Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery (11 page)

Through the pass-through window, I saw Nancy taking Ty’s order. I could almost predict what he’d order at this time of the night: a slice of cherry pie and a slice of chocolate pie. He’d wash them down with another cup of coffee, which Nancy was pouring right now. Then he’d walk across the lawn
to the bait shop next door and climb the stairs to his apartment.

On nice evenings, he’d sit out on the deck for a while. On rainy, cold, or snowy nights, he’d watch TV for about an hour. Then the lights would go out.

Not that I’d noticed.

There was a lull, so I decided to clean the kitchen a bit. I emptied the Ferris wheel of crumbs, straightened up the fridge by the stove, wiped down the stove with grease cutter, and took the trash out to the Dumpster.

While I was there, something caught my eye. Two guys talking . . . and drinking together. By the lights surrounding my parking lot, I could see that one had a black jacket on with the RR logo and chains draped from waist to knee. Toxic Waste. And the guy he was talking to looked dressed to command a yacht. He wore glaring white pants, shoes, jacket, and hat. It was none other than Chad Dodson, megaweenie.

I tuned in.

“So, we have an agreement?” Chad asked.

“Yeah.” They shook hands.

“Don’t screw me, Toxic. If you do, you’re going to end up like Nick Brownelli,” Chad said.

“The same goes for you,” Toxic said. “Seriously, though, do you know who offed Nick?”

Chad shrugged. “I plead the Fifth on that.”

They both laughed, like Nick’s death was some kind of joke. I wanted to barf.

I wondered if they had known each other
before, or if they were bonding over their shared dislike of Nick Brownelli and a mutually beneficial business experience.

Partnership with Chad wasn’t beneficial to Nick in the least.

Either way, they made a strange pair of friends.

They walked toward Chad’s motor home and shook hands again. Toxic walked to one of the potties and disappeared inside.

“Just don’t make Chad a beneficiary of your life-insurance policy, Mr. Waste,” I mumbled to myself.

I looked up at Ty’s apartment. I could see him standing on his side deck. He also must have noticed Chad and Toxic together, laughing and joking.

Ty saw me and waved. I waved back.

I should have known that nothing much got past Ty Brisco.

Tossing the trash bag into the Dumpster, I went back into the kitchen. Washing my hands, I saw that there weren’t any orders pinned to the wheel, so I kept on cleaning.

Then I decided to bake several mayonnaise cakes. I love how gooey and chocolaty mayonnaise cakes are, and how divine they are with cream-cheese frosting. Yum!

I thought I’d take one of them to ACB in jail. Then I could bring a couple back home for the pageant girls. They all could stand a little fattening up.

As I was measuring and mixing the ingredients, I couldn’t help thinking of ACB sleeping in a jail
cell. Sure, it was more like home than jail, but it was still jail, no matter how you decorated it.

Who wants to frame her?

Smarmy Chad Dodson had the most to gain if ACB was in jail—or dead.

Oh, and I couldn’t forget about Sal, who had a love-hate thing going with ACB and his brother, Nick. Sure, he fell apart at Nick’s wake, but it seemed that his “I forgive you, Antoinette Chloe, for taking up with my brother” speech was more than a little wacky.

Sal was still a suspect, but second under Chad Dodson on my list.

And what about Toxic Waste? He was ticked at Nick for stealing Leslie away from him. That kind of thing could last forever and turn into a mushroom cloud. He was even more ticked that Nick left Leslie at the altar. Go figure.

But Mr. Waste was being soothed by Aileen Shubert, so Leslie had to be far from his mind, right?

Oh! I just thought of something!
I called Ty. I figured that he couldn’t have been sleeping very long.

“Ty, it’s Trixie. Tell me, was Nick knifed on the site where you found him or somewhere else?”

“Right next to the site. Remember, the perp had to bury him.”

“I figured that. His house was really clean when ACB and I looked for him, so he couldn’t have been killed there.”

“What?”
I could hear him without the phone to my ear. “When?”

“We were at his house before you found the body.”

“Did you take something out of it, Trixie?”

Crap!

“Well, no. Actually, I didn’t.”

“Don’t play word games with me. Did ACB take anything?”

“Two things. But, Ty, believe me when I say you don’t want to know and it has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with Nick’s death. Nothing. And don’t ask her about it. Please?” There was a long silence. Finally, I cracked. “Ty, are you there?”

“I won’t say anything to her.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to know anything else?” he asked.

