A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery (11 page)

Although I heard her, the words didn’t make sense, so I went ahead and swallowed. Remember, it was chocolate. And it was in my mouth.

“Yah,” Margie confirmed, “it’s definitely the beef.”

It was only then that I realized the meaning of what she’d said. And the chocolate and beef mixture immediately skidded to a stop somewhere along my esophagus, seemingly uncertain if it should keep on its current course or return from whence it came.

Chapter Sixteen

W
hen the ambulance took off
for the hospital, the Mamas and the Papas, along with their son-in-law, Wally, followed in a borrowed pickup. Back in the café, the twins and I helped Margie clean up.

After we finished, we called the Eagles in Hallock to see if the fish fry had been canceled due to the inclement weather. “No,” someone told us, “it’s still on.” So the twins and I climbed into Buddy’s pickup and headed north.

By my silence on the subject, you might have guessed that I hadn’t heard from Randy. And even though a part of me was certain his lack of communication was evidence he’d dumped me, another part held out hope it was just a terrible misunderstanding. Or absent that, he was lying in a snow-filled ditch, hurt and unable to call for help because his cell phone was dead. That part urged me to stay at the café so I’d be there if he was ever found and delivered back to Kennedy. But to that, yet another part yelled, “
No way, girlfriend! You have your own life to lead. And if he can’t get here on time or call to explain why he’s late or otherwise dig himself out of a damn ditch, he’ll just have to catch up with you later.”
That voice was kind of feisty and seldom heard from. But on this day, when a new human being had kicked and screamed his way into the world, it seemed appropriate to listen to a little sass.

When we got to the Eagles, we pulled into the makeshift parking lot on the west side of the highway. Someone had plowed it out, the displaced snow forming a twelve-by-four-foot ridge next to the road. Many of the trucks and SUVs in the lot idled with no one inside, but when I asked Buddy about it, he merely shrugged and said, “Who likes to get into a cold vehicle?”

I shook my head. “If you left your car running unattended in Minneapolis, you wouldn’t have to worry about it being cold. Just stolen.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t in Minneapolis anymore, are you?”

I scanned my frozen and desolate surroundings. “No, Toto, I don’t believe I am.”

He chuckled as he pressed his hand against the small of my back. “Come on. Let’s go.” And the three of us ran toward the brick building on the opposite side of the road, our shoulders hitched and practically stuffed into our ears.

“Brr,” Buford shivered as we hurried through the door of the old building, “it’d be a bad night to get tied naked to a tree.”

He peeked through the eye-level opening on the wall across from us. The hole was about two feet square. Years ago, when this was a private club, that “window” must have been where folks showed proof of membership. Now it simply afforded a quick look into the main bar.

“Janice is bartending,” Buford mumbled to his brother.

“Janice?” I repeated, checking out the only woman behind the bar. While short, thin, and middle aged, she was clearly aiming for a more tantalizing look. She’d dyed her hair coal black and had it piled high on her head. And her droopy gray eyes were caked with thick liner and baby-blue shadow.

“Janice Ferguson,” Buford replied.

“Kennedy’s city clerk?”

The twins nodded as they began exchanging greetings with nearly everyone in the place, each seemingly a relative, friend, or business associate. It was plain to see they were well liked, though not particularly adept in social graces. They didn’t introduce me to a soul.

I was left awkwardly surveying the place from where I stood—the nondescript pool room to my left and the kitchen and dance floor to my right. The pool table was occupied by two young men, but rather than bustling with two-stepping couples, the dance floor was crowded with long folding tables and beige metal chairs, all filling up fast with fish-fry enthusiasts.

“Janice has to work a couple jobs,” Buford said once the three of us were alone again. “She has a nasty bingo habit.”

I shot him a quizzical look.

“Yeah, she’ll go as far as Roseau and Warroad—both more than an hour away—just to play for an evening, especially if there’s a big jackpot. When she’s in Roseau, she says she’s shopping at Carol’s Cedar Cellar. A flower shop over there. And when she’s in Warroad, she swears she’s checking out the deals at Dollar Savers. But she’s not fooling anyone. We all know what she’s really up to. Sometimes she’s on the road four nights a week.”

Buddy shook his head. “You’re such a gossip, Buford.”

I dismissed the chiding remark since the guy making it sported a black eye from sticking his nose in someone else’s business and instead asked Buford, “Doesn’t that create a problem for her at work? How can she be trusted to handle the city’s money if she has a gambling problem?”

