Deep-Fried Homicide (The Laurel Falls Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  DEEP-FRIED HOMICIDE

  Book 1 of The Laurel Falls Mystery series

  By Patricia Lee Macomber

  A Gordian Knot Production

  Gordian Knot is an imprint of Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press

  Digital Edition Copyright 2015 Patricia Lee Macomber

  Cover Design by Susan Coils: http://www.coverkicks.com/

  LICENSE NOTES

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  Meet the Author

  About the Author

  Patricia Lee Macomber is the former editor-in-chief of ChiZine. She has been published in “Cemetery Dance” magazine and such anthologies as “Shadows Over Baker Street,” “Little Red Riding Hood In the Big Bad City,” and “Dark Arts.” Currently, she lives in North Carolina with her husband, David, and their children.

  Book List

  The Jason Callahan Mysteries

  Murder, Sometimes

  Dead, Sometimes

  Novels and Short Stories

  Stargate Altlantis - SGA-15 - BRIMSTONE - with David Niall Wilson

  Intermusings - with David Niall Wilson

  An Unkindness of Ravens with David Niall Wilson

  Zombie - A Love Story

  Love Lost

  CHECK THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR PREVIEWS OF MURDER, SOMETIMES, LOVE LOST & ZOMBIE–A LOVE STORY

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  DEEP-FRIED HOMICIDE

  Chapter 1

  The bell on the diner door tinkled gently. A small blonde woman blew in on a gust of hot air and went directly to the back booth. She walked fast, her medium-length hair whipping from side to side in time with her hips. Rachel briefly registered her presence, watched Macy grab a menu and head in the girl’s general direction. There was nothing remarkable about that girl with the trashed jeans and the Candie’s shoes, so Rachel went back to filling the salt shakers without ceremony. She had no idea how that one girl was going to change all their lives.

  Macy proffered her best smile and slid the open menu in front of the girl. “Hi, I’m Macy and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you a beverage while you look at the menu?”

  The girl looked up, her face changing not a bit. She offered no clue as to her state of mind, her state of economy, her intelligence. She was the very model of ambiguity. “Thanks. I think I’ll just have a piece of apple pie and a coke. Please.” Her tone was just as non-committal.

  “I’ll be right back with that,” Macy said, offering up another little smile and taking the menu. She spun on her heel and hurried away. The girl was so full of nothing that Macy felt uncomfortable in her presence.

  The only other customer in the diner at that hour rose from their seat and strode methodically to the cash register. Rachel saw him coming and stepped from behind the counter to meet him at the little stand which held the register.

  Macy dodged her on her way to the back counter. From the chilled carousel, she took one piece of apple pie, setting it on the counter for the briefest of moments as she pulled out a glass and drew a soda from the fountain. Hands full, she returned to the table to place the girl’s order gently in front of her. Again, she tried on a smile. Again she was rebuffed. The girl wouldn’t even look at her.

  “If I can get you anything else, just give me a wave.”

  “Thanks,” the girl deadpanned and picked up her fork.

  Macy stepped away, fighting her inner urge to pry into the girl’s problems. The breakfast rush was over, the lunch rush was an hour away, so Macy decided to take a break. She slid onto the stool nearest the door and reached over the counter to grab the coffee she had placed there some fifteen minutes ago, before the girl had come in, before her bathroom break. She sipped the cold brew and frowned.

  “Ah, quiet,” Rachel sighed, returning to her shaker duty. “In between rushes, the restaurant business ain’t half bad.” She chuckled a bit and winked at Macy.

  Macy snorted and tried the coffee once more. Still cold.

  Rick stepped out from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron and smiling for all he was worth. His sleeves were rolled up and his brow was dotted with sweat, brought on by the heat of the day and the relentless steam of the grill. He stopped behind Rachel, kissed the back of her head. Macy watched as Rachel leaned back into him for a second, a smile crawling onto her face and her eyes sparkling. Then Rick grabbed a glass and drew a drink from the fountain. That first sip drew a relieved moan and a sigh from his full lips.

  “I think I’m melting back there,” he grumbled as he made his way out from behind the counter. He took up residence on a stool two spaces down from Macy’s, leaning his elbows on the counter and brushing back his sandy hair. “I’m gonna call Stan and see if I can get a third a/c duct installed back there.”

  Rachel nodded. “Do it.”

  Rick drained his glass, spun in the chair, let his body rest against the counter. Rachel looked at him funny and he stared into her pretty face for a moment, puzzled. He gave her that patented head-shake of confusion.

  “You’re sweaty. People eat there.” She slapped at him with a dish rag and frowned.

  Rick sat forward at once, a smirk tilting his face off to one side. “Sorry,” he said, ever the petulant child. Just the same, he was tired and so he slumped a bit, holding the glass against his forehead for a second as he stared out the glass front of the diner.

