Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery (16 page)

What did I care? I wasn’t trying to impress Ty Brisco or any man, but I didn’t want to scare the stuffing out of anyone either.

I opened the door and motioned for him to come in.

“Are you okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow or two at my hair.

“Just cranky because I’m dying to eat the cake I got from Juanita.”

He grinned. “Don’t let me stop you.” He sniffed the air. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“You know darn well that I don’t have coffee on, Wyatt Earp, but I can take a hint. Come in the kitchen. And don’t worry about taking off your boots.”

My floor was a mess anyway. I still hadn’t cleaned up from the impromptu visit from Mayor Tingsley a few days ago.

I got the coffee started and took a seat across from Ty at the kitchen table. He was rubbing Blondie’s tummy. She was lying on her back, legs spread apart. If a dog could actually smile, she was smiling.

Ty pointed at the cake. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Oh, I won’t.” I finally, finally took a bite. Heavenly. “What brings you here?”

“You didn’t get much sleep, did you?” he asked.

“I dozed in the booth.”

“What did our esteemed mayor want?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“You saw?”

“I noticed his car pull in. It was pretty late for him to be paying a social call. I got dressed, started downstairs, but then I noticed that he was driving away.”

“How come you decided to come to the diner?”

“Something just didn’t sit right with me.”

I liked the fact that Ty was looking out for me. It wasn’t necessary, but I liked it anyway.

“So, what did Mayor Tingsley want?” he asked again.

“He offered me two million bucks for everything.”

Ty whistled, long and low. “That’s a lot of meat loaf specials.”

“Sure is. I really didn’t answer him, but I’ll turn him down. He’s not family. Aunt Stella wouldn’t like it. She offered the place to me, Ty, and I believe that she turned the mayor down before. And probably the Browns, too, but I don’t know for sure.”

I took another bite of the cake, and then I decided that I was being impolite. “Can I make you something to eat? Eggs or something?”

Notice that I didn’t offer him a piece of cake.

“I ate at the diner. Juanita can make a mean western omelet.”

“Any other customers there?” I don’t know
why I asked. I could just look out the window at the parking lot.

He shook his head.

“We have to solve this mystery, Ty. I’m going to go bankrupt.”

He pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and set it in front of me. “I took these fibers from a metallic protrusion located on the southwest corner of your trash receptacle.”

Cop talk: the art of being verbose.

“I thought you blew off my ‘Antoinette Chloe Brown hiding by the Dumpster waiting to poison Mr. Cogswell when Juanita turned her back’ theory.”

“After sleeping on it, I think your theory might be worth looking into.”

“Good!” I cleaned up every crumb of the Wacky Cake and got up to pour him a cup of coffee.

“Where’s that piece of material with the flower on it?”

“Hang on.”

I set a mug of coffee in front of him, got my notebook, and handed him the fabric. “Gardenia.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Can you search Antoinette Chloe Brown’s closet?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know if I’d ever get a warrant. What would I tell the judge? That she wears muumuus?”

“Yes!”

“Probably more than half of the women in this county wear muumuus.”

“Or caftans.”

“What’s the difference?” he asked.

“Not much.” I don’t know why I brought up the caftan vs. muumuu debate in the first place.

“I need more, Trixie. But in the meantime, I could get this to the lab and at least get a positive match.”

“Good.” And I was going to add Antoinette Chloe Brown to my list of suspects in my trusty notebook.

But the list was ever-growing. I think I had just about all the population of Sandy Harbor listed in it. It might have been easier just to use the phone book.

“Ty, what could Antoinette Chloe Brown’s motivation be for killing Mr. Cogswell?” I asked, flipping my notebook open to a new page. “To put me out of business and increase hers?”

He sighed. “You’re not going to quit investigating, are you?”

“No,” I said, meeting the glare of his eyes. “Can’t we just share information? Maybe I can help you. Heaven knows, I have time on my hands.”

He still didn’t agree to my helping him, but he said, “I’d have to do some checking for sure, but you’re right. I’ve noticed that Brown’s Four Corners Restaurant has been hopping since the poisoning.”

I nodded. “So has the Crossroads Restaurant, Mayor Tingsley’s place.”