Buford squinted at me, a befuddled expression on his face. “She doesn’t have a gambling problem. She just plays too much bingo.”

“But, Buford, bingo is . . .”

Buddy nudged me into the buffet line, muttering in my ear as we moved, “Save your breath. To him it’s not gambling unless you’re in a casino or at the track.”

Uncertain I could make sense of that, I put all thoughts on hold except those pertaining to the food heaped on the plate handed to me: deep-fried fish, French fries, and coleslaw. While the smell hanging in the air—a mix of fish, grease, and stale beer—wasn’t particularly enticing, that food looked “gall-darn tasty,” as Margie would have said.

After insisting on paying the bill, Buddy motioned me to the bar, while Buford headed toward a table full of young women, mouthing that he’d catch up with us later.

I turned to Buddy. “For a minute, I thought you and Buford had nothing in common. I see now, at a minimum, you share one trait.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Buddy prodded me along by bumping the rim of his plate against my back. “Didn’t your mother teach you that when someone does something nice, like buys you dinner, you thank him, not make fun of him.”

I laughed as I set my plate on the bar and hiked myself onto a stool.

“Hey, Janice,” Buddy called, “a Bud Light when you get a chance.” He slipped his eyes in my direction, and I nodded. “Make that two,” he called.

He laid some cash on the counter, and after Janice plopped down two longneck bottles, she grabbed it and made change, placing the excess back in front of him. “How’s your eye?” she asked in the coarse voice of a heavy smoker.

“It’s fine.” He quickly changed the subject. “Did you hear Little Val had her baby?” He didn’t wait for a response. “This afternoon. Right there in Hot Dish Heaven.”

“You’re kidding!” Janice wanted all the details, so Buddy supplied them the best he could. She especially enjoyed the part about Little Val delivering on the floor, next to the juke box. Hearing that, she let out a cackle that finished with a dry smoker’s cough.

“Yep,” Buddy said after introducing her to me, “with Emerald gathering recipes for the Minneapolis paper, Little Val giving birth in the café, and Raleigh Cummings getting murdered, it’s been a crazy few days around here.” He added without skipping a beat, “Did you know him, Janice?”

Janice barely moved her head. “Yeah, I knew him.”

“Well,” Buddy said, “I’m not all that broken up by his death.”

Janice blinked her blue-shadowed lids. “Oh?”

“We shouldn’t have hired him in the first place. He was trouble right from the start.”

With vein-fanned hands, Janice patted the sides of her updo, as if trying to keep it from falling over in either direction. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Huh? You mean as city clerk, you never had any issues with him?” Buddy stuffed more fish in his mouth, and I did the same.

Janice forced a chuckle, followed by an involuntary hack. “Well, I did have an argument with him this past Tuesday. Dinky might have told you about it. He caught the tail end.”

“What happened?” Buddy’s tone and countenance were equal in their innocence. No doubt about it, the guy was slick. It made me wonder why I was with him. Did he really need my help? I didn’t think so.

“Oh, it didn’t amount to much. But as he was leaving, Dinky came in, and if looks could kill . . .” She stopped short, puckering her mouth, tiny smoker’s lines picketing her upper lip.

“I know who Dinky is.” I’d decided it was time to earn my dinner by asking a few questions of my own. “He seems like a nice enough person. Why was he upset with that Cummings guy?” While I knew the answer, I still did my best to mimic Buddy’s carefree tone.

“From the little I heard,” Janice replied, “Dinky owed Raleigh money, and Raleigh wanted to get paid pronto.”

Someone shouted for a drink, leading her to move to the other end of the bar, somewhat reluctantly from what I could tell.

“Why would Dinky owe Raleigh Cummings money?” I asked of Buddy. “I thought he was like you, a rich Red River Valley farmer.” I’d learned early on it was fun to tease Buddy because he was easy to get riled.

“We aren’t ‘rich,’” he grumbled. “Most of our money is tied up in equipment and land.”

“So you’re saying Dinky’s so cash poor he had to borrow money from a fill-in truck driver?”

