1 Catered to Death (17 page)

“Something like that,” I said.

Junebug snorted. “That’s not such a bad idea. Maybe you’d be better off going from cooking to spying. Might be more dough in it.”

“I’m not spying––”

“Prying,” Junebug amended, “and you know you
are
prying.”

“Maybe a little,” I admitted. Junebug’s memory might not be the sharpest but she was still plenty observant.

“You don’t have to look embarrassed. Nothing wrong with doing some good old fashioned snooping. Find out anything good so far?”

“Not really.”

 
“Well, don’t give up yet. Facts don’t lie and the fact is that Frank’s deader than a door nail and one of us had to have done it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the school is harder to get into than Fort Knox. I lost my keys to the back door a few weeks ago and I’ve been having to go around to the front door to get in. I can’t even find an open window to climb through.”

“Why don’t you just get a new set of keys?”

“Because if a staff member loses their keys, they have to pay to have the whole building rekeyed, that’s why. Frank was adamant about that. No way am I paying two hundred bucks plus for that dump! I just never told him I lost my keys.” Junebug smiled. “And now I guess I’ll never have to.”

So a set of keys to Eden Academy was floating around. Anyone could have found them and used them the day Frank was killed. “The school is hard to get into. Jack Mulholland let me in when I catered the lunch. No one told me I wouldn’t be able to use the back doors.”

“Probably didn’t think of it. They’re good at not thinking about anything that doesn’t directly impact them.” A car door slammed outside. “That’s my old man. You should be going now unless you want to stay for supper. We could throw another steak on the grill.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “Maybe another time.”

Junebug took a long drag on her cigarette. “Who knows?” she responded somewhat enigmatically. “One of us could die before that happens.”

She had a point. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“Of course,” Junebug added, “you’re a far more likely candidate that I am. I bet I could outrun you if I had a mind to. I may look old on the outside but inside I’m made of steel.”

With a Teflon ego to match. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” I told her as a tiny man climbed the back steps and came onto the porch.

“I’d win for sure,” Junebug insisted as if she didn’t believe me. “I could kick your butt.”

I turned my attention from Junebug to look at the man standing in front of me. He was about the same size as Junebug and was also dressed in Western gear—Western style jeans, cowboy boots and a black shirt with shiny silver snaps in place of buttons. “Hello there,” he said, taking off his hat when he saw me.

 
“That’s my man, Jeff,” Junebug said. “Married me for my money, didn’t you, Jeff?”

“Well, it sure wasn’t for your personality or your looks,” Jeff squawked. Both Jeff and Junebug threw back their heads and began to laugh. I joined in somewhat hesitantly.

“This here is DeeDee something or other,” Junebug informed her husband.

“DeeDee Pearson,” I said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Jeff came over to the wicker couch and squeezed my hand hard. He leered down at me lasciviously, not surprising me a bit. Somehow having a dirty old man for a husband suited Junebug to a T. “You two gals visiting?”

“She brung us a sample from her catering business. She’s the one who made the food for the party when Frank bought the farm but she ain’t staying.”

I winced at Junebug’s grammar. For someone who thought so highly of her teaching skills, Junebug talked like a bad comic book about cowgirls.

“I see,” Jeff said, sitting down next to his wife and looking at me with interest. “So you’re the one. Junebug and I thought for a little bit that you might have killed Frank—you know, poisoned him.”

“I didn’t even know him!” I said hastily.

“I told him that,” Junebug said. “I told him that you weren’t a likely suspect. To be fair, you had to have known Frank Ubermann for a good half hour to work up a real hate for him. I knew the bastard for fifteen years so I know what I’m talking about.”

“He was one mighty sour piece of work,” Jeff agreed, nodding solemnly. “He was after my Junebug to retire something fierce and anyone can see just by looking at her that this filly ain’t ready for the pasture yet.”

“Not by a long shot,” Junebug agreed. “I don’t plan on ever retiring. Why should I? My mind is still like a steel trap and way sharper than any of them juvenile delinquents we get at the academy.”

“How about you, Jeff?” I asked politely. “Are you retired?”

