As she leaned in to carve another helping, Tish noticed the figure of Enid Kemper standing in the parking lot. She had returned to the lodge sans Langhorne, and stood just outside the tented walkway, staring at the front door as heavy rain poured down upon what appeared to be a threadbare raincoat.
Tish was torn between rushing outdoors to offer the woman shelter and charging outdoors to shoo the woman away, but a flash of lightning followed by a momentary power outage ended any such deliberation. When the lights came back on in the kitchen, Enid had vanished.
The standing rib roast and the three hundred people in the reception hall, however, had not.
‘You OK?’ Mary Jo quizzed, genuine concern in her voice.
‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,’ Tish assured. ‘I just need to get the main course plated.’
‘Is that why you were staring out the window?’ Mary Jo teased, as she loaded up another tray for delivery. Kayla and Greg, in the meantime, both snickered and rolled their eyes at their mother’s sarcasm.
The familial scene immediately brought Tish back to earth. There was no fooling her old friend. ‘Sorry, things are just a little weird tonight,’ she explained as she went back to carving and the ragtime band resumed playing.
‘Um, like three hundred people to feed and water, a dragon lady librarian nipping at your heels, and Jules doing his Tom-Cruise-in-Cocktail-impersonation weird? Yeah, I feel you.’
Tish laughed out loud. ‘Oh no, Jules hasn’t started juggling the cocktail shakers yet, has he?’
‘Not with this crowd. They’re keeping him way too busy mixing drinks. He’s had just enough time to twirl a few bottles and toss a couple of garnishes.’
‘Whew.’
‘Oh, the night’s still young. There’s plenty of time for him to juggle the cocktail shakers, do a dance on the bar, or accidently pelt a society matron with a wayward maraschino cherry.’
‘Awesome.’ Tish sighed.
‘Well, Binnie’s not playing at anything,’ Celestine announced upon her return to the kitchen, ‘at least not as far as I can tell. She took the hot sauce, doused her ham with it, and dug in.’
‘That’s that, then.’
‘Oh, she also said she would like to see you when you get a moment.’
‘Sure. I’ll go out as soon as we’re finished plating the entrée.’
True to her word, upon plating the last of the garnishes and sides, Tish washed her hands, removed her apron, donned a pristine white chef’s jacket (which she had purchased for just such an occasion) and excused herself from the kitchen just as Kayla and Gregory had finished loading the empty first-course dishes into the high-capacity dishwasher, and shortly after Mary Jo sent Melissa out to begin serving the main course.
As the Dixieland band replaced their jubilant jazz with a slow, soft swing standard, Tish wended her way to table number one. There, she waited for Melissa to complete the dinner service and watched while Binnie took a bite of her prime rib, frowned, and then doused the entire plate with sriracha.
Tish felt a hole develop in the pit of her stomach. Yet she stepped forward to accept her fate. ‘Mrs Broderick, I hope you’re finding everything to your liking.’
Binnie pulled a face. ‘It’s satisfactory. The tents outdoors were a bit too rustic for my taste, but my guests appreciated not being rained upon. I’ve also received some compliments on the food thus far, although I find it rather bland myself.’
‘Well, I for one disagree. This prime rib is one of the best I’ve ever put in my mouth,’ the fortyish peroxide blonde to Binnie’s left contended.
‘You always have been easy … to please.’ Binnie eyed the blonde and the ruddy-faced man seated beside her. ‘Ms Tarragon, allow me to introduce you. The woman you see wearing the inappropriately low-cut dress and scarfing down on prime rib is my daughter, Cordelia. The inebriated man alongside her is my son-in-law and Cordelia’s husband, John Ballantyne. As you can see, John is a fan of your bartender friend.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Tish extended an awkward hand to the couple. ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying the event.’
‘Yes, it’s lovely.’ Cordelia shook Tish’s hand. ‘One of the best in years.’
‘The company on the other hand,’ John added with a devilish glance at his mother-in-law.
‘We’re also finding everything quite delicious,’ a black woman in an elegant, one-shouldered red evening gown announced from her side of the table. ‘I’ve never had rockfish that was so moist and flavorful. I’d ask you for the recipe, but I know chefs need to preserve their secrets.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Tish said with a bow.
‘No, thank you.’ The woman rose from her seat and extended a long slender arm. ‘Augusta May Wilson, President of the Hobson Glen Library Board.’
‘Pleased to meet you. Tish Tarragon, new owner of Cookin’ the Books Café and Catering.’
‘Welcome to the neighborhood,’ a tuxedoed gentleman hailed, introducing himself as Augusta’s husband, Edwin.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tish noticed Binnie take another bite of beef, chew it, and cringe.
As if in response to Binnie’s reaction, Augusta continued the praise. ‘If your café menu is as good as the food you’ve cooked up tonight, I look forward to visiting you for lunch.’
‘There’s a terrible a shortage of eateries in Hobson Glen,’ Cordelia added. ‘Your place will be a long-awaited addition.’
‘Will you feature a wine list or a bar?’ John inquired.
‘Not straight away, no,’ was Tish’s honest reply. ‘I’m going to focus on breakfast pastries and lunch first.’
‘I was joking. Just looking to get a rise,’ John added, hiking a thumb toward his mother-in-law.
As if on cue, Binnie clutched at her throat and made a gagging sound.
‘John was only kidding, Mother.’ Cordelia sighed in exasperation.
Binnie, however, was not. Her eyes wide with terror, she gasped for air and clutched at her abdomen with one hand, while banging on the table with the other, as if to drive home the direness of her situation.
‘Oh my God, Mother!’ Cordelia exclaimed as she rose to her feet, overturning her chair in the process.
‘Doctor! We need a doctor! Is Doctor Livermore here?’ John shouted as he stood and placed a consoling hand on his wife’s shoulder.
The remaining two occupants of the table – a tall, slender woman with short-cropped black hair and equine features, and a small-framed man with graying hair, glasses, and a non-descript countenance – leapt from their seats and covered their mouths.
‘I know the Heimlich maneuver,’ Edwin suggested before racing to the other side of the table.
He was intercepted by a silver-haired man in a white dinner jