One Foot in the Grove (12 page)

“Yes, well, undoubtedly, this news is every bit as big as a pig in a dryer,” sniffed Daphne. “I'm sure they've already written the story to Tammy Fae's specifications.”

“Oh crappy.” I shoved my foot into Daphne's ugly green rubber boot. “I'm so glad I can entertain everyone in Abundance County.”

“Speaking of lost animals,” Daphne cried from the laundry, “I nearly forgot to tell you. Amy neglected to put the lid on the fish tank. Her pet corn snake is loose. We need to find it before he slithers into a guest's room.”

“Noose is loose?” asked Pep. “Again?”

“Snake?” Precious was bug-eyed.

“Oh jeepers,” said Pep, looking at the wall clock. “It's gettin' late. Billy's givin' me a ride to work in a few minutes, and I've got to powder my nose first. If he gets here while I'm upstairs, just tell him to wait and I'll be right down.” Pep ran from the kitchen and tore up the back stairs.

“There's a runaway
snake
in this house?” asked Precious. “And y'all are just tellin' me now?” Her face turned white. “Better hope I don't find that critter in my kitchen! I ain't got a bit of tolerance for a slitherin' snake. Pet or otherwise!”

“He's harmless. As long as you don't startle him,” said Daphne weakly, stepping back into the kitchen. “Big Boomer gave the snake to Amy this summer for her sixth birthday—against my strong objections, of course. That made the gift even more delicious for him, I'm sure. Anyway, the child won't hear of getting rid of it. Believe me, I've tried. It was all I could do to convince her that she couldn't sleep with it.” Daphne shuddered.

Why I let Daphne convince me to hide in the pantry, I'll never know. But when we heard that Detective Gibbit was in the living room waiting to see me, Daphne insisted I take cover. In fact, she was adamant.

“That man'll take y'all away in handcuffs over my dead body!”

Moments later, too beat-up and tired to argue, I sunk quietly to the pantry floor, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves stocked with jars of peaches and tomatoes; pickled cucumbers; canned peas and corn; beets and eggs; boxes of cereal and crackers; bags of brown and granulated sugars; salt and spices; bottles of vinegars, relishes, sauces, and much, much more.

A small oval window directed a beam of morning sunlight onto a shelf filled with dark green, long-necked bottles of our olive oil. I noticed there were a few infused varieties that I hadn't tried before, like lime and chipotle, and one label in Daphne's meticulous calligraphy read,
BACON-INFUSED
.
Interesting
. Was that even possible? I wasn't sure that I wanted it to be possible.

In the kitchen, I heard Precious moving around, opening drawers and cupboards, clanking bowls and utensils, and running water as she prepared more food. The mumble of people talking, the creaking of floorboards, and the clinking plates and silverware drifted from the dining room as guests began serving themselves a big buffet breakfast. The dining room door squeaked open, and Daphne's voice rang out.

“Detective, it's lovely to see you
again
! Won't you take a seat out there in the living room, while I bring you some coffee or a glass of our sweet lime iced tea.”

Daphne's over-the-top conviviality was Southern-woman-speak that really meant she was peeved. Her airy footsteps moved across the kitchen floor. The refrigerator door opened, and I heard something slide onto a shelf.

“Thank you, ma'am.” It was a man's voice. Whiny. Not pleasant. There was a heavy footfall, then a chair scooted across the floor. “No need to be formal. I'll just set here in the kitchen. I'll have tea.”

“Oh! Bless your heart, I see you've already seated yourself, Detective,” said Daphne. I imagined her giving him “the stare.”

“We're fresh out of donuts, Detective,” said Precious. Y'all want one of my
dee-licious
peach pecan muffins to go? Still warm! I'll wrap one up and you can take it with you.”

“Miss Precious . . . Darling? Isn't it?” asked the detective in a pseudo-innocent tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let's see if I have this right, now. You're the estate manager for that fella at Greatwoods, Mister Ian Collier—is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And that's where Miss Eva Knox was, d'reckly after the incident in the woods this morning, is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You been nursing her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You a nurse?”

“No, sir.”

“Huh? She hurt bad? Seems to me if she's hurt bad, she should be in a hospital with a real nurse and a doctor.”

“I've had my share of experience nursin' folks. Besides, there weren't any rooms in the hospital. Doc Payne's been comin' out and doctorin' her. He says her heart's kinda iffy.”

I grabbed my chest.
What the hell is wrong with my heart?

The dining room door squeaked open.

“Is there more sausage?” It was Judi.

“Why, yes, of course, Missus Malagutti. I'm so sorry,” apologized Daphne.

“Got some comin' right up,” called Precious. I heard something sizzle on the grill.

“Ma'am, if you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a couple of questions,” said the detective. I heard paper rustling. “According to my notes, you said earlier that you and Mister Malagutti didn't go upstairs together last night.”

“Right,” said Judi. “During dinner, I chucked biscuits across the table at Sal and he was pissed.”

“Biscuits?”

“Yeah. He'd been busy checking out the little waitress in the French maid outfit. So, later, I chucked a biscuit at him. That made him mad 'cause I'd already buttered my biscuit and when it hit Sal, it stained his favorite shirt. After dinner, he just had a couple of drinks then huffed on upstairs while the rest of us finished up.”

“So, you were angry with your husband?”

“We always argue.”

“Go on.”

“Anyways, the rest of us went upstairs about twenty minutes later.”

“And when was it that you came downstairs?”

“I couldn't sleep, on account of the thunder outside. And Sal's snoring always keeps me awake at night anyways. So, I decided to come down and watch TV in the living room.”

“What time was that?”

“I think it was about ten. Maybe eleven o'clock.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“Like I said earlier, I met Bambi. The two of us came downstairs in the dark so's not to wake anyone up. We helped ourselves to a couple more of those Georgia peach whiskeys.”

