A Second Helping of Murder

by Christine Wenger

  Oh, crap!

  No one knew where I was.

  “Don’t move, Trixie. Don’t move a muscle or I’ll shoot you. Put the diary on the table.”

  “How can I put the diary on the table and not move a muscle, Carla?”

  “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

  “I would think that you’d be better at this by now. You killed Claire and Phil, didn’t you?”

  “I said shut up!”

  She had crazy eyes. Crazy eyes and pink pearls.

  “Carla, don’t do anything stupid.” I shook my head. “Oh, wait. You already did.”

  “I said shut up. Hand me the diary.”

  “I wish you’d make up your mind.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Why? Tell me why. If you’re going to kill me, I have a right to know,” I said, glad that I was still sitting or I’d faint dead on the floor before she had the chance to kill me.

  “She got in the way.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of Laura marrying Rick Tingsley.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said, stalling for time. Besides, I wanted to hear her say it from her own candy apple red lips.

  “She was pregnant. You know that by now. You’ve been snooping enough. Laura can’t have any children because of her car accident. Of course, Rick would marry Claire since she was pregnant, and that would have ruined all my plans for my daughter.”

  “So you waited until Claire left the campfire, followed her, and shot her.”

  “Yes. It was noisy with the firecrackers that someone threw into the bonfire, so I shot her and dragged her body into the woods and hid it. The next day, I buried her in a cave that I knew was there.”

  “You knew she was pregnant because you and Laura were in Dr. Francis’s waiting room.”

  “Claire had the stupid sonogram in her hand when she left Dr. Francis’s examination room. She was so excited, she dropped it. I picked it up and saw that it was a sonogram picture.”

  “And you knew the father was Rick?”

  “Yes. I’d seen the way he looked at her. The same way my ‘husband’ looks at other women.”

  “And you wanted Laura to marry Rick and push him into politics just like you did with Grant?” She was blabby and maybe had had too much to drink, and I wanted to stall her. Maybe Ty, or someone, would see the lights on in the cottage.

  “Yes. Rick is slow and dull compared to Grant, but he’s more malleable.”

  “And what about poor Phil Jacobson?” I asked. “You knew that it was Phil Jacobson who was murdered in Eight because you did it. Everyone else thought that the victim was a man named David Burrows. His real name hadn’t been released yet.”

  “Phillip was going to expose me.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “By a lucky coincidence we were both in the newspaper office at the same time. I was waiting for Joan Paris to lunch with her—I wanted her to do a special interview with the mayor about his run for senator. Phil was asking about archives relative to Claire’s murder. He didn’t see me, but I saw him. I knew immediately who he was. It was that cowlick on the back of his head. He had that as a boy. And his creepy eyes. Claire had those eyes.”

  Their eyes have nothing on yours about now, lady.

  Was anyone going to look for me? I was running out of questions. I could hear Frankie and the Polka Dots from here. No one would hear a gunshot.

  “You don’t really want to kill me, Carla.”

  “Oh, I sure do. I really do. And your time’s up.”

  “I don’t think so, Carla. Put the gun down.”

  “What?

  “In the bedroom is Deputy Ty Brisco with a tape recorder. Everything you say will be held against you in a court of law. Oh, and you have the right to remain silent.” I put my index finger over my lips. “I really think you should remain silent.”

  “I don’t believe you that Ty Brisco is in the other room. He’d come out to rescue you, wouldn’t he?”

  Good question. What do I do now? There was nothing that I could use as a weapon within reach. There was cutlery in the drawer by the kitchen sink.

  “Uh, Carla? Could I have a last request?”

  “No!” She cocked back the lever thing on the gun. The metallic sound bounced around the room.

  This was it. It was the end of the line for Beatrix “Trixie” Matkowski. Aunt Stella would have to come back from Boca and sell the Silver Bullet and the twelve little cottages. Oh, and the Big House. That would have to go, too.

  And I wanted my first Dance Fest to be a success.

