Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (18 page)

Nineteen

I came up with
a simple enough plan. On a budget of effectively zero and biceps so sore I could barely pick up a knife, I would somehow magically transform the canned goods, frozen foods, beverages, and discount decor I’d been stockpiling into a sum way more than their store-bought parts.

To say the day and a half I had to institute said plan went by in a frantic whirlwind would be something of an understatement. Mrs. Frugalicious, however, found the challenge exhilarating. From the second Frank fired the text equivalent of the starting gun to the twenty-one-minute mad dash at the end to get glam before the first guests arrived, I was in constant motion checking off items from a mental spreadsheet I didn’t even have time to commit to paper.

Boys:

1. Drive to and pick up from practice.
   (FJ in comfy new cleats.) Check.
   
2. Feed dinner.
   Check
   
3. Instruct on party set up, clean up, and being caterer’s >assistants.
   Check
   .
   
4. Reiterate instructions.
   Check.
   

Theme:

Any concerns I had about my party decorations being an homage to whatever was in the storage closet were allayed the instant I opened the back yard shed and spotted an array of white enamel outdoor pots I’d bought pre-Ponzi and decided to put to a potentially charming new use as part of a garden theme.

1. Small pots as silverware servers.
   
2. Floating candles surrounded by flower petals in white accent bowls on side tables.
   
3. Oversized planters as coolers for soft drinks, beer, and wine.
   
4. Oblong pots as centerpieces.
   

While I got the boys to work unloading and washing the various planters, I went online for clever ways to fill them as well as feed and water my guests. From there I had the boys set up the back patio while I moved on to transform the raw (and entirely processed) materials covering every available kitchen counter.

Food:

1. Coconut shrimp with mango salsa
   
2. Fruit skewers
   
3. Crackers and assorted cheese
   
4. Chili lime wings with homemade ranch dipping sauce
   
5. Tortilla chips with black-bean goat cheese dip
   

By midnight the day before the party, the back yard was spiffy and I had a few culinary concoctions in the works. I was waiting for a banana cake (using yellow cake mix, instant pudding, fresh bananas, and homemade chocolate sour cream frosting) to come out of the oven so I could crash for the few precious hours I’d relegated to sleep.

While I had a few spare minutes, I headed into my office to catch up on all things Frugalicious—and decompress if I hoped to get any sleep at all. Since my party spreadsheet was already half checked off and fully committed to memory, the best way I could think of to relax was to share a few budget-hostess-with-the-mostess pointers with the Frugarmy.

10 Tips for Party Time on a Dime!

Mrs. Frugalicious is throwing a very last-minute soiree to entertain and impress some unexpected bigwigs who are in town from Mr. F’s company!

Am I worried?

Definitely! I don’t have anywhere near the ideal prep time and I certainly can’t employ savings techniques like asking guests to bring a dish or (heavens!) BYOB. While I love entertaining, I now have less than 24 hours to put on an upscale, knock-their-socks off event on a shoestring budget, but here are some tried-and-true tips I’m following.

1. Set a budget: Determine a realistic bottom line and faithfully stick to it no matter what. Remember, impulse buys = budget busters.
   
2. Don’t mail invitations: Unless you’re having a black tie event, there’s no reason not to save on the cost of a printed card and postage by doing an e-invitation.
   
3. DIY decor: Shop party and craft stores, particularly right after a holiday, and stock up on centerpieces, candles, and so on for use next year or to retool any time during the year. For low-cost flowers, try wholesale clubs.
   
4. Keep it casual: The fancier you make your party, the more your guests will expect, from appetizers to alcohol.
   
5. Consider a theme: Not only can you easily hide underlying food short cuts, but you will up the fun in the process. Don’t forget to set the mood with music.
   
6. Serve a special cocktail: Create an inexpensive and tasty cocktail that fits the theme of your party and keep it flowing instead of offering a costly full bar.
   
7. Be inventive: If you want to offer a higher-end dish, consider serving it as an appetizer or a side. Better yet, upscale the basics. Burgers don’t cost a lot, but you can dress them up by setting out a few unexpected toppings, like bacon, gourmet cheeses, and sliced yellow tomatoes. A well-planned cookout in a beautiful setting can often be more memorable than a stuffy formal dinner.
   
8. No disposables: Even the least expensive paper plates, cups, and plastic cutlery quickly add up, lack style, and are an environmental no-no. Save by using your regular dinnerware, flatware, and glassware. An eclectic table can be stylish, so don’t be afraid to mix and match if you don’t have enough pieces in one set to serve all of your guests.
   
