Breezy Spoon Diner Box Set Collection Read online

  You see, years ago some poor, benighted soul actually came to town and built a very large ice arena in the vain hopes of attracting a professional hockey team. I realize that it's hard to believe that anyone would choose a town very, very far off the beaten track with a population of 1200 and think that it would be likely to attract a National Hockey League team. However that's just what Monty Hicks did. Monty's father had been a very successful real estate broker up in New York. Monty didn't have half the brains his father did, but when his father died he did get all of his money; five million dollars. Since he loved hockey and went to as many games as he could, he decided that he would approach the owners of all the NHL teams in the area and offer them the five million dollars to buy the team. Professional sports teams are worth hundreds of millions of dollars however, and while the owners weren't insulting to Monty about his offer, they let him know that they weren't interested in selling.

  Monty chose to be insulted anyway and determined to somehow get a hockey team of his own. Remember the line in Field of Dreams where the voice told Kevin Costner to “build it and they will come”? Monty tried it. He built it and no one came. He chose East Spoon Creek City because the land was cheap and he could afford to get the arena built with the money that he had. Once it was built.... well, that was it. Of course he got no interest from any NHL teams in moving to a place like East Spoon Creek City, and he had no luck at all in starting his own team.

  Monty tried to interest college hockey teams in using the arena to make some of his money back, but it was miles from any college and none around here had hockey teams. He hired a hockey coach to give lessons. No takers. He hired teachers to give skating lessons. Only Mrs. O'Day who worked in the school cafeteria signed up, but when she took her first lesson and broke her hip, she sued him. He tried to recoup his losses by staging ice shows. His first one, 12 Angry Men, was unsuccessful as was his second and final attempt, The Scarlet Letter. So he let the ice melt and sold the arena to Al and Sammy at a bargain price and now Monty is back in New York selling real estate. He bought NHL season tickets as soon as he arrived.

  Teela came up to me as I was cleaning off a table. “Miss Dani, I will speak to you now about a very bad thing and also you may need silk.”

  Most people would try to understand what the statement meant, but I learned early on not to go down that road with Teela. It's like when you feel some rain drops falling on you. You can either put up your umbrella and repel the rain or stand there and let it fall on you until you are confused, dazed, miserable and soaking wet. My advice: don't ever let it soak in. I mentally reached for my umbrella.

  “Well, all right, Teela, ” I said. “Why don't we sit over in that booth where we can have some privacy. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

  “No food, but a lychee nut latte with beet root foam would go well.”

  “I'm sorry, we don't have that but we have coffee or green tea, black tea or chamomile, if you'd like.”

  “Ah, chamomile would be good. It reminds me of the islands.”

  I asked Kitty to bring the tea and, because I'm apparently a glutton for punishment, I asked, “What islands are those, Teela?”

  “The ones in all that water. Far away. In the place where the sky meets the ocean.”

  “Yes, but which ocean was it, the Atlantic, Pacific, Indian?” I assumed from the way she always dressed it wasn't the Arctic or Antarctic.

  “Water doesn't have names. All water on earth comes together. Nothing in water to separate them.”

  Not a very helpful answer, but I guessed that sort of made sense. “But what about your island? Does it have a name?”

  “Oh, yes. But it is all right for you to call it whatever you like, Miss Dani. I like you. I will not be insulted.”

  “But what do you call it?”

  “I don't call. I write emails or send texts. The phone lines are not good there.”

  That gave me an idea. “What language do people speak on the island?”

  “Whatever they learn when they are a baby. We are fine with that,” she said.

  Checkmate. That was two minutes out of my life that I wouldn't get back. Maybe someday I'd learn.

  As Kitty brought the tea, I asked, “What is it you'd like to see me about, Teela?”

  “First the silk. I hear that you want Miss Pat to make you a dress for the Harvest Dance. She is very good dressmaker. I have pale blue silk or dusty rose silk. You will look good in silk dress made by Miss Pat.”

