Murder Well Done

  Murder Well Done

  An Old School Cozy Diner Mystery

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Murder Well Done

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Catalog of Books

  by

  Constance Barker

  Copyright 2017 Barker

  All rights reserved.

  Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  I refilled my coffee cup behind the counter of my little café, The Old School Diner, for the third time this morning.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t like the way I pour your coffee any more, Mercy?” Deloris said in her faux-grumpy style as she handed me two packets of liquid creamer. “Now, scat. This is my counter; you don’t belong back here.” She pulled a compact mirror out of her trademark blonde beehive hairdo and put a wayward strand of hair back in place beneath a bobby pin. “I’ve been minding this counter since you were in diapers, and all of a sudden my coffee pouring isn’t good enough for you?”

  I smiled and sat at the end of the counter. “It’s not that, Deloris. I just need to do something. Sometimes I feel useless around here.” I put my chin on my hand and leaned glumly on the counter.

  “That’s how it’s supposed to be, Merse. You’re the queen, and we’re the worker bees.” Deloris set down two plates of pancakes and eggs on the counter, and Babs delivered them to the Gallagher brothers.

  Gilbert and Dickie Gallagher were aging twins who used to run the D&G Realty House until they retired a year ago and sold it to Joan Pianowski. She was the mayor’s tough-as-nails assistant for many years, but now she’s Paint Creek’s newest council member – with ambitions to replace Mayor Finster, if he ever decides to retire.

  “Why do you have that arm in a sling, Gilbert? Broken bone?” Babs asked as walked up to their table.

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. Uh...my bursitis is acting up, and it hurts when I move it.”

  “Well, you take care of it, and get better soon, Gilbert!” She set the steaming platters in front of them, as well as the syrup decanter, which she had hooked on her little finger.

  “Nice pancakes, Babs!” Gilbert said with his constant smile.

  “Perfectly golden brown...” Dickie added, with a nod.

  “...and the syrup is warm, the way we like it too!”

  “Yeah!”

  I always got a kick out of these two, the way they finished each other’s sentences and were always so nice and bubbly. The duo reminded me of George and Lennie from Of Mice and Men. Like George, Gilbert was intelligent, though uneducated. And like Lennie, Dickie was a big man with strong hands, though a bit low on the brain power, it seemed. Red liked to say that Dickie was a few steps short of a Tango, but both brothers are Paint Creek treasures.

  “I always take care of my boys!” Babs said as she bounced back to the counter and gave me a concerned look. “Why so down-in-the-dumps, Mercy?” The round 50-ish waitress handled all the tables and booths while Deloris took care of the counter, the beverage stations, and the pass-through window from the kitchen. Watching these two women run the dining room was like watching a well-choreographed ballet.

  “Oh, I’m not really down, Babs. Just...bored, I guess.”

  I had been an ER nurse in Louisville for several years and came back to my hometown of Paint Creek, Kentucky two years ago to buy the diner that my grandfather had opened over 50 years ago. I really love it here, but the pace is just so much slower.

  “Sometimes I guess I miss the action of the big city. Maybe that’s why I feel bored and out-of-sorts lately. I just wish I had a little more excitement in my life.”

  “Bored! My goodness, Mercy, there’s never a dull moment here in Paint Creek. Why, just last week I went to pick up my nephew – you know Geronimo Jr. – from soccer practice at Paley Park out by the new church. Well, before I knew it, five of his teammates had piled into my little car! Hehe! If that’s not excitement, I don’t know what is!”

  “Scintillating story, Babsy,” Deloris snarked as she slid her a full pot of fresh coffee for refills. “If I ever need somebody to talk me down off a ledge, tell them not to send you.”

  “Well, just dig deep and look to the little things for fun and fulfillment, Mercy,” she said as she bounced off to do a round of refills.

  Maybe she had a point, but I still couldn’t shake this funk I had fallen into.

