A Second Helping of Murder and Recipes: A Hot Dish Heaven Mystery by Jeanne Cooney Page B
Authors: Jeanne Cooney
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so left anyhow.”
He picked up his fork and poked at his Breakfast Pie. It was a mixture of eggs, sausage, potatoes, cheese, and seasoning. “Then because I’d finished my meal, I paid my bill and left. But like some damn shadow, Raleigh followed me outside, yakking about how he wasn’t drunk and I couldn’t fire him.” He raised his eyes to mine, his expression subdued. “I tried to ignore him. But when I opened the door to my truck, he took a swing at me. He missed, but I reacted.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I shoved him. He fell against another truck and slid to the ground.” He loaded up his fork. “I didn’t stick around to help him up.”
I had lots of questions, but in the end, curiosity dictated what I asked. “So where’d you get the shiner?”
He hesitated, his fork midway to his mouth. “I told you. It’s nothing.”
Before I could offer a rebuttal, the café door creaked open to an odd-looking pair. They clomped inside, leading the way for a lot of cold air. Despite wearing a turtleneck and a sweater, I had to rub my arms to stave off the chills.
The taller of the two wore a black nylon snowmobile suit, black boots and gloves, and a matching helmet, complete with a dark face shield. The shorter one also wore clunky boots, thick gloves, and a helmet with a face shield. But the other clothes were different. Very different. They consisted of plaid bib overalls that looked to be wool, a knit turtleneck, and a down jacket that refused to zip more than a few inches, leaving a protruding belly exposed.
The two removed their gloves and helmets, as Buddy and I shifted to get a better look at them. It was Wally and a very pregnant Little Val. I easily recognized him from my previous visit. But she had changed considerably over the past few months.
“It’s getting so damn cold around here,” Little Val hollered, “we’ll soon be growing nothing but snow peas and iceberg lettuce.”
“What in the hell are you two doing out in this weather?” Buddy asked by way of hello.
Wally offered a resigned sigh. “She’s craving Rhubarb Bars.” He hooked his thumb toward his wife, who was clumsily shedding her jacket. “We didn’t have the ingredients to make any at home, but she knew Margie had some down here, already done.”
Without realizing it, I muttered, “Must be some good bars.”
Little Val waddled by. “They are. Margie got the recipe from Heidi Auel, who’s great at making up new dishes.” She fluffed her curly blonde bob. “And these particular bars are gluten free, so I can eat ’em.” She patted her large belly. “At this point, stomach problems wouldn’t be good.” She lumbered into the kitchen, each step of her heavy boots sounding like the pounding of a hammer. “I’m grabbing a plate of ’em, and if there’s any left when I get done, I’ll give ’em to you.”
I rummaged through my brain until locating the image I had of Little Val from my last visit. She was petite back then, with just a tiny baby bump. Now, in addition to her ginormous belly, she had a plump face, sausage arms, and a butt that crowded the backside of what appeared to be men’s pants.
Buddy commented on them after Wally plopped down next to him. “I haven’t seen overalls like that since—”
“Don’t go there,” Wally warned. “She couldn’t come close to fitting into her snowmobile suit. Or for that matter, any of her maternity pants. And it’s too cold for the dress she wore last night.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “She found those overalls in the back of the hall closet. They’re her dad’s. He must have forgotten ’em.” Still more tapping. “She tried ’em on, and they fit after she cuffed ’em up. And since they’re wool, they’re warm. So now she says she won’t wear anything else till the baby’s born.” He wouldn’t stop tapping! “As soon as the storm passes, we’re driving over to Young’s General Store in Middle River to buy another pair.
He picked up his fork and poked at his Breakfast Pie. It was a mixture of eggs, sausage, potatoes, cheese, and seasoning. “Then because I’d finished my meal, I paid my bill and left. But like some damn shadow, Raleigh followed me outside, yakking about how he wasn’t drunk and I couldn’t fire him.” He raised his eyes to mine, his expression subdued. “I tried to ignore him. But when I opened the door to my truck, he took a swing at me. He missed, but I reacted.” He shrugged. “What can I say? I shoved him. He fell against another truck and slid to the ground.” He loaded up his fork. “I didn’t stick around to help him up.”
I had lots of questions, but in the end, curiosity dictated what I asked. “So where’d you get the shiner?”
He hesitated, his fork midway to his mouth. “I told you. It’s nothing.”
Before I could offer a rebuttal, the café door creaked open to an odd-looking pair. They clomped inside, leading the way for a lot of cold air. Despite wearing a turtleneck and a sweater, I had to rub my arms to stave off the chills.
The taller of the two wore a black nylon snowmobile suit, black boots and gloves, and a matching helmet, complete with a dark face shield. The shorter one also wore clunky boots, thick gloves, and a helmet with a face shield. But the other clothes were different. Very different. They consisted of plaid bib overalls that looked to be wool, a knit turtleneck, and a down jacket that refused to zip more than a few inches, leaving a protruding belly exposed.
The two removed their gloves and helmets, as Buddy and I shifted to get a better look at them. It was Wally and a very pregnant Little Val. I easily recognized him from my previous visit. But she had changed considerably over the past few months.
“It’s getting so damn cold around here,” Little Val hollered, “we’ll soon be growing nothing but snow peas and iceberg lettuce.”
“What in the hell are you two doing out in this weather?” Buddy asked by way of hello.
Wally offered a resigned sigh. “She’s craving Rhubarb Bars.” He hooked his thumb toward his wife, who was clumsily shedding her jacket. “We didn’t have the ingredients to make any at home, but she knew Margie had some down here, already done.”
Without realizing it, I muttered, “Must be some good bars.”
Little Val waddled by. “They are. Margie got the recipe from Heidi Auel, who’s great at making up new dishes.” She fluffed her curly blonde bob. “And these particular bars are gluten free, so I can eat ’em.” She patted her large belly. “At this point, stomach problems wouldn’t be good.” She lumbered into the kitchen, each step of her heavy boots sounding like the pounding of a hammer. “I’m grabbing a plate of ’em, and if there’s any left when I get done, I’ll give ’em to you.”
I rummaged through my brain until locating the image I had of Little Val from my last visit. She was petite back then, with just a tiny baby bump. Now, in addition to her ginormous belly, she had a plump face, sausage arms, and a butt that crowded the backside of what appeared to be men’s pants.
Buddy commented on them after Wally plopped down next to him. “I haven’t seen overalls like that since—”
“Don’t go there,” Wally warned. “She couldn’t come close to fitting into her snowmobile suit. Or for that matter, any of her maternity pants. And it’s too cold for the dress she wore last night.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “She found those overalls in the back of the hall closet. They’re her dad’s. He must have forgotten ’em.” Still more tapping. “She tried ’em on, and they fit after she cuffed ’em up. And since they’re wool, they’re warm. So now she says she won’t wear anything else till the baby’s born.” He wouldn’t stop tapping! “As soon as the storm passes, we’re driving over to Young’s General Store in Middle River to buy another pair.
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