  “You have silk material for sale? I don't really have the budget for it. I can't spend a lot on a dress for just one dance..”

  “For you I charge $5 per yard. You need three yards, $15, not so much. I think you take the dusty rose color. The blue matches your eyes but men like pink more.”

  “Five dollars a yard? Are you serious? But you must charge your customers a lot more than that.”

  “Yes, of course; it is handwoven and very beautiful. I bring silk here from far away and sell it to many costly stores in big cities. But you are family, so $5,” she said.

  “But where do you keep the silk? Do you have a warehouse somewhere?”

  “No, I buy from islands and they send to customers' stores. I don't need warehouse.”

  “So you're an importer?”

  “Yes, is easy job. Just text and e-mail as I tell you. I still have time to take care of Bildad. But now you must help me take care of Bildad. You can tell your brother and Sheriff that Bildad does nothing wrong?”

  “Uh, yes, of course! But why would they think Bildad did something wrong?”

  “It is the evil woman Olivia Quinlan. She come into Sammy's Lounge and talk to Bildad. She want to pay him money to beat up person who not pay her money. She say Bildad can do this when he finish work at night. She pay him $50. Bildad not like to do extra jobs after work so he say no. She say $100. Bildad think this person she wants beaten is someone who she darkmail for money.”

  “I think you mean blackmail.”

  “I did not see the color of the money, but Bildad say it is surely darkmail, so he still say no. The evil woman say if he not do it she tell me that he sleep with her. But I know Bildad not sleep with her because Bildad sleep on the pool table at Sammy's when I'm mad at him and I'm mad at him a lot because he sleeps on the pool table at Sammy's.”

  Having learned my lesson about asking Teela questions, I said, “Well, if it comes up I'll put in a good word for Bildad with the sheriff.””

  “Good. You tell your brother Bob and Sheriff that Bildad is good man.”

  “Good man” is not a term that springs to mind when I think of Bildad, but I said, “I'll be glad to, Teela. Don't worry about it; everyone knows how Olivia is.”

  After Teela left I went back to my office to call Bob so that she wouldn't worry about Olivia, but when I talked to him I found out that she didn't have anything to worry about. Olivia Quinlan was dead.

  Chapter 3

  “Murdered!” I exclaimed. “How did it happen?”

  “She was electrocuted in her hot tub. Someone dropped a plugged in hair dryer in the water. Obviously we don't think she did it herself.”

  “No, she wouldn't be dumb enough to take anything electrical into a hot tub with her.”

  “Nope, not too likely, particularly when she was eating lunch. There was a lot of kale salad floating around in the water so it must have been around lunch time.”

  “Any suspects yet?” I asked. “Everyone hated her.”

  “Well, regrettably Jolene was heard arguing with her earlier today, and even more regrettably several people heard her threaten Olivia's life. We all know Jolene is the one who brings Olivia Quinlan her lunch every day; Sheriff Wilkerson had no choice but to bring her down to the station for questioning.”

  “Jolene?! You know as well as I do that she would never kill anyone; not even Olivia!”

  “I know, but we have to follow the evidence that we have,” Bob replied. “Don't worry, we're still investigating and I'm
sure we'll get to the bottom of this soon.”

  “This is just so weird. I wonder who'll run the salon till things get sorted out. It should be Jolene, but I guess that won't happen now.”

  “Lester Poole is taking it over for the time being. He's been Olivia's manager there for years so I guess he'll keep it running until they can figure out who inherits. From what I hear, he's more of a maintenance man for the building than a real manager, and a lazy one at that, but I guess he'll manage to keep it open for the time being.”

  “If Lester's a maintenance man for the whole building, he probably sees who comes and goes at Olivia's apartment,” I mused.

  Bob sighed. “I know that tone in your voice,” he said. “Now don't you start playing detective and getting yourself mixed up in this! Do I have to remind you that people who murder other people might be a little bit dangerous? Let us handle the investigating!”

