The Chicken Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  We picked our way through the remains of the memorial service—a toppled photo stand, Styrofoam cups, paper plates, and pieces of leftover cake. “I think we’ve solved the mystery of the mouse problem,” I said.

  When we got to the front of the house, the only car parked on the verge was Grizzy’s sparkling blue Kia.

  “Goose egg,” I said, and peered up at the front of the house. The windows were lit, but the curtains drawn. I didn’t like it. Bella had been too jumpy.

  I doubted it had been because of the mice. She was up to something, and I wouldn’t rest until I found out what it was.

  15

  Griselda had definitely outdone herself with the lentil soup. In what I could only describe as a stroke of genius, she had decided to make extra and keep some for when we got home from our failed visit to the Russo household.

  The soup was divine, thick, with pieces of potato and carrot, flavored with cumin and dotted with tender shredded chicken. I gulped down another spoonful of it and licked my lips. “This is delicious, Griz. I don’t know how you made lentils taste good, but it’s perfect.”

  “Lentils are always good,” Grizzy said. “And healthy for you. Nice break from the burgers.”

  We sat in the living room on the sofa, feasting on our soup and dipping pieces of fresh crusty bread from the bakery into it. The bread brought me to thoughts of Dolores, but I brushed them aside and tried to enjoy the soup for what it was: not another clue in a murder case.

  It was great to be back in the house, now that the detectives had cleared us to live here again.

  “Today was strange,” Griz said. “Bella was… I didn’t expect her to react that way to us being there. Francesca wasn’t exactly the friendliest woman around, but she was always welcoming. I thought that a friend of hers would be similar in attitude.”

  I ate another spoonful of my soup.

  “I wonder if Nelly knows anything about her,” Griz said.

  “Look who’s investigating now?”

  “Oh please.” But Griz averted her gaze. “I’m not investigating. I’m just intrigued by the behavior, that’s all. It’s not a very Sleepy Creek way to act. Usually, when one brings over a treat or a gift or just a pot pie, people are nice about it. It’s hospitality. It goes both ways, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know. But I’m learning from you and this town every day.”

  “Don’t let Missi here you say that, she’ll never let you live it down,” Griz said.

  “Apparently, there are a lot of thing Missi won’t let me live down.”

  “I think I know one of them.” Griz placed her empty bowl on the coffee table. Curly Fries approached from the corner, but paused at the hard stare I sent her way. She meowed and waved her tail at me.

  “What’s that?”

  “The fact that you’re interested in Liam.”

  “What?” I nearly dropped my bowl. “Where is everyone getting this from? I’m not interested in him.”

  Grizzy gave me a look of high skepticism.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Oh come on, Christie, I wasn’t born yesterday. It doesn’t take a detective to work out that you two like each other.”

  “Us two?” I nearly stammered it. Not like me at all. It was past time I changed the subject.

  “Yeah, you two. He’s obviously got a crush on you too. Whenever you’re in the room, he can barely take his eyes off you. It’s sweet. It reminds me of how Arthur was with me before he asked me out on a date.”

  “I thought it wasn’t a date,” I said.

  Grizzy tut-tutted. “Don’t try to change the subject, Chris. You like him and he likes you. You should talk to him about that.”

  “I would rather get eaten alive by Curly Fries than speak to the detective about ‘feelings.’ I mean, really.”

  “It’s the 21st century, Christie. Women are allowed to ask men out on dates.”

  “It’s not so much permission I need,” I replied, “as to be swallowed whole by the Earth rather than continuing this conversation.” I ate the rest of my bread while Griz stared at me, shaking her head.

  “You are so stubborn. Why can’t you admit that you’re interested in him?”

  “Look, even if I was interested in him, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not in Sleepy Creek to stay, remember. I’ve got a job to get back to after my sabbatical.”

  “Assuming you don’t get fired for investigating.”

