Quiche of Death

by Mary Lee Ashford

“Sorry. I’m looking for Gwendolyn Arbor,” I clarified. I’d forgotten there were three ladies with that title.

  “She’s working in the office right now.”

  “And the office is…?”

  “Back there.” Hilda pointed with her paring knife.

  For the first time I noticed a short hallway beyond the pantry. Hoping it was okay to interrupt, I followed it to a small office area that looked a lot like my office back at Sugar and Spice Cookbooks.

  “Hello.” I stopped in the doorway and Gwen looked up. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “A welcome interruption.” She smiled. “I’m just catching up on some bill paying. Have a seat.” She indicated a chair across from the desk.

  “I wanted to talk to you about the cookbook project and continuing the weekend.” I stepped in and sat down. “With the situation being what it is, we absolutely would understand if your family wanted to postpone the project.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that possibility.” She looked thoughtful. “I guess I should ask what they want to do.”

  “No pressure.” I didn’t want to make them feel like we were bailing on them. “Dixie and I simply wanted you and the rest of the family to know that we are good with whatever the decision is. If you’d like, we can pack up and head out this afternoon or if you’d prefer, we can stay. Entirely up to you all.”

  “Sugar, I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Gwen moved a file and leaned back in her chair. “I suspect they’ll want to go ahead, but let me take the temperature of the group.”

  “That sounds good.” I moved to stand.

  “An awful situation.” Gwen sighed.

  I sat back down. “It sure is.”

  “And how awful for you to find Colette,” she noted.

  I nodded. No need to mention that Colette was not the first dead body I’d encountered. “Did the sheriff give you any indication of what they’re thinking?” I asked.

  “They found that the shed where all the archery equipment is stored had been broken into.”

  “Do they think vandals, then?” That would make more sense. To me, at least.

  “The forensics team that they sent wasn’t sharing much information with us, but from what J.J. got, they dusted a bunch of areas for fingerprints,” she said. “Of course, several of the family members’ fingerprints will show up. They’ve been all over the property since they arrived.”

  “This was the original Arbor family homestead?” I gazed around the room and wondered what its original use had been. I thought I’d understood from the conversation last night that this was where the siblings had lived as children.

  “It was.” She bit her lip. “When Jonathan and I took it over it wasn’t in great shape. It had sat empty and neglected for several years.”

  “There must be a lot of shared memories, then.” I was always a little envious of shared memories, having no siblings myself.

  “Yes, Jonathan has a lot of great childhood stories about living here. I think that’s where his love of restoring these old homes came from.”

  “When did the family move?”

  “When the business got going, they moved to a bigger, more modern home up north, closer to the factory. Their mom still lives there, but I think they’d all like to see her downsize.”

  “I’m interested in telling the story of how they went from a cherished family recipe for quiche to mass-producing the Arbor family’s frozen dinners that we find in the grocery stores. I know that’s not what they’ve said they’re looking for in terms of the cookbook, but it’s a great way to preserve the family history.”

  “Mother Arbor would be the one to tell that story.” Gwen bit her lip. “I don’t know if she’s willing or not. Most older people want to talk about their past, but she tends not to do that. Plus, as you might have noticed, she’s a bit frail.”

  “I hope she’ll consent, but it’s your call.”

  “Really the Arbor family’s call,” Gwen pointed out.

  “Right.” I rose. “Once you’ve talked with them, let me know how the family feels about continuing with the project. I’m going to go see how Dixie’s coming with those recipes.”

  When I walked back through the kitchen, Hilda was on the phone and didn’t notice me.

  “I can’t make the payment today,” she said in a low voice to whoever was on the other end. “I’m working at the Arbor House; I’ll have to get it to you on Monday.”

  I guess, as Dixie and I said earlier, we all have our own stuff to deal with and you never really know what someone else is going through.

  Dixie was still at the dining room table, finishing up her notes on the recipes. “So many wonderful recipes,” she said. “We’ve got plenty of material, at least in terms of recipes, if they decide to move forward. What’s the word?”

  “I talked to Gwen, and she’ll discuss with the rest of the family whether they want to continue and let us know.” I helped Dixie gather up the recipe cards, stacking them carefully, making sure to maintain the sorting Dixie had done.

  “Sounds good.”

  We were kind of at loose ends until we knew something, and I was going a little stir-crazy. What I’d loved about the B and B when I first visited was how isolated it was. The perfect getaway. Today, what I didn’t love about it was how isolated it was.

  When Dixie needs to think, she cooks. When I need to think, I eat. Which had never been a problem for me until lately.

  “How about we take these upstairs and then go for a drive?” I suggested. “When I was here before I just drove to the house and then back home. Matilda wasn’t up for any side trips.”

  Dixie shook her head. “I can’t believe you named your GPS lady.”

  “It seemed like since we spend so much time together, we should be on a first-name basis.”

  “You’re crazy.” She laughed.

  “I know.”

  We dropped the recipe cards and Dixie’s notes in our room, and I grabbed the keys to the Jeep. I didn’t want to disturb Gwen again, but didn’t want the family wondering where we’d gone, so I popped into the kitchen thinking we could let Hilda pass on the message. She was nowhere to be found.

