Grilled for Murder (12 page)

“My sister-in-law rubbed folks the wrong way. All the time.”

“Apparently. Even Tiffany Porter,” I said.

“You could say that again. The two of them were arguing something fierce last week. Right out on the sidewalk, too. Airing their dirty linen in public.” He looked disgusted. “Normally Tiffany is as smooth as chocolate pudding with all those men she goes out with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody knows Tiffany likes to be shown a good time. She's always at one fancy restaurant or another. And with a different guy every time. Not locals for the most part.”

“I'm not surprised. She's an attractive woman.” I stared out at the rain, then back at Max. “That guy, Vince. When did he arrive in town?”

“What are you asking about him for?” Max narrowed his eyes.

“It seems like a long drive to make. He must have been close to Erica.”

He snorted. “He couldn't stand her, to tell you the truth. He told me he was closer to her husband. Not quite sure why he came down. But he seems like a decent enough guy, and it made Sue and Glen feel warm and fuzzy he made the effort.”

“I guess I'm going to have to trust the police to solve the puzzle of the murder. I sure can't figure it out, at least so far.” I laid my hand on the latch. “Well, I'd better get inside. Thanks for the ride.”

“Not a problem. And I apologize for Paula's outburst yesterday. She's not herself. Anyhow, we know you didn't have anything to do with the murder. Just like none of us did, either.”

Chapter 15

I jabbed the red phone icon that evening, setting my phone on the kitchen table with a little too much force. I glanced at the clock, which already read eight. I'd completely struck out trying to find someone who could work with Danna while I attended the funeral. Adele wanted to go to the service herself, as did Samuel. Jim? I didn't even want to ask him. His real-estate law practice was a busy one.
Shoot. Who else could I call?
I should have started calling earlier, but I'd gotten absorbed in a puzzle while I ate dinner and two hours had slipped away.

On the off chance Phil didn't have to work tomorrow, I pressed his number and said hello after he picked up.

“Phil, I'm in a bind tomorrow. Remember last month when you filled in for me so I could attend Stella's funeral?”

“And tomorrow is Erica's. Sorry, Robbie, but I have a new boss in the music department. She frowns on people taking too much personal time. I'd rather come work with Danna again, but . . . ”

“That's okay. How are you doing, anyway?”

“Well, they forced me to go to the police station again yesterday, which did not make my boss happy, as you can imagine. And the interview was one more sham, one more travesty.” Phil's rich baritone sounded angry. “Once again they let me go, of course. But the ever-vigilant Detective Slade told me not to leave town. She sounded like a bad police show.”

“I'm so sorry. I wish they'd find the actual murderer so we can all relax and get back to normal.”

“Agree a hundred percent. Speaking of normal, I owe you some more desserts. And they're in the oven now.”

“You're a dear.”

“I love doing it, as you know. I'll drop them off early tomorrow.”

I thanked him and hung up. I'd better start training a part-time worker. What if I had to go away somewhere? Which, come to think of it, I was planning to do after Christmas. Or, heaven forbid, what if Danna or I got hurt? Danna. Maybe she had a friend who could help. I pressed her number.

After she greeted me, I said, “Do you happen to have any friends who have experience cooking?”

“Why?”

“I wanted to go to Erica's funeral tomorrow. It's at one o'clock. And I haven't found a substitute.”

“I can handle the restaurant alone,” Danna said.

“If it's quiet, I'm sure you could. But what if we got a rush? There's no way you could manage. And the business is still so new, I don't want any customers to have a bad experience.”

“I guess. Let me think.” She fell silent for a moment. “There's one guy from high school. He liked to cook as much as me.”

“Do you think he's free?”

“Problem. He went away to college. He's back East somewhere. Yale, maybe.”

“And there's nobody else?”

“Nope. I didn't have a big circle of friends in school, and the ones I still hang with think it's weird how much I like making food. They're always getting fast food, or nuking frozen stuff.” I could hear the disgust in her voice.

“I don't suppose Corrine could help out for a couple of hours? I mean, I know she's the mayor, but—”

“Not going to work. Remember? Mom's out of town.”

“Right. I guess I'll skip the service,” I said. “I didn't even know Erica, but Sue seemed to really want me to go.”

“Sorry, dude.”

We disconnected. Maybe I could still make it over to the Berrys' house after the funeral for the reception, or gathering, or whatever Sue had called it. Danna wouldn't mind handling all the cleanup herself. My gaze fell on the bag from Tiffany's. How was I going to work Adele's birthday into the day, too? I thought for a minute, then pressed her number.

