The Breakfast Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  “All right,” I said, “now it’s time to eat.”

  11

  “You’re seriously going to stay out of it?” Grizzy asked, as she whipped me up my malt choc shake for my brunch time break.

  The restaurant had grown quiet after the morning rush, as per usual, but I wasn’t as happy about it as I usually would have been. When I was busy, I didn’t have a chance to obsess over the case.

  “I’m going to do what I normally do, but try not to get in Liam’s way this time. Or do anything illegal.”

  “Let’s see if that pans out.”

  “You don’t have full faith in me? I’m shocked.” It was sarcasm, of course. I wouldn’t blame Griselda for doubting me. In the short time I’d lived in Sleepy Creek, I’d broken into bakeries and personal homes. I’d snooped and invaded crime scenes. I’d solved cases too. My track record spoke for itself.

  Grizzy finished up the shake by plopping some whipped cream on top and adding a cherry.

  I lifted it by the reddened stem and deposited it into my mouth, crunching on the sugary sweetness. It was some solace, at least. “I want to get to the bottom of it,” I said.

  “I know, you and the quest for truth.” Grizzy waved hand. “But you’ll be on a quest to get out of prison if you don’t stick to your promises this time around.”

  “No, not a quest for truth. I want to help keep Sleepy Creek safe too.”

  “Did I hear you right?” Grizzy asked. “Are you saying that you … like it here?”

  “Keep your voice down.” I poked the milkshake with my straw. “If Missi hears you, she’ll tease me endlessly.”

  The twins were seated at their usual corner booth, Missi with the newspaper pressed flat in front of her, tapped her fingernails against a half-full milkshake glass. Virginia held an iPad and scrolled, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. They’d both had their burgers. Missi had done her morning flirting with Jarvis, as well.

  “All right, so what are you going to—?”

  The front door slapped open, the bell tinkling so fast it trilled, and Mona Jonah clomped into the restaurant. I watched her in the mirror behind the counter.

  She ripped pink sunglasses from her face and glared around.

  Missi grimaced at her.

  Mona lifted two fingers and placed them underneath her eyes then pointed at the terrible twin.

  “Yeah? And so, what are you going to do about it?” Missi growled in response.

  “You want to start something you can’t finish, old woman?”

  “Old woman! I look younger than you!” Missi struggled upright.

  Virginia gave a long-suffering sigh.

  “Ladies,” Grizzy called, in her sing-song voice. “Let’s keep it calm, please. The restaurant is big enough for both of you to share. Mona? Can I get you something?”

  The yellow-haired maven of gossip stomped up to the counter and dumped her garish leopard-print tote on it. She took a seat next to me, the stool squeaking a complaint, and huffed out a breath. “Hit me with a double malt banana, extra cream, extra cherries.”

  “I volunteer to do the hitting,” Missi called.

  Mona, to her credit, ignored the jibe. “And give me one of those Breakfast Burgers too. Nothing makes me hungrier than unbridled rage.” She grasped the straps of her handbag and squeezed like she could choke them to death.

  “What happened?” I asked, spinning on my stool to lean my elbows on the bar and face the dining area in case my tables needed me.

  “Family,” she grunted.

  Mona wasn’t usually so forthcoming without first insulting either me or Grizzy or the restaurant or all three. She had to be seriously irritated if she could get past her usual mean streak.

  “Oh?”

  “I will never understand how people think,” Mona continued. “Never. I am a kind, giving person, wouldn’t you say?”

  Missi snorted loudly.

  “When Richard and that torrid little creature he calls his offspring decided to sell their mansion and needed a place to stay while the purchase of their next home was finalized, what did I say?”

  “Yes?” I suggested.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I said. I opened my home to them. I told them they were more than welcome to live with me, as long as they paid for some food and utilities. Richard assured me that they would live by my rules. That they would stay quiet at certain hours, particularly after bed time.”

  The diatribe was so fascinating, heads around the restaurant turned to observe. It was like witnessing a building being demolished.

