Deep fried death, p.4
Deep Fried Death, page 4
“Danna’s great. Buck, you’re actually off duty?” I asked him.
“Welp, when you’re the top dog, you can actually delegate.” He gave a sheepish smile. “And it’s our thirtieth anniversary this weekend. Melia here wanted to go for a walk in the state park and then go out to lunch, so that’s what we took and did.” He gestured at his jeans and hiking shoes.
“Wow, congratulations,” I said.
“I understand it’s your anniversary weekend, too, Robbie,” Melia said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t accompany Buckham to the festivities last year. I was on call that weekend and had a critically ill baby in the hospital.”
“Was the baby okay?” My shoulders tensed and my palms went on autopilot to my belly, as if I could shield my own baby from harm.
“I’m afraid she didn’t make it.” Her gaze went to my hands. “Don’t worry. It was a rare illness. You’re going to be fine,” she murmured.
I wanted to counter that she couldn’t possibly know that, but I didn’t. I’d never had so many fearful thoughts about the future before I became pregnant. But dwelling on them only made them worse.
“Thank you.” I made myself relax my shoulders as I surveyed the room. A party of four made its way toward the door, and Len was wiping down the table. “You can have that four-top in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Melia said. “I’ll go say hello to little Danna.”
I smiled at the description. Not anymore, she wasn’t. “Buck, where have you been hiding this fabulous wife of yours?” I asked him after she left.
“Welp, you know.” He gave his aw-shucks shrug.
“She’s busy, and I’m always in here when I’m working, like. We prefer to take and keep our work lives separate from home. But she’s been pestering me no end to bring her in to meet you.”
“I’m so happy you did.”
“I heared about the, uh, problem over to Nashville,” Buck said.
“I thought you might have. Did Wanda tell you?”
“I found out here and there.”
“It was pretty bad.” The tension returned to my shoulders.
“Hey now, Robbie.” He leaned down and peered into my face. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll up and help Nashville if I can.”
“Thanks, Buck. I’m worried Chief Harris thinks I did it.”
“Because of that business with the victim’s diner and all?”
“Right,” I said. “This morning Wanda told me something else. Apparently, Abe’s brother had gotten angry with Evermina in public.”
“Don O’Neill?”
“The same.”
The cowbell on the door jangled. I stared at Don standing in the entrance. Had I conjured him out of, well, not thin air, but conversation?
CHAPTER 10
“Robbie, I have to tell . . .” Don’s voice trailed off as he took in who stood next to me.
“Morning, O’Neill,” Buck drawled.
“Come in, Don,” I said. “You have to what?”
Don glanced back the way he’d come, then at us. His posture slumped as he moved closer.
“Did you get to race the Shamrock outhouse?” I asked. “Or were you in line after ours?”
“After. What happened was pretty shocking.” He swallowed. “Are you okay, Robbie? I mean, given your condition?”
“I’m fine.” I smiled to myself at Don’s term for my pregnancy. He was so old-fashioned, even though he was only five years older than Abe, which put him in his early forties. “It was certainly shocking, and tragic, to find Evermina like that.”
“The poor, poor woman,” Don murmured. “She didn’t deserve that.”
“Not a single person deserves a violent death.” Buck shoved his hands into his pockets. “Seems you had your own share of conflict with the deceased, O’Neill.”
Did Buck know more than what I’d just told him?
Don opened his mouth. He shut it. He narrowed his eyes, as if thinking.
“You weren’t the only one,” I said gently. Maybe that would encourage him to speak.
“Thing is, I let her open an account at the store,” Don began “She bought supplies out the wazoo while she fixed up her diner. That thing was a wreck.”
“Kind of like this place was when I bought it?” I asked.
Don perked up. “You got it. Except you paid your bills. She didn’t. Who can run a business like that? I sure can’t. I have to pay my own suppliers.”
“What did you say to try to get her to pay up?” Buck asked. He kept his tone mild.
“I told her that her account was due. And that she had to pay for what she’d bought. She kept giving me cockamamie excuses about this and that and all whatnot.”
