Quiche of Death

by Mary Lee Ashford

“Sugar, this is Libby.” Max swept his hand toward the girl. “Libby, this is Sugar Calloway and Lucinda Arbor.”

  “Nice to meet you.” The girl had a slight accent that I couldn’t place.

  “I came across Libby in the woods.” Max took a swig from the water bottle he’d just filled. “A fellow photographer.”

  She was tall and slender with a bit of a muscular build. I could imagine her tromping around the woods. Her jeans and light flannel shirt looked like she’d been prepared for hiking. That’s not to say she wasn’t feminine. She wore small gold hoop earrings and a half-heart necklace. You know, one of those where someone else wore the other half. I thought her to be about thirty.

  I’m terrible at guessing ages, so I could have been way off. Let’s just say she was somewhere between sixteen and sixty.

  “I didn’t realize I was trespassing.” Libby pushed dark blond hair out of her face. “But Max introduced me to your family,” she said, smiling at Lucinda, “and got me cleared for picture-taking.”

  She held up a camera that looked expensive but not quite as fancy as Max’s. I didn’t know a lot about photography equipment, but I was learning. My photo skills were limited to adorable pictures of Ernest, my very photogenic cat, when he was sleeping and pictures I accidentally took of my feet when I didn’t realize I had the camera app open.

  “Are you staying nearby?” Lucinda asked.

  “I’m staying in…uhm…Doorsville?” She hesitated.

  “Dewersville,” Lucinda corrected. “It’s a nice little town. Post office, motel, convenience store. No restaurant.”

  “That’s the place.” Libby nodded.

  “Maybe you’d like to join us for dinner,” Lucinda added.

  Maybe she should check with J.J. and Jezzie, I thought. Though the house now belonged to Jonathan and Gwen, it seemed like the older brother had taken over deciding who should do what with the family in residence.

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose,” the girl protested.

  “It’s no trouble at all to set another place, is it?” Lucinda turned to Gwen, who had just entered the kitchen.

  Gwen held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Gwendolyn Arbor.”

  “I’m Libby.” Long, slim fingers that had been fiddling with her camera took Gwen’s hand. “I couldn’t interrupt your family festivities.”

  “Well, they’ve already been interrupted.” Jezzie had joined the group. “Who are you?”

  “Jezz, this is Libby,” Gwen explained. “She’s going to be joining us for dinner.”

  “But—” Libby started to say something.

  “No buts, I insist.” Gwen held up a hand. “Now, I also insist that you all get out of this kitchen and let Hilda and me work or nobody’s going to be having dinner.” She waved us all out the door.

  “I’ve got drinks and appetizers set out on the sideboard in the dining room. You know where the glasses are, so help yourselves.”

  “How long?” Jezzie asked.

  “The casseroles are premade and have already thawed, so thirty to forty minutes.” Gwen answered. “Now, shoo. All of you.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.” Libby fell into step with Lucinda. “Is there somewhere I could wash up?”

  “Sure.” Lucinda touched the girl’s arm. “Follow me.”

  The rest of us filed into the dining room where there was a large spread of summer veggies along with various dips.

  Jonathan had assumed the role of host and offered drinks. I accepted a glass of wine, wishing for a chance to “wash up” myself. As soon as Lucinda returned, I would find out which bath they wanted us to use.

  Lucinda had returned, but not Libby.

  I made my way in her direction, but she was deep in conversation with Max about ruins.

  Waiting for a chance to interrupt, I couldn’t seem to find a break. It seemed the Mayan ruins were endlessly fascinating to them both. And Lucinda hoped to return one day.

  I would be in ruins myself if I didn’t find a washroom soon. Looking around to see if Libby was back and maybe I could find out from her which way to go, I noticed Jezzie standing at the foot of the stairs.

  “Is there a washroom I can use?” I asked.

  “Top of the stairs.” She took a big gulp of her wine and gestured toward the staircase with the glass.

  “Thanks.” I started up the stairs toward the second floor and as I reached the top step, I heard a door shut.

  Libby stood in the hallway, shoving something into the pocket of her jeans. She looked startled to see me.

  “I’m looking for the bathroom,” I explained.

  She pointed toward a partially open door on the left.

  “Thanks. I’ll see you downstairs, then.” It couldn’t have been the bathroom door I’d heard shut because that door was still open. Had she been down the hall snooping in some of the bedrooms? And if so, why? And what had she tucked away in her pocket so quickly?

  I turned to ask her, but she was gone, already halfway down the stairs.

  Arbor House had quite a few valuables and with the family in residence there were probably more. I hoped their welcoming spirit hadn’t backfired on them. They’d been quick to include her but the truth was no one, Max included, knew much of anything about her.

  Finishing my business quickly, I washed up and hurried back to the group.

  I was sorry Dixie wasn’t along to enjoy the dinner. Gwen had said the casseroles were premade but they sure didn’t taste like it. With everyone’s permission, Max took a few photos during dinner and then set his camera aside.

  He was seated next to Libby and they discussed the merits of different cameras and digital editing suites. Sitting between Theo and Gwendolyn, I tried to listen in to see if Libby shared anything more about why she was in the area.