We chatted for a couple of minutes before I said: “I'd like to have you and Samuel over for dinner tomorrow. Can you come?”

“Hang on, I'll ask him.” After a few moments of muffled noises, she came back on. “Splendid. What time?”

“Come at six, okay?”

“We'll be there. Love you.”

It would be fun to have Jim join the group, too. But I didn't feel like talking to one more person, so I texted him the invitation, and he texted back almost immediately he would be there with bells on. Whatever that meant. I poured an inch of bourbon into a squat glass and sat again, pulling today's puzzle toward me. Only the bottom left quadrant remained, and I had two of the words. But
an author named Bagnold
had me stumped, as did
an Adriatic peninsula
. I took a sip of the whiskey, savoring the warm, smooth feeling as it went down.
Without rival
was a clue for a four-letter word. I stared at it for a while, finally writing in
lone
.

I gave up on the puzzle for now. After I transferred a load of restaurant laundry from the washer to the dryer, I moved to the computer. I'd set up a Facebook page for the store, which was a pain because now I needed to keep it current all the time. Had I planned a special for tomorrow? I could whip up some apple-spice muffins. Customers loved something a little sweet with their breakfast. I wrote an entry, searched for a public domain picture of a muffin, and put it up with the text. I checked my news feed, but since I spent as little time on social media as possible, I had almost no friends. I noticed the little person icon at the top had a red bubble on it, so I clicked it.
Oh.
Abe O'Neill wanted to be friends.
Cool.
I confirmed it, and almost instantly a message from him appeared down in the right-hand corner.

I typed
, Hi, Abe. Yes, but I can't go. Nobody to help Danna in the restaurant
.

A moment passed, then
I can do it. Wasn't going to go to the funeral, anyway
popped up.

My eyes bugged out.
Really? Do you, um, know how to cook?
I softened the message with a winking emoticon.

You're hired
, I typed.
Come at noon so we can overlap. I'll pay you
. I couldn't believe my good fortune.

 

No pay. C U tomorrow
.

 

Thanks!
I stared at the screen.
What a guy
. I'd have to think of some way to pay him back. Free meals for a week, maybe?

Chapter 16

The apple-spice muffins went together easy as pie the next morning. I slid four pans into the oven, one after another, as Danna strolled in at six thirty.

“Hey, I found somebody to help out this afternoon.” I smiled at her, setting the timer for twenty minutes.

“Who?” After she hung up her coat, Danna slid an apron over her head and tied it, then scrubbed her hands. Her dreads were held back by a multicolored knitted band this morning, and she wore a faded flowered cotton dress over a ribbed sweater and leggings, both in black.

“Abe O'Neill said he'd be happy to,” I said. “And I got the feeling he knows how to cook.”

“Sweet. He's a nice guy. Where do you want me to start?”

“Table setup, then the pancake batter. I already started the coffees.”

She saluted. “Yes, ma'am,” and hoisted the box of silverware rolled in blue cloth napkins.

I erased the Specials blackboard and lettered A
PPLE
-S
PICE
M
UFFINS
onto it, then headed into the cooler for sausage, bacon, and more.

“The rain must have stopped overnight,” I said when I emerged with my arms full of meat, milk, and eggs. Danna hadn't appeared at all wet when she came in.

“It did. It's clear out but it's cold.” She shivered. “Feels like winter.”

I switched on the strings of lights. “Does that help?” I'd forgotten to leave them on all night yesterday.

“It does, sort of.” She laughed. “Those sure look pretty. You did a super nice job with all the decorations.”

“Thanks. So, if your mom is out of town, you're all alone in the house. You okay?”

“I'm cool. Kind of nice to have the place to myself. I can play music as loud as I want without her telling me to turn it down. I've stopped freaking about strange noises, too.” She finished laying the tables and started measuring flour, brown sugar, and other dry ingredients for the pancakes.

Bananas. Oops.
“Darn. I think I forgot to order bananas.” What was up with my brain this week? Too much else on my mind, that was what.

“Don't we have some frozen blueberries? We can make it seem like we planned it that way.” Danna grinned as she strode to the Specials board and added B
LUEBERRY
P
ANCAKES
to it, then drew out a couple of bags of berries from the freezer.

We worked in silence for a few minutes.

“You know, I read something last night you might be interested in,” Danna said, cracking eggs into the mixing bowl.

“What's that?”

“I was noodling around on the Internet, looking for information on Erica.”

“Why?”

“I thought I might find something new. And because her body was in your store.” She beat the eggs with a whisk.

“Did you find anything?”

