Frying The Knot (Patty Cakes Bake Shop Cozy Mystery Series Book 4)

by Holly Plum

  “But I am inside the building!" Mr. Chun yelled, nearly exploding with rage. “What kind of madness is this?”

  “You weren’t in line,” Chrissy reminded him, her voice becoming so quiet with each new outburst that by now it was scarcely audible. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Only those who were inside the building, and in line, will be seated. We apologize for the inconvenience, but there just isn't enough room.”

  “Let me talk to your manager,” Mr. Chun demanded, and pushed past Chrissy before she could stop him. But at that moment José Ramirez came striding out of his office, his sleeves rolled up as though he was getting ready for a fight.

  “I demand an apology for my mistreatment,” Mr. Chun said to Mr. Ramirez. Families at all tables turned to look at the two headstrong men. “I demand an apology and your famous churro deluxe platter.”

  “You’ll never get it,” José snidely answered. “You’d love that recipe, wouldn’t you? You've spent spies into my restaurant one too many times to steal my recipes. How dare you come in here and demand a seat at one of my tables. Don't you have any of your own customers to feed?”

  "You apologize now, or I'll tell all of these nice people about the time you had mice in your kitchen," Mr. Chun threatened.

  "You were the one who put them there!" José shouted in response, his cheeks turning bright red.

  “You can't prove that!” Mr. Chun placed his hands on his hips.

  "But I sure as habanero can kick you out of my restaurant!" José attempted to yell his response even louder.

  By now silence had fallen over the whole room, unbroken even by the sounds of cutlery hitting plates. Turning to face the diners, Mr. Chun pointed one menacing finger into the air and said, “I’m amazed at all of you, eating so cheerfully when a murder was committed in this very room not twelve hours ago. Someone answer me this question: why were the police parked outside all morning? Is it because they suspect that someone who works at this rest—”

  But Mr. Chun never finished the question. A quick blow to the face sent him spiraling to the floor. Alarmed, Mari and Mateo ran Mr. Ramirez, grabbing his arms as he lunged forward.

  “Dad, it’s not worth it,” Mari said. “You really will go to jail.”

  “I don’t care,” her dad snarled. “I’ve been putting up with this for too many years.”

  Paula Ramirez, Mari's mother, came running to the front of the restaurant. It was the first time Mari had seen her since Steve’s murder. Giving her husband a scolding look, she glared at the two men.

  “Let me deal with this, Mari,” Paula muttered. She turned to Mr. Chun. “Get out of here before I call the police.”

  "That's right," Mr. Ramirez added, "and—"

  "Not so fast, José," Paula cut in. "You should be ashamed of yourself punching people in the middle of our restaurant. Both of you quit acting like children." Paula nodded, matter-of-factly.

  If anyone had reason to call the police, Mari reflected, it was Mr. Chun. But he was too busy rubbing his jaw and making sure all his teeth were still in place to bother with legalities. Mari’s mom was the one person he had never been able to argue with. Mari had often wondered if he secretly had a thing for her.

  “Leave before this escalates any further,” Paula said again.

  With slumped shoulders, Mr. Ramirez turned and walked back to his office. Mr. Chun folded his arms as he watched his opponent leave in surrender.

  "This isn't over, José," Mr. Chun mumbled angrily.

  "Ay dios mio, Mr. Chun," Paula responded, shooing him away. "Don't be such a Peking Duck."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  By the next morning, Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant had gone somewhat back to normal. The police had shown up shortly after Mr. Chun had walked out of the restaurant the night before, and had spent another hour interviewing him and Mr. Ramirez separately. Mari heard from Chrissy, who had heard it from her roommate who had briefly dated Mr. Chun’s daughter the year before, that Mr. Chun had declined to press charges.

  Mari spent the morning dealing with the continued fallout from Steve Wilson’s death. The fact that the only meat-deliverer in town had been killed meant that there was no longer anyone in town to order meat from. The three people Mari had called from neighboring towns had seemed interested in expanding their businesses until they learned that the previous man who had held the job title had been murdered. After that, most of Mari's prospects had regretfully said that they were already over-booked, that gasoline prices were too high, etc., etc.

  Mari had some time to figure out a solution. There was enough meat in the freezer to last them a couple of days. But soon they would have to find another means of delivery. The whole town would, or they’d be serving nothing but salads from dawn to dusk. And if there was one thing Mari’s dad was adamant about, it was that Lito Bueno’s Mexican Restaurant never had and never would serve salad. He had called that dish chicken feed for as long as Mari could remember. And Mr. Ramirez had insisted that his restaurant didn't serve chicken feed.

