No Grater Crime

Book 9: Country Store Mystery

by Maddie Day

Genres: Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Robbie Jordan’s Pans 'N Pancakes boasts delicious eats and the best vintage cookware finds in South Lick, Indiana. And now, for a limited time, there's a new special featured on the menu—murder!



Ever since meeting the wary owners of an antique shop opening across the street, Robbie has been scrambling to manage weird incidences plaguing her café and country store. Pricey items vanish from shelves without explanation, a fully equipped breakfast food truck starts lingering around the area each morning, and loyal diners mysteriously fall ill. When an elderly man dies after devouring an omelet packed with poisonous mushrooms, Robbie must temporarily close down Pans 'N Pancakes and search for the killer with a real zest for running her out of business—or else.

Release date: August 24, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Cozies

Print pages: 322

Sample

“Watch out, Robbie.” Aunt Adele grabbed my elbow. “Here comes trouble.”

I scanned the row of white and green tents covering booths stretching out in front of us at the huge outdoor Scottsburg Antique Fair. I spied caned rocking chairs and gleaming bureaus. Rusty washboards, tin toys, and vintage red-handled beaters. Old tools and lovingly embroidered linens. Vendors smiled and chatted on this bright morning on the last Saturday in April, and shoppers browsed for special finds. The mood was upbeat, with everyone seemingly happy at the warming trend and the first outdoor fair of the season. Trouble didn’t seem to be part of the equation.

“What do you mean?” I asked Adele.

She pointed. “See that couple?”

A few booths down from us, a lean, gray-haired man with a trim beard and a petite woman wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat bent over a table arrayed with silverware sets. They picked through the pieces, setting some aside.

“Yes,” I said. “And? Do you know them?”

“Let’s just say Francis there won’t be happy to see me.” She raised a single eyebrow. “Old story.”

“Do you want to turn around?” I wasn’t surprised my aunt recognized folks here. She, a former mayor and fire chief, and a lifelong schmoozer extraordinaire, knew people wherever she went.

“Nah. They’re busy. I didn’t do nothing wrong, anyhoo.” She tucked my arm through hers and steered me to the opposite line of booths. She walked with a brisk stride instead of a shopping stroll.

I pulled a wheeled shopping cart in my other hand. We passed a booth full of antique kitchen implements across from where the couple stood. I slowed, disengaging my arm, at a table piled with metal graters. Box graters, cylindrical ones, flat graters with all sizes of holes, rotational graters with a hand crank. They all looked to be in pretty good condition, too, particularly one box grater with a light green Bakelite handle and intricate metal stamping. Adele moved on.

“Where are these from?” I asked the vendor, an aproned young man with multiple piercings and an engaging smile. I picked up the green-handled one to inspect it. The bottom had a small blue stick-on label with $2 written on it.

“My grandma’s barn in a itty-bitty town south of Louisville,” he said, pronouncing it LOW-uh-vul, swallowing the last two syllables as everybody around here did on both sides of the border with Kentucky. “She collected stuff like this, but she died last year. Pa thought we should make a few bucks off the stash.” He shrugged.

Graters and all kinds of other cooking tools were my primary reason for being here, that and a fun outing with Adele. I was running low on vintage cookware to sell in Pans ‘N Pancakes, my country store in South Lick, Indiana, eighty miles north of this scenic town on the Ohio River. I made most of my money off the breakfast and lunch restaurant in the store, but many people were drawn first to my shelves of cooking tools and baking pans. Adele and I had driven down yesterday and stayed at a cute B&B. We wanted to get an early start this morning before the wares were picked over. Plus, the fair was enormous and would take all day to explore.

“Adele,” I called to her. “I’m stopping here.”

She turned around at the same time the gray-haired man did. He stared at her. Was that steam coming out of his ears? The woman with him turned, too. He took a step toward my aunt. His wife grabbed his arm. He shook her off. Adele moseyed back to me.

“Hey, there, Francis, Hattie.” She waved at the couple. “Come on the heck over and meet my niece.”

The wife—Hattie—followed her husband across the busy aisle. At five foot three, nobody would call me tall, but I had at least two inches on Hattie.

“Adele Jordan, of all people,” Francis said. He smiled, but it was grim. Over his shirt he wore a tan vest with a bunch of pockets like a birder or a fisherman.

“Hello, Adele.” Petite Hattie did not smile, but her expression was friendly. Even though she had to be in her early seventies like my aunt, the skin on her face didn’t show age spots or sun damage and was nearly free of lines. Due to a hat-wearing habit? Probably, at least in part.