“Could someone lure Nick into his car, drive Nick out to the country, skillfully stab him in the jugular, dig a shallow grave, toss him in, and somewhat fix the vegetation that was messed up?”

“Sure, but it would have to be a hell of a lure. Nick was a pretty big guy.”

“Could a woman do it?”

“Like ACB? She’s no lightweight herself, but she’s up there in years.” He shrugged. “Depending on her adrenaline and anger and whatnot, maybe. But she didn’t dig much—there was rain the day before. The dirt would have been heavy, and it was a shallow grave.”

“So, you still think ACB did it?”

“When did I say that?” He was getting snippy.

“You said she didn’t dig much.”

“I was speaking about women in general, during that part of my answer. Now, is that all? I have to
meet with Judge Butler in the morning before court. I need some sleep.”

“Just one more thing.”

He yawned. “What?”

“I know that you saw Toxic and Chad together.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“What do you think?” I asked.

“That it was interesting, but they’re living right next to each other here, so why shouldn’t they talk?”

Now, that was disappointing. I thought he was going to say something better than that.

“Do you think that they knew each other before . . . now?”

“They knew
of
each other, according to them. Anything else, Trixie?”

“I heard them talking that they are going to go into business together. Another restaurant. And Chad said something about pleading the Fifth when Toxic asked him if he knew who killed Nick.”

“Interesting,” Ty said. “But probably just guy talk. You know, just joking around.”

I sighed. It seemed like Ty just didn’t take things as seriously as I did. But what bothered me more was that he moved too slowly for me. “Are they suspects?”

“Everyone’s a suspect until I catch the real killer.”

“Are you close?”

“Good night, Trixie.”
Click.

Humpf.

I checked on my cakes.
Fabulous.
I let them cool, and made the frosting.

Then I continued with my shift. I made up more orders, and I rang the bell for Chelsea or Nancy. I drank more coffee and thought about who killed Nick Brownelli. Rinse and repeat.

Finally, as I was frosting the cakes, Juanita arrived to take over.

“
Hola
, Trixie. I came in early because I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking of poor Antoinette Chloe in jail.”

“She’s doing okay, Juanita. She really is. Cheer up.” I looked at the clock: seven thirty. “You know, since you’re here early, do you mind punching in early? I want to jump in the shower before I go to court this morning. Antoinette Chloe is going to be arraigned.”

“Go right ahead, and give her our best wishes. Tell her that we are thinking of her.”

“I sure will.” I hugged Juanita on the way out the back door to the Big House.

*   *   *

I was pacing out front of the bar/courthouse while I was waiting for Antoinette Chloe to arrive in one of the sheriff’s cars.

Deputy Lou Rutledge brought her. She was in handcuffs, and it broke my heart. Thank goodness they didn’t use the leg shackles on her. They probably figured that she couldn’t run in flip-flops, so the shackles weren’t necessary.

She wore a red muumuu with passion flowers
all over it, and what looked like every piece of jewelry she owned. Her sunflower hat glittered with sequins of all different colors, and on top of it sat a bluebird in a fancy white cage. Knowing ACB, it was a statement about her being in a cage herself.

Nice touch.

Lou took her by the arm and helped her up the broken sidewalk to the bar . . . er . . . courtroom.

She tried to hug me, but Lou held his arm out.

“Come on, Lou. I can’t slip her my Uzi. I left it at the Silver Bullet.”

He chuckled. “Standard protocol, Trixie.”

“I know.” Then I turned to ACB. “Antoinette Chloe, I’ll be in court with you.”

Her eyes watered. “Thanks, friend.”

It was an effort for me to smile. I was so worried about her, and I didn’t feel like I was getting anywhere proving that she didn’t kill Nick.

All I’d done was to talk to the suspects I had in mind. I should be doing something more, but I just didn’t know what yet.

Chad did tell me about the other beneficiaries in Nick’s will. And Toxic Waste admitted that he had seethed about Nick stealing his girlfriend and then leaving her at the altar. Now I knew her name, Leslie McDermott, and I added her to my list of people who disliked Nick.

I followed Deputy Rutledge and ACB into the bar. She was seated at a table next to Janice Malloy, her lawyer.

“Please remove the handcuffs from my client,” Janice said.

Lou looked at Ty, who was sitting on the DA’s
side of the room. Ty nodded, so Lou unlocked her cuffs.

ACB rubbed her wrists. “Thanks, Lou, and thank you, Janice, for representing me.”

