It's a Wonderful Knife (9 page)

“I'll let myself in,” he said. “And I'll take Blondie home with me.”

ACB adjusted her bra straps. “You're still going to charge us?”

“Yeah, but you can take your cell phones and whatever else you need. Call for takeout. I'm buying.”

“Darn right you are, Ty Brisco,” I said. “Who do you want to interview first?”

“Antoinette Chloe can go first. And don't forget, I have to take your statements from yesterday, too.”

I sighed. “Remember to call Judge Frazier and get him down here. If you don't I will ban you from being served at the Silver Bullet for the rest of your lifetime or mine, whichever comes first.”

He slapped his hands on his heart. “You wouldn't dare!”

“I dare.”

He reached into his desk and threw me a set of keys. “Let yourself into the jail. Leave the door open, so I can make sure you're okay.”

The Sandy Harbor jail cells were through a double door. A left turn led to the men's cell—a right led to the women's. I turned right and had to smile when I came to ACB's creation. It looked like a fabric store had exploded.

I opened the cell door and hesitated for a moment before I walked in. Slumping into a Queen Anne chair decorated with colorful climbing roses, I leaned my crutches against a writing desk that looked like an antique. Too bad it was painted in bright pink.

Digging out my cell phone from my purse, I decided to call the Silver Bullet for takeout.

Only in small-town Sandy Harbor would I be given the keys to let myself into my own cell—a cell decorated by Antoinette Chloe, fashion and décor maven—and be able to keep my purse and phone and have the deputy pay for lunch.

Sitting quietly for a while, I could hear the muted conversation of ACB and Ty. I wondered what was happening, but I'd find out soon when it was my turn.

So Ty was going to go through with charging us with a crime. Trespassing, I presumed. Probably not burglary because we didn't break in or take anything—well, other than mail. I didn't know if Ty could charge us with federal offenses, or if that had to be someone else, but I didn't want to find out.

Maybe he'd forget about the mail thing.

All this thinking was making me hungry.

I called the Silver Bullet.

“The Silver Bullet Diner, serving since 1952. How can I assist you?”

“Bob?”

“You're speaking with him.”

“Bob, it's Trixie. I have some strange news. Antoinette Chloe and I have been arrested by Ty and are at the sheriff's department. I don't know when we're going to get out of here, and I'm so worried that I'm not going to get everything done, but I'm going to try. I can do the organizing, but not the cooking. I'm so sorry, Bob.”

“What are you in for? Bank robbery?” He laughed.

“I don't particularly know yet. Ty's working on our charges, but I'm really worried about all my catering.”

“Look, Trixie, with you and Antoinette Chloe out of the picture, it's going to be difficult, but not impossible. We need more help cooking. I know you have a fancy party tomorrow night.”

“It's at the McDowneys'. I'm worried about the appetizers,” I said.

“I haven't had much experience with fancy appetizers. There wasn't too much call for fancy things as an army cook. But Juanita has a talent for it. I can cover for her, and she can fuss with that stuff. What else?”

I read my notes. “Prime rib, loaded baked potatoes, creamed cauliflower, cheese biscuits, baby carrots, relish platter, horseradish—both plain and with mayonnaise—and au jus sauce. The McDowneys are going to take care of the serving pieces, the table settings, and the drinks. So it's just the food that we're responsible for.”

“I can handle it. Will you take care of the ordering?”

“It's already done and should be delivered by Sunshine Foods any time now.”

“Perfect.”

“I hope we'll be out of here soon, Bob.”

“Was it a misunderstanding on Ty's part?”

“Nope. Guilty as charged.” I laughed. “Or just as soon as Ty figures out the charges, I'm guilty. He's not the fastest typist in the typist pool.”

“Don't worry, Trixie. I'm on it.”

What a surprise! For someone who hadn't been there to do his job for the past three years, he was amazing me.

That said a lot for Bob's character.

