I greeted Buck and filled his mug. “Something bad has happened. I can feel it.”
He nodded, his face somber. “A South Lick resident was found dead a little while ago.”
My mouth formed an O. “Somebody I know?”
“Not sure. He was apparently a friend of Abe’s folks, though.”
No. My eyes widened. “Was it Jed Greenberg?”
Buck squinted at me. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t. But we had dinner with Jed and his wife at Howard and Freddy O’Neill’s last night. I think the Greenbergs are the only friends of Abe’s parents I’ve met.” Abe and I had been an item for less than a year, and while I’d spent time with Howard and Freddy, plus Sean, of course, I hadn’t yet been invited to a gathering of the older generation and their friends until last evening. “Did he have a heart attack or something? He wasn’t that old.” Poor Jed, and poor Willa Mae.
“The death appears to have been accidental.” Buck tapped the table and frowned, as if he had doubts about what he’d just said.
Whew. “I hope so. Because, another murder in South Lick? No, thanks. Still, it’s really sad. What kind of accident was he in?” I thought about what he’d said. “Wait. Did you say it appears to be accidental?”
“Can I get me some breakfast real quick before I tell you, Robbie? I’m so hungry I could eat a cow between two bread vans. And I got to get back to the office lickety-split.”
“Sure. The usual?”
Buck glanced at the Specials board. “Huh. I’ll take me some of that there oatmeal. It’s colder than a polar bear’s toenails out there, and oatmeal will warm me up fast. Plus biscuits and gravy, and two over-easy with sausages and rye toast, please?” He looked up at me, sounding hopeful.
“You got it.” Definitely an appetite as legendary as a teenager’s. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m too plumb weak with hunger to move, Robbie.”
I snorted as he hauled out his department-issue cell phone and started jabbing at it with his index finger.
I brought his order to Danna. I lowered my voice. “Buck just said Jed Greenberg was found dead this morning.”
“Really?” She brought her hand to her mouth.
“Buck said it was an accident. Or that it looked like one, whatever that means. I feel bad for Jed’s wife, Willa Mae. Did you ever meet her?”
Danna shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“I met the couple only yesterday. Buck’s going to tell me more after he gets his food.”
“Because he’s so hungry his stomach thinks his throat’s been slit?” She rolled her eyes, but it was an indulgent look. “I’m on it, Madame Chef.”
I cruised about, clearing tables, making change, freshening up coffee. A party of four women, white-haired as well as dye-jobbed, found a table and gave me their orders. Three of them beelined it straight for the shelves of vintage cookware I collected to sell, their excitement palpable.
“We’re down from Indy to shop, but, you know, most of the stores in Nashville don’t open ’til ten,” the last one told me. “One of the girls had been to South Lick before and she raved about your store and the restaurant. We just had to start our day here!”
“I’m glad you did. I’ll come get you when your food is ready.”
“Thanks, hon.”
After almost five years in southern Indiana, I was finally used to nearly everybody older than me addressing me as “hon” or “dear,” which hadn’t been a custom in California—and still wasn’t, as far as I knew.
Danna dinged the Ready bell for Buck’s order. I swapped the slip for the shoppers’ and carried a tray holding enough breakfast for three of me to Buck. He tucked his blue cloth napkin into his collar and his fork into a gravy-laden biscuit. A customer across the room caught my attention, so off I went to attend to him. Fifteen minutes elapsed before I got back to Buck. He’d made short work of the food. The bowl of oatmeal was empty and only a few smears of gravy remained on the biscuit plate. He was using the toast to make sure he didn’t leave behind even a trace of egg.
“Now can you tell me what happened, Buck? Please?” I kept my voice low, even though nobody else sat directly adjacent.
He swallowed and swabbed his mouth with the napkin. “Welp, seems Mr. Greenberg was out walking a puppy before dawn this morning. Man fell on a patch of ice and hit his head hard on an iron fence. Between that and the frigid temperatures, he was a goner by the time somebody found him.”
“Where was the fence? Who found him?”