  Mona reached up and poke a dark half circle under one eye. “Look at me! Look at the state of me! I can’t possibly maintain the Gossip Circle and the editing of the paper and the new Council for Proper Usage of Lawn Ornaments in this state. It’s a crime, I tell you. If they weren’t my family, I would report them.”

  Griselda drowned out the last of Mona’s sentence by turning the blender on for the milkshake. After, she poured it into a glass and did a double scoop of whipped cream and two cherries as requested. She slid the shake over the counter, and Mona attacked it.

  She slurped and chewed and prodded with a dessert spoon.

  “What did they do?” I asked.

  Everyone in the restaurant was curious. The show had to go on.

  “What didn’t they do? That Richard is never home and when he is, he’s just … oh, he just sits around and expects to be waited on hand and foot. Like I’m his maid.” She spat a little mashed up cherry onto the counter. “And that daughter of his. Do not even get me started.”

  I turned, whipped my handy rag from the front pocket of my apron and wiped away the mess on the counter. “Oh, but we do want to get you started. I mean, it’s important you get it out?”

  Grizzy nodded. “Christie’s right. If you keep all the anger in, it will only hurt you.”

  “Or her next victim,” Missi called out.

  “Janine.” Mona plumbed the depths of her milkshake with the straw. “Janine is the worst excuse for a young lady I have ever encountered in my life. Always out late, comes home in the dead of the night and plays music in the living room at a screamingly loud decibel level. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it, I tell you. I haven’t slept properly in over a week.” Mona reached up and tugged furiously on her golden hoop earring. “Unbelievable.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mona,” Grizzy said. “But surely, they won’t be staying with you for much longer.”

  “Who knows?” Mona asked. “Knowing my luck, those two idiots will be around for the next month.”

  Jarvis rang the bell in the kitchen window. “Order up, mon,” he called.

  Grizzy delivered Mona’s burger to the table, and she tucked into it. The burgers at the restaurant were so good, they could stop a raging Mona in her tracks. We had to put that on the menu somewhere.

  The Huxley living situation tickled at the back of my mind. They had lived in Martha’s mansion, and Janine was involved, somehow, with Grayson Boggs. What was the connection?

  If I could find it… but no, gossiping was one thing. Liam had specifically asked me not to get involved by doing anything drastic. I’d try to play by his rules, for now.

  Still, the question marks drifted through my mind as I waited my tables.

  12

  The scent of bubbling cheese, cooking noodles, and the savory tang of tomato-beef lasagna filled Griselda’s kitchen. I inhaled it from where I stood at the kitchen counter, doing the unthinkable.

  Chopping vegetables. Griselda had managed to enlist my help in preparing the food. Now, I was all for making coffee or paying for a pizza, even for waiting on tables, but I knew my strengths. They didn’t lie in cooking.

  “Am I doing this right?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t you be? C’mon, Chris, you’re just slicing up some tomatoes. It’s not like it’s rocket science.”

  “No, but it’s culinary science. Cooking is like science, you
know. I read that somewhere once. I remember laughing about it, but now, I get it. Hard work, great reward, total precision.” I sliced a piece of tomato onto the chopping board. “This might be my new calling.”

  “I’ll tell Jarvis that next time he needs to chop onions for the burgers.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Grizzy laughed from her position in front of the oven. She would bend every now and again and check how the lasagna was doing, then straighten and take a sip of her diet soda. Her hawk eyes ensured I didn’t mess up too badly.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  Hopefully, it wasn’t about the case. I’d been obsessing over it all day, and I didn’t need the extra nudge to get back to it. The tomatoes had finally distracted me. Poor Martha. Not that I knew her or anything, but still. Shot down after she’d bought an exceptionally expensive mansion and started reconnecting with her kids.

  “Chris?”

  “Hmm, yeah?”

  “I said I’ve been thinking.”

  “This is a good thing. Not thinking leads to dangerous accidents.”