  I wondered if my staff would miss me. And my cute Dance Fest outfit was going to be a bloody mess. Well, maybe the blood would be hidden by all the sequins. That would be good.

  I’d like to die with dignity, but I was just about to cry like a baby and pee my new jeans, not necessarily in that order.

  “Look, Carla. Every person about to die in every movie and TV show and on death row gets a last request. Now, come on, all I want is a glass of water. I’m really dry, and I love the Sandy Harbor water—I really do.”

  “Dammit, get a glass of water and shut the hell up.”

  “Gee, thanks, Carla. But first, I have to find a glass that I like.”

  “I don’t care if you drink out of the faucet. Just hurry up.”

  I pulled open cabinets and drawers, talking and moving and trying to distract her. I yanked out a cast-iron frying pan—my favorite cookware—and threw it like a Frisbee in her direction.

  Yes! I stunned her enough that she fell on the floor. The gun went off, and the blast sent shock waves through my entire system.

  I looked down, expecting to see something wet and red spreading on my new top. Nothing.

  Happy that she’d missed, I dove on top of her skinny frame and designer pantsuit and heard a whoosh. I think I collapsed her diaphragm like a sponge. She went limp, and I yanked the gun out of her hand. It was still warm from the shot. I aimed it at her heart.

  “Let me know if it was all worth it when you’re sitting in prison. Do you think they’ll classify you as a serial killer? You have two murders under your silver belt and one attempted murder for moi. That’s quite a legacy, Carla.”

  She let loose a streak of swearwords that no First Lady should ever say.

  The door flew open. It was Ty pointing his own gun and looking like a cowboy from the Wild West. Only a good guy. He wore a white cowboy hat. He stood in the doorway for a second, analyzing the situation, then stepped next to me. He pried Carla’s gun from my stiff fingers and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans but still aimed his at Carla.

  I let my sore arms relax at my sides.

  “Want to tell me what’s going on, Trixie?”

  “Carla killed Claire because she was pregnant by Rick Tingsley. Laura can’t have kids. Rick was going to marry Claire and ruin Laura’s chance at being the First Lady of the United States. If I was a shrink, I’d guess that Carla was living her life through her daughter because Grant VanPlank has terminal zipperitis and will never be elected by sensible voters.”

  I took a breath. “And she killed Phil because she thought he was going to expose her. And she was going to kill me because I found Claire’s diary and read the typewriter ribbon.” I pointed to the floor. “I didn’t finish reading it, but you can.”

  “That’s quite the . . . the . . . summation.”

  “Ty, I think you should handcuff Carla now because she’s getting her designer outfit all dirty on the floor and because I’m going to faint soon, and I want to see her arrested and in handcuffs. The silver cuffs will match her outfit perfectly.”

  Ty cuffed Carla on the floor, then helped her to stand. He read her the Miranda warning, which he knew from memory, and it was all very cool.

  Carla started crying, and her mak
eup ran down her face.

  Deputy Vern McCoy ran into the cottage, looked at Ty and Carla, and said, “I’ll take her down to the lockup. What do you want me to book her for?”

  Ty looked at me and grinned. “Tell him, Trixie.”

  “Two counts of premeditated murder and one count of the attempted murder of a terrific chef.”

  “Vern, Trixie and I will be right behind you. Trixie will have to give her statement, but there’s one thing I have to do first.”

  Vern clasped the chain that connected Carla’s handcuffs and steered her toward the cottage door. Looking over his shoulder, he said to Ty, “Yeah, what’s that?”

  Ty smiled at me and wrapped his arm around my waist. He probably didn’t want to have to pick me up from the floor when my adrenaline tanked and my knees gave out.

  “I’m going to dance another polka with Trixie.”

  Epilogue

  E-MAIL TO AUNT STELLA

  Hi, Aunt Stella!

  I have to tell you some things, and I know that e-mail is the best way to reach you, you bon vivant!