  “What other projects are you working on?” Gwen touched my arm.

  Her expression told me she’d probably asked more than once.

  “We have a couple of other projects that are in the works. One is a little farther afield than we’ve gone to date. It’s a Mississippi River town and they’ve collected recipes for dishes served on the steamboats of the past. Obviously, some influence from New Orleans, where many of the cruises ended up.”

  “That sounds like a great project with lots of great recipes to curate,” she noted. “If you think about it, it’s not unlike running a bed-and-breakfast. You’re really catering to the clientele.”

  That’s right.” I nodded. “And there’s also great history on the whole experience that we get the opportunity to sprinkle in.”

  “Like gambling history?” She took a sip of wine.

  “That and more.”

  “Like what?” Lucinda asked from across the table.

  “Well, some jazz history and also how steamboats function, and the life of a steamboat captain,” I explained. “Maybe you were more aware, but I had no idea.”

  During our conversation, Theo had sat silently, moving food around on his plate, but eating little.

  “How are things going with Frenchie?” I asked.

  “What?” He looked up. Clearly his thoughts had been somewhere else. Understandable, I guess, given it had only been a few days since his fiancée was killed.

  “The poodle?” I prompted.

  “Oh, jeez. Not good.” He wiped a hand over his face. “She doesn’t like me. Won’t mind. She’s chewed up two pairs of my shoes. Italian leather.”

  Like it mattered what shoes. The poor little thing was stressed. I resisted saying the dog had good taste.

  “Oh, no. Bless your heart.” I patted his arm.

  Southern training saved me again. It’s okay to say it in your head, just not out loud. And if you need to slip in a “bless your heart” to keep from slapping the person silly. Well.

  “She tolerated me with Colette around, but wi
th Colette gone she’s not adjusting well.” He sighed. “But then, neither am I.”

  Okay, now I felt bad about wanting to slap him. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

  “Thanks.” He gave a slight smile. “I appreciate that.”

  “Any word on her family?” Even though I knew about the fake contacts from Sheriff Terry, I wanted to see if Theo would offer up the info.

  “None,” he mumbled.

  “How much longer is the whole family staying?” I turned to Gwen.

  “I’d initially blocked off these two weeks for the family.” She took a sip of wine. “But with the events of the past few days, we’re not sure of everyone’s plans.”

  Once dinner was over, we carried our dishes to the kitchen.

  Gwen was rinsing and handing them to Jonathan, who stacked them neatly in the dishwasher.

  “No Hilda?” I asked.

  “No.” Gwen shook her head. “I sent Hilda on home tonight; these longer hours aren’t what she signed up for. She usually just bakes and helps out in the kitchen. I have regular serving helpers, but I gave them time off these two weeks the family is here.”

  “You’re lucky to have Hilda.” I thought about Toy George and the trouble she had keeping waitresses at the Red Hen Diner. “It can be hard to find good workers.”

  “That’s so true.” Gwen rinsed another plate and handed it off. “We just get servers trained and then they go off to college. In the summer I have better luck, but this time of year, I’m working on finding replacements because my summer kids have left.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help with the dishes?” I felt guilty standing around talking while they were working.

  “Would you want to take the coffee and tea out to the living room?” Gwen asked. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes. I just like to get these started rather than have to face dishes later in the evening.”

  “Sure, no problem.” I picked up the two carafes and headed back through the door.

  In the living room everyone had settled into their seat of choice. Isn’t it funny how we’re all creatures of habit?

  Jezzie in the leather tufted Queen Anne chair and J.J. in his spot by the fireplace. It wasn’t cool enough for a fire, but I’d bet that was a cozy spot on a winter evening. Lucinda had once again claimed the chair by the table lamp and had her notebook out, flipping through pages.

  Tom was as far as he possibly could get from the rest of the group and already had his phone out. His cheeks were ruddy and I don’t think it was from being outside in the sunshine unless he’d found some way to practice his golf game.

  Max and Libby were talking near the big picture window.

  “Here’s coffee and tea.” I set the two containers on the table. Cups had already been arranged on a pretty tray in anticipation.

  Theo touched my arm. “Grand-mère has gone up to her room, but says she owes you a chat. If you don’t mind doing it now, she’s available.”

  I hesitated, trying to catch Max’s eye. I wasn’t sure how much patience the older woman would have at the end of the day, but I’d take what time I could get.

  Max wouldn’t leave without me, right?

  I followed Theo upstairs. I hadn’t seen any of the family quarters during the time Dixie and I had been at Arbor House. Gwen had put her mother-in-law in what had to be the premier suite. It was at the back of the second floor and the sitting area had an expansive view of the woods behind the property. And, I imagined, of the archery range if you looked hard enough.

  The furnishings, like the room we’d stayed in, were lush and yet homey. The king bed was heaped with soft pillows and the room was big enough to accommodate a deep burgundy velvet love seat that faced the fireplace.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Arbor.”

  She shifted the soft caramel-colored wrap on her narrow shoulders and motioned me in.