  “That’s my cross to bear,” I replied. “Speaking of investigating, let’s get back to talking about Bella’s weird behavior.”

  “Very smooth segue.”

  “I thought so.” Anything beat talking about Liam. It didn’t help that my stomach had birthed another billion butterflies the moment Griz had so much at hinted at him liking me. I was thirty, for heaven’s sake, not eighteen. “So. You think Bella is strange, yes?”

  Grizzy rolled her eyes. “I think it’s weird she wanted us out of there so fast. But, I suppose, if they thought she was a suspect they would have questioned her already. Like they did with Nelly.”

  “How did you know about that?’

  “You mean, apart from the wildfire of gossip that spread through the town the minute it happened? And the call I got from Virginia? And the second one from Missi?”

  “I see your point.”

  “Arthur told me about it,” Griz said. “He mentioned it this morning over breakfast.”

  “Breakfast?”

  “Yeah, he helped me take Curly to the vet. She was in a terrible mood about it. Kept trying to scratch me.”

  “Another date so soon?” I asked.

  “Anyway,” Grizzy said, since it was her turn to steer the conversation away from her love life. “Arthur told me that it was a poisoning. Definitely a poisoning, but he didn’t tell me what type of poison it was. Only that they found fingerprints and DNA evidence and that they were waiting for results.”

  “What? And you waited until now to tell me all of this?” I tucked my legs underneath myself on the sofa and turned toward her. “Arthur shouldn’t be telling you any of this. That’s private police business. He’s jeopardizing his case.”

  “Well, he said that it was all information they would be releasing to the press tonight. So, not really a secret.”

  “Oh.” I still couldn’t believe it. It was unprofessional of Arthur, and if it got out, might lead to real trouble with his captain. That and she’d had the inside track on the investigation. “Next time, tell me when you get Intel like this, please.”

  “Intel? OK, Agent Watson.” Christie laughed. “Now, can we watch some TV? I’m done with murders for now. I’d like to enjoy a sitcom.”

  “Seinfeld?”

  “Yes, please.” She got up and went to go grab her DVD boxset, leaving me in relative peace—Curly Fries hovered near the doorway, eying the empty bowls.

  So, it was definitely a poisoning. But had it come from the pizza? After all, Sal and Fran had both eaten it, supposedly. But they had been ill for a while. And what DNA evidence did the cops have that might help them find the killer? Would I even be needed on this one?

  Of course not.

  What if Nelly had done this? She didn’t fit the profile of a killer, but anything was possible.

  My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I lifted it, unlocked the screen and frowned at the text notification. I didn’t get texts unless they were from Griselda.

  The text was from an unknown number. “We are watching you. Stay away from the Russo family.”

  My stomach dropped. Those butterflies were officially gone.

  A mysterious text from the murderer? No, then it wouldn’t have read ‘we.’ The Somerville Spiders? My skin crawled. I looked back at the living room window. The curtains were drawn.

  I had two options: take this to Balle or investigate it myself. He’d be able to track the number, but it would also expose him to the problem, and, potentially, if there was a mole in Sleepy Creek, get back to the Somerville Spiders.


  No, it was better if I took care of this myself. Assuming it was the Spiders who’d messaged me in the first place.

  Another text buzzed through beneath the first. “Stay away or you’ll end up like your mother.”

  That settled it then. The Somerville Spiders were in Sleepy Creek, and they had something to do with the Russo family.

  “Are you all right?” Grizzy stood next to the DVD player. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “I think I just have,” I said, and held out my phone.

  16

  The pressure to figure out who’d murdered Sal and Francesca had reached fever pitch. The text I’d received last night had only made me more eager to put myself out there. I was like that—the minute somebody tried to scare me, I wanted to run right at them, ready for the challenge.

  But my suspect list was still so long. The fact that the Spiders didn’t want me to check out the Russo family was the first clue. Did that mean that the current Russo living there, Mario, was the main suspect?

