The Chicken Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  Will that be so bad?

  Of course, it would be bad. It would be losing everything I’d worked for. The only reason I’d become a detective in the first place was to take after my mother, and, hopefully, when I was in the right frame of mind, to investigate what had actually happened to her.

  I couldn’t do any of that if I wasn’t a detective.

  “Please?” Nelly asked.

  I dragged my tongue over my bottom lip. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said, at last.

  “Oh, thank you, Christie, you’re a life saver.” She leaned back in her chair and exhaled. “I don’t know how I’ll manage if everyone thinks I did it.”

  That statement piqued my interest. Why did Nelly care so much? Why was she worried if the cops would ultimately prove her innocent by arresting the real culprit?

  My suspect list had already formed, and I went down it mentally as I sipped on my coffee and chewed on Virginia’s freshly baked oatmeal raisin cookies. First up was Dolores, but not far down that line was Nelly herself.

  One could never be too careful in Sleepy Creek.

  9

  Dolores’ Bakery was open every day of the week. It was great for me, since I loved her croissants with chocolate dipping sauce, and for Griz, who desperately needed some time off from the Burger Bar, as well.

  The specials were still on, the clapboard’s writing bright and attractive in red chalk, but the bakery was relatively quiet this early on a Sunday morning. Most folks were on their way into church, or getting ready to go, and the early comers to the bakery were all dressed in their Sunday best.

  “I’m starving,” Grizzy said, as we joined the short line.

  The place smelled divine, a combination of baking cookies and fresh roasted coffee beans. The inside was cheery, as well, with large open windows that let in light onto the boarded floors, tables with quaint white tablecloths and rickety mismatched chairs.

  Menus spanned the walls in curly writing, items and prices listed next to each other in gold font.

  “Everything looks so good,” Griz said.

  I nodded.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “No, no, Christie, you can’t fool me. You know, I wasn’t born yesterday.” Griz pursed her lips.

  “I can vouch for that. I was there yesterday. No baby would be allowed to eat that much Mac ‘n Cheese in one sitting.”

  “You’re too much,” Griz replied. “And you know what I’m talking about. I don’t suppose it’s a coincidence we just so happen to have come here for our morning snack?”

  “I would have gone to the Burger Bar, but there’s only so many burgers a person can eat.”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  “Yet more proof that you were not, indeed, born yesterday.” I couldn’t avoid her questions for long, though. “And yeah, OK, I’m not just here for the delicious croissants and the fattening chocolate dip. She asked me to help her, Griz, so I’m going to help her.”

  “I’d say you were a kind soul, but I know helping Nelly isn’t your only priority. You’ve got the bug again.” Griz poked me in the side.

  “Ow. That wasn’t fair.”

  “Neither is putting yourself at risk like this. Though, it’s hypocritical of me to say it. When my cousin was in trouble, I helped you investigate.”

  “And you can help me now,” I said.

  “How?”

  “By ordering my croissant while I go speak to that woman in the corner. The one crying softly into her apron.”

  “Oh dear.”

  The more I looked around the place, the stranger the inside of the bakery seemed. Firstly, it was far too empty, and secondly… the folks who wore the aprons or stood behind the counters all-seemed tight-lipped, apart from the one waitress who was tear-streaked instead.

  “Be right back,” I said.

  “Try not to make it worse,” Griz whispered.

  I walked to the table in the corner, right near the front counter, and stopped in front of the waitress. She wore a Dolores’ Bakery apron, the woman’s name splashed across her chest, and held the end of it to her face, dabbing furiously beneath her eyes. Her nametag read: Jessa-May.

  “Hello.” I reached into my handbag. I brought out a pack of Kleenex and offered it to her. Rule number two on my mother’s go-to life hacks list had been: always carry a pack of Kleenex in your purse, you never know when you’ll need a tissue, whether it’s for tears or to remove an item from the scene of a crime without contaminating the evidence.