“And then?” I asked.
“Well, and then I went over there and gave her what for.”
“Did you threaten her with harm?” Buck cocked his head.
“No! I mean, I threatened to have her business closed down. I never threatened to hurt her.”
Buck only nodded.
“Robbie, you know me.” Don craned his neck at me. “Come on. I don’t even squash mosquitoes.”
True. On the other hand, I didn’t know Don all that well. In all the time I’d known him, he’d kept his thoughts and feelings close to the chest. He often didn’t come to family gatherings at the elder O’Neills’ home, and Abe had said his only brother rarely opened up even to him.
“So you didn’t kill her and stuff her pitiful corpse in Robbie’s outhouse,” Buck said.
“What? Of course not.” Don’s voice caught. “I can’t believe you’d even think that for a second, Bird. How would that help me recoup my costs, anyway?”
He had a point. The same one Danna had made earlier today.
“Calm down, now,” Buck said. “It ain’t even my case, but I had to ask. Listen, you want to up and join me and the missus for lunch?”
Don pressed his lips together. Melia already sat at the table Len had cleared. Danna gestured at me and hit the bell signaling plates were ready.
“I need to get back to work,” I said. “Why don’t you eat with them, Don?”
“I don’t want to impose,” Don mumbled.
“No imposition at all,” Buck said. “Come on. We’d love to have you.”
“Well, if you’re sure. I’m sorry to intrude, Buck.”
Buck bobbed his head and made his way to the table.
Don blew out a noisy breath. “When’s Abe back, Robbie?”
“Middle of the day on Monday, I think.”
“He’s out of range, but I’m thinking I might need the name of a lawyer.”
“I might, too.”
“You?” His voice rose. “Why?”
“Did you miss Evermina’s ad campaign against Pans ’N Pancakes? It was pretty blatant.”
“I must have.”
“I told her there was room for both of us in town,” I said. “She apparently didn’t agree. The police probably think I had as much motive as you for wanting her to go away.”
“You wouldn’t have killed her any more than I would have,” Don insisted.
“You and I know that. Seems we’re going to have to convince a few law enforcement officers.”
Don nodded and shuffled over to Buck’s table. I straightened my spine. I had even more to think about now. For one thing, was Don so squeaky clean he’d never needed to talk to a lawyer? He’d lived in South Lick his entire life. You’d think he’d at least know somebody to call.
CHAPTER 11
Luckily, no fireworks ensued between Don and Buck. Diners ate, paid, and left. I was able to close and lock the door promptly at two thirty, and my crew and I began cleaning up. Danna scrubbed the grill. Len wiped down the tables and chairs and swept. I stashed most of the perishables in the walk-in cooler, leaving out the ingredients I needed for breakfast prep, and started the dishwasher.
By three o’clock, we sat at a four-top while the mopped floor dried. They sipped the beers I’d offered them. I would keep them company with a non-alcoholic beer, except the thought of a drink tasting even like fake beer roiled my stomach. I stuck with iced herbal tea. Danna replenished the table-top caddies with packets of sweeteners, tiny jars of jam, and little pouches of ketchup, mustard, and honey. Len rolled silverware into our blue cloth store napkins.
My fingers hovered over my tablet. “What would be good seasonal specials for tomorrow?”
“You mean that we already have supplies for?” Danna asked.
“Yeah. It’s too late to put in an order for tomorrow.” We were always closed on Mondays, so that wasn’t an issue.
“We still have plenty of strawberries, I think,” Len said. “A coffee cake would be easy.”
“I like that idea,” I said. “Sliced berries on top of the batter and a crumble topping.”
“Perfect.” Len nodded. “And it’ll be easy to make several big pans of it.”
“We need a savory offering for lunch.” Danna cut open another box of sugar packets.
“Monday’s Memorial Day,” Len said. “Hot dogs and potato salad would work.”
“Hot dogs in the salad?” I asked.
