Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery Read Online Free Page A

Stella Matkowski. They looked like bills. And they looked old. Some had SECOND NOTICE or LAST NOTICE stamped on the front.
    My Monte Cristo sandwich sat like a cinder block in my stomach. I had to take care of the mail, and quickly. I decided that I needed to get settled into Aunt Stella’s office—now
my
office—in the main house. There was a laptop sitting on a big rolltop desk, and with any luck, she might have a spreadsheet set up or some kind of program that she used.
    Gathering everything, I stuffed myself into my coat, pulled on my gloves, swaddled my scarf around my head and walked to the front of the diner.
    I picked up a menu by the cash register. On itwas a scribbled note that the evening special was pork and scalloped potatoes. Yum. Pork and scalloped potatoes had been my mother’s specialty for years. That was, until Mom decided to hand over her overstuffed cookbook—filled with favorite recipes from the Matkowski family, Aunt Stella’s Timinski ancestors, and my mother’s Bugnacki family—to me.
    Then pork and scalloped potatoes became my specialty. It was a dish that was always served at most of our family gatherings. It was hearty and easy to keep hot for latecomers or anyone who might drop in. I didn’t exactly know who started the tradition, but when I thought of family getting together, I thought of pork and scalloped potatoes served in a big turkey roaster.
    It seemed like the Silver Bullet Diner could do better than a note scribbled in black felt marker and paper-clipped to the menu. Maybe a handout with the whole week’s specials would be better. Or a nice whiteboard. Or one of those funky neon blackboards. I could even search Web sites for cute ideas to make the diner even homier.
    And I had some ideas for specials and new menu items that I couldn’t wait to introduce. The menu hadn’t changed in more than thirty years. Maybe it was time to put my mother’s cookbook to use.
    Or maybe I shouldn’t mess with a sure thing.
    Before I left, I tipped Nancy and noticed Tyler Brisco’s uneaten meal nicely boxed in a white foam carton with his name on it. Should I leave it for himin his apartment over the bait shop? He probably would be hungry when he came back from whatever crisis he was handling in Sandy Harbor.
    A crisis in Sandy Harbor? The biggest problem that ever happened here, according to Aunt Stella, was tangled fishing lines. And once, when a fisherman was casting on the bridge, his line got caught on the antenna of a passing car and the pole was yanked from his hands. He called the Sandy Harbor sheriff’s department to stop the car. After all, he had a top-of-the-line Henderson Fishblaster Plus rod, and he wanted it back.
    I decided to let Nancy handle Ty’s dinner. She seemed to have the hots for him.
    As I walked outside, the blast of cold air made me gasp. Flakes drifted around me, and I nodded to Max and Clyde, who were still clearing the parking lot. I’d promised Juanita that I’d talk to them about their pranks. I would, but not now, not while they were busy working.
    I shuffled along with my grocery bag full of mail and tried not to slide on the hard-packed snow of the parking lot and fall on my face. Luckily, someone had cleared a path to the main house, but the steps weren’t shoveled. I gripped the metal banister with a mittened hand and pulled myself up each snow-and-ice-crusted step.
    Once inside, I stepped out of my boots, put them on a rubber mat, and unwrapped myself, glad to be free of my parka and the rest of my winter gear.
    Heading for the kitchen to make some tea, Istood for a moment in the doorway and surveyed the huge country kitchen with its long counters and walk-in pantry. Thick oak cabinets lined each wall, and the stove, fridge, and microwave were all commercial-sized. What I loved the most was the “nook” where a round oak table stood, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. I could see the diner from the nook.
    It was a perfect place to invite