“Bob, one more thing: Please pack up three specials to go along with a couple of liters of soda and ask Ray to drive them over to the sheriff's department. Oh, and
throw in several fruit hand pies. I know that Sarah Stolfus made a delivery today. The bill goes to Ty Brisco.”

He laughed. “You got it!”

“Thanks for everything, Bob. I mean it.”

“Don't mention it.”

I was lucky to have such a great staff and great friends. I still considered Ty a great friend. Even though he deserved coal in his stocking, he was only doing his job.

I reached over to the pink desk, pulled on the knob, and found a spiral notebook and a pen. Instead of taking care of catering orders or the pageant, I decided to write out my two statements—my discovery of Liz and our foray into crime. Maybe it would save time.

“Ty, for heaven's sake, let Trixie type for you!” I heard ACB shout. “We're going to miss New Year's Eve the way you type—New Year's Eve two years from this one!”

Less than an hour later, our food arrived. Ty and ACB brought everything to my cell. It was the meat loaf special, my favorite. Juanita made a great meat loaf by draining mild salsa and mixing it into the ground beef. Fabulous.

Her mashed potatoes were perfect, and so was the beef gravy ladled over everything. Peas were the veggie, and we got fresh Italian rolls. Yum.

We sat around talking and eating as if we were dining at the Ritz instead of in a jail cell.

“Ty, did you get ahold of Judge Frazier?” I asked.

“I did. He's up in Alexandria Bay doing some ice fishing. He's packing up and will be on his way.”

“That'll take at least two hours,” I said. “If he hurries. Is the paperwork done?”

“Nope.”

“Do you at least have the paperwork ready so he can arraign us?”

“I'm still typing.”

I squirted a ketchup packet on my meat loaf. “Please let me help you. I'm not threatening your masculinity or your cop-ness, but I can type fast and you know it.”

“Yeah, okay. After we eat, you can have at it,” he said.

“Finally!” ACB shouted, her fist pumping the air.

After we ate, I was at Ty's desk typing on his computer. Only in Sandy Harbor would a deputy sheriff let a civilian have access to unlimited law enforcement data. If I knew how to hack, I could run anyone's rap sheet or put out a warrant for someone's arrest. I could even delete records.

I wish I could delete this afternoon.

When the judge walked through the door, everything was ready. Ty did charge us with trespassing, a violation of the law, which, Ty told me, could result in a sentence of fifteen days.

Judge Frazier wore army gear and a hat with fishing lures dangling from it.

I expected nothing less.

“Trixie Matkowski!” He grabbed me into a bear hug, and since he was considerably shorter than I was, his
hat rested on my boobs. I hoped that the lures would stay in place and not stab me. “How good to see you!”

“Hello, Judge Frazier.”

“And Antoinette Chloe!” He took his hat off to her and scrunched it in his hands. “The sweetheart of Grange three forty-five.” He hugged her, too.

ACB grinned. “Glennie and I were the King and Queen of Grange three forty-five's New Year's Eve Gala, 1959. Those were the days, huh, Glennie?”

“Yes, they were, my queen.” He kissed her hand, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

I looked at Ty. I think he knew that he was going to lose this one.

“Have you ladies been bad?” the judge asked, index finger wagging.

“Well, Glennie, we did go into Liz Fellows's house. And my flip-flop prints where there and Trixie's crutch prints, but we weren't the ones who trashed the place. But Ty said, and he was right, that we might have ruined clues, but we were very careful. And the little thing in the envelope that we had X-rayed at the dentist was a little ice scraper, but we thought it was a computer thing. I should have looked at the return address. Anyway, that's what we did. Oh, the ice scraper was from Gus's Gutters and Snow Removal, and it was in Liz's mail that we took.”

“Oh,” the judge said, clearly confused. “Deputy Brisco, may I speak to you in private?”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked through the double doors to the jail, but we could hear everything.

“Are you serious about this, Ty?”

