Dead Man's Bones (30 page)

I went back to the shop, phoned the Adams County Hospital, and asked to speak to Helen Berger. When she came on the line, however, her tone was guarded and coolly professional.

“Yes, Miss Obermann passed away this morning.” From the sound of her voice, I knew that someone was with her. There was a pause, and then she continued: “Oh, yes—about your presentation to the Herb Guild next month. I’ll call you at home tonight to discuss it, shall I?”

I put down the phone and picked up the list of chores I’d planned for the morning, thinking that Helen didn’t need to discuss my presentation and wondering what she did want to talk about. Florence Obermann, probably. I thought again about the old lady. She had seemed childlike and sweet-natured, like her mother, perhaps—and yesterday, at least, had seemed reasonably well. I hoped that death had come quickly, without pain, and wondered what Jane would do without her sister to give orders to.

I thought, too, about Andy Obermann. If his was the skeleton in the cave, the identification answered one question. But it raised another, surely. Who had killed him, and why? Ruby’s speculation that it was a drug deal gone sour seemed like the best explanation. A drug dealer—somebody local, probably, somebody who knew about the cave—had agreed to meet him there. There’d been an argument, or maybe a simple robbery, and Andy had been shot.

But I had already given more hours than I could spare to the mystery of Brian’s caveman. I put it out of my mind and spent the afternoon getting caught up on the things I’d meant to do that morning. By the time I finished my list, it was nearly four-thirty, and there was no time to tackle the afternoon chores. Oh, well. The good thing about working for yourself is that you can always put things off. The bad thing about working for yourself is that you
always
put things off.

At four-twenty-five, Ruby came breezing in, carrying several sacks and looking happily empowered.

“Ah,” I said. “The Queen of the Mall. What’d you buy?”

She began pulling items out of the sacks. “You won’t believe, China. I got this blue batik top, blue-and-green pants, green sandals, blue beads—”

“It’s the underwater look. The latest fashion fad.”

Ruby took this seriously. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, fingering the silky batik fabric. “I have some mermaid earrings at home. They’ll be perfect!”

I grinned, then sobered. There was no easy way to break the news. “Ruby, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Florence Obermann is dead. She died this morning.”

Ruby dropped the sack, her eyes widening. “She . . . died?”

“Of a heart attack, Blackie said.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ruby said flatly. “She was . . . she was so lively yesterday!”

“But her sister said she had a bad heart. And even lively people die of heart attacks. You can be walking across the street and—”

But Ruby wasn’t listening. Her eyes had the faraway, unfocused look she gets when she’s listening to her Inner Guide. “There’s something wrong about this, China. I know it.”

“I’m sure you must be surprised,” I said, in a comforting tone. “You really liked Florence, didn’t you?”

“But I’m not surprised,” she said, looking at me. “That’s just it, China. Yesterday, when we were in the hospital, I sensed something. Something wrong, I mean. Between—”

But whatever Ruby was about to tell me was interrupted by a rap on the door. I opened it to Cassandra.

“Hi,” she said. She gestured to the CLOSED sign. “I didn’t realize today was your day off.”

“We don’t get days off,” I said ruefully. I glanced at Ruby, who was still standing there as if she were frozen, gazing off into space with a trancelike look.

“Ruby,” I said. “Cass’s here.”

“Hi, Ruby,” Cassandra said.

When Ruby didn’t move, I put my hand on her shoulder. “Cass’s here, Ruby,” I said, in a louder voice.

Ruby came back to life with a start. She blinked and shook her head. “Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about Florence. I didn’t hear you come in, Cass.”

Cassandra looked from one of us to the other, frowning a little. “Have I come at a bad time?”

“Ruby and I were talking about Florence Obermann,” I said. “She died this morning, of a heart attack.”

“Oh, gosh,” Cassandra said, with a distressed look. “That’s too bad. She never said much, and she was always in the shadow of that sister of hers. But I liked her.”

“We all did,” I said. “Let’s go in the tearoom and sit down, so we can talk around a table.”