  “Hidee ho there, boys and girls!” Old Red came in pulling his oxygen tank behind him on a little two-wheeler. “Hey, there, Gilbert. What’d I miss at Whittling Club last night? I decided to go to the town council meeting instead.”

  Deloris filled the special big red coffee mug she always used for Red and butted casually into his conversation. “I thought council meetings were on Thursday nights, Red.”

  “Yeah, well, Bud and his wife signed up for ballroom dancing on Thursdays, so they moved the meetings to Tuesdays for now. He’s the Mayor, so, you know...he makes the rules. Maybe we should change whittling to Thursdays.”

  Dickie smiled broadly and pulled a freshly carved hummingbird out of his shirt pocket. “This is what I whittled last night.”

  “And I’ll paint it later on this week,” Gilbert said.

  “Looks like some pretty good work there, Dickie. Hardwood, huh? I’m still trying to get the hang of whittling a bar of soap and balsa wood.”

  “Bring your pocket knife by the house, Red, and I’ll sharpen it for you,” Dickie offered. “That’ll probably help a lot.”

  “Well, thank you, Dickie. I’ll do that.” Red looked around before he sat down at his customary spot in the middle of the counter. “Where’s my fan club?” he asked, referring to Jake Carter and Junior, who were some of our other daytime regulars.

  “You’re ten minutes early, Red. They’ll be coming along shortly. Smoke!” Deloris hollered to our aptly-named cook through the pass-through, “One pancake and a one-egg country scramble. Henry’s here.” Smoke always called Red by his real name.

  She was waiting for his usual “Yes, ma’am,” but Smoke didn’t respond. She looked through the food window.

  “What in the world...?”

  Two seconds later, huge billows of grey, foul-smelling smoke came rolling through the pass-through window and swinging doors.

  Babs and I turned to each other with the same what-in-the-world look that Deloris still had on her face. This was not the typical kind of smoke we were used to from Smoke’s little grill fires. The 66-year-old cook came rushing out of the kitchen with a fire extinguisher in one hand. He didn’t say a word, but just motioned for us to follow him. Several of us followed him through the kitchen and out the back door. I flipped on the big vent fan in the hood over the grill and stove, setting it to “high” on the way by, to get rid of most of the smoke. I closed the back door behind me, and we all stared at the dumpster, which was smoking profusely. The fire in the dumpster was out, but Smoke gave it another shot with the extinguisher as billows of residual smoke continued to rise from it.

  “You brought us all out here to see a dumpster fire that you already put out, Smoke?” Red asked, making sure to keep his oxygen far from the heat.

  The garbage truck was just coming up the alley and turning toward the dumpster to empty it, but Smoke
waved him by and then turned to Red.

  “No, Henry,” Smoke shook his head. “It’s not the fire I brought you out here to see.”

  Deloris covered her nose with a lacey handkerchief she pulled from her beehive and stepped up to the dumpster. I was a step behind her and looked in at a charred mess, but there was still too much smoke to see it well.

  “Yup,” Deloris said, “I guess you brought us out here to see a pile of ashes.”

  “You’d better not get too close, Deloris,” I suggested. “Your hairspray might be flammable.”

  “It’s just the propellant that’s flammable,” she said, “so I never use the aerosol kind. I work in a restaurant, Mercy. I wouldn’t be crazy enough to use hairspray that’s going to catch on fire – especially not with that accidental arsonist, Smoke Kowalski, slinging hash a few feet away from me.” She turned away and wrinkled her nose. “It smells like Liz’s salon around that dumpster,” she said holding her nose with the hanky. Then she turned to Smoke, who was still agitated. “Is there something in there you want us to see, Smoke?”

  Smoke grabbed a large piece of cardboard from the recycling bin nearby. “Wait.” He fanned it briskly over the dumpster to clear the smoke away.

  Gradually, we were able to make out a form, depressed in the middle of the partially burned trash. More people were gathered around the dumpster now, and Babs and I looked at each other.

