Breezy Spoon Diner Box Set Collection

by Tracey Quinn

  “That's not what I heard from Charlene.”

  “Charlene's getting close to becoming my next murder victim!” I laughed.

  Tammy placed a jar of peach preserves on the counter in front of me. “Anything else you need?” she asked. “Anything for the diner.... or for Brendan?”

  It was my turn to put my hands on my hips. “Why don't you just ask Brendan?”

  “Now, don't start on me, Dani!”

  Tammy finally divorced her husband Pete three years ago after putting up with his cheating ways for twenty years, and soon after I hired Brendan, he and Tammy began seeing each other. They were even starting to talk about marriage, but now Tammy had backed away from Brendan because of her children.

  Her twins, Shannon and Jason, were both in college, and while Jason liked and looked up to Brendan and was all in favor of his relationship with Tammy, Shannon was dead set against it. She was still holding out hope that her parents would get back together, mainly because she hated Pete's new girlfriend and fought constantly with her, and thought that if Tammy and Pete reunited it would mean no more new girlfriend. Of course Tammy doesn't want to alienate her only daughter so it's all a big mess.

  “I think it's crazy to throw away a relationship with a good man just because Shannon doesn't want you to move on with your life,” I said.

  “I know,” Tammy groaned. “I don't want it to be this way!”

  “Then at least talk to Brendan. You know how much he cares about you.”

  “I will! I just want to give it a little time; Shannon's going through a lot with college and with Pete's new girlfriend, and I don't want to rush things.”

  I disagreed with this approach, but I had also disagreed when Tammy had stuck with Pete, a serial womanizer, until the twins had finished high school because she wanted them to grow up with an intact family life. I didn't think that kind of stress and misery could be hidden from the kids, but ultimately it wasn't my call, just like it wasn't my call about Brendan, either.

  “Look, I'll make a deal with you,” I said. “If you agree to talk to Brendan, I'll agree to stop throwing dead bodies in the dumpster.”

  “Okay, you've got a deal,” Tammy laughed.

  That evening I was setting the table for dinner when Mark came in carrying the microwave popcorn, Cokes and some chocolate syrup.

  “Just put those on the counter,” I said. “What's the chocolate syrup for?”

  “I like chocolate Coke and they don't make it,” he replied, “so I just put chocolate syrup in my Coke. I've had cherry Coke, lime Coke, even cherry vanilla Coke, but for some reason they don't make chocolate Coke. I wonder why not?”

  “Maybe they can't figure it out,” I said, as I took the meatloaf and potatoes out of the oven.

  “Well, they should,” he replied. “What are they spending all their money on otherwise? I should write them a letter of complaint.”

  “Well, if a letter from a random fireman in East Spoon Creek City doesn't get them started on it, I don't know what would.”

  Mark sat down at the table and regarded me thoughtfully. “Your hair is different and you don't have any make-up on,” he said.

  “Your eyebrows have grown back and you have a freckle under your right ear,” I said. “Is this some kind of game where we list things that we've just noticed about each other? I'd just as soon eat now and play the next round later, if you don't mind.”

  “No,” he laughed, “it's just that you look different without make-up. Younger and cuter.”

  “Well,” I responded, “you look different with eyebrows. You don't look startled all the time. Please pass the green beans.”

  “Okay, one slice of meatloaf or two?”

  “I'll start with one,” I replied. “By the way, how did you get your eyebrows burned off?”

  “That would be thanks to Edna Carswell, the town drunk,” he replied. “Apparently she likes to down a bottle of whiskey, go to bed and light a cigarette. When she notices that the bed's on fire, she calls 911 and lays there till someone comes to rescue her. This time it was me. I had gotten her out of her room, down the steps and out the door when she said, 'You got the cat out of the closet, didn't you?' I said, 'There's a cat in your closet? Why didn't you tell me?' and she said, 'You're the fireman, you should have asked.' So I went back up, got the mangy cat that didn't want to be rescued and got one of my eyebrows scorched off in the process.”