  Grizzy took another sip of soda. “We haven’t properly celebrated your birthday yet.”

  I finished slicing the tomatoes and scooped the pieces into a salad bowl, on top of already washed and torn fresh lettuce. “We have. You got me that awesome Poirot book, and I had a burger in bed while Curly stared at me.” I still hadn’t told her that I’d fed Curly a bit of meat. That was our little secret, and a lapse in judgment on my part. Now, I wasn’t sure if the stares from the cat had murderous intent, or she simply expected me to produce another burger out of my back pocket and start feeding her mince chunks.

  “No, that’s not enough. I’ve been thinking we should go somewhere.”

  “Like where?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to figure it out. I’ll keep it a surprise. Just as long as I know that you’re up for it?”

  “Of course. I mean, I’ve never celebrated my birthday apart from when I was a kid and my mom threw parties,” I said, and swallowed. It was still tough to talk about her at times. “But yeah, as an adult, I’ve never done that type of thing. I’ve never had any friends apart from you. Wow, that sounds pathetic.”

  “It’s not pathetic, Christie. You’re just a prickly person. Prickly people struggle to make friends, but they usually have the softest, wateriest centers. They’re the best people to get to know.”

  “That was a prolonged cactus metaphor,” I said, pointing the knife at her. “But I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t wave that thing around. Knowing Sleepy Creek’s luck, you’ll end up accidentally slicing me instead of the ingredients.”

  “Speaking of which,” I said, putting the knife down and eyeing it. “What’s next? For the salad?”

  “I’m thinking olives.”

  “Are we making Missi’s not-Greek Salad?”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that.” Grizzy headed for the fridge and brought out a jar of olives, then returned. “Already pitted.” She put them down. “Slice them in half and put them in. About ten.”

  “A woman’s work never ends.” I spooned the olives out.

  Grizzy fell into quiet and drank her soda. Curly Fries wandered into the kitchen and sat in the corner, silently. She didn’t meow because she’d already had her kibble, but her eyes were set on the oven. She’d wind between the table legs while we ate, hoping for falling scraps of mince or cheese.

  Sometimes, just to pay her back for always sleeping on my head, I’d drop a bit of tomato instead and inwardly chuckle at how she turned up her nose and stalked off. Worked like a charm.

  The buzzer on the oven rang, and Griselda slipped on her oven mitts, bent and removed the dish. She set it on the counter top, the cheese golden-brown and bubbling.

  “That smells divine.”

  “The sooner you finish the salad, the sooner we get to eat. It has to rest now, anyway, or we’ll burn the roofs of our mouths.”

  Grizzy directed me the rest of the way on the salad then showed me how to whip up a simple olive oil and balsamic vinegar dressing. In no time, the food was ready and dished up. My knife and fork were seconds from carving into the dish when the phone rang.

  I groaned. “It’s probably just a telemarketer.”

  “I have to get it.”

  I snuck a bite of lasagna while Grizzy jumped up and was instantly transported to culinary heaven.

  “Hello?” Grizzy answered the kitchen phone, twirling her finger through the cord. “Oh, hi Nelly. How are you?”

  I looked up, the fork stalling halfway to my mouth. Grizzy had heard what had happened between Nelly and myself, and it had been a full day since we’d seen her. She hadn’t even come into the restaurant for her usual lunch time treat.

  “Yes, of course. No, not at all. I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to that. Listen, Nelly, you don’t have to worry about—Sure. OK, then, see you in a little while.” Grizzy hung up.

  “She’s coming here?” I asked, putting my fork down.

  “No. We’re going there.”

  “Why?”

  “Nelly wanted us to catch up, and also, she said she’s worried.”

  “About what?” I asked, a mingling of curiosity at what Nelly wanted, and horror at the fact that I would have to stop eating this amazing food, took place inside me.