“Sure am. I stopped the day I turned 65 and became a house-husband.”

“Why do you think I don’t want to retire?” Junebug demanded. “We’d kill each other if we was around each other all day long making faces and trying to decide who gets to control the remote. No way!”

“We might at that. Junebug has one sharp temper and she’s never been shy about using it.”

Oh, really?
I contemplated that piece of information. It was obvious that Junebug was highly competitive along with being completely narcissistic. That she had a sharp temper too went along with the rest of her less-than-charming character traits.

“Say, maybe you should ask her about catering our next party,” Jeff suggested to his wife.

“I was thinking about that but I’m not so sure. She’s not that good,” Junebug said as if I wasn’t sitting five feet away from the two of them. “She’s too new. I think we should go with our usual caterers.”

“KFC is getting kind of expensive,” Jeff responded, “and the last time we used them we got almost all dark meat and you know how much I hate dark meat. Plus they didn’t give enough rolls. I say we give her a try. How bad can she be?”

I made a show of looking at my watch. “Oh, my, look at the time. I should be going,” I said to neither of them in particular. “My husband will be expecting me soon.”

“Oh, all right,” Junebug agreed, still ignoring me, “I guess we can give her a try.”

“Good!” Jeff turned and smiled triumphantly at me. “She looks like a winner to me.” He winked broadly and I tried to smile in return.

“Well, who knows? Maybe we’ll luck out and she’ll kill some of our more annoying friends,” Junebug chortled. “What do you say, Doris? Are you free to cater a party this Saturday?”

I felt my mouth drop open. I hadn’t expected to get a catering gig out of my visit to Junebug, even though that was the premise I’d used to drop in on her. “This Saturday—as in the day after tomorrow?”

“That’s right.” Junebug looked at me with eyes that didn’t seem to quite focus all the way. It had to be meds. “You busy or something?”

“Let me think––” Pride made me pretend to be searching a chock block full mental calendar although I knew perfectly well that it was totally blank until a New Year’s Eve party that I was catering for a co-worker of Steve’s. Still, it wouldn’t do to appear too easy to book. “I’m not sure. Why don’t I give you a call after I get home? I think I’m free but this is awfully short notice.”

“You do that. We’re having ten people over for drinks and dinner. Call me when you know because if you can’t make it I need to get an order in to the Colonel as soon as possible.”

Oh, what the hell. It wasn’t like I had a burning need to impress either Junebug or her husband by pretending I actually had any other catering jobs. Why not just go for it? A bird in the hand and all that. “Come to think of it, I’m free,” I said. “I’d be happy to cater your party.”

“I thought you were!” Junebug crowed. “I could tell just by looking at your face. You’ve got one of those open faces that plain stink at lying. I bet you suck at poker.”

“I’ve never played poker,” I admitted.

“Don’t start,” Junebug advised. “Unless you want to play with me sometime. I’d clean your clock.”

“I’m sure you would.”

“You bet. Okay, we’ll see you on Saturday. We told everyone to get here around seven.”

“Do you want to discuss a menu or a price––”

Both Junebug and Jeff waved my questions aside. “You pick out the menu. Just make sure it’s heavy on red meat and hard liquor,” Junebug told me.

“And send the bill to me,” Jeff added. “We’ll pay it. You can tell by looking around that we ain’t broke and we ain’t deadbeats.”

At least I wouldn’t have to hound them for my paycheck. I rose and smoothed my pants. “I’ll see you Saturday then.” Maybe Steve could help me. It might be fun if we catered the McClellan’s party together and it would also soften the blow when I told him that I had to work that night. Steve and I always spend Saturday nights together. Well, Steve would understand.

I waved good-bye, leaving the older couple on the porch. I walked around the house slowly, trying to picture where I could set up the food for the party. As I moved, I tripped over something tucked in the grass. Looking down, I saw that it was an arrow half buried in the velvety lawn, obviously one Junebug had neglected to pick up during one of her target practices. Thoughtfully, I poked at the arrow with the tip of my sandal. Junebug was one heck of a shot. I was sure that Junebug most likely excelled at any number of sports. Looking back, I could see the tiny figures of Junebug and her husband sitting side by side, like miniature salt and pepper shakers, their white heads bobbing as they talked animatedly to each other. Could Junebug possibly be behind Frank Ubermann’s death? Could she possibly have snuck down into the basement of Eden Academy and popped Frank while everyone else was upstairs eating my brownies and complaining?

