Mushing is Murder Read online

“What is it, sweetie?”

  “Dad wants me to open the diner this morning. I know I came back to help out with the family business, but I wasn’t expecting to be thrown in the deep end like this. I thought he’d show me the ropes, spend some time there with me while I get to know the other employees and get familiar with the kitchen again, that kind of stuff. I should have known better. This is so Dad. I was supposed to open it at eight, and he didn’t even mention it last night.”

  “He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know,” her mother said. “He just has a lot of faith in you. It doesn’t occur to him that it’s been over a decade since you worked there, and you may not remember how to run the place. Do you want me to come with you this morning? I usually take a nap around noon, but I can put it off until later this evening. I don’t want you to worry yourself over the diner if you don’t have to.”

  “No… I’ll figure it out.” She stuffed the note in her pocket with a sigh. “I’m here to make things easier for you, Mom, not harder. I wish Dad had taken the time to actually sit down with me and talk about what I’m supposed to do there, but I’ll figure it out. It’s like riding a bike, right?”

  Her confidence faded as she neared town in the rickety old van forty minutes later. The annoyance at her father was still seething inside her, all too familiar. It’s not like he was forced to take the dogs out this morning, she thought. He makes his own training schedule. It wouldn’t have killed him to put off the run until this afternoon. Is it really too much to expect him to take an hour to show me the ropes at the diner? I have no idea what I’m doing. Even back when I worked there, I never managed the place.

  By the time she reached the gravel parking lot in the back of the diner, she felt ready to snap at the first person who said the wrong thing. Luckily, the place was empty when she got there. She used the key she found in the center console to unlock the diner’s back door and let herself inside. The first thing that struck her was that it smelled exactly the same as she remembered. It even looked like nothing had changed. Even the register looked the same. It had gone from antique to dinosaur in the past decade. Her father was someone who rarely changed anything as long as it worked. He ate the same thing for breakfast almost every day, he never replaced a vehicle until it literally fell apart around him, and he wore the same outfits he had since she was a child. The dogs and the sport he loved were the only things he stayed up to date on, and she had no doubt that the sled he was using right at this very moment was a cutting edge piece of technology, and was probably made out of materials that were decades more modern than the cash register.

  Grumbling to herself, Angie found the light switch and flicked it on, then looked around to get a feel for the state of the place. It was old, yes, but at least it was clean. Whoever had closed up the night before had done a good job of making sure everything was ready for the next day. Without tables to clean or napkin holders to refill, Angie found herself at a loss. What exactly did opening the diner entail? Was she supposed to start cooking? Weren’t there supposed to be other employees, for that matter?

  Feeling a bit lost, Angie went over to the front doors and unlocked them, then headed toward the kitchen. She was relieved to see a printed-out schedule taped to the wall. Tuesday: Rod Seaver and Grace Bishop: 8 — 3. Betty Johnson and Theodore Wiggin 3-9.

  That left the question of where this Grace person was. It was nearly ten, almost two hours since the diner was supposed to open and no one had called the landline, and Angie hadn’t seen any other cars in the parking lot. Had the employee shown up and decided to take the day off when she found the doors closed and locked and no one there to open them? She didn’t know, and since she couldn’t find any phone numbers for the employees, she didn’t have a way to find out.

  “Guess I’m on my own,” she muttered. “If Dad doesn’t like how I do things, that’s his own fault.”

  She decided to start the day by making coffee. Coffee, she figured, was a staple in any diner, and at least the coffee makers weren’t something she needed instructions for. She made a pot of regular and a pot of decaf, and while the coffee makers were gurgling away, she snagged a menu from behind the front counter and began reading through the options.

  It didn’t seem like there were any major changes here, either, but at least the menus themselves had been replaced. She didn’t find any surprises, and was confident that she could make anything the menu listed. Eggs, hash browns, burgers, fries… she’d spent a few years working here during and after high school, and even though it had been a while, she could probably make any of those in her sleep.