“Behind the library. That lady who works there, a, uh . . .” He checked the display on his phone. “A Ms. LaRue was out emptying the overnight box. She saw him and called it in.”
“I know Georgia.” I pictured the walkway behind the library. In fact, it faced north and the pavement might not get any direct sun at this time of year. “That must have been hard on her, to find a dead person. Was Cocoa okay?”
He gaped, half-chewed toast still in his mouth. “Now, how in Sam Hill do you know the doggy’s name?”
“Shut your mouth when you have food in it, Buck.” I cleared my throat. “I was at the O’Neills’ when Cocoa was delivered last night.”
Buck wrinkled his nose as if that was too much information to take in. “Anywho, pup was fine, although his leash was all tangled up in the corpse’s legs. Might coulda been what killed Greenberg. Trip over an energetic puppy and you’re a goner.”
“Ouch. I did notice yesterday and last night, too, that Jed seemed a little wobbly, like he had poor balance, even before we started having drinks. He didn’t sound drunk, but I suppose he could have been. I have no idea what caused his wavering when he walked.”
“We’ll check into it. Good thing the dog was wearing a tag, so the patrol officer had somebody to call. Ms. O’Neill told us the Greenbergs was keeping the pup until Christmas.”
“Right. He’s supposed to be a surprise Christmas gift for Abe’s son,” I said. “Jed’s wife, Willa Mae, offered to keep Cocoa until Christmas morning.”
“So she told me. A lot to sort out.” He scratched his head and stood. “I’d best get back to the station. I got men securing the scene until Oscar shows up and commences his investigation.”
“Oscar Thompson?” I stared up at Buck. “But he’s a state homicide detective. Why is he taking over?”
Buck looked down—way down—at me over the bridge of his nose. “You should oughta know by now, Robbie. Unattended death? A man essentially in his prime? We’re obliged to call in the big guns, as far as that goes. No three ways about it.”
Chapter Six
News spread fast in a small town like ours. The restaurant buzzed with rumors and gossip about Jed’s death for the rest of the morning. We barely had our usual ten-thirty lull, the time when we did necessary things like use the facilities, grab a bite to eat, and do lunch prep. Diners kept stopping me as I passed.
“What do you think, Robbie?” one regular asked, a gentleman retired from a career in aerospace. “Was Greenberg’s death really a accident?”
I gritted my teeth at the use of a rather than an. Even after nearly five years in the area, some of the local expressions drove me a little nuts. I mustered an innocent look. “That’s what the police said. Why should I doubt them?”
“ ’Cause you’re some kind of PI, aren’t you?”
“No, sir.” I laughed. “Not at all. I’m a chef and business owner, not a private investigator.” Despite having discovered that I did, in fact, have a knack for figuring out murders over the last year, I’d much prefer never to need to.
“Do you think he was murdered?” The man’s white eyebrows went nearly into his hairline. “I heard he was messing around in more than one piece of dirty business.”
Interesting gossip, but I wasn’t going there. Relieved to hear Danna hit the Ready bell, I said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some hot food to deliver.” I hurried over to the grill. “We have to swap out. Everybody thinks I’m a detec
tive and is asking me if Jed was murdered. Sheesh.”
“Sure, boss.” She slid out of her apron and donned a fresh one. She pointed at the grill. “That’s the Adam and Eve on a raft, and the cowboy with whiskey down is for the same table. I haven’t gotten to the next two orders yet.”
“Got it.” I washed my hands, smiling at her diner jargon, which she’d learned at her previous job. Adam and Eve on a raft was two poached eggs on toast. A cowboy was a western omelet, and whiskey down meant rye toast. I’d picked up most of the expressions, but she still stumped me on occasion, like when she’d delivered a slip at lunchtime and said, “Noah’s boy and run it through a Wisconsin garden.” She’d laughed out loud at my bewildered expression and patiently explained, “Ham—you know, like, Noah’s son—and cheese—Wisconsin—sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and onion. That’s the garden part.”
