Traveling Town Cozy Mystery Box Set

by Ami Diane

  “Thanks, I appreciate the sentiment, however misguided it is. Also, I was the one who asked him out first—or rather, called on him, as you might say. Maybe that’s the problem. I mean, I am several decades older… or younger, depending on your point of view. Well, not older, but you know what I mean. Eesh, that sounds creepy.” Ella massaged her eyelids and considered fighting Wink for the cup back. “It’s just, things are very different in my time.”

  She let out a sigh, dropping her hand to discover Wink waving a maple bar under her nose. A smile broke loose as she snatched it away. Her relationship—for lack of a better term—with Will wasn’t what was troubling her. It was a certain article she’d discovered the night before and how Will would handle it.

  After calling him this morning, asking for him to drop by the diner, she had become a nervous wreck, pacing and staring so much that customers had begun seating themselves further down the lunch counter. Her apron now held more wrinkles than Flo’s skin from wringing the fabric so much.

  But Wink’s donut briefly distracted her as she ate without abandon. This called for another run.

  The bell above the door jingled like Six’s spurs, and her head shot up. Will strolled in, slipping off his fedora, his trench coat swirling in his wake.

  Ella commented on his choice of attire considering the amiable weather, but her mouth was still full of pastry. Therefore, muffled grunts were all that slipped past.

  “Pardon?” Will dropped onto a stool, resting his hat on the counter.

  She poured him a cup of coffee, giving herself time to masticate her bite, as well as plan her next words. Swallowing, she went from looking at his dimples to dropping her eyes to the scuffs along the countertop.

  “El? You okay?”

  “I found something last night.”

  “Yeah, you said as much. You’re not… sick are you?”

  She furrowed her brows. “What?”

  “Well, you made it seem like you’d found something… and you were all serious. Made it sound like you were dying.”

  Squinting, Ella mentally replayed her conversation that morning over the phone. “Yeah, that makes sense. I can see how you’d think that. I’m fine.”

  “You said, ‘I may have found the answer to save us all.’”

  “Yeah, no. I remember.”

  “It was quite melodramatic.”

  She hissed out a breath and poured creamer into his coffee.

  “I don’t want—”

  “Well, you’re getting some for calling me melodramatic. I mean, it’s true, but only sometimes. So, do you want to know what I found?”

  He shrugged.

  “Don’t get too excited or anything,” she said sarcastically before disappearing under the counter to where she’d hidden the Physical Review copy. She reappeared and slid it across the counter. “Check out the article I bookmarked.”

  She drummed her fingers on the countertop, waiting for him to finish reading. More than once, he reached over and held his hand on her fingers to still them, which only resulted in her tapping her foot. She watched his eyes travel across the page then mumbled about him being the world’s slowest reader.

  Finally, he looked up. “It’s… interesting. I’ll give you that. When I first became stranded here, I read through nearly all of the scientific periodicals in the library. I couldn’t get my hands on them fast enough. Science twenty to forty years ahead of my time?” He shook his head, marveling.

  “You don’t think this is related to our predicament?” She pointed at the journal.

  “Well, sure. It can be. But it’s just a hypothesis. Where’s the practical application? This would require decades to test and gather data before being proven—if ever proven—as a theory.”

  Their raised voices were drawing a few curious stares.

  Ella announced loudly to the diner, “This nut job thinks the coffee’s too strong.” Then, she lowered her voice and leaned across the counter. “Read the name of the author.”

  He flipped back through the yellowed pages, and his eyes darkened, his mouth falling open.

  “It’s more than just a hypothesis, Will.” She kept her tone soft, knowing this couldn’t be easy for him. “The professor obviously decided to test it himself.” Will shook his head. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “No.” He continued to shake his head, adamant that his mentor wasn’t involved. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s been trying to stop it. Why would he do such a thing? It’s impossible.” He waved the periodical. “Physically, scientifically impossible.”