No. No way. She was too old.

Since when does age have anything to do with murder?

Besides, other than a somewhat spotty memory, Junebug didn’t seem all that old. She seemed awfully spry and extremely determined to stay that way. Still, what could her motive be? She said everybody hated Frank, herself included. But hating someone wasn’t really a motive for murder. Maybe Junebug had another motive, such as the way Frank was trying to force her to retire. But murder? That was a pretty extreme response to forced retirement.

“What are you looking at?” Junebug called down from the porch. “You lose something?”

I shook my head. “Just thinking about how I’ll set up for Saturday night.”

“Make sure you bring plenty of booze!” Jeff responded. “We’re a drinking crowd and we love to get rowdy!”

I wasn’t surprised by that revelation in the least.

Chapter Fourteen

Junebug called the following afternoon to tell me where I should buy the meat for the party I was catering. “Go to Hillside Market,” she ordered, “and tell Bill that this meat is for the McClellans. I always get my meat from Bill. We have a personal relationship.”

Hillside Market is the most expensive grocery store in all of Kemper, a place where only the truly wealthy can afford to pay the jacked up prices, but if Junebug and Jeff wanted their meat from Hillside that was fine with me. It was their party plus I’d finally get to taste one of Hillside’s famous steaks. “All right,” I agreed. “That’s where I’ll go.”

“Remind Bill of the Christmas present I gave him,” Junebug continued. “He’ll know what I’m talking about. You got a menu yet?”

“I’ve roughed one out,” I told her. I had too but it was still extremely rough as in
meat, booze, sides, dessert
written down in my spiral notebook.

“Good. Like Jeff said, make sure there’s plenty of beef. That’s what we like. Lots and lots of beef.” Junebug hung up without saying good-bye. After replacing the telephone receiver, I got to work. After an hour or so, I’d come up with a menu that would undoubtedly have won a rave review from the national beef council and made the American Heart Association lock me up with no chance of parole: chili, steak fajitas, brisket and finally beef tips in cognac sauce. I would serve sides of coleslaw, red pepper cheese biscuits, and have veggie trays available just in case the McClellans had any sensible friends who’d heard about cholesterol.

Satisfied that Junebug and Jeff would be pleased with my offerings, I pulled on a light jacket and grabbed my shopping list before heading to the van. I was almost out the door when I noticed that there were still some red velvet cupcakes left from my latest baking spree. To get to Hillside Market, I had to drive past Eden Academy. Glancing at the kitchen clock, I saw that it was a little after three. I could stop at the school, check with Monica to see if she’d cut my check yet—although I was sure that she hadn’t—and then do some subtle pumping via my cupcakes. Monica wasn’t in the Kemper telephone book so if I wanted to talk to her, it was going to have to be back at the school. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to another run-in with Monica Webber, I wasn’t about to let her weasel out of paying me. I may be many things but a chump isn’t one of them.

“Red velvet cupcakes?” Monica asked incredulously. “Why would you bring me red velvet cupcakes?”

She acted like I’d brought her red velvet handcuffs. “Because it’s a new recipe I’m trying out,” I said, using the same story I’d given Claudine and Junebug, although even those two had been more gracious than Monica. “I’m bringing samples to all of my customers.”

“That shouldn’t take you very long,” Monica said snippily. “But why on earth would you make red velvet cupcakes? They’re so passé.”

“They are?” It was on the tip of my tongue to inquire when Monica had become the newest Food Channel find but I controlled myself. From what I’d seen of the woman, she liked to be the only one who knew things, a personality trait that appeared to have served her well at Eden Academy.

“Of course they are. These were popular in what—the 1950s? Then they had a renaissance about five years ago. Now they’re a joke.” Monica looked at my poor little cupcakes with contempt.

“I didn’t realize that,” I said politely. “I’ll remove them from your sight immediately.”