  I wrote a note and left it on the dining room table. I didn’t think we’d be long, but it seemed rude to disappear without telling anyone.

  “For having so many people in the house, it sure seems deserted,” I commented as we climbed in the Jeep.

  “It’s such a big house.” Dixie fastened her seat belt. “And so many separate areas that make it perfect for its current use.”

  “I sort of feel bad about disappearing, but it didn’t seem right to disturb them.”

  “Houseguest rules for when there’s been a murder weren’t covered in your Southern manners class?” Dixie smiled.

  “Do you think it’s really murder?” I’d been afraid to say too much when we were within earshot of the family, so it was a relief to be able to talk without looking over my shoulder.

  “I guess I’m leaning toward accidental death,” Dixie answered. “But I have to tell you, while you were in talking to Terry there was a lot of discussion among the family about business and very little of it about Colette. Seems a bit cold, given the circumstances.”

  “You can’t think one of them killed her.”

  “As Sheriff Terry says, everyone’s a suspect.” Dixie raised a brow.

  “Well, I think we can eliminate a few of them,” I argued.

  “Like who?”

  “Theo, for example,” I said, holding up a finger. “Why would he bring Colette to the family get-together to kill her? Besides, he seems genuinely heartbroken over her death.”

  “And I don’t think Marta is up to the job,” Dixie added. “Two off the list.”

  “I’m still going for accidental, but seriously, even if they had the oppo
rtunity, where’s the motive for any of them?” I stopped at the end of the drive. “Which way?”

  Dixie pointed and I turned right. Which I’m not sure was east or west…or for that matter north or south. But I was almost sure it was the opposite of the way we’d come when we arrived, because the mailbox was on my left this time.

  We traveled for a bit down the road. It was paved but very narrow, which was why I’d been reluctant to consider leaving the property for a walk. Even in the interest of getting in my ten thousand steps.

  Unlike many of the roads, this one was not bordered by fields, but rather trees and bushes that grew near the pavement. The area was somewhat hilly, but just soft, rolling hills and the leaves of the oak, walnut, and maple trees had begun to turn colors, but only slightly. There was a palette of green with the promise of autumn crimson and gold mixed in.

  “Look—there’s an old cemetery.” Dixie pointed at a gate I’d almost missed seeing. “Let’s take a look.”

  Lilac Hill Cemetery, the metalwork over the wrought-iron gate proclaimed.

  I turned in and Dixie hopped out and opened the gate.

  After driving through, I parked on the grass, as there wasn’t anywhere else to go, and I didn’t want to block the entrance.

  “Are you sure it’s okay I leave the car here?” I put the Jeep in park.

  “It will be okay.” She looked around. “There aren’t any other options.”

  The small cemetery was well maintained. Flowers and flags dotted the landscape. There were definitely many more old headstones than newer ones. I wondered, since Arbor House had been the family home, if some of the family might be buried there.

  “You’d think since it’s called Lilac Hill that there’d be lilacs, wouldn’t you?” I mused.

  “Those are lilac bushes.” Dixie pointed at a bank of green shrubs against the fence line. “They don’t bloom this time of year.”

  “Oh. I knew that.” I’d grown up in apartments and condos, so I had a spotty education where plants and yards were concerned. I was learning to take care of a yard, but often found I had a lot to learn. Much to my next-door neighbor’s chagrin.

  We walked through the stones, looking at the inscriptions. Some were weathered and hard to read but most, even the ones from the 1800s, were in decent shape. One good-sized stone said Jules, Famous White Mule, Served in the Civil War, died March 1888.

  “I didn’t know you could bury mules with humans,” I commented as I continued down the same row.

  “Very few rules in the old rural cemeteries.” Dixie followed. “Very few records as well.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid I’m going to run into with trying to find my father’s family.” I came to the end of the section. “Hard enough when you have records to go on, but I have very little.”

  “Take a look at that.” Dixie pointed to a marker that stood taller than the rest, an obelisk with urns on each side filled with flowers.

  I approached. Joseph Arbor, Beloved Husband, Devoted Father, it said. It gave his birth and death dates and then there was a spot for Marta that already had her name and birthdate, the date of death obviously having been left blank.

  It gave me a shiver. “How would that make you feel? To have your name already on a gravestone?” I ran my fingers over the blank part of the marble stone.

  “Kind of creepy.” Dixie moved closer. “Those flowers look fresh, so someone must visit fairly frequently.”

  “There doesn’t seem to be other family members nearby.” I looked around. “Maybe Joseph senior was the first to settle in the area.”

  “Only a few others. The cemetery is so tiny.” Dixie stepped carefully among the gravestones. “Look at how old these stones are.”

  There were two small stones with the names Sallie and Sarah. Their year of death was noted as 1847.

  “Some sad stories behind these, I bet.” I touched the top of the stone nearest me. “That must be before Iowa was even a state, right?”

  “I don’t remember my state history for sure, but I think we became a state in 1846, so around the same time.” Dixie ducked as a bee who’d decided to befriend her buzzed around her hair “Are you ready to head back?”