“And the mayor made you an offer. I wonder if
he made the same offer to Stella. If he bought you out, there’d be one less restaurant to compete with, or he could make more money with two.”

“Aunt Stella was vague when we were talking about it. She just said that two people were interested, but they weren’t family, so she wouldn’t sell to them.”

“Wish you could get in touch with her,” Ty said. “But it’s a good guess that the two are the Browns and the Tingsleys.”

“I probably could if I tried, but I don’t want to, Ty. Let her have fun. She needs it, especially after she lost Uncle Porky. I can handle this.”

Yeah, sure I can. And I’m doing such a great job of it.

It was then I decided that I was going to get into Antoinette Chloe Brown’s house and somehow see her muumuu collection.

And see if a chunk of material was missing from the gardenia one.

But first, I had to get rid of Wyatt Earp. He’d never agree to my searching her closets.

“Ty, I hate to give you and Blondie the bum’s rush out of here, but I sure could use more sleep.”

“I have to get going anyway.” He drained his coffee. “I’m heading over to the American Legion, or what’s left of it.” He snapped his fingers. “Which is another reason why I’m here. Seems like the commander of the Legion, John Nunnamaker, and the Ladies Auxiliary have some meetings scheduled, and they can’t use the Legion Hall. I suggested that they could meet in the Silver Bullet. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Ty, that’d be great!” Finally, people in the diner.

“There will be a lot of meetings because now they have to plan some fund-raisers for a new roof. I think they have a high deductible.”

“I don’t care how many times they need to meet. They can use the back corner with all the tables. It’s more conducive to meetings than the booths.” My mind was whirling already. I’d have a big pot of coffee ready for them, and maybe Cindy could make her cinnamon rolls, and…

“Good. I’ll let John Nunnamaker know.”

“Thanks for suggesting the Silver Bullet, Ty.” A wet wool blanket of guilt settled over me. Ty was wonderful and considerate for steering business my way, and I was going to sneak behind his back and search Antoinette Chloe Brown’s closet.

I walked him to the door. “Get some sleep,” he said.

I pretended to stifle a yawn. Not my best performance.

He tweaked the brim of his hat and headed for his black SUV. I took a quick power nap on the couch, then zoomed up the stairs to get dressed to pay a visit to Antoinette Chloe Brown and her muumuu collection.

A
half hour later, I was in my car armed with several banana nut breads, courtesy of Juanita. Juanita was killing time baking. She didn’t like Sunshine baked goods any more than I did, and we had a lot of produce to use before it spoiled.

I had to find the time to visit Mrs. Stolfus.

I dropped six banana breads off at the fire hall for today’s volunteers and headed for Brown’s Four Corners Restaurant with the seventh.

I didn’t have a clue where the Browns lived, but I was going to find out.

I made my way through the throng of people waiting to get into the restaurant. There was still a cloud of smoke hanging in the air, the windows were still dirty, and the food being delivered was plentiful, but it looked like nothing special.

The Silver Bullet was so much better than this place.

I smiled at the young girl with the moussed crown of hair behind the scratched black podium.

“Is Mrs. Brown here today?” I asked. “I have a meeting with her, but I can’t remember if we planned to meet here or at her house.”

“She doesn’t come in until dinner today.”

“Then our meeting must be at her house.” I looked confused. “Hers is the big white house on Pine Street?”

“No. The Browns live on Sycamore. Yellow house with lavender shutters.”

“Of course. Thank you very much.”

That was easy. I made my way back through the crowd, got into my car, and drove to Sycamore Street. It was a left turn by the small movie theater, the Bijou, which I remembered fondly.

I noticed that they were playing
Gone with the Wind
. Yup, that was what they were playing the last time I’d driven by here some ten years ago.

The bright yellow house with the lavender shutters was easy to find, but the lime green and fuchsia touches were a surprise. The whole house was as ostentatious as the owner herself, and it stuck out like a tie-dyed T-shirt in a neighborhood of pastel blouses.

A white van was in the driveway, with fancy red letters painted on that proclaimed
BROWN’S FOUR CORNERS RESTAURANT. EAT IN, TAKE OUT, CATERING. YOU’LL LOVE OUR WINGS
.

