“I heard this wasn’t the first dead body you’ve found,” she said by way of introduction. Today, she had favored a pretty pink lipstick with a soft blue eyeshadow. Both look good on their own, but mixing them together was another beauty no-no. I wondered if I should’ve let her know that. Right now probably wasn’t the best time. I got back to her question.
“No, actually it was the second. Wait, no make that the third. Last time, it was two bodies, but one murder so…” I wasn’t sure if that made things better or not. Shut up, Ziva, so you can get out of here!
“And you just happen to keep finding these bodies?” Detective Roxy looked incredulous.
“Well, yeah, it’s part of my job. Not finding dead bodies, I mean selling beauty products.” I was not doing a good job of explaining myself. Probably because I was in a hurry. I tried to clarify, “I sell Beauty Secrets products, so I’m in clients’ homes a lot. It just so happened that I walked in on a murder this past spring.”
“And this time?” Detective Roxy asked.
“Bad luck?” I offered. Surely, the two couldn’t be related.
Detective Roxy did the eying-me-up thing again. So annoying. I didn’t know what she expected to find. If she didn’t stop, I was about to mention her makeup faux pas.
“What can you tell me about Mrs. Birdie Jackson?”
Oh boy. Maybe we should go back to discussing the dead bodies. I wondered how close I should stick to the truth… Probably should leave out the part about Mrs. J. threatening Paulette at the bake off and being at the crime scene last night. I stuck with, “Mrs. J.’s great. If you want to know anything going on in town, she’s the person to ask,” which was totally true.
“Would you say she and Paulette were friends?” It was obvious Detective Roxy already knew the answer to that question. Why else would she ask?
“Er, not exactly. They’d known each other for a long time though, that I know.” See, I was still being honest, just leaving out the details. You know, the parts Detective Roxy really wanted to know. Sorry, but she wasn’t getting that information from me. Common knowledge or not, I never talked bad about a client, especially Mrs. J., who was also practically family.
“Listen, I’ve really gotta run. You know tomorrow’s the big farmers market and I have a lot of work to do.” I held up my two brown shopping bags. “But if you have any other questions, you can stop by there and I’ll try to help you out.” I didn’t even wait for her to reply. I just gave a quick sorry (not sorry) and jogged off.
The first product I needed to make was my lotion bars, as they took the longest to set. Tomorrow, I was featuring sweet orange, lavender, and my favorite—chocolate. The bars got their scents from essential oils, except for the chocolate one. That scent was curtesy of natural cocoa butter. Anytime I could include chocolate in my products, whether edible or not, I was all about it.
I had just finished pouring the bars into their molds when Aria and Christina stopped by. Holy moly. Talk about looking rough. Is Aria still wearing her pajamas? She wasn’t the messy-hair-don’t-care type. Aria usually cared. A lot. I often said she could make yoga pants look glamorous, but she was not rocking the pajama pants. Not even a little bit.
“You look horrible,” I told her, holding the door open for her to walk in. Christina followed, looking like night and day with her pressed Oxford button down and penny loafers. Her braided hair was twisted up into a sophisticated French twist. I wasn’t sure if Aria had even brushed her hair.
Aria walked right past me into my kitchen and began rummaging through my cupboards.
I leaned in and whispered to Christina, “Has she been like this all morning?”
“All morning.” Christina plopped an accordion folder down on my kitchen counter. “And we have work to do. I need her to focus.”
“Yikes.” I meant that in more ways than one.
Aria rejoined us with a king-sized candy bar and took a giant bite. Sweet sugar, something’s definitely up. The only chocolate the girl usually ate was the gourmet, eighty-five percent, dark-chocolate variety.
“Can you give us a few minutes?” I asked Christina.
Christina looked over to Aria, but she was totally zoned out, devouring her candy bar. I knew Christina didn’t want to, but she wouldn’t be rude either. “I suppose.” Christina walked over to the living room and took a seat. I would’ve preferred her to walk back out the front door but, ah, whatever.
