A Bad Egg: The Classic Diner Mystery Part 10

"I doubt coming in to work or staying at my mother's place will make much difference one way or the other. We'll see."

"That's fine," I said as Greg walked into the diner.

"Hey, Ellen. How are you holding up?" he asked as he hugged her.

"I'm leaving, if that's all right with you," she said.

Greg offered his smile. "I'm happy to say that I'm not in charge of anything but the grill and the kitchen. If you need any executive decisions made around here, the boss is standing right there."

"Don't worry; I've already approved it," I said.

"Then I'm all for it," Greg said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a kitchen to run."

"I'll be back there to see you in a second," I told my husband, and we all watched him stroll back to his domain with supreme confidence.

"You're a lucky woman to have that man in your life, Victoria," Opal said after Greg was in the kitchen.

"Don't I know it," I said with a smile. "Ellen, call me if you need to talk. I'm there for you."

"Thank you for your kind offer, but she has me," Opal said.

Ellen shook her head slightly, and then she ignored the fact that her mother had just answered for her. "I appreciate that more than I can tell you."

Once they were gone, Jenny grabbed the coffee pot. "They're quite a pair, aren't they?" she asked.

"Opal might be a little overprotective of her daughter, but I'm sure that she means well."

"I don't know how Ellen even breathes when she's around her," Jenny said with a laugh.

"Isn't your mother just as attentive?" I asked.

"Not since kindergarten. Don't get me wrong. She's there if I need her, but I have to be the one who calls her for help. She learned a long time ago that I was a big girl, and I could take care of myself."

"Well, we're not all as strong as you are," I said with a laugh. Jenny had an infectious spirit, and I loved being around her.

"You're kidding, right? Victoria, if there's a woman in all of Jasper Fork who's more self-a.s.sured than I am, it's got to be you. You're the very definition of an independent woman."

"It's nice of you to say so, but I have a pretty good support system in place here and at home. I'm not nearly as autonomous as you might think. In many ways, my family is what makes me stronger and more a.s.sured."

"Some make us stronger, some fight to hold us back," she said. "Enough philosophizing; I've got work to do. I don't know how you manage to work all day. I'm already p.o.o.ped, and my real s.h.i.+ft hasn't even started yet."

"You can do it," I said. "The key is to take some breaks throughout the day. I don't work from six in the morning until seven at night straight through. I have short breaks from eight to eleven, and then again from four to five. We can work something out for you, too, while you're working both s.h.i.+fts on the floor."

"Thanks, but I want to see how much I can manage in tips. If I start to wear out, I'll let you know."

"You do that. Just don't kill yourself."

"I'll try not to, but you're not the greatest example of moderation, even with your breaks."

"So then do as I say and not as I do," I answered with a smile.

"I'll give it my best shot," she said as Mom came out from the back after being relieved of her duty at the grill.

"Victoria, do you have a second?" she asked.

Jenny flipped a towel over her shoulder. "I'll take care of the bar."

"What's up, Mom?" I asked once Jenny was gone.

"To be honest with you, I'm worried about Ellen," she said.

"Did she say something to you when she was back in the kitchen waiting for Opal?"

"She said a great many things. I'm afraid that she might be a little paranoid."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Over the course of thirty minutes, she expressed concern that her mother, her father, and even her boyfriend might have been involved in Gordon Murphy's murder."

"Did she say anything specific?" I asked. Maybe Ellen had picked up on some things that Moose and I hadn't been able to uncover yet.

"You don't think that she's right, do you?" my mother asked.

"Moose and I are still trying to figure out who might have done it," I admitted. "Maybe Ellen's heard or seen something that incriminates someone close to her, only she doesn't realize it."

Mom bit her lower lip for a second before she spoke. "Why do I feel as though I'm telling tales out of school?"

"Look at it this way. Did Ellen swear you to secrecy?"

"No, of course not."

"Did she even ask you to keep your conversation private?" I asked.

"No, not at all."

"Then you should be able to tell me whatever she said with a clear conscience." I meant it, too, and I had a hunch that my mother knew it.

"Well, she said that Wayne and Robert were both so angry with Gordon that they were both seeing red, but it was Opal's reaction that disturbed her even more."

"What happened?" I asked, trying to imagine the woman that I'd just had coffee with as a cold-blooded killer.

"She said that her mother had something on her coat when they were all at the park together, and it looked as though it might be blood."

"What?" I asked a little too loudly. If I remembered correctly, Opal hadn't even been wearing a jacket when I'd seen her at the park with Ellen and her grandchildren. "Did Ellen tell the police about it?"

