Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits

by A. L. Herbert

  “Look,” I say to Vera, and signal for her to turn around. “I think we may have found your Bigfoot.”

  Chapter 36

  The first thing I hear when Vera looks over her shoulder is a gasp. “That’s him! That’s who I saw in the woods behind the pool. That’s Sasquatch!”

  “What?” Twyla looks at me. “What is she talking about?”

  “That man.” I point at the large man who is now switching out some platters on the salad bar. “That’s what... who she’s talking about. Who is that?”

  “That’s Malcom. He’s one of my line cooks.”

  “Wasn’t Malcom the name of the bartender you fired? The one who was running a scam with Sherry?”

  “Yes, and that’s why when I agreed to hire him back, it was for a job in the kitchen. I was not going to have him handling cash or credit cards.”

  “Why would you hire someone back who stole from you the last time he worked here?”

  “Honestly, Halia, I’m done answering your questions. If you’re not going to order—”

  “You know what, Twyla, I don’t think you’re done answering my questions”—I take in a long inhale and try to soften my tone—“unless you’d rather the same questions come from the police. Why did you rehire Malcom, and why was he prowling around the grounds of the Willow Oak Inn the night Sherry was killed?”

  Twyla returns my gaze but doesn’t say a word.

  “I’ve got Detective Hutchins on speed dial, and it’s starting to seem quite possible that you pilfered Cynthia’s gun when you were in her room changing clothes and then arranged for Captain Caveman back there to use it to kill Sherry at the exact time you would just happen to have a rock solid alibi.” I stand up from the table. “Unless you can convince me otherwise, I’ve got a phone call to make.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sakes.” Twyla grabs a chair from the table behind us and plops herself down in it. “You have quite the imagination, Halia, and I guess what you said is plausible, but that is so not what happened.”

  “So, what did happen? Do you expect me to believe your line cook, who had a score to settle with Sherry, was in the woods behind the inn the night of the murder, and you, who also had a score to settle with Sherry, knew nothing about it?”

  “Of course I knew about it. He was in the woods at my instruction. But he certainly did not kill anyone.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Why was he in the woods then?”

  “Malcom is the one who got the video of me going into Trey’s room. He needed a job and I needed someone to get the footage for me, so we made a deal.”

  “Why did you ask him to film you going into Trey’s room?”

  “If you hadn’t noticed, Halia, things around here were not exactly going well. Channel Four canceled my cooking segments and business here has been slow for a long time. And my staff... do you know what my staff has been calling me lately?”

  “Twyla the Hun?” Wavonne asks.

  “No.”

  “Grandma Gumbo?”

  “What? No!”

  “The Soggy Beignet?”

  “Shut up, Wavonne!” I say.

  “Well, that’s what Nicki says they call her. They also call her—”

  Twyla does not let Wavonne finish. “Some of my cooks and servers didn’t know I was in the pantry, and I overheard them calling me... calling me the ‘old gray mare.’ They said something about how they were not sure how much longer they would have jobs... that my restaurant might close soon, and maybe it’s time for ‘the old gray mare’ to go off to the glue factory.” She leans forward in her chair. “I had to do something . . . something to revitalize my image and this restaurant. I figured a scandalous public affair with a much younger man was just the ticket.”

  “I talked to Trey. He claims there was no affair.”

  “Of course there was no affair, but the general public didn’t need to know that. Viewers would see all our flirting during the episode we did together and, once it aired, I would accidentally-on-purpose leak the footage of me sneaking into his room to one of those trashy tabloid sites. But then the murder happened, and I figured it was best to just deny being there at all and keep the footage to myself.”

  “So how did it leak?”

  “Once I realized I could prove that it was Trey’s room, not Sherry’s, that I was entering in the video, and that I had an alibi at the time Sherry was killed, I told Malcom to shop it around. The Elite Chef Murder, as the press has dubbed it, is all over the news—the video of me sneaking into what everyone assumed was Sherry’s room got me a few million dollars’ worth of press. So half of America thought I might be a murderer for a little while—half of America has also now heard of Twyla Harper and Dauphine. Look around—we have not been this busy in years. And Channel Four wants me to start doing my segments on the news again. Not too shabby for an ‘old gray mare,’ eh?”

