Murder Ala Mode

  Murder Ala Mode

  By Constance Barker

  Copyright 2018 Constance Barker

  All rights reserved.

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

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Chapter One

  I had to smile as I watched Deloris roll silverware behind the counter. Sunday brunch was over, and we were preparing for our mid-afternoon dinner rush here at the Old School Diner. My lovely 62-year-old waitress and counter manager was shaking her head as she watched Babs waltz to each table with freshly-filled salt and pepper shakers. Deloris and Babs were the best team of waitresses in Kentucky, but they couldn’t be more different. Red, Jake, and Junior – as always – were on their stools at the counter.

  “Babsy, I swear, if you twirl one more time before you set down another pair of those dad-burn shakers, I’m going to set my hair on fire!” Deloris declared. She poked two fingers into the upper-right side of her tall, blonde beehive and skillfully pulled out a red disposable lighter, which she lit and held next to her grimacing face.

  “Oh, stop being so dramatic – not to mention grumpy, Deloris! I’m waltzing! Wasn’t that play wonderful last night! Especially when Jerome took Bess into his arms and kissed her, and then they both waltzed off into the sunset. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Six of us had made the hour-and-a-half trip to Bowling Green last night to see an original musical at a nice dinner theater there. Babs and Jake, Deloris and Red, and my guy Brody Hayes (our intrepid Sheriff) and I all had a real nice Saturday night triple date. The acting wasn’t great, but the food was good and the company was perfect. Oh – I’m Mercy Howard, the proprietor of this little diner here in Paint Creek, Kentucky.

  Babs closed her eyes and twirled blissfully three more times. Then she inhaled deeply, lost in her romantic dream world. She threw back her head and dramatically put her forearm to her forehead. “I do declare, I get the vapors when I think about that tall, handsome drink of water,” she said, feigning a Scarlet O’Hara southern accent.

  The guys at the counter were all enjoying the show that the ladies were putting on for them.

  “You’re pretty light on your feet there, Babs, for a…” Jake Carter stopped without finishing his sentence, and the room became tense and silent. He was a regular at the Old School Diner, 46, stocky, and owner of the local construction company, with his son Junior. He had also been dating Babs for quite a few months now.

  Babs was 50, short, and…let’s just say, round. She paused, put a fist on her ample hip, tilted her head to one side, and stared at him. “For a what, Jakey?”

  Jake turned pale and started to stammer. I thought the poor man was going to die right there on the spot. Thank goodness, Deloris rescued him.

  “Why, for a waitress, of course, Babsy. None of us knew you had hidden talents like dancing and acting.” Deloris filled Red’s coffee cup, as I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Babs walked up to Jake and gave him a forgiving pinch on the cheek and short smooch on the lips. “I have lots of talents, you know,” she said as she sashayed off to deliver more freshly-filled shakers. “I was in the drama club, dance ensemble, and I even won a singing competition at the county fair when I was 16.”

  “How about you, Deloris?” Old Red asked through his mostly toothless smile. He had been sweet on Deloris for years, and he had finally gotten the 62-year-old beauty to see a movie with him from time to time – and to join us on our dinner theater date last night.

  “Me?” Deloris answered. “My talents are pretty much non-existent. I can twirl a baton and play Hot Cross Buns on the clarinet. That’s about it. My singing voice sounds like geese farts on a muggy day.”

  Red chuckled. “No, I’m not talking about your talents, Deloris.” His grin became more devilish as he continued. “Babs twirled around a bunch of times, and you said you were going to set your hair on fire if she did. I’d be happy to help you out, and light it up for you.” Now his grin took up his whole face…until Deloris leaned across the counter and stared him down.

  “Is that right? Well, aren’t you a gallant fellow, Mr. Red Davis.” She held out her lighter to him. “Here you go, then.”

  Red knew he’d been beaten, and his face slowly fell.

  “I didn’t think so.” Deloris put the lighter back in its place in her beehive and walked a few steps over to her tray of silverware. “I’d set your hair on fire if you had any, you old billy goat. Besides, you’d be the first one crying if I was on fire.”

  Red knew that was the truth, but the two of them always had to appear not to care about each other.

  “Well, maybe at one time I would have Deloris. But, I’ve taken you on a dozen dates now, and you still haven’t let me get to first base.”

  Deloris didn’t even look up. “I told you – if you want these lips close to yours, you’re going to have to get some teeth in that old pie hole of yours, Red.”

  Our long-time chef, affectionately known as “Smoke,” came out of the swinging kitchen doors near the end of the counter with a huge bowl of chili and half a loaf of bread for Junior’s afternoon snack. He walked behind the counter and set it down in front of the bulky 25-year old, who looked a lot like his father.

  Deloris doesn’t like anybody behind her counter. “What’s the matter, Smoke? Ya think I can’t carry a bowl of your five-alarm chili to my customer? That’s what the food window is for, ya know – that’s why they call it a pass-through.”

  Smoke scooted out from behind the counter and sat on the stool next to Red. “Oh, c’mon, Delores. You know you’re the best waitress there is…”

  “Ahem…” Babs conspicuously cleared her throat.