9. Don’t give in to temptation: Desserts like mini cupcakes from your local bakery are tempting but guaranteed to break the bank. Make sweets and treats yourself. Chances are they’ll taste even better than they look.
   
10. Have fun: The main thing to remember when planning any party is that details matter, but not the ones you might think. No one will remember your overpriced napkin rings, but if you make your guests feel comfortable and they have a great time, it won’t matter whether you spent $100 or $10,000.
    

Now you know everything I know! Do you have any great recipes or budget-busting entertaining tips to share? If so, PLEASE SEND THEM ASAP!!! I’ll let you know how they went over!

Vive la Party!
Mrs. Frugalicious.

To my delight, helpful comments began to pop up almost as soon as I pressed Post:

Sparkly Outdoor Lights! Get them right after Christmas but use them year round in the back yard. —
Margie M.

Citronella candles. Buy them in bulk and put them around the perimeter of your party. They’ll add ambiance and keep the bugs away. —
Nancy J.

I was about to power down the computer when I received an apropos but somewhat disquieting suggestion
:

Extra gourmet
frozen pizzas on hand? Heat them, cut them into small squares and doctor them up with fresh basil for a delightful appetizer that always gets raves from guests. Hope it helps. —
Wendy K.

My blog about distracted grocery shopping had been vague en-ough that if, by some chance, Wendy K. had been the woman behind me at the store and she had gone home and logged onto the blog, she wouldn’t have pegged me as Mrs. Frugalicious.

Even if she somehow had, I’d paid cash so no one had seen my credit card or ID.

Right?

My cake timer beeped in agreement.

I added
Clip fresh basil from garden
to my mental spreadsheet and went downstairs to get the cake out of the oven so I could get a few vital hours of beauty sleep.

Twenty

“We’d heard all along
you were blond and beautiful.” James Jarvis, Head of Reality Programming, tipped his lemonade mojito
30
in my direction. “But what a stunner of a hostess!”

“Thank you,” I said, appreciative of both the compliment and that Frank must have described me in such glowing terms. I was also hopeful the reflection off the colored paper lanterns I’d interspersed between the sparkly lights
31
masked the heat creeping into my cheeks.

Frank slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Martha Stewart has nothing on my girl.”

Any lingering thoughts I may have been harboring about Stasia being his
other
girl all but faded with Anastasia Chastain’s unconcerned, I’m-not-sleeping-with-your-husband smile, nod of agreement, and her toast: “To a lovely party!”

She’d been so enthusiastic and helpful since the moment she’d arrived, pitching in on everything from bringing out food to serving cocktails, that I couldn’t muster enough disdain for her to even be put off by her overly sweet perfume. In fact, as she stepped away to answer her cell phone, her lingering scent seemed to add to the candle, herb, and flower-infused air.

“Too bad the market’s saturated with homemaking programming, or we’d be looking at giving her a show instead of you!” Michael Perkins, Head of Financial Programming, gave Frank a friendly pat on the back and added a slider to his plate (which I doubted Martha, Rachael, or any of the other high-end domestic divas would have considered buying from the reduced-for-quick-sale section, promptly freezing, thawing, and then transforming via the magic of marinade from ground chuck into My Fair Burger).

Not that I could
say
anything about it, but I was certain a show devoted to the discount culinary soiree I’d managed to throw together was virgin TV territory.

I pictured a Frankenstein-esque combination of Giada De Laurentiis and Clark Howard strutting onto a set not unlike the command center my kitchen had become. In an accent a lá Heidi Klum, she/he would announce, “Welcome. Our contestant, Maddie Michaels, had thirty-one hours to create a patio party worthy of a magazine spread using only the canned goods, frozen foods, and discount decorations she’s been stockpiling.”

The camera would pan the doubting expressions on the faces of the studio audience and settle on Giada/Clark/Heidi’s bemused smile. “Let’s see what the judges have to say about her resourcefulness, grace, and style under pressure.”

Back in the real world, James Jarvis helped himself to an appetizer-sized square of four-cheese pizza doctored up with chopped red peppers and fresh basil. “Delicious!”

Reality was far surpassing any fantasy I could cook up.

“Pot sticker?” Trent, who looked every bit the genuine caterer’s assistant in a white polo shirt and khakis, worked his way over holding a platter of frozen dumplings, which I’d stir-fried and drizzled with dipping sauce.