Janice gave her a hug.

Then ACB waved at the court stenographer. “Oh, Sadie! We have to talk about the Miss Salmon pageant before I leave.”

The court stenographer waved and nodded and got her black transcription machine set up.

“And it’s good to see you, too, Marty.” ACB waved to the judge, who sat at his own table in front of the room.

“Hi, Antoinette Chloe. How are you holding up?”

“I guess my answer depends on what happens here this morning.”

T
he new assistant district attorney for the county introduced himself. “Your Honor, for the record, my name is Ronald Davies. I’ll be representing the People in this matter.”

“Welcome to Sandy Harbor, Mr. Davies,” Justice Butler said. “As you can see, we’re rather informal here. It’s a bar. Just call me Judge or Judge Butler, but don’t call me in the afternoon to go fishing. They bite the best in the morning.”

That got everyone laughing and lightened the mood a little.

“Fine with me, Judge. I just came from an arraignment in a cow barn, so a bar is a nice change of pace.”

Janice stood. “For the record, my name is Janice Malloy, and I’ll be representing the defendant, Antoinette Chloe Brown.”

Even though there’d been a ban on smoking in New York bars for years, smoke still clung to the walls and tables of the Happy Harbor Bar and Grill. The wood was yellowed with the damage, and it looked like the village justice of Sandy Harbor hadn’t cleaned the place in years.

My folding chair was off balance and driving me crazy, so I sat in another one. Same problem. I stayed put.

Joan Paris, editor of the
Lure
, sat down in the wobbly chair I had just vacated. She pulled out a notebook from her tote and started writing.

Judge Butler shuffled his papers and seemed loath to read the charge against Antoinette Chloe. There was just one, but it was a biggie: murder in the second degree.

I already knew that, but when Judge Butler read out loud the New York State penal law pertaining to her murder-in-the-second-degree charge, it was ugly.

ACB looked back at me, and I sent her the best smile I could muster.

“Mr. Davies, do you have anything to say regarding bail for the defendant?”

Davies jumped to his feet. “The people request no bail due to the severity of the charge against the defendant.”

“Miz Malloy, do you have anything to say?” the judge asked.

“Indeed I do. My client has the right to have bail set according to Section 180.80 of the New York State Penal Law, proceedings relative to a felony complaint.”

“Mr. Davies, this court has decided that the defendant has the right to bail. Let’s figure out an amount, huh? Or I’ll set it myself.”

Obviously, Ty hadn’t succeeded in convincing the judge to keep ACB in protective custody without bail.

“Judge, the people request bail be set in the amount of three million dollars, cash or bond.”

Janice jumped to her feet. “Judge Butler, the assistant district attorney’s suggested bail amount is way out of line. My client definitely doesn’t have that kind of money. I request bail in the amount of five thousand dollars, cash or bond.”

“Mr. Davies?”

“Judge, the defendant definitely has the resources to abscond. She owns a successful restaurant and valuable lakefront property on Lake Ontario. She’s a member of a motorcycle gang, so she has access to assistance. She has a van for transportation out of town. Additionally, we know that her husband, Sal Brown, as part of his plea deal, made full restitution to the defendant, and she was able to buy her property back. That amount is listed on the letter that I gave you earlier regarding her assets.”

“Janice, what do you have to say?”

“Your Honor, the defendant is a lifelong resident of Sandy Harbor. And she would never abscond. He roots are here, as well as her restaurant and her land. She wants to develop the land and turn it into a drive-in, and—”

“A drive-in?” the judge interrupted. “Are you serious about that, Antoinette Chloe?”

“I sure am, Marty.”

“But drive-ins are closing all over the States.”

“Then everyone will come from all over to go to mine.”

“Okay.” Judge Butler shrugged. “Now, where were we?”

Mr. Davies shook his head and clutched the edge of the table. “We are talking about the same land where the victim was buried, Your Honor.”

Antoinette Chloe tried to stand, but Janice put her hand on ACB’s shoulder.

“I didn’t know that I’d dig up Nick when Excavating Ed Berger started digging, Mr. Davies,” Antoinette said.

“That’s for damn sure,” Joan Paris whispered to me.

Judge Butler used a glass as a gavel. “Antoinette Chloe, you can’t talk during this thing.”

“But it’s true, Marty. I didn’t know Nicky was there.”

Judge Butler looked at Janice for help. “Do you have anything else to say about the bail issue, Janice?”

