Murder With Ganache: A Key West Food Critic Mystery (15 page)

But much as I might wish to, I couldn’t ignore the fact that my other set of parents was keeping a heartbreaking vigil. So I dislodged the cat and returned to the kitchen. I packed up double servings of spinach pie, salad, and dessert, and then sputtered off on my scooter to the hospital.

Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s certainly not as thick as ketchup. Nor does it go as well with French fries.

—Jarod Kintz

I texted my father from the hospital parking lot and suggested he meet me in the waiting room to get the food I’d brought over.

“You’re an angel,” he said when I handed him the package.

Each time I saw him this week, he looked a little older—more tired and sad. “Mom and I cooked for Ray’s party,” I told him. “I promise she didn’t put any extra special ingredients in for you.”

He finally smiled. “She’s an excellent cook, your mother. I’m glad you inherited that. I was dubious when you moved down here, but this new life seems to really suit you.”

I grinned back. Dubious was hardly the word for the full-scale fit he’d pitched when I said I was following Chad Lutz to Key West. If I’d been counting on him to bankroll the move, it wouldn’t have happened. But then it wouldn’t have been my adventure either. My mistakes. My rewards.

He opened the plastic containers and settled down on the couch. I told him a little about the evening and the party while he ate. “The gallery opening was a huge success. On the downside, Connie’s canceled the wedding. She’s holed up in her houseboat and won’t talk to any of us. Of course Ray and his poor parents are devastated.”

My father nearly spit out the food he was chewing. “Good god, what happened?”

“Best I can tell, Ray and Keith had a fight and Ray threw him out. Ray tried to talk with her—explain what happened. But she didn’t want to hear his side of the story. You spent time with Keith at the shower last night, what did you think of him?”

Dad set the dinner on the coffee table. “He was okay. I can’t in good conscience blame a guy for wanting a divorce.” He grimaced. “But it’s especially painful when one spouse is finished with the marriage and the other isn’t. And it was unfortunate when Connie’s mother got so sick right after—it made him look like a loser.” He rubbed his chin. “All that said, he seemed genuinely glad to be invited to the wedding.”

“He did step on your toes a little, repeating the toast.”

My father shrugged. “She’s his daughter, and that’s what matters. He didn’t hurt my feelings. I hope they can work it out and get on with the wedding.”

“You have more important things on your mind,” I said. “Nothing new with Rory?”

He shook his head. “He’s holding steady; that’s pretty much all they’ll say. And nothing from the cops either.”

I didn’t dare tell him about how the kids at Project Lighthouse had fingered Rory. There had to be another explanation for Mariah’s death. “Tell me again about traveling down here yesterday—did he mention knowing anyone? Or wanting to see anything in particular?”

“Your cop friend already took me through all this,” Dad said, scowling again.

“Yes, but if I know you, you were thinking of how much you’d like to wring his neck for acting so aggressive with Allison. And wondering if it was just the two of you, mano a mano, whether you could take him. Which, by the way, I don’t recommend. They all work out like testosterone-crazed fiends at the police department. They have to pass a regular physical fitness test—even the older guys are chiseled.”

My father laughed—it was good to see him relax, if only for a minute. “You do know me.”

We began to review yesterday’s events again, marveling that it had been only twenty-four hours since they’d arrived on the island—the longest day
ever.
It felt like a lifetime.

“Start with the guy he met on the plane. What did he look like? Did you overhear any of the conversation?”

“Honestly, I didn’t notice. I was so irritated with him. He got off the plane babbling something about money and jewels. And then started right in pestering Allison about going off on his own. Which wasn’t going to happen if I had anything to say about it.” His lips puckered as though he’d taken a bite of sour fruit, rather than chocolate strawberry pie.

I pressed my fingers to my cheekbones, where a headache had been building all day. He wasn’t coming right out and saying that my convincing them to let Rory explore Duval Street without an adult in tow had led to this nightmare, but the intimation hung in the air between us. I had to shake that off if we were going to work on this together.

“Let’s try going back even further. When did you and Allison decide that Rory was coming with you?”

Dad sighed, tugged on one ear. “I believe Allison mentioned it to him months ago. But you can imagine what it’s like trying to get a fifteen-year-old to commit to a family vacation. And his father wasn’t so keen on it anyway.”

I hesitated, deciding not to pursue Rutherford’s opinions. “So what changed?”

“Maybe a week ago, Allison said he started asking questions about where we were going and when. I told her it was too late to add him into the mix. She kind of agreed. But he lobbied pretty hard. And at the last minute Rutherford caved in too—Rory’s prep school is on spring break. Probably the idea of spending a vacation week hanging out with an angry adolescent began to look less appealing.” He wrinkled his nose and folded up the foil that had covered his slice of pie. “Even if he does consider himself to be Superparent.”

I tapped a finger to my lips. “So it’s possible that Rory just wanted to get away from New Jersey—most people would feel that way in March after the winter you’ve had. But what if he actually knew someone down here? We’ve been assuming he didn’t, but what if we’re wrong?”

“Like a girl,” he said flatly.

“Maybe.”

“That would explain some things,” my father said. “Such as his sudden interest in a family vacation. And maybe even why he’d do something crazy like steal a Jet Ski. I wish I had my computer with me. We could search for missing kids in New Jersey.”

I held up my smartphone. “This will do it.” I went to my Google app, typed in
Mariah+missing+teenager+ Princeton+New Jersey
, and hit
search
. A page of links filled the screen, including one to a story about Mariah Mathers, a runaway from Princeton, New Jersey, whose photograph resembled the girl I’d seen floating in the channel earlier today. Only in the picture she was smiling and wore her hair in a flowing mass of curls. She had pink cheeks and glossy lips and little diamond earrings.

“Oh my god,” I said. “He did know her.”

My father dropped his head into his hands. “This gets worse and worse. We’ll need to tell the cops.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, thinking of Sam’s warning: A person should not count on a cop taking his side.

“It will only look worse for Rory if they find out we’ve held something important back.”

“Would you like me to call them?”

“I’ll take care of it.” He pulled out his own phone, dialed Bransford’s number, and left a message when he didn’t get an answer. “I’m with my daughter, Hayley, at the hospital,” he said. “It’s about the girl, Mariah. My son may have been acquainted with her in New Jersey.” Then he left his phone number and hung up. “How the hell do they expect to solve a case if they don’t answer their phones?”

“He’s married,” I explained, a non sequitur if I’d ever blurted one out. “I mean he’s probably out to dinner with his wife. I’m sure he’ll get back to you.”

Dad narrowed his eyes, his gaze boring into me like it used to when I was Rory’s age and dodging his suspicions like a seasoned pro. “Don’t tell me you went out with this guy, too.”

I stopped myself from admitting that we’d dated a few times until Trudy Bransford moved back to the island to puff on the embers of their relationship. Too much information. Way too much for my father. He was having enough trouble wrapping his mind around the Chad Lutz phenomenon.

“We’re sort of friends,” I said, forcing myself to look right back at him like the old days too.

“I should go in,” he said with a heavy sigh, ducking his head toward the ICU.

Now it struck me hard that he looked awful—pale and sad, and to put it bluntly though perhaps a little unkindly, greasy.

“Would you consider going back to the hotel for a nap?” I asked. “I’d be glad to stay here with Allison—for an hour or two, whatever you need.” She probably needed rest as badly as he did, but I knew she wouldn’t leave Rory’s room.

“That does sound good. I would kill for a shower. The charge nurse told me he seems quite stable and they’re optimistic about a full recovery,” he repeated, as if trying to convince himself. “Let me run this by Allison.” He got up and had himself buzzed through the door to the ICU. Within minutes he was back.

“It’s fine with her. Go ahead in and I’ll see you back here in an hour.”

“Take your time, Dad,” I said, grabbing his hand as he walked by and giving a squeeze. “You need to pace yourself or you’ll crash, and be no use to her at all.”

