Boston Scream Murder

by Ginger Bolton

  “I feel like I had most of today off.”

  “Don’t you sometimes go kayaking with your detective on Wednesday afternoons?”

  “When the weather’s good enough.”

  “It’s supposed to be great again tomorrow.”

  “He’ll probably have to work on the investigation.”

  She flexed her fingers like claws. “She’s going to get those long pointy nails into him.”

  I ignored that. “Call if you need anything tomorrow.”

  “Tom and I will be fine.” She closed the car door gently and headed for the front door of Klassy Kitchens.

  I drove home. Sitting on the living room floor inside the front door, Dep raised her left front paw and peered at her wrist as if checking a watch and reminding me that I’d been gone a long time.

  I picked her up and nuzzled the donut-like marking on her side. “I missed you, too, Dep.”

  She purred.

  After we ate, we toured our yard in the dark. Dep didn’t need to wear her leash out there. The wall that enclosed the yard was high and made of smooth bricks that didn’t allow her to get a grip on them. She might have been able to climb trees or shrubs and jump to the top of the wall, but she had decided early in kittenhood that climbing trees and shrubs was not an enjoyable activity for a cat who couldn’t figure out how to back down and didn’t appreciate tumbling to the grass. Besides, I kept the foliage near the wall pruned so she wouldn’t be tempted. She limited her climbing to the carpet-covered pillars, ramps, and kitty staircases in the office at Deputy Donut.

  The two of us determined that nothing outside needed to be pounced on or batted around, so we went inside. I locked the back door even though no human could make his way into our yard without a ladder, a crane, a catapult, or a parachute. The security of that yard was one of the things that Alec had loved about the property.

  After I was in bed, Dep stretched out, purring, next to my legs.

  I was a matchmaker, always wanting my friends to pair off with people I thought they would love, but even though Detective Gartborg looked like the type of woman that Brent had dated when Alec was alive, I wasn’t sure she was a good match for him. She seemed too hard-shelled and cold, although she did appear to like him, if bossing him around was a sign of liking.

  “Brent and I are just friends,” I said into the darkness. “And he and that DCI detective are on a first-name basis.”

  Dep jumped off the bed and stomped downstairs. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Brent aloud. When he wasn’t visiting us and Dep heard me talking about him, she went to the front door and sat with her nose almost touching it.

  “It’s going to be a long wait, Dep,” I mumbled. “Maybe a very long one.”

  * * *

  Licking the top of my head, Dep woke me up almost as early as my alarm would have.

  “Thanks, Dep,” I murmured groggily. “We have the day off.”

  She meowed and jumped off the bed. Breakfast was leisurely, for me at least. Dep chased a catnip-filled salmon around the house. Later I sat in the sunroom enjoying the warm cat on my lap, the mild but flavorful Mexican coffee in my mug, and the view beyond the windows. Ornamental shrubs and grasses would give my flower beds texture and color during the colder seasons.

  Brent called. “I’m sorry I can’t go kayaking this afternoon. I have to work.”

  “No problem. I figured that might happen. What about Samantha’s party tomorrow night?”

  “I’m still hoping I can make it. How about kayaking next Wednesday?”

  “Fine, as long as I don’t have to attach an icebreaker to the front of my kayak.”

  He laughed. “Maybe we’ll end up cross-country skiing, instead. Talk to you later. And take care.”

  I promised that I would. I did not, however, promise not to go kayaking by myself.

  Chapter 11

  Meanwhile, I could do something that might help solve Rich’s murder and release Brent to spend more time partying with our friends, cuddling Dep, and kayaking—or cross-country skiing—with me.

  I dug out the catering company’s card that I’d pocketed in Rich’s party tent. Cat’s Catering was about a mile away. It was a warm and lovely day, perfect for a walk. I tucked a Deputy Donut business card into a pocket and said goodbye to Dep.

