By Cook or by Crook (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (18 page)

 

 

At the memorial service, Val sat on one side of Monique, Maverick on the other side. The chapel filled quickly. Nadia’s nearest neighbors, Irene and Roger Pritchard, flanked their son, Jeremy. The real estate folks occupied two rows. Downtown merchants showed up, including Luke and Darwin. Nearly every row had Bayport tennis players or club staffers sitting in it. Also present, two men resembling vultures more than mourners: a reporter, who tried to buttonhole people as they arrived, and Deputy Holtzman, who fixed his eyes on Monique.

During the opening hymn, Bigby charged in. He walked up and down the center aisle, looking for an empty seat with the same intensity he doubtless showed when looking for empty land to build on. As the singing stopped, he lowered himself into one of the folding chairs lining the walls.

The minister addressed the congregation with words about eternal life meant to be comforting, words he could have spoken at anyone’s memorial service. Val wondered if he’d ever met Nadia.

Irene Pritchard spoke of Nadia’s willingness to volunteer her time for children’s charities, the money she’d raised for the March of Dimes, and the parties she’d given to bring her neighbors together. Then Althea talked about her friendship with a woman whose background and interests couldn’t have been more different from her own, except that they shared a love of tennis. At one point, when Althea’s voice broke, Val fought to hold back tears.

Monique nudged Val. “Look at Bigby.”

The big man sweated profusely, his face strangely contorted. He squeezed his eyes closed. As Althea finished speaking, he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving, though no sound escaped him. Remorse, Val decided. He was feeling remorse for harassing Nadia, maybe for killing her.

Monique whispered, “He’s all broken up. He must have really cared for her.”

“You think?” Val had taken it for granted that Bigby, after being rejected by Nadia, had stalked her in revenge and written an anonymous letter to expose and embarrass her. But Monique saw him differently. Val tried to shift her own perspective on Bigby. Perhaps love, not revenge, had motivated his actions. An excess of love could be as dangerous as hate.

Val sighed. People were like those inkblots psychologists used—walking, talking inkblots. They really should be easier to understand than black splotches and less susceptible to projection by the interpreter. But just when you thought you had them pinned down, they would morph, as Bigby was doing now before her eyes.

At the end of the service, the minister introduced Joe Westrin. Nadia’s ex stood up and thanked them for coming in the name of Nadia’s only living relatives, an aunt and uncle too frail to travel. He also announced that everyone was invited to Althea’s house for a buffet lunch in Nadia’s honor.

Bigby rushed out the side door, the first to leave. By the time Val made it outside, he was gone. Groups of mourners clustered on the sidewalk and along the path between it and the chapel. Val stood on the steps of the church with Monique, while Maverick joined Luke and Darwin on the sidewalk.

Monique offered to lend Val a car. “We still have our old hatchback parked at Maverick’s shop. I could drive that, and you could drive my van.”

“Thanks, I can use a car. How about you keep the van and I drive the hatchback?”

“The door locks don’t work, and the air conditioner is dicey.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll only use it for short hops.”

“We might as well pick it up on the way to Althea’s house. We’ll leave whenever Maverick stops hanging out with the boys over there.” Monique pointed with her chin toward her husband. “On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t take the hatchback. It could be bad luck.”

“Bad luck?” Val echoed. She wasn’t superstitious. Broken mirrors and black cats didn’t worry her, but after the last few days, not to mention her automotive history, she wasn’t anxious to drive an unlucky car. “What do you mean?”

Monique brushed lint from her black dress. “The last person who drove the hatchback was Nadia. She borrowed it a few weeks ago.”

The car borrowing no longer surprised Val. She might be the only person whose car Nadia hadn’t driven. “Why did she want your car?”

“Probably to haul something that would have messed up her leather upholstery.” Monique beckoned to Maverick. He either didn’t see or ignored her. “I found out what Maverick was doing Monday night. He left Philadelphia sooner than I expected.”

“Where’d he go?”

“Casino-hopping in Atlantic City.” Monique rolled her eyes. “How dumb is that? No one wins at a casino except the house.”

And the man who needs an alibi. Maverick had lucked out, his face on casino surveillance cameras the night his mistress was murdered. “So Maverick’s really into gambling. I remember him talking about the NCAA championships at the café. It sounded like he had a lot of money riding on the game.”

“For the Super Bowl, he didn’t just bet on the game, he bet on the toss. He can’t even go to a funeral without consulting his bookie. And until a month ago, he played poker two nights a week, usually losing big.”

