We crossed the street and made it to the Red Hen Diner without further mishap.
“Cluck.” The chicken over the door announced our entry, and the smell of warm food reminded me of just how hungry I was. “Cluck.”
All eyes turned in our direction.
I felt Dixie stiffen, but she kept going. We headed for a booth against the wall. Chicken décor tracked from the rooster tiles lining the wall to the black and white checkered placemats that sported a red silhouette of a chicken, to the little ceramic baby chicks salt and pepper shakers; the Red Hen Diner took the chicken theme to the nth degree.
The wood tabletops in the booths were decorated with old St. Ignatius Journal newspaper articles that had been sealed under glass. I’d be willing to bet some of the stories were about people who were having lunch there today. In fact, sometimes when I ate at the diner alone, I entertained myself with reading articles and trying to guess who some of those folks might be. My favorite was a regular column, “Notes from Memory Lane,” that gave snippets of things that had happened ten, twenty, fifty, and hundred years ago in the town. I guess the newspaper had been around a long time.
Toy George, attired in a bright red apron with “Head Chick” embroidered across her chest, bustled over with two glasses of water and two bright red menus. “What can I get for you two?” she asked. “Sugar, you’re an iced tea this time of day, right? What about you, Dixie?”
“I’ll take an iced tea, also.” Dixie opened the menu. “What’s your special today?”
“Ham balls.” Toy pointed to a chalk board with the day’s special lunch and the soup of the day.
“I’ll have those.” I was quick to choose.
“And I’ll take the tenderloin.” Dixie handed her menu back to Toy.
I almost changed my mind. The Red Hen Diner tenderloins are legendary. A pork loin hammered thin and then coated in bread crumbs and deep-fat fried. A quintessentially Iowa sandwich. Not exactly your healthiest food choice, but so tasty. The locals were probably immune to their draw, but I’d tried one when I first arrived in the state and had been addicted ever since.
“You got it.” Toy dashed off to put in the order and then returned with our iced teas.
She slid them on the table and then slid into the booth next to me. “Any news on Bertie?” she asked Dixie.
Dixie shook her head.
“I figured we would have heard if she’d showed up.” Toy shook her head. “I know you’re without a doubt worried about her.”
“I am,” Dixie agreed. “Very worried.”
“Well, I guess it isn’t the first time, but still…” Toy stood. “Sorry, I’m short-handed again. Your food will be out in a jiffy.” Toy hurried up front to the cash register to take care of her waiting customer.
Dixie and I looked at each other.
“Not the first time?” I looked at Dixie. “What does she mean?”
“No idea.” Dixie took a sip of her tea, her forehead furrowed.
Our food arrived, and the ham balls were delicious. Dixie’s tenderloin looked good too, but was huge. Any good midwest diner offers a variety of fried food, and any decent Iowa diner has a pork tenderloin on the menu. If you’re lucky enough to attend the Iowa State Fair, your fried food is on a stick, but that’s a whole other story.
Dixie cut her tenderloin in half. There was enough for another meal.
I could see she was barely tasting her sandwich as her eyes followed Toy George around the restaurant. Looking for a chance to catch her.
“I can’t believe she’d just say that and then walk away.” She nibbled on the edge of the bun.
“She said it like she thought you already knew.” I took another bite of the tangy ham balls.
We’d been so focused on the tidbit from Toy that we’d forgotten we were there to plan out our next steps and listen to the gossip. We listened to the buzz at the nearby tables but from our place in the back it was hard to pick up much more than the occasional word here and there.
Old Wally Nelson stopped by the table. I wondered if the guy ever ate a meal at home. He was in the diner nearly every single time I’d been in it.
He leaned on the table and shouted, “Don’t you worry, Spicey.” He was so loud the people in the booth behind us jumped, and probably the people at the antique shop next door heard him. “Your aunt is fine. She’s just gone…” he paused, apparently realizing mid-sentence that he had no idea where she’d gone. “…somewhere,” he finished grinning at her.
“Thanks, Wally.” Dixie patted his hand.
He walked away smiling and Dixie rolled her eyes.
“He means well.” She took a sip of her tea.
I smiled.
“What?” She put her glass down.
“See, I told you.” I smiled. “You’re the nice one.”
“Ha,” She smiled back. “Hardly.”
The diner was busy. No sooner would a booth or a table open up than it was filled again as hungry patrons continued to come. It was clear Toy was not coming back to our booth. The same harried waitress who’d delivered our food, stopped by to offer drink refills and leave our bill.
“I’m sorry.” She shifted the dirty dishes she held. “I should have been over here before now, but we’re short-handed since Katie left. Can I get you anything else?”
Dixie asked for a to-go box for the rest of her tenderloin. I’d like to say I asked for a to-go box too, but I have to tell you I’d finished off the last of those yummy ham balls.
I wiped my hands on a paper napkin. I wanted to lick them but I restrained myself. Then I picked up the check. Dixie started to protest.
“No, let me get it.” I shook my head. “It’s a business lunch.”
“Yeah, more like monkey business.” She slid along the vinyl booth and looked around for our waitress.