Sarcasm was lost on Monica. Instead she sniffed and then picked up a cupcake. “Oh, I’ll eat them but I do think you need to start brushing up on what’s
au currant
and what’s not or you’re going to be the joke of the caterers in this town.” Monica snickered. “Provided that hasn’t already happened,” she added.

I really didn’t like this woman but the plus of feeling that way was that it enabled me to be a lot more bold with Monica than I would have been with someone I might hope to befriend. “So how’s the murder investigation going? Any new leads?”

Monica looked at me icily as she licked frosting off her fingers. “Why would I tell you anything? You aren’t an employee here.”

“No, but I was employed by Eden Academy and I’m still waiting to get paid.”

“I figured that’s why you were really here,” Monica said. “I saw through that lame excuse the second you walked in.”

Chalk one up for Monica. Since there didn’t seem to be any point in trying to butter her up, I asked my question again. “So is there any more information about who killed Frank Ubermann?”

“The police are still baffled,” Monica informed me.

Damn. “So does that mean that the assets are still frozen?”

Monica looked away. “For the most part.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, naturally we have to pay our teachers and there are certain other bills that must be paid on time but we’re still waiting for a new director to be named before things get back to normal.” Monica’s face saddened. “As normal as they’ll ever be without Frank behind his desk.”

I actually felt a little sorry for Monica. True, she was quite unpleasant but she’d also obviously been dealt a serious blow when Frank was killed. So serious that I had pretty much crossed her off my list as a possible suspect. She obviously cared about the man too much to have killed him. “That has to be hard,” I said.

“It’s impossible. Life just isn’t the same without Frank here.”

“Did Frank like jewelry?”

Staring at me like I was nuts, Monica said, “What?”

“I was just wondering if Frank liked jewelry.” I was thinking about the hand in the picture at Claudine’s apartment, the definitely male hand wearing the big silver and turquoise ring. If I could connect that ring to Frank Ubermann, it would be one more concrete way to connect Frank and Claudine as a couple. It wasn’t much but when you have next to nothing to work with, you grab what you can.

“What kind of question is that? And why would you care?”

“I don’t know…I saw a turquoise and silver ring and it reminded me of Frank Ubermann.”

“You met him once and you saw a ring and it reminded you of him? Are you sure you’d never met him before? Is that how you got hired for Junebug’s party?” Now Monica had the same suspicious look on her face that Sylvia Ubermann had worn at the book club meeting. Maybe I’d better stop my amateur sleuthing before people started adding two and two together and wound up with seven.

“Never mind. It isn’t important.”

“Then why’d you bring it up? Where’d you see this silver and turquoise ring?”

“In a picture. Never mind, Monica; it really isn’t important.”

Monica sniffed deeply. “Frank didn’t care for rings but if he did, he wouldn’t have worn turquoise anything. The only ring I ever saw Frank Ubermann wear was a diamond pinky ring that had belonged to his father. Does that answer your questions, Miss Nosy Pants?”

“Beautifully,” I said.

Monica’s telephone rang. Still giving me a deeply suspicious look, she answered. “Eden Academy….what? Oh, all right. I’m on my way.”

“Business calling?” I asked as chirpily as I could manage.

“Yes. Some of us have to work for a living.” Monica rose and walked around her desk. Practically shooing me out the door, she turned and locked it behind her. Wherever she was going, she obviously didn’t want anyone snooping around her desk while she was gone. “Good-bye,” she said somewhat forcefully.

“Nice talking to you,” I lied. I watched as Monica hurried down the steps. A moment later I heard the back door that led to the parking lot open and then slam shut. Was Monica leaving or was she meeting someone in the back? What a waste of time. Not only had Monica dissed my red velvet cupcakes, I also hadn’t picked up so much as half a clue about her relationship with Frank, other than that she was obviously still devastated by her loss. But was that because she had been in love with Frank or because she loved working for him? I would have sworn that she’d been head over heels in love with Frank Ubermann but now I wasn’t so sure. What Monica really seemed to have for her late boss was the kind of hero worship that most people outgrew with their training bras and retainers. Then again, Simpson had said the two of them were having an affair.

