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  Smothered in Onions

  A Breezy Spoon Diner Mystery

  by Tracey Quinn

  Smothered in Onions

  copyright 2019 by Tracey Quinn

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  It was about three in the afternoon on a Wednesday when a handsome man in a nice white suit walked into The Breezy Spoon. I had been writing the dinner specials on the chalkboard and I looked up at him as he came in the door. I'm in a relationship, hopefully committed, so I'm not in the market, but handsome does deserve a second look. Somehow he looked familiar too, but I couldn't place him.

  He came up to the counter and said, “Hi, Dani, remember me?”

  Yes, I did remember him now; it was the voice that gave him away: Lloyd Duval. The last time I had seen him was a few years ago when he was being hauled away in handcuffs after killing a man in a bar fight. I recalled the greasy hair down to his shoulders, teeth that had never made the acquaintance of a toothbrush, unkempt mustache and beard, mean-looking eyes. It was hard to believe that the clean-cut, well-dressed man in front of me was the same person.

  I remembered his personality (what there was of it) from back then, too; he had two moods: great happiness, usually when he had just beat up someone, and great anger when law enforcement prevented him from beating up someone else. I wondered if that had changed too.

  “Lloyd Duval, of course, I remember you. I've been away from town for a few years and I didn't recognize you at first.”

  He laughed. “As you well know, I've been away a few years, too, although not in the Middle East shooting at bad guys like you were, though.”

  I had spent 14 years serving in the military, flying rescue helicopters for about 10 of those years. My name is Danielle Gwendolyn O'Shea and when I returned to my home town of East Spoon Creek City after I got out of the service, I bought the Breezy Spoon Diner. When I was in high school I had worked as a waitress at the diner, which back then was called Jesse's Joint. It was indeed a joint; Jesse was surly and always looked as if he had indigestion, which he probably did have if he ever ate any of his own food. By the time I got back in town Jesse was getting ready to run off to Florida with a woman he'd met on the internet, and he sold me the diner at a bargain price. I changed the name, refurbished the place and hired some people who knew how to cook. So far the Breezy Spoon was successful. Apparently customers like their food to be edible.

  “Actually I was just flying over the bad guys in a helicopter and they were shooting at me,” I told Lloyd Duval. “How are you doing? Have you been back in town long?”

  “Just got back yesterday and I'm doing great. I'm starting my own business and I just finished signing a lease on a building down the street.”

  “That's wonderful. What kind of business are you starting? Don't tell me it's a five star restaurant and you're planning to steal all my customers.”

  “From what I hear it would take a lot more stars than that to put you out of business,” he chuckled. “I'm starting a life coaching business.”

  “Life coaching? What exactly is that?”

  “Well, Dani, while I was in prison I had a lot of time to think. Oh, at first I was rebellious and gave the guards a hard time, but after I was there a couple of years they brought in a life coach and he changed my my whole outlook on things. He sat with me for hours showing me how I had taken steps in the entirely wrong direction and assured me that I could walk back all those bad decisions that had landed me where I was. It was as if a light suddenly went on and destroyed all the darkness that had consumed my very being. The change was gradual, but complete. Right then and there I vowed that I would help others to achieve this life-changing experience and, in my own small way, make this world just a little better place. And what better place to start than here in my old home town? I want the people who knew me in the bad old days will see the new Lloyd Duval whose aim in life is to help others, not hurt them anymore.”

  The words sounded good, but maybe a little too good to be true. Sure, people can turn their lives around, but I wouldn't have considered Lloyd Duval a good candidate for it.

  “Is it like a religion, Lloyd?” I asked.

  “No, no, not at all. Folks around here have various religious beliefs already. This is just a guideline to living the most full and productive life a person can. Life coaching isn't about telling anyone what to do, it's about giving them a flashlight to lighten the path to fulfillment. Each individual must choose whether they will follow that path. I'm having some brochures printed that will explain the program more fully. I'll bring you some as soon as they're ready.”

  “Thanks, Lloyd,” I said. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee or something to eat?”

  “No, thanks, Dani, maybe another time. I have a lot to do before I can open my doors. Good to see you.” As he headed toward the door he stopped abruptly. “Oops, it looks like Roger Travers just pulled into the parking lot,” he said. “Is it okay if I go out the back door? If he catches me he'll talk my ear off about our old high school days and I'll miss my appointments.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  Lloyd passed the Needlework Club as he headed for the back of the diner. The Needlework Club is a group of six or seven ladies and our local pharmacist, Tom Jordan, who come in the Breezy Spoon for lunch and I let them set up in a booth and work on their crocheting, knitting and needlepoint for the rest of the afternoon until the dinner crowd starts drifting in. Quite a few doilies and sweaters have been produced in the Breezy Spoon in the last few months and Tom is crocheting a king-size bedspread in popcorn stitch which should take him about 30 years to finish at the rate he's going. Some people think it's odd that he spends so much time with the Needlework Club, but those would be people who have never met his wife, Henrietta. Five minutes after meeting her for the first time I felt like I should tell Tom, “Divorce her immediately, I'll pay for the lawyer.” Well, maybe not the part about paying the lawyer. I have a mortgage, after all.

