“It’s my money, too!” ACB burst into tears. “Oh! This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought up Marvin all the time. He was no prize. Matter of fact, he was a no-good coward, a moocher, and a—”
“Let’s go,” Ty said, moving Sal in the direction of his cruiser.
Antoinette wiped her tears on the sleeve of her coat. “I can’t believe this, Sal. How could you? And you were going to take off with our retirement money? I worked just as hard as you.”
“It’s in the green suitcase in the van. It’s yours, Annie.” His eyes lowered. He couldn’t even look at her.
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It should,” Sal said. “I love you, honey, and I always will. There’s no other gal for me.”
ACB rolled her eyes. “Men!”
I choked back a laugh. Stay tuned for another episode of Love and Murder in Sandy Harbor.
“Okay,” Ty said, a bewildered look on his face. “Let’s roll.”
Everyone was loaded into the sheriff’s department cars and taken downtown. Two were booked; the rest of us weren’t. We gave long, boring statements to the three deputies, who could only type with two fingers, if that.
Finally, it was all over, and things could get back to normal, whatever normal was.
Ty drove me home, back to the old Victorian. I’d pick up my car later.
“Think you can get some sleep now?”
“Absolutely.” I was crashing, and I couldn’t stop my head from drifting left, onto his shoulder. “I’m always so tired. I really need my own shift. Maybe Bob is due back soon.”
I took a couple of breaths to wake up. I could smell soap and leather and some kind of spicy aftershave, and if I looked up, I could see the brim of his white cowboy hat.
Good guys always wore white hats.
“Now that this is all over, do you think you could put pork and scalloped potatoes back on the menu?” he asked. “My mother used to make it for us all the time.”
“Of course, I’ll put it back on the menu.”
“Poor Mr. Cogswell the Third,” I said, yawning. “It was all just a big misunderstanding—one big, stupid, murder, mushrooms, misunderstanding, mistake.”
Ty laughed. “That’s right, darlin’.”
“I’m glad you came along when you did,” I mumbled, stifling another yawn.
“You seemed to have had things under control when we arrived.”
Ty chuckled, and I loved the sound—throaty, deep, and masculine. “You were holding a gun and Antoinette Chloe was straddling Roberta. And Roberta had a ton of snow on her face.”
“I made a hole in it for her to breathe,” I clarified.
“Trixie, the next time, do you think you could let me handle things?”
“The next time? Cowboy, there isn’t going to be a next time!”
Epilogue
Four Months Later
Hi, Aunt Stella! Isn’t e-mail wonderful? I know you still like long, juicy, handwritten letters, but when traveling, like you always are with your friends, it’s so easy to read your mail anywhere.
Well, the snow has melted and the ice has finally thawed, and the fishermen are returning. As you know, we are two weeks into trout season, and the diner is hopping. You don’t know what a relief it is to have the diner filled to the brim. I love the hustle and bustle of the waitresses, the smell of fresh coffee being brewed, and the clink of silverware against china. The din of people talking and laughing adds to the fun. So does the bleep of the computer cash register!
Not too long ago, no one was coming to the diner, except me. I remember sitting in one of the booths on the graveyard shift, wondering if I’d be ever to make a payment to you for the diner and the cottages. I know you said that our payment schedule wasn’t written in stone (just on a Silver Bullet Diner paper place mat!), but I took it seriously. Therefore, I’m happy to report that I’ve deposited my payment into your bank account.
“Trixie, Juanita wants to know if you could help her out in the kitchen for a while.” Bettylou, the new waitress I just hired, leaned over the counter and refreshed my cup of coffee. “I just took a huge take-out order from a bunch of fishermen fishing at the bridge on Route 3. She said that she’ll do the big order if you can do the regular diner orders.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there.”
Oops. Hang on a while, Aunt Stella. I’m being summoned to the kitchen.