“Sort of. I saw a column from a Chicago news site speculating her husband didn't commit suicide.” She measured milk into the bowl and then oil. “That he was murdered.”

I felt my eyes go as wide as they got. “You're kidding.”

“No. This guy was actually looking into police corruption. Which they have a real problem with up there, apparently. And the officer who declared Jon Shermer committed suicide was under investigation himself.”

“Did the article say who would have killed Jon? And why?” If it was true, then there was a killer at large in Chicago. But it also might soothe Jim's heart to know his brother didn't cause his own death.

“That's where Erica's name came in. The guy suspected she was having an affair with this unscrupulous officer.”

I tilted my head. “You mean, the writer implied Erica killed her husband?”

“Yeah.” Danna stirred the flour mixture into the liquids and set the beater to rotate on low.

“That's really incredible. Will you send me the link after you get home today?” I asked.

“For shizzle.”

“Huh?”

“Translation: for sure.”

I laughed. “You're making me feel old and I'm only twenty-seven.” I glanced around the store, making sure the tables were ready, and my gaze fell on the garlands. I laid down the knife I was cutting fruit with. “Shoot. The tree.”

“What tree?”

“I cut a Christmas tree on Monday at the place where I got the garlands. But I forgot all about decorating it. It's outside in a bucket of water. I better go check and make sure it isn't dry.” I headed for the service door. It was indeed cold out, and I was only wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt. Once outside, I hugged myself. And then stared.

Where was the tree?
I'd put it in a bucket of water on Monday right here, right beyond the trash cans. There was the bucket. But it was empty.
What?

I strode out and all around the area. Sure enough, pine needles littered the ground around the bucket. I checked around the back at the small brick patio outside the back door of my apartment. No tree. I looked in the barn. No tree. I stomped around to the front porch. No tree.

I couldn't believe it. Who was so small-minded they would steal a Christmas tree? Could anyone be desperate enough to do such a thing? I headed back around the side and slammed the service door behind me. Danna looked up from the griddle where she was turning sausage links.

“What's up?” She frowned.

“Somebody stole the tree. My Christmas tree is gone. The one I cut myself! Someone stole it.” I strode the length of the store and back.

“That totally rips. Who would steal a tree?”

“My sentiments, exactly.” I wanted to grab a cast-iron skillet and throw it on the floor. Which would not help, exactly. I glanced at the clock and swore. It was getting near opening time, so instead I hurried to the sink, washed my hands, and picked up the fruit knife.

“Are you going to call the police about it?” Danna asked, wrinkling her nose.

“I don't have time right now. Buck will probably come in for breakfast, anyway. He usually does.” When the timer dinged, I extracted the pans of muffins. I slid the nutty brown puffs out, grateful as always for the non-stick pans, and lined up the muffins on a cooling rack. I quickly rolled out the prepped biscuit dough and cut out a couple of pans' worth of disks. As I opened the oven door, the bell on the front door jangled. I groaned before looking up to see my regular chess players.

“Morning,” I called, pasting on a smile.

The women, two taciturn senior citizens, said hello and headed for the square table I'd painted with a chessboard. They always brought their own playing pieces in a quilted bag, but I kept a set available for less-particular customers.

After I put the biscuits in the oven, I brought over a pot of coffee and said, “The usual?”

“Yes, please,” the taller one said. A rare smile lit up her deeply lined face. Her build was all angles and she wore salt-and-pepper hair pulled up on top of her head in a bun.

The shorter one, with rounded, rosy cheeks and a sensible cap of snow-white hair, glanced at me.

“Sorry we didn't get in yesterday, hon,” she said. “We heared you was closed. Didn't realize they'd let you open up again, after the murder and whatnot.”

I smiled. “No worries. I'm glad you're here today.”

“Give us a couple of them special muffins, too, would you?” The taller one pointed at the blackboard.

“And a side of bacon,” the other one added.

“You bet.” I bustled off.

The place filled up, and Danna and I didn't get a chance to breathe until eight thirty. Phil dropped off the desserts on his way to work and I barely had time to say hello. A number of customers remarked on how cheery the place looked all decorated. Too bad I didn't have a tree to go with it. A couple of regulars didn't show, but maybe they were simply out of town instead of staying away because of a dead body. Buck ambled in at about eight forty-five carrying a piece of green paper.

I poured his coffee and said, “Don't tell me. You want both specials, two biscuits with apple butter, and two fried eggs with sausage.” I knew his hollow leg as well as my own.

His nod was slower than pouring molasses in the middle of winter. “But first you think I might could pin this here notice up on your bulletin board?” He showed me the paper, which advertised a police department toy drive for needy children. “Does the boss approve?”