Toy was at the cash register, and I hurried up before she could walk away again. I handed her the check and two tens. Yes, in St. Ignatius two lunches still add up to under twenty bucks with change left over to tip your waitress well.
“What you said earlier about it not being the first time,” I asked, trying to keep my voice low. I motioned to Dixie to join me.
She stuffed the half-sandwich into the cardboard carton and hurried over.
Toy looked over her half-glasses at the two of us. “Bertie has left town at least two other times. That I know of,” she added.
“Left? As in just up and left?” Dixie asked.
“Uh huh.” Toy confirmed. “But don’t ask me. Ask that manager of hers, Ilene. She’s not from here, you know.”
The look on Toy’s face told me she’d suddenly remembered I wasn’t local either.
“Sorry, Sugar. No offense.” She smiled. “I feel like you’ve become one of us.”
“None taken.” That was high praise. I understood that no matter how much I loved St. Ignatius I was still from somewhere else, but apparently I was making progress.
“Well, I don’t know what that has to do with anything.” Dixie was quick to take offense on my behalf.
“Just saying, that Ilene, she’s a different one. Got fancy ideas for the B & B.” Toy handed me my change. “Gluten-free scones. Sugar-free pie. For cryin’ out loud, it’s a bed and breakfast not a health spa.”
I dropped the change in my purse and fished out some tip money. I might not be a native, but I wasn’t going to be accused of not properly tipping the waitress.
“But what about Dixie’s aunt?” I asked. “She just up and leaves town from time to time?”
“That’s what I heard, but as for why? I figure that’s none of my business.” Toy motioned to the guy in overalls standing behind us and he reached around me to hand her his check and his money.
She straightened her “Head Chick” apron and punched some buttons on the cash register. Clearly, she was done
talking.
“Cluck,” the door said as we exited. “Cluck.”
Chapter Eight
“How could Toy George know my aunt has gone missing before and me not know anything about it?” Dixie shifted her bag on her shoulder and pushed her copper colored curls off her neck.
“And why didn’t Ilene Jorkins mention it when we were at the B & B?” I hurried to keep pace with my agitated partner. “Was she there when you went back to get the Rolodex?”
“No, she wasn’t around.” Dixie shook her head. “Just that ditzy teenager we talked to earlier. I guess Ilene might have been there somewhere. It’s a huge house.”
“I wonder if she mentioned your aunt’s previous disappearances to the sheriff.” I reached for Dixie’s arm to stop her before she stepped off the curb. St. Ignatius does not have stop lights on all sides of the square. The main thoroughfare on the east side that takes you to each end of town does have, but the western edge of the square has none. Foot traffic mixes with vehicles and crossing the street safely depends on the good manners of the drivers and the attentiveness of the pedestrians.
We waited for a car to pass and then the next vehicle, a pickup, waited for us.
“It sure makes the fact that she’s gone less worrisome, doesn’t it?” I let go of Dixie’s arm.
“In a way, I guess, yes.” She shaded her eyes. “It looks like Disco is having a sale.”
In the time we’d been at lunch, Disco had pulled a couple of clothes racks out on the sidewalk in front of the big window.
“Are you in the market for a T-shirt?” I asked. “It looks like he’s got several.”
I flipped through them as we passed. Unfortunately, the shirts were all alike and the front splashed with the name of a group I’d never heard of. Not saying they’re bad, or unpopular, just that I’d never heard of them.
I fished in my purse for the keys and opened the front door to the shop. It was eerily quiet in comparison to the noise of the diner. In comparison to the noise we’d had at the shop earlier for that matter. It seemed like days had passed since the first visit from the sheriff this morning to now.
Dixie slung her purse on the table and plucked her cell phone out of the bag. “First things first.” She pushed buttons. “I’m going to call Ilene and see why she didn’t mention that Bertie had done the disappearing act before.”
Back at my desk, I pulled out a tablet and began to flip through the Rolodex making a list of people we could call to see if they had seen Bertie in the past couple of days. I could hear Dixie’s voice out front. It sounded like Ilene had answered, but with only one side of the conversation I couldn’t tell if Dixie was getting anything useful.
From the sound of her boot heels, I could tell she paced back and forth. And finally said, “Okay, if you hear from her tell her she needs to call me right away.”
“No luck?” I asked as she stepped into the office.
“She said, yes, Bertie has been gone without much notice before. But, she hasn’t ever asked her about it because she figured if Bertie wanted her to know where she was going she would tell her.”
“That doesn’t sound like your aunt. She’s passionate about her B & B.”
“Ilene says she’s always been able to reach her with any questions on her cell. This is the first time she’s been completely out of communication.”
I had been going through the cards in the Rolodex. “I’ve made a list of vendors and other out of town numbers for you to look at. Maybe you’ll recognize some of them.”
“I don’t want to cause any problems for the business with my questions but I can’t just sit idly by while the Sheriff’s department does nothing.”
“If Elsie really was murdered, and it seems they are definitely thinking she was, that means not only do we need to find your aunt and clear her, but the real murderer is still out there.”