  “Hello.” Jessa-May’s green eyes were bloodshot. “Do you need help? I’m sorry, I’m on my break, I—”

  “Here.” I waggled the pack of Kleenex at her. “Take one. You look like you need it.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and took the entire pack. I let it slide. “Sorry, I can’t help anyone, right now.”

  I sat down across from her and placed my forearms on the table, the fabric dragging on my thin-knit sweater. “That’s all right. I don’t need any help. I saw you were feeling a bit… um, down, and I thought I would ask if you’re OK?”

  Jessa-May’s bottom lip trembled. “No, not really. I’m not OK at all. That mean woman.” She held herself completely still as she spoke, her mouth making shapes, her nostrils flaring. “She’s not even a woman, she’s a creature.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Dolores.” The way she said it, I half-expected a murder of crows to appear and smash into the front window.

  “The owner of the bakery?”

  “Yes,” Jessa-May hissed. “She’s a horrible… I can’t even put it into words.” Jessa was young, probably in her early twenties, her blonde hair tied up in a messy bun atop her head. Strands stuck up from it, and trembled as she spoke, as if she was shaking from the sheer ferocity of the words leaving her.

  “What happened?” I asked, my gaze dancing away toward the counter. What if Dolores appeared now? Would she take issue with me talking to one of her employees?

  “She yelled at me,” Jessa said. “Told me I was useless. She came down from upstairs in an absolute rage and took it out on me because I was the only one within range.” Jessa sniffed. “That’s what I get for arriving on time, not like the others. They were all late, and I—”

  “Where is she now?” I asked.

  “Stormed off. Apparently, she’s got an appointment today.” Jessa-May’s tears had dried, but the end of her nose was a little red. “And I bet I know who it’s with.”

  “Who?”

  Griz was at the front of the queue ordering for us both.

  “The cops,” Jessa said, shifting to sling one arm over the back of her chair. “That delicious detective, Liam Balle? She’s going to see him.”

  My chest squeezed, and my eyebrows drew inward. Delicious? Really? Isn’t he a little too old for you, Jessa? I buried my jealousy—I wasn’t actually jealous, there had to be another reason for this—and leaned in. “To the cops? What for? Has it got something to do with what happened to Sal?”

  “And Francesca,” Jessa-May whispered. “I hate to say it, but I’d believe it if she’d murdered them both. I know what kind of a woman Dolores really is. She’s mean, and she thinks too much of herself. And the once, I saw her right outside of Sal’s pizzeria after it was closed. In the middle of the night.”

  Jessa was so angry, there was barely any need to press her for information. She freely offered it up.

  “What do you mean? How?”

  “Oh, it was about a week ago,” Jessa said, scooching forward so that she leaned right over the table. She sniffed and dabbed under nose, but kept intense eye contact with me. “I had just gotten back from my mother’s place in Logan’s Rest. Late bus in. Didn’t want to leave too early. And I was hungry, so I thought I’d check if anything was open. You know, sometimes Sal would stay open overnight, just as a big… well, I won’t curse, but it was to get back at Dolores for dominating the early morning traffic in Sleepy Creek.”

  I took me
ntal notes rapidly. Jessa had a splotch of something on her collar, something red. Lipstick? Make up? Ketchup? It wasn’t of any consequence, but my eyes kept wandering over to it. Marinara sauce?

  “Anyway, I was walking down the street when I saw her, standing there. Pizzeria was closed, but she had her face pressed up against the glass and her hands cupped around it so she could see inside better.”

  “Jessa!” Another of the waiters called from the counter. “Can you stop crying for five seconds and come help us?”

  Jessa-May rolled her eyes and waved a hand over her shoulder. “And that’s not all, I saw.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The other day, when I was closing up after the evening diners had left?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Dolores came in with a package from the hardware store. She ignored me and took it right upstairs, but she dropped the receipt accidentally, and I picked it up.” Jessa pressed her lips together, pouting them outward. “She bought poison. Rat poison. This place doesn’t have any rats. Dolores would never let that happen, so why would she buy rat poison, hmm? What’s that about?”