  First, the Dance Fest was a success. The arrest of Carla VanPlank (you remember her) for the murders of Claire and Phil Jacobson (and the attempted murder of me!) spread like wildfire, and finally Ty stepped up to the microphone and told everyone at the Dance Fest what had happened.

  Instead of a downer, Ty stressed that the Dance Fest should be a celebration of Claire and Phil’s life and that the black cloud had been lifted from Sandy Harbor, thanks to me!

  I got several minutes of applause and a standing ovation. When they kept yelling, “Speech,” I took the microphone and told everyone that Cottage Eight would be taken down and in its place would be a garden for Claire and Phil Jacobson.

  I’m sure that you’ll agree that this is the best for Cottage Eight. I’m thinking of building Cottage Thirteen, but some people are superstitious. Maybe I’ll just call it Cottage Twelve and a Half!

  The faux-reverend Buddy Wilder asked me if he could lead everyone at the Dance Fest in a prayer for Claire and Phil, and I handed him the mike. He said a nice prayer, gave a little eulogy, and it was quite lovely. When he was finished, Ty whispered in his ear, and they both stepped away from the dance floor and walked over to the state police car, where Buddy was handcuffed and taken away.

  I gave a signal to Frankie to get the Polka Dots polka-ing, and he did, and everyone swarmed the dance floor. This will be a Dance Fest that Sandy Harbor will be talking about forever.

  I found it interesting that Buddy’s pals that drove with him from New York City, and saw him arrested, didn’t leave the Dance Fest but were dancing away as Buddy was driven away.

  Juanita, Cindy, and my waitresses along with Clyde and Max really pulled through, keeping the buffet hot and plentiful. Ray Meyerson (I think you know his parents) is working out fabulously and during the Dance Fest, he was busy busing tables and keeping the trash cans empty.

  In conclusion, Aunt Stella, the first Silver Bullet Dance Fest in twenty-five years was very entertaining with two arrests. Around it all, Frankie and the Polka Dots were thumping out their polkas, but it wasn’t the same without you playing the accordion.

  How I’d love to hear you play again!

  By the way, I danced the first dance (a polka, of course!) just like you used to do with Uncle Porky. I danced with Ty, who surprised me with how good he can polka for a cowboy from Texas, but his mother was Polish (Karpinski), and she taught him. Cool, huh?

  I got my mother upset when I told her about Carla VanPlank holding a gun on me. I don’t know how I did it, but thank goodness for cast-iron frying pans. I threw it at her as hard as I could, and it knocked the wind out of her.

  I guess when there’s a stressful situation, you get strength from somewhere, and I did. I wasn’t going to let her shoot me when I had so much to do yet.

  And dancing with Ty was something special. After Doug’s betrayal, I never thought I’d trust another man again, but Ty is different. He makes me laugh, he challenges me, and makes me crazy all at the same time. He’s fun to be with.

  Love you,

  Trixie

  I hit SEND just after I deleted that stuff about Ty. That was the kind of thought that was meant for a diary—a little pink diary with gold-tipped pages, a gold lock, and a tiny rusty key.

  I was going to keep Claire’s diary after it was released from evidence. Ty said that I could have it as a memento of Claire since she didn’t have any family remaining.

  And that was sad. A life so promising, cut short over such stupidity.

  But I’d read every word she wrote and remember what it was like to be so young and so in love. I’d experienced that for a while with Deputy Doug, a brief while.

  I smiled as I headed to the kitchen of the Silver Bullet. It was time for my shift, and I couldn’t wait to start making the orders and feeding everyone. There’s nothing like great diner food. It’s comfort food.

  And a lot of people in this world need comfort.

  The Silver Bullet and the Sandy Harbor Housekeeping Cottages (minus Cottage Eight) is my legacy. And soon the families would return and enjoy the lake and the grounds and my cooking.

  Life is good.

  Family (and Friends’!) Recipes from the Silver Bullet Diner,

  Sandy Harbor, New York

  Texas Sheet Cake

  From my friend Michele Masarech

  Michele is a friend of mine who lived across the street in the old neighborhood. She’s a very busy nurse who has been to Texas once, but she makes this cake for most every event because her time is limited and it’s easy and fast to make for a crowd. She said that over the years, she’s perfected the original recipe. Everyone at the Dance Fest raved about this cake, and Ty absolutely loved it since he’s from Texas!