I pulled in behind the van and took a deep breath; then, armed with banana bread, I climbed the stairs and rang the bell.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lace curtains of the side window move. After a few moments, Antoinette Chloe Brown herself opened the door.

She wore a muumuu covered in hibiscus flowers
that billowed like a curtain in the early-morning breeze. I expected her to take off like a hot air balloon any second.

“Hello, Antoinette Chloe! I’m sorry to surprise you, but I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to drop by since we are both women in business.” I thought that the latter was a good hook. “I hope I’m not bothering you, but I’d like to get to know you, since I’m new to the community and new to the restaurant business. Maybe you’d even let me pick your brain. Your restaurant is such a success.”

She stood for a while, billowing, but then finally opened the door wider and motioned for me to come in.

Looking down her nose at me, she finally said, “And you are?”

She obviously had no short-term memory. “Trixie Matkowski. I bought the Silver Bullet from my aunt Stella and uncle Porky. And although I’m a new permanent resident in Sandy Harbor, I’ve been coming here most every summer since I was a kid.”

“Oh yes. I remember you. I’ll make some tea,” she said.

She left me standing in the entranceway like one of her green plastic plants next to me. I looked up the dark wooden staircase and wondered how I’d get into her closet.

“What a beautiful, historic house. I just love houses like this!” I said loudly. “May I look around?”

“Suit yourself,” was the answer from somewhere
in the back of the house. She didn’t seem glad to see me, but I did drop in unexpectedly. I slid off my boots and draped my coat over a chair by the door, since she hadn’t asked to take it.

I just couldn’t wander upstairs, could I? I settled for walking through her two parlors, all loaded to the gills with Madame Alexander dolls, glass, china, and swags of plastic and silk flowers. Everything was coated with two inches of dust. She had a fainting couch with a cabbage rose print and tassels, and furniture that matched. There were tassels hanging from the curtains, the lamps, and from doilies. There were more tassels in that room than at a strip bar.

Antoinette Chloe appeared at my side. “Would you be more comfortable in the kitchen?” She eyed the banana bread that I was holding like a football.

I handed it to her. “Banana bread. It’s still warm.”

“I’ll slice it up.”

That sounded a bit ominous. “Antoinette Chloe, do you mind if I look around upstairs? I just love your house.”

She looked at me suspiciously.

“Old houses are really my thing. That’s one of the reasons I love my aunt Stella’s house. There are so many nooks and crannies in the old place. I haven’t even begun to explore it. Would you mind me looking?”

I could tell that she was going to say no. But I had another brilliant idea.

“The Sandy Harbor Historical Society is in the
planning stages of a tour of the old houses in Sandy Harbor—you know, as a fund-raiser. And I think that your house would be the highlight of the tour, if you were willing to open your doors.”

Her green eyes sparkled for a brief second, then narrowed. “I’m in the historical society, and this is the first time I’ve heard of such a tour.”

Oops. “Well, it’s totally in the planning stages. Very hush-hush.” I lowered my voice. “You know how it is in a small town.”

“Oh, I do.” She put the banana bread on a dusty round table and raised her muumuu, showing me red flip-flops. She walked up two stairs and then turned to me. “You’ll love the second floor. I even have a third floor.”

“No!” I proclaimed.

She nodded, and I thought that the white turban on her head would fall off. She tugged it back into place.

When we got to the top of the stairs, she showed me three bedrooms, all equally gaudy and equally dusty. I sneezed into my sleeve.

Finally, we got to her bedroom, which had a queen-sized sleigh bed piled high with pillows and stuffed animals. There wasn’t a square inch of wall that didn’t have a hat hanging from it. Straw bonnets, felt hats, hats with netting, turbans—there was even a sombrero.

I didn’t see a closet. It must be camouflaged by all the hats.

“There’s never enough closet space in these old houses. Don’t you agree, Antoinette Chloe?”

She headed for a black mantilla. Under it was a doorknob.

“Look, a walk-in closet,” she announced. “I have a lot of closet space.”

“The committee will be astonished.”

She pulled a cord, and a bare lightbulb lit up her wardrobe, which I can only describe as a floral explosion. I quickly scanned the hangers for a gardenia muumuu.