  “I mean, you know…the best counter manager waitress person. And Babs is the best at running the tables. Anyway, the reason I brought Junior’s bowl out myself is because I was listening to you all talking about the play you saw, and the dancing and all that…and you know, you’re a real talented bunch of characters. It’s always real entertaining to listen to you all.”

  “You’re full of horse hockey, Smoke Kowalski,” Deloris groused. “We’re just an ornery and pathetic group of miserable fools. But, it’s nice to know that somebody is entertained by our fighting and whining.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He put both elbows on the counter, took off his black baseball cap with his thumb and forefinger, and scratched his head with the other fingers. “A lot of people could be entertained by you. We should do our own little dinner theater right here, at the Old School Diner.”

  Now he had my undivided attention – and not in a good way. I put down my clipboard with my grocery order on the table in the little window booth I use as my office.

  “Whoa, whoa, whooaaa there, Smoke.” I stood and walked behind the counter, braving Deloris’s protective glare. “What are you talking about? We’re a tiny little diner, not a fancy dinner theater. That’s just not going to happen.”

  “That’s a really good idea, Smoke!” Babs said, as if I were invisible and inconsequential. “We could do Romeo and Juliet…or, maybe The Music Man, or My Fair Lady!”

  So much for the power of ownership.

  “Heh heh, that’s a little ambitious for this little place,” Red said, rubbing his chin.

  “Yes!” I said with a victorious tone. “We can’t put on a play here.”

  “You need a backs
tage area for props and costume changes and all that stuff,” Red added. “You can’t do a big dinner theater type thing, like we saw last night. They had a big stage at that place.”

  “Exactly!” I said, shaking my index finger forward toward Smoke.

  “What do you think, Jakey?” Babs asked, hugging her guy’s neck and giving him the hairy eyeball.

  He knew what he had to do. “Well, Red’s right that you can’t do a major production here.”

  Yes!

  “But, Jakey, sweetie…”

  “…so, what you need to do is one of those little mystery theaters like they do in smaller clubs. The action takes place in the middle of the dining room and around the tables, and the actors serve one course of food between each act. People do them in their homes too with a group of their friends.”

  Oh, crud. That could work.

  Babs smiled. “A mystery theater? That sounds awesome! But the space between the counter and the booths is so long and skinny. Hmmm.”

  “No problem.” Junior had just finished his entire mixing bowl of chili and bread, and he was wiping his chin on a stack of my napkins. He had been unusually quiet today, so it was good to see him get involved.

  Junior pointed to the other side of the diner, past the counter and kitchen doors, where our long “banquet” table sat. We used it for large groups and meetings.

  “What’s your idea, Junior?” Deloris asked.

  “Well, we’ll fold up the long table and move Mercy’s little booth out of the window. Then we’ll have that whole area on the other side of the front door. I’ve got a big curved shower rod and curtain for a corner shower that we can use there in the corner, so the ladies will have a place to change their costumes and wait for their entrances.”

  Babs was giddy. “Oh, this is so exciting! Now, all we need is a play and a talented cast. Jakey, you can build any props we might need. Red, you can be the Rich old guy who gets killed…”

  “Sweet!” Red said. “Just kill me off early, ’cause I’m not much of an actor.”

  “…and Deloris, you can be his love interest…”

  “Not me, lady. I’ll help sew the costumes, but I’m not going to make a fool of myself in front of the whole town.”

  “Let’s do it on the Saturday night before Labor Day,” Babs said, not really paying attention to Deloris’s objection. “That’s in three weeks.”

  “I guess I’ll plan out a special menu that we can serve to all the guests,” Smoke added.

  I threw in the towel of defeat. “And I’ll get some tickets printed up and start selling them around town.”

  “So, it’s a done deal, then!” Babs said excitedly, clapping her fingers and bouncing on her toes. Then she waltzed off with more salt shakers, twirling as she sang Once Upon a Dream from Sleeping Beauty.

  Crud, crud, double crud! This is really going to happen. My peaceful little escape back to my home town is going to be complete chaos and ulcer-inducing stress for three weeks. Did I say crud? I meant, Oh, crap!

  Junior kept looking at his watch and then at the front door. I was curious and also needed to get my mind off the new role of my Old School Cabaret.

  “Are you waiting for someone, Junior?” I asked, walking over to him and putting my hand on his shoulder.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Mercy. I just thought maybe…well, I guess not.” His face was long and somber as he tipped his glass to his lips to get the remainder of watery cola beneath the ice cubes. He took a couple of small cubes in his mouth and crunched on them, taking one more wistful look toward the door.

  I was feeling bad for him for a second, but then his eyes grew huge and his jaw dropped. I followed his gaze toward the door as a young woman opened it and gave him a timid wave and a smile.

  “Liberty!” he said, bounding to his feet and crossing the distance to her in three large paces. He took the petite woman in his arms and swung her around three times.

  Liberty Cheswick was a young, bookish, professional woman. She had been the head of McLean County’s Historical Society until she took a prestigious position running the Kentucky Tourism, Arts and Heritage Cabinet. She and Junior had a torrid romance for a few short months – the first for both of them, I’m pretty sure – before she got the big promotion and moved to Frankfort.