  I lay my forehead on my hand. “My brain hurts,” I say. “So, all of it—you fawning all over Trey while we filmed at the museum, you sneaking into his room from the back door, your line cook who looks like a giant from a Harry Potter movie lurking in the woods—it was all to get press for Dauphine?”

  “Pretty ingenious, huh?”

  I so want to say, “Wouldn’t it be easier to just serve decent food in a restaurant that doesn’t look like a funeral home?” But instead, I just respond with, “That’s one way to look at it.” I shift around in my chair and let this all sink in. “I’ve done a lot of investigating over the past few days, and so far, all I’ve determined is that sometimes people want to be perceived as stupid, sometimes wives arrange for their husbands to cheat on them, and sometimes people go to absurd lengths to get publicity. I haven’t identified a killer, but I guess I’ve learned a few things about the human condition.”

  “So basically,” Wavonne says, “you’ve determined that people are nuts.”

  “Yes, but I guess I pretty much already knew that. I mean I live with you and Momma, don’t I?” I jibe. “Honestly, I have no idea where to go from here. So far, all my poking around and questioning has only proven who didn’t kill Sherry.” I turn to Twyla. “Thank you for all the information. It’s great things are picking up here. I’m happy for you.” Then I switch my attention back to Wavonne. “Let’s go. It’s getting late, and I’m tired.”

  As I get up from the table I realize that “tired” doesn’t begin to describe how I feel. “Exhausted” would be more accurate, or maybe “beat” is the right word. At this point, with no identified killer and no more leads to follow up on, I feel beat in more ways than one.

  RECIPE FROM HALIA’S KITCHEN

  Halia’s Pineapple–Red Pepper Jelly

  Ingredients

  3½ cups chopped fresh pineapple

  1¼ cups canned pineapple juice

  ½ red bell pepper, chopped

  2½ cups sugar

  1 tablespoon lemon juice

  Grated zest of 1 lemon

  2 tablespoons cornstarch

  2 tablespoons water

  Pinch of salt and black pepper

  • Using a few quick pulses, finely chop pineapple and red pepper in a food processor.

  • Add finely chopped pineapple, juice, red pepper, sugar, lemon juice, and lemon zest to a large saucepan and bring to a low boil. Then reduce the heat and stir mixture over low heat for 30 to 40 minutes until a jam consistency is achieved.

  • Mix water and cornstarch and add to simmering mixture along with salt and black pepper while continuing to stir for 3 to 5 minutes.

  • Remove from heat and let cool for 45 minutes.

  For a delicious biscuit spread, spoon cooled jelly over a square of softened cream cheese and serve.

  Chapter 37

  I don’t take baths very often, but tonight I soaked in the tub for a good half hour just trying to wind down after such a long and frustrating day. I just dried off and slipped into some pajamas. I’m lying on the bed, thinking about turning on the TV or picking up the book on t
he nightstand, but I can’t seem to silence my mind. I keep mulling over everything I learned during the past few days. Trey and his recording device. Cynthia plotting to keep her husband out of their bed. Russell’s prints being on the gun that killed Sherry. Twyla faking affairs with men thirty years her junior. Vera and her late night KitKat bar. Maybe none of them played a role in Sherry’s murder. Maybe someone completely unknown to me killed Sherry. Her sister did say she was always scheming for a quick buck. She probably had a long list of people other than Twyla who she stole from.

  I think about my motley crew of suspects for another minute or two and then decide to forget them and both the TV and my book, and just turn out the light and go to bed. I flip off the bedside lamp, and I’ve barely gotten cozy under the covers when I hear Wavonne click on the TV in the living room. Momma’s a little hard of hearing, so I’m guessing it’s still at the volume Momma had it when she watched it last. I know I’ll never get to sleep if I don’t go out there and tell Wavonne to turn it down, so I throw the covers off and step out of bed.

