Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery Read Online Free

years.” She smiled, standing taller. “Ever since I moved to Sandy Harbor.”
    “And you like it here?”
    She nodded.
    “And how many times have you threatened to quit because of Clyde and Max?” I guessed that their pranks had been ongoing.
    “More times than I can count.”
    “Aah.” I was right. “Are you going to let them drive you out of a job that you like?”
    “No.” She pulled one of the orders from a metalclothespin, studied it, and pulled a sub roll from a plastic bag. She pointed it at me. “You talk to them. Now, out of my kitchen.”
    I was just about to tell her that this was my kitchen, but I would quit while I was ahead.
    Then it hit me. What was I going to tell the customers out front? I mulled that over for a while. If they found out that the Silver Bullet had a mouse—or mice—running around the kitchen, my new diner might become a ghost town.
    I took a deep breath and pushed on the swinging metal doors. When I walked out in the front dining area, every pair of eyes met mine, staring and waiting.
    I was confident that I could lie. After all, I learned from the best: my ex.
    “Um…Juanita was listening to the radio—the weather report,” I announced. “She heard that we might have six more inches of snow. I guess she just fell apart.”
    The patrons nodded, made comments in agreement, and went back to their meals. They could identify with Juanita. Like everyone in the Northeast, they all felt like screaming at Mother Nature. Enough snow already. Everyone—and I was no exception—wanted spring.
    Spring brought the fishermen. Summer brought the families, the boaters, the tourists, and more fishermen. Fall brought the salmon and more fishermen. Winter brought the snowmobilers, cross-country skiers, and townspeople who had cabin fever.
    And everyone would be hungry and would need to be fed. I hoped that the Silver Bullet would be hopping.
    I needed to be ready.
    And then there was that balloon payment to Aunt Stella due on Labor Day. I didn’t want to touch what was left of Wendy’s “get out of Philly” money to pay Aunt Stella. I wanted the Silver Bullet Diner and the Sandy Harbor Guest Cottages to make a profit as a result of my own hard work and creativity—just to show myself that I could do it.
    I slid back into the booth and took a bite of my cold Monte Cristo. To her credit, Nancy appeared again and volunteered to heat it up for me. I thankfully handed her the plate.
    I went back to my notes, but I couldn’t concentrate and found myself staring outside instead. Max was running the snowblower, clearing a path from the diner to the parking lot where the snow had drifted. Clyde was using a shovel on the stairs and sprinkling some kind of deicer on the steps to melt the snow. I remembered that salt wasn’t used around here due to environmental issues.
    Looking left, I noticed a food-delivery truck backing in alongside the kitchen next to the ice-covered boat launch, and I hoped that it wouldn’t get stuck in a drift. I wondered who took inventory and ordered supplies. Probably me. I made another note on my pad to ask someone.
    As I looked over all my notes, I wondered yet again if I was in way over my head.
    If only Aunt Stella could have stayed longer toshow me the ropes instead of booking a world cruise so soon, but Greece, Rome, and the Vatican drew her like a magnet, like a plate of pierogi and fried onions drew me.
    Nancy, the waitress, returned with my sandwich and a brown paper grocery bag. She set both down in front of me. The bag immediately tipped over, and several envelopes slid out and hit the floor. Nancy scrambled to pick them up and return them to the overflowing bag.
    “Mail,” she said. “Stella didn’t have time to look at it all, so Juanita said to give it to you.”
    “Thanks.”
    I eyed the bag but decided to eat my sandwich while it was still warm. When I’d finished, I picked up a handful of mail from the bag. The envelopes were mostly addressed to