1 Catered to Death (21 page)

Chapter Eighteen

“So you’d like to purchase some pottery?” I watched as Jack Mulholland gave Steve a hearty smile and squeezed his hand in what had to be a vice-like grip judging from the look that immediately covered my husband’s face. “You’ve come to the right place, brother. I’ve got pottery coming out the wazoo.”

“Is that so?” Steve replied. I could see that he was trying not to wince while he waited for Jack to release his death hold. “Great. We’re in the right place then.”

We were in Jack’s basement studio at Eden Academy. It was Monday afternoon but all of the students had already left for the day, making the school eerily reminiscent of the day when I had catered the party and Frank Ubermann was murdered. I huddled behind Steve in my disguise: a paisley scarf tied low over my forehead, a sage green tunic sweater and black leggings with high heeled boots that I borrowed from our daughter Jane. To complete the look I had donned dark glasses that covered half of my face, à la Jackie Kennedy Onassis. I was sure that Jack Mulholland wouldn’t be able to recognize me and I was right. When Steve had introduced me as his wife “Eileen,” Jack had merely nodded. I had the impression that Jack was so anxious to make a sale that he wouldn’t have cared if Bonnie and Clyde had set up an out of the blue appointment to look at his pottery.

 
“I’ll say you’re in the right place! This is where the magic happens. You guys have any trouble finding me?”

“Not at all.
 
Eileen used to take an art class here.”

“Oh, right, back in the day before Eden Academy took over.”

“I was a little surprised that we were able to walk right in the school,” Steve remarked. “There doesn’t seem to be any security here.”

“You came after hours. No one cares who comes and goes once the kids are gone. Now take a look around and see if there’s anything that catches your eye. Both of you.”

I nodded without speaking and began to slowly circle the room that was filled to the rafters with pottery pieces. I was also trying to look for any clues that the police might have overlooked while investigating Frank’s murder. It was probably pointless but that was the reason why we were there. That and to see if Jack had any information that he might be willing to share.

“You certainly do have a lot of pieces,” Steve said as he paused in front of a tea pot that was shaped like a pig. “Cute.”

“All my stuff is cute. Did you have anything special in mind?”

Steve shook his head. “Not really. We want to find something for our daughter. She has a birthday coming up, right Eileen?”

“Yes,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

“My wife has laryngitis,” Steve explained.

“Bummer,” Jack responded, clearly not interested in the least. I found it amazing that Jack could have been so flirtatious with me at the party and now act like I was invisible but I chalked it up to the fact that it was always easier to flirt with someone who was alone than with someone who was with their spouse. “How old is she going to be?”

“Let’s see…twenty-nine,” Steve said. “Seems impossible.”

“Yeah, time flies,” Jack responded. “Think she’d like a set of coffee mugs? They’re very popular.” He led Steve to a shelf that was crammed with coffee mugs in all different colors. I lingered behind, my eyes on an article about Jack that had been in a local magazine. He had it framed and even though the glass in the frame was heavily speckled with bits of clay and dried streaks of dirty water, I could see that Jack had aged quite a bit since the picture had been taken.
Local potter now works at expanding youthful minds
the headline read. It made him sound like he was Kemper’s version of Timothy Leary. I squinted at the type and read the article quickly. It was short but quite pithy. As a matter of fact, the article was extremely educational.

“Those are nice,” Steve agreed. “That would probably work for her. How much are they?”

“Just twenty dollars for a set of four,” Jack said smoothly. “Don’t you want to get your wife’s opinion?”

“They look fine,” I whispered.

“How can you tell from way over there?”

“Eileen has perfect vision,” Steve explained. “As a matter of fact, her vision is so perfect that she has to wear dark glasses to keep from getting a headache. Even indoors. Otherwise things are
too
clear for her.”

“Yeah? I’ve never heard of a condition like that.”

Neither had I. Steve was obviously starting to warm up to being a spy and all the lying that went along with it.

“It’s a little bit like light sensitivity,” Steve elaborated. “Quite rare. Eileen was stricken with it when she was barely thirty. I need to take her everywhere and the only time she can take her sunglasses off is in bed and in the shower.”

I pulled my dark glasses down a little to give him a warning glare. There was no need to take our cover
too
far. “We’ll take them,” I croaked. I gestured toward Steve to come over to the corner where I was standing. “We’re moving too fast,” I whispered into his ear. We need to shop around a little more to give time for Jack to open up.”

“What should I do?” Steve whispered back. “He’s already wrapping the mugs.”

“Go over and bring up Frank Ubermann’s murder,” I said. “I’ll stay here.”

Steve nodded and headed over to where Jack was wrapping four coffee mugs in plain white butcher’s paper. He moved so efficiently that it almost felt like we were in a hospital gift shop instead of a school. Truthfully, Jack’s art room looked more like a store than a classroom it was so crammed with pottery. Watching him, I recalled Frank Ubermann’s comments about Jack’s “business” in the basement. Those electric bills for the kiln must have been out of this world.

“I heard you had some trouble here,” Steve said conversationally. “Two murders over the course of a couple weeks. Scary stuff.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll say. It was bad enough when poor Frank was killed but then to have Monica murdered too. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to see either of them dead. They were both so well loved by the entire staff.”