Danna snickered. “I can think of more than a few customers who would like that. Instead, how about we do up a bunch of kielbasas? That butcher in Nashville brings them down from Chicago. They’re super tasty, especially on the grill.”
“Sounds perfect.” I supposed I could drive back to the county seat this afternoon.
“Isaac and I are meeting friends for drinks in Nashville at five,” Danna said. “We’ll pick up a few dozen and I’ll drop them off, since I won’t be here tomorrow.”
“That’d be great, Danna, thanks.” I sipped my tea. “I’ll get you cash before you leave. Be sure you leave me the receipt. You’ll drop the kielbasa in the walk-in?”
“You bet.”
“Speaking of Nashville, how did your interview with the police go?” Earlier I’d given Len the thumbnail sketch of our aborted Outhouse Race.
“As you might expect,” Danna said. “I told them probably the same things you had. We showed up Friday with the outhouse, which was empty. On Saturday, when we began pushing it into place, it was heavy. We hit a bump. She fell out. What more is there?”
“Chief Harris must have asked if you had any ideas about how Evermina got there and who might have been responsible,” I said.
“Sure.” She glanced up at me and cringed to herself. “I, like, had to tell her about that nasty ad campaign. I’m sorry, Robbie.”
“It’s okay. You had to. I did, as well.”
“On the way back, Turner said he’d answered the same way.” Danna drained her beer bottle.
Len had been following the conversation. “The Miss South Lick Diner, right?” He thumbed his phone and whistled. “That was nasty, all right. Did this lady think nobody wants more than one option for breakfast and lunch? Check out this ad on Insta.” He held out the display.
I didn’t want to look. I’d already seen them all.
“Wow.” Danna now worked her own phone. “She even made a couple of TikTok videos. Radical.”
“Too old, much?” Len said. “Dude. She basically had no idea what the app is even for.”
I wasn’t more than a decade older than college-student Len, and Danna was closer to his age than mine. Being a business owner, a wife, and a mother-to-be made me feel as if I were of a different generation and out of range for things like TikTok. I did post food photos to our store’s Instagram and Facebook accounts regularly, but I didn’t share my personal life in either place. That was private, and I intended to keep it that way.
“I didn’t kill Evermina, obviously,” I said. “And I’d like to know who did.”
Len scrunched up his nose. “Is there anyone holding a grudge against you, Robbie? A person who would want you to look guilty?”
“I have no idea.”
“To change the subject,” Danna began. “I saw Jim Shermer around there this morning. What’s he doing in the area?”
“Who’s he?” Len asked.
“Long story,” I said. “Old story. He doesn’t matter. But to answer you, Danna, he apparently now owns the Hickory art gallery in Nashville.”
“Seriously?” she asked. “Isaac has a couple of pieces for sale there.”
Her boyfriend produced gorgeous metal and wood sculptures. The ones I’d seen would be too big for a storefront shop.
“He’s making smaller works these days, and Jim was happy to display them.” Danna finished resupplying the last caddy. “But here’s an idea. What if Octavia wigged out and was jealous of seeing you, Robbie? Maybe she killed Evermina to make it look like you did.”
“No,” I said. “Just . . . no. She has no reason to do that. She’s the one who stole Jim from me, sort of. Anyway, she’s a state police detective, and I happen to know she loves her job. That’s pure fantasy, Danna.”
“You’re the one who has wigged out,” Len told her. He finished his last roll and stashed the box under the counter.
“Hey, simply brainstorming, here.” Danna stood. “Okay if I push off?”
“Of course. Get out of here, both of you. I’ll get the coffee cake dough mixed up along with the rest of the prep before I leave.”
“See you next weekend,” Len said. “Did I tell you I’m flying out to see Lou tomorrow?”
“No. Give her my love. Is she still coming in August?” His big sister was my good friend and biking buddy Lou—Louise—who’d finished her doctorate at Indiana University and landed a tenure-track teaching position in Albuquerque. I missed her.
“She is.”
