Death of a Batty Genius (Stormy Day Mystery #3) (13 page)

Della looked up from the pool table, where she’d been racking up balls, and tossed her dark hair over one bare shoulder. “I’ve never played a cave before, but I’ll do my best. I take requests, so start making a list of your favorites from the seventies, eighties, and today!” She laughed at herself. “Sorry, did that last part sound like a speech? I’ve only said it a million times.”

Marie gave her a tight-lipped acknowledgment, then turned and left the recreation room. As I chased Marie down the hallway, I heard her muttering, “Of course Della will turn out to be the big star, with her big bobblehead and her big eyes, and her big… empty brain. That’s exactly who the public wants to see on their TV while they eat their microwaved food.”

I caught up with her and listened to some more muttering about bobbleheads before she went quiet.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” I said. “When I was working for Fairchild Capital, I guided a lot of people through their business startups. Sometimes it helps to talk.”

“I talk to my friends.”

“Those jokers? Franco and Dion didn’t exactly come to your aid when you started arguing with Butch. And your friend Benji seems to have his hands full already.”

Marie shot me a bewildered look, her puffy eyes tiny behind her thick glasses. “The guys are not the best, but they’re all I have.”

“You’ve got me and Jessica for the next few days.”

We entered the kitchen, where Marie immediately relaxed, back in her domain. The handmade chocolates were still in their cooling trays, waiting for finishing touches. She set out clean plates and showed me how to pipe the fillings in and seal the two sides.

In addition to the chocolates with soft fillings, Marie had also prepared several with whole nuts, sugared citrus peels, and delicate sprigs of mint on top.

She told me I had to taste what I was working with, in order to do the job right, so I obliged, tasting everything from creamy fruit fillings to more exotic blends of nuts and hot chilies.

While we worked, I asked her what it had been like to have her own TV cooking show.

She brightened up as she described how she’d been discovered while working at a hotel, and been given the opportunity of a lifetime. Creating a show concept and getting the pilot filmed hadn’t been easy, but the process sounded fascinating.

She said, “I could tell you about the early mornings and long days, sore feet and wardrobe problems, or all the back-stabbing politics at the network, but I won’t. I can’t complain. The truth is, being on that show was magical. Every day was an adventure, and oh, the creativity!”

“Coming up with all of those recipes and themes must have been tough.”

“Not really, because once I started being creative, it was almost like a muscle, and every day I got even more ideas—more than enough for ten shows. The best part was, I had an incredible support staff. They could turn my wildest dreams into reality. If I asked them for the best baking apples, they’d bring in a hundred varieties and run tests to find the perfect taste and texture.” She glanced around the empty kitchen, as though she was nervous about telling me a secret. “Most people will swear the Granny Smith is the one and only apple for pies, but my special trick is to blend two varieties, for tart flavor plus sweetness. I like Honeycrisp and Pink Lady.”

“That’s a good tip. I’ll have to tell Jessica.”

The kitchen doors swung open and Jessica walked in. The timing was so perfect, Marie and I both started laughing.

Jessica said, “I see the real party is in the kitchen.”

“We were just talking about Marie’s TV show.”

“Your show was adorable,” Jessica said. “I loved those segments on how to modify pre-made foods, especially the one about using store-bought puff pastry to make pizza popovers.”

Marie’s happy expression fell into sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes. “That wasn’t my show. That was Mia Del Rosso, and her Italian Country Kitchen.”

Jessica’s pale face reddened. She looked to me for guidance.

I quickly said, “Jessica, you must be confused. Mia Del Rosso is literally unwatchable. She has that annoying voice. The worst personality. Terrible show.”

Marie sniffed. “She really is the worst.”

I agreed, “If I turn on the TV and it’s her big bobblehead, I click it right off.” I didn’t dare say much more, given the fact I’d never heard the woman’s name before, much less seen her show.

Marie laughed through her tears. “Franco hates Mia Del Rosso’s voice. Sometimes we watch her newest show at the same time and send each other text messages about how horrible she is.”

Rather than commenting on what a strange activity that was for a grown man, or how perhaps it wasn’t healthy to keep watching a show they both hated, I simply said, “Franco is a good friend.”

With the chocolates loaded up on the trolley, we wheeled our way into the recreation room.

The karaoke system was fully operational, and Della’s voice filled the space. The gray-brown walls were covered in fabric-like acoustic tiles, not wallpaper, so the sound quality was excellent, considering we were inside a cave.

Jessica was right about Della being entertaining. She took requests, and worked up the small crowd with her soulful renditions of classics, plus some new songs that were popular on the radio. Her visual show was as captivating as her audio, thanks to her very short dress and her jiggling dance moves.

The men seemed captive to her charms, except her brother, who nodded along, listening with his back turned to her. He claimed he was a better voice coach that way.