  1 cup butter

  1 cup water

  1/2 cup cocoa

  1 cup sour cream

  11/2 cup coarsely chopped walnuts

  1 tsp. vanilla

  2 cups sugar

  1/2 tsp. salt

  2 cups flour

  1 tsp. baking soda

  2 eggs (slightly beaten)

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Bring butter, water, and cocoa to boil in saucepan. Remove from heat.

  Add remaining ingredients, mixing after each addition.

  Pour batter into greased and floured 121/2" x 171/2" x 1" baking pan.

  Bake 22 to 27 minutes.

  Frosting (spread on hot cake)

  1/2 cup butter

  1/3 cup cocoa

  4 cups confectioners’ sugar

  1/3 cup milk

  1/2 to 1 cup ground nuts

  In saucepan, bring butter, milk and cocoa to boil.

  Add confectioners’ sugar, adding more if needed to make it of spreading consistency.

  Spread frosting on hot cake.

  Sprinkle with ground nuts.

  Mrs. D’s Dixie Barbecue Sauce & Marinade for Chicken

  Mrs. D was from one of the Carolinas, I can’t remember which one, but she passed away many years ago. Every time I make this, I think of her and the fun neighborhood barbecues.

  1/2 cup oil

  1 cup vinegar

  2 Tbsp. salt

  2 tsp. poultry seasoning

  1/4 tsp. pepper

  1 egg

  Put everything in blender and let mix. Cover chicken with mix. Use remaining for basting on barbecue. If there’s not enough, make another batch!

  Dick Green’s Coleslaw Dressing

  Dick Green is a very sweet guy that I used to work with when I was a tour guide in Philly. He made this for a work party, and I just had to have the recipe. I have to confess that I dislike coleslaw, but I love making it, and everyone tells me that this coleslaw recipe is the best.

  Medium head shred
ded green cabbage (can mix in some red cabbage for color)

  1 cup shredded carrots (about 2 to 3)

  11/2 cups mayonnaise

  2 Tbsp. sugar

  1/4 cup cider vinegar

  1/4 tsp. celery seed (or oregano)

  1/2 tsp. salt

  1/4 tsp. black pepper

  1 small grated onion (if you desire)

  In large bowl, combine ingredients, then mix in cabbage and carrots. Cover and chill 2 to 3 hours before serving.

  Joan Wojcieson’s Coleslaw Recipe Handed Down from Her Grandmother

  Joan is a dear friend of mine from the old neighborhood. This recipe is a little twist from the standard coleslaw recipe because the dressing is heated and Grandma Wojcieson used to buy bagged coleslaw and then dress it.

  2 1-lb. packages coleslaw

  2 chopped onions

  1 cup sugar

  1 cup vinegar

  1 tsp. celery seed

  1 tsp. salt

  1 tsp. dry mustard

  1/4 tsp. pepper.

  1 cup vegetable oil

  Bring onions, sugar, vinegar, celery seed, salt, dry mustard, and pepper to boil.

  Remove from heat and pour in vegetable oil.

  Pour over coleslaw, mix, and let set for at least 24 hours in fridge before using.

  Joan says that this lasts a long time in the refrigerator.

  Trixie’s (Really Easy) Pulled Pork Recipe

  There are many, many recipes for pulled pork, but mine is the absolute easiest. You won’t believe this!

  Boneless roast pork shoulder

  Salt and pepper to taste

  1 to 2 bottles barbecue sauce

  Get a boneless roast of pork shoulder (the cheapest one possible).

  Cut it in half or leave it whole to fit it into a Crock-Pot (depending on the size).

  Cook on high all day (8 or more hours) with some salt and pepper, draining some of the juice now and then.

  When it is done, pull it apart with two opposing forks.