“Good. I hope I’ll still be able to bike with her by then.” Having never been pregnant before, I didn’t have a good sense of when I was going to have to stop doing my favorite—and primary—form of exercise. Any ride around here was a hard workout because of Brown County’s signature hills.
They let themselves out. I sat quietly sipping my iced tea and thinking. I flashed on Wendy Corbett’s arm through Zeke’s. What if she and Evermina had had conflicts over Zeke? Maybe an affair between Wendy and Zeke had been the cause of the divorce, and the ex had been causing problems. Demanding money. Threatening something. Wendy could have had cause to kill Evermina, with or without Zeke’s help.
It wouldn’t be dark tonight until nearly eight. I didn’t have anyone to cook dinner for this weekend, or even to eat with. I needed a good, long bike ride after I was done here. And now I had a destination in mind.
CHAPTER 12
I pedaled hard up the last hill before Nashville. A stiff wind smelling like rain blew in from the west, the direction we usually got our weather from. I hoped it was a light, quick storm. A downpour could ruin Abe and Sean’s camping trip. On the other hand, the two were of sturdy O’Neill stock, and they’d gone prepared for any weather. They’d be fine.
After I crested the hill, I coasted down into town, braking when I reached the lot where the race staging had been. The entire area was now cordoned off by yellow police tape, with our poor Pans ’N Pancakes outhouse sitting forlornly in the entrance, albeit sans corpse. A single officer reclined in a folding chair next to it, thumbing his phone. He didn’t glance up.
The lot might have been closed, but the former race route was now open. I pedaled slowly the rest of the way into town. The sidewalks were full of what looked like tourists on this long holiday weekend. They shopped, bought ice cream cones, ate at Cammie’s Kitchen, and popped into the Stonehead Tavern, named after the much-vandalized iconic stone mile marker a bit south of here. Flags advertising the Abe Martin Festival hung from lampposts. A talent show and concert was taking place elsewhere in town tonight.
I found a bike rack not far from City Hall and locked my steel steed. I might have popped into the Stonehead for a beer, myself, if not for my condition, as Don so quaintly put it. Instead I drank from my bike’s water bottle and clomped along on the cleats of the stiff-soled bike shoes, carrying my helmet.
Nashville Treasures was only a block off the main drag. A dog dish full of water sat out front, and the gift shop’s door was propped open to the balmy air. I was gambling on owner Wendy Corbett working this afternoon, but maybe she had employees running the place.
When I walked in, I was struck by how much the store resembled another gift shop in town, the Covered Bridge Bazaar. This one featured the same shelves of country-themed gifts. Carved wooden signs with cute sayings, a bin of rainbow-hued saltwater taffy, silk scarves painted with scenes of covered bridges, flour sack dishtowels stenciled with whimsical grinning vegetables, and crocks of handmade wooden utensils.
Shoppers browsed, including two who’d eaten lunch at my restaurant earlier in the day. I selected a nylon rainbow flag and brought it to the checkout counter at the back. June was Pride Month, and even if Wendy wasn’t here, it wouldn’t hurt to own a rainbow flag.
My gamble paid off. Wendy, wearing a sleeveless silk top in a brilliant royal blue, stood behind the cash register. I waited until she finished waiting on a customer. I smiled and greeted the shop owner.
“Robbie Jordan.” She frowned. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Didn’t I look okay? Oh. She probably meant about finding the body. “Although, what happened this morning was quite a shock. It must have been to you, too.”
“It was. No, I meant . . .” She gave her head a shake. “Never mind.” She reached to her right to straighten a display holding Nashville postcards, her sleeveless top showing off a muscled arm.
“What did you mean?” I asked.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I heard you’d been arrested.”
“What?”
“For the you-know-what.” She drew her finger across her neck.
The gesture was what people used to indicate murder, even though Evermina hadn’t had her throat cut.
“Why would I be detained for that?” I pressed.
“It’s well known Evermina wanted to put you out of business.”
“She apparently did, but I wasn’t arrested, and I never would have hurt her.” I really wanted to pivot this conversation away from me. “Was she giving you a hard time, too?”