  “She said she feels like she’s being watched. Which is obviously concerning given what happened in that house.” Grizzy shrugged, moved toward the table and lifted my plate off it, fork, knife and all. “Maybe she’s just feeling paranoid.”

  “Or maybe not,” I said, intrigued.

  “I’m going to bag these up for us,” Griz said. “Let’s pack some overnight bags and head over there. We can share our meal with her.”

  “You really are too hospitable,” I said. “How do you know I won’t finish that whole lasagna by myself? Or that she won’t feed us salmon again?”

  “That salmon was nice. Sorry, some of us actually ate it instead of peeling bullets out of walls.”

  “Point taken.” I got up from the table and moved off to collect my things and a book for the night. But I got the feeling I wouldn’t be doing that much reading tonight, especially if there was someone ‘watching’ Nelly.

  13

  I’d already piled my overnight bag into the small trunk of Grizzy’s Kia. She was inside quibbling over what to pack and trying to get Curly Fries into her kitty carrier. Judging by the last experience we’d had doing it, this would take a while.

  I sat on the front step, my back to one of the wooden columns, and my nose tilted to the air, inhaling the scents of Sleepy Creek suburbia.

  The sun had set a while ago, the dusk had come and gone. Lights were on in the front windows of houses, the smell of home cooking drifting around, sometimes shifted and replaced by the floweriness of a rose bed on the breeze. The leaves in Grizzy’s maple tree rustled and whispered.

  Crickets chirped, and I smiled. There was something to be said for small town living. I’d sworn I’d never come back to it as an adult, but I couldn’t deny how much I’d missed the relative peace and quiet in moments like these.

  If this hadn’t been murder capital, right now, I would have let the sleepiness take hold of me. But no, I forced myself to sit straighter, to be more alert.

  A door slammed in the house next door, and a figure emerged.

  Ginger hair. Tall and broad-shouldered. It was our new neighbor. Nelly’s boyfriend—Donovan.

  Interesting that she hadn’t called him when she was afraid. Then again, it wasn’t exactly proper for her to be calling an unmarried guy over to her house at night. If anything would start a nuclear gossip explosion, it was that. Mona Jonah would spontaneously arm like a submarine.

  Donovan walked down his front path toward the mailbox, then opened it and rustled around inside. The walls between Grizzy’s house and his were lower on the right side. His garden was pretty well kept, not
exactly flower-filled or decorated, certainly not winning the council’s award for most aesthetically pleasing lot.

  “Evening,” I called out.

  Donovan zeroed in on me with his gaze. “Didn’t see you there.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t.” He tucked his mail under his arm and came toward the fence that separated the properties.

  I got up too and walked over, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “That’s good to hear. It’s not done in Sleepy Creek.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Scaring your neighbors.”

  “But killing them is?” Donovan asked.

  “You accusing me of something?”

  “Just referring to the craziness in this town,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “So crazy that friends ask each other questions about guns and—”

  “What happened in the florist’s, well, Donovan, that’s between Nelly and me. We’ll sort it out,” I said.

  “She’s my girlfriend. I’m going to protect her. I’m not going to let—”

  I raised a palm. “I appreciate that, but Nelly and I have known each other for a while longer than you’ve known her.”

  “Like a week,” he said.

  He had a point. It wasn’t like I’d been besties with Nelly for years. Still, the awkward vibe drifting between us had to go if I wanted to figure out exactly what Donovan was up to in town. Why he’d bought Nelly a gun in the first place. Why he had moved to Sleepy Creek.

  Donovan cleared his throat. “I guess I’ll go—”

  “No, no, I’m sorry.” I stuck out my hand. “Let’s start over. Pretend we’ve just met as neighbors. That kind of thing’s important in this town.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He shook my hand, and his shoulders eased a little bit. He had a splotch of something red on his shirt. Possibly leftovers from his dinner? Why was he eating alone? Why not with Nelly?

  “How are you doing?” I asked. “Settling into the town well?”

  “I guess you could say that,” he replied. “Apart from living in this big house by myself.”