Breezy Spoon Diner Box Set Collection

by Tracey Quinn

  It was almost two in the afternoon and I had just finished writing the dinner specials on the menu board. We were featuring skillet roasted chicken, mashed potatoes with Parmesan and chives, sesame green beans, sweet potato rolls, and German chocolate cheesecake. I was reaching up to hang the menu board on the hooks when I felt an iron glove clamp around my biceps. I hadn't felt such pain since I tried the blood pressure machine at the drugstore, which is why I quit taking my blood pressure.

  “Yep, you've got the goods, Sunshine,” I heard a voice say as my arm was released seconds before I probably would have passed out. I turned and saw a rather large, sturdy-looking woman with blonde pigtails standing beside me, looking me up and down.

  “Hey, I'm Pollyanna. Nice to meet you, kid,” the woman boomed, grabbing my hand and shaking it violently. “You must be Dani O'Shea, right?”

  “Er, right,” I said. I had never met Pollyanna before but I knew who she was; Sammy Brown had met her at a women's wrestling show in Kettletown a few months ago where she was wrestling in the main event. He fell in love with her after he saw her performance that night and she fell in love with him after she saw the financial records for Sammy's Lounge and Gentlemen's Club. Within a couple of weeks she became his third wife and business partner.

  “Great! I've got a business deal for you that you're gonna love!” Pollyanna said. “Got a minute to talk?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Why don't we sit over there in a booth. Would like something to eat or drink?”

  “Well, some coffee and one of those caramel pecan rolls would be nice. Actually, make it two of the rolls.”

  Pollyanna downed her coffee and rolls with a gusto that I had previously seen only on nature videos involving lions and zebras, then wiped her mouth on a napkin and said, “Here's what I wanted to run by you; I just came up with a plan for how we both can make a killing at this city fair thing they're putting on. Sammy says the Lounge always sponsors a booth and he's not very creative so he just has a kissing booth every year.”

  “Uh, not to be insulting, but do a lot of women line up to kiss Sammy?” I asked.

  She laughed and said, “Oh, no, he's not that dumb! He's dumber; he always has Dora Crenshaw in the booth.”

  Dora Crenshaw is one of the two waitresses who work at “Hotters”, Sammy's Gentlemen's Club. Dora and Priscilla Henley are both in their sixties, wear low cut shirts with push up bras struggling against gravity, very short skirts that barely cover the thongs that they wear over incontinence underpants, fish net stockings and shapeless black comfort shoes. Top it all off with about an inch of pancake make-up, false eyelashes and wigs and you have the “Hotters Girls”.

  “Does the booth make any money?”

  “Well, I hear it made a dollar last year when Cooter James lost a bet, but otherwise, not a dime,” she replied. “That's why I've decided to deep-six the kissing booth and put on a wrestling show! Of course, I'd need someone to wrestle and I think you'd fill the bill. You have a one piece swimming suit, don't you?”

  “Well, I have a tankini, but I don't think--”

  “Good Lord, girl, you couldn't wear a tankini in a wrestling ring! You need something skin-tight! Don't you have something spandex?”

  I try to avoid spandex at all costs, but I didn't think there was any point in telling Pollyanna that. “Gee, that sounds like fun,” I lied, “but the Breezy Spoon has a booth at the city fair too, and I'll be so busy there that I just wouldn't have time to wrestle.”

  “I hear ya. Business is business after all,” Pollyanna said. “I guess I'll have to find somebody else. Sammy suggested Al Sholes wife, Noreen, but that's just because he hates her and wants to see me beat the stuffing out of her. ”

  Noreen is a snobby social climber whose condescending attitude has rubbed a lot of people in town the wrong way. “Everyone in town would pay to see that,” I said.

  “They wouldn't have to,” Pollyanna said, as she got up to leave. “I'd do it for free.”

  As I returned to the counter to finish the dinner specials I saw Dorcas Hodge waddling toward the door with her six year old son Mutt Jr. beside her. Dorcas's father, Harvey Loggins, is a local dairy farmer that supplies the Breezy Spoon with milk and cheese. The Loggins family lives way out in the country and they don't come into town often, which is fine by most folks in town. It's not that we don't like the Loggins family, it's that we don't like Mutt Jr. Think of him as the meanest, smallest tornado you ever saw and you get the idea. Dorcas dotes on the little mischief machine, which only makes things worse, so no one was sad that they don't visit East Spoon Creek City more.