Once the elevator doors had closed on my father, I collected the food, a paperback mystery, and a fashion magazine I’d brought for Allison and had myself buzzed into the unit. I paused at Rory’s door, bracing myself for the sounds of his machines and the faux peppermint smell of a sickroom. I mustered what I hoped would pass for a cheery smile. Allison was leaning back in the chair by the bed, her eyes closed. But they fluttered open as I came in.

“Hello, honey,” she said. “Thanks for talking your father into taking a rest. He’s so tired, poor guy.”

“As you must be too,” I said, and gestured at my stepbrother. “I’d be happy to stay with him for a bit.”

A quick shake of her head. “You should be home with your other guests.”

“Mom’s taking care of them,” I said. “And no one’s much in the mood for a party. Especially since Ray’s parents heard about the wedding.”

She sat up taller. “What about the wedding?”

I felt my mouth go dry—I’d hoped my father would have told her. But, duh, he didn’t know either, until half an hour ago. “Connie called it off.”

“You mean postponed it? She shouldn’t worry about us. This is her big day—the last thing I’d want to do is ruin that.”

I shook my head and pulled another chair up beside the bed. “Called the whole thing off. And before you start feeling responsible, I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with this.” I opened my hands, showing that I meant Rory’s disappearance and the disaster that had unfolded after. “For some reason Ray ran her father off. But she isn’t talking, to me or Ray or anyone. And Ray won’t say what happened either.”

Allison’s eyes got all watery again. “I wish I could undo this. I wish we could all start fresh.”

“I know,” I said. And we sat in silence for a few moments, listening to the hum and hiss of Rory’s machines, broken by occasional snatches of conversation from the nurses’ station just down the hallway.

Then I remembered the food. I pulled the plastic containers from my backpack. “I brought you a piece of spinach pie, and some salad, and ta-da”—I unwrapped the foil from the pie—“dessert.” I set everything up on the bedside table, handed her a fork and a napkin, and watched her gobble the dinner.

“You are amazing, Hayley. The pie is to die for,” she said after eating the last bite and scraping the whipped cream off the foil. “I love how the chocolate isn’t too sweet. Perfect with the strawberries and cream too.”

Her cell phone buzzed and she picked it up and peered at the screen. “Crap. Rutherford’s plane has landed. I know it’s the right thing, to have him fly in. But if I say I’m not looking forward to the visit, that’s an understatement.”

“He was pretty much an ass on the phone,” I said.

She laughed—the first touch of real lightness I’d heard from her this weekend. “I wish I had a daughter like you.”

“You do.” I leaned over, put my arms around her, and squeezed her close.

“I always wondered,” I said after we’d hugged and snuffled a little, “why Rory didn’t live with you more of the time. I should have asked before now, shouldn’t I?”

Allison turned back to the hospital bed and tweaked the sheet to cover Rory’s shoulders. Then she licked her forefinger and ran it over his eyebrow, smoothing the cowlick across the scar that split his right brow. “All the years we’ve been family, I don’t think I ever gave you an opening.”

She sighed.

I waited, giving her room to choose what she’d say.

“I was very down after giving birth to Rory, a textbook case of postpartum depression. Only I didn’t know that’s what it was.”

I stroked her hand, noticing for the first time faint age spots on her skin. “I can’t imagine how hard that would be.”

“I could barely function myself, never mind take good care of a colicky baby. Rutherford and I had been having trouble before Rory, but once he came, it mushroomed.” She pinched her lips together and pulled her hand back to her lap. “Rutherford told me I was a lousy mother, and I was shaky enough to believe him. When Rory fell and cut his forehead, Rutherford found him crying in the kitchen, covered in blood. I was in bed. Asleep.” She looked up at me, eyes wide like a beaten dog’s, her lips quivering. “Now you see why I don’t talk about this much.”

“You needed help. My mother was depressed for a while too,” I said firmly. And instantly wondered if I should have kept my trap shut; Mom’s depression had been directly related to her divorce from Dad. But Allison was smart enough to figure that out and what was the harm at this point? “Sometimes you can’t fight biology by yourself. But you’re a chemist—you know that.”