Murder on the Menu

by Jerri George

  More photographs taken of all of them coupled together in group shots, with and without their respective families. There was one of Aunt Marj posed arm-in-arm with Candace’s dad, his other arm slung over Candace’s sunburned shoulders. Marj was positively fixated on Candace’s father, her face flushed and her lips pulled taut. It seemed oddly nervous since it was such a playful and relaxed time. Candace and Dawn were very present in the photos swimming, diving, blowing out birthday candles and enjoying every minute.

  Another photo showed both Candace’s parents. Brad sat with his broad shoulders, dark wavy hair, and an award-winning smile with Cynthia cuddled close. Uncle Dan and Aunt Marj were caught in the background deep in conversation. The camera had frozen that moment in time. Candace couldn't see Marj’s face clearly, but from her posture she seemed awfully sad or tired, and Candace couldn’t help but wonder if the two had been fighting.

  She put that picture aside and took out several more. Most of the photo subjects were obviously three sheets to the wind and proffered a devil-may-care attitude for posterity. She smiled wanly. So many cherished memories, yet sadly they’re all behind them. She tucked the other pictures away and plowed through more papers.

  In the bottom of the second box, a stack of letters was wrapped tightly in a thick, red hair ribbon. One a child might have used to tie up a ponytail. She fanned through the letters, holding them by one end, and noticed the return address was the same on every one—Dawn's old house in Connecticut.

  Candace jumped as Lancelot knocked against her leg and stretched full length on the wood floor to lie down at her feet. “Lance, you scared me!”

  Candace spoke to Lancelot who seemed disinterested. “I wonder why these letters are here, boy? They're from Aunt Marj to Dawn the summer before Uncle Eric died. I didn't even know she wrote to Dawn. She called her often enough.”

  Candace pulled a letter from the pile and opened it.

  My darling Dawn,

  I know this is not the way you should find out what has been going on, but I can't face having you come home without me here and not know why. Dad and I have separated. Please understand this has nothing to do with you. It has been a long time coming. I wanted you to know before I came to see you next weekend and not just spring it on you then. Please make sure we can spend time together just the two of us. I don't want to discuss this in front of Candace, her Uncle or other guests. Okay, baby? I'll explain everything then.

  Love, Mom

  What the heck? Separated? That's impossible? Dawn's parents were never divorced, Candace was certain of that.

  She extracted another letter which began:

  Dawn,

  I do wish you would not blame your father for our troubles. It's not your dad's fault. We have drifted apart, and I am sure you now realize, since you're such a mature and grown up young lady, it's very hard to pretend to love someone when you don't. Daddy and I love you dearly, but we are not making each other happy anymore. We’re going to get a divorce. Please Dawn, come home before going back to school and we'll talk more about it. I don't want to discuss this on our party weekend.

  Kisses, Mom

  How heartbreaking for Dawn to get these letters while away from home and not know what to do. Why didn't she ever tell her?

  Candace poured herself another cup of coffee, plopped down in the big end chair and opened several more letters. All of them pleaded for Dawn to understand. Her mother's desperate attempts to talk through written words, not on the phone, and certainly not around their families were clear.

  She looked down at Lance. “Here I thought we were all so close, buddy. I guess our parents had secrets from us.”

  His big black nose ventured upward, sniffing the papers in her lap, and then he dropped back into position. “Thank God emails are computer generated, read and deleted today, boy.”

  One envelope’s corner was bent with a letter half out of its sleeve. Candace pulled it out and opened it.

  Dear Dan,

  As we discussed, I'm leaving Eric before the summer is over. I can no longer bear to live a lie and I want a clear conscience. I have a chance to finally follow my heart. You know it's been over for Eric and me since before Dawn was born, so you shouldn’t be shocked. I just can’t turn my back on the Kane magic anymore!

  What the…? What was she telling Uncle Dan, and how on earth did it get in here with Dawn's personal letters? She flipped the envelope over and rifled through the others to see if there was another letter, or even better, a date stamp. The envelopes were pretty faded.