  As Dorcas started through the door of the Breezy Spoon, Mutt Jr. tried to get through the door ahead of her which resulted in their both being wedged in the doorway. Dorcas was laughing and calling him a little rascal and he was calling her a fat bitch as he struggled to get in. Just as I thought I was going to have to call for the jaws of life, Mutt Jr. broke through and ran for one of the stools in front of the counter. He jumped up and began spinning around in circles, kicking the tiled front of the counter viciously with each rotation. He seemed to have a gun in his pocket and it wasn't plastic.

  “Hi, Dani,” Dorcas said, ignoring the little twerp as she sat down at a table. “We brought up them dresses that Daddy said you could use. I told Mutt to put them in the back seat of your car. I hope that's okay.”

  About a month ago Harvey Loggins had overheard me joking about how I didn't own many dresses since I wear a uniform most of the time, and it took it seriously. He decided to have Dorcas bring me some of her dresses that she had outgrown. Outgrown was a tactful way of saying that she had put on 200 pounds of what he referred to as baby fat after Mutt Jr. was born.

  “It sure is, Dorcas. It was really nice of you to give them to me,” I said as I was trying to remember where the closest Goodwill was located. “By the way, is that a toy gun that Mutt Jr. has in his pocket?”

  She laughed. “No, he wanted something that looked real, so we were over at the flea market in Kettletown and Daddy saw this gun that was really a cigarette lighter so he got it for him. Mutt Jr. just loves him a good fire. Last year when he climbed all the way up the ladder to the barn loft and set the hay on fire, I knew he was going to grow up to be a fireman! Your friend Mark is a fireman and I been wondering if he'd like to mentor Mutt Jr; you know, show him the ropes and all that?”

  “Well, I'll be sure to ask him about that,” I replied. “I imagine Mutt Jr. is going to get to know a lot of firemen if he stays in town long. Uh, do you plan to stay in town long?”

  “We're staying with your Grandma and Grandpa O'Shea for a couple three days so that we can take Mutt Jr. to the fair.”

  Mutt Jr. was spinning faster on the stool now and his kicking against the front of the counter was getting louder. Brendan came out from the kitchen and said, “Say, sonny, I've got some chalk here. How would you like to go outside and draw on the sidewalk?”

  Mutt Jr. grabbed the chalk and said, “Yeah, I'm gonna draw dirty pictures and dirty words all over your stupid sidewalk!”

  “Have at it, kid,” Brendan said as he returned to the kitchen.

  Dorcas laughed. “Ain't kids something? That little guy has folks in stitches every time he opens his mouth! He's very advanced for his age, y'know; his teacher even told me he was special.”

  Just then a big pickup truck with dried mud splattered all across its sides pulled into the lot outside.

  “Well, I'd best get going,” Dorcas said. “Looks like Mutt Senior's back from delivering a load of pumpkins to McGee's Market. Say, Dani, d'you figure ol' Gene McGee done away with that Duval fellow like everyone says? Gene always seems so nice and has such good prices on canned goods. Me, I don't see how a man who'll give you canned beets two-for-a-dollar could turn around and murder a fellow in cold blood.”

  “No, I don't think he did, Dorcas,” I agreed. “Lloyd made a lot of enemies and the sheriff has a lot of suspects that he's investigating.”


  “I bet he has. If it were me I'd check into them two fellas from the glove factory.”

  “The glove factory in Kettletown? What two guys?” I wasn't sure if Dorcas knew something or if this had something to do with the price of beets.

  “Oh, I expect you didn't hear about it,” Dorcas said. “It was when we was in town last; we was walking down the street to where the truck was parked when Mutt Jr. had to tinkle and just couldn't wait. So we sent him down an alley to do his business and me and Mutt Sr. were just talking and waiting; well, the next thing you know we heard Mutt Jr. laughing and, sure enough, he'd started a little fire in the alley with his new lighter gun! Don't that beat all?” Dorcas laughed heartily and slapped her knee.