I pulled a bottle of water out of my fridge and gave it to Aria. She was going to need it to dilute her system and counter the sugar high she was about to experience. One needed to build up a tolerance before devouring a candy bar of that size. I should know, I was a professional.
“What’s going on?” I semi-whispered to her.
Aria looked at me with big tears in her eyes. I made a sour face. Did I mention how much I hated it when people cried?
Aria knew that.
“Sorry.” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. I handed her a tissue from the kitchen counter and gave her a minute to compose herself.
“You good?”
She nodded.
“Okay, so what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Everything!” Aria threw her hands in air and then dabbed her eyes with the tissue. “For starters, our kids hate one another.” Vince had a daughter, Amelia, from a previous marriage. She was six years old, just a couple months older than Aria’s son Arjun, and from what I had heard, they didn’t like to share. Aria said it was like having twins who hated one another. “And Vince has to go out of town now. And did you hear about Paulette? She was poisoned. Poisoned! And you know what she ate yesterday? Mrs. J.’s cake. I can’t have her make my wedding cake!”
Aria was about to lose it with the tears. I had to talk some sense into her. “Hang on a sec. Maybe Paulette was poisoned, but that doesn’t mean Mrs. J.’s to blame. Who knows what else Paulette ate yesterday. Maybe it was one of the other contestants’ desserts or a fast food burger gone bad. I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”
“And you want me to chance that with my wedding cake?” Aria looked incredulous.
“You think she really poisoned Paulette? I guarantee if she did, it wasn’t an accident.” I slapped my hand over my mouth because both of us knew that was true. In fact, I remembered Mrs. J.’s comment from yesterday afternoon about wanting to put a little something extra in Paulette’s slice of cake. “Let me talk to Mrs. J. and see what she knows. It’s not like she has poison lying around her kitchen.” At least, I didn’t think she did. Aria didn’t look convinced. “You just focus on your family, let me worry about the rest.” I wasn’t sure when I would have the time to worry about the rest with everything I had going on this week, but somehow, I would make it work. I sealed the deal with a smile that looked more confident than I was, and a promise to be Mrs. J.’s assistant baker on the big day. She probably wouldn’t let me, but hey, no need to bring that up.
“Feel better?” Christina asked as she came back into the kitchen. Aria nodded. I wrapped her in a big hug.
“Why don’t you go get a wheat grass smoothie or something like that? Treat yo’ self,” I said with a half laugh, even though I was mostly serious. Wheat grass made me gag, but I knew Aria loved it. “And here, take a jar of this. I’m still fine-tuning the formula, so it’s not for sale yet, but it’s a skin soothing cream. It should help with whatever you’ve got going on.” I motioned to her mess of a face. I was hoping the tea tree oil and honey found in the cream would help calm her skin. A trip to the dermatologist probably wouldn’t be a bad idea either.
“I’m going to finish what I’m doing here and I’ll give you a call later to see how things are going. Deal?”
“Sounds good.”
“Okay, don’t stress. A week from now you’ll be on your honeymoon, and none of this will matter. Know where you’re going yet?”
“Not a clue.” At least that got a smile out of her.
“Jus
t keep thinking about that.” I was totally jealous. What I wouldn’t give for a vacation right about now, but with all my cash poured into my business, it was going to be a long time before that happened. Eye on the prize, I reminded myself.
I ushered the girls out and got back to work. The lotion bars were cooling on my coffee table, but I still had to make more of my peach passion sugar scrub and lush lemon bath bombs. So much work to do! Maybe when it was all said and done, I’d be able to take some time and pamper myself…
As it turned out, I barely had time to take a quick shower, let alone the long soak in the tub I had been envisioning, before it was time to head to my parents’ house for my birthday dinner. One positive was Mrs. J. would be there. She had always been my grandma’s plus one, and the invitation still stood even though my nana had earned her angel wings. If all went as planned, I’d be able to talk to Mrs. J. one-on-one and get her take on what happened to Paulette, and hopefully be able to reassure Aria that her wedding cake would be perfect.