  “Wavonne, can you turn that down, please?” I say, poking my head out of my bedroom door.

  “Sorry,” she calls back, and I see her reach for the remote and lower the volume.

  “What are you watching?” I can’t see the TV that well from down the hall, but something about the characters on the screen or just the look of the show seems familiar to me.

  “Nappily Ever After on Netflix. It had barely gotten started when the gunshots went off at the inn.”

  “So that’s the same movie you were watching at Willow Oak?”

  “Yep.”

  “I thought you said the hotel didn’t have Netflix.”

  “It didn’t. I just streamed it to the TV from my phone.”

  “The wonders of technology,” I say. “Keep the volume down, would you, so I can get some sleep?”

  “I think I’ll just turn it off. I’m tired, too.” Wavonne picks up the remote again, presses the power button, and the TV screen goes dark.

  “Ah... silence,” I say, walking back to my bed. “Silence,” I say again as the gears in my brain start turning. “Silence!”

  Wavonne overhears me on the way to her room. “Are you havin’ a stroke or somethin’?”

  “No. In fact, I think I may have figured out...” I go quiet, deciding I want to keep my revelation to myself for now.

  “Figured out what?” Wavonne steps over by my bedroom door.

  “Nothing,” I say. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know. About eleven thirty.” Wavonne turns on her heels toward her own room. “’Night, Halia,” she says before looking over her shoulder and giving me a knowing sneer. “Good luck with that nothin’ you just figured out.”

  As Wavonne closes her bedroom door, I get up and do the same. Then I pick up my phone from the table. It’s really too late for me to be calling anyone, but Jack does a lot of shift work, so he’s probably a night owl. I find him in my contacts and hit the call button.

  “Halia? Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “Yes. Fine,” I say. “Sorry to call so late. Were you up?”

  “Yes. Just watching TV.”

  “Oh good,” I say. “I wanted to ask you a quick question.”

  “Shoot... argh... sorry, poor choice of words again.”

  “Actually, it’s an interesting choice of words considering my question.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The guys you were looking to apprehend in Brentwood the other day. One of them... the one who sold guns . . . Bruce?”

  “No. Bruce is the drug guy. Sam is the gun guy.”

  “Sam then. You said that, in addition to guns, he sold all sorts of weapons and other paraphernalia, right?”

  “Yep. Word is if you can hurt someone with it, Sam can get it for you. Why do you ask?”

  “I guess I’m just curious if he sells one item in particular.”

  “What? What item? What are you up to, Halia?”

  “Nothing,” I say, and I realize this is the second time in just a few minutes I’ve lied using the word “nothing.” I’m definitely up to something, or more accurately, on to something... better yet, on to someone.

  Chapter 38

  “It just worked out—a meeting with the Mellingers sort of fell into my lap this morning,” I say to Detective Hutchins as we approach Sunfish. We’ve parked the car and Wavonne is walking along with us. “I finally started to figure things out late last night and, first thing this morning, I got a call from Trudy saying that Russell and Cynthia would like us to come in for a conference. She said they are gathering everyone from the last taping to talk about how they are going to wrap up the whole competition and crown a new Elite Chef. I guess they want me and Wavonne involved in some respect.”

  “And you’re not going to tell me what you plan to share with the group beforehand?”

  “Now, how much fun would that be for either of us?” I ask, appreciative of the detective accompanying me to this meeting, but still annoyed with him for telling Cynthia and some of the others not to talk to me. “I believe you told Cynthia I had a... what did you call it?”

  “A Columbo complex,” Wavonne says.

  “Yes. A Columbo complex. If I’m going to be pegged as someone with a Columbo complex, I may as well make things as dramatic as possible, right?”

  Detective Hutchins looks at me with something between a smile and a sneer before holding the door to the restaurant open for me and Wavonne.