“Hello, ladies.” The reporter Val had seen inside the church swooped down on them. “I’m Terry Barnes from the
Treadwell Gazette
. Val Deniston and Monique Mott, if I’m not mistaken. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

Val recognized his name from the byline on this morning’s article. “Mind if I ask you about your sources?”

He ignored her. “I understand you’ve been helping the police with their inquiries into the murder, Mrs. Mott.”

Monique turned rigid and pale.

Val stepped between her and the reporter. “I’m sure everyone in Bayport is helping the police any way they can.”

“But some people might be able to help more than others.” He maneuvered around her and addressed Monique. “Were you and, uh, your husband close to the deceased?”

Monique stared down the reporter. “Not really.”

Val took her by the elbow. “Let’s grab Maverick and leave.”

In the van Monique twisted toward the backseat where Val sat. “We’ll drive you to the boatyard to pick up the hatchback, but then Maverick and I are going home. I can’t face the luncheon at Althea’s. There’s nothing you can say to change my mind. Don’t even try.”

Ten minutes later Val climbed into a canary yellow hatchback parked in Maverick’s boatyard. Ugly car, but it ran. She tested the brakes on the road back to town. No problem there.

The problem was in the rearview mirror. A midnight blue sedan kept pace with Val’s car, braked when she did, and made the same turns she made.

Chapter 19

Val slowed down, hoping for a better look at the car tailing her. The sedan kept its distance, too far away for her to read the license plate or see the driver through its tinted glass. How long had the car followed her? She hadn’t noticed it on the way to Maverick’s boatyard, but why would she? She’d spent the time talking with Monique, not looking out the back window.

A pickup truck pulled out of a side road behind her car. She could no longer see the sedan in her mirror. She steered into the housing development where Althea lived, the pickup still behind her. When she turned into Althea’s cul-de-sac, the pickup and the dark sedan went straight. Val released a deep breath. Maybe the sedan hadn’t followed her after all. Gunnar had made her jittery with his warnings. She parked the hatchback, grabbed the cooler containing the luncheon food, and hurried up the steps to Althea’s house.

Althea answered the door. “Come on in. Drinks are in the kitchen.”

Val held up the cooler. “I have my contributions to the buffet and Monique’s. Where do you want the food?”

“Dining room table. I know whatever you made will be great. What did Monique prepare for us?”

“Deviled eggs with a twist. She added puréed beets to the egg yolks, which turned them pink. Then she topped them with Gorgonzola cheese and pickled carrots. That’s her version of comfort food.”

Althea groaned. “Luckily we also have real comfort food. Chatty baked bread, and Bethany made a potato salad. Luke is bringing sandwich ingredients. All I had to supply were the drinks and the veggie platter.”

Val put her arm around Althea’s shoulder. “Nadia would have appreciated all this. And you gave a wonderful tribute to her during the memorial service.”

Althea looked down. “It’s the least I could do for her.”

“This may seem like a strange question, but did she ever borrow your car?”

Althea’s head whipped up. “How did you know? She wanted my station wagon last month. She said she had to pick up something that wouldn’t fit in her trunk.” Althea turned away to greet the next person at the door. “Talk to you later.”

Maybe Nadia borrowed cars to haul things around or maybe that was just an excuse. Either way, it was odd behavior in the weeks, or possibly months, before her murder. The police should look into it.

Val put her salad and Monique’s eggs on the dining room table. She set the macaroons on a sideboard with other desserts.

Chatty motioned to her from the kitchen and tugged her out the back door. “I don’t want anyone listening. Did you see the article in this morning’s
Gazette
about the arson and murder? Wasn’t it great? That reporter was putty in my hands. He wrote exactly what I wanted him to.” Chatty grinned broadly enough to give herself the laugh lines she seldom permitted her face to display.

Val stared at her. “You told him all that stuff?”

Chatty’s eyes, outlined in black to match her lacy sheath, opened wide. “I planted disinformation to take the heat off Monique. The
Gazette
reporter who cornered me at the club Thursday night asked me to confirm that Nadia had an affair with the husband of a tennis teammate. Instead, I confused the issue. I said it wasn’t a husband, but a brother of a teammate, and it wasn’t an affair, but a fizzled romance. Then I needed to divert his attention with something even more sensational. That’s why I told him about the racket burning.”

Thereby drawing the reporter’s attention to the incident incriminating Monique, but Chatty didn’t know she’d done that. “And the part about the arson and murder being connected. Did you tell him that too?”

“The icing on the cake. You agreed that Bigby must have set the racket on fire.”

“I did not.” Val’s words came out louder than she intended. Two women looking at Althea’s flowers near the back fence turned toward her.