5
My parents used to live in what had been dubbed “Old Port Haven.” The houses were small, the community close, and everyone mowed their own lawns. It was the type of place where kids still rode their bikes together, ran through sprinklers, and everyone looked out for one another. Since retiring, my parents wanted to focus more on traveling and enjoying their golden years than in upkeeping their house, so they moved last year into a newly constructed condo. The condo was nice, as were their neighbors, but it wasn’t the same as their old digs. Apparently, I was the only one who felt that way. My mom loved her shiny new kitchen, decked out in granite and stainless steel, and my dad loved that he could fit a 55-inch television comfortably on the living room wall.
Mrs. J. might be the best baker in town, but she couldn’t hold a spoon to my mom’s cooking. Our Puerto Rican roots run deep, and birthdays were celebrated with food. My mom was just taking the tostones out of the oil when I walked in. The fried plantain cakes were Puerto Ricans’ equivalent to French fries, only sweeter. I nabbed one off the paper towel, even though it was burning hot. I couldn’t resist. My mom tried to swat my hand. “Those are for dinner!” But it was only a half attempt. I kissed her on top of the head. Being that I’m a shorty, she was the only person I could do that to.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you one,” I said with a smile and scooted out of striking range.
“Hi, Papa.” I popped my head around the corner into the living room. My dad was sitting forward in his favorite recliner, watching “the game,” which referred to anything baseball-oriented.
“He’s going to blow it!” he said to no one in particular, “Again! They’re never going to make it to the playoffs with a bullpen that can’t go deep. Cripes.” My dad looked up and spotted me. “Hey, Ziva.”
“Good game?”
“Every single time.” I would hate to be a relief pitcher. I don’t care how much money they made. Imagine that stress. Yikes.
I walked over to the fridge and got my dad a beer, and a bottle of red for my mom and me. Mrs. J. usually brought her own “hooch.” I twisted the cap off and walked out to the living room, where I handed it to him and kissed his cheek.
“Finn with you?” he asked.
“Nope, charter, but next time…” That is, if I tell him about it.
Mrs. J. walked in a minute later. She was dressed in a shimmery turquoise number, my favorite color. She was killing it too. If I had dressed head to toe in the bright greenish-blue color, I’d look like a peacock.
“Mmm-mm. It smells good in here!” Mrs. J. said, greeting my mom. She was right; it did smell divine. I was thinking that had something to do with the pollo guisado simmering on the stove. The chicken stew was about as authentically Puerto Rican as you could get, or maybe it was the pork roast, perníl, just finishing up in the oven. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on that crispy skin. When I walked into the kitchen, I decided that it didn’t matter where my parents lived, it smelled like home.
“Mrs. J., what can you tell us today?” my dad asked, joining us in the kitchen. Mom gave him a discerning look with one eyebrow raised. “Gossiping shouldn’t be encouraged,” I could hear her saying in my head. My dad just smiled.
“Ziva, set the table, please,” my mom ordered. I did as she asked, but kept my ears open.
“Well, y’all know Paulette’s dead. Good riddance, I say. Guess that means I should go to church. Speaking of which, we could use a little extra hand tomorrow night at Bingo. Ziva, you free?” Mrs. J. hollered the last part toward the dining room.
Oh no, I was not free. I just didn’t know what I was going to be doing. I could see my mother just over Mrs. J.’s shoulder, fully expecting me to accept. Church was church, and you lent them a hand when they asked. It didn’t matter if it was our church or not.
“It’s food bingo,” Mrs. J. said, reading my hesitation, as if that somehow made a difference. “You can win frozen pizzas or pot pies. Last time, I won a whole turkey, and they even let the workers take home the unclaimed prizes.”
Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t think up an excuse quickly enough. With Finn out of town, I didn’t have any hot dates planned. I reluctantly accepted and could only hope that it wouldn’t be too bad.
Dinner was served. It was all I could’ve dreamed of and more.
“How’s the wedding plans coming?” Mrs. J. asked.
My stew went down the wrong pipe and I coughed hard. My dad laughed. I did not find it funny.