  Ella could see the denial in his eyes transform into doubt and then into pain. She was watching a man’s world shrink around him, not fall apart, but fall in just enough for him to feel betrayed.

  Reaching out, she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “There could be many explanations, including that it’s all just a big coincidence. If you say it’s impossible, then look over his math. See if there’s any validity to what he’s proposing.” Though she didn’t say it, her tone made it an ultimatum. Prove the professor wasn’t at fault in any capacity, otherwise, they’d have to take this to Chapman.

  His eyes flitted from her hand to the journal gripped between his fingers. “Okay. I will. The equations are advanced, but I’ll see if the math checks out. There’s no way of practically applying the physics behind his hypothesis. Not with the equipment in this town.”

  Nodding, she drew her hand back, feeling her palm grow cold from the absence of touch. He drained his coffee as if to steel himself for what lay ahead. For once, she regretted that she didn’t carry a flask around like Flo to offer in the form of liquid fortitude.

  After he left, Ella bussed a recently vacated table then trudged into the kitchen with the stack of dirty dishes. She immediately began attacking them.

  “Whoa,” Wink said from the island. “I take it Will didn’t ask you to go steady?”

  Ella’s mind was so far beyond romance at the moment that the comment threw her. “Oh, yeah no. We’re fine. At least, I think.”

  “You’re not still struggling because one of you might leave someday, are you?”

  Ella would be lying if she said the topic still didn’t bother her. It would always be there, in the back of her mind, just beneath the surface. Always.

  She told Wink as such, adding, “But really, I haven’t thought about it much lately. I’ve had my mind on other things.” It was always a balancing act of when to bring up the topic of the town’s jumping.

  “Yes, I suppose having a dead body disappear on you to the point everyone thinks you’re crazy will do that to a person.”

  Ella sloshed suds over the counter and floor as she turned. “I thought you believed me? And since when did you think me crazy? Wait, scratch that. Don’t answer.” Her eyes took in the clean, nearly empty kitchen for the first time. “Where’s Horatio?”

  “He took his break early. Said Shelly needed him to watch Jack so she could get her hair done.” Wink wiped her hands down her apron, sending a cloud of flour into the air. “Listen, I got to make a run to Stewart’s then to the bank. Will you be okay by yourself for a half-hour?”

  “Uh, what if someone comes in and orders food?”

  “Give them coffee and tell them the kitchen’s closed. For the inconvenience, anything from the displays is on the house.”

  “Sounds good. Tell Stew hello.”

  Wink made a noise as she extricated herself from her apron. She primped her hair, checking it in the bathroom mirror before leaving.

  After finishing the dishes, Ella grabbed a rag and slid into the diner to wipe down tables. As the door swung in, she nearly tripped over a lump of a tight shirt and butt crack.

  “Donuts, Frank. I thought you already finished the floor right here.”

  The installer stared up at her, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “I gotta finish the threshold. Don’t want this pretty floor curling back up, do you?”

  “No. I don’t.” She stepped ove
r him, wondering where his partner in crime was. Why Wink hadn’t picked a different type of vinyl, she’d never know. Granted, the selection was probably very limited, and nothing said 1950s railcar diner like a black-and-white checkered floor.

  As she wiped down the soda fountain, Frank groaned, using a stool to climb to his feet. He produced a handkerchief from some pocket and proceeded to swipe it across his forehead.

  “Hey, toots. How ‘bout a hamburger?”

  “How about a shower?” Her eyes raked over his sweat stains. “Or a power wash?”

  When her own words hit her ears, she grimaced at how brusque she sounded. “Just so you’re aware, ‘toots’ is an antiquated term in my time. I don’t appreciate being called that.

  “I’ll happily get you anything from one of the cases here.” She swept a hand across the mountains of pastries. “And coffee. We got lots of that. Or ice cream. Or soda. But anything beyond that, and you’re fresh out of luck.”

  He scratched a portion of hairy belly that hung below his shirt, squinting at her. “Nah, I want a burger. What’s wrong, toots? Don’t wanna get your hands dirty? That it?”