  “It sure does, but what about the guys from the glove factory?” I prompted.

  “Well, Mutt Sr. went down the alley to put the fire out and while I was waiting I saw Lloyd Duval come out of a building across the street. I guess he had just given one of them speeches that he gives, for folks were walking out and he was shaking their hands and such. But then these last two fellas come out and they start talking to him after the rest of the folks left. Pretty soon the talking turns to shouting and Lloyd Duval is telling them to go away and never come back! Well, the two of them get right up in his face and the older fella pokes Mr. Duval in the chest. Mr. Duval didn't take kindly to that and he grabbed the fella by the front of his shirt and just about lifted him off the ground! Then the younger fella takes a swing at him; can you imagine?”

  “That's really shocking,” I said. “Could you make out what they were saying?”

  “Can't say I was listening too closely, but when they started in with the scuffling I'd seen enough! I wasn't gonna put up with that kind of violence in front of a gentle child like Mutt Jr.! I hollered right out that I was gonna call the sheriff on them if they didn't stop that instant! Mutt Sr. had finished taking a whiz on the fire to put it out, and he came out to see what the shouting was about, so those two fellas saw they weren't going to get away with any of that rough stuff, and they ran off to their van and lit out of there. It said Kettletown Glove Factory right on the side of the van, it did.”

  A wheezing honk sounded from the truck outside. Dorcas waved impatiently at the window. “Well, I reckon we'll be moving on; your grandma is probably getting dinner ready by now. Anyhow, I hope the sheriff don't arrest Gene McGee. We're just about out of canned beets and I don't figure to pay 75 cents for them in Pumpkin City.”

  I said goodbye and went back to the kitchen, where Brendan was mashing potatoes. “I need to leave a little early today,” I said. “Can you cover for me til the end of the shift?”

  “Sure, where are you going?” Brendan asked.

  “Uh, Dorcas gave me some dresses and I need to bring them to Miss Pat to have her take them in for me.”

  “Dani, Dani, Dani, you're in a relationship now,” Brendan said, shaking his head. “You've really got to learn how to lie better than that. Don't you think that the sheriff can do a better job investigating the glove factory that you can?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm sure that if Sheriff Wilkerson weren't too busy dragging Gene McGee off to face the firing squad, he could do a great job.”

  “I must have missed the article in the Gazette about East Spoon Creek City hiring a firing squad.”

  “You know what I mean. Anyway, if you can still see to finish the mashed potatoes with your nose stuck in my business, I'll get going.”

  As I walked out the front door I saw Dorcas watching as Mutt Sr. wrestled his monster son into the truck. Dorcas was laughing again. “Look at that,” she said to me. “Mutt Jr. has an imaginary friend now and he writes his name everywhere. See how many times he's wrote 'Bucko'?”

  Imaginary friend or familiar spirit? I wondered. Bucko had indeed been written all over the sidewalk, but the B looked a lot like an F and the O looked a lot like a U. Everything seemed so nice in Dorcas's world. I just hoped she didn't wake up one day with the house burning down around her.

  Brendan stuck his head the door as they drove away and looked over the sidewalk.

  “It's supposed to say Bucko,” I said.

  “Whatever you say,” he replied. “I'll get the hose.”

  In a few minutes I was on the highway heading for Kettletown. Pumpkin City, East Spoon Creek City and Kettletown are only about 20 miles apart in distance but about a million miles apart in other ways. Pumpkin City is made up of mostly middle class families who are community conscious. It has a mall, nice parks, sports fields and a large beach on the lake that separates the town from East Spoon Creek City. The schools are good, the hospital is up to date and business is booming. Kettletown on the other hand, is nothing but a few aging factories surrounded by boarding houses and run-down strip malls. People who started out in East Spoon Creek City drifted to Pumpkin City if they were looking for more opportunities than we offered. People who wanted a more Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome atmosphere headed for Kettletown. The people who wanted to live in a town that hadn't changed much since it was founded and probably never would stuck around in East Spoon Creek City.

