle to the plate and brought it to the table that Danna had prepped with a place mat and a napkin-wrapped packet.

“Soup's on,” I called to Christina. I brought over two iced teas and sat down.

She sat opposite, saying, “I love those Swans Down hexagonal cake pans. I might need to buy a couple of those for home.” She bit into the burger.
“Mmmm.”

“Thanks. So our new mayor got a total bug up her, um, rear end. She wants to hold a fund-raiser for the animal shelter here.”

Christina swallowed. “Good idea. Good PR for you.”

“Except it's tomorrow, and she only told me an hour ago.” I filled Christina in on the details. “Do you think the inn would donate materials? You and I can make the apps in the afternoon, maybe?”

She finished another bite before she spoke. “Crazy timing. I'll have to ask the boss, but I do think the inn will make the donation. However, we have a two-hundred-person wedding reception scheduled for tomorrow night. I'm flat-out busy. Was just picking up the cake in Bloomington.”

I frowned. “I'll never get it all done myself.” I glanced at Danna. Maybe I could enlist her help with cooking.

“But listen. We have bunches of extra hors d'oeuvres in the freezer. Mini meatballs, little quiches, buffalo wingettes, that kind of thing. Somebody scheduled a function and then canceled at the last minute. The appetizers are taking up space and aren't going to keep much longer. How about we donate them? Save you all that time.”

“Seriously? That would be perfect. When Corrine described a menu that takes more work than any other kind of food, I was wondering how I'd pull it off.”

“Yeah, so you simply heat up ours. The work's already done, and the inn gets credit for homemade. You can add something of your own, like mini cheese biscuits, maybe. Or how about tiny tuna sliders? This is incredible. Sure beats White Castle.” She pointed to the burger. “Capers, right?”

“Exactly. That's a really good idea about the appetizers. You've saved my bacon, girlfriend.”

“Happy to help.” She looked around and then leaned toward me. “I also came by because I heard a morsel of news about Ed Kowalski that you might be interested in.”

“Gossip or hard fact?”

She tilted her head sideways a couple of times. “Some of both. Appears he's in trouble with the Board of Health. Had kitchen violations—grease, vermin, that kind of thing.”

“Are they going to shut him down?”

“The little bird who told me said he only got a warning this time. But Board of Health violations are never a good thing—mainly for the customers. Who wants mouse droppings near their breakfast? And now the Board of Health will be breathing down his neck about everything.”

By two o'clock the restaurant was empty and quiet. Outside the rain had blown through and sun streaming in through the windows warmed the old pine floor. I checked my e-mail, but there was nothing from Italy. I blew a breath out and set to wiping down the tables.

“What's up, Robbie? Seems like something's bugging you,” Danna said over her shoulder from the sink.

I walked over to join her and leaned my back against the now-cool grill. I tossed the rag back and forth from one hand to the other.

“Kind of a long story.” I kept tossing.

She raised an eyebrow. “You don't have to tell me.”

“It's just that I never met my father. Mom and me, we didn't need him. But this week I found out who he was, and I dug up his e-mail address. And then I sent him an e-mail. In Italy.”

“Italy? That's awesome.” She turned her head to look at me. “You look Italian, now that I think about it. So, did he write back?”

I shook my head. “No. That's the problem. If I'd never found him, I wouldn't even care. But now, well, I guess I care.”

“That sucks.” She turned back to the sink. “If you can find his number, you could text him. E-mail's kind of old-fashioned, you know.”

“I'll give him another day or two.”

“I never knew my own dad, either,” Danna said, her arms up to her elbows in the soapy water, her hands jostling the pots and pans as she scrubbed.

“Really?” A big old grabber on a crane pulled me out of my own stupid swamp of dejection. “Did your mom want it that way?”

“She didn't have much choice. He died when I was a little baby.”

“I'm so sorry to hear that, Danna.” I stopped tossing my rag around and started to wipe down the counter next to the grill.

“It's okay.” She rinsed a big pot and set it upside down on the drainboard. “One of my uncles used to take me to the father-daughter dances and stuff like that. Mom and I were cool by ourselves.”

“That's how it was for my mom and me, too. Corrine's very attractive, though. I'm surprised she never found another partner.” Come to think of it, my mom was a knockout, too, in her sun-bleached surfer way. I'd never thought about why she didn't find a man to love her.