“Haven’t seen y’all in a year of Sundays,” Adele said. “What’s it been, a couple few decades?”

“Twenty-three years,” Francis said. “And fifteen days.” His slate-colored ski-lift eyebrows met in the middle. His beard didn’t quite conceal a receding chin and an overbite.

What? Whatever was going on here wasn’t pleasant. I glanced at Adele, who nodded slowly at him. We should get this little chat over with and move on. I could return to the cookware booth later.

I smiled at the couple but didn’t extend my hand. We’d all gotten out of the habit during the pandemic, and nobody much had resumed it. “I’m Robbie Jordan, Adele’s niece.”

“That’s my girl.” Adele beamed.

Right. Girl of almost thirty, but I didn’t mind.

“Nice to meet you, Robbie.” Hattie also kept her hand to herself.

Her husband didn’t speak, and his gaze on Adele didn’t waver.

“Robbie’s got herself the cutest country store in South Lick, and she sells vintage kitchen whatnot,” Adele went on. “You should oughta stop by one day soon. You can eat breakfast and lunch at Pans ‘N Pancakes, too. Why, her cooking is to die for.” She turned to me. “Francis and Hattie live over in Gnaw Bone. They run a wholesale food business, last I heard.”

Gnaw Bone was the small unincorporated town a few miles east of Nashville, the county seat for scenic, hilly Brown County, where South Lick was also situated.

“We’re not in the food business any longer.” Francis folded his arms over his chest.

“Yes, we retired from that,” Hattie said. “As it happens, we’re opening an antique store in South Lick soon. High-end items. It’s been our dream for years.”

“Well, isn’t that nice, now,” Adele said. “Where at in South Lick?”

“Twenty Main Street.” Hattie lifted her chin a smidge.

I stared at the woman. So that was what was going on with the two-story limestone house directly across the road from my store. It had been bustling with carpenters and electricians lately. I hadn’t gotten around to asking who was renovating the nineteenth-century building. I liked the sound of “high-end.” That meant they wouldn’t be in competition for the contents of my retail shelves.

Adele blinked, then gave her head a little shake and restored her smile. “Then you know exactly where Robbie’s place is.” Adele squeezed my hand. “Isn’t that nice, hon? They’ll bring in more customers for your restaurant.”

“We’ll see about that.” Francis unplastered his gaze from Adele and laid his arm across his wife’s shoulders. “Dear, we wanted to look at the vendor in row fifty-two, didn’t we?”

An hour later, Adele and I browsed tables full of flowered tablecloths, neatly pressed cloth napkins, lacy dresser runners, and high-thread-count bed linens. The Wyandotte Fire Department manned the booth, quite literally. Not a single female firefighter was among the men in their navy blue WFD polo shirts, cargo pants, and combat boots. Young and old, they seemed to be enjoying talking about household goods with the mostly female shoppers.

“Ya gotta love a man in uniform,” Adele murmured.

True, but I had a man waiting for me back in South Lick. I wasn’t in the market for another one. I picked out a half-dozen pretty cotton tablecloths for the small table in my apartment kitchen. Or maybe I would set up a display in the store with a tablecloth and some of the vintage cookware items.

Adele held up a pair of pillowcases embroidered with tiny flowers. “For your trousseau, hon.” She had a wicked twinkle in her eyes.

“Is the little lady getting married?” An older fireman gave me a grandfatherly smile.

I blushed as I glanced at the ring my now-fiancé Abe had given me in December. After his teenage son Sean told me he approved, I’d said yes to Abe’s proposal. The modest round diamond on a simple gold band sparkled in the most magical of ways. We’d settled on Memorial Day weekend for our wedding, so I had only a month to wait. We planned to hold the festivities out at Adele’s farm with a pig roast and a barn dance, but we still had a lot of details to finalize.

“Fred, seriously?” A fresh-faced firefighter who looked younger than my twenty-nine shook his head at the older man. “You can’t be calling women ‘little lady.’ It’s not respectful.” To me, he added. “Sorry, miss.”

I laughed. “Thank you. It’s fine. I’m not very tall, after all. And yes, sir, I am getting married, but not with a trousseau, exactly.” I elbowed Adele.

“Hey.” She elbowed me back. “Who doesn’t need a couple few new pillow slips out of fine cotton with pretty flowers sewed on them?”

I paid Fred for the tablecloths—and the pillowcases.