  Or had the text simply implied that I stay away from the house or the case? I couldn’t assume anything until I had more information, and with nothing but a few rumors and whispers to go on—

  “Chris, why don’t you take a break?” Grizzy asked, and patted me on the arm.

  I sat at the counter at the back of the Burger Bar, surrounded by the sumptuous smells of cooking burgers and melting cheese, the chatter from the full tables, and the occasional call from Jarvis.

  I blinked at Grizzy. “Huh?”

  “Take a break,” she said. “You’re not waiting your tables, properly, and Hedy’s here to take over.”

  The new waitress stopped next to me, smiling. She had owlish eyes, but was a sweet girl, as far as I could tell. “Can I get a choc malt and a vanilla for those two ladies over there?” Hedy asked, gesturing to Missi and Vee, who were wrapped up in conversation.

  “Yes, coming right up,” Griz said.

  “Thanks!” And then Hedy was off again, speeding toward another table. She was slight and good at her job and definitely a better option for a waitress than me.

  “Go on, Chris. Take the rest of the day off,” Grizzy said. “I know you’re worried about…”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” I said. “The texts didn’t bother me.” But it was a lie. They had nudged me, thoroughly, and I thirsted to go back to the Russo house, to find out what was going on there. Perhaps, the family was connected to the Spiders somehow? What if one of the family members had been involved in my mother’s murder?

  “Still,” Grizzy said, as she prepared the milkshakes. “Take the rest of the day off. You’re more of a melancholic statue than a waitress.”

  I laughed and set my tray down. “Thanks, Griz. You’re the best.”

  “No problem. I’ll get Hedy or Martin to take your tables. Oh, when you get home, can you check the cupboards? I’m worried Curly’s going to figure out a way past the child lock and get into the kibble.” The cat was so ingenious at seeking out food, we’d taken to installing literal childproofing to the cupboards in the kitchen.

  “Will do.” I removed my apron and hung it up on a hook next to the kitchen doors, then waved to Jarvis and Hedy on my way out. I exited into the street and inhaled a breath of spring air. The day was full of potential, and, already, the decorations for the Spring Food Fair had started going up.

  There were streamers tied to the wrought iron lampposts and a sign strung up over the street that read: The Sleepy Creek Annual Spring Food Fair!

  It was a happy sight, and it relaxed me a little. I doubted the Somerville Spiders and their thugs, if there were still any of them left, would leap out of the woodwork here. From my research on the gang, they had been disbanded by none other than my mother. If they were here, it wouldn’t be in force. It would be some remnant of the group. Hiding, watching, and trying to scare me.

  They were out of luck.

  I set off down the road, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans. Folks nodded to me or greeted as I passed, and I returned the smiles, heading for suburbia, my mind whirring away.

  Somerville Spiders. Russo. Bakery. Pizza. Poison. Where was the connection? There had to be one.

  I entered the suburbs, my sneakers beating against the sidewalk, and took my hair out of its ponytail. I did it up again, absently. I can’t go home, now. No way.

  The Russo house.

  Chances were, it would be empty, now, and while I wasn’t about to try breaking in—though I’d resorted to it in the past—l could still check it out.

  I walked the streets of the town and approached Jackson Street. There was no need to be sneaky—I was just out for a walk—but my pulse raced, regardless, and I had to force myself not to crouch over.

  The Russo house was the fifth from the corner and was as dingy as it had been yesterday evening. Weirdly, it was as if the sun had set on that house. Like it was trapped in gloom. Or maybe I was projecting because two people who’d lived there had been murdered, and I hadn’t had a burger snack this morning.

  I stopped across the street and stood in the shade beneath an oak. The house was quiet.

  What was I doing here? It was the middle of the day, and it wasn’t as if I could go snooping through the trash cans or even check out the back yard. There wasn’t anything to find, but I was drawn to this place.

  That stupid text.

  The front door of the Russo house opened, and two figures stepped out.