“And you left your husband alone in the bedroom?” The detective sounded humorless.

“Yup.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, a couple of hours, probably. Can I finish eating now?”

“Yes, ma'am. Thank you. Could you send over Missus Gambini, please?”

“Sure.” She shouted into the dining room, “Bambi! The detective, here, wants to talk with ya!”

I laid my head back against the wall and exhaled slowly. With all the goods in Daphne's pantry, all I wanted was an ibuprofen, and of course, there was none to be had. I closed my eyes. I heard the detective clear his throat importantly before he said, “Missus Gambini! You're looking lovely today!”

“Thanks!” answered Bambi's hushed, bedroomy voice.

“Now, if I recall correctly, you said earlier that you were downstairs between the hours of eleven at night and one o'clock in the morning. Correct?”

“I couldn't sleep on account of Guido puking in the john—he had too much to drink.”

“Was anyone with you?”

“Judi was with me. We met upstairs in the hall. I told you that earlier, didn't I?”

“What television show did you watch?”

“We didn't. We just sat in the dark and talked.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Nope.”

“Was your husband in your bedroom when you left?”

“I think so. Wait. I forgot. He was in the bathroom puking. He'd had a lot to drink.”

“Did you go anywhere else?”

“Just the library. To get more drinks.”

“And where were you seated in the living room?”

“In the front corner, on the big couch.”

“What time was it when you went upstairs?”

“Oh gee. I don't know. Late.”

“And was your husband in your room?”

“Yes. Nope, actually . . . I'm not sure. I think he was still in the bathroom.”

“In the bathroom? Again?”

“Yes. He slept there.”

“Why?”

“He was hammered. When he gets like that, I don't let him back into bed with me, so he usually just sleeps on the bathroom floor.”

I couldn't help making a face.
Gross
. I heard more sizzling from the grill, then some clattering of utensils and china. My stomach gurgled. The sausages smelled yummy.

“Thank you, ma'am. That's all.”

“Here, I'll come out with you, hon,” said Precious to Bambi. “I got more sausages here.”

I heard Precious clomp across the floor, and the dining room door squeaked open and shut.

“More tea, Detective?” cooed Daphne. I marveled at how remarkably cool Daphne was. After all, there'd been a murder at our place and she was hiding the prime suspect in her pantry. But then, she was our modern-day Scarlett O'Hara.

“Why, yes, I think I will have more tea,” said the detective.

I heard the dining room door swing open, and Precious clomped back into the kitchen.

“Miss Precious Darling, you work here, at the Knoxes', too?” asked the detective.

“No. I'm just helpin' folks over here until they find new kitchen help.”

“Uh-huh. I see. Yes. That's right. Miss Loretta Cook has disappeared.”

“Just like we told you earlier,” said Daphne. “We don't know anything about Chef Loretta or where she is now.”

“Right, ma'am. Got it. And none of you folks have seen or heard from Miss Loretta Cook since she supposedly left. Let's see . . . sometime after dinner last night?”

“I ain't even met the woman, so I wouldn't know her if I saw her,” said Precious haughtily.

“That's right, Detective, no one has seen Chef Loretta since after dinner. All we know is what we read in her note.”

“Funny thing, that note,” said the detective.

“Yes?” Daphne said.

“Just odd, that's all, don't you think?”

“I'm not sure what y'all mean, Detective.”

“The note says she and Mister Leonard Leonardo were runnin' off to get hitched, right?”

“That's correct, Detective.”

“But then why wouldn't she have packed her suitcase?”

“I don't understand.”

“Her suitcase. It was in the closet in her apartment, downstairs.”

“It was? Well, then, perhaps she had another one.”

“Maybe. But the note made it sound as if the couple wasn't comin' back. And she left some personal things down there. Clothes. An alarm clock. Even her phone. Stuff like that.”

“I honestly can't say, Detective.”

“Your guide left personal things in his cabin as well. I just came back from there. In a way, it doesn't seem as if either one intended to leave.”

“Well,
he
sure ain't comin' back.” Precious chuckled. “And I hear his name wasn't even Leonard Leonardo. Ain't that right, Detective?”

The detective didn't answer.
Leonard Leonardo?
Was that the name he'd given Daphne? That did sound stupid, I thought. She should've known something was wasn't right with that.

“Perhaps they were just swept up by the moment and couldn't wait to be married?” suggested Daphne.

“They argued, and she blew the guy away. Like my cousin Dewanna and her late husband,” offered Precious. “Or maybe she figured out the guy was some sort of fugitive
from the law and she bumped him off, savin' y'all the trouble of a trial. Say, maybe he was tryin' to kidnap her!”

Their conversation brought no clarity. I mean, why didn't Loretta tell me she was leaving when we were preparing dinner? And as far as Daphne's suggestion of being “swept up in the moment,” well, Loretta didn't strike me as the type to get “swept up” in anything. And thinking of Loretta in any sort of romantic relationship seemed impossible. Running off willy-nilly to get married? It just didn't fit. Could she have killed the pastry guy trying to protect herself? Maybe. But then, why didn't she come back afterward? And what about the pastry guy, coming here and getting hired under an assumed name? What was that all about? Could he have been part of the paparazzi following me for a story? No, I thought, that didn't work. He'd shown up
before
I ran away from Boston. What on earth was a pastry guy from Boston doing working as a field guide in Abundance?

My mind flashed back to the woods. I saw the still black sneaker in the grass. I remembered the rubbery way it hadn't yielded when I'd stumbled over it. Then, I saw his ghoulish face. I blanched and a whirl of dizziness hit me.
Please, don't puke!
I bent down and took a deep breath.

That's when the snake slithered out from behind a wicker basket in the corner.