As we strolled on, I said, “Adele, please tell me what that was all about, with Francis and his wife.” I’d asked right after the Sands had hurried off down the row, but she shook her head and pretended to be interested in a stash of vintage knitting books.

“It’s an old story. Nothing to worry your head about.”

“I’m not worried, but I’m curious.”

“I wonder when they’re gonna take and open their antique store.”

Way to evade the question. “Last I saw, the renovations were winding down. It could be soon.”

“Danna and Turner minding the store today?” she asked, referring to my two younger employees, Danna Beedle and Turner Rao.

“Yes. They could do it with their eyes closed, nearly. Danna pulled her boyfriend in today to bus and wash dishes.”

“Isaac’s good people,” Adele said.

I was about to agree about the burly welder when someone behind me called my name. I twisted around.

“Lou!” I smiled at my cycling buddy.

She hurried toward us with a slender man following behind. Lou and I exchanged hugs. The guy, a couple of inches taller than Lou’s five foot nine, was barely more than a boy. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“You know Adele,” I said to Lou.

Adele held out her arms. “’Course we do.” They hugged and she stepped back. My aunt had conformed with social distancing while it was required, but she was the first to kick it to the curb once the pandemic’s danger had clearly passed.

“And this must be . . .” Adele’s voice trailed off as she glanced from Lou to the dude and back. “Your brother?”

Brother? I thought Lou’s only sibling was a younger sister. I hadn’t met Leah, but I’d heard stories about her from my friend and had seen her picture. I’d also heard about their father, who was such a devotee of old-fashioned records that he wanted all his children to have the initials LP. A brother had never been part of the stories. Or in the pictures.

“Yes,” Lou said. “This is Len. Len, my good friend Robbie and her aunt, Adele Jordan.”

He nodded at Adele. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” His voice was reedy, and his eyes matched Lou’s pale green ones. His close-cropped dark hair did, too, including a new-looking beard that hadn’t filled in completely.

“Lou’s been holding out on me,” I said. “I’m delighted to meet you, Len. You guys here shopping?”

“We’re having a little sibling time,” Lou said. “Our grandma lives in Fredonia not too far from here. We spent last night with her and thought we’d check out the scene at the fair for the morning.”

“I scored some awesome used books.” Len fingered the straps on a backpack that looked heavy.

“Cool,” I said. “You both want to walk around with us? We could grab some lunch together after a while.”

“Thank you, but I have to get back.” Len’s smile was tentative.

Lou opened her mouth, then shut it and swallowed. “He has basketball practice this afternoon.”

“Let’s grab a bike ride soon,” I said to Lou. “Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

Lou made a thumb-and-pinky phone gesture at her ear. “I’ll call you.”

“All righty, then,” Adele said. “Nice meeting you, young man. You all have a nice day, now.”

He acknowledged her with a nod, then turned away.

Lou gave me an inscrutable look before hurrying after her sibling.

“Ooh, would you take a gander at that there ice cream freezer?” Adele crossed the aisle to a booth on the opposite side.

I watched Lou and her brother stroll off with similar easy, athletic gaits. Something was up, but I wasn’t sure what.

“Lordy, don’t my pins ache,” Adele said from the passenger seat.

I steered her small truck homeward at six o’clock. We’d stopped at a fried catfish place she knew in Scottsburg for a bite of dinner after antiquing all day. I’d thirstily eyed her beer but opted for a sweet iced tea. I could wait until we arrived back in South Lick to indulge. My stomach was full of the best fried catfish sandwich I’d ever eaten, and the bed of the truck was packed with our haul. I’d purchased bags and boxes of kitchen implements, including the collection of assorted graters I’d been eying when we encountered the Sands. For her part, Adele found an attachment she’d been wanting for her antique tractor. She also picked up a beautifully carved pair of carders for the wool she sheared off her two-dozen sheep.

We passed a sign for Marino Caves, a place Abe liked to go spelunking with his son, Sean. Abe always invited me to go along. I always declined. I knew my fear of small, enclosed spaces was irrational. So far, I hadn’t figured out a way to overcome it. Ever since I’d read an article last year about a student trapped in a cave for sixty hours, I’d been afraid for Abe and Sean, too.

I shook off the thought. It was time for my aunt to finally answer my questions. After Francis and Hattie Sand had hurried away from us, Adele had evaded talking about whatever grudge he held against her.

“Adele, we still have an hour and a half’s drive ahead of us.” I glanced over at her. She might fall asleep if I didn’t get her talking.