“Hi, DeeDee!”

I was pulled out of my muddled thoughts by the sound of a friendly voice. Ruth Sparrow was standing in the doorway of her office cradling a coffee cup. She actually looked happy to see me. “Hi, Ruth.” Walking down the hallway, I reached her office in a few moments.

“Are you here to see someone?”

“Monica,” I said a little flatly. “I’m still waiting to get paid.”

Ruth gave a little a laugh. “And how’s that going?”

“Not very well.”

“Come on in and visit for a minute,” Ruth suggested. “This time of day is always quiet for me. The students are gone and the teachers are usually in a meeting around now.”

“All right,” I agreed. I had time for a visit with Ruth before going to the store. Hopefully, chatting with Ruth would be more enlightening than talking to Monica had been. I settled myself in a small chair tucked in the corner of Ruth’s miniscule office. “I’m starting to wonder if Monica’s ever going to pay me,” I commented.

“I think you’re smart to pester her,” Ruth replied. “If you don’t bug her, the odds are good that she’ll never come through.”

“She’s certainly broken up over losing Frank. Not that I blame her,” I added hastily. “Everyone here must be in a state of shock.”

“Monica and Frank were very close,” Ruth said. “Extremely close.” She pursed her lips.

Dropping my voice, I asked, “Is it true that they were having an affair?”

Ruth looked shocked. “Who told you that?”

“Simpson. And I heard Junebug say it too.”

Ruth sighed. “I don’t suppose it matters anymore. Yes, they were having an affair but it was over. It ended some time ago. Frank never kept any of his women for very long.”

“How do you know that?”

Ruth looked at me sadly. “Because I was one of them.”

I almost fell off my chair. Sweet, quiet Ruth Sparrow had been fooling around with Frank Ubermann too? “What happened? I hope you don’t mind my asking—tell me if it’s none of my business.”

“It’s all right. It was years and years ago, almost twenty years. I was working as a secretary at a public school and Frank was a teacher there. He showered me with attention and I fell for him. Oldest story in the book. Of course, when I wound up pregnant, he suddenly didn’t have the time of day for me or for our child.”

My eyes darted to the framed picture of Ruth’s daughter. No wonder those unusual blue eyes had looked familiar. They were the same as Frank Ubermann’s. “How did you wind up working for him at Eden Academy?”

“He didn’t want to pay child support so I told him that he’d better find me a decent paying job.” Ruth spoke bitterly. “He did; this one. It pays very well and I’ve kept my end of the bargain and never told his wife that her husband fathered my daughter. Of course, now that Frank’s gone, who knows what will happen next? I sincerely doubt that Monica will allow me to continue to make twenty-five dollars an hour to be the school’s receptionist.”

Wow. My mind refused to wrap around the fact that Ruth and Frank had had an affair. Ruth seemed so down-to-earth, so normal. How could she have fallen for someone like him? “Does your daughter know who her father is?”

“No. That isn’t the kind of information that she needed to know. You’re a mom, aren’t you, DeeDee?”

“Yes, I have a grown son and a daughter.”

“I thought so. Moms can recognize each other and I can tell just by talking to you that you’d do anything for your kids.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “I would.”

“So would I, and for me, that has meant protecting my only child from knowing what a creep her real father is. I’d rather see him dead than let Amanda find out.” Ruth clapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t,” I said but I was wondering if I really believed that. Ruth Sparrow had a serious axe to grind with Frank Ubermann. Maybe he’d decided that enough was enough and that he’d no longer pay her the exorbitant salary that she’d been receiving for being a receptionist for so many years. I liked Ruth and she seemed sincere but what did I really know about her?

A sudden loud thunk interrupted our conversation, so loud that it made me jump. “What was that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It sounded like it came from the parking lot.” Ruth got to her feet and ran down the hall. I followed behind her. Together we tripped down the steps until we reached the back door, the same back door I’d heard Monica slam a few minutes earlier. Stepping outside, we both scanned the mainly empty parking lot. “Look!” Ruth pointed toward the short yellow bus that had Eden Academy painted across its side.