  “Well, it looks like you two kept the long-distance thing going!” I said, feeling a rush of joy as I watched them rekindle their powerful love. I hadn’t heard Junior say a word about Liberty for a couple of months, and it always put him in a sad mood when I asked. Everyone in the diner was riveted to the touching scene.

  “Junior, take your lady to a booth. I’ll get you some coffee, Liberty,” I said.

  She barely nodded as they looked at each other with red faces, huge smiles, and eyes that were ready to overflow. Deloris slid a full coffee mug down the counter to me, and I set it down in a booth along with a full cola for Junior.

  “Sit! Sit!”

  “How is the big city treating you, Libby?” Red asked, but he got no response.

  “I think we have to wait a few minutes for them to have their own little reunion first, Red,” Deloris said. “They're both a million miles away right now, but I expect they’ll be landing back on earth before long.”

  Deloris was right. After two minutes of silent gazing, they both began talking like crazy and giggling. Then they both took a cleansing breath and realized that there were other people in the room.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Liberty.” Babs said enthusiastically, putting a couple fresh slices of turkey breast in front of her. “Smoke just took the turkey out of the oven – and Junior, you leave that for her. You’ve already had plenty to eat. We’ll start serving dinner in about 15 minutes.”

  Liberty looked at the steaming white slices. “Mm! Smells great, Babs. I guess I could use a little bite after my three-hour drive. Thank you.”

  “We’ll get you a whole meal pretty soon,” I told her. “So, how long will you be in town, Liberty?”

  “I’m taking two weeks of vacation, and then I have a week of work right here in McLean County. So, you’re stuck with me for a while!”

  “Perfect!” Babs said. “With all your historical knowledge, you can help us design some realistic costumes for 1890’s London.”

  Liberty looked confused. “Sure…but, why?”

  “We’re the Old School Dinner Theater now,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

  “And we’re going to put on a mystery play,” Babs added with glee. “So, what could be better than a good Sherlock Holmes case! And we’ll need you to be in it too.”

  Liberty gave me another curious look. I shrugged. “I’m not a voting member, Lib. I just own the place and pay the wages.”

  Liberty tilted her head from side to side, considering the thought of being in a play. “Well, I guess it might be fun – if Junior is in it too.” She looked at his wide, surprised eyes.

  “Uhhh…ya, sure, sweetheart. I’ll be the Director, I guess.”

  Now, this ought to be interesting…

  Chapter Two

  Babs really grabbed the bull by the horns, and, with less than a week to go until opening night, our little Mystery Theater play was starting to come together. I was impressed with how much they had gotten done in a couple of weeks…and, okay, maybe even a little excited.

  The regular gang brainstormed ideas for the play for the first few days while Liberty took notes. She and my best friend – the history teacher at the high school, Ruby Owana – wrote a wonderful script based on all their crazy ideas: Sherlock Jones: Murder at Berkshire Manor.

  And I’ve got to hand it to Babs. She got the word out and rounded up a cast of actors from our friends around town, plus a handful of students and teachers from the drama department at the state college branch in Calhoun, the county seat seven miles away.

  Deloris and Hattie Harper found a lot of old clothing at the thrift store in Ballers Ferry, and they transformed the coats and dresses into beautiful vintage c
ostumes. Remarkably, the townspeople were eagerly buying up the $20 tickets to see the play and enjoy their choice of Smoke’s prime rib or Cornish game hen dinners.

  The cast and crew had all gathered today for a semi-dress rehearsal.

  Randi Taylor was a bouncy and cheerful young coed in the drama department who was playing a promiscuous noblewoman in the play. She made comical passes at all the male characters and some of the women too. The fun-loving girl brought a lot of laughter to the rehearsals and always had some great ideas for improving the play.

  Dirk was a quiet drama student, average height with pasty white skin, but he was a great actor. He always made us laugh in his role as the comical butler, and he had an obvious crush on his classmate, Randi.

  She, however, seemed to have eyes for the drama professor, Reggie Zorn. He looked tall but was probably under six feet. But he was an eye-catching dark-haired man in his early thirties with brooding eyes and a toned, masculine body. Not that I noticed, but…okay, I noticed. He was playing the nefarious, womanizing Duke Middlewick of Surrey. The role seemed to fit his personality. His leering eyes always seemed to be sizing up the younger women like pork chops at the butcher shop.

  “Randi,” Reggie said to the girl as the actors gathered in the stage area for a rehearsal. Some were wearing costumes, but no one was in makeup. “You keep taking my chair when the lights go out in Act Two for the murder. Next time I’m just going to sit on your lap!”

  “Maybe I should just sit on yours,” she said with a flirty smile. “Anyway, you know I’m practically blind when the lights are on, and my contacts have been bothering me lately, so I can’t always wear them.” She smiled and tilted her head, knowing her adorable looks and demeanor would keep her out of trouble. “I thought I was in the right chair, but I’ll try to be more careful in the future…professor.” She winked at him and slid her fingers down his chest.

  “Careful there, Taylor,” Zorn said, a little flustered.

  Dirk looked on timidly. I might have seen a few daggers shoot from his eyeballs straight into the professor’s torso.