Again the answer was slow in coming because Buddy had gotten waylaid by someone. As they spoke, Buddy’s friend peeked over Buddy’s head and smiled at me, a glint of curiosity, then approval, in his eyes. Naturally I was flattered and quickly cleared my throat in anticipation of the conversation that was sure to follow. But when the guy got the drink he’d ordered, he simply moseyed away, leaving me with nothing to occupy myself but the fish on my plate, while Buddy chatted up the curvaceous blonde pair who’d taken the guy’s place. Like the man before them, they also took stock of me. But rather than smiles on their lips, they had fire in their eyes. Apparently they didn’t appreciate me dining with Buddy Johnson, even if we were only bellied up to a bar.

“I wasn’t suggesting that Cummings loaned Dinky money,” Buddy said once the ice princesses had left. “My guess is that Dinky lost some to him in a poker game.” He raised his empty beer bottle, signaling to Janice he was ready for another. “See, Dinky’s a high-stakes gambler, and I heard he got taken to the cleaners in a game last Friday night.”

I ran my finger up and down my beer bottle, making squiggles through the condensation. “Wasn’t he hauling beets Friday night?”

Janice set Buddy’s fresh beer in front of him. She had an odd expression on her face and lingered while making change from the small pile of cash in front of us.

Buddy refrained from speaking until she left. “No. Remember, it was too wet.”

“So, instead, Dinky played poker with Raleigh?”

“Could be. Dinky has a hunting shack out by Lancaster. He and his brother, Biggie, have games out there on a regular basis.”

“You ever play?”

Buddy snorted. “Not with those two. They play for big bucks.”

“And what? You’re too poor for that?”

“No, too smart.”

We both returned to our food. And after I’d consumed all the fish I could possibly eat, I wiped my hands and wadded up my napkin. “That was . . .” I struggled to find just the right word. “Scrumptious,” I decided. “Simply scrumptious.”

“Glad you liked it.” Buddy had a determined look in his eyes. He was going to eat everything on his plate.

“So who else was there?”

“What?” His attention was on his food alone.

“For the poker game last Friday night? Who else do you think was there?”

He speared his last piece of fish. “I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Hunter was. He hardly ever misses one of those games.”

“Is Hunter another rich farmer?”

Buddy dropped his fork onto his empty plate. “We aren’t rich farmers! Hunter doesn’t even own any land.” He was truly exasperated, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“But he still plays poker?”

“Yeah. He’s good at it. He doesn’t lose very often.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm,” Buddy echoed. “What does that mean?”

I rested a forearm on each side of my plate. “It means we now have possible connections between Hunter Carlson, Raleigh Cummings, and Dinky Donaldson. The three of them may have played poker together last Friday night.”

“So?” He wiped his own hands. “You’re grasping at straws, Emerald.”

“Maybe.” I considered that for a moment. “Then again, maybe not.” I bent toward him and lowered my voice so no one within earshot could hear. “Janice said that Dinky and Raleigh argued, quite possibly about poker. Maybe that argument led to a fight that ended in murder.”

Buddy followed my lead by leaning in close. Too close. His face was a mere inch or two from mine. I recoiled, and he grinned that lopsided grin of his. He knew full well he’d unnerved me. “Dinky’s no killer.”

“Well . . . umm . . .” I stammered, desperately searching for the composure I swore I had only moments earlier. “H-How about Janice? What do you think about . . . umm . . . the argument Dinky heard between Raleigh and her?”

Buddy gulped more beer before he spoke. “Dinky’s a gossip. He and my brother are like a couple of old hens. They listen to every story out there, then they’re quick to pass them on. And while they might not lie during the retelling, they damn sure stretch the truth for effect. To my way of thinking, if Margie was looking for dirt, Dinky was probably more than happy to provide it, embellishing as he went.”

I mentally replayed Margie’s account of the confrontation. “Are you saying there wasn’t anything to that argument?” I finished off my own beer. “Even though Raleigh was angry enough to dump garbage on the steps?”

Buddy didn’t hesitate. “Hey, Janice!” She was stooped over, mixing drinks, at the other end of the bar. “Did someone throw garbage on the office steps earlier this week?”

“Yes!” She straightened and cackled, ending with a cough so violent it forced her to turn away from everyone. “It was me,” she added over her shoulder when finally able to speak. “And I didn’t exactly throw it.” She turned back around. “I just overstuffed the bag. Then when I went to carry it out to the dumpster Wednesday morning, it got caught on the door handle and split wide open. Why do you ask?”

Buddy shook his head, letting her know it wasn’t anything important. And to me he telegraphed a look that read, “I told you so.”

In response, I muttered, “If Dinky was only gossiping, he’s a jerk. He could have caused Janice some serious trouble.”