Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery by Christine Wenger Read Free Book Online Page B

mouth.
    Just call me Seabiscuit.
    Somehow I managed to get everything ready by myself, in between cooking at the Silver Bullet and taking care of my eleven cottages when Clyde and Max needed me.
    On Saturday morning, three out of the twelve contestants arrived. One of them was Aileen Shubert, who was finally happy to find a place to stay.
    I prepared a sandwich-and-salad buffet for the girls and added another table in the kitchen, along with folding chairs so they could all sit together for meals. Besides, I wanted to get to know them.
    But there was no time for a lot of talk. As soon as they finished, ACB whisked them all away in her van to Margie Grace’s Dance Studio (aka Margie’s back deck) to introduce them to their new instructor and choreographer.
    And I got stuck cleaning everything up.
    I was just about to plop my butt into an Adirondack chair to relax on my covered porch, the one facing the lake, when Clyde and Max appeared.
    “Hi, guys. What’s up?”
    “The fishermen wanted me to ask you if they can have another cleaning station set up. Apparently they have to wait in line to use the two we have.”
    “Hmm. Where would we find another stainless-steel table at this time of the season?” I thought aloud. “We could supply another couple of trash cans and hook up a hose for running water. It could drain out into buckets or a drum. I could make up a sign to use that station last if the other two are being used.” But all that planning was for nothing if I couldn’t find a table of some sort.
    Clyde snapped his fingers. “I have a table behind my house you can have, Trixie. It’s in good shape and I don’t really use it anymore. I’ll use the one here or the one over at the bait shop, if I need to.”
    “Thanks. I’ll pay you for it.”
    “No need.” He shook his head. “No need at all.”
    Both Clyde and Max had been in the Army with Uncle Porky. They came to visit and never left, so Uncle Porky gave them jobs as handymen.
    “I’ll bring it over in my truck,” Clyde said. “Max’ll help me load it. Right, Maxie?”
    “Yup.” Max was a man of few words.
    Just as soon as they left, I noticed Ty walking up the path toward me with a white bakery bag. Ireally hoped that he was going to share whatever was in that bag with me, and maybe tell me some news about the investigation into Nick’s murder.
    Usually, Ty’s lips were tightly sealed when it came to pending investigations, but every now and then he’d let me in on something that was going to be public knowledge sooner or later.
    “Good evening, Trix,” he drawled.
    “Hi.”
    “No company?”
    “Blissful silence, for now. The girls that arrived today, including ACB, are all practicing their Miss Salmon number over on Margie Grace’s deck.”
    He laughed. “I know.” He made like he was holding a clipboard and pretended to read off it: “‘Earlier, I dispatched Sandy Harbor deputy sheriff Vern McCoy to the residence of Mr. Joe Jensen at 4578 Shipwreck Drive. Mr. Jensen, our complainant, reported that when he was about to go to the Elk’s Lodge to get set up for bingo, he noticed that all of his fishing rods had absconded from the back end of his pickup truck. Well, Deputy McCoy, being the excellent Sandy Harbor deputy that he is, heard laughing and giggling and went to investigate. After the subsequent questioning of an individual known to Deputy McCoy as Antoinette Chloe Brown, she informed said deputy that she noticed said fishing rods doing nothing but reclining in the back of the Jensen truck bed and asked Agnes Jensen, spouse of victim, if she could borrow them for the dance practice currently in progress. However, said Agnes forgot to tell said spouse, Joe. Property recovered. Investigation closed.’”
    I couldn’t stop laughing. Legalese rolled off his tongue like Dinerese rolled off mine.
    “Oh, but wait. You haven’t heard the best part.”
    “Do tell, Deputy Brisco.”
    “‘Deputy McCoy related that he saw a bit of