  Aunt Marjorie was leaving Uncle Eric? What was this crap? Over since before Dawn was born? And the most shocking statement of all– “I can't turn my back on the Kane magic?” Was she kidding? Dawn’s mother and Candace’s Uncle Dan? What on earth was going on?

  Candace stopped. It was time to change beverages. She poured herself a glass of wine from the bar, took a sip and then one more for good measure and continued to read, her eyes misting over.

  Please make my excuses to everyone this weekend. You always have everything under control. Please don't worry. My secret is safe. But one favor please, if you honestly don’t think there is a future for us, please be straight with me, I need to know for my own sake and Dawn’s.

  You’re my rock, M

  “Uncle Dan was Aunt Marjorie’s rock?” Candace burst out. The sharpness in her tone brought Lance to his feet.

  Candace sat stunned, her hands clutching the letter. The envelope dropped into her lap. Okay, so Aunt Marjorie told Uncle Dan that she was leaving her husband for him? Did he love her too? Did her dad know? Did Mom? She guessed Dawn knew since these letters were in with hers. This was all too bizarre.

  Candace blinked to clear her vision and lay the letter on the table like a specimen as if to examine it for fingerprints. She raised the envelope up. The light of the chandelier illuminated a blue circle impression next to the stamp.

  Oh my god! The letter was written the summer before Mom and Dad's accident. That next winter they died in that dreadful car wreck, and the following October, Uncle Eric killed himself. She looked at Lancelot who peered back with questioning eyes.

  “That was an awful year, Lance.” She guessed Uncle Eric didn’t divorce Aunt Marjorie, but ended up killing himself instead. Was it because of Uncle Dan? She had a sudden urge to pick up the phone and call her uncle. She mentally checked herself. Her uncle—as the tabloids were known to say—was “unavailable for comment.”

  Wow. Dawn and Candace were both in school back then. Later she’d thought they were finding it impossible to concentrate because of the accident. No wonder Dawn was so into drugs, partying and sex with guys!

  Candace stared into Lance’s eyes as one would a crystal ball. It was late afternoon and the wine had gone to her head. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and she started to fold like a house of cards. She put the letter back in its sleeve and noticed something faintly written on a smudge of lipstick on the back. The name Dan in bubble letters written by Dawn in that poofy style she always liked, but with a magic marker X drawn through the middle of them. Had Dawn read this letter when she was fourteen and reacted to it in this fashion?

  Candace had a million questions. The room began to swim. She folded the letter into quarters and fit it into her shirt breast pocket along with the photograph she had set apart.

  With numb fingertips and a chill through her body, Candace shuffled into the kitchen and opened a can of tomato soup. Jesse would cringe, but she was in need of something quick, warm and comforting. She poured it into a coffee mug from the nearby tree stand and nuked it in the microwave. Jesse had been against owning one of them for the longest time. It contradicted her formal chef’s training, but she finally caved at Uncle’s insistence.

  Grabbing a package of saltines from the pantry, she perched on a stool and stared into the cup. She felt thirteen all over again, feet dangling towards the floor, emotions raging, yearning for answers, and wishing her mom was there. The kitchen fell dark
with the setting sun.

  Candace crawled into Uncle Dan's king-size bed, taking more reading material and Lance with her. She knew they both could smell him. She climbed under the masculine honey and chocolate-colored patchwork comforter. Each quilted block of crushed velvet and suede fabric was trimmed in skinny strips of brown leather, the longest of which hung free at the ends of each row creating fringe. Candace dozed off rereading the letter from her pocket.

  Her eyes opened to frail veins of sunlight revealing more letters and pictures spread around the room. It was clear Uncle Dan had been rummaging through the contents of the attic. Had he found what he was looking for? And if he did, what was it?

  Candace stretched under the sheets, stiff, tired, and confused. Could Dawn's mother have been in love with Uncle Dan and kept it a secret all these years? Even after Dawn and Candace had both grown, living lives of their own? Was this secret accompanied by perpetual lies held only from her? Why on earth? She wondered what Aunt Marj would have to say.