“Please consider that Antoinette Chloe has been a longtime resident of Sandy Harbor. We all know her character. She’d never run away.”

Antoinette Chloe stood. “I sure as hell won’t run. I’m not guilty of this and I hope that the Sandy Harbor Sheriff’s Department will find the real killer soon. The jail is pretty comfortable, thanks to Sheriff Brisco, but I have things to do. I have to emcee the Miss Salmon pageant, and I can’t wait to see the final routine that some of the contestants have worked hard to learn.” She smiled. “Sadie, the costumes that your sewing committee made for the tableau are fabulous.”

“Thanks, Antoinette Chloe,” Sadie replied, still transcribing every word.

“Antoinette Chloe, please don’t interrupt.”

“For heaven’s sake, Marty, this is my life you all are talking about. I’m not just going to sit back and say nothing to defend myself!”

The judge cleared his throat. “I’ve taken all the comments into consideration, and I’m setting bail at three million dollars cash or bond.” He slammed down the glass. “Sorry, Antoinette Chloe, but I have to remand you back to the county jail until you post bail.”

“Martin Butler, how could you? Don’t expect me to vote for you on Election Day.”

“Understood.” He slammed the glass down on the table with such force, I expected it to break. “This court is adjourned.”

I heard Janice tell ACB that she’d visit her later in the day and figure out her assets.

I saw Ty nod to the judge. He didn’t get his wish for no bail, but the bail was set so high, it was just like no bail.

ACB flip-flopped out of the bar so quickly that Lou Rutledge had to run to keep up with her.

“Trixie!”

I hustled to get to her, yet was mindful not to get too close.

“Yes, Antoinette Chloe?”

“Trixie . . . please.” There were tears pooling in her eyes. “I really, really want to be the emcee of the pageant. It means everything to me. I don’t want to be in jail when the pageant is on. After all, this whole thing was my brainchild. I wanted it to be a nice fund-raiser for the town and . . .” She gulped, then hiccuped.

I felt awful. My heart was breaking along with
hers. “I’ll visit you in jail later today. And we’ll come up with a plan.”

“Will you come right now?” She was so anxious that all the color had drained from her face and she was shaking like a leaf; I was worried about her health. All over a beauty contest. But that was ACB for you.

“I’ll follow your car. I mean, the cop car.”

“Thanks so much, Trixie.”

In the back of the cop car, I saw her dab her eyes with the sleeves of her muumuu.

Then I noticed Toxic Waste by the Bubbly Clean Laundromat observing ACB leave. I wondered if he had been in the back of the bar during the arraignment. If he had been, I hadn’t noticed him, but, then again, I’d been intent on watching the proceedings.

In the back of my mind, I filed his presence under
interesting
.

I stalled long enough to watch Toxic. Maybe he was doing laundry at the Bubbly Clean, and I was jumping to conclusions.

But I wasn’t. He hopped on his motorcycle and headed in the direction of the point.

What a snoop!

I followed ACB to jail.

*   *   *

Ty was sitting at his desk with his feet on the top and was on the phone as usual. When he saw me standing there, he motioned for me to come over and take a seat.

I stared out the window until he got off the phone.

“That was painful to watch,” I said. “I feel so sorry for her.”

“She’s fine. I got her a cell-phone charger, and she’s burning up the cell tower now. That woman sure can talk.”

“Ty, dress rehearsal for the pageant is in a couple of days. She has to practice being an emcee. Believe me, she has to practice.”

“Trixie, a man is dead and you’re worried about Miss Salmon?”

“I’m worried about Antoinette Chloe. I’m sure you saw the letter that the ADA gave to Judge Butler—the one listing the value of her assets. Did it add up to three million bucks?”

“No. Not even close.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“What about you?”

“Do you think that the point is worth three million? The whole thing: the Silver Bullet, the Victorian, the eleven cottages, the thousand feet of prime lakefront?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’m going to bail her out. Or, rather, Aunt Stella is going to bail her out—everything is still in her name. I know you want to keep ACB under protective custody, but has anyone tried to kill her?”

“Not yet. That’s why protective custody is working. Although I did see Toxic Waste hanging around the Bubbly Clean. He was also in the back of the courtroom. I wonder why he’s so interested in the case. I had Lou ask him if he’d voluntarily submit to a pat down, and he did. He was clean.”

“I saw him, too, Ty. Oh my! Do you think he might’ve taken a shot at ACB, or something else?”