  After Lloyd left I turned to the Needlework Club and said, “What was that all about? You all kept your heads down and didn't say a word to Lloyd Duval.”

  “Oh, my, I didn't notice him,” said Jenny, the town librarian.

  “I didn't want to interrupt your conversation,” said Tabitha, a legal secretary who shouldn't be lying like that.

  “I didn't want him to beat me up and kill me,” Tom added. “It would be a shame for him to have to go back to prison for another six years.”

  “I thought he was all crap and a yard wide,” declared Audrey, who owns the organic grain mill here in town. “All that snake-oil sales talk about life coaching! You seemed to be gobbling it all up.”

  “Well, I wasn't going to be rude to him like some people I know,” I replied.

  “Of course n
ot,” Audrey said. “All the books on manners say you should never be rude to a wife-beating, bullying, murderous lout.”

  As Lloyd had said, Roger Travers had arrived and it was at this point that he walked through the door. I cringed. I think everyone in the diner cringed. Roger isn't a bad guy, it's just that...

  “Hey, Dani, can you guess what day of March is the scariest?” he asked, grinning broadly as he came over to the counter. Roger is about 5'8” but wears shoes with lifts to make himself look taller. Today he was wearing a gray suit with red pinstripes, yellow dress shirt and orange tie, reflective gold sunglasses pushed up on his head and the usual gold pen over his ear. When he perspired the pen turned his ear lobe green.

  I sighed. “No, Roger,” I replied. “I'm afraid I can't.”

  “Well, Ides say it was the fifteenth! Get it? The Ides of March, the fifteenth!” he said. He looked over at the Needlework Club. “Did you guys get it, the Ides, the scariest day of March?”

  “Yeah, that's a good one, Roger,” said Tom.

  “Can I get you something to eat?” I asked quickly. People usually don't talk with food in their mouths. Of course, with Roger, who knows?

  “No, don't have time today. You know how I am, busy, busy, busy. Type A personality and all that. I pop a TV dinner into the ol' microwave and I'm good to go. Just stopped by to give you the good news.”

  Politeness overcame reluctance and I asked, “What's the good news, Roger?”

  “Just the greatest opportunity for you to get out of the old 'nose to the grindstone' business and hit the big time! Get the point?” He turned to the Needlework Club again. “We don't want Dani's nice nose ground to a point on the old grindstone, do we, folks? Get it?”

  “Right,” said Tom.

  “Anyhow, the Travers & Constable Municipal Airport will be officially opening next week!” I knew what was coming next. “We wanted to call it the Constable Travers Municipal Airport but people kept calling the sheriff's office trying to book flights! Because they thought I was a constable! Get it?”

  I got it. I had only heard that joke a hundred times or so. Somehow Roger had convinced old Zeke Constable, who had made a lot of money as a land developer in Pumpkin City back in the day, to invest in his vision of building an airport on Roger's family farm. Zeke and his much-younger wife Kristi would come into the Breezy Spoon for lunch once or twice a week, and there was plenty of gossip around town that Kristi was sweet on Roger and that she had convinced Zeke to back him. Of course, there was also plenty of gossip around town that Zeke was a spy and the Pumpkin City Mall was really run by the KGB, and Roger was blackmailing Zeke into giving him money. This was a town that liked to gossip.

  “I'll lay my cards right on the table,” Roger continued. “I'm here to offer you the chance to be the first pilot to sign up. We've bought our first airplane and I'd like you to come and try it out. If I like what I see, the job is yours. How about it, Dani? The Cadillac awaits you,” he said, turning and making a sweeping gesture toward the door with his arm.

  Roger drives a huge old Cadillac convertible, shiny black with red upholstery. It matches the image that Roger always tries to project; big man in town, big deals on the front burner, and always full of great new projects. I had the feeling that projects weren't the only thing he was full of.

  “Roger, I know how to fly helicopters; I don't know how to fly airplanes,” I said. “There's a difference.”

  “Don't be modest, Dani. If you can fly one you can fly the other,” he replied confidently. “Let's just shake hands on the deal; with you on board, this project will really take off! Get it? Airplanes? Take off?!”

  Brendan Hurley came out of the kitchen and waved to me. Brendan is one of my cooks and also the husband of my best friend Tammy. “Sorry to interrupt, Dani,” he called, “but you have a phone call. I think it's the bank.”

  “Oh, sorry, Roger, I'll have to take this.”

  “All right. I'll get back to the old sweatshop but be sure and give me a call right away. You wouldn't want to miss out on a sweetheart deal like this,” he said. He turned to the Needlework Club again and said, “Hey, folks, I'll be taking reservations for local flights in about ten days as soon as I get this operation off the ground. Get it? Off the ground? At the airport?”

  Now, here's the thing. I don't hate Roger Travers, I don't despise him, I just wish he would go away, like forever.