  The beginning of the walk was through my Victorian neighborhood. It was always charming. This week, it was also fanciful. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from porches and grimaced up at the sky from sidewalks while ghosts, skeletons, and webby things dangled from trees. More than one witch had missed her turn and collided with a tree trunk. Gigantic spiders and bats clung to walls and chimneys.

  I cut through a wooded park. Cyclists, joggers, and dog walkers were making use of the paved pathways. In a fenced-in playground, toddlers climbed steps and ramps, pushed toy trucks through a sandbox, and swung on swings. “Watch me!” one shouted from the top of a miniature slide.

  On the far side of the park, Cat’s Catering was in a white-painted brick building trimmed with black cat silhouette logos like the one on their business card and on the van that

  Cheryl had sent away from Rich’s. Two of those vans and a similarly decorated SUV were in the parking lot.

  I opened the building’s front door. A bell jingled beyond the back wall of the reception area. Judging by the mouth-watering aromas of garlic and oregano, someone was about to enjoy an Italian feast. Books displaying menus and recipes were open on tables between comfy chairs.

  A thirtyish woman wearing a white apron and a white paper chef’s hat pushed open a swinging door. A large, bright, and well-equipped kitchen was beyond the door. She stopped at the reception counter, reached across it, and shook my hand. “I’m Cat.” Her wide smile displayed a girlish gap between her upper front teeth.

  Returning the smile, I placed the Deputy Donut business card on the counter between us. “I’m Emily. We have more in common than similar logos. I’m one of the owners of Deputy Donut. We often take donuts and beverages to events, like donuts that we put together into shapes resembling forts and princesses for birthday parties.”

  “I’ve heard good things about you!” The big voice went with her rawboned height and the direct gaze of her hazel eyes.

  “Great! If you ever need cakes made of donuts or specialty coffees or teas for an event, think of us.”

  She picked up the card and studied it. “We might do that. And if anyone asks you for foods that you don’t prepare, will you think of us?”

  “I will. What you’re cooking today smells delicious.”

  She tapped her fingers as if counting. “Stuffed mushrooms, ciabatta, lasagna, chicken piccata, roasted green beans and tomatoes, cannoli, and tiramisu. Wasn’t your donut shop supposed to provide donuts and coffee to Rich Royalson’s party yesterday? We were going to bring coffee, but he paid us for it, anyway. He said you were bringing special gourmet coffee.”

  “That was us. What a pity that none of the food you made got eaten. Your Boston baked beans and seafood chowder smelled delicious, and the table settings looked great. Did you bake the birthday cake, too?”

  “We did.” She looked about ready to cry. “We were able to give the women’s shelter the food that we weren’t allowed to deliver at Royalson’s, but I wish we could have donated all of the food that didn’t get eaten. I hate wasting food. To be fair, it wasn’t Royalson’s fault that some of yesterday’s food got wasted. But it wasn’t the first time that catering an event for Royalson caused us to have to give away food unexpectedly.”

  “What happened the other time?”

  Her hands on the counter, she leaned forward. “We were supposed to cater last year’s staff Christmas party at the Fallingbrook Mercantile Bank. Royalson had signed the contract, but at the last minute, he changed his mind and had a restaurant up in Gooseleg do the catering. To add insult to injury, instead of paying the cancellation fee he was contracted to pay, he said he had a win-win solution for the bank and for us. He told us that
the Gooseleg State Bank needed last-minute catering for their party the night that Fallingbrook Mercantile was having its party, and he would recommend us to fill in. It turned out the restaurant that had been supposed to cater the Gooseleg bank’s party had backed out.” She stood straight and chopped at the air with one hand. “Well, guess why!”

  I gave her a half smile. “They were catering Rich’s bank’s party instead?”

  “You got it. The Gooseleg party was smaller, so we ended up losing money. At least the women’s shelter got some Christmas cheer, but they get that from us anyway, and it’s easier when we plan it all from the outset. Our losses weren’t as bad as they would have been if Royalson hadn’t given us the lead on that other party, but it was ridiculous. The other caterer probably had to scramble for enough supplies and food, while we had too much. I even tried swapping events with that other caterer, but they were adamant.”