“And likely someone we know,” Dixie added.
A sobering thought.
“I’ve got a couple of errands to run and then I’m going to stop by and see Greer.”
“Not something else from her attic again?” Dixie pulled the notepad toward her and perused the list I’d started.
“Not this time,” I answered. “She called while you were gone this morning and she has something for me.”
“I have some errands too.” She headed back out front to get her bag.
I interpreted that to mean she had some arms to twist. Look out Spicer family. If anyone knew anything, they’d better be ready to come clean.
We locked up and went our separate ways to take care of our errands. I hoped we could figure something out soon. If this project went belly up, I might be applying for that waitress job at the diner. Somehow that seemed more appealing than heading back to Georgia and the Sugarbaker sisterhood that had plans for my life.
* * * *
I made short work of my stops and then headed to The Good Life retirement center to see what it was that Greer had for me. She wasn’t on the patio today so I knocked and she opened the door and invited me in.
“So, how’s the cookbook coming along?” She settled into her chair and indicated I should have a seat. Greer always wanted to know what progress we were making on the project and I appreciated her interest. I wished I had more to report.
“It’s going well.” I sat down on the couch across from her.
“I hear that handsome Max Windsor is taking the pictures for you.”
How on earth did she know this stuff? I’d only just met with Max and had barely had enough time to review his proposal.
“He’s given us a quote,” I explained. “We haven’t come to any sort of arrangement yet.”
“He’s not from here, you know.”
I did know that. Several people had mentioned it to me. Seemed we had that in common. Most of the people had grown up in the town, or if not in St. Ignatius at least somewhere within the county. There were a few, like me, who moved here for business or other reasons and stayed because we loved it. At least that was true in my case.
“I’d say he’s a man with a mysterious past.” Greer smiled at the thought.
“Really? What makes you say that?”
“Well, no one knows anything about his past.” She wrapped her sweater around herself. “Old man Weaver left his place to his daughter who had no interest in it at all. Olivia Weaver could not wait to get out of St. Ignatius, and she made it clear she was never coming back. She must have sold it to Max sight unseen. Next thing we know, he showed up in town. None of us had ever seen him before then.”
“I guess that is kind of mysterious,” I agreed. “Still there must have been a reason. They must have been friends or at least had something in common.”
“Or something.” She scratched her head. “Ollie never said. And Max Windsor isn’t saying now. Then there’s that slight limp.”
“Hmmm.” I didn’t encourage that line of thought. It seemed to me a bit too personal.
“Some think he might have been in the military or a spy or something.”
Or something.
“Say, something I wanted to ask you about.” I settled back on the couch and changed the subject. “Dixie and I had lunch at the Red Hen Diner and Toy George mentioned that Bertie Sparks had disappeared before. You know everyone. Had you heard that?
“Bertie?” Greer raised her brows. “I can imagine she might want to, but I never heard of it. That lady has lived here all her life, never married, worked for the bank for a long time, and then when she retired bought the house on Jefferson and turned it into a B & B. Think she does okay. It’s always busy anyway. Nice addition to the town.”
“So, she has always lived here?” I filed that knowledge away.
Greer nodded. “St. Ignatius High School Class of…well, I can’t remember what class she was in but several years after I graduated.”
“Elsie, too?” I asked. “Did they know each other in high school?” I wondered how far back the rivalry had gone.
“Oh, no. Elsie came from Mars. I don’t remember her maiden name but a well-to-do family, to hear her tell it anyway.”
“Mars, huh?” I pictured a town with UFOs everywhere. I knew that Riverside, Iowa was purported to be the future home of Star Trek’s James T. Kirk, but I’d never heard of Mars. “How did she and Bertie get sideways with each other?”
“I’m not really sure what started it, but I think Bertie just got tired of Elsie always holding her position in the community over everyone.”
“I can imagine.”
“And I think it peeved Elsie that Bertie wasn’t at all impressed by her.”
“Wow, so like you said, this has been going on for quite a while?”
“Yes, usually Harriet Hucklebee is the one who has to wave her magic wand and calms the troubled waters. She and her husband play cards with Karla Farmer, Kenny’s sister, and she can usually get her to let it go.”
She sure hadn’t helped me out at all the day of the Scone Wars. I wondered why she’d stood back and let me take all the heat. I needed to talk to her about the next steps for the committee. Maybe I’d call her and see if I could slip in a question or two.
“No news on Elsie’s cause of death?” she asked.
“Not anything the sheriff is sharing anyway.” I still hoped there was some mistake and Elsie really had died of natural causes and the town could get back to small worries. Like parking around the square, the Red Hen Diner being understaffed, and why the one stoplight in town was so darn slow.
“He’s got a good head on him. I bet Sheriff Griffin will figure things out.”
I really wanted to ask her about Dixie and the sheriff and if she knew why there was such tension between them, but it didn’t feel to me like that would be playing fair. Dixie would tell me. I knew she would. But in the meantime, not knowing was killing me.
“Well, I’d better let you get to dinner.” I stood. “Are they serving something good tonight?”
Game of Scones Page 7
