A Chili Death: A Classic Diner Mystery (20 page)

It was nearing the end of the day with no more excitement of any kind when I asked Greg, “Have you checked up on Mike yet?”

“No, I told him to come back in when he was finished,” Greg told me.

“Well, he’s running out of time,” I said as I glanced at the clock.  “We’re shutting the place down in twelve minutes.”

“Don’t worry about it.  We’ll deal with it then,” he said.

Four minutes to closing, Mike came back in, dirty and tired, but smiling.  “I got them all moved,” he told Greg.  “Come out and see for yourself.” 

“Good man,” Greg told him.  “I trust you,” my husband added as he handed him a large brown paper bag.  “There’s a meatloaf sandwich in there, some chips, and a drink.”

“I can’t take it,” Mike said reluctantly.  “You were right.  I don’t want to be that guy anymore.  If I can’t pay for it, I don’t want it.”

Greg nodded.  “Moving those crates paid for two meals, and a cash bonus to boot,” he said as he reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill.  “Nicely done.”

“Do you need anything done around here tomorrow?” he asked Greg.

“No, not at the diner, but go see this man,” he said as he handed the young man a piece of paper.  “He might be able to help you out.  He’s a good man, Mike.  You can trust him.”

“Thanks,” he said, and then quickly left the restaurant.

“Did you give him Father Randy’s number?” I asked.

Greg nodded.  “I called him earlier, and he’s got room tonight at the shelter.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious if Mike did the job the way you wanted him to?”

“We’ll see soon enough,” Greg said as he started cleaning up the back.

“You don’t want to know if he failed you, do you?” I asked.

My husband didn’t answer, and I found myself hoping that this wayward young man had held up his end of the deal.  Greg believed in people, and always expected the best of them.  Usually they tried to live up to his expectations, but sometimes they let him down, taking advantage of his good nature, and killing a bit of his spirit along the way.

I held my breath as we shut off the lights and closed the diner.  As we walked out through the back door, I could see that the pallets had been moved perfectly in the glow of the light we had back there.

I half expected Greg to say something about it, but he just smiled a little and nodded with pleasure.

If Mike ever came back to the diner again, the next meal was going to be on me.

I figured my husband’s smile had been worth that, and a whole lot more.

In my dream, a telephone was ringing, and without giving it another thought, I picked it up and said, “Hello.”

“Victoria, you need to come to the diner right now,” the man said in a commanding voice on the other end of the line, and I knew that it wasn’t a dream after all.  I didn’t recognize whoever was talking, but then again, in my defense, I wasn’t used to getting calls at three in the morning.

“Who is this?” I asked as I rubbed my eyes with my free hand.

“I knew I should have called Moose first,” he said, and at that moment I realized that it was Sheriff Croft.

“That’s fine.  I’m here.  I’m awake,” I said as I sat up.  Greg, being the bear that he was, hadn’t even stirred when my phone had rung.  “What’s wrong?  Did something happen?”

“You could say that.  Somebody just tried to burn the diner down tonight.”

I beat Moose to the diner by four minutes, even though he was still in his pajamas, while I’d taken the time to throw on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt.  Sheriff Croft had already briefed the two of us, so Greg met my grandfather at his truck before the man could start yelling at everyone in sight.  “Take it easy, Moose.  The fire’s out.  Somebody threw a lit skull through the front window and tried to set the place on fire.”

“A skull?  You’re kidding me.  Was it real?”

“No, of course not.  It was just a replica.  This one was made of resin. It’s some kind of Halloween decoration, from the look of it.”

“Then what started the fire?” Moose asked as he headed for the front of the diner.  We all had no choice but to follow him.

The sheriff stepped in and blocked him.  “It looks as though they coated the thing in lighter fluid before they threw it through the window.  Nothing inside got scorched all that much.  My guess is that it was pretty much out by the time it went through the window.”

Moose walked around the sheriff and checked out the glass.  After that, he walked in through the front door as though nothing had happened.  The sheriff had told me that he’d gotten a few pictures before I got there, bagged the skull in an evidence bag, and then he’d encouraged me to clean the mess up. 

I knew that Moose would want to see it for himself, though, so I hadn’t touched a thing.

“Somebody better clean that up,” he said after he surveyed the mild amount of damage.

Greg stepped past me.  “I’m on it.”

“Who would do something like this?” I asked.

“Most likely it’s just a prank, but they went a little too far this time,” the sheriff said.  “Halloween is just around the corner, and if this is any indication, I’m going to be busy putting out fires all over town.”  He must have realized how that sounded, given what had just happened at the diner.  “Not real fires, I mean.”  As an afterthought, Sheriff Croft added, “At least I hope not.”

“You don’t think this was deliberate, do you?” Moose asked.

“Well, I doubt it was an accident,” the sheriff said.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” I said.  “I think someone is trying to scare us off of our investigation.”

“How do you see it that way?” the sheriff asked. “Is there anything, and I mean anything, that would lead you to believe that’s true?”

“Are you telling me that a flaming skull thrown through our front window isn’t enough for you?” I asked him.

“Where’s the note, Victoria, the threatening message that ties in with anyone involved in the case?  If you want my opinion, this is most likely just a random act of vandalism.”

“Hang on,” Moose said.  “Victoria’s got a point.  You don’t see something like this every day of the week.”

“No, but it’s not very specific if it really is a warning, is it?  How are you supposed to know who it is exactly you’re supposed to be leaving alone?”

“What if it’s meant for our entire investigation?” I asked.

“No offense, but I think you’re both flattering yourselves.  What we have here is most likely some angry teenager who’s got a grudge against you.  Have you run across anybody like that lately?”