  When Mateo came in at noon, looking as groggy as ever, Mari placed him on the phone looking for a new meat supplier and turned her attention to questioning her brothers.

  “We’ve been down this road before,” Mari said. “I’m not giving up until I get a straight answer out of you. I just want to know what you two were doing yesterday during the two hours you weren’t here. Come on, take this seriously. A man is dead.”

  “We were studying for our calculus final,” David answered, while Alex gave an entirely different answer.

  When Mari continued to glare at them, Alex said that they had gone to a movie while David had insisted, at the same time, that the two of them were volunteering at the hospital.

  “That’s the most absurd thing you’ve said so far,” Mari responded to David as Tabasco growled behind them. “Don’t try to convince me you’ve suddenly decided to be charitable. You were both up to no good, or you wouldn’t be lying right now.”

  “Sorry,” Alex said, “but we can’t tell you what we’ve been up to. All you need to know is that we had nothing to do with what happened to Steve.”

  Mari bit her tongue in frustration. “I don’t think you realize how serious this is. You were out goofing off when a man was killed, and he wouldn’t have been killed if you weren’t out goofing off. And now, thanks to your negligence, Dad might go to prison.” Mari observed her brothers as their faces went white. “You didn’t hear what I heard yesterday. Those officers think Dad killed Steve Wilson. They think he walked in here and stabbed him in the back. They want to make an arrest, but they’re still gathering evidence.”

  “But if they don’t find any evidence…” David started.

  “… which they won’t,” Alex finished, “because Dad did not kill Steve Wilson.”

  “That’s not the point,” Mari nearly shouted. “Dad is under heavy suspicion. And until that cloud of suspicion lifts off of him, things are going to be very hard for all of us. The town is going to think we’re protecting him. We’re going to lose friends and customers, and money. We could go out of business! And none of this would have happened if you two had been here.”

  ***

  Realizing she needed to calm down before she punched one or both of her brothers in the face, Mari spent the rest of the morning making tortillas with her Abuela. Mari's grandmother was a tiny woman who only spoke Spanish and could often be heard muttering with fierce disapproval to anyone who would listen.

  The tortilla-making process was involved but not especially difficult with practice. Mari's Abuela kneaded a mixture of flour and salt, occasionally adding water until it was smooth all over. Because she didn’t like to rush, this normally took about twenty minutes with each batch. Once the mixture had been allowed to rest for another ten minutes, Mari pressed the dough into several, thin, circular shapes. Mari then fried the tortillas. An hour later, a nice pile of tortillas accumulated on a plate at the edge of the stove.

  Flipping tortillas wasn�
��t especially labor-intensive, so Mari had ample time to reflect on the events of the last couple of days. She seemed to have spooked her brothers with her talk of Dad going to jail. It was unlikely they would cave in immediately, but she had persuaded them that she was thinking only of the good of the family. Whatever their faults, Mari's brothers loved their family. Maybe in a few days one or both of them would tell her what was going on.

  Mari hoped Alex and David hadn’t been up to any serious mischief. But until her brothers were up-front with her about where they’d been, Mari wouldn’t be able to trust them. Trust was essential if Mari wanted to succeed at saving her family's reputation. Mari needed to unite the whole family in this endeavor, but that was impossible as long as certain members of the family were keeping secrets from each other.

  Mari paused as she realized she had let one tortilla cook for too long on one side. It had browned too much, and she would have to throw it out. That’s how things were, lately. She was having trouble focusing on the day-to-day needs of the restaurant because her quest to find the killer had become all-consuming. Mari knew that her father would be devastated if anything happened to the family restaurant. In fact, the entire family would have a hard time coping. Lito Bueno's Mexican Restaurant represented a lifetime of hard work and life savings. Mari had to figure out what happened to Steve Wilson before things took a turn for the worst.

  Mari picked up the plate of tortillas and set it down next to her Abuela. She was dimly conscious that people were arguing all around her. Faintly, as though from a great distance, she heard her father complaining about Tabasco being in the restaurant again. Her Abuela was telling him in Spanish that a pair of her shoes had gone missing. Mari's grandmother seemed to think it was very important that they knew this. She thought it might be connected to the mystery of who had killed Steve Wilson.

  There were times when the demands of the restaurant and being surrounded by so many people got to be too much, and this was one of those times. Mari needed to shut herself in the bathroom and think. If she did enough thinking, maybe she could figure this out on her own. Mari excused herself in a faint voice and left the kitchen.

  But even before she had reached the door of the women’s restroom, another mystery presented itself. Someone had left the back door of the restaurant wide open.

  CONTINUE READING …

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