“Well, you didn’t disagree with it. You said he made a good suspect in the murder. I decided to smoke him out.”

“You’re the one who’s smoking something, if you think that Bigby—”

“Did you see him at church? He’s breaking down already. He’s afraid the police are on to him.” Chatty gestured toward the house. “Notice he’s not showing his face here. He’s probably at the station confessing right now.”

“I doubt it.” Val couldn’t convince Chatty of the harm she’d done without telling her that Monique had burned the racket. “Let’s go back inside.”

Chatty followed her. “You’re too pessimistic, Val. Wait and see how this plays out before you criticize. By the way, I saw the announcement about your grandfather. Who knew he was an expert cook?”

Not a soul. Val returned to the dining room as Luke arrived with a huge platter.

“Here comes more food.” Chatty made space on the table for Luke’s platter.

He set it down with a flourish and removed the plastic wrap. “There you go, ladies. Sandwich meat and cheese straight from the diner. The bread’s coming up.” He left the room, clutching a wad of clear plastic.

Chatty wrinkled her nose. “Hmm. I thought everything at the diner came from the fat vat or the greasy grill. Not that this stuff’s any more healthy.” Chatty’s citrus cologne fought a losing battle with the scent of garlicky smoked meat.

Val took a pickle from the edge of the meat platter. “Nadia ate there sometimes. She must have ordered a salad, nothing from the vat or the grill.”

“I wonder if vintage French fries still decorate the floor.”

“It was clean yesterday when I ate there. Sweeping is Jeremy Pritchard’s job, and he takes it seriously.”

Chatty popped an olive in her mouth. “Nadia was trying to coax that kid into getting a GED. That’s asking a lot of him. He’s great with mechanical things, but not reading and math.”

“People overcome learning difficulties. What’s the source of his problem?”

“Lack of oxygen during birth. That’s what I heard. He—” Chatty’s eyes widened as she glanced toward the living room on the other side of the hall. “Irene’s beaming daggers this way. She couldn’t have heard us talking about Jeremy. I wonder what’s eating her.”

“Those daggers have my name on them.” Val wanted to apologize to Irene for Granddad’s ruse, but as his accomplice and enabler, she couldn’t do it without feeling hypocritical. She’d better just stay out of Irene’s way. “I hope the memorial service didn’t upset Jeremy. He was there with Irene and Roger, but I don’t see him here.”

Luke bustled back into the dining room with plastic baskets of bread and rolls. “Jeremy’s at the restaurant helping with lunch. Should I tell him you were looking for him, Val?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll catch him some other time.”

“We’re shorthanded right now. I’ve got to get back there myself.”

As he left by the front door, Chatty headed to the living room. “I’ll let everyone know lunch is served and start herding them in here.”

Bethany joined Val and surveyed the table. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”

Val handed her a plate. “Dig in. Someone has to be first.”

“You take a plate too. I don’t want to be the only one eating.” Bethany piled her plate with ham rolls, salami slices, and pickles. “You know, I feel I’m finally at peace with Nadia. She did me a favor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Now that I have a different partner, I see what I missed. Yumiko and I are equals on the court. When I played with Nadia, she was always in charge. We were in a rut from playing together too long.” Bethany studied the vegetable platter. Skipping over the celery canoes, she culled a radish rose. She pointed at the cheese cubes and carrot sticks on Val’s plate. “That’s all you’re going to eat?”

“I’ll have some nibbles now and make a sandwich later. Is Bigby here?”

“He has to work this afternoon. Construction’s running late.”

A more plausible explanation for his absence than Chatty had given. “He looked really upset at the service.”

“Bigby’s got a gruff exterior, but he’s a softie inside. He gets very emotional at family reunions. Let’s see, what have I missed here?” Bethany mounded potato salad and Val’s avocado salad on her plate. She circled the dining table again. “I have to bulk up because I’m starting the cabbage soup diet tomorrow. It lasts seven days. People shed pounds like crazy on it.”

“I believe it. Eating cabbage in water for a week would kill my appetite.” Val took her plate into the living room.

The young real estate agent she’d met in Nadia’s office broke away from her colleagues. “Hey, Val. I was hoping I’d see you here.”

“Hey, Kimberly.”

“I wanted to thank you for the referral to Mrs. Z. She listed her house with me. In case you’re interested, her name ends in ‘a.’ You added an extra letter to it.”

Val might have mixed up some of the interior vowels, but not the consonant at the end. Maybe Nadia had made a mistake in her notes. “The last thing Mrs. Z needs is another letter in her name.”