  “It’s a...body,” she said with wide eyes.

  “Yup, a dead guy,” Deloris said, matter-of-factly. “I’m going back to work.” I swear, nothing dazed that woman.

  Red had taken off his oxygen tubes and hung them over the tank on his hand cart. He filled the water bucket that Smoke used to clean the little tarred area out back and dumped it on the head of the corpse. Most of the fire had been on the other side of the dumpster where the corpse’s legs were, and it seemed that Smoke had put it out pretty quickly after it started. The water washed away some of the loose ash, and Red sighed.

  “That’s Tommy Hopkins,” he said, rubbing his chin, “Harold and Chrissy’s boy. He’s about your age, isn’t he, Mercy? 33, 34?”

  I was stunned, but I nodded. He was a class ahead of me, and probably the best-liked person in school – and in the town. He was captain of the basketball team the year we went to state, and half the girls in school had a crush on him. I was more into the debate squad and trumpet players, but he was a really great guy. How could he end up like this? He was even elected to the Town Council right after I moved back to town. I handed out pamphlets for his campaign at the county fair.

  “Call Stan,” I told Babs, and I texted Sheriff Brody Hayes. The Sheriff is kind of my boyfriend, although I haven’t seen much of him lately. His main office is in Calhoun, seven miles away, and his deputy, Stan Doggerty, is in charge of law enforcement for Paint Creek.

  I had just hit “send” when I heard a single whoop from Stan’s patrol car as he rolled up the alley and stopped by the dumpster with his red and blue lights flashing.

  “Been getting a lot of complaints,” Stan said looking directly at me as he stepped out of his vehicle. “It’s illegal to burn rubbish in your dumpster, Miss Howard. I’m going to have to write you up.” He took his pad of tickets out of his back pocket and pulled a pen from the band of his cap.

  “Oh, Stan!” Babs took him by the arm and walked him up to the dumpster. “We’re not burning garbage, you silly goose. Look!”

  Stan did a double take when he saw the dead body. “I’m pretty sure this is illegal too! I better get the Sheriff here.”

  “He’s on his way, Stan,” I said as I read the incoming text from Brody on my phone. “Why don’t you tape off the area, and the rest of us will go back inside and have some coffee. Babs, maybe you can bring Stan a nice cold lemonade.”

  Chapter Two

  The whole diner was abuzz with talk and speculation about the murder.

  “He didn’t have a butler, so it’s got to be the wife,” Pete Jenkins, a local farmer, declared.

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Pete,” countered Tilly Meddler. “Patty is barely five feet tall and 95 pounds soaking wet. How is she going to get a big man like that into a dumpster? Besides, they were so happy, and their life together was really starting to take off. Their second baby is due in September, and they just built a new house on the hill on the east side.”

  I chuckled to myself, because the east side of Paint Creek is about a three-minute drive from the west side. I lived on the hill there too. But she did make some good points about Patty.

  Jake and his son, Junior, pulled up right in front in Jake’s big red pick-up truck. They ran the local construction and company, Carter & Son. This should be interesting, as these two always have a take on things that is, shall we say...unique.

  Jake went right to the counter and sat by Red, while Junior paused to take a deep breath of the air that still had lingering odors from the blast of smoke.

  “Mmmm! Smells good!” Junior said, as everyone turned to give him a strange look. “Is Smoke having a pig roast today? The meat smells pretty good, but...” he sniffed twice, “...I think the wood he’s using is still a little green. Smells a little off.”

  Red and Jake were best of friends, but Red always had a bad comment about Junior’s intellect, much to his dad’s chagrin.

  “There’s no pig roast, you imbecile.” Red rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “That was uncalled for, Red,” Jake said in defense of his son as Junior took the stool next to him. “You’re always picking on my boy.”

  “You’re boy is 25-years old, Jake. He can defend himself. I don’t mean to be picking on him, but the meat he’s smelling, and getting all hungry over, is a dead body in the dumpster out back. Tom Hopkins was killed and tossed in the dumpster, and then the killer set it on fire.”