“We’re not … it’s not that serious,” I stammered.
“I meant Aria, sug’.” Mrs. J. looked at me with the most bewildered expression and then smiled, as if she knew something I didn’t.
“Oh. Right, yeah of course. Um, they’re good. I mean, Aria’s a bit of a stressed-out mess right now, but I think it’s going to be great.” Minus the fact that she’s worried you’re going to poison her. Of course, I didn’t say that, but rather changed the subject. “Are you going to be at the farmers market tomorrow?”
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it. Gotta sell my desserts. Although, I would’ve liked that champion ribbon to display on my booth. Darn Paulette. Whoops. God rest her soul and all, but she was a pain in the butt.”
“What’s your theory about Paulette, Mrs. J.?” My dad leaned forward to hear her take.
“Luis! Not at the dinner table!” my mom hissed, trying to hush the subject. No one listened to her.
“Well, I’ve been thinking, and maybe it was Humphrey,” Mrs. J. said.
“The mayor?” I asked.
“Of course. If I had to listen to Paulette jibber jabber every day, I’d want to kill her too.”
This got a chuckle out of my dad. My mom clearly didn’t approve. “Mayor Potts is a very nice man. I hardly doubt he would kill his girlfriend,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice.
“I’m not so sure,” I said. “I talked to him today and he didn’t seem all that upset that she was dead, but he was worried about the festival and how it would affect the turnout. So, there’s that. If he was going to kill her, it probably wouldn’t be during Seaside Days.”
“Unless that’s his cover,” Mrs. J. said in a curious voice. “I guess it could’ve been. I don’t know though… I told that to that blond bimbo, but did she listen to me? Nope.” Mrs. J. looked annoyed.
“Blond bimbo? You mean detective Roxy? She visited you?” I wasn’t surprised, but I had to play it off.
“Detective who?” Dad questioned.
“New detective in town,” I supplied.
“New pain in the keister is what she is,” Mrs. J. said.
“Birdie!” My mom was still trying to maintain some dinner table decorum.
“Listen, I don’t care what her name is or where she’s from. She can just hightail it outta here. Coming up to me with her attitude. I ain’t having it. She needs to show me some respect.”
Oh boy. I had a feeling Mrs. J. hadn’t been on her best behavior. “What did she say?” I asked.
My dad clapped his hands, as if this whole thing was hilarious. He had to get his amusement from somewhere, with my mom acting all hoity toity.
“You’d better be nice to her,” I said.
My mom agreed, “She’s the police. You need to show her some respect.”
“Pssht. She better show me some respect. Mrs. Jackson don’t take sass from no one.” That she didn’t.
“Yeah, but you gotta admit, you hated Paulette, and she ate your cake, and now she’s dead. Poisoned. Mysteriously.”
“I ain’t got time to kill anybody. Didn’t you hear me say I was selling my bake goods tomorrow? Someone’s gotta frost all them cookies and pour out the pies. Besides, my back’s been bothering me. I’m not about to bury anyone in the sand.”
We sat in silence while we thought about it. Mrs. J. did have a point. I had more questions for her, but I didn’t want to ask in front of my mom.
“So, who wants some cake?” my dad asked.
I have to admit, I was a little hesitant to eat Mrs. J.’s cake. Here I had been telling Aria not to worry about her wedding cake, when I didn’t want to eat my birthday cake. I tried to pretend I was too full and planned to take it home; but let’s face it, I’m never too full for cake. I did buy myself a little time with a bathroom break while everyone dug in. I figured I’d give them a ten-minute head start. That way, if things did turn south, at least one of us could call an ambulance. Of course, nothing like that happened and Mrs. J.’s cake was divine as usual. Tonight, she had made a three-layer, red-velvet cake, slathered in cream cheese frosting and topped with pecans. Swoon. Why she’d never written a cookbook was beyond me. Oh wait, that’s right, her recipes were top secret. Minor detail. It was a shame I even had to second guess her. That alone made me want to solve this mystery. No one should ever be afraid to eat cake.
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