  “I'm sorry,” I said. “Edna Carswell is a very strange lady. When she's sober she's really very nice; she's just not sober very often. But you said only one eyebrow was scorched off; what happened to the other one?”

  “Well, once I got the cat of of the closet and wrapped the darn thing in a sheet while it's going crazy the whole time because it didn't want to be disturbed, I had just got it to the door when I thought I heard a cat meow. I went to Edna Carswell and said, 'I thought I heard a cat. Do you have another cat up there?' and she said no. I went a few more steps away when she said 'Well, there's those kittens. Maybe that's what you heard.' 'Kittens?' I said, 'Where are they?' 'They're in the bathtub, of course,' she said, 'All four of them.' So I handed her cat over to the EMT's and went back and rescued the kittens. Obviously you can't do much to put a fire out until you get everyone out of the house so the flames were pretty aggressive by time I got out of there. Goodbye eyebrow number two. By the way, if you start laughing with your mouth full you'll probably choke and pass out and the food will get cold.”

  “I'm so sorry,” I said, trying to stifle my laughter. “It isn't funny except, well, it's kinda funny.”

  Mark grinned. “Actually it is sort of funny after the fact, but not so much while you're going through it. This meatloaf is really good; it's too bad Brendan isn't still cooking at the firehouse, although Tim Donahue was doing okay until he discovered hot peppers.”

  “Want me to make you a couple of meatloaf sandwiches to take for lunch tomorrow in case he's discovered the Ghost Pepper?” I asked. “We're not going to be able to finish all this.”

  “That would be great,” Mark said. “I'm afraid to ask, but what's a Ghost Pepper?”

  “It's supposed to be the hottest pepper there is,” I said. “I don't know why anyone would eat one, but apparently they do. Personally, I prefer food that isn't painful.”

  “Same here,” he said. “Speaking of scary food, I stopped in at Sammy's Bar for lunch when I first moved here.”

  “Oh, no!” I said. “Didn't anyone warn you about Sammy's?”

  “Not in time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I just ordered a burger and a beer. I took one bite of the burger and it was totally encrusted with salt so I took a gulp of the beer and started to gag,” he said. “The big guy that works there hurried over. I thought he was going to Heimlich me but instead he offered me a bottle of water for $5.”

  “Oh, that would be Bildad,” I said. “He's Sammy's janitor, bouncer, sometimes bartender and who knows what else. Most bars have salty beer nuts or pretzels to get people to buy more drinks, but Sammy coats all the food with salt, too. The problem with the beer is that he adds his own moonshine concoction because he thinks the customers will like it better. Of course, that makes the alcohol level go through the roof, so people get drunk faster and they end up buying less beer. After all these years Sammy hasn't figured it out. Have you ever gone into his so-called lounge?”

  “You mean 'Hotters' which is supposed to be a Hooters knock-off only the waitresses are all on Social Security? he responded. “I looked in but thought I'd pass.”

  “You mean you weren't attracted by the short skirts and the plunging necklines?” I asked.

  “Please,” he said, “I'm eating.”

  “By the way, don't ever try to play pool there,” I warned. “When Bildad fights with his wife he sleeps overnight on the pool tables at Sammy's. If you expect the top of a pool table to be level when you play, Sammy's isn't the place for it.”

  “Good to know,” he replied
, “although I don't plan to spend much time at Sammy's. Where's Bildad from? He had an accent that I didn't recognize.”

  “That's a good question. He always says he's from the islands, but he never says which islands. He's married to a woman names Shua or Teela depending on when you ask her. She's a pretty little woman who seems angry a lot. I suppose being married to Bildad would account for that. She goes around wearing sarongs, so I would guess the islands must be somewhere warm.”

  “I think there might be someone in the Bible named Bildad,” said Mark, “but I don't remember anything about him.”

  “Speaking of the Bible, have you been to the local church yet?” I asked.

  “No, I haven't even been able to figure out what denomination it is.”