  The sun rose enough to shine between the wooden shutter slats. An hour more and the room would be brightly lit. The earth tones and dream catchers hanging in Uncle's room screamed Navajo. Wind chimes just outside his window made from turquoise, lifted one’s mood and spirit with a tinkle from the stones. His view of the rock garden beyond was filled with flowering cactus. Several offshoots planted in clay pots, dotted around the interior of his room. Cinnamon-colored tiles covered the floor. Candace needed slippers to protect her feet from the rough edges of the grout and the chill, even in summer.

  The house phone rang out, startling her. She was afraid to answer it. “Hello. Kane residence.”

  “Candace, is that you? It’s Tripp.”

  “Oh.” This was a blast from the past. She hadn’t expected to hear from her college flame. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “I just heard from my dad about the accident. If you need anything, anything at all, I can come out. I’m living in Colorado Springs, and I’ve been working with my dad in his law office. Anyway, this is such a shock. I know you must be devastated. Dad asked me to take a look at Dan’s will along with any other paperwork you might need. I called the hospital and gave them your uncle’s DNR, and I also contacted a couple of specialists back east. I can’t imagine the doctor’s there in Gallegos are anywhere near the cream of the crop, and I can get someone flown out.” He finally took a breath.

  Whoa, boy! You’ve obviously been awake for a while or had a hefty shot of espresso —too chipper for this hour in the morning, she thought but said, “Tripp, how are you?”

  “I’m good. It’s been a long time,” he answered.

  “Yes, it has. I didn’t even know that you were living here in Colorado. Listen, I really appreciate your offer of help, but I’m leaving today to go back to Denver. I have some business to handle. I can come by your Dad’s office another day this week. Will that work?

  “I guess so, but be sure to drop by my office when you come in,” he said.

  “Umm, okay. I’ll see you then.”

  That was Tripp. After all this time.

  She had met Tripp the year before he started law school when she was only beginning to ponder the possibility of a career wearing an apron and billowy white hat. Both attended the University of Colorado in Boulder. The city located at the base of the foothills of the Rocky Mountains was home to the oldest and first university in the state.

  Drawn by Candace’s culinary prowess, he and half the Kappa Sigma fraternity welcomed her late-night study snacks. Nothing spelled comfort food better than bites of Welsh rarebit on toast points or Reuben pretzel nuggets or generous helpings of cheesy grits topped with over-easy eggs and buttered toast the morning of an exam.

  As a little sister of the “house,” Candace had a knack for sensing a brothers’ empty stomach, and it wasn’t long before she regularly satisfied Tripp’s gnawing study hunger in exchange for time spent entertained by his way with words and soothing logic.

  “You see everything so simply and succinctly,” she had praised him one evening, sitting on the couch in the Kappa Sigma parlor. Listening to him talk about the state of the country and the world at large, she felt calm and safe. The room was literally old-school with historically important oil paintings and built-in bookshelves enclosing the period furniture. A huge fireplace warmed the room when necessary and telescoping reading lamps were scattered freely to create cozy study corners within the main portion of the area.

  “Well, life can be pretty simple and succinct if you choose to live it that way,” he’d boasted.

  “Not in my experience. Life comes full steam ahead, and if you're sharp enough, you might just steer out of the way!” she said emphatically. From what she knew of him, both of his parents and his three sets of grandparents were still alive. What would he know about loss or loneliness?

  “Stick with me, honey, and I'll steer you through the shark infested waters.” His tone deepened, creating a dramatic response.

  “Thanks, but it's not the sharks I'm worried about. I'd just turn 'em into sushi.” She smiled, waving an imaginary knife in the air. Suddenly changing her choreography to a mid-air Hitchcock Psycho-stabbing gesture, she added, “It's the unexpected curves and dips in life that'll get ya.”