"No. Opal told her that it was red paint she picked up by accident sitting on a newly painted bench at the park."

I thought about the benches Moose and I had seen where we'd found Ellen, and some of them had been freshly painted. Was Opal's story the truth, or was she using it as a cover for something darker? "I wonder if I could get that coat to the police? Does she know where it is now?"

"Ellen thought about that, but since Opal claimed that she threw it out, there's nothing she could do about it. Besides, the garbage trucks have already run. It's gone."

"The police still might be able to recover it," I said as I reached for my telephone.

"You're not actually going to call them, are you?" Mom asked as she put a hand on my arm.

"Of course I am," I said. "Mom, this could be important."

"Now I feel guilty," my mother told me.

"Unless you're the one who took a pipe to the back of Gordon Murphy's head, you shouldn't feel guilty about anything," I said. "Thanks for the tip."

"I wish I could say that you're welcome," Mom said, "but I'm having second thoughts."

I didn't even get the chance to say good-bye to her as Sheriff Croft picked up his line.

"I have a hot tip for you," I said.

"What have you been digging up now?" the sheriff asked a little sharply.

"If you don't want it, I'll just keep it to myself," I said.

"Hang on. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken out my frustrations on you."

"What's going on?"

"I'm getting some heat about Gordon Murphy's murder," he admitted. "I should be thanking you for any help you can give me. What's up?"

"Opal Hightower claims that she got red paint on her coat the day that Gordon was murdered," I said.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Let's just say from a friend of a friend," I said.

"I'll try to get a search warrant," the sheriff said.

"There's no need. According to my source, she threw it away in the garbage at the park, and the truck's already run."

"My deputies are going to just love that. Who's your source? Did Ellen tell you?"

"No," I said, since strictly it was true, though the information had come to me originally because of her. "I still don't know why it matters." There was a question I was reluctant ask, but I couldn't be queasy about it now. "Sheriff, was there much blood at the crime scene?"

"Not that she could have gotten on her," he said. "Without going into too much detail, most of the bleeding Gordon did was after he was already lying on the ground."

"So it's a dead end," I said.

"Most likely, but that's not going to keep us from looking for it. Anything else you need to share?"

I hated to do it, but there was something else. "Have you seen Robert Hightower's knuckles?"

"You noticed that, did you?"

"He claims he hit a concrete wall," I said.

"That's what he told me, too."

"Do you believe him?" I asked.

"The jury is still out on that."

"Do you think you'll be able to track Opal's coat down?"

"Don't worry. If it's out there, we'll find it," the sheriff said. "Thanks for the tip."

"Will you tell me what happens?" I asked.

"I guess I owe you that much," the sheriff said. "Keep those clues and tips coming."

"We'll do what we can," I said.

After I hung up, I wondered what the police would find. Was Opal the victim of wet paint, or was it something more sinister? Were Robert Hightower's bruised knuckles really the result of him punching a concrete wall? And what about Wayne? Had he taken matters into his own hands and killed Ellen's ex-husband? If he didn't think he could beat the man in a fair fight, which was fairly obvious at this point, had he ambushed the man from an alley using a pipe to the back of his head? There were too many questions for my taste, and not nearly enough answers.

For now, though, I had customers to take care of, and work of my own to do. Running The Charming Moose was a full-time job, and adding a murder investigation to the mix was just about more than one person could handle.

But somehow I'd find a way to manage. I'd done it before, and I'd do it again.

Chapter 10.

"May I help you?" I asked a ma.s.sive man in scuffed work boots, torn faded blue jeans, and a flannel s.h.i.+rt that was barely being held together with thread. He held an old grocery bag in one hand, and a beat-up baseball cap in the other.

"Hang on a second," the man said as he reached back and got the door for someone else. I was expecting more of the same, and I wondered if there was a heavy construction project going on someplace near the diner. That could be good for business. These men and women worked hard, and they could pack away a great deal of food without showing any signs of slowing down. "I've got two more coming."

I smiled my brightest smile, and then he stepped aside and allowed two little girls, one around five and the other around six, to come inside. They were both dressed in princess outfits, and each sported a glittery tiara that completed the ensemble. "Sophie, why don't you take your sister to that table over there, and I'll be with you in a second."

"What's my name?" she asked him with a frown.

"Sorry," he said as his face reddened a little. "I meant to say Princess Sophia."

"That's fine, Daddy," Sophie said regally. "Come along, Princess Elizabeth." She took her sister's hand in hers, and then both girls turned back to their father. "Go on. Ask her."

"I will," he said. "Stop bossing me around, young lady."

"But you're our squire," Sophie protested. "You have to do as we say."