The note of insincerity in Jack’s voice was so wide that Steve could have driven his Ford Escape down it and I tried not to choke out loud. “Why do you think it happened? Do you think it could have been a student?” Steve wondered. “Mr. Ubermann’s death, I mean.”

“A student?”

“Well, he was the principal, right? Maybe a student had a grudge against him.”

“Nah. Those kids are too damn lazy to do something like that. Besides, whoever got Frank must have also gotten Monica and none of the kids would do her in. They all liked her because she was always passing out candy to the little juvenile delinquents.”

“So who do you think killed them?”

Jack looked up sharply, glancing first at Steve and then over at me. I pretended not to notice. “I really have no idea,” he said. “Obviously someone who had an axe to grind with Frank and there was a long line of people who fell in that category. I’m afraid Monica wasn’t the most popular person in the world either so I’m guessing that she had a fairly long list of enemies too. Do you mind if I ask why you’re so interested?”

Steve shrugged. “No particular reason. It’s just that murders don’t happen too often in Kemper.”

“Thank God for that,” Jack said as he handed Steve a box with the mugs neatly wrapped inside. “But I wouldn’t worry if you think there’s some kind of nut loose in town. I really do think that whoever got Frank meant to do it. The guy was a real piece of work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that working for him was not the highlight of my resume. We had a tendency to clash from time to time.” Jack suddenly laughed. “Make that all the time. I’m just glad I had an ironclad alibi when he was killed or else I’m sure the police would be breathing down my neck 24/7.”

“Oh? Do you mind if I ask what your alibi is?”

Jack grinned. “You are the curious one, aren’t you? But I don’t mind telling you what I was up to when Frank got whacked. Not at all. I was, ah, busy with one of the other staff members, if you get my drift. We were going over the curriculum—not! Actually, we were getting it on, if you really want to know. Very indiscreet of us but if ever there was a time that I’m glad I have an out of control libido, it’s now. Even better, we got nailed by another staff member right when Frank must have been getting it. I mean, how perfect timing is that? The police can’t even say we’re lying to protect each other.”

“Pretty perfect,” Steve agreed.

I could feel my eyebrows hovering somewhere around the middle of my forehead. So Jack Mulholland wasn’t a suspect. I grappled with how we could ask Jack just who he’d been “entertaining” when Frank died but couldn’t come up with anything plausible. My curiosity was about to strangle me. Who could Jack have been with? Probably the student teacher. The two of them had seemed quite cozy during the luncheon.

“Who was the lucky lady?” Steve asked.

Way to go, Steve!
I thought. I never would have had the courage to ask Jack that particular question.

Jack looked over at me but I kept my head bent over a particularly ugly set of brown iridescent dinner plates and pretended not to be listening. “Between you, me and the kiln, it was the current student teacher,” Jack said in a low voice. “She is one hot number.”

I wasn’t surprised in the least but I was starting to question my own ability to judge people. That student teacher had seemed so sweet.

“Oh?” Steve said.

“You bet. She’s a regular wild cat and best of all she’s too young to want an old man like me other than for an occasional treat. I need commitment like I need another tattoo. That’ll be eighty bucks,” Jack said, holding out a callused hand to Steve expectantly.

“Eighty dollars? I thought you said twenty.”

“Twenty dollars
apiece.
You’re paying for high quality artwork, man.”

What a snake! But there wasn’t anything I could do if I didn’t want to blow our cover.

Pulling out his wallet, Steve emptied it into Jack’s eager palm. “There you go.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Jack said as he stuffed the money into his hip pocket.

“Doesn’t the school mind that you’re selling your artwork while you’re teaching?”

Again I gave my husband a silent thumb’s up. He remembered what I’d told him about Frank’s being so angry over Jack’s art sales at Eden Academy’s expense. Steve was turning out to be great at this detective business.

Jack looked around the art room with mock concern. “Who’s teaching right now? I don’t see any kids around, do you? But it’s funny you should say that: it really bugged ol’ Frank how I had a little sideline business going. We had our fair share of discussions over it.” Jack shrugged. “I guess those days are over now. There’s no one left for me to fight with.”

Jack handed Steve the paper sack that held the overpriced coffee mugs that I was positive our picky daughter was going to hate. “Thanks,” Steve said. “Eileen, are you ready?”

I nodded and headed for the door.

“Man, you’re lucky,” I heard Jack say. “Your old lady can’t talk at all? That must be nice.”

I paused in the hallway to hear Steve’s response. “Actually, I can’t wait for Eileen to get her voice back,” Steve told him. “It’s miserable not hearing what she has to say.”

“You’re strange,” Jack said with a laugh. My dream girl is mute and willing, if you know what I mean.”

I shook my head. It was really too bad that Jack Mulholland had such a good alibi. It would have been so nice to have seen him and his archaic, pathetic opinions locked up for the next twenty or thirty years.

“How’d I do?” Steve asked when he joined me a few seconds later.

“Fabulous!” I took him by the arm and led him down the hall. “But I think Jane’s going to hate the mugs.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she will. Maybe we can think of somebody we don’t like to give them to.”

“Steve, there was an article in there from the
Kemper Magazine
. It was a profile on Jack Mulholland.”

“What did it say?”

“He’s not a real teacher! He’s got some kind of community expert variance that lets him teach.”

“So?”

“So the article was several years old. Maybe Jack ran out of time on the variance and needed to get a real teaching license.”