By eleven-thirty I’d managed to bake three big pans of the cookies. I dusted them with powdered sugar and cut them into inch-and-a-half squares while they were still warm. We could serve three on a small plate and call it dessert. Danna wrote the cookies on the Specials board, and added the pea soup I’d whipped up yesterday afternoon, too. It was a pretty green with a mix of split peas and fresh frozen ones. Tiny chunks of ham added flavor, and we’d fine-chopped red pepper to sprinkle on it before serving, so it looked festive.
Abe set the front-door cowbell to jangling at a few minutes before noon. His expression wasn’t a happy one. We’d had a flood of customers come in over the last ten minutes and there was exactly one small table left open. Danna was still handling the front, taking orders and filling drinks as fast as she could. Abe gave me a quick squeeze around the waist, then stepped back from the grill.
I laid on two beef patties and a turkey burger. “What’s going on? Do you want lunch?” I stole a glance at his face, ruddy from the cold, but with worry lines between his dark eyebrows, and spied his electric company work shirt under his jacket.
“I’m on my lunch break from work, and, yes, I’m hungry. But some serious stuff is going on.” He grabbed the black watch cap off his head and ruffled his hair with his other hand.
“So tell me.” The patties sizzled.
“You heard about Jed.”
I nodded.
“My dad got other bad news this morning. He’d had an audit done on the books for the property he and Jed owned. The one they sold not too long ago. Turns out Jed was cooking them. Stealing money and disguising it.”
I faced him. “No. Really?”
“Truth. Dad thought something was fishy, but he could never find it. He finally got the report a couple of hours ago.”
“Wow. Did Jed know your dad was getting an audit done?”
Abe shook his head. “I don’t think so. Dad called him this morning, but, of course, Jed was already dead, so he didn’t reach him.”
“Last night, Howard said it hadn’t been a good investment. That must have been why.” I turned back to the waiting orders. I assembled a grilled cheddar and tomato on whole wheat bread—otherwise known as a mousetrap on brown with a slice—and laid it on the hot surface. “Your dad must be really upset. Was it a lot of money?”
“I think it was.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Has he let the police know? If Jed was ripping off your father, he might have been cheating other people, too.”
“Dad’s over at the station now.”
I flipped the burgers and the grilled cheese and ladled out two bowls of soup, sprinkling the pepper bits on top. “They wanted him to come in? I would have thought he could just put them in touch with the auditor.”
Abe didn’t speak for a minute. He cleared his throat. “Detective Thompson insisted.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“What’s he doing on the case, anyway? I heard Jed slipped on the ice.”
I threw a handful of sliced onions and green peppers onto the grill. “Buck reminded me that it’s because Jed’s death was unattended, and it’s not like he’s an old guy who died in his sleep. The police are required to investigate it.”
“But what if the police make a fuss about the fraud and people think my father killed Jed?” Abe asked softly. “What if they think Dad had a motive?” He jingled the change in his pocket faster than he picked his banjo.
“Abe, one step at a time. We both know your father wouldn’t hurt an atom on a flea. They can’t charge Howard if he didn’t do it. Plus, you don’t even know that Jed’s death wasn’t an accident.” I slid the burgers onto their buns and checked the order slips. I dragged two of them through the garden, so to speak, loaded up four plates with pickle spears, burgers, and a mousetrap, and dinged the bell for Danna. “Sweetie, I really have to focus on cooking. We’re packed and we don’t have Turner.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He blew out a breath. “I’m just kind of worried right now.”
“I hear you. But everything’s going to be okay. Trust me.” I gazed into his eyes until he nodded. “Now, what do you want to eat?”
Chapter Seven
A text came in at one-thirty from Abe. Things were getting worse.
Heard from Mom. Thompson suspicious of Dad giving Jed your chocolate mix. Kept him at station for more grilling.
