Free Grilled for Murder by Maddie Day

would be full of hungry folks taking a late lunch or even brunch, since I served breakfast all day. I always tried to include something brunchy like Santa Barbara-Style Eggs Benedict or Herbed Waffles with Cheese Sauce on the Sunday Specials chalkboard. But now, with no customers and with yellow police tape keeping them away, I was too antsy thinking of Phil down at the station to simply sit and read. I’d been meaning to clean the walk-in cooler, though, and there was no time like the present.
    I turned the temperature to Off and propped open the heavy door. The cold air flowing out from the cooler was going to chill the store, so I also turned the store thermostat down to fifty-five, and then grabbed a heavy sweater from my apartment. Who was going to care if it was cold? The evidence team were the only people I expected, and they probably worked in all kinds of conditions. I ran a bucket of warm water, dissolved baking soda in it, grabbed a big sponge, and headed in.
    The metal shelves were wire racks, not solid, so they were easy to swab off. I worked vertically, shifting boxes and containers to the side so I could clean the racks from top to bottom. Poor Phil, I thought as I worked. Hadn’t I told Wanda about him offering to clean up and getting the guys to help him, Abe and the harmonica dude? I thought I had. And who would have reported seeing Phil leave the store at midnight? South Lick wasn’t exactly known for being a hotbed of nightlife, having only one establishment that stayed open past ten at night, and that was a bar across town. Cars going by my store at midnight were as rare as a decent tomato in November.
    Frustrated, I shifted a box with a little too much force and it fell onto the floor, spilling the green and red peppers I used for omelets onto the concrete floor. I cursed as I knelt to pick them up. The non-melodious doorbell at the service door made its two-toned sound before I was finished. I hurried to it and then paused. I knew the team was supposed to be coming. But there wasn’t a window or even a peephole to look out at whoever pressed the bell. And a killer was out there somewhere. I hurried to the front window to see a state police car parked outside. I laughed and shook my head. Like a murderer was going to ring a doorbell. I pulled open the service door to see two of the blue-uniformed guys who had been here this morning.
    â€œState police evidence team, ma’am.”
    â€œCome on in,” I said. “I’ll show you where I found the tool missing.” I led them to the wall and pointed. “That’s where the sandwich press was. You can see the mark on the wall.”
    â€œYou haven’t touched the wall or the shelving?” the taller one asked.
    â€œNot since I hung the press up there last summer. I ran a duster over it a few times since I opened in early October, but I didn’t touch any of it today.”
    â€œWhen’s the last time you saw the object?”
    â€œActually, last evening. I know because someone asked me what it was.”
    â€œName?”
    â€œMy name? I’m Robbie Jordan. I thought you knew—”
    â€œNo, ma’am. The name of the person who asked you about the press.” He drew out a notebook and a pen.
    â€œIt was Tiffany Porter. She loves antique cookware as much as I do.”
    He looked down his nose at me, and then jotted her name in his book. “She a local?”
    â€œShe owns a gift shop in town. I don’t know if she lives right in South Lick or not, though.”
    â€œGot it. We’ll get to work now. I understand you have to leave in two hours, at seventeen hundred?”
    â€œNo, at . . .” I cocked my head. Oh. Military time. I did the math. “Yes, that’s right.”
    â€œWe’ll be done by then.” He turned away.
    I thanked him and got back to my job in the cooler. I finished at about the same time the officers did, and managed not to groan at all