“Absolutely. Do you want me to put a big cardboard box under it for toy donations?”

“If you got one, sure. Or we can take and drop one by.” He ambled over to the community bulletin board I'd hung near the door and tacked up the poster.

There was that
take and
phrasing again, which only accentuated that Buck was definitely from around here. It only took a couple of minutes to put together his order. After I set it in front of him, I glanced around the place. Two tables were occupied with hungry townsfolk tucking into their breakfasts and nobody seemed to want anything right now. I sat across from Buck.

“I need to report a theft.”

Buck's eyes went way wide, but he forked in a mouthful of pancakes before answering. “You got burgled?” he mumbled, a speck of blueberry in syrup dribbling down his chin.

“Yes. I cut a Christmas tree on Monday and left it in a bucket of water outside. I went to check it this morning and it's not there. Not anywhere.” I folded my arms. “Who in heck would be so rotten?”

He turned down the corners of his mouth. “That seems downright mean. When's the last time you seen the tree?”

I concentrated. “I don't think I went out there yesterday. We got a delivery, but the guy brought the stuff in. So I guess I haven't seen the tree since Monday.”

“Think the delivery man might coulda taken it?”

“I sure hope not.”

“Give me the name and number of the delivery company. I'll check it out. Don't suppose you can describe the tree?”

I hurried over to my desk and jotted down the information on a slip of paper. I handed it to Buck. “I don't know the name of the variety. But, actually, I ran into Abe O'Neill at the tree farm. He helped me bring it to my car. I can ask him if he knows what kind of tree it was.”

“I'll keep my eye out around town. Except, you know everybody's getting their trees these days. Don't get your hopes up.”

* * *

We experienced another minor rush at nine, but by ten it was quiet again. I carried a load of dishes in my arms and was headed to the sink when I glanced at the wall calendar. Wednesday popped out at me like a pileated woodpecker hammering a dead tree, as Adele was fond of saying. I was supposed to pick up the glass for the door today.

“Danna, I have to run over to the hardware store to pick up the replacement glass for the door. It'll only take me a few minutes. Okay?” I slid the dishes into the sink.

She waved me away. “No probs. I'll get started on lunch prep.”

I thanked her, pulled on my coat, and went out through my apartment so I could grab my bag. Normally I'd walk, but I'd have to haul the glass home, so I hopped in the van and drove the three blocks, which gave my brain enough quietude to let what Danna had said float back up to the surface. Erica by all reports was manipulative and unscrupulous. But to have an affair with a cop, then kill her husband and have the cop cover it up? That was a stretch.

Barb greeted me with a big smile when I walked into Shamrock Hardware.

“Hey, there, Robbie. Everything back to normal now?”

“Pretty much.” I wasn't going to go into details with her, not with a half-dozen town residents milling around inspecting extension cables, picking up boxes of screws, ordering paint.

“What did you decide about the gingerbread log cabin? I'd sure love to see what you come up with.”

I laughed. “Actually, I decided to enter and I baked the walls last night. My friend Phil is going to help me create it Friday night. You said you're good at using icing, didn't you?”

She beamed. “Heck, I'm better at prize-winning roses made out of sugar than the Queen of England. You just call on me, hon.”

“Perfect. I might have to.” I high-fived her.

“You know you got to use royal icing to glue it all together. Sugar and egg whites.”

“Got it. Any idea if my glass is ready? I guess I should have called first.”

“Go on back and ask Don. He's the one who knows.”

I thanked her and headed to the rear of the store where Don was on the phone. He held up a hand, signaling for me to wait, so I stood there, hoping it wouldn't take long. The restaurant could get another flood of customers at any moment.

I snapped my fingers. I'd meant to bring the tool thingy in and ask Don what it was. I strolled over to the tools area and strolled down the aisle, peering at the selection of screwdrivers and drills. There were wrenches large and small, and pliers from needlenose to vise-grips. Nothing that matched what I'd found, though.

“Robbie?” Don called.

I turned around to see him holding a large flat package wrapped in brown paper. “Here's your glass, and you already paid for it. You got your putty, your glazing points, your glazing tool?”

“I'm all set, thanks.”

“Assuming you drove on over?” When I nodded, he went on. “I'll carry it out for you.”

“Thanks.”

After he'd carefully laid the glass on the floor in the back of the van, he straightened. “How are things going, you know, with the murder and all?”

“I don't know anything. Except they haven't caught the killer. And somebody stole my Christmas tree from outside the store.”