  I kept my expression impassive. “What did you do with the receipt?”

  “Huh?” Jessa frowned. “Oh, nothing. I threw it away. I didn’t think it mattered at the time, but you can bet that if that sexy guy detective comes back round here, I’ll be telling him all about this. And then he can lock her up and throw away the key, because I just know it was her. I just know it.”

  “Jessa! She’s on her way back!” one of the other waiters yelled.

  Jessa-May jumped up like she’d been electrocuted and rushed away without another word, taking my pack of Kleenex with her. Now, what would I do if I ran into irrefutable evidence that needed collecting?

  “What was that about?” Grizzy came over, carrying two takeaway cups of coffee and two boxes stacked on top of each other with ‘Dolores’ Bakery’ stamped on each.

  “Let’s walk to church,” I said. “I’ll tell you on the way.” And it would give me time to work things through.

  Dolores buying rat poison. Dolores at the pizzeria. Could it be that simple?

  10

  The Burger Bar bustled on a Sunday afternoon. It always did after church, where people would come in for a burger and a gossip, mostly about Pastor Frank’s sermon or whether people really believed his wife had left him simply because he was too committed to his work. The gossip circle was convinced that Mrs. Pastor Frank had skipped town to marry a Pilates instructor.

  “It’s shameful,” Virginia said, dolefully, as the four of us tucked into our burgers.

  Martin had opted to run the Sunday shifts in the Burger Bar, and our new waitress, Hedy, was shadowing him around the Burger Bar, practicing for tomorrow when she’d start full-time. The Burger Bar’s popularity had grown as spring warmed and the Food Fair grew closer.

  Personally, I believed it had something to do with the murders. The restaurant was the hotspot for news.

  “—listening to you, at all.”

  I turned my head, catching the last of Missi’s sentence. “Huh?”

  “The correct term is ‘pardon me,’ Watson. Not ‘huh?’ You wouldn’t know the meaning of ladylike if it hit you in the face,” Missi sniffed.

  “Ladylike? Firstly, that’s not my prime inspiration in life. I’d prefer to be respected as a person and an investigator. And secondly, would ‘ladylike’ really hit me in the face? You see the paradox there, right?”

  Missi opened her mouth to argue, but Virginia waved a hand at her. “It’s fine, sister,” she said, “I don’t mind repeating myself. It only means I’ll get to order another vanilla shake.”

  I took the mention of the shake as a segue to slurp on my own.

  “I was saying that it’s shameful, people gossiping about Pastor Frank like this.”

  “Shameful,” Grizzy echoed, and lifted her cherry off her blob of cream. She gobbled it down. “Do people have nothing better to do?”

  “No, I mean, it’s shameful that they think his love life—”

  “Or lack thereof,” Missi interrupted.

  “—is important when there’s a murderer on the loose. A double murderer.” Virginia plumbed the depths of her milkshake with her thick paper straw. “What is that called? Just a double homicide? At what point can we call it a serial killer?”

  “Don’t say that, Vee,” Grizzy whispered. “Someone will hear you. It will spook the customers.”

  “Darling, you could stand on the table and scream serial killer at the top of your lungs and it would probably bring in more customers,” Missi said, patting Griz on the arm. “It’s the nature of the Sleepy Creek beast.”

  “It gives me goosebumps,” Grizzy said.

  “It’s not official as to whether the two deaths are connected,” I said, “so I can’t say.”

  “But you want to say, don’t you, dear?” Virginia asked, scooching in closer. “Rumor has it, you were at the bakery this morning.”

  “Rumor has it?” I asked.

  “Fine, I told her,” Grizzy put in, between slurps of strawberry milkshake. “She’s got that way about her, Chris, she gets the information right out of me.”

  “Interesting,” Vee said, “very interesting. So Dolores is a suspect?”

  “Keep your voice down, please, ladies,” I said. “You know the walls have ears in here.”

  The front door swung open barely seconds after the words had left my mouth, and Mona Jonah and her gossip circle entered the Burger Bar. They reminded me of a much older version of that movie, Mean Girls—they wore matching leopard-sprint scarves and red lipstick, with horn-rimmed sunglasses to boot.