  By the time the coffee was done, there was still no sign of any customers, so she took the opportunity to familiarize herself with the kitchen. Cheese, milk, and eggs in the fridge, meat in the freezer, pancake mix and buns in the cupboard. There was a shake and malt machine that was new, and she didn’t want to try to figure that out without instructions, and a soda machine that she was pretty sure was as old as she was.

  All in all, Angie felt surprisingly comfortable in the diner despite her initial fears. It was all coming back to her, with a strange sense of deja vu. She found an old employee handbook and began reading through it, getting so lost in the list of rules that she almost missed it when the bell over the front door jingled. Her first customer.

  He had already taken a seat at the counter by the time she came out of the kitchen. He was an older man, about her father’s age or maybe a few years older. She didn’t recognize him, but she wasn’t surprised when a broad grin lit up his face as he laid eyes on her.

  “Little Angie Seaver!” he exclaimed. “Rod told me you’d be coming back to work here soon. How long you been here?”

  “I flew in last night,” she said.

  “You’re jumping in feet first, eh?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Your dad out running the dogs?”

  “You know him well, Mr…”

  “Hal O’Brien,” he said, shaking her hand enthusiastically. “You went to school with my Mags.”

  “Oh, Mr. O’Brien. Sorry I didn’t recognize you. How are you? How’s Maggie?” No wonder he was so familiar. Maggie had been her best friend growing up. Her father, who had worked as a police officer at the time, had been a vague figure on the outskirts of Angie’s life for as long as she could remember.

  “It’s all right, I know I’ve gained a few pounds and lost a few hairs.” He chuckled. “I’m doing all right. Mags is doing as well as could be expected. Her husband ran out on her, and she’s back to living in town with the little tyke, Joshua. He’s nine now, just had his birthday last month. You should give her a call sometime. I got her a job at the police station, so she’s doing all right.”

  “I will,” Angie promised. “There are a lot of people I need to get in touch with. So, what can I get you today, Mr. O’Brien?”

  “Give me a plate of extra cheesy scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon, and a toasted English muffin with some of that jam your mom makes. And keep my coffee cup filled up, I’m going to need the energy today.”

  She reached for her notepad, only to realize she had forgotten it in the kitchen. With a sigh, she tried to commit the order to memory, something that had never been a skill of hers.

  “The coffee’s coming right out, and I’ll get everything else started,” she said. “It was nice to see you again, Mr. O’Brien.”

  “You too, Angie. I’ll tell Mags to give you a call. The two of you should catch up.”

  She shot him a smile, then hurried back into the kitchen, already feeling in over her depth. What had the order been again? Scrambled eggs with extra cheese, bacon… toast? And what flavor of jam had he wanted? She knew there had been a couple of different flavors in the fridge.

  Taking a deep breath, Angie poured coffee into a mug and took it out to him, then got to work on the rest of the meal.

  3

  By the time one of her father’s employees showed up, Angie had already made three mistakes on orders, had received five complaints that the food didn’t taste “the same,” and had spilled a mug of decaf coffee on herself. When she heard the restaurant’s back door open and turned to see a familiar face, she almost melted in relief.

  “Mrs. Johnson,” she said, approaching the older woman. “Thank goodness you’re here! I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “We’ll talk business soon, but first, I need to hug my little angel.”

  Angie found herself pulled into a hug, surrounded by the familiar strong arms and flowery scent of the woman she had known all her life. Betty Johnson had been at the diner since the beginning, and had been a fixture in Angie’s childhood. She remembered long, lazy summers spent at the diner, helping wait tables and clean dishes under the strict but caring eye of the older woman.

  Betty pulled back after a moment and looked Angie up and down, giving a tsk of disapproval. “Look how skinny you are. Is your father not feeding you enough?”

  “I just got here yesterday,” Angie told her. “And don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll gain plenty of weight working here. You know how weak I am around deep-fried mushrooms.”