  I moved behind the tree and leaned casually against it, pretending, once again, to check my fingernails.

  Mario, the wettest hand kisser in Ohio, stood talking to Dolores from the bakery in her polka dot cardigan. Dolores, who just so happened to have hated Sal with all her might. But how did she fit in with the Russo’s? And the Spiders?

  I watched out of the corner of my eye.

  Dolores gave Mario a brief, platonic hug, then meandered off through the dilapidated garden and out onto the sidewalk. Mario disappeared inside the house with the slam of the screen and front doors.

  I hesitated. What was Dolores doing with Mario? She hated everything to do with the pizzeria. Or had it been just Sal she’d hated? It didn’t add up.

  Dolores pottered across the street, patting her fiery red hair on her head to ensure it was in the right position. Finally, she reached the other side of the road and came up the sidewalk in my direction.

  I stepped into her path. “Hello, Dolores,” I said. “How are you today?”

  She started as if someone had goosed her. “Oh. You. Miss Watson.”

  “Yes, me.” What was it that teary waitress had said? Rat poison? “Out for a morning walk, Dolores?”

  “It’s the afternoon.”

  “In this part of town?” I tilted my head to one side, frowning.

  “I don’t see how it’s any of your business where I walk or when.”

  “Of course, not. It was just interesting, is all. You being around Sal’s house. Or should I say, Mario’s house? Did you come to give him your condolences?”

  Dolores’ mouth opened and shut. We both knew that there was no way she was interested in condolences. She’d practically thrown a party the minute Sal had passed. And Francesca was basically a two-for-one deal for her.

  “It’s none of your business.” Dolores was surprisingly nimble. She glided by me, but it wasn’t like I could stop her. What could I do? Grab her by the arm? Insist she tell me why she’d been at the Russo’s place?

  “Rude woman,” Dolores said, over her shoulder. “You should keep your nose out of other people’s business. It’s not polite to pry, you know.” And then she was gone, off around the corner.

  I stared after her. No, it definitely wasn’t polite to pry, but neither was it polite to outright murder people. And the Russo family was involved. They had to be. The itch to follow Dolores rose, but I held back.

  I had a better plan. And I’d put it into action. Tonight.

  17

  The people of Sle
epy Creek were surprisingly lax about security, given that they’d had four murders in their town in the span of a month. It was ridiculous, really, the ease with which I found a way into Dolores’ Bakery.

  The window next to the kitchen door was unlocked and cracked open. I merely had to insert my hand, unlock the door, and let myself into the dark, coolness.

  Even now, the place smelled of baking cookies, buttery croissants and delicious dipping sauces. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. I hadn’t eaten a thing since this morning.

  I’d been too high energy throughout the afternoon, pacing back and forth in the living room of Griselda’s house, with Curly watching me, this time, out of concern. How could I not be stressed?

  The text. Dolores. The Russo family.

  None of it makes sense.

  That was what I was here for. Totally illegally. Because my job in Boston didn’t matter in comparison to figuring out what had happened to my mother.

  I crept through the dark of the kitchen, guiding myself by the glimmer of moonlight on the silver countertops. I didn’t touch anything, kept a slow pace, and put my black gloved hands out just in case. Not latex, but knitted—I’d had to borrow a pair of Grizzy’s, not that she knew it yet.

  Grizzy was still working at the restaurant.

  All the perfect excuse, the perfect timing. It was now or never.

  Relax, Watson, you’re not breaking out of prison or something.

  I reached the kitchen door and stood next to it, easing my breaths in and out. I placed my gloved hand against the swing door and nudged it open, quietly.

  The inside of the bakery was dark as well, the old timey cash register a large lump on the back counters, the trays beneath the glass display cases empty of treats. Chairs had been turned upside on tables. None of it mattered.

  I exited the kitchen, slowly, searching the dark for any sign of movement, or, failing that, the flash of a beam from an alarm system. Nothing happened.