“Just trying to be careful.”

“Ty, can’t you just be her bodyguard while she’s doing the pageant?”

“You know, all three of us have other duties. We just don’t have enough time to be guard dogs for ACB.”

“Then I’ll do it,” I said.

“You?”

“Why not me? You do it when you can, and if you’re called away somewhere, I can dial nine-one-one if I run into trouble.”

“It might be too late for nine-one-one.”

“C’mon, Ty. Help me out here. I’ll give you free meals for a week.”

He chuckled. “I know I’m going to regret this, but all right. We’ll both keep an eye on ACB.”

I jumped up and impulsively gave him a hug around the neck. He smelled so good, like pine and cedar. Not that I noticed. “Oh, Ty! You’re such a doll! I’m going to call Aunt Stella right now. I hope I can get hold of her. She was going to take one of those paddleboat tours out of Missouri or New Orleans or someplace watery like that about now.”

“And here I went to the trouble of keeping ACB in here. Now I’m helping you bail her out. What the hell is wrong with me?”

“You secretly want to make the first annual Miss Salmon pageant a success.”

“Oh yeah. That’s it,” he said sarcastically.

I stepped away from his desk and called Aunt Stella. No answer, so I left a message. Then I went to see ACB.

Her cell was looking pretty good. I’d venture to say that the Sandy Harbor Jail had the best women’s accommodations of any jail in the United States.

“Trixie, what am I going to do? That damned Marty Butler! I remember him with a face full of acne, chasing Olga Baumgartner. She wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

“I’ll get you out of here, Antoinette Chloe. I already put in a call to Aunt Stella. She’s the one that actually has to bail you out, since everything is in her name.”

She burst into tears. “Thank you.”

“Hopefully everything will fall into place soon.”

“Bless you.” She sniffed.

“I’m going to go now. I have a feeling that I should get home and keep an eye on my squatters.”

*   *   *

I rolled into my usual parking space and saw Chad Dodson entertaining in front of his motor home. About a dozen of the Roving Rubbers were there, and they all seemed to be drinking. Chad was pouring champagne into the flutes of a gaggle of female Rubbers, while others were pulling longnecks from a cooler.

Music was blaring so loud, it felt like it was going to shatter all the glass within a three-mile radius. I might be a party pooper, but I didn’t like the looks of that party in the making. It wasn’t even noon yet.

Tent Town seemed like it was jumping, too. There were Rubbers in groups, also drinking. And more loud rock music was playing.

This wasn’t good. Not for the fishermen, not for
my customers at the diner, and certainly not for the Miss Salmon contestants, who needed their beauty sleep.

First, I marched over to Chad Dodson. “Mr. Dodson, end this . . . ah . . . party, please. It’s too noisy, and I have guests and customers.”

He gave me his usual mocking smile. “I can turn the music down. How’s that?” He lifted his hand into the air and I saw that he was holding a remote. He lowered the music all of two decibels.

“That’s not enough,” I said.

He pushed a button. It barely made a difference.

“Shut it off completely, please.”

There was a collective groan and at least two called me a party pooper.

Such tough talk from a group of chefs.

I waited, hands on hips, until Chad turned off the music.

“Better?” he said.

“Yes.” I walked toward Tent Town, then changed my mind and turned back. “If you don’t like it, you can find another place to park your rig.”

“I’ll have to go to Canada to find a spot.”

“Well, what’s stopping you?” I shrugged. “Oh, that’s right. You have to stay in our little village for further questioning.”

I smiled, and this time
my
smile was smarmy. His disappeared completely.

“And I heard that your pal had her bail set at three million dollars.”

“Oh? How did you hear that?”

“A little bird told me.”

Toxic Waste. He had been there. But why did he find it necessary to tell Chad Dodson?

Were they in cahoots together? My suspicions from the other night when I was taking out the trash were definitely confirmed now.

I turned and stomped over to Tent Town, heading straight for Toxic Waste’s abode. I ran into Mad Dog first. “Where’s the leader of the pack?”

“I don’t know. Something you want me to tell him?”

“Tell him to turn down the music. If I can hear it, it’s too loud. And tell him clean the place up and take the trash to the Dumpsters. My staff isn’t waiting on you.” The wind shifted. “And call to have the toilets emptied, for heaven’s sake. And if Mr. Waste or anyone else doesn’t like it, tell them to hop on their bikes and head out. I hear that there are a couple of spots in Canada.”