  The glove factory was really just a big warehouse with a rusty corrugated metal roof, which sat behind a gas station by the highway. As I pulled into the parking lot I noticed black smoke billowing out a large chimney at the back of the building. I wondered what a factory that just makes gloves would have to burn. I went in the front door and saw a desk marked “reception” where a young woman in shorts and a tank top was standing with one foot on a stool and shaving her leg with an electric razor.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “my name is Dani O'Shea. Could I see the owner?”

  “Sure, but you don't need to see Maurice to get a job here. I can give you an application as soon as I finish.” She nodded towards the razor. “ Just fill it out and you can start working today.”

  “Thanks, but I wanted to talk to the owner about one of his trucks that may have been stolen,” I said. “It was seen in East Spoon Creek City last week and I thought he might like to know about it.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said. “His office is at the top of the stairs, but remember if you're ever looking for work, we're always hiring.”

  I went up the stairs and found the door to an office with the words “Maurice Sharp, Owner and General Manager'. I knocked and heard someone say, “Yeah, come in.”

  Sitting behind a large desk was a short middle aged man with oily salt-and-pepper hair and an unshaven face. He had a stack of what appeared to be time cards in front of him and was working on an ancient adding machine. He peered at me over his reading glasses and said, “You're hired. Go on down to the factory floor and tell the manager I sent you. Minimum wage and we deduct the cost of your uniform from your paycheck. You can fill out the application after you get off work.”

  “Actually I'm not looking for a job,” I said. “One of your trucks was seen by someone over in East Spoon Creek City last week. Apparently two men accosted a man named Lloyd Duval and drove off in a glove factory truck when a witness intervened. I thought you'd want to know.”

  Maurice took off his glasses, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Who are you, a friend of Duval?” he snapped.

  “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself,” I said. “My name is Dani O'Shea and I own the Breezy Spoon Diner in East Spoon Creek City. I'm not a friend of Lloyd Duval but as a business owner like yourself, I thought I should inform you that your truck was used in a way that might affect your reputation with-”

  “Gimme a break,” Maurice cut in. “Maybe the part about your name is right but the rest is a load of crap.”

  Rats! Brendan was right. I had to learn how to be a better liar. Maybe there was a YouTube video that would help.

  “I don't know what your game is, lady,” Maurice continued, “but if you're here looking for a payout, you're out of luck! Get outta my office!”

  “I didn't come here for money
-”

  “Didn't I just tell you to leave?!”

  “Okay, I'll leave. I thought you'd prefer to handle this privately, but if not then I'll call my brother who's the deputy sheriff and tell him about the incident. You can talk to him about it instead.”

  Maurice's eyes narrowed and he scowled at me, biting his lip. Finally he said, “Okay, so I went out with my son Todd to see one of them lectures that Lloyd Duval was giving, and we had a little dust up afterwards; no big deal. What's it to you?”

  “What was the fight about?” I asked.

  “It was about Lloyd Duval being a lousy lying, thieving, no-good sack of garbage who stole $15,000 from me!” Maurice snarled. “You wanna know what kinda guy your friend was?”

  “He wasn't my friend-”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't talk, just listen,” he said. “About six years ago Lloyd Duval worked for me here at the factory. After he had been here about three months he broke into my office after hours and stole the cash for the payroll. He knew I had the money in my safe, so he and his partner busted in and cut the whole damn safe out of the wall and drove away with it!”

  That sounded like a very Lloyd Duval thing to do. “Couldn't the police catch him and get the money back?” I asked.

  “Aw, they were useless!” Maurice whined, waving his hand dismissively. “They said I couldn't prove it was him! I had footage of them on the security cameras in the parking lot but they were wearing masks and the car they used wasn't Lloyd's; sure, one was a big burly dude just like Lloyd and sure, Lloyd didn't come in to work the next day, but the cops searched his place and didn't find the money or any evidence to link him to the robbery, so tough luck for me! Then a week later he gets arrested for killing some drunk in a bar up in Pumpkin City, and once the cops here see that he's going to prison for a long time they don't bother to investigate him anymore! What am I paying taxes for anyway?!”

  “What about his accomplice? Couldn't they find him?”

  “Nah, he didn't work here; he was just someone Lloyd knew and without Lloyd the cops couldn't get any leads on the other dude.”