“Lemme guess. You want to talk about Len Perlman.”

What? “Uh, not really.”

“You realize he used to be Lou’s sister.”

I blinked at the road. Instead of heading east and then north on the Interstate, we’d opted for the smaller state route. We had two and a half hours until sunset, and Route 135 was a lot prettier. The road beelined straight up to Nashville but was only one lane in either direction. I didn’t want to turn and stare at my aunt to absorb this news and risk crossing the center line.

“Her sister? Oh. He’s a transgender man.” How had my seventy-something aunt seen that, and I hadn’t?

“Whatever you call it. Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

I fell silent. Leah was now Len. It made sense. I knew he looked familiar. He was clearly Lou’s sibling. I hadn’t missed hearing about a third sibling. But why hadn’t Lou told me? Because she’d been busy finishing her doctorate, maybe. And we hadn’t been riding much together this spring, between her schedule and mine. Or maybe Leah—that is, Len—hadn’t wanted Lou to share his news.

Basketball. Len had wanted to get back to basketball practice. Now I remembered Leah had been a high school star, with her height and a physique, like Lou’s, that lent itself to sports. They must also share a drive to push themselves. I pushed myself when I biked the hills of Brown County, but that was about it.

“Good for him,” I said at last. I was distracted by the pretty sight of redbuds and the graceful layered branches of dogwoods blooming in a patch of woods. The landscape opened up to newly plowed fields on either side, one with straight rows of something green sprouting. In general, southern Indiana was hillier than the flat northern parts, but farmers grabbed level ground wherever they found it. I grabbed hold of the conversation again. “The transition couldn’t have been easy.”

“I don’t expect it was.” Her voice grew lazy, along with her eyelids.

“What the—?” I yelled at a big box truck barreling straight for me as it passed three slower vehicles. I leaned on the horn and cursed him with my most colorful selection of words.

“Hey, now, girl.” Adele sat up straight. “Mind your tongue. You’re like to make a sailor blush.”

I let out a noisy breath after the truck crossed back into its own lane at the last possible minute. “Sorry, Adele. I don’t know where people think they need to get to in such a freaking hurry on a Saturday evening.”

“As Samuel says, they’re all children of God.” A Cheshire cat smile crept across her weathered face, possibly at the thought of getting home to her octogenarian lover, Samuel MacDonald.

“Of course.” I swallowed and steered back to the subject of my curiosity. “Adele, please tell me what history you have with Francis Sand. If those people are my new neighbors, I should know what I’m dealing with.”

It was her turn to refrain from speaking. After a minute, I nudged her leg. “Come on. Out with it.”

“It was like this.” She twisted in her seat to face me. “It happened back when I was South Lick’s fire chief. Francis was divorced from his wife. Him and her had a son, Teddy, who was a girly sort of boy. Kids bullied him without mercy.”

“That’s so sad. Did the son live with his mom or with Francis?”

“With his mother. By then Hattie was Francis’s common-law wife.”

I rolled my eyes at the term but kept quiet. Adele was one of the most accepting, nonjudgmental people I knew, and it was simply a phrase she’d grown up with.

“The ex told anybody within earshot she didn’t want her boy living under the same roof as no harlot,” Adele continued.

I shook my head and kept on driving.

“The mayor at the time was worth less than a two-legged fox guarding a coop full of hens, and his useless brother was chief of police. Old Francis asked for my help to protect his boy.”

“What could you do?” I whisked my left hand up to protect my eyes from a late-day ray of sun reflecting off a metal barn roof.

“In the end, not much. I met with the lad, asked him to shadow me at the fire station. I thought maybe having an honest occupation would help, and he could work out with the crew. Get strong enough to defend himself. But Ted was a high school senior by then. He’d gotten in with a crowd of outcasts who found weed to smoke and liquor to steal. He didn’t last long at the station.”

“What happened to him?”

“The bullying only escalated. The night before graduation, he was driving too fast and wrapped his car around a tree. He didn’t survive the crash.”

My breath rushed in. “No.” I exhaled the syllable.

“His daddy has blamed me ever since for not trying harder to straighten him out.”

I lay on the floor the next morning at six, thinking about my car conversation with Adele instead of doing my sit-ups. I’d told her it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t able to help Francis’s son, and that it was unfair of him to blame her. She’d said she was all done talking about it.

Last night Adele had helped me unload and then had driven herself home. I’d fed Birdy and let him into the store, poured a glass of Four Roses bourbon, and done breakfast prep, as I did m. . .