I closed my laptop and debated whether to take it with me. Then I decided against it. Although all the booths and tables were taken at the Silver Bullet, there were several stools available at the counter, so my laptop wasn’t monopolizing a seat. Besides, there was hardly any crime in Sandy Harbor.
No crime? What was I thinking? I’d just almost, sort of, more or less, very nearly, basically, somewhat solved a murder on my own. Okay, maybe I had help.
I clicked on my screen saver, left my laptop on the counter, and hurried into my kitchen. It was still hard to think of the gleaming chrome and aluminum 1950s diner as mine, but as long as I kept making payments, it would be.
Pushing open the double doors to the kitchen, I caught a major whiff of garlic, oregano, and tomatoes. Yum! Tonight’s special was spaghetti with sausage or meatballs, garlic bread sticks, and a small chef salad or vegetable soup. Our customers loved Spaghetti Saturday, especially the younger crowd and the kids.
I slipped into a clean apron and smiled at my second-shift cook and friend, Juanita Holgado. I pulled an order off the clip rack, read it, and started pulling various dishes off the stacks. I headed for the refrigerator to get what I needed.
“Big order from the fishermen, huh, Juanita?” I asked. “We are getting more and more take-out orders from all over the river and lake.”
“Thirteen spaghetti dinners to go and four other assorted orders. The fishermen probably don’t want to leave their spots to eat.”
“I wouldn’t either if I was catching fish.”
“I guess,” Juanita said. “And they all want dessert, too. And drinks.”
“The waitresses can help pack the desserts and the drinks when they aren’t busy.”
“Nancy said that she’d get going on it.”
“Great!” I just loved how everyone worked together when needed. I didn’t have any complaints at all with my staff. Actually, most of them were hired by Aunt Stella prior to my taking over the diner. Well, maybe Clyde and Max should stop playing practical jokes on Juanita as much as they do, but Juanita puts them in their place quite nicely. Just in case they don’t get the gist of her mixed Spanish and English hysterics, I make it clear to them that they should quit being so juvenile.
Then Juanita always tells me in confidence that she secretly likes their jokes, but she’d never tell them that. Neither will I. So the good-natured jokes continue and so does Juanita’s yelling.
I quickly made the order. I was quite good at multitasking and might prepare two or three orders at once, but this one was for a party of ten.
I rang the bell twice to let Bettylou know that the first part of her order was ready—six small chef salads and four vegetable soups. Immediately, she hurried into the kitchen. “The rest will be ready in a few minutes, Bettylou.”
It was important to give the guests time to finish their first course before I sent the main meal out. When I went out to eat, one of my pet peeves was having my main dish set in front of me while I was still working on a salad or soup. That was bad planning on the kitchen’s part.
Checking the other four orders hanging on the rack, I sent out their first courses, too.
One ring for Nancy. Two for Bettylou. Three for Connie.
“Don’t forget the bread sticks,” I reminded the waitresses. They were in charge of serving those from the front.
I went back to the first order and picked out what would take the longest to prepare: the two Delmonico steaks—one rare, one well done. Getting those going, I got the spaghetti ready. The spaghetti was prepared during the day by Cindy Sh
erlock, rolled into individual servings, and then refrigerated in a big metal pan. I put the individual orders into a couple of metal “strainers” with big holes, and then dunked them into pans of boiling water. When the spaghetti was heated thoroughly, I strained it, put it on a heated plate, and scooped our special sauce over it from the steam table. I added meatballs to six orders, sausage to two. The steaks came out perfect, and I added mashed potatoes to them with gravy. I put all the finished plates on large trays under heat lamps and rang the bell twice for Bettylou.
She came in while I was checking the order. “Six lead pipes with rounded cows. Two lead pipes with zeppelins. One bossy that’s walkin’ and one bossy that’s sunburned.” I slipped the order under a plate. “It’s all here, Bettylou.”
Bettylou, the new hire, laughed.
“It’s Dinerese. You’ll get the hang of it, Bettylou. I did!” I said as she picked up the tray and headed for the double doors.