  “Want another soda, baby?” Rachel asked him in her best mommy-voice.

  “Thanks,” he said absently, passing the glass back to her without a glance. He maintained his unblinking vigil out the front windows, listening to the sound of the soda filling his glass. Life was good.

  Before Rachel could return his full soda glass to him, Rick saw three men bolt past the window. They were dressed in dark clothes, their heads covered with ski masks, and in one of their hands was a large white bag.

  “Aw crap!” Rick yelled, rocketing off the stool and hitting the door with both hands as he raced onto the sidewalk.

  And just like that he was gone. Rachel and Macy hurried to the door to look after him. They pulled the door open just in time to se
e the three men disappear around the next block, Rick pounding the sidewalk and dodging pedestrians as he chased them down. Standing half-in, half-out of the door, their jaws dropping, they watched and waited.

  “What was that?” Macy mumbled.

  “Bank robbery? I dunno.” Rachel realized that her expensive air conditioning was leaking out the door and so she closed it. “Once a cop, always a cop.”

  “Do you think he’ll catch them?” Macy asked, checking her face.

  “I sure hope not.”

  The women returned to the comforting coolness of the diner, Rachel to the ketchup and Macy to her customer.

  “Can I get you something else?” she asked sweetly.

  “No, thanks.” The girl still did not look up. Her pie was missing two bites at the most and the soda glass was still three quarters full.

  Macy smiled, nodded, walked away. She had almost gained her seat when Rick slipped in through the door. His face was red and he was gasping for air. Once he cleared the door, he paused, bending low and placing his hands on his knees. His body heaved with the effort of drawing breath.

  Rachel approached from behind, glancing quickly at his backside, then placing one hand on his back. “You okay, big guy?” she asked, giving his back a reassuring little pat.

  “I gotta get to the gym more often,” he laughed, standing up slowly. “I’m getting too old for this crap.”

  “What was all that?” Macy wanted to know.

  “They were carrying a bank bag. There’s a ton of cop cars down at the bank. My guess is…they robbed the bank.” His tone was caustic but there was humor in his blue eyes.

  “Fast, huh?” Rachel taunted.

  He glared at her from the corner of his eye. “Really.”

  “Better luck next time, babe.” Rachel slapped him on the butt and scooted away before he could retaliate.

  The bell on the door rang again, drawing their attention. A tall, lean man with a swagger joined the group with his hand held high in the air. “Clean bill of health. Hoo Rah!”

  Rick hive-fived him and smiled. “Good deal, Logan.”

  Logan appraised Rick’s face, his state of dishevelment. “You okay, pal?”

  “Yea. I guess. Yea, I’m fine.”

  “My brave husband just chased down three bank robbers,” Rachel announced proudly, her eyes gleaming.

  “No kidding? You catch ’em?”

  Rick shook his head and wandered toward the kitchen. “They were too far ahead of me and fast as heck.” He paused in the doorway, one hand braced against the door frame and the other in his pocket. “It’s the cops’ problem now. C’mon. Let’s get ready for the lunch rush.”

  Laurel Falls was a small town; the typical seaside homage to times gone by. It had been founded some two hundred years ago by one Edwin A. Cooper. Cooper, as legend had it, was a sailing man. He ran all manner of goods up and down the coast in his small ship, occasionally running a few slaves or other elicit items. As it happened, Cooper ran afoul of the rockier portion of North Carolina’s coast and his boat went down with all hands; all hands except for Cooper, who was stranded the second he hauled himself onto said rocks. Whether shamed by his reckless sailing or to avoid paying for his lost cargo, Cooper decided to make a go of it on that barren bit of land. He salvaged and scavenged and eked out a life and spent the rest of his existence standing on the point of land nearest those fatal rocks, swinging his lantern, trying to spare other ships the same fate.

  Ships came and went and pioneers arrived in straggling herds. Twenty years to the day after Cooper had landed there, the place officially became a town, the name borrowed from Cooper’s daughter, Laurel, who was still back in Boston with her mother. Twenty years after his death, the lighthouse was built on what had become Cooper’s Point. Though Cooper immortalized his daughter with the town’s name, he never left Laurel Falls and he never saw her again. The legend goes on to state that Cooper never gave up on his fellow sailors and that his ghost can still be seen standing on Cooper’s Point, the light waving back and forth in warning to hapless sailors. True or not, more than a few high school students recounted their visions of him every year and it was only a matter of time before one of the ghost-hunting shows did a special on him.

  The town never grew beyond the status of small burg, though it was big enough to warrant a small mall and its own big box store. It sported a single business district, at the heart of which sat Rick’s. There were some eight restaurants in Laurel Falls, but Rick’s was the only locally owned and run restaurant for miles around. They did a brisk business at the lunch hour, being the only real restaurant in the commercial district and owing to the fact that Rick was the reigning king of down-home cooking.