  “Take it easy! I was just talking! Of course I'll leave it to you.”

  “I've heard that before.”

  “I mean it this time!”

  Bob didn't sound convinced as he said goodbye and hung up. I sat back on my desk and shook my head. Poor Jolene. Olivia was dead and yet she was still hassling her.

  After my shift at the Breezy Spoon was over I drove over to Miss Pat's house to pick out a pattern for the dress she was going to make me for the Harvest Dance. I found one that had spaghetti straps and a full skirt which would look perfect in Teela's dusty rose silk. We agreed that I should buy an extra yard of it because Miss Pat thought that adding a short bolero jacket would make it more useful for other occasions. She took my measurements again because somehow they had changed since the last time she made a dress for me 14 years ago. She tactfully referred to my measurements as “a bit more assertive.” I briefly considered cutting back on desserts until I remembered this was Super-Sized Milk Shake Day at the Breezy Spoon. The mint chocolate chip was always nice.

  Since I had the time, I decided to stop in Molly's Yarns after I left Miss Pat's house and pick up some yarn for a crocheted blanket I was planning to make for myself. When I was a kid my mother, who crochets like a dream, made me a crocheted blanket in our school colors, lime green and fuschia. Admittedly it's a horrendous combination, but I loved it; at first, anyway. Crocheted blankets are not only very warm but also incredibly heavy and I wasn't able to turn over in bed for the several years that I used it.

  Mom also crocheted a hat for me that looked like a snowman's head. It was very realistic and everyone at school thought it was cool and wanted one just like it. However, Mom wouldn't make one for anyone else because she want me to have an exclusive look. I was very proud of that hat at first, but it turned out to have a few downsides, too. The large crocheted carrot that she used for the nose was very distracting and pulled my eyes toward it till it got to the point that the eye doctor said I would end up cross-eyed if I kept wearing it. The carrot also was the subject of some rather crude remarks by the 12 year old boys in my class, so I really didn't mind giving it up. Winter was almost over anyhow.

  When I got to the yarn shop I was surprised to see two young men leaving the store with a couple of big bags of yarn under their arms. One was tall and heavy with shaggy hair and a thick beard, and the other was short and skinny and had a tattoo of a horse on his neck. Getting a tattoo on your neck must be painful and it's hard to imagine liking horses enough to go through that. It was hard to imagine guys like these crocheting doilies either; maybe they were some kind of artists or maybe Suze was just a great saleswoman! They got into a beat-up old car which was orange in the front and green in the back, and had an engine that sounded like a bunch of nails being shaken in a metal pail when it started up. I would have recommended that they take it to McGarity's garage to get it checked out, but then I remembered that Cooter worked at McGarity's sometimes, so I decided they'd be better of as they were.

  Suze smiled and waved as I walked in the door. “Hey, nice to see you again,” she said. “It's Dani, right?”

  “That's right. How are you settling in, Suze?”

  “Oh, great, great. Business has been good, too.”

  “It certainly looks like you're attracting new customers,” I said. “Those guys that just left didn't seem like the needlework type.”

  “Oh, heavens no,” she laughed. “They're getting yarn for their grandma as a gift. They had no idea what to get so I suggested some nice stuff for them to get her. Guys don't usually know what women want, do they, Dani? And speaking of guys, does that dishwasher that works for you ever get any time off? He's one hot dude and I'd like to get to know him better. What's his situation? Entanglement-wise, I mean.”

  Fortunately for me, she got a phone call because I actually didn't know how to answer her. I know Mark wasn't interested in her, but I couldn't exactly claim we were officially a couple. We had only known each other for about five months. We were friends who went a places together, joked and laughed a lot, did our share of smooching. Yes, I think we were in love with each other, but what was our status? Well, we'd have to figure that out someday. None of which was Suze's business.