Juanita grunted. “But it took you a while. And most of the time you make up your own words.”
“Just like you!” I shot back. We carried on a cheerful conversation while we worked.
Just as Juanita finished the take-out order, two of the fishermen came to pick it up. I helped the waitresses carry the boxes of foam containers to the front counter. Nancy checked them out. Max and Clyde, who just walked into the diner, helped load everything into their car.
I finished up my last order and rang once for Nancy.
“A cowboy on a raft, two lead pipes with zeppelins, and one bowwow with bullets.” I just loved Dinerese!
Nancy smiled as she checked her order. “A western omelet on toast, two spaghettis with sausage, and one hot dog with beans. That’s correct, Trixie.”
“Good,” I said to her, then turned to Juanita. “That’s all I have.”
Juanita waved a long stirring spoon at me. “I can take over now. Why don’t you relax until your shift?”
I checked the clock on the wall. My shift didn’t start until midnight. It was only seven o’clock. “By the way, have you heard from the elusive Bob, the alleged morning cook?”
Juanita shrugged. “The last I knew, he was in Las Vegas.”
“The last I heard, he was in Atlantic City.”
I have never met Bob, who apparently worked as a cook in the army with Uncle Porky. He was supposed to be the morning cook, but I had to hire Cindy Sherlock to take his place. Cindy was working out great, so I guess I really didn’t need Bob, but I sure could use him as a sub.
“Hmm…” I didn’t know what to say about Bob anymore.
I kept my apron on, and went back out front. I visited my customers, greeting everyone that I knew and introducing myself to anyone that I didn’t know.
Laurie Cleary was there with her husband and daughter. She grabbed my hand as if she were drowning and I were a lifeguard. “I was hoping you’d be here, Trixie.”
I grinned. “It seems like I’m always here, Laurie, but don’t you usually come in earlier than seven o’clock at night?”
“A lot of us went to the grand reopening of the Bijou. They showed the latest James Bond, and it just let out.”
“I heard it was fabulous,” I said, remembering the Bijou from my summers at the cottages.
“What’s fabulous? The Bijou or James Bond?” Laurie asked.
“Both.”
“Yes. They were both fabulous, but I need to ask you something.”
“Fire away, Laurie.”
“Since Roberta Cummings is serving a life term at Bedford Hills, you may have heard that I’m the new editor of the Sandy Harbor Lure.”
“No, I haven’t heard, but I’m sure that you’ll do a great job.” I was afraid to guess what her question was.
“Would you let me do a story on you? How you investigated. How you caught the murderers. How you got away when you were tied up in Salvatore Brown’s van. You know, the whole enchilada.”
“Enchiladas are Juanita’s lunch special on Thursday.” I made a feeble attempt to change the subject. “Juanita feels that the menu should be more diverse, and who can make better Mexican food than Juanita?”
“So, you’re not needed here around lunch on Thursday?” Laurie whipped out a black appointment book and made a note. “I’ll be here at noon to interview you.”
“Laurie, I don’t think that I want to rehash the whole thing again.”
“This is going to be a great story!”
I shrugged. What more was there to say? I’d told the story several times to Deputy Ty Brisco as he laboriously typed out my affidavit of the incident. I told the whole thing again at Roberta’s trial and yet again at Sal Brown’s trial.
I wanted to put it all behind me and concentrate on my diner and cottages. The cottages were due to open in a month, and they needed to be ready.
“I’ll see you on Thursday, Trixie,” Laurie reiterated.
“Okay,” I said with my heart not into it.
The counter was still fairly empty, so I returned to my stool and to my laptop.
I’m back, Aunt Stella. The fishermen are ordering a lot of takeout, and this order was particularly big. Today is Spaghetti Saturday, and we must have sold a ton of it!
The customers probably think that things are not the same at the Silver Bullet without you and Uncle Porky. I could never replace the two of you, but I’ve been trying to make the place my own. Maybe they’ll get used to me.