“Your boys are wonderful,” a production assistant said after Trent and FJ, who joined him to offer up coconut shrimp, headed toward the group admiring the goodies on the dessert table.

“So is this centerpiece!” Helen from Editing grabbed a carrot by the stem from the oblong planter I’d filled with crudités in neat, upright rows like a mini-garden.

One of the producers picked up a rolled green napkin tied with raffia. “Such lovely touches.”

“So sweet of you to notice.” I smiled, floating on a cloud of compliments. My hostess high might have lasted all night had she not added another sentence.

“I can’t believe it was just yesterday morning Anastasia came up with the idea for this party.”

Anastasia
?

Before I could utter her name aloud, the doorbell rang.

I glanced over at Frank. Standing beside the appetizer table, mojito in hand, he was nodding along with whatever it was the network execs were saying. His eyes and attention, however, were on Anastasia, who had her phone to her ear at the opposite side of the patio.

“Excuse me,” I said instead. “I should probably get that.”

Detective McClarkey looked past me and into the foyer. “Nice pad.”

My stomach roiled as I reached behind me for the doorknob. “Thanks.”

“Not going to invite me in?”

I swear I could hear Anastasia’s giggle coming from the back yard. The last thing I needed was for either of them or, heaven forbid, James Jarvis or Michael Perkins to notice a police officer at the door, even one of the plainclothes variety (even I could see the telltale holster bump on the left side of his sport coat). “I would. Absolutely. Thing is, the timing isn’t … we’re having a party for my husband’s staff and some out of town industry executives right now.”

“I have a few questions,” he said by way of response.

“Of course,” I said, feeling like throwing up the lone chili lime wing I’d managed to consume since the party started. Why hadn’t I thought to ask him to use discretion if and when he needed follow-up information from me? “But is there any chance I could come down to the station later? Ideally tomorrow, maybe late afternoon, once our guests leave for the airport?”

“There’ve been new developments in the DeSimone case.”

My fight-or-flight instinct gave way to enough curiosity to look over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking for me and step outside to join him. “As in?”

He pulled out a mini tape recorder and pushed play. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” I said.

“I am speaking once again with Maddie Michaels. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” I felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, somehow watching myself on the front porch conferring with the police while my husband did the same with his probable mistress and future bosses in the back.

“You provided us with chocolates you said you’d received from Eternally 21 and had been carrying around in your purse since Friday?”

“Yes.” Little as I wanted to have such an ill-timed conversation, at least my hunch must have been on target. “Given your question, I’m assuming you’ve found the source of the Ephedra?”

“We don’t plan to release any specifics.” He peered into the leaded class windows surrounding my front door. “Particularly to the media.”

“I won’t breathe a word,” I said. “The chocolates, I presume?”

“Those results are due in on Monday.”

“So, not the chocolates?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Even though a professional investigator wouldn’t have jumped to such a hasty conclusion in the first place, I couldn’t quite process what I was hearing. “Where was the poison found, then?”

“In her beverage,” Detective McClarkey said.

“In her beverage, as in the drink on the counter at Eternally 21, the one she dropped as she collapsed?”

He nodded. “Samples from the floor and her cup all tested positive for Ephedra.”

I resisted the urge to sigh. “I was so sure it would be the candy.”

“You’d better hope it isn’t,” he said. “Because neither Richard nor his wife, Claudia, were anywhere near the mall that day.”

“So they’re a dead end?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Then why would I hope you don’t find anything in the chocolates?”

“An argument could be made that the poison was planted as subterfuge.”

“Subterfuge?”

Detective McClarkey raised a bushy eyebrow. “By someone who was once again trying to deflect what she’d done, maybe in the heat of anger, onto more likely suspects?”

The sound of mingling voices and party music couldn’t deafen the growing noise in my head. “You aren’t implying that I …”

The side gate clicked open and we both fell silent as two interns and a young man from the camera crew emerged from inside. The question in their faces was suddenly the least of my worries. I waved, my heart thundering so loud I was sure they could hear it as they made their way down the driveway.

“With all due respect,” I said as soon as all three were out of earshot. “If the Ephedra was found in Laila’s drink, shouldn’t you be focused on people who had access to her beverage?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss other possible persons of interest,” he said. “Particularly with my primary suspect.”

Primary
suspect?

