A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery by Jeanne Cooney Page A

while we talk things over?”
    “Sounds good.”
    He started for the refrigerator, while the chimes at Maria Lutheran began to play, just like they did every morning. On this day, though, I could have sworn the tune was something of a funeral march.
    Oh, Emme, did you just make a horrible mistake?

 
    Part Two: Survey the Buffet Table To See What’s Left

 
    Chapter Thirteen
    W hile Buddy was in the kitchen, scrounging up breakfast, I ambled to the front of the café and grabbed a seat in one of the booths. The Community News section of The Enterprise was on the table, and I pulled it closer. A notation across the top of the front page encouraged folks to submit information regarding social events, group meetings, and other “happenings.”
    The first entry in “Social Events” read,
     
    Sue Kulbeik and friends drove from Elbow Lake, Minnesota, to Oakwood, North Dakota, last Wednesday for taco night at the bar.
     
    It was followed by,
     
    The Hennen sisters had lunch at Bauer’s Flowers, Gifts & Coffee Corner in Warren after visiting the Willow and Ivy Gift Shop and their urologist in Crookston. The lunch was pleasant. As was shopping. The urologist, not so much.
     
    The next was a bit more dramatic:
     
    Unexpected guests stopped by Lyndon Johnson’s rural-Hallock home last Saturday afternoon. Having nothing prepared to go with the coffee he served, Lyndon whipped up Fork and Pan Cake, which takes very little time and, as suggested by its name, requires only a fork and a pan to prepare.”
     
    Hmm. The recipe wasn’t included, but I made a mental note to ask Margie about it.
    I then skimmed the rest of the event entries as well as two ads, one urging folks to visit Drayton Drug for their prescription and gift needs and the second encouraging them to shop at Anderson’s Pharmacy in Hallock for the same.
    Buddy walked into the room and, from the large tray balanced on his forearm, retrieved plates of what he called Breakfast Pie. After setting them on the table, along with a pot of coffee, a carafe of orange juice, and a plate of buttered toast, he tossed the empty tray onto the table in the next booth and slid in across from me. “Tell me what you’ve got so far.”
    “Didn’t Margie already do that?”
    He held up his hand, signaling he’d respond as soon as he’d finished a mouthful of eggs. “I’d like to hear it from you,” he said on the swallow.
    “Well . . .” It was my turn to do the hand thing. I’d never been especially concerned about my manners, but I was making an effort to change my ways. “Well,” I repeated after washing down my food with a sip of coffee, “I don’t have a lot.”
    My thoughts stumbled over the few tidbits I’d gathered, and I relayed them to him. I explained how I’d learned about Raleigh’s early-morning “joke” from Father Daley. And I reported Margie’s account of Dinky Donaldson’s afternoon encounter with Raleigh and the city clerk. “Plus, there’s the story the deputies shared with us about you and Raleigh having it out at the Caribou in Hallock.” I pointed at his black eye. “So what’s your side of that?”
    An engine whined outside, distracting both of us. The sound grew louder and louder before it stopped altogether.
    “First,” Buddy answered after the quiet had been restored, “it’s not much of a black eye.” He held up one finger, followed by another. “And, second, I saw Raleigh in the Caribou around six on Tuesday night, when I stopped in for supper. He was well on his way to getting hammered. When he spotted me, he started going on about how Buford and I had it so easy. I reminded him he didn’t even know us. But he said he knew our kind, and that was enough.” He rubbed his hands down his face, apparently already tired of dealing with the death of Raleigh Cummings. “I wasn’t in the mood to listen to that shit, so I told him that since he couldn’t work drunk, he may as well consider himself done. We only had a day or