  I laughed. “Well, you'll never figure that one out,” I said. “The town is too small for any particular denomination to want to build a church here, so years ago the town council members decided to build one big church. They let members of each denomination have one hour each Sunday for their services. They go in alphabetical order so no one can complain of favoritism.”

  “You mean like, Anglicans, then Baptists, Buddhists, Catholics, etc.?” he asked as he got up to get some coffee.

  “Yes, it's all the denominations all the way down to Z. We had a young guy who was a Zoroastrian for a while until he got tired of it. Every month they all get together and have a pot luck dinner, which works out okay because they all agree not to discuss religion.”

  “I think I'll just keep reading the Bible at home till I figure it out,” he said.

  “Probably the best idea,” I agreed. “If you're finished I'll just clear up here and make some fudge and we can watch the movie.”

  “Make fudge?” he asked. “Isn't that going to take about an hour?'

  “Microwave fudge,” I answered. “Three minutes. A bag of chocolate chips, a can of condensed milk, a cup of peanut butter, one and a half to two minutes in the microwave, and that's it.”

  “Sounds good,” he said, “I'll clear the table if we go 50-50 on the fudge.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  Later when we had just sat down on the sofa to watch the movie, the phone rang.

  “Are you going to get that?” Mark asked.

  “No,” I said. “Whoever it is can leave a message. Spectre is pretty long so we'd better get started.”

  Then I heard my Dad's voice leaving the message. “Hi, sweetie, just Dad letting you know that your Mother and I have found a wonderful place to buy a vacation home for all of us! The real estate agent said that this area is an undiscovered treasure and that building a house would be dirt cheap. Coincidentally he has a brother-in-law that builds houses so he could get us a tremendous discount, and we could get in on the ground floor of a housing boom!

  “Mom and I are going to take the camper there and spend a few days before making our final decision, so we'll let you know what we decide. It's a little known area in south Nevada not far from the California border called Death Valley. Now, don't let the name scare you; the real estate agent explained that it was named that back in the day when people were more superstitious, still believing in the bogey man and all that, which is why the land is still cheap and undeveloped. Well, I've talked too long and I want to save the battery in my phone. Don't bother to call back because I'm turning the phone off now. Love you, sweetheart.”

  I almost knocked over the coffee table as I tried to get to the phone before he hung up, but I was too late.

  “A camper in Death Valley; that sounds like fun,” Mark said.

  “Dad's always looking for a spot for a great vacation home where he and Mom can spend their golden years, but he's determined to do it on the cheap.” Just then the phone rang again and I answered immediately. “Dad?”

  “Nope, just me,” came Bob's voice from the other end. “I guess you got the message too. I just wanted to tell you not to worry about it. All of the money is in both Mom and Dad's names so Dad can't sign anything without her agreeing. You can't possibly thing that Mom would let him buy a house in Death Valley; she always puts the brakes on his ideas when they get too weird. Besides, it gets to 125 degrees in Death Valley and the air conditioning in their nice tin RV isn't going to be able to stay ahead of that. They'll be out of there in ten minutes.”

  “You're right,” I replied. “Thanks, Bob. I appreciate your being the voice of reason.”

  “No problem,” he said. “So go back to making out with Mark and forget about it.”

  “Mark doesn't want to make out,” I said, “he wants to watch James Bond shoot people. Love you, Bob.”

  “Love you, too,” he said as he hung up.

  “Wait a minute,” Mark cried. “Who says I don't want to make out? I didn't know that was one of the options.”

  “Well, it's not,” I said. “It went out the window before dinner when you were criticizing me for not wearing make-up and for having my hair in a braid.”

  “I beg your pardon!” he protested. “I was not criticizing you; I said I thought you looked cute. I like the way you look without make-up.”

  “And I think you look cute with or without eyebrows,” I said. “Maybe we should watch the movie?”

  “If making out is off the table, then we might as well,” he said as he reached for the remote.

  Part way through the movie I started feeling that my pillow was too hard. I turned this way and that but I still couldn't get comfortable. Finally I started punching it to soften it up.