Five minutes later, we were seated in the tearoom with glasses of iced tea and a plate of lavender cookies. The light fell across our table, and I noticed that Ruby still looked sad and distracted.

Cassandra, on the other hand, was brimming with her characteristic energy and cheerfulness. She was wearing a beige linen jacket with a shawl collar and matching linen pants, a red shell and multicolored African beads, and managed to look both businesslike and smartly casual at the same time. When she began to talk, her words were charged with concentrated energy. In a few short moments, she summed up what she had come to discuss.

After giving the matter a great deal of thought, she had decided to leave her food service management position at CTSU. She had some money she wanted to invest in a business, and she admired what Ruby and I were doing. Ruby had mentioned that Janet wanted to work part-time, and she thought there might be an opportunity for her. She proposed buying in as a working partner in the tearoom and catering businesses.

What’s more, she had an idea for a new companion enterprise that would be called the Thymely Gourmet. “You can see how it fits with Party Thyme Catering,” she added. As a personal chef, she would go into people’s homes and cook healthy gourmet dinners, personally designed for the client’s tastes and dietary needs. She would package the meals and leave them in the freezer for later consumption. She would—

“Hang on a minute,” I said, raising my hand. “The personal chef business seems like a great idea, Cass. It’s something you could easily do on your own. Why do you want to buy into the tearoom and the catering, as well?”

“Because, starting from scratch, it will take at least a year to build the personal chef business to the point where it’s a break-even proposition,” she replied. “But you already have a client list for your catering—which would also be a strong target market for personal culinary services.” She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “But also because I like to cook for people—cook creatively, I mean.” She grinned and spread her hands. “And then there’s you.”

Ruby glanced at me. “Us?”

Cassandra nodded. “Well, sure. That’s a big part of it, maybe the most important thing. I admire you, both of you. You’re smart and you’re focused. You’re working for yourselves, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. You’re living your dream. And you always seem to have so much fun together—for you, work is more like play.”

“Well, it might look like that,” I pointed out, being realistic. “But it doesn’t always feel like play. Mostly, it feels like work—good work, but work just the same. And it doesn’t pay as much as . . . well, lawyering, for instance. Or managing an institutional food service.”

“Oh, I know,” she said. “But it does look like fun, at least from the outside. And money . . . well, let’s just say that it isn’t a big issue with me right now.” Her voice took on a wistful note. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I know I would enjoy working with you. If three wouldn’t be a crowd, that is.”

Ruby smiled at her. “I don’t think that’s an issue,” she said. “In some ways, having a third person—a third committed person, I mean—would be a big help. But she would have to be the right person.”

“Forgive me for saying so,” Cassandra said, “but I think I’m the right person.” She hesitated. “Maybe I sound like a pushy broad—that’s what my husband used to say, anyway. But I believe in being up-front about what I want.”

I studied her. I’m cautious by nature, and I wasn’t sure about taking Cassandra on as a partner. That’s a pretty big step—every bit as big a step as getting married. And in some ways, it’s easier to get a divorce than it is to get out of a partnership that isn’t working.

“I don’t know how Ruby feels about it,” I said guardedly, “but I think I’d want us to work together for a while before we jumped into something as major as a partnership. Maybe we could come up with some sort of trial arrangement that would give us a chance to see what kind of a team we’d make. That way, we can keep all our options open.”

Ruby leaned forward. “Would you be available for cooking in the tearoom when Janet’s not here, Cass? We could work it out so that you’d have some days free to develop the personal chef business.”

“Of course,” Cassandra said promptly. She reached for her briefcase, opened it, and took out two manila folders. “I’ve put together some materials for you to review. My résumé is here, and a business proposal detailing my ideas for the Thymely Gourmet and for participating as a partner. You’ll also find my investment proposal in the package. But if you’re more comfortable taking me on as an employee or a contract person, I’m certainly willing to discuss that option.”

“Spoken like a true negotiator,” I said with a laugh. I had to admire her style. Be clear about what you want, but be willing to dicker over the details.

