A Twist In The Tail

‘Anyway, it can’t be that they’re starving. They eat those flockenberries up on the cliff. That’s why they poop orange, you know? The berries are orange and pass right through,’ Jen said. ‘And there are tons of those berries. Those things are invasive. They practically choke out anything else nearby. Mrs. Landsdowne had them in her garden and they killed all of her tomato plants.’

‘You don’t say.’ As I made a mental note to make sure I didn’t have any flockenberries in the gardens that I’d be redoing at the guesthouse, something on the street caught my eye. It was my mother and Millie dressed to the nines and making a beeline for the post office. ‘Looks like I better get going. Millie and my mom are coming and it looks like they’re dressed to kill for our lunch at the Marinara Mariner.’

Despite its kitschy name, the Marinara Mariner was a pretty decent upscale Italian restaurant. It was located a few doors down from the Post Office and had a definite Tuscan vibe. The hostess led us through the dimly lit room, across the clay tile flooring, through the arch and into a grotto area with one wall made out of large stones and the others painted a pleasing Tuscany mustard color.

We were seated at a cozy table in the back. Our water glasses sparkled under the chandelier, our silverware gleamed. The plates were simple white china with a gold rim and the acoustics were such that we could only hear muted snatches of the other diners’ conversations. I could tell Mom and Millie were straining to eavesdrop on Carolyn Wheatly and her boss John Collingsworth, who looked particularly cozy in the corner.

Even the menu was classy, all done in dark brown quality faux leather with nice printing inside. I scanned the items—antipasto, eggplant, veal—while inhaling the tang of tomato sauce and freshly baked bread.

‘What are you going to have Josie?’ Millie looked at me over the top of her menu. ‘It’s my treat.’

‘I can’t let you do that, Millie.’ Though it would be nice because I didn’t really have any money for eating out. I scanned the side dishes. Maybe I could make do with a side of broccoli?

‘Don’t be silly. I’m rolling in it now that I have all that money from the sale of the guesthouse.’ She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘And besides, if we play our cards right, we won’t have to pay a dime.’

Worry set in. Mom and Millie were known to play fast and loose. My eyes narrowed. ‘Just what are you two planning?’

‘It’s nothing bad.’ Mom put her menu down. ‘I’m having the lasagna.’

‘I’m going for the veal scallopini. What about you, Josie?’ Millie asked.

‘Salad. Now tell me exactly what you are planning to do.’

Millie pressed her lips together and looked over my shoulder at the waitress who had appeared with a pitcher of water. Saved by the waitstaff, but it was only a temporary reprieve. The waitress would have to leave sooner or later, though it looked like it would be later given all the questions Mom and Millie were asking about the food.

Finally, after they found out about every dish, ordered what they wanted and demanded a basket of rolls, the waitress left.

I resumed my inquisition. ‘Okay, fess up ladies. What do you have planned? How are you going to figure out if Tony Murano is our clog-wearing killer?’

‘Why we have to look at his feet, of course.’ Millie fluffed out her napkin and deposited it in her lap with a flourish.

‘And just how do you propose that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, don’t worry dear, we know how to get an audience with the chef.’ Mom looked over the edge of her water glass at me, her eyes sparkling with delight.

‘How do you do that?’

‘Why we complain about the meals, of course.’ Millie looked at me as if I was daft. ‘Shhh… here they come.’

The waitress deposited the plates on the table and we tucked in. Millie and mom both felt sorry for me and insisted I try theirs. It was delicious.

‘I don’t see how you can complain about this food, it’s delish,’ I mumbled around a mouthful of lasagna.

‘Oh no? Millie passed the glass of a light Pilsner she’d ordered to Mom. ‘Hold my beer.

‘Oh miss. Miss…’ Millie flapped her hands in the air to summon the waitress who hurried over with a frown on her face.

‘Can I help you?’

Millie pushed her plate away from her. ‘This veal is as tough as shoe leather!’ Never mind that she’d eaten almost all of it.

The waitress looked at the plate skeptically. ‘I’m so sorry, can I get you something else?’

Millie folded her arms over her chest. ‘Certainly not. I’d like to see the chef.’

‘I’m sorry, but chef Murano doesn’t leave the kitchen.’ The waitress looked a little scared but I wasn’t sure if it was of Millie or chef Murano. If rumors of Murano’s temper were true, it was likely of him. All the more reason to suspect him of the murder.

Millie harrumphed. She sat up straight, her eyes shooting daggers at the waitress. ‘But I insist. Nothing will make this better except a visit from chef Murano himself. I demand to see him.’