  “Holy smoke!” Jake burst out, a little too loudly.

  “Somebody call my name?” Smoke asked from the kitchen.

  “Nope,” Delores answered him. “Just the regular rowdy crowd talking too loud.”

  “Oh...you be nice to my Jakey,” Babs said to Deloris, giving him a kiss on the cheek and then tapping his nose with her finger as she whizzed by with a tray of dirty dishes.

  “I don’t know what you see in that smelly old fart anyway, Babsy. He’s five years younger than you – and he never pays any attention to you anyway.” Deloris just shook her head as she flipped the switch to grind the beans for a fresh pot of coffee.

  “A girl can dream!”

  “One girl’s dream is another girl’s nightmare, Babsy.”

  Red chuckled and slapped Jake on the back, but his buddy seemed totally unaware that the girls were talking about him. Then he turned the conversation back to the dead body out back. “It looks like your space aliens are at it again, Jake. They probably took poor Tommy up into their flying saucer and accidentally burned him up with one of their laser beams when they dropped him into the dumpster.”

  That did sound like one of Jake’s conspiracy theories, but Junior is never one to be outdone.

  “It could be spontaneous combustion, Pops. We’d better go out and take a look so we can figure out what really happened.”

  “I think you got it solved there, Junior,” Red chided. “He was probably just sitting out there in the dumpster, minding his own business, and burst into flames. Stan’s got it taped off out there, Junior, and Sheriff Hayes is probably there waiting for the CSI team by now too, so you might not see much right now.”

  Jake and Junior got up. “Maybe so, but we better check it out, Red. These detectives today never get it right, so me and Junior will probably have to solve it for them, as usual. Come on, Junior. Can we go through the kitchen, Mercy?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Hey, Pops,” Junior said to Jake as they rounded the counter, “I wonder if it was those little mischief genies we’ve been seeing on the streets at night...”

  Mischief genies?

  “...You know how the
y always find an evil way to grant wishes – well, maybe somebody wished for some excitement or something, so they gave them a dumpster fire with a dead guy in it.”

  Great...now this terrible murder is my fault!

  “Hey, Mercy,” Deloris hollered, “this soda pop dispensing system is acting up again. Sully did a few things to it when he cleaned the lines last week, but it’s still leaking all over the place, it doesn’t keep the beverages cold, and it’s impossible to set the syrup mixture right. I have to fiddle with it every day, but people are still complaining.”

  “I’ll look into it, Deloris.” I have looked into it, and a new machine is just too expensive.

  “And that ice machine in the kitchen takes forever to make a batch of ice. Then I gotta drag a heavy bucket of ice all the way over to this rusty bin here.”

  Several heads turned to look at me. “It’s not rusty, Deloris. It’s just...old.”

  “Old, and full of holes in the old sheet metal.”

  She set down a color brochure in front of me. It was a beautiful new restaurant soda machine with a built-in icemaker on top. It filled up the bin automatically and dispensed the ice into the glasses.

  “It’ll fit perfectly on the back bar, and I won’t have to carry a five-gallon bucket of ice or bend over to scoop it into the glasses.”

  “It’s beautiful, Deloris – but it’s almost two-thousand dollars. I just can’t...”

  She slapped a business card on the counter in front of me. “Lease to own. You’ll save on water, maintenance, and refrigeration costs if you upgrade, Mercy. Isn’t my health and happy customers worth four-and-a-half dollars a day for 16 months?”

  I sighed. I knew I was defeated and picked up the card. “I’ll call...Mr. Troy Stargill, Deloris.”

  “No need. I called him yesterday. He’ll be here at 10:30 tomorrow morning, when it’s slow, to talk to you about it.”

  “Four-fifty a day, Deloris?”

  She nodded. “$135 a month for 16 months.”

  “Fine. Have him bring the machine with him and set it up tomorrow.”