A Chili Death: A Classic Diner Mystery Read Free Page A

had first delivered it.
    “Where’s Dad?” I asked him.
    “He went to get your mother and grandmother.  It sounded as though we needed to have a family meeting, and they’re all a part of this crazed clan just as much as your husband standing over there is.”
    Greg nodded, and I was sure that he appreciated being included, even in times of turmoil.  He had come from a broken home, and when he’d married me, he’d found a sense of belonging that he’d missed so dearly as a kid.
    “Should we wait for them?” I asked.
    “I don’t want to, but then again, I don’t figure we have much choice.”  He looked over at Greg.  “Any chance I could get a bit of that chili of yours while we’re waiting?”
    “You bet,” he said.  Greg scooped out a huge portion and added a large chunk of cheddar and a hunk of cornbread to the heaping bowl.  This was no ordinary fare.  Rich chunks of stew beef were seasoned with onion, garlic, chili powder, and handful of other spices I recognized.  A bowl of my husband’s chili was a legitimate meal in and of itself.  Greg’s cornbread was a little sweeter than most, but it was the perfect complement to the spices in the chili. 
    Moose took a seat by the prep counter and promptly devoured it all, asking only for a refill of the chilled milk I’d given him a few moments before.
    “I’d deny it under oath in open court if you ever repeated it,” my grandfather said as he quickly scraped the bottom of his bowl, “but I like your chili better than what I make, and that’s saying something.”
    “That’s funny, I like yours better, myself,” Greg said.
    Both men smiled, and I could feel the warmth and affection pass between them.  My dad had lacked what it took to run the diner, and no one had been more aware of it than my grandfather, but in Greg—and in me—Moose had found true kindred spirits to carry on his legacy.
    As he pushed his bowl away, the kitchen door flew open and my parents hurried in, along with my grandmother.  While Moose’s face was grizzled, my dad’s cheeks were bare.
    “You stopped to shave, even after you heard that Rome was burning?” I asked, not believing my own eyes.
    Moose laughed.  “Not even Joe is that crazy.  Your dad took an electric razor with him to the cabin.”
    “There’s no shame in trying to always look presentable,” my father said.  He had some of Moose’s genes in him, but whereas my grandfather was robust and open, my dad was quite a bit more reserved.  I wondered how hard it must have been for him growing up in his father’s long shadow, and at that moment, I started to understand my father just a little bit better than I ever had before.
    “Come here and give me a kiss, you old man,” my grandmother said to her husband.  “I know it’s hard to imagine, but I actually missed you.”
    “Like this?  I’m a tad unkempt.”
    “I don’t care what state you’re in.”
    She kissed him soundly, and then Moose said, “We’re all here now, Victoria.  What seems to be the emergency?”
    “It’s this,” I said as I handed him the document Howard Lance had delivered earlier that day.
    “Eviction,” he said as he read the top line.  “That’s complete and utter nonsense.”
    “I’m not so sure it is,” Greg said.  “It looks official enough to me.”
    “I bought the land this diner stands on myself from Joshua Lance fifty years ago.”
    My face must have whitened because my grandfather asked, “What’s wrong?  What did I say?”
    “Lance.  The man who delivered this paper today said his name was Howard Lance.”
    “How old was he?”
    “Mid-fifties, I’d say.”
    That brought a frown to Moose’s face.  “I suppose he could be Joshua’s boy, but I can’t be sure.  All I know is that Joshua Lance sold me this land just before he moved to Hickory, and I haven’t heard a word from him since.  At the time, he had to have owned ten percent of Jasper Fork when he started selling it off at