  “We’re going to have a runoff between Vera and Trey and include some sort of memorial tribute to Sherry in the episode,” I hear Russell telling Twyla, who’s seated to his right at one of the tables. Cynthia is to his left, and Vera and Trey are at a neighboring table.

  “We had planned to shoot some of the final episode at the Museum of American History, but given the circumstances, we decided...” Cynthia’s words fade when she catches sight of the three of us, but it’s the detective she speaks to. “Detective Hutchins,” she says. “What brings you here this morning?”

  “Ms. Watkins asked me to accompany her.”

  “Really?”

  “What’s going on?” Russell stands up. “Detective Hutchins, we’ve done our best to cooperate with your investigation, but we’ve told you all we know. At some point, we have to get back to producing the show and getting this restaurant and the hotel open.”

  “We’re all very sad about Sherry’s death,” Cynthia chimes in, “but—”

  “Are we all very sad?” I ask Cynthia. “All of us?”

  “What do you mean? Of course we’re all sad that Sherry was killed... horrified really, but—”

  “Frankly, I doubt whoever killed Sherry is terribly sad that she’s dead.”

  “Well, by all, I meant everyone in this room. To my knowledge, everyone in this room has been cleared of killing her.”

  “Everyone in this room was cleared of killing her. But last night, I was able to patch a few pieces of this Sherry puzzle together, and I’m afraid that’s no longer the case.”

  There’s a shift in the energy in the room after I say this, and everyone, including Cynthia, is silent.

  I walk over to the table where Vera and Trey are seated and stand behind Trey, but I direct my words at Cynthia. “We know it was your gun that was used to kill Sherry, and as far as any of us know, Trey had no knowledge of you having a gun in your room. And even if he did, he didn’t have access to it. So, we can cross him off the suspect list.” I move over to Vera and put my hands on her shoulders. “Vera’s minibar recorded her removing a candy bar seconds before we heard the gunshots, so that’s a second person we can take off the list.” I shift my gaze toward Twyla and Russell. “And security footage from a gas station miles away from the inn shows Twyla filling up her Cadillac when we heard the shots. And Russell is also on camera meeting with a contractor when the blasts came from Sherry’s room. But, here’s an interesting little morsel of information that, afte
r really giving it some thought, I’m virtually certain is accurate.” I think of my “Columbo complex” and take a brief pause for effect. “Sherry wasn’t killed when we heard the gunshots.”

  “What?” Russell asks.

  “You’re talking crazy,” comes from Cynthia. She’s trying to remain composed, but I can tell that I’ve unsettled her.

  “If anyone knows I’m, in fact, not ‘talking crazy,’ it’s you, Cynthia.”

  “She’s gone mad,” Cynthia says to everyone. “Why would I know anything? I was in the lounge with the attendant when Sherry was shot. I’m even on camera in there when the gun went off.”

  “Yes, that was great planning. It was quite smart to make sure that you not only had a witness but were also on film away from the scene of the crime, at the time we all thought the murder happened.”

  “What are you talking about, Ms. Watkins?” Detective Hutchins asks.

  “I’m talking about Cynthia shooting Sherry.”

  “I did not shoot Sherry!”

  “Oh yes you did. You just didn’t do it when we all thought you did.”

  “I think it’s safe to say you’ve lost all of us, Halia,” Wavonne says.

  “Well, let me try to find you.” I lean against the table behind me and steady myself. “It all started to make sense when I thought about how Cynthia went to Brentwood Manors in a disguise... in a rented car on a little ‘procurement’ escapade.”

  “I told you why I went there, Halia. I’m not proud of it, but I went there to purchase some pills, which I later got rid of. It had nothing to do with Sherry.”

  “That’s half true. You did go there to purchase some pills, among other things, but you didn’t get rid of them, and it had everything to do with Sherry.”

  “What do pills have to do with Sherry?” Detective Hutchins asks.