My Mexican chocolate mix? Yikes. They must think Jed had been poisoned. But what about hitting his head? And did they really imagine cheery, mild-mannered Howard would have murdered someone? What did they think he did, open the packet he’d bought from me, insert a powdered toxin, and then seal it? That was so stupid, and would have run the risk of poisoning Willa Mae, too, or instead. No, wait. Last night, she’d said she hated chocolate. But Abe’s dad hadn’t known that before he’d wrapped the gift.
I gave a quick glance around the busy restaurant. Rumors of poison in a food product was as bad as evidence of rats for a restaurant’s reputation. This place would be empty in a New York minute if a toxin was found in my special chocolate packets. All I could do was hope it wouldn’t be.
Danna dinged the bell. We continued to be swamped with customers. Normally, business waned by this time of day. But it was vacation week, and people still had three shopping days until Christmas. Also, it was too cold out to do much of anything. I was going to have to put in a resupply order and soon, or we’d run out of food by Christmas Eve. I shoved the phone into my back pocket and hurried to the kitchen area.
“Can you believe it?” Danna asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen us so busy. And if I don’t get to the girls’ room, I’m going to—”
I held up a hand. “Don’t tell me. Just go.”
She tore off her apron and nearly sprinted to the restroom. I loaded up a tray with three lunch orders and delivered it, then hurried back and washed my hands. I slid easily into the cook’s role. We served breakfast all day, and next up were a double wreck on a raft, three stacks—one with logs and two with pigs—and a moo. Translation, two scrambled eggs on toast, three orders of pancakes—one with sausages and two with bacon—and a milk. Good thing I didn’t offer creamed chipped beef on toast or we’d be uttering a bad word over and over. We’d have to abbreviate it as SOS, or maybe say stuff on a shingle, instead.
When Danna emerged, she took over waiting, busing, and taking orders while I worked spatulas in both hands. I glanced up when the cowbell jangled, hoping it wasn’t a party of ten. If it was, they’d just have to wait. What I saw was possibly worse. State police detective Oscar Thompson clomped toward me in his usual black suit and matching cowboy boots. This time, he wore a red Colts scarf around his neck and a Colts watch cap, instead of his summer ball cap. He was an odd bird personally, but a competent detective. After my being somewhat involved with more than one murder investigation in the past, we’d finally gotten on a first-name basis, too.
“Good afternoon, Oscar.” I flashed him a smile. “We’re pretty busy, but a table should open up fairly soon.”
He did not return my greeting. “I’m not here for lunch. I need to confiscate
all your hot chocolate packets.” He grabbed the hat off his head, leaving thin hair plastered to his head.
My heart sank. “You do? Why?” I sniffed. Time to focus on my cooking. The pancakes needed turning a minute ago.
He cleared his throat. “One or more might have been tampered with.” He pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It’s all official. Got the search warrant right here.”
“You must think Jed Greenberg was poisoned,” I murmured. “Why? I thought he slipped on the sidewalk.”
“The man had chocolate spilled on his shirt. It had an odd smell. He was apparently nearly universally disliked, and we have to cover all our bases.”
I nodded once. “What about a security camera? Does the library have one out back?”
“We’ve requested the footage, of course.” He opened his mouth to say more, then shut it again. He didn’t quite glare at me, but almost. “I’m not free to discuss any more about the case, Robbie. As you well know. Where do you stock the packets?”
“Am I going to get them back?” I asked. I pushed around the scrambleds, then scooped them onto a plate with two pieces of buttered wheat. “They’ve been really popular.”
“Maybe, if they aren’t contaminated. I’ll give you a receipt from the state.”
I stared at him. The Board of Health probably wouldn’t let me sell them after they’d been examined, anyway. Wonderful.
Oscar tapped his hand on his thigh. “Ms. Jordan, I don’t have all day.”
“Just hang on. I’m a little busy, as you can see.” When Danna approached, I said, “Can you please show Oscar the chocolate packets real quick? And then these orders will be ready.”
She raised the eyebrow threaded through with a tiny silver ring, but nodded. She beckoned to Oscar. “Follow me, Detective.”
Christmas Cocoa Murder Page 14