I’m making some changes, though. Mrs. Sarah Stolfus, a new friend of mine, is doing the fancy baking. In the revolving case and in another glass showcase, I feature her pies, cakes, and other desserts, all of which are for sale. Sarah has decided that the Silver Bullet will be the only place her goods will be available, so people come from all over the area to purchase them.
Sarah thanks me every day because she doesn’t have to sit in parking lots with her horse and buggy in all kinds of weather!
I have also cut down on ordering various produce from Sunshine Food Supply. I’ve opted for more locally grown produce for the menu as much as possible, particularly in the summer and fall. I know that it’s easier to just order from Sunshine all year long, but I want to support the local growers.
And then there’s Deputy Ty Brisco….
Speaking of Ty, he just pushed the front door open and was walking into the diner. It’s strange that I can sense when he’s near. His presence is like a force of nature. He walked down the aisle, his boots making a hollow sound on the tile floor as he walked like they always did. Ty smiled and tipped his black cowboy hat to the ladies and nodded to the men. He was greeted by friendly waves and handshakes.
Everyone liked him, and everyone respected him even more since he arrested Roberta Cummings and Salvatore Brown.
He wore a black bomber jacket and dark jeans with a crease down the front. The crease must be a Texas thing—no one creases their jeans here in the north. He was born to wear jeans—they accentuated his long legs and tight butt—but I wasn’t looking.
Ty spotted me sitting at the counter and shot me a knee-weakening grin that made me glad that I was sitting. He sat on the stool beside me.
Aunt Stella would have to wait again. I hit the Screen Saver button and turned to Ty. “How are you?”
“Doin’ great. Mostly, we’re getting calls from campgrounds and hotels about drunk fishermen, being loud and causing a ruckus. I can’t tell you how many drinks I’ve been offered along with trout. Too bad I’m on duty.”
“The special is spaghetti.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. I’d never miss Spaghetti Saturday. How are you doing?”
I shrugged. “My divorce lawyer called me. Among other things, she told me that my ex-husband and his new wife had twin girls: Tiffany and Brittany.”
His deep blue eyes studied my face. “Are you okay?”
I’d never told him that I couldn’t get pregnant in spite of many years of marriage with Deputy Doug, but obviously he’d had no problem getting Wendy pregnant, so the fertilit
y problem was with me. And they had twins, no less.
I had many years of angst, wanting children and doing everything but standing on my head to get pregnant. Whenever I thought about it, like now, it felt like an arrow was stuck in my heart.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I finally said, not wanting to confide something so personal to Ty. I didn’t know why I even brought it up. Maybe it was because he was my first friend in Sandy Harbor. He sent business to the Silver Bullet, which kept it afloat in the aftermath of Mr. Cogswell’s death in the kitchen, and I’d always be grateful to him for that.
Nancy appeared in front of him. “Can I get you something, Ty?” She batted her eyes like she had a nervous tic, and I could swear that she popped another button on her black uniform dress. Even though Nancy had only worked here for ten days or so, she already was hunting Ty. Correction: She was one of many who were hunting Ty.
He grinned, showing perfect rows of brilliant white teeth. “Howdy, darlin’. I’ll have a cup of coffee and the spaghetti special with meatballs. Thousand Island dressing on my salad.”
Nancy scribbled on her order pad, and immediately poured him a cup of coffee. “I know you take it black, Ty.”
“That’s absolutely correct. And strong enough so a horseshoe can float on top.”
Nancy giggled—yes, giggled—like it was the best joke she’d ever heard.
Not talking her eyes off Ty, she backed away from the counter and backed through the double doors that led to the kitchen. She was enthralled with Ty. He knew it, too, but he wasn’t leading her on or playing with her emotions; that’s just how he was—friendly.
Sandy Harbor was loaded with fishermen and farmers, so a cowboy from Texas was a novelty.
I wasn’t immune to Ty either, but I wasn’t looking for a relationship. I had to concentrate on my diner and the cottages.
Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery Page 20