Cassandra pushed back her chair. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of questions. I do, too, actually. Maybe you could read what I’ve given you, and we can get together again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Ruby said. She seemed more cheerful, as if Cassandra’s enthusiasm had lifted her spirits. I felt better, too, knowing that we had an alternative to Janet. We agreed to another meeting, and Cassandra said good-bye and went on her way.

“My goodness,” I said, feeling a little stunned. “Talk about perfect timing. If Janet’s knees give out completely, Cassandra might just be the answer.” I frowned. “But I don’t know about a partnership. That seems like a big step, especially when we don’t know her very well.”

“How about if we sit down together and read her stuff and talk it over,” Ruby suggested.

“How about tonight, then? McQuaid’s teaching, and he won’t be home until late. You could have supper with Brian and me.” I grinned. “Lacking a personal chef, we’re having pizza.”

“How about if I come over after supper?” Ruby asked. “I’ve got some errands to do. I meant to take care of them this afternoon, but I figured that shopping should come first.”

“There’s no arguing with that,” I said.

 
ON the way home, I stopped at Gino’s Italian Pizza Kitchen and got a pizza large enough to feed Brian and me, and then went to Jake’s house to pick up Brian. The sky was gloomy, and the line of low, dark clouds in the northwest seemed to promise another storm.

“Hey, pizza!” Brian said happily, as he jumped into the car. He’d eat it every night of the week, of course, if we’d let him. But he had other things on his mind.

“Did I tell you about the Halloween dance Friday night?” he went on. “Jake and I need a ride, and her folks are going to a party. I said you’d be glad to take us.” He gave me an earnest look. “You will, won’t you?”

“I’m sure we can manage,” I said, which to my mind committed McQuaid equally. “Especially if you’ll guarantee to mow the grass on Saturday morning.” More Mom-speak.

I didn’t mention the lizard until after we got home. Then I went to the freezer, took it out, and put the frozen corpse on the table. “I found this little guy in my bathroom Friday night,” I said. “He was dead.”

Howard Cosell padded into the kitchen to ask about the progress of his dinner. He saw the lizard on the table, and his melancholy expression became even more melancholy than usual.

Brian picked up the lizard and looked at him sadly. “Aw,” he said. “Too bad. Leopold was a good lizard.”

“He might not have died if he’d stayed where he belonged, in his terrarium,” I remarked, as I got out the dog food and put it in a bowl.

Brian considered this. “Well, I don’t know. Leopold was a pretty old lizard. I’ve had him since . . .” He thought. “Since sixth grade. And he could have been a couple of years old when I got him. He probably died of old age.”

“How do you know it’s Leopold?” I asked. I put Howard’s dinner on the floor and got out the cling wrap that we usually use as a shroud on such occasions. Brian and I have buried more frogs and snakes and lizards than I care to count.

“From his foot,” he said, holding Leopold up. “See? One of his toes is gone. Leonard and Lewis have all their toes, and Lewis has an extra one. So this has got to be Leopold.” He sighed as he wrapped Leopold in his shroud. “Guess we better have a funeral after supper, huh?”

Howard was sitting on his haunches, ignoring his dog food and casting meaningful looks in the direction of the pizza. “Absolutely not, Howard,” I said sternly. “Don’t forget those four pounds.”

Howard heaved a resigned sigh, arranged his long ears on either side of his dish, and inhaled his dog food.

With Leopold’s funeral arrangements under control, Brian and I ate our pizza and talked. He’d been away for the weekend, and I wanted to hear about his camping trip. He told me about his various adventures; he’d seen the tracks of a mountain lion, had gone swimming in the Frio River, and had slept out under the stars and listened to the coyotes singing to the full moon. The sorts of things that a Texas boy ought to be doing.

When he was finished, I told him, as matter-of-factly as I could, about Alana Montoya’s conclusion that his caveman had been the victim of a shooting. I wanted him to hear it from me, rather than pick it up from someone else. I didn’t, however, tell him that the skeleton might have been identified. That was still speculative and couldn’t be confirmed until Max Baumeister came up with those X rays.

“He was shot!” Brian’s eyes got big, and he puffed out his cheeks. “Wow! Gosh, Mom, I never expected
that
!”