“Definitely. Those two are an accident waiting to happen. I don't want them to get hurt, and I want to drive home the point that they need to leave the investigating to the professionals.”

“Well, okay. If you insist. Let's arraign them.”

When they walked back out, ACB pointed to the pack of paper—white on top, then blue, pink, and yellow—copies for the players in the criminal justice system. “Trixie typed this all up. She's a fabulous typist.”

“She typed her own charges?” Judge Frazier looked at Ty.

“Yes, and didn't she do a beautiful job?” ACB asked.

“She sure did. It's a pleasure to arraign you with a document like this.”

“And it's a pleasure to get reacquainted with you, Glennie.” ACB was still batting her eyelashes.

Only in small-town Sandy Harbor.

I stepped forward. “Your Honor, why don't we waive the reading of the charges, since I typed them and Antoinette Chloe read them as I worked? Can you just set bail?” I gave him my best smile, but he had eyes only for ACB.

“Sure, Trixie. How much bail would work for you?”

“Gee, I don't know. How much would bail be set for a trespass charge?”

Thank goodness Ty hadn't pursued the mail stuff.

“Let's say fifty bucks each,” he said.

“Fifty bucks?” ACB nudged him on the arm. “C'mon, Glennie, we don't carry that much money around. We are good citizens and have contributed a lot to this community. Why, Trixie is even the Christmas pageant director, and she's looking for someone to play the judge at the end of
Miracle on 34th Street
. You know, where the judge finds Santa Claus not guilty. That's not guilty! Oh, my stars! It's the perfect part for you, Glennie.” She turned to me and winked. “Right, Trixie?”

“Oh . . . absolutely. Right. You'd be perfect for the part of the judge, Judge.”

If we weren't doing something from
Miracle on 34th Street
before, we were now.

“Okay, bail is set at twenty-five dollars each,” Judge Frazier said.

I looked at Ty. He knew when he was defeated.

“Oh, Glennie, honey, just dismiss the charges already, and let's go to the Silver Bullet and catch up on old times. It's been so long, and I've been meaning to get reacquainted with you since we are both single now.” She ran her index finger around the collar of his jacket, and a red flush started on his neck and shot to his cheeks.

Sheesh.
She was good.

“But the district attorney is the only one who can make a motion to dismiss charges,” he said.

“Oh, Glennie, just tear them up. The district attorney isn't here and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.” She picked up the papers and stepped closer to him.

Judge Glennie's eyes were directly on ACB's ample
bosom. She took a deep breath, and I swear if he hadn't moved back, she would have given him two black eyes.

He was mesmerized with ACB and, magically, he now had the papers in his hand.

I was impressed. Ty was not.

“Just tear them up, Glennie, and let's get out of here. It's just not a fit place for two . . . ladies to be,” she said in a singsong voice.

I looked at Ty. If he'd had a white flag, he would have waved it.

Judge Glennie tore up the papers, tossed them in a wastebasket, and left arm in arm with Antoinette Chloe.

She turned to me. “Trixie, are you coming?”

“Oh. Um . . . yes. Of course.”

I hurried to put my coat on, tossed my purse over my shoulder, and positioned my crutches for a quick escape.

“This isn't over, Trixie,” Ty said.

“I know.”

T
he Honorable Judge Glen “Glennie” Frazier followed us to the Silver Bullet in an ancient, camo-painted pickup dotted with all kinds of colorful stickers containing hunting and fishing slogans. The glue from the stickers was probably holding the rusty truck together.

I let the two potential lovebirds sit in a back booth by themselves as I sat at the counter eying the freshly brewing coffee and some Christmas-frosted cupcakes that someone had made.

Nancy and Bettylou, the day waitresses, had about an hour left on the day shift, and Chelsea and JoAnn were due to come in. So was Cindy, the second-shift cook.

I felt a hug from behind. “Good to see you, Trixie,” Bettylou said.