“Detective,” I finally managed to muster, “I realize I was at Eternally 21 before and after Laila’s collapse and you wouldn’t be doing your job if you didn’t rule me out, but you can’t possibly think I had anything to do with her—”

There was no uttering the word
murder.

“Evidence is starting to pile up that indicates otherwise.”

My entire body went weak. “Evidence?”

He pulled out a note pad and flipped it open to the first page. “For starters, you had an altercation with Laila the morning she died.”

“It wasn’t a—she falsely accused me of shoplifting and had me dragged out of the store.”

“But not before you threatened her by saying,
you’ll pay for this
.”

“In the heat of the moment!”

“You did lodge a complaint online almost immediately, did you not?”

“On the advice of Tara Hu.” Beads of perspiration broke out at the nape of my neck. “Which I think we can both agree is a legitimate way of making someone pay.”

“If only you’d left it at that,” he said.

“I did leave it at that.”

“Did you not proceed down to the food court from there?”

“Yes,” I said, “I did.”

“And purchased a combo meal from the Asian food place?”

“Yes,” I said again.

“And poured some sort of capsule into the drink that came with the meal?”

“Oh my God,” I said, with the realization that the young woman who worked at the restaurant, or whoever it was who’d seen me, must have been as sure of my guilt as I had been about Richard and Claudia. “My Bye Bye Fat!”

“Bye Bye Fat?”

“It’s a metabolism booster my trainer has me take with every meal.”

“That you dump into your drink?”

“Or sprinkle on my food. I get it from Vitamin Ville where I guess customers are used to huge capsules, but I find them very hard to swallow.”

“I see,” he said.

“Someone must have seen me doing that and assumed … I’m utterly horrified.”

“So you purchased your lunch, poured this Bye Bye Fat into your drink and proceeded across the food court toward a table?” the detective continued.

“Where I planned to eat my lunch and consume my drink.”

“But crashed into Tara, who happened to be holding a tray full of food and drinks intended for Laila on the way?”

“We collided with each other,” I clarified, looking over my shoulder just to make sure no one had come into the front hall and possibly overheard. “And everything went everywhere.”

“So there was one drink on your tray and two on Tara’s before the collision,” he said. “Two of which ended up on the ground?”

“Our trays hit and pretty much everything went flying except Laila’s drink, which Andy Oliver managed to save mid-air.”

“And your diet soda that hit the pavement?”

“Yes, along with Andy’s Sprite.”

“You sure about that?”

“You think she got my drink instead?”

“We know for a fact she drank something a heck of a lot more lethal than diet soda,” Detective McClarkey said. “Given the fact you were seen spiking what was supposed to be your drink, one has to wonder if perhaps you crashed into Tara and, in the midst of the confusion, somehow orchestrated a switch.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “How could I have known that drink was even
for
Laila?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.”

I tried to think back to the moment Andy had grabbed that drink. I’d assumed it was Laila’s, but could it have been mine? “Detective, even if she did somehow get my drink, Bye Bye Fat is completely—”

“Maddie, why did you return to the mall the day after Laila died?”

“To get my ID.”

“And why did you stop by the police station?”

I shook my head thinking of how I’d rushed over to let Detective McClarkey know why Laila’s death might not have been a murder at all. “Clearly, I shouldn’t have.”

“After which you went right back to the mall.”

“Griff Watson, the security guard, asked me to. We planned to make a spreadsheet for you of everything we’d observed the morning of Laila’s murder.”

“I can’t say I ever saw such a document.”

“Griff was called off to investigate the pet store break-in before I got there,” I rasped through a throat so constricted I felt like it might close. “Since the news was just breaking that Laila’s death was being classified a murder, I thought I’d stick around the mall and see what evidence I could gather while I waited for him.”

“Using that listening device you picked up at Gadgeteria along the way?”

I had no choice but simply nod in agreement and dab the sweat dampening my forehead.

“And what did you hear?”

“A lot of people—including Tara, Hailey, Shoshanna, and a food court worker or two—saying they hated Laila enough to kill her.”

“Which I assume you taped?”

The ground under my feet felt like it was coming up to meet me. “Officer McClarkey, despite how the circumstantial evidence may appear, I absolutely, positively did not murder Laila DeSimone.”

“Maybe you didn’t set out to,” he said. “But you’d heard she was bulimic and anorexic and when you spotted Tara and Andy holding that tray, decided to pay her back for her unkindness by giving her a dose of your diet pills, knowing she might have a bad reaction.”

“All because she falsely accused me of shoplifting?”