Diners, Drive-Ins, and Death: A Comfort Food Mystery by Christine Wenger Page A

had reneged on a Panhead deal, he tried to unseat Toxic, and Toxic’s girlfriend, Leslie, ran to Nick Brownelli—he of the full lips and bedroom meal delivery.
    As I sat there petting Blondie’s soft fur, I wondered if there were any other people that Nick had ticked off. If so, Nick’s calling hours this evening might prove to be an interesting experience if someone decided to bring out some hard feelings.
    But I didn’t want ACB upset by any derogatory remarks about Nick. She had enough to deal with. And besides, she had loved him and probably still did.
    ACB loved Nick. Nick had loved ACB. Sal loved ACB. ACB still had some retro feelings for Sal. ACB still loved Nick. What a mess!
    That was enough of that! I got up from the couch and let Blondie spread out. She could be such a lazy pup sometimes. Stopping in the kitchen, I greeted the pageant contestants.
    “Hi, ladies! Is everything okay? Do you need anything?” I asked, turning to a contestant whohad her hand raised. I stifled a smile. “Hello. You don’t have to raise your hand to speak to me.”
    “Uh . . . Miz Matkowski, we didn’t know you were a judge at the pageant until Antoinette Chloe told us.” The speaker was a beautiful olive-skinned woman with almond-shaped eyes and long, shiny black hair.
    “Call me Trixie. And you are?”
    “Cher. Cher LaMontagne. I’m from Poughkeepsie.”
    “That’s a long way from here. How did you hear about Miss Salmon?”
    “My father’s a fisherman. He was up here not too long ago, and brought a copy of the
Lure
back with him. I saw an article about the pageant in there, so I decided to try it.”
    “Well, Cher, I am a judge, but don’t hold that against me. Though now that I think about it, I do have an unfair advantage over the other judges, since I get to know all of you ahead of time. I should probably talk to the committee members about it and sequester myself as much as possible.”
    “No, don’t do that, Trixie!” said Aileen Shubert. “We love your company. And we are so sorry we talked about Antoinette Chloe behind her back. We feel absolutely awful. She really is a lovely person.”
    “Yes. Yes, she is.”
    “And we are all carpooling tonight to go to her boyfriend’s wake,” added a redhead with streaks of gold in her hair. She wore a black athletic bra and black spandex capris with a fuchsia stripe down the sides.
    A person who looked that fabulous in exercise clothes didn’t have to exercise. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.
    “I hate to interrupt your sugar high, but shouldn’t you all be getting to Margie’s?” I asked.
    There were groans all around and a couple of
lame
s. Then someone whispered “Judge,” and their tone completely changed.
    They had started to rush out of the kitchen when I called them back.
    “Hey, ladies! Please put your dishes in the dishwasher! And put what’s left of the pastries away. The empty boxes go into the recycling bin. And wipe off the table.”
    There was a litany of “Sorry, Trixie,” and I left them to clean up. Going upstairs with my sweetie of a dog following me, I thought of my big, comfy brass bed with each step.
    I was just about to collapse onto it when I remembered that I needed an evening gown. I made a U-turn toward the attic stairs and Aunt Stella’s cedar-lined closet. She’d told me to help myself to whatever I wanted and to donate the rest, but I hadn’t had a chance yet.
    Aunt Stella and I weren’t really close to being the same size. For one, she was about a foot shorter than I. She had bigger boobs than I, and I have hips with their own zip code. But I figured it couldn’t hurt to try—you never know!
    Walking past the bedrooms, I couldn’t resist looking wherever the doors were open. Most of the rooms were cluttered but clean. Most of the beds were made. I had to smile as I walked byACB’s room. It was a complete disaster. I wondered how she could ever find anything in that mishmash. It crossed my mind