“Yeah, boss, you getting around okay?” Chelsea walked around to serve me at the counter.

“I'm managing. I'm really sore under my arms, but my coat gives me padding. Other than that, I'm feeling kind of useless.”

I hoped it didn't sound like I was whining. I was just stating fact. Okay, maybe I was whining a little.

“Don't you worry one bit.” Nancy took a seat on the
side of me. “Bob, Juanita, and Cindy have everything under control.”

“I'm making cheese-olive puffs for the bridal shower,” Chelsea said.

“And I'm making sausage stars,” Nancy added. “We volunteered.”

“You did?” I felt all mushy as Nancy poured me a cup of coffee and slid a cupcake decorated with red icing and sprinkles over to me on a small plate without my asking.

The waitresses knew me so well.

“Yeah. We volunteered to help,” Chelsea said. “The three chefs all are making fancier things, but the two of us can handle the easier stuff.”

“I'm so grateful—to everyone!”

As soon as I could check my books, my staff was going to get a Christmas bonus the size of the North Pole. Well, it'd probably be the size of a small snowflake, but it'd be every penny I could afford.

Ray plowed through the double doors pushing a cart with a gray tub on top. He was the best dishwasher and computer genius I'd ever hired. In fact, he was the
only
one I'd ever hired.

“Hey, boss! Good to see you!”

Ray was a high school senior who was scheduled to graduate in June. His folks had contacted me when Ray was a junior and asked to hold his party on the “party deck” outside the Silver Bullet on the Sunday after graduation.

They planned on inviting the entire Sandy Harbor senior class and their families.

On Saturday evenings in the summer, I throw dances on the party deck, just like Aunt Stella and Uncle Porky did back in the day. There's always a live band—usually Frankie Rudinski and the Polka Dots—and a huge buffet and bonfire.

“Good to see you, too, Ray.”

I motioned for him to come over. “Are you doing the books for me?” It was his spreadsheet program that had brought me into the computer age. “Actually, I could do them.”

He shook his head. “Don't worry. I'm on the scene.”

“Thanks, Ray.”

The doors swung open again and out walked . . .

Aunt Stella?

“Aunt Stella!”

I almost fell off the stool.

“Trixie, you poor dear! Breaking your leg at Christmastime. And so much to do!”

I just adored Aunt Stella. She was just the perfect aunt—sweet, caring, loving—and I was like the daughter she never had. That's why she'd waited to sell the diner to me and turned down several fabulous offers. She'd wanted to keep it in the family, and that's why “the point” means so much to me. It's my legacy, as well as my aunt's.

But my payments on the diner and cottages were up-to-date, so what was she doing here instead of traveling with her friends who all lived in the same condo complex down in Boca Raton?

Aunt Stella came around the counter, wearing a
bright, white apron, and I swiveled to face her. We hugged and kissed and I could smell the scent of gardenias, her favorite perfume.

“It's so good to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I'm going to help you out.”

“But how did you know I needed help?”

“Bob called me.” When she said his name, I swear she blushed under her pale makeup.

“Bob called you?”

She nodded. “And he flew his plane to pick me up. I was in North Carolina at the time. My friends and I went to the Rodanthe Inn on Hatteras Island because Hattie McDougal saw the movie
Nights in Rodanthe
starring Richard Gere and Diane Lane, and wanted to find romance. I think maybe she thought Richard Gere was still there hanging out. Anyway, Hattie talked us into going, so we did. But it was too cold to do very much. All we did was stay in the inn and watch the movie over and over again and act out some scenes in the various rooms. Oh, and we played dominoes.”

“I see,” I said, making a mental note to see the movie. “So, did Mr. Gere ever check in?”

Aunt Stella grinned. “No, but Hattie had a good time.”

“That's all that matters,” I said. “Now, let's get back to the plane that Bob sent for you.”

“It was his private plane. He flew it and he picked me up.” She shook her head. “You should have seen my friends' faces when he walked out of that plane and gave me a big hug.”