  “I am.” I nodded. “If this side trip was supposed to cheer us up, I think it missed the mark.”

  Dixie nodded her agreement.

  “Sampson, Brooks, Huston.” I read off some of the other names as we made our way back to the Jeep.

  We climbed in and I turned the Jeep around in the grass and then headed out onto the roadway.

  “You’ve turned the wrong way to get back to Arbor House.” Dixie pointed.

  “I have? Shoot.” I checked the rearview mirror to see if I could make a U-turn. “I don’t like how narrow the road is. I think I’ll drive a little farther and see if there’s a better place to make a turn.”

  “It is pretty tight.” Dixie looked out at the side of the road.

  There wasn’t much of a shoulder beside the road and the ditches looked deep. Traveling a mile or so—in the wrong direction—we spotted a widening up ahead. A former gas station had been turned into a little shop. I pulled into the driveway and started to make the turnaround.

  “Since we’re here, let’s grab something to drink,” Dixie suggested. “I’m parched.”

  “Now that you mention it, I am too.” I parked the car and we went in.

  “Hi there,” a voice called from the back. “Be with you in just a minute.”

  “No problem,” Dixie called back. “We’re just after something cool to drink.”

  We headed for a refrigerated case against the wall that held a variety of drinks. I picked out a water and Dixie a lemonade.

  “Hello.” A smiling elf in men’s clothing spoke from behind us. We turned and he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Shorty.”

  Of course, it was. Toy George, the lady who ran the Red Hen Diner in St. Ignatius, was short, but this guy had her beat. Like her, he had thick white hair, though a lot less on his head. His sprouted out of his ears and above his eyes. I wondered if they were possibly related.

  “Is your last name George?” My thought slipped out before I could stop myself.

  Dixie gave me a look, like I’d lost my mind.

  “Nope, last name’s Gentry. My brother’s name is George, though. Does that help?”

  “It’s warm out today.” Dixie obviously thought changing the subject was a good idea. “We needed a cool drink.”

  “Yep,” Shorty agreed. “Not quite fall; we’ve still got some summer left. Hope these warm days don’t stir up bad storms.”

  Dixie reached in her bag and pulled out some bills. “How much for both?” She nodded toward the bottles of water and lemonade I held.

  “Let’s see. Those are one and a quarter, so two-fifty plus tax.” He walked toward the antique cash register that sat on the counter: A beautiful piece with dark polished metal and a very ornate design. It looked heavy and I wondered if it was left from when the building had been a gas station.

  Dixie handed him three dollars and he turned to a more modern machine behind him. Apparently the antique cash register was only for show.

  “Don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.” Shorty handed her back her change. “You from around here?”

  “No, we’re from St. Ignatius. So not too far away.” She tucked the coins in her purse.

  “We’re staying at the B and B, Arbor House,” I offered as I handed Dixie her lemonade.

  “You are!” His shaggy eyebrows shot up. “Heard there’d been a girl killed there this mornin’.”

  Bad news traveled fast. I often said in St. Ignatius the grapevine was faster than any news source, but I hadn’t expected that in such a rural area.

  “Unfortunately, that’s true,” Dixie confirmed. “She was visiting the Arbor family.”


  “Shot with an arrow, I heard.” Shorty leaned toward us.

  “Hmm.” I didn’t want to lie and say we didn’t know, but it didn’t seem right to add to the gossip.

  “That’s okay, if you don’t want to talk about it.” He reached over and patted my arm. “If I were looking into what happened, I’d be giving that whole bunch a lookie-loo.” Shorty reached up and rubbed his nearly bald head. “Yes, I would.”

  “Why is that?” Dixie asked.

  “They’re all champion archers, that’s why.” He nodded. “Yes, they are. Champions. Every last one of them.”

  Chapter Four

  Dixie and I walked back to the Jeep and got in. I sat for a few minutes in silence before starting it, thinking about what Shorty had said.

  “I don’t even know what I think about that.” I looked over at Dixie. “Even if several of them had the ability, there’s still no good reason why.”

  I started the car, turned around, and this time headed down the road in the right direction. We drove in silence. Both lost in our thoughts.

  Like I’d said earlier, if this little side trip had been supposed to cheer us up, it had been a major fail.

  When we pulled into the long drive at Arbor House, the place still looked as tranquil and quiet as when I’d first seen it. At the time, I’d wanted Dixie to see it as well and this weekend had seemed like the perfect opportunity.

  Now, I was thinking about what might be hidden behind a beautiful facade and the idea that one of the members of the Arbor clan might be responsible for a young woman’s death.

  * * * *

  While we’d been gone, everyone had reassembled and lunch was being set out in the dining room. We washed up and joined the family.

  “I thought since we’ll probably do a full dinner tonight that we’d go with something light for lunch.” Gwen helped Hilda carry in the trays of food. “I hope that’s okay.”

  We were missing a few of the family members. It seemed J.J. had gone for a drive himself and Jezzie had taken a tray to her room to do some work. Theo wasn’t feeling up to lunch and who could blame him? I wondered about Frenchie, who Theo had taken from Dixie earlier when Sheriff Terry had arrived. Grand-mère Marta was also having lunch in her room.