  Ella’s hands curled around the rag, raising it pointedly at him. “Clearly I have no problem getting my hands dirty.” When he continued to stare at her, she threw her hands up. “Fine. You want a burger, you get a burger. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I want my meat rare.”

  She shot him a wicked grin. “You got it.”

  And just for calling her toots, it was going to be well done.

  “What the hell is this?” Frank stared at the disaster on the plate sitting before him.

  A disassembled burger stared up. Well, not really a burger so much as a charred piece of meat roughly in the shape of a patty but more closely resembling a meatball. A hunk of dirty lettuce was strewn to the side, along with some pickles, a puddle of ketchup, and olives just for the heck of it.

  Ella blinked innocently at him. “I’m sorry. Is that not what you asked for?”

  Frank’s mouth opened and closed a few times in silent words before he finally asked, “Where’s the bun?”

  She snapped her fingers. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

  The kitchen door swung in as she retrieved two slices of homemade bread. As she slapped them on his plate, he had apparently gathered enough courage to cut a slice of hamburger away. It was nearly black through and through.

  She eyed it, not sure even she would eat the briquette. The man’s tongue slid out like a snake, testing it. He quickly gagged and dropped his fork, the meat along with it. His hands groped along the counter until he was slurping water from his cup like a man lost in the desert.

  “Oh, yeah. I may have put too much salt on it. And hot sauce. That’s normally what goes in one, right?”

  She genuinely didn’t know. And just for flavoring, she’d gotten a little creative and had added jalapeño juice from the jar in the fridge. Maybe it was the two art classes that had gotten her creative juices pumping, but she was beginning to understand why Wink, Horatio, Flo, and Rose liked to cook and bake.

  Frank crossed himself, rasping, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

  He chugged down the rest of his water, pushed the plate away, then waddled back to his section of floor where his tools lay strewn about.

  “Wait? You’re done?” Ella frowned, looking from him to the plate. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad.

  Holding the meal up, she sniffed it then recoiled. It smelled like the inside of a tamale cooked in the fires of hell.

  Coughing, she dropped the plate with a clatter to the countertop just as a customer walked in. Amid the tears rapidly forming in her eyes, she made out a blurry figure with hair the height of the Empire State Building.

  “Perfect timing, Flo. This hamburger’s unclaimed.”

  Flo’s skin was paler than usual. She glanced at the barely edible contents on the plate before leveling Ella with an intense gaze.

  “Wink here?”

  Ella shook her head, taking in the crazy woman’s pinched expression and the way her eyes darted around. “What is it?”

  Flo opened her mouth then spotted the installer hunched over the floor. “I was—wow, Frank, you ever hear of underpants?”

  Ella waved a hand in the air. “It’s a lost cause. At some point, you grow immune to it. Although, I have considered sticking a fork in my eyes numerous times.”

  Frank glared at them, snatched up a small roller, and began rolling it across the new vinyl flooring haphazardly, part of the time beating it aggressively like a drum.

  Ella escorted Flo outside onto the sidewalk, the only place of relative peace. That way, if a customer came, she’d see them. They stood under a warm, late afternoon sun.

  “What is it, Flo Jo?”

  “For the last time, that ain’t my name.”

  “I know. But it’s funny because it’s ironic.” When the old woman continued to stare, she said, “You know because you’re so slow. Like, ridiculously slow.”

  “Eat dirt.”

  “As in, turtles could outpace you.”

  A growl climbed Flo’s throat. “Just shut your trap a moment, will you?” She glanced up and down the sidewalk and lowered her creaking voice. “I just seen a ghost.”

  “You just saw a ghost.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No, you used improper grammar.”

  Flo let out a litany of curses.

  “But standard English aside,” Ella continued, “what else is new? I mean, don’t you see ghosts all the time?”

  Her geriatric friend’s face flushed slightly. “Well, not like this. They usually don’t take on such an opaque form.”

  “You mean, the ones you usually spot are see-through.”