  “Well, good. You need some meat on your bones. Now, what’s going on?”

  She took a deep breath. “Dad didn’t tell me I was supposed to open at eight, and I didn’t get here until almost ten, and the other employee never showed up. Then I messed up Mr. O’Brien’s order and I don’t know how my dad cooks stuff so everything tastes different than people are used to, and to cap it all off I spilled coffee on myself and smell like I should be working in a coffee shop.”

  “Wow, you’ve had quite the day, haven’t you? Let’s start from the beginning. Who else was supposed to be here?”

  “Someone nam
ed Grace. I don’t know her, or at least, I don’t think I do.”

  Betty shook her head. “You wouldn’t. She only started working here two years ago. Did you check the answering machine?”

  Angie stared at the older woman. “Answering machine?”

  Betty led the way over to the counter, where a sleek black landline was sitting in a cradle. There was a blinking light on top. “The old phone saw its last days a couple years ago, and your dad finally upgraded it. Here, you just press the button next to the speaker to hear the messages.” She pressed it, and a woman started speaking.

  “Hey, it’s Grace. My dentist appointment got moved up to nine, so I’m not going to be able to come in at all today. Umm… I’ll try your cell phone, I guess, Mr. Seaver. Sorry about this, but I don’t want to reschedule again. If I do, I’ll just be thinking about it the whole time. Who knew getting your wisdom teeth out could be so terrifying?” There was the sound of nervous laughter. “So, I’ll be in on Saturday I guess, if everything goes well. Thanks for the time off, and I’ll pick up an extra shift next week or something to make up for this. Um, I think that’s it. Bye!”

  The message ended. Angie shook her head. “I feel pretty dumb right now. I can’t believe I didn’t see that. I wonder if she ever got in touch with my dad.”

  “Has he stopped in yet?”

  “Not yet. He’s supposed to come by sometime this afternoon.”

  “Then he’ll probably be here soon. Come on, let’s get this place ship shape. I have a box of sweaters I was going to donate to my church in the car. You go pick one out and soak your shirt so that the coffee doesn’t stain it. I’ll go handle the customers while you get situated, then I’ll come back here and answer any questions you have.”

  “Thanks,” Angie said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  With Betty’s help, things went much more smoothly. Being in a clean shirt helped Angie feel more like herself, and having someone to ask when one of the customers ordered something that wasn’t on the menu helped a lot. Most of the guests were regulars, and they each had their favorite dishes and particular ways they wanted things cooked. A good half of them recognized Angie, and the going was slow whenever one of them spotted her for the first time. The older woman was a lifesaver — without her, there was no telling how much food Angie would have burned.

  When her father came in shortly before four, he wasn’t alone. His old friend Bill Barkly was at his side, and they were both chuckling at a joke when they came through the door.

  “Angie!” Bill cried when he saw her. “Rod said you were here, but I told him I wouldn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes. How’s your first day back been?”

  As he spoke, he and her father took seats at the counter. Her father gave her a nod, which she returned.

  “It’s been going about as well as could be expected,” she said. “Thank goodness for Betty. She’s been a lifesaver. I hardly remember anything from the last time I worked here.”

  She shot a glance at her father, wondering if he would apologize for leaving her in the lurch like he had. He just nodded. “Betty’s great. I don’t know what I’d do without her. If she ever starts talking about retiring, I’m going to have to offer to double her salary to keep her.”

  “She makes the best brisket, too,” Bill said appreciatively. “Remember Christmas Eve? I ate so much here that I hardly had room for Christmas dinner the next day. If you added her brisket to the menu permanently, you would be a millionaire by this time next year. The whole state would travel to Lost Bay just to eat it.”

  “I’ve raised the idea with her before,” her father said. “She’s insistent that the brisket is for holidays only. I doubt she even makes it for her husband other than on holidays.”