Della finished her song. “Thank you so much,” she said into the microphone. “But tonight isn’t just about me. It’s about this beautiful mountaintop retreat, where all of us are stars. Please give a warm welcome to our next act, the dreamy and steamy Christopher Fairchild, who will be singing a duet with his dear friend, the brilliant and charming Stormy Day.”

Everyone cheered. I shook my head at Christopher, but got up on the little stage and took the second microphone.

He grinned. “Once more for old times?”

“We’re on stage now,” I said. “We might as well put on a show.”

The music started, and we sang the mid-eighties Bryan Adams classic, “Summer of '69.” We’d sung it together many times before—any time we happened to be somewhere with karaoke, or whenever it played on the radio. We fell into harmony easily—not perfectly, but the audience didn’t hold back their cheers, and sounded much bigger than seven people.

When we finished and stepped off the stage, we discovered the crowd was down to six, because Butch had curled up on a sofa at the edge of the room and was fast asleep.

Jessica said to Marie, “He must have been exhausted. It’s so loud in here.”

Marie said, “Whatever you do, don’t wake him. My husband has very unusual sleep habits. We actually met at a sleep laboratory. I was there for treatment of my insomnia, and he had… well, he’s just a bit odd. Leave him on the couch. Trust me.”

Della had taken the stage again. She called on Jessica to come up and help her sing the Motown classic, “Please Mr. Postman.”

Christopher took a seat next to me, and during the girls’ cheeky rendition of “You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me,” he asked if I was having fun yet.

I had to admit I was having the time of my life.

Chapter 14
 

It was nearly
nine o’clock when I excused myself from the karaoke party and Marie’s never-ending parade of exotic, mouth-watering chocolates.

The night was still young, but something about having eaten my weight in sweets made me crave a soft bed and privacy, where I could change into stretchy pants and check my digital messages.

Back in my room, I found Jeffrey sitting on a chair, staring at the door as though he’d been expecting me.

I gave him some attention, but he was more interested in sniffing the contents of my purse than getting petted and hearing about my evening.

“You can thank Cousin Butch for this T-bone,” I said as I served up the small morsels.

While he ate, I changed into some comfy loungewear—a striped shirt and dark gray pants that didn’t show gray cat fur—then cracked open the patio door for some fresh air.

I settled on the bed and closed my eyes, just for a moment.

Jessica gently shook me awake.

“Stormy, you can have my bed if you prefer, but we should probably wash your makeup off.”

“Good idea,” I said as I peeled myself off Jessica’s bed. She knew how much trouble my combination skin gave me if I didn’t do my end-of-day cleanse.

When I came out of the washroom a few minutes later, she was pulling her emerald-green bathing suit from her suitcase. It was one of the few items of clothing she had that wasn’t pink. She’d chosen green because pink on a swimsuit made her feel naked, even with the brighter shades.

“There’s a pool?” I asked. “Or a hot tub? I must have missed that on the tour.”

“No, but some of us are going to try out those new sensory deprivation tanks. Not right this minute, because Della wants to try a few new songs, but things are winding down.”

“Shouldn’t you just go to bed? Oh, never mind. It’s not that late after all.” According to the room’s digital alarm clock—cleverly disguised as a sleek wooden box, with the numbers glowing through a thin wood veneer—it was barely half past nine.

My knockout nap had been a short one, but I felt invigorated, possibly due to the second wave of the chocolates kicking in.

“You should come try the float tanks,” she said. “There are only three of them, but you can share mine, and we can take turns.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself to stay conscious. I would sure hate to wake up drowned,” I joked.

“Waking up drowned does ruin one’s day,” she said with a smile.

She gathered up a couple of towels, then rubbed her forearms and looked through the glass doors, at the darkness of the valley. The room was breezy from the narrow opening at the door.

She said, “Did you let Jeffrey out? We should call him in before the local animals get his scent.”

I’d only had the door open wide enough for fresh air—or so I thought. Jeffrey was nowhere to be seen.

“That little stinker squeezed out?” I ran to the glass door and slid it open wider. I leaned out, looking for tracks in the nearby snow. I didn’t see any paw prints, but I did feel something furry brush my leg as Mr. Seize The Opportunity shot past me and into the darkness. He hadn’t been outside before, but he was now.

I quickly pulled on a jacket and boots while explaining to Jessica that, in my caution, I’d actually set the cat loose.

She reached for her pink jacket. “I’ll help you catch him. If he’s up a tree, you know I’m the woman for the job.”

“I can handle this one. You go and have a good float in those funky tanks. I want a full report when you’re done. Don’t wait for me, because I would probably get in the water and cramp up from all those chocolates Marie forced on me.”

She arched her red eyebrows. “All those chocolates she
forced on you
?”

“Also, I didn’t bring a swimsuit, and this isn’t a nudist resort.”