Kimberly giggled. “I also tracked down the Wilsons, the couple Nadia saw in her office on Monday. They wanted to buy a big old house in town. I met with them this morning.”

“You have another new client then. Congratulations.”

“Nadia gave them some addresses, so they could like drive by and take a look. And guess what? One of those addresses was 175 Grace Street. Isn’t that where you live?”

“Yes.” Val drew out the syllable. “But I don’t know why Nadia would have given them my address. The house isn’t for sale.”

Kimberly looked stricken. “That’s too bad. The Wilsons told me Nadia tried to call you while they were in her office, to find out when you might sell, but you weren’t home. They decided to drive by anyway, and they loved your place.”

“Ah. That’s why Nadia called me Monday.” Nothing to do with the murder. Just real estate business as usual. Val felt as if one of the clouds hanging over her had floated away.

“If you change your mind about selling—”

“The house belongs to my grandfather. I’ll let you know if he decides to sell.”

Kimberly went into the dining room with her colleagues. Val set her plate on an end table.

Irene approached her, gripping a sweating glass of water or maybe gin on the rocks. She looked as if she might use it to give Val an ice-cold facial. “You lied to me about that contest.”

Val tensed, ready to duck liquid and verbal missiles. “I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know my grandfather entered it until the paper announced the result.”

“I don’t believe you. He knows nothing about cooking. He’s fronting for you.”

Val was glad to see most of the guests clustered in the dining room. The three women talking at the far end of the living room couldn’t overhear this conversation as long as she and Irene didn’t raise their voices. “Why would I do that?”

“What else are you lying about?” Irene spoke through teeth tight as a vise grip. “You were up to something at Nadia’s house the morning she was found dead. The police chief’s protecting you because he’s your grandfather’s buddy.”

Val stopped breathing, taken aback by the wild accusation. Two heartbeats later, she gulped air. Was Irene accusing her of destroying evidence or even of murder? “What are you suggest—?” She broke off as Irene marched away and joined the group of three women.

Val resisted the urge to follow Irene and demand an explanation, counting her blessings instead: no ice water on her face or clothes. She needed a moment to calm down. She went out the kitchen door and walked toward the back fence.

Irene had a lot of nerve to make accusations based on nothing. At least Val looked for a motive before viewing people as suspects. Only yesterday she’d toyed with the idea of Irene as the murderer, but without accusing her to her face. Maybe Irene believed in a good offense as the best defense.

Val smelled tobacco smoke. Irene’s husband, Roger, stood under a tree, puffing on a cigarette. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. If she didn’t talk to him now, she might not get another chance. She’d have to take the risk that he would lash out at her as Irene had.

“Hi, Roger. Sad day, isn’t it?”

The wiry man with thinning gray hair gave a single nod that she took as both a greeting and a response to her question.

Undaunted by carrying on a one-sided conversation, she forged ahead. “I talked to Jeremy yesterday. He’s really taking Nadia’s death hard.”

Roger exhaled smoke. “He would do most anything to please Nadia. It’s weighing on him that he couldn’t make her happy lately.” He took another puff on his cigarette.

Val hoped he’d say more once he exhaled, but he didn’t. “Nadia could be hard to please sometimes.”

“That’s the truth. She kept at Jeremy to get a better job. Why should he change jobs when he likes what he’s doing?” He looked at Val as if she could explain Nadia’s behavior.

“I don’t know.” It didn’t make sense that Nadia had pushed Jeremy into the diner job and then urged him to leave it. “Maybe she heard about a job with more prospects.”

“Change ain’t always good.” Roger dropped the butt of his cigarette and stepped on it. “I hope it’s good for your granddaddy. I wish him luck. Irene says he can’t cook. She thinks only women can, but I make a darn good barbecue myself.”

“Most famous chefs are men. I’ll tell my grandfather what you said.”

Roger ambled back to the house. Val followed a minute later, still unsure whether to trust his explanation of the disagreement between Nadia and Jeremy.

Once inside, she cornered Joe Westrin, Nadia’s ex.

He pumped her hand vigorously. “It’s good to see you, Val. Sorry I didn’t return your call, but things have been hectic. You wanted some information about Nadia for the club newsletter?”

“I don’t want to take up your time now. Any chance we can get together later?”

“I’ll be at our—I mean Nadia’s house to gather papers this afternoon. I’m her executor. You want to come by the house around three-thirty?”

“Um . . . okay.” Though she didn’t care to return to the place where she’d found Nadia dead, she’d rather not wait any longer to talk to Joe.