  No, not Mean Girls, they were like the Pink Ladies from Grease. Except with less pink and a whole lot more hairspray.

  The chatter in the diner silenced momentarily as people turned and eyed the newcomers. Finally, it resumed again, a few of the older women in the crowd bowing their heads low or avoiding eye contact with the circle.

  Mona Jonah whipped her sunglasses off her face, and the other women followed her example. Their beady gazes roved over the place, until, finally, they selected a table right next to ours and made a beeline for it.

  Mona clicked her fingers at the new waitress, Hedy, who almost dropped her tray in an effort to rush after her.

  “Uh oh,” I said, “no way is Hedy going to be able to handle this by herself.” The poor girl was just about to graduate from Sleepy Creek High, looking for a job for the approaching summer, slight and with auburn hair that hung in a bob around her face. Her green eyes were doe-like. Easy to mistake as weak.

  I made to get up, but Grizzy had already raised her hand for Martin, who rushed over and nudged Hedy toward another table. He smiled at Mona and her circle. “Good morning, ladies.”

  “It’s almost afternoon,” Mona sniffed. “We’ll take five chicken burgers and five chocolate shakes.”

  “They even eat the same thing,” Grizzy whispered.

  “I suspect their digestive systems are synced up.” Missi sat back, her eyes sharp at the presence of the women. She definitely didn’t like the circle. And the circle definitely didn’t like her right back. “You know, they all go number one at the same time.”

  “Mississippi, we’re at the table,” Vee hissed, scandalized.

  “What? It’s not like I said number two.”

  Virginia opened and shut her mouth, shock overcoming her, and giving opportunity for me to listen in on the conversation at the circle’s booth.

  Mona had to have noticed us, but she didn’t seem to care much that we were seated right behind her. Maybe, it was because she was with her group and wanted to assert dominance. I could never tell with her.

  “Now, where were we?” Mona said, after the orders were taken and the waiter had disappeared. “The case of Sal’s death, correct?”

  “Yes, Mona.” I couldn’t see which woman had answered, but she sounded as if she was in a classroom rather than chilling out i
n a restaurant for a Sunday burger brunch.

  “I heard,” Mona said, without much need for prompting, “that there’s been big trouble in the family. That new cousin of his, Mario? He’s apparently been in charge of the pizzeria ever since Sal passed on. Some would say that’s very suspicious.”

  “Would we say that?” one of the women asked.

  “Of course, Rebecca. Keep up, for heaven’s sake.” Mona gave a long-suffering sigh. Ah, the perils of being followed around by a group of lackeys who lived off your every word. I had little to no sympathy for the woman. She was a plague.

  “Apparently, he’s the one who’s hosting a dual ceremony for Sal and Francesca. On a Tuesday. Who in their right mind has a memorial service on a Tuesday? Don’t answer that, Rebecca, it was a rhetorical question.”

  I met Missi’s gaze across the table. Her lips had thinned, this time to withhold the laughter that had her shoulders shaking.

  “And he’s inviting everyone in Sleepy Creek to attend. Everyone. Even Dolores. Now, if that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.” Mona tapped her fingers on the tabletop with a clickety-click. “Clear your schedules, girls, we’ll be there on Tuesday. We’re going to find out just what this Mario Russo guy is hiding.”

  “What if he’s not hiding anything?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Kimberly-Ann. Everyone has something to hide.”

  The words rang in my ears, not only because Mona had a particularly sonorous voice, but because they were true. Everyone did have something to hide.

  And this memorial service sounded like the perfect place to start snooping around for the truth.

  So much for keeping your nose clean.

  11

  Everyone who was anyone in Sleepy Creek had been invited to attend the memorial service for Sal and Francesca. And that meant all the town’s residents had turned up. Sal and Francesca had lived in the suburbs with a relatively large house and back yard. Plenty of space for people to gather, to talk, and to eat after the church service.