“But I talked to him on the phone not too long ago! I thought he was at the Silver Bullet.”

She sat down next to me, and Bettylou handed her a cup of coffee and a cherry hand pie. “I know. He somehow had the diner's calls forwarded to him, and he answered while he was picking me up. He didn't say anything because we wanted to surprise you.”

I couldn't have been more surprised. “Let me get this straight. Bob's a pilot. Flew to North Carolina himself. You were there because of Hattie and Richard Gere. I have to watch
Nights in Rodanthe.
And you are going to help me out with my catering and the diner.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, that's crystal clear.” I rubbed my forehead. “I'm amazed by Bob. He has a private plane?”

“He told me that he won it in Reno from some billionaire in a big-stakes, backroom game of Texas Hold'em. Bob said he never would have taken the plane, but the man was a jerk.”

I laughed. “I'm glad that he has standards.”

“Bob is a kind soul and he's very thoughtful. I've almost forgiven him for leaving right after Porky's funeral.”

“I wonder why he did that.”

“If you want to know, you'll have to ask him yourself.”

“Well, Aunt Stella, what else is new?” She was a wealth of information.

“I heard about Liz Fellows. That's downright shameful. What's going on here in Sandy Harbor? It almost makes a soul want to lock her doors at night.”

“Liz was killed with one of my knives, and I hate that fact, Aunt Stella.”

She put an arm around me. “Things happen, honey. It's not your fault. If someone wanted her dead—and I can't understand why—they would have found a way.”

“Did you know Liz well?”

“We were both on the church revitalization committee. Not the Sandy Harbor Community Church one, but the one at St. Luke's of the Lake, the Catholic Church.”

I raised an eyebrow, and Aunt Stella said, “Liz always told me that God is everywhere, so it doesn't matter what church you belong to or where you pray. She said that the Community Church needed her, so she went to work for them.”

“I wish I'd known her better.” I felt so sad for Liz. It felt as if someone were squeezing my heart. “Did she have any family?”

Aunt Stella took a sip of coffee. “As far as I know, she didn't. She said that she always did a lot of volunteer work to meet people and keep from being lonely. I do know that she had a lot of friends, some near and some far.”

“The Community Church needed her, huh? I was told that she wrote the church bulletin and did some computerization of their records, but had a lot more to go.”

“Good for her,” Aunt Stella said. “Now, who made these fruit pies? Juanita?”

“Sarah Stolfus. She an Amish friend of mine who moved here about the same time I did. A whole
community of Amish settled here and bought up a lot of the abandoned farms. Sarah is such a great baker, so I feature her goods at the diner.”

“Brilliant. I also see that you have some healthier additions to the menu, and have kept the Polish entrees.”

“Who doesn't like a dry kale salad?” I rolled my eyes. “And who doesn't like potato and cheese pierogi fried in onions with a side of kielbasa?” I laughed.

She squeezed my hand. “You've done many wonderful things with the diner. I'm proud, and your uncle Porky would have been proud, too.”

I bit my lip so I wouldn't get misty. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“So, I'm here to help, and I brought my friends. We call ourselves the Busy Babes of Boca.”

“Just how many Busy Babes of Boca did you bring?” I hoped that I could accommodate all of them in the Big House.

“Eight. Nine, counting me. They all wanted to ride in Bob's plane and come up north for a white Christmas. And they wanted to help.”

“What a nice surprise! I could certainly use the help.”

“Don't worry about a thing. The Babes will take care of it. You just rest and take care of the Christmas pageant. You need to enjoy Christmas. I know how much you love it!”

“Where are all the Babes now?”

“In the dining room eating meat loaf. They are
raving about it. Salsa, right?” She waved, and eight ladies waved back. A couple blew kisses.

I blew kisses back. “Yes. I drain salsa and add it to the meat loaf. We all go by Uncle Porky's recipe here at the diner.”

“Delicious.”