  “Why did you trust Rich enough to cater another party?”

  She flicked an invisible spot off the gleaming stone counter. “That was a fluke. In June, we were catering a family reunion out at Lake Fleekom County Park. Royalson rode a bicycle past as we were setting up, and he saw our van and remembered the name of our company, probably because of the way he treated us last December. Mistreated us, I should say.” She gave me a half-hearted smile. “I try not to judge clients, but after that Christmas party fiasco, I didn’t particularly like him.”

  “I can see why.”

  “Anyway, that day in June, he got off his bike, cornered me, and said he was glad to see that we were doing well. He said that canceling our Christmas party catering had been unavoidable, but he had a way of making it up to us. I don’t know if it was guilt that made him ask me, right that moment, to cater his birthday party, but I like to think it was the smell of the baked beans and fried chicken we were unpacking.”

  I made a show of sniffing toward the kitchen. “Probably.” “Thanks. We have scrumptious recipes and super employees. I took on Royalson’s birthday party job because I wanted to prove to him that we’re excellent caterers. Maybe I also wanted to make him regret not using us in December and maybe consider hiring us next Christmas. But I wasn’t about to be tricked again. I told him he had to pay me in full, ahead of time. He agreed. His check cleared and everything.”

  I gazed at a wall of photos of delectable-looking foods and beautifully set tables. “He made a good decision, contracting with you this time.”

  She heaved a big sigh. “Maybe not, considering what happened. I feel sorry for him. I don’t know why he made that switch in December, but other than being totally boring by praising Boston ten times a minute while we were planning his birthday party, he wasn’t that bad.”

  “He did seem obsessed about Boston.” I told Cat about his ordering Boston cream donuts. “But the amount of frosting wasn’t enough for him. We had to double it.”

  Cat grinned. “That sounds like him. He said he wasn’t a cook, but at the same time, he always knew a better way to prepare every dish.” Her lips turned down in a pout. “But it’s sad. I can’t help wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t biked past the county park that day in June. Another caterer might have been able to arrive when Royalson wanted us to, and maybe they could have saved him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He asked us to come at eleven, but we already had another engagement and arranged to arrive at Royalson’s at ten thirty, instead, with plenty of ice to keep cold things cold and slow cookers for dishes that could stay warm there, like Boston baked beans. So, because we had to leave, there was a gap in time when he was there by himself and someone came along and . . .” She ran an index finger across her throat.

  “When did you leave?”

  “We’re quick, and we’d set up the tent, tables, and chairs the day before. We left at eleven.”

  “No one was there when I arrived almost an hour later.” I closed my eyes briefly and rocked back on my heels. “Well, Rich was there. I mean, his body was.”

  The hazel eyes opened wider in apparent shock. “Did you find him? Were you there by yourself?”

  I nodded.

  “You poor thing.”

  I hoped she wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that I had killed Rich. “It was horrible.” I also hoped she wouldn’t realize that I was trying to figure out if she or someone from her company had killed him. There had been less than an hour between when she left and I arrived. Who had been there in the meantime?

  That wide, mobile mouth dragged down in one corner for a second. “Also, I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t been the ones to set up the tent or if we or someone else had set up a tent differently. The way we oriented it, the doorway could be seen only from his side yard and maybe from the edge of his driveway closest to the tent. But what if the tent’s doorway had been visible to his neighbor or to the lake?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it. The hedges between his property and his neighbor’s are tall.”

  “But someone might have seen between the branches.”

  I conceded, “Maybe, if they were in the right place at the right time. Also, the lake was fogged over. Nobody could have seen much from any distance out on the lake.”

