Free Do or Diner: A Comfort Food Mystery by Christine Wenger Page A

Blondie licked my hand.
    Then again, I’d fed her.
    But still…
    I decided to make another zillion dozen snowball cookies, as the supply was getting low. It was something I could do in between orders.
    As the ingredients blended together in the industrial mixer, I sorted out things in my mind.
    One good thing that came of my conversation with Ty was the news that he didn’t really think I was guilty of poisoning Mr. Cogswell, even if only because he thought I was a terrible criminal.

    “Amanitas,” Ty said as I opened my front door the next morning. He was right on time to pick me up for Mr. Cogswell’s service at the Happy Repose Funeral Home.
    “Pardon?”
    “Amanita mushrooms. They are a group of poisonous mushrooms. That’s what killed Mr. Cogswell, according to the state police lab. They are trying to identify the exact type.”
    I shrugged. “Never heard of them.” I motioned for him to come in. He stood on the rug by the door, and I was grateful for his good winter manners. He wasn’t going to tramp through my house like the mayor had, tracking in snow and faux salt granules.
    “I did an Internet check,” he said. “They appear wild in the woods around here in the summer and fall, so the killer had to have picked them back then and saved them. Apparently, one cap of an amanita can kill a man.”
    I shook my head. “Wow.” Then I remembered. “There were a lot of mushrooms on his plate. He didn’t have a prayer.”
    “True,” Ty said.
    I remembered learning about wild mushrooms from my Girl Scout days. The lesson was to not ever touch, pick, or eat them. Duh.
    “The killer had to have dried them, or maybe he, or she, precooked and froze them,” I pointed out.
    “The lab told me that after they’re cooked, they look like regular mushrooms. Even if Mr. Cogswell knew about amanitas, he wouldn’t have been able to pick them out.”
    I pulled my same red puffy coat out of the closet, and Ty took it from me and held it open for me to put on. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and smiled at the nice gesture. It was getting harder to keep up my semi-dislike of him.
    “Where’s Blondie?” I asked.
    “At the Humane Association. I dropped her off first thing this morning. They are going to clean her up and look for her owner.”
    His blue eyes had lost some of their sparkle. He wanted to keep the dog.
    “We’d better get going,” he said.
    The Happy Repose was only eight miles away,past downtown Sandy Harbor, down country roads dotted with houses and farms and a couple of mom-and-pop businesses.
    Men in dark black suits, coats, and hats were waiting in the parking lot. They greeted us and slotted us into a parking space. Ty took my arm and led me to the front door of the funeral parlor. I was grateful for the assistance over the hard-packed snow and ice.
    I wiped my feet on the throw rug thoroughly so I wouldn’t track anything into the room. Ty did the same.
    There was no one in line to greet the lone woman who was standing on the side of the casket. She was tall and slender, with white-blond hair and gray eyes, a model-perfect snow queen. I assumed that she was Roberta Cummings, Mr. Cogswell’s girlfriend.
    Several other people sat in the chairs in the large room.
    I signed the guest book, walked over to Roberta, and held out my hand.
    “Miss Cummings, I’m Trixie Matkowski. I’m the new owner of the—”
    “I know who you are,” she said, looking at me with hate-filled eyes. “You are the one who poisoned my Marvin. What are you doing here?”
    I dropped my hand as my whole body heated in embarrassment. “I’m paying my respects,” I said quietly.
    “You’ve paid them. Now you can go.” Icicles dripped from each word.
    I hadn’t expected this reaction from her. Maybe it never dawned on me that she’d blame Mr. Cogswell’s death on me.
    Ty appeared at my side. “The investigation is still ongoing, Ms. Cummings. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
    “This whole town knows that the