Greg spoke up for the first time.  “Mike didn’t do this.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked him.

Moose demanded, “Who’s this Mike character, and why would he want to firebomb our diner?”

I brought them all up to date, but I ended with, “He and Greg worked things out.  There’s no way that young man would do this.”

“Maybe he was just playing you, or he could have had second thoughts about the worthiness of the punishment you gave him.”

“I didn’t punish him,” Greg said firmly, “I tried to give him a job so he could feel good about something in his life for once.”

The sheriff shrugged.  “Maybe he didn’t appreciate the life lesson.  Did you happen to get this kid’s last name?”

“I don’t have a clue what it is,” Greg said.

While that was true, I had a good idea where the young man was spending the night, but if Greg didn’t want to volunteer the information, I wasn’t about to do it, either.  Besides, I agreed with my husband.  There was no way, unless the young man was schizophrenic, that he could ever do something like this.

“How about you?” the sheriff asked me.

“I didn’t catch his last name, either,” I admitted.

“Okay.  Still, just to be on the safe side, I’d keep an eye out for him if I were you.”

Moose asked, “Do you think whoever did this might actually come back here again tonight?”

“It’s highly doubtful,” the sheriff said.  “Just be on your guard.”  He looked at the broken window, and then asked, “Do you have any plywood or anything you could cover this with until you can get the glass replaced?”

“We’ve still got some plywood in the backroom when Hurricane Hugo came through here,” Greg said.  “I’ll go grab a sheet.”

“I’ll help,” Moose said.

After they disappeared into the backroom, I asked the sheriff, “Do you honestly believe that this was just random?”

“More than likely,” he said.  “But who have you pushed around lately about Howard Lance’s murder, whether you’ve cleared them of the crime in your mind or not?”

“Sheriff, you know our list as well as we do.  There’s Bob Chastain, Cynthia Wilson, the two waitresses from Laurel Landing, Hank and Margie, and Francie  Humphries.”

He frowned as he heard my recitation.  “Surely you can narrow that down some by now.  Let me put it this way.  Who’s still on your list of suspects?  Don’t bother telling me who you’ve already eliminated.”

“All we have left are Bob, Cynthia, Hank, and Margie.  How about you?” I asked with a slight grin.  Maybe the sheriff felt like sharing.  It was at least worth a shot.

“They’re all on mine as well,” he admitted.

“Who else, though?”

“Nobody you need to worry about,” he said.

“That might be true, but I still believe that this vandalism is tied into our investigation of Howard Lance’s murder.”

“You’re welcome to think whatever you’d like to,” the sheriff said, “but as far as I’m concerned, and until I learn differently, this one’s going down in the books as a random act of violence.”

“Do you honestly believe that?  If it were a brick that wasn’t on fire being thrown through our window, I might agree with you, but a flaming skull?  Come on.”

“I’ve said my piece,” he said.  “Now, if you don’t need me anymore here, I have a stray deputy I need to track down.  That’s how I happened to see your window in the first place.  I believe that one of my people is using the nightshift to catch up on some sleep, and if I find out that it’s true, I’m firing them on the spot, no questions asked.”

“That’s kind of harsh, isn’t it?”

“Victoria, I’m responsible for this town, and one chance is all that anybody ever gets to let me down.  Good night.”

“Night,” I echoed.  “Thanks for calling me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Once he was gone, my husband and grandfather reappeared with plywood and an electric screwdriver/drill.  “Don’t worry about the window, Victoria.  We’ll have this plywood up in no time,” Greg said.

“Good.  Then maybe we can go back home and get some sleep before we have to open the place up later.”

“Do you honestly think that you can sleep after this?” my husband asked me.

“You know me better than that.  I’m the second best sleeper I know.”

He grinned sheepishly at me.  “I’m willing to bet that I come in first place.”

“Actually, it’s a tie between you and Moose.”

My grandfather shook his head as his name came up in the conversation.  “Leave me out of this.  Lift your end a little higher, Greg.”

As my husband complied, Moose drove a screw home, and then another, and another.  By the time they were finished, the blocked opening offered more protection than mere glass ever had.

It took a while for me to get back to sleep once Greg and I were home and in bed again, but I finally managed to nod off.  I wasn’t all that sure that it had been worth it, though.  Flaming skulls of all sizes kept chasing me through my dreams, with glass swans swooping up and down above them, and I wondered if they were all trying to tell me something. 

If they had, I was afraid to admit that it was all lost on me.

Before I knew it, I was in the middle of my first shift at the diner, and my mother was in the kitchen.  Greg was sleeping in, but then again, he normally didn’t get started until eleven.  The Charming Moose was crowded with folks grabbing a bite before they headed off to work.  By the time I was ready to take my first break at eight, most of them had cleared out, at least those going to regular jobs.  Moose was usually nowhere to be found at the diner at that time of morning, but today was special.  It was the monthly meeting of the Liar’s Table, and my grandfather never missed a chance to participate.  The collection of four men and one woman were at their reserved table, and as I passed by, I topped off their coffee mugs.

As I did, I heard my dentist, Dr. Frye, saying, “That trout was so big he pulled my boat around the lake three times before he wore himself out.  It took four men to get him into the boat, but he was so heavy, we capsized.  Luckily I’d brought along the heavy duty cooler, you know, the one that floats?  We all climbed aboard and made our way to shore.”

“What did you use for paddles?” Moose asked, as straight-faced as he could be.

“We didn’t need them.  I used my rod to catch a heron that happened to be flying by, and he towed us in himself.”