  While Suze was on the phone I gathered up several skeins of white and purple yarn, grabbed some crochet hooks and brought them to the counter.

  “This'll be it for me,” I said.

  “You got it,” she said as she rung me up. “About that hot dishwasher...”

  “I guess you'll have to ask him yourself, Suze. I don't like to get too involved in my employees' personal lives. That can get tricky, you know.”

  “I gotcha,” she replied. “I've had a few complicated relationships with co-workers myself. Lost my job over it more than once. I'll just give him a call sometime and see what gives.”

  Note to myself: order your yarn online after this.

  It was after 9 at night and I was at home on the treadmill in the basement listening to music on my iPod. I once read in a health newsletter that if a person can walk briskly for a quarter of a mile with no problems it means that their heart is probably in good shape. I'm not sure if that's true or not but it doesn't take long to do a quarter of a mile on a treadmill. The main reason that I try to do it though is that it seems to give me more energy. Sort of like winding up one of those old toys that had a key in the back. Mark was at his workbench in the corner of the room using a jig saw to cut a roof for a doll house.

  Mark and some of the other guys in the Special Forces in Afghanistan once made a crude doll house for a child who was trying to build her own. When he got home he made a more sophisticated, furnished one for his niece and sold a few more to her friends for a lot more money than he thought doll houses were worth. Now that he owns his own house and has someplace to do it, he's decided that he wants to start making them again. He wants to see if he can made a side hustle out of it.

  I had just passed the half mile mark when the electricity went off. The treadmill stopped abruptly and I stumbled sideways off of it. The lights were out and Mark came over and put his arms around me. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I heard the thunder so I guess the storm took out the electricity. I hope it doesn't take too long for it to come back on. I've got some paperwork I want to do before I go to bed.”

  “It's a small town without too many power lines; I don't think it should take them long to fix an outage,” he said. “I almost had the roof on the doll house finished, just had to cut a few more shingles. I'm going to stain them and they'll look like cedar shakes.”

  “Well, that's a good idea. It'll make it look expensive.”

  “Yep, and I can charge more,” Mark said.

  “Do you think we ought to call the power company and report the outage?” I asked.

  “Probably should.”

  “Uh, you still have your arms around me.”

  “Do I? Why, yes I do. I believe you're right about that.”

  “If we keep standing here like this we can't call the power company.”

  “
This is true,” he said. “However, first things first. I think I should check you for injuries. I'll need to be very thorough to make sure you're all right. We can't take the chance that you have some hidden injury that you haven't noticed yet. This could take a while if we want to do it right.”

  “And, of course, you have a medical degree?” I asked.

  “As you know all firemen have to know emergency medical training, and I do. I can even show you my license. I don't have it on me, of course. It's upstairs in my bedroom, if you'd like to see it.”

  Somehow my arms were around his neck and our conversation started to be punctuated with some rather nice kissing, and I said, “But the house is pitch black. We'd have to feel our way up two flights of stairs?”

  “Great choice of words; just what I had in mind. But since we're both tired and the futon over there accommodates two we probably should rest first.”

  And then I screamed.

  “What the hell!” Mark said. “Why did --”

  “The window! Something's there! What is it?”

  The back door stands at the top of the basement stairs, and through the window in the back door I was staring at the most hideous face I'd ever seen. Hideous, but also kind of familiar.

  “Oh crap!” Mark muttered. “ It's one of the Jameson sisters from next door.”

  He was right; it was either Helen or Heather (they're twins so I couldn't tell which one it was) peering in at the window. She was holding a flashlight under her chin and her hair is all wild, making her look like something from the bargain bin at a Halloween mask shop.

  “Let's just ignore her,” Mark whispered. “It's dark in here, so she won't know anyone's here.”

  “Dani, are you all right, dear?” came the muffled voice. “This is Helen. I heard you scream just now. Have you hurt yourself? Should Heather and I try to force the door so we can help you?”