  “Marta’s fine.” She was a woman of few words. I only hoped she had more to say as we talked and hadn’t brought me here only to give me cryptic one-word answers.

  “Shall we sit here?” I asked. The two chairs in the sitting area looked like the easiest spot to sit and talk.

  “Yes, fine.” She hobbled across the room.

  “Do you need help?” I’d assumed she was more mobile since Theo had simply dropped me off at the door. But it looked like her ankle might be wrapped in a bandage.

  “I do not.” She seated herself in one chair and pointed for me to sit in the other. “Now, what is it you want to know about? I thought you and your friend were putting together a bunch of recipes in a book.”

  “That’s the basic idea.” I tried not to smile at her oversimplification. “But we also thought we’d include some stories with the recipes. Things like if there were times in particular when they were used. Celebrations, family gatherings, and that kind of thing.”

  “I see.” Her dark eyes watched my face. “You have some you want to ask about?”

  “Yes, I do.” I’d pulled together ten recipes we were considering using as highlights. I handed the sheaf of papers to her. “Are there any of these that spark a memory or that you remember where you got the recipe?”

  She flipped through each one and stopped on the quiche. “Ah, Quiche Me, the famous quiche that started it all.”

  “It must have been a struggle in the beginning,” I prompted.

  “It was hard work but fun. Lots of late nights preparing. Lots of early-morning rising at dawn, baking. We started with a small storefront and then as it got more popular, people were buying several and freezing them. And then Joe thinks, why don’t we freeze them for the customers…”

  “How did you go from that to a factory?” I tried to imagine that transition.

  “That took money and we didn’t have money.” She patted her pocket and I wondered if she maybe needed a tissue or had a cell phone tucked away that had buzzed her. But she continued. “Joe borrowed money to get the start-up funds.”

  “Were you okay with that?”

  “Didn’t matter whether I was or not. I didn’t have a say. Keep the house, keep the kids clean and quiet. Joe was very old-fashioned.”

  “Would he have approved of his daughter running the company?”

  She was silent for a while and I figured I’d crossed the line with my last question.

  She tucked the soft wrap around her and continued. “Jezzie was the only one interested. She was always in his office, at the factory, his constant shadow. When he died she was the one who knew the business inside and out.”

  “So, he left it to her.”

  “Oh, no. Joe thought he’d live forever. No life insurance. No will.”

  I wasn’t sure how to ask the next question. Or if there was a way I could phrase it so it didn’t seem so snoopy. Ah, well, sometimes you have to jump in and sink or swim.

  “So then, who owns Arbor Family Foods?”

  “We all do, but they want me to turn over my percentage. Or Jezzie does. Like I’m already dead.” She reached for her side again. “She’s ready to get bigger.”

  I heard the crackle in her pocket and saw the corner of a package and was struck dumb. “Wha—wha—what are you going to do?”

  Good grief. Had I just seen what I thought I’d seen?

  Could it have been Marta was outside both times? The shadowy figure by the house. The cigarette butts. It had been her. The pretender. I’d be willing to bet that was how she’d injured her ankle too.

  She shrugged. “She wants to expand. Like my Joe, she’ll figure out a way no matter how many arms she has to twist.”

  “Any memories on the other recipes?” I stepped to her chair and leaned in to point at one, taking a deep breath in the process. Oh, yeah, there it was. I could smell the cigarette smoke in her hair.

  She looked up at me, her eyes cut
to mine.

  “It was you outside, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do, Marta.” I wasn’t backing down. “Both nights when I saw someone outside, it was you. I mentioned it to the sheriff and he talked to each one of you, but you didn’t fess up.”

  “They all think I quit years ago. And I probably should have.” She pulled the cigarette pack from her pocket. “Why should I tell on myself when it didn’t really matter.”

  “But it did matter. The sheriff spent time on trying to figure out who’d been there.”

  “You want to talk recipes or not?”

  “Fine.” I went back and sat down.

  We went on to talk about the recipes and as I suspected, there were some anecdotes and little tidbits around quite a few of the selections. A recipe that had been given to her by her mother on her wedding day. A secret ingredient in one of the pies that wasn’t written down on the recipe card. A recipe for potato salad that was her own version of one she’d seen in a ladies’ magazine and cut out, and then improved upon.

  I jotted notes as we talked.

  When I got up to leave, I thanked her for our time together and I truly meant it. These were just the type of tidbits that made a family cookbook so much more interesting.

  As I started to leave, she stopped me.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes.” I turned to look at her.

  “You’re not going to bust me on the smoking, are you?”

  “Marta, I have to tell the sheriff.”

  She sighed and sank back into her chair.

  “I don’t know that there’s any reason for him to share it with your kids. But…” I gave her a stern look. “…you really do need to quit.”

  “So few vices left for old ladies.” She frowned at me.

  I let myself out and made my way downstairs.

  Max gave me what I interpreted to be a where-have-you-been look. He was clearly ready to go and I was more than ready myself.

  After a bit more polite after-dinner chat, Max and I thanked our hosts and took our leave. I especially thanked Lucinda for getting me started with my family research and promised to keep her apprised of my progress.