  After he had left, I said, “You are my knight in shining armor, Brendan, but don't tell Tammy I said that.”

  “Does that mean that you want to increase my profit sharing for this month?” he asked.

  “You're next in line right after my car payment and the electric bill.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Jenny said. “At least Roger made Lloyd Duval run for the door!”

  “Good Lord,” I said, “I wonder if Kitty knows Lloyd's back in town.” Kitty Benson is Lloyd's ex-wife and she works as a waitress at the Breezy Spoon during the morning shift so that she can be with their six year old son Timmy after school. Lloyd hadn't wanted anything to do with Timmy and he had relinquished his parental rights right after he went to prison. Still, Kitty has been dreading the day when Lloyd would be released from jail, although as far as we knew that day was supposed to be another two years from now. So why was he here in East Spoon Creek City instead of the state prison?

  I decided to call my brother Bob and find out. Bob is a year older than I am and he's the deputy sheriff here in town. He's also been dating Kitty for the last few months, so I knew he'd be none to happy about Lloyd's sudden reappearance either. He wasn't.

  “Early release because of jail over-crowding and because Lloyd's been such a jolly good fellow for the past couple of years,” Bob explained. “Apparently he hasn't slaughtered anyone recently so he's free to come back to town and make us all feel safe in our beds at night.”

  “Does Kitty know he's back? He hasn't come by her parents' house, has he?”

  “Her parents are out of town so she's been staying with the McGees for the last few days, but yes, she heard that Lloyd's in town. She isn't exactly jumping for joy over it and neither am I.”

  Kitty's mother is the cousin of Laurie McGee, wife of Gene McGee who owns McGee's Market. Laurie sometimes babysits Timmy while Kitty works, and Laurie and Gene have become very attached to the little boy, and Kitty too. Lloyd would be wise to steer clear of the McGee's house, for Gene has made it clear on more than one occasion just what he thinks about Kitty's ex and what he'd do if he caused any more trouble for her or the child.

  “It's possible that Lloyd may have changed his ways,” I said. “People do.”

  “He said something to make you think he's a solid citizen these days?”

  “Well, he's starting a life coaching business and says he plans to help people and try to make up for all the stuff he did in the past.”

  “And you believe him?” Bob asked.

  “I think... I mean... well, no,” I said, “ but I'm probably biased because I care about Kitty and it's hard to forget what he did to her.”

  “He's an SOB and I wouldn't put anything past him,” Bob replied. “Let me know if he tries to see her at the Breezy Spoon. She sure doesn't want to talk to him.”

  I told him I would let him know if Lloyd came back. After Bob hung up I went back to writing the dinner specials on the chalkboard. Tonight we were featuring pan seared pork chops, mini baked potatoes topped with cheddar, and a choice of garden fresh green beans in toasted walnut butter or caramelized squash rings. A tossed green salad was available along with the choice of buttermilk biscuits or apple cream cheese muffins. There were two dessert options, chocolate short cakes with strawberries and bananas topped with whipped cream and/or ice cream and the other was peach pecan pie.

  I had just finished when Mark Adams, the man I love and also pay rent to, came into the Breezy Spoon. Mark had moved to East Spoon Creek City about six months ago and bought the old Henderson house, which consists of two apartme
nts, and put up one for rent. I was renting a room from nosy Mrs. Hamsky at the time and was tired of having her rifle through my belongings, so I rented the room in Mark's house.

  Mark's a firefighter, he's about six feet two, has a blond buzz cut and hazel eyes, and he definitely works out. I am happy to say that we've fallen in love with each other. We've only known each other for about six months, but I'm 34 and he's 38, and at that age six months is long enough to be pretty sure about each other. Now I will admit that I've been engaged three times and broke off the engagements, but that was because I saw the movie Showboat when I was a teenager and fell in love with Howard Keel. For the past 16 years no one measured up to Howard until I met Mark. Sorry, Howard.

  Today Mark was wearing a wrinkled tee shirt, grimy blue jeans and sneakers, and from the look on his face he'd had a challenging day so far. Also, his eyebrows were gone.

  “I'll take all that,” he said, gesturing towards the dinner specials, “plus a couple gallons of coffee. Better serve it at arm's length, I didn't take time to shower.”

  I looked up. “Mark, your eyebrows! What happened?”

  “Edna Carswell,” he replied, wearily, as he sat down in a booth.

  Edna Carswell is a really nice lady when she's sober; she even volunteers to read books to children at the local library and she works two days a week at the soup kitchen. No one actually goes to the soup kitchen because the soup is really bad, but it's the thought that counts. The problem is, Edna isn't sober all that often. Every now and then she loads her car trunk with booze and cigarettes, proceeds to get roaring drunk, lights a cigarette and falls asleep in her bed.

  After several increasingly perilous rescues, Walt Baxter, the Fire Chief, had told her that she was risking her life and that of the firemen by doing this. That apparently didn't phase her, so he said that he was going to start fining her $5,000 every time it happened. Of course, he didn't have the authority to do that, but he hoped it would get her attention.