  “What in the world are you doing?” Mark shouted indignantly. I opened my eyes; I must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it. We were sitting on the sofa, the movie was paused and Mark was holding both my wrists.

  “Oh, I guess I fell asleep against your shoulder,” I said, blinking. “I, uh, thought you were a pillow and I was punching it to make it softer. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

  “No, I'm not. I'll probably have horrible bruises in the morning, and I may never be able to work again. I might have to call the sheriff and charge you with assault and battery. Also you drooled on my shirt sleeve. ”

  “I'll wash your precious shirt and I'll give you some Tiger Balm.”

  “Will you rub it on?”

  “No. Will you rewind the movie? How much did I miss?”

  “Only about 15 minutes,” he said. “I'll tell you what happened.”

  “But I want to see it.”

  “They were mostly just talking in the office. You didn't miss any action.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But if you don't rewind I'll probably pout and sigh a lot. I hope it won't be distracting to you.”

  He hit rewind.

  Chapter 6

  The next day was one of those days when you question whether there are any sane people left in the world. If there were, I'm pretty sure they didn't live in East Spoon Creek City. It started at about 5:30 in the morning; Brendan was elbow deep in ground pork and spices, mixing his special homemade sausage links and I was making the honey butter to go on the waffles when we heard shouting from the street in front of the diner.

  I went to the front door and saw old Rafe Duval, the town's most cantankerous troublemaker, hammering a sign into the grass by the sidewalk that ran along The Breezy Spoon's front window. A crowd of about a dozen or so of our early morning customers had surrounded the cantankerous troublemaker, disputing angrily with him, and in the middle of the fray stood a tall, handsome young man whom I didn't recognize, who was dressed in a deputy sheriff's uniform.

  The deputy was waving his handcuffs above his head and loudly reciting statutes and ordinances which were being violated by the crowd, which was doing nothing to calm them down. I slipped out the door and looked at the sign which Rafe had planted in front of the diner. It read “Danger! Murderers Inside! Innocent Boy Jailed! You Could Be Next! Keep Away!”

  “Everyone up against the wall!” the deputy shouted above the din. “You have the right to remain silent!”

  I was just thin
king that it would be nice if everyone exercised that right, when Sheriff Wilkerson pulled up in front of the diner in the patrol car.

  “Rafe Duval, what do you think you're doing?” he shouted as he opened the door. “Get that sign out of here! And Brian, put those cuffs away!”

  “But Sheriff, I'm arresting them all for disorderly conduct!” the deputy protested.

  “No, you're not! Rafe! I said get that sign down!”

  “I got freedom of speech!” yelled Rafe. “And if you done your duty, you'd have locked up the bitch that framed my son and got him put in jail! She's probably the one that killed that man with the pie on his face and throwed him in the dumpster like trash, too!”

  Rafe Duval's precious son Lloyd was serving a prison sentence for manslaughter after he killed a man in a bar fight four years ago. He would have been released by now for good behavior, but the behavior wasn't that good, so he had a few more years before he could get out. Lloyd was married to Kitty Benson, a shy, sweet girl who had made the mistake of marrying him when she was only 18. Before she was 18 and a half she had learned two important facts: one, that she was pregnant, and two, that Lloyd was a loud-mouthed bully who could be violent when he was drinking, which was most of the time. Kitty's parents were happy to take her back home and get her away from Lloyd, and by the time she was 19 she was a divorced mother of a darling baby boy named Timmy.

  Lloyd's father Rafe insisted that his son was innocent of the bar fight killing and that he was just covering for Kitty. Lloyd claimed that Kitty, who was 5'2” and weighed about 90 lbs soaking wet, beat a man to death with her bare fists in a dive bar in Pumpkin City, and Rafe had decided to believe the story. The fact that Kitty was actually in the hospital at the time giving birth to his grandson didn't change his mind.

  Kitty's parents scraped up enough money to hire a lawyer who got Lloyd to sign away his parental rights, which wasn't hard since Lloyd didn't want to have to pay child support when he got out anyhow. His comment at the time was, “The bastard probably ain't mine anyway.”