“I'm going to join them. Later tonight we'll have a meeting at the farmhouse. Oh, I hear you call it the Big House now,” she laughed. “You're right. It
is
quite big!”

“Antoinette Chloe is staying with me, too. Bob is staying with Clyde.”

Her eyes went to the pass-through window, where we could see Bob cooking with Juanita. She smiled slightly.

Hmm . . . I'd never noticed it before, but as much as Bob resembled Santa, my aunt Stella resembled Mrs. Claus. And Stella Claus seemed to be interested in Bob Claus.

Uncle Porky had been gone for almost four years. Maybe it was time for someone special in her life again.

I glanced over at ACB and Glennie. They were deep in conversation and a rosy glow seemed to radiate from them. Aunt Stella went back into the kitchen.

Christmas romance was in the air. Or maybe it was Christmas magic.

Thinking of Christmas reminded me of the pageant and the fact that I needed to get back to investigating Liz's murder.

Yes, call me crazy. Call me certifiable, even. I wasn't looking to antagonize Ty or ruin any clues or trample
any crime scenes, but I couldn't get the image of poor Liz out of my head. She was lying on the kitchen floor with my knife sticking out of her back, her blouse stained with blood.

I flipped my place mat over, found a pen in my coat pocket, and started making notes.

Now, I knew that Liz volunteered her time at various agencies. Liz was worried about being lonely. Liz had a lot of friends. She retired and moved to Sandy Harbor about three years ago, about the same time as I did. She was helping the Sandy Harbor Community Church get computerized. She was in charge of the community's Christmas pageant and the stage-door parents were giving her a sleigh-load of crap.

And Margie Grace was number one on my suspect list. She just wasn't coping appropriately with someone else taking over the Christmas pageant. It was as if she'd lost her whole identity as—what had Antoinette Chloe called her? Oh, yes. Broadway royalty.

Sweet little Margie suddenly seemed like Sweeney Todd.

I shuddered.

Margie and Liz had a rocky history together. And where was Margie when Liz was murdered?

Margie might have been in her golden years, but she didn't seem frail to me. And I thought that in a rage, she could easily plunge a knife into Liz's back.

The door opened, and Ty walked in. I yanked the place mat from the counter and shoved it into my coat pocket. If he saw me still mulling over the case, he'd break my other leg.

No, he wouldn't. He'd take me to jail, find a judge that wouldn't drool over Antoinette Chloe, and throw the book at me.

So I'd just have to be sneakier this time around. With all this help, I wouldn't be needed in the kitchen. And I wasn't going to get ACB involved unless I needed a ride.

Darn.
I was going to need a ride everywhere. It wasn't as if there were subways and a fleet of taxis in little Sandy Harbor. There were snowmobiles, pickups, ATVs, and SUVs, but I couldn't drive any of those either.

Ty took the seat next to me that had just been vacated by Aunt Stella. No one had cleaned up her area just yet.

“Was someone sitting here?” he asked.

“Believe it or not, my aunt Stella was. Now she's talking to her friends—the Busy Boca Babes.”

“I see . . . I guess.”

“Bob flew them all up in his—get this—private plane. Apparently he won it in a card game in Reno.”

“Wow. That's impressive.”

I nodded. I was still ticked at Ty. Although deep down, I knew he was right, but sheesh, we were only trying to help.

“Listen, Trixie, about my taking you down to the station—”

I held up my hand. I just didn't want to discuss it anymore. “We're good.”

“I just—”

“I get it, Ty. Let's not rehash the rehash. And since you already had the meat loaf special when ACB and I
were incarcerated, I suggest you try the spaghetti and meatballs. It comes with a small antipasto and garlic toast.”

“Trixie, I want to explain. Just sit and listen for a second. I wanted to really impress on you that you two are in over your heads. You're putting yourself right in Liz's place in the pageant, and if you're going to snoop around . . . why don't you just paint a target on your back?”