  “True. It was foggy when we left at eleven after our preliminary setup that morning, and it was still foggy when we arrived with the last-minute food before twelve twenty-five but were then sent away, food and all.” She fiddled with a stack of brochures. “A tent with no side walls would have been cheaper for him to rent. Or we could have rolled up or pinned back the sides, but because of the time of year, he wanted the kind of tent we could heat if we had to. The prediction was so warm that we didn’t bother with heaters, but for protection from breezes, we didn’t fasten the sides back. We could have. We would have if the day had been warmer. I’m afraid that, by renting Rich our best tent, we accidentally gave privacy to a murderer.”

  How did she know that Rich had been killed inside the tent? Someone could have told her—the police, perhaps, or someone else who had been at the scene. The murderer? One thing was certain. I hadn’t told her. I also wasn’t about to ask how she knew.

  Had this apparently empathetic woman killed Rich because he had caused her to lose money and waste food last December? It seemed like a stretch. Stranger things had happened, though.

  Cat leaned closer and confided, “When we arrived at ten-thirty Tuesday morning, Royalson decided we should leave the tent walls in place. He was very much alive, then. Very. He showed us where he wanted everything, and we started spreading out tablecloths. A much younger woman, his daughter maybe, came into the tent and taped a guest list to one of the tablecloths. She put it on the part that hangs down, so it wasn’t in our way, but I don’t know. For parties that small, people don’t usually check off the names of people as they show up, you know?” I didn’t tell her that there were more seats in the tent than there were names on the list. She went on. “Royalson was carrying around his own list of what was supposed to happen when. He didn’t stick it to any tablecloths while we were there. Royalson told the woman to go away so he could arrange everything, and she could come to the party when the other guests did. He was going to be his own bartender and serve drinks until we returned. He wanted her to be surprised by how well he had planned and organized everything.”

  “Did she leave?”

  “She said she was going birding and headed up to the house. Later, when I was taking a load of things to the tent, I saw her carrying a canoe down the hill from the back of the house. She carried it like a pro, above her head. When we left, she was paddling away past the dock. She was wearing binoculars and didn’t look back.”

  “I met her later, when she came back from canoeing. I think she was his girlfriend.”

  Cat raised a finger in the air. “Maybe she killed him.”

  “Maybe.” I couldn’t help a little shudder. A display case of cakes and pies was on the counter near me. I asked her, “Do you sell desserts re
tail? Could I order a pie to pick up tomorrow evening about five forty-five?”

  “Sure. We have pumpkin, apple, cherry, pecan—”

  I held a hand up. Pecan was one of my favorites. “Pecan.”

  “What size?”

  “Enough for six people who love pecan pie and don’t think it’s too rich to have big slices.”

  That wide smile reappeared. “Ours is rich, but I get what you’re saying. I’m the same way.”

  I paid for the pie. She gave me a receipt.

  I went out and turned around to make certain that the door latched behind me. Cat was hurrying back into the kitchen.

  Walking through the park, I thought about how Cat had emphasized that Rich had been alive when she left his place after setting out the preliminary batch of party food. Was that true? She’d said “we” as if she’d worked with one or more of her employees at Rich’s. I wondered who had been with her and whether they had arrived and left together.

  During other investigations Brent had sometimes visited Dep and me, and he had tolerated listening to my theories. Sometimes our brainstorming had, I thought, been useful. It had certainly helped me organize my thoughts and guesses. I didn’t know when I would next see him, though. Had Cat told the investigators about Rich’s change in catering companies for his bank’s Christmas party?

  At home, I told Dep that I hadn’t learned a lot about Rich’s murder that I could share with Brent. She gave me a look as if to ask, What did you expect?

  “I’ll tell him about the catering switch the next time I see him. I did accomplish something,” I informed my cat. “I noticed that I’m falling behind in making our house festive for Halloween.”

  I took baskets of decorations outside to the front porch. With Dep supervising from inside on the living room windowsill, I added a scarecrow, some totally unscared crows, and an extended family of goblins to the pumpkins that were already on the porch. Inside again, I strung up a crocheted spiderweb, complete with spider, in the middle of the center pane of the front window. I’d bought the scarecrow, the crows, and the spider and its web at The Craft Croft.