  At eleven-thirty, just like clockwork, the bank’s loan officer, Mr. James, walked in the door and took up his usual booth. Ten minutes behind him was Toby Gallows, the best of Laurel Falls’ three lawyers. He sat next to Mr. James, just as he had a thousand times, and proceeded to re-arrange every item within arm’s reach.

  Rachel smiled and grabbed two menus, slid one before each man, and smiled again.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. James.”

  “Hello, Rachel. And how are you today?” His voice was soft, careful. He measured his words and gave them weight and authority.

  “I’m quite well, thanks. And you?”

  “Fine as frog’s hair,” he responded, thus completing their daily ritual.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  “And you, Mr. Gallows?”

  “Tea. No sugar. I’m told I have to cut back.”

  Rachel passed him a knowing nod and a wink and went to fetch their drinks.

  “Hey, babe!” came the call from the kitchen.

  Rachel walked to the little window, stood on her toes to see through to her husband. “Yea, babe?”

  “You know that meat we got on discount last week?”

  “The meat that filled the freezer and made me put the other meat in the freezer at home?”

  “Yea. I think it doesn’t have much life left. What do you say we have a meatloaf special tomorrow?”

  Behind her, Macy gasped and started shaking her head. “Oh God! Not that!”

  Rachel merely moaned, dropping her head to her chest and peering at Rick through her heavy lids. “Please, no.”

  “Yea. You know they flock in for my meatloaf. We can use up the meat, make a hefty profit. Everybody wins!” His boyish smile broke through and his eyes sparkled.

  “Everybody but us,” Macy snapped. “It’s the same every time. The place is packed. And while you reap the glory, I work my feet to nubs and Rachel’s hands are blistered for a week from washing dishes. Don’t do it, Rick. I beg you.”

  “On the board, Macy. Put it on the board.”

  She stared at him. If pressed, Rick would swear he could see her lip quiver, her brown eyes pool. “I’m begging you, Rick. Please don’t. Next to chili day, meatloaf is the worst.”

  “Did somebody say chili?” Mr. James chimed in.

  “There’s no chili, Mr. James,” Rachel said.

  “Put it on the board, Macy.” Rick was steadfast, his mind made up. He was enjoying her pain.

  With a heavy sigh and an exaggerated slump of her shoulders, Macy walked to the large chalkboard where they displayed their specials for the week. She took up the chalk, then cast a dramatically sorrowful look over her shoulder at Rick. He merely stabbed one finger in the direction of the board. Morosely, she obeyed, turning herself to the task of writing that one word which would make her legs ache for a week. The bell tinkled behind her and more people came in for their lunch. Slowly, each letter a study in agony, Macy wrote the word “meatloaf” on the board and stood up straight. A cheer rose behind her as the crowd in the restaurant read the board.

  “Happy now?” she growled, placing the chalk in the little tray and stomping back to the counter.

  “The customers sure are. So, yea, I’m happy.”

  Still frownin
g, Rachel went back to the two customers at the counter, her pad and pen at the ready. “So, what’s it gonna be today, gentlemen?”

  Mr. James, still upset that there was no chili, dropped his elbows onto the counter and frowned. “Well, since there’s no chili, I guess I’ll have to make do with a roast beef sandwich. Mashies on the side, with extra gravy. And some of those snap beans sound good.”

  “And for you, Mr. Gallows?”

  “Country fried steak for me. Mashed potatoes, gravy, and some limas, if you don’t mind.”

  “Coming right up, gentlemen.”

  Rachel turned in their order, then checked to see what Macy was doing. She was at the blonde girl’s table again, though only briefly. Looking at them both, Rachel got the sense that something was wrong, deeply wrong. She frowned, then tried to pick up her spirits before she brought down the rest of the customers. Again the bell tinkled, and she grabbed two menus. When the woman at the door turned, Rachel grabbed one more and a high chair for good measure.

  When she was done getting the family settled, she came back to the counter, where the gentlemen were engaged in a grim discussion. She never actually eavesdropped, but it was hardly her fault if customers didn’t stop talking when they saw her approach. She would never repeat anything said inside the restaurant, but she heard a lot. And from time to time, the things she heard scared her.

  “You heard anything about that, Rachel?” Gallows asked.

  Rachel’s eyebrows popped up and she tilted her chin in his direction. “Heard anything about what? I didn’t catch that.”

  “Grave robbers,” Mr. James answered, making spooky sounds that came out comical instead.

  Rachel stepped closer, lowered her voice. “There’s grave robbers? In our cemetery? Which one?”

  “The old one out by The Point. Pleasant Hills.” Mr. James nodded his head and looked grim.

  “Order up!” Rick called from the kitchen.

  Rachel stepped over and grabbed their plates, crossing her arms to deliver the food. Then she leaned on the counter in front of them, her face serious and dark. “So what did they do, these grave robbers?”