  Seeing that the conversation had gotten permanently off track, Angie cleared her throat. “So, how are you doing, Bill?”

  “Not bad, not bad,” he said. “I’m retired and enjoying life. It’s nice to have the time to devote to the dogs. I’m finally able to hit all the races I want to, not that it’s paying off. My dogs did horribly in the last race. Poor things just didn’t have any heart. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone drugged them.”

  “And I told you, that’s ridiculous, Bill. Dogs just have bad days sometimes, that’s all,” her father said.

  Angie decided to cut off the argument before it started and cleared her throat. “What can I get you two? Coffee?”

  Both men nodded. “And bring out the good creamer,” Bill said. “I’ll take a cheeseburger, no pickles, and can you caramelize the onions? I’d better take one of your BLTs back for my wife, too. Toasted, wheat bread, mayo on the side.”

  “Got it,” Angie said, scribbling in her notepad. “Dad?”

  “I’ll take a chicken salad sandwich on toasted white bread, with the kettle cooked potato chips on the side. Could you make a fresh batch? I like them warm.”

  “All right. I’ll see if I can get Betty to bring out your coffee, since she’ll love to hear you gossiping about her beef brisket, and I’ll get the food started.”

  Angie was actually proud of herself for the burger she made Bill. She’d taken most of the afternoon to get the meat’s time on the grill right, but she seemed to have nailed it at last with a perfect medium-well done burger. Betty walked her through making a batch of chicken salad, then sliced the potatoes for the kettle cooked chips.

  When she dropped the food off for her father and Bill, she felt like a young child again, waiting for his approval, even though she had only made half the food. Bill took a bite of the burger and gave her a thumbs up.

  “Just how I like it,” he said. “Rod, I’m going to say your restaurant is in good hands.”

  “I never had any doubt,” her father said. “Ange, if you want, you can head home now. I’ll spend a few hours here, then I’m going to stop at the store and get stuff for dinner. Let your mother know that we’ll be eating late, and Dave and Cheryl will be coming over. They’re excited to see you.”

  “All right, if you’re sure you don’t need me here. Do you need me to do anything at home?”

  “Just help your mother with the housework, if you can. You okay with opening most mornings? If so, I’ll just put you on the morning shift for this week.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll go tell Betty I’m leaving. I’ll see you later, Dad.”

  4

  The sun was already going down when Angie left the restaurant and headed home that evening. It had been a long day, and even though it was only just past five in the evening, she was exhausted. She wished she had thought to ask her father just how late the late dinner was going to be. She needed to catch up on sleep if she was going to be waking up early enough to open the diner at eight every day.

  Despite her tiredness and the rough start, it had turned out to be a pretty good day. It was nice to see all of the people she had grown up with again, and once Betty was there to help her figure things out at the diner, the workday had gone smoothly. She had no doubt that before long working there would become second nature again.

  She pulled up the long driveway and parked the car, getting out to the usual loud cacophony of dogs barking from the dog yard. She opened the front door — which her parents kept unlocked during the day when someone was home — and stooped to pet one of the cats. She wasn’t sure whether it was Chess or Checkers. The sound of a laugh track on TV told her that her mother was in the living room.

  Making her way to her bedroom, she dropped her purse on the armchair and collapsed on the bed. Thoughts of everything she had left behind in California flooded her mind. She had friends there, no one she was really close to, but people she would miss, nonetheless. An ex-boyfriend with whom things had been on the mend with, and a somewhat decent job in real estate that felt like it was actually going somewhere, but in the end neither had been that important to her. Not important enough to keep her from leaving.

  It hadn’t been easy to leave like she had, but it had felt inevitable. What had the alternative been? She could have said no, but then if something happened — if her mother got to the point where she needed constant help, if her father got hurt and couldn’t run the diner anymore— she would have blamed herself. Her biggest fear was to live a life of regret, to look back on things she had done, or things she should have done, and have no way to fix her mistakes.