  “What's got you so jaded?” He looked over the top edge of his tortoise-shell framed glasses. He obviously only needed them for reading, but they made him look pretty distinguished. He had a copper glow to his hair that matched the richly colored draperies in the room. With golden skin and soft brown eyes, he reminded her of an Irish setter, cuddly and content. She took pride in just knowing this handsome young man, who only broke from relentless studying when she brought her food offerings.

  “I just know what it's like to have the proverbial rug pulled out from underneath you, that's all,” she stated.

  “What rug knocked you on your ass?” He seemed genuinely interested but a little callous.

  “My parents died when I was young,” she said tentatively. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, but she didn't like sharing the details of her past with anyone.

  Pulling his glasses off, letting his book fold into his lap and resting his elbows on his knees, he sat forward and touched her thigh. “I'm so sorry. What happened if you don't mind my asking?”

  “They were killed in a car accident when I was thirteen.” She hesitated and then went on. “They'd been on a skiing trip. Their car ran off a mountain road in the winter of '88.”

  “That's awful. You were so young.”

  “It's not something I dwell on, but when I meet someone who looks at the world the way you do, so comfortably and securely, I can't help but wonder how. I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

  “Well, I guess you were adopted by a nice family. I mean, you don't look like you live the life of an orphan,” he said, giving a nod to their surroundings.

  Could it have been the ladies gold Rolex watch on her wrist or the Burberry scarf around her neck that gave her away?

  “No, I didn't. My uncle raised me, my dad's brother. He was there to pick up the pieces when my parents died. He really didn't have much choice since it was written in their will, giving him legal guardianship.” She hugged her knees against her chest. “He was a confirmed bachelor, an investment banker from Denver, and like a duck out of water when it came to kids, but we managed. You might know of him—Daniel Kane.”

  “Dan Kane? Whoa, little lady, your uncle travels in lofty circles. My father's law firm deals with his brokerage house. Dan Kane's little girl…well, what do ya know about that?”

  She could see his interest pique. Like many of the other college guys he probably thought she was pretty in a preppy sort of way, smart, and wealthy. She knew what came next…the big pick up line.

  “So, tell me about you,” she countered. Uncle Dan told her that men have two favorite subjects…sports and themselves.

  He straightened his back and sat taller. “I'm an Air Force brat. My father and mother trave
led all over Europe and Asia when I was young. We ended up in Colorado Springs in base housing for high school. Everything about my life was pretty regimented and planned out for me.” He clasped his hands behind his head and rested his back against the sofa arm. “My grandfather served in World Warr II and went to law school on the GI Bill. He founded our family's practice. My dad was expected to serve our country and follow suit, which he did. Now, it's my turn.”

  “You've been in the service?”

  “No, not yet, but I plan to enlist after law school. My dad's a bit of a throwback. He thinks I should get my degree through the Air Force but I really want to go to Harvard.”

  “Ivy league boy, huh?”

  “Hardly, but it's been a dream of mine since I was a kid.” He showed a perfect gleaming white smile which almost made her reconsider her decision not to get braces. That tiny space between her two front teeth, though barely noticeable, made her smile less than perfect, but she loved keeping that little part of her dad alive by refusing to adjust hers. She ran her tongue over the gap.

  “How about you, what are you in for?” His eyes searched her face.

  “Liberal Arts.” She shrugged. “Certainly not my dream, but it was something to study. My parents wanted me to go to college. Something about my dad being a self-made man, never having the chance, and my mom was headed for a career in clothing design until she met my dad. The two started a manufacturing business in Florida instead. I was born shortly after, and I'm told they wanted me to have broader horizons.” She made finger quotes in the air to punctuate the last two words.

  “So, are you into design like your parents or planning to work with your uncle?”

  “Actually, I'm starting culinary school next semester. I've always wanted to be a chef.” She grinned, tilting her head toward the large empty platter on the coffee table.

  “I should have known. You already do pretty well in that department. You can cook for me anytime.” He paused to clear his throat and fiddle with his glasses. “Where will you study?”