  Flo nodded.

  “Because they’re imaginary.”

  Flo’s eyes narrowed.

  “Just saying. Go on.”

  “I was at my shooting range, you know the one in the woods?”

  The fact that Flo had to qualify the range was the one in the woods implied there were other ranges, which made Ella uncomfortable on an entirely different level, but she simply nodded.

  “Anyway, I was testing a new spectral weapon—”

  “Like one does.”

  “—and I saw your dead pirate in the woods, walking around with a shovel in a devil-may-care attitude.”

  “First of all, he’s not my pirate. Second of all, he’s not a pirate at all.”

  Flo’s head tilted, causing her hair to go with it. “He’s not? Then what is he?”

  “A Spanish sailor.”

  “Ain’t that the same thing?”

  “No, it’s not the same thing. Biscuits, you’re a human resource nightmare.” Ella stopped short, actually considering the misunderstanding. In a way, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. Diego had lived during the golden age of piracy, and he was a sailor, carrying a boatload of gold. In a way, Flo’s misguided comment wasn’t as far off as some of her others.

  “Alright, so what did this ghost do?” Ella glanced at her watch. Horatio would be back from his break soon, and she wanted to clean the kitchen from her short stint as a cook before he returned. As it stood, the kitchen was in shambles just from the one hamburger.

  “As I said, he was just walking along with a shovel. So, I said to myself, ‘There you are, ol’ girl. The perfect chance to test your weapon.’ So, that’s what I did. It shot great too. Hit him in the shoulder, but he didn’t disappear into the other dimension like he’s supposed to.”

  Ella froze, blinking at Flo. “What now? You shot a ghost?”

  Flo rolled her eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Haven’t you been listening? Yes, I shot a ghost.”

  “Wh-why?”

  “‘Cause that’s what the gun’s for, Poodle Head.”

  “I don’t even know where to start.” Ella stared past the crazy woman at nothing in particular, her mind churning. She had never believed in gh
osts before, but clearly, the woman thought she’d seen one. In fact, she’d gone so far as to shoot at whatever it was she saw. Maybe the tenant had finally snapped.

  “You don’t believe me?” Flo huffed, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I’m telling you, he was there. He’s a ghost. Maybe that’s why his body was gone when you went back.”

  “Like a zombie?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but think about it, you nut. Maybe he killed himself, and his body went somewhere while his spirit got disconnected in transit.”

  “Is that a thing?”

  “Sure it is. Happens all the time.”

  “That so? Does it really? All the time you say?” Ella couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. However, a small part of her, a microscopic-sized part of her, entertained the idea that there was something to Flo’s theory.

  Of course, it was far more likely that there was a plausible explanation for what the old bag had seen, probably after involving spirits of the liquid variety.

  After Flo assured Ella that she had, in fact, been sober, Ella pinched the bridge of her nose. A customer slipped past them into the diner, and Ella said she’d be with the woman in a moment.

  Sighing, she turned to Flo. “Alright. Time for the Keystone Investigators to do some digging. If—”

  “The what?”

  “Keystone Investigators. That’s what I’ve decided we’re called: you, me, Wink, and sometimes Will.”

  “That’s a terrible name.”

  “Well, it’s what we’re called. Oh, how about Keystone Gators for short? No, on second thought, now that I hear that aloud, I don’t like it. Keystone Investigators it is.” She nodded to herself, satisfied. “Anyway, round up whatever equipment you have that can detect…” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word “ghosts,” so she opted for “non-corporeal forms” instead.

  “We’ll meet here to discuss strategy after Wink closes. Granted, I think this will be a big waste of time because there’s no such thing as ghosts, but I’m bored and could use the distraction. Also, maybe now you’ll see there’s a more logical explanation for what you saw.”

  At the mention of gathering ghost-hunting equipment, Flo clapped her hands together like a kid on Christmas. After that, her eyes had glazed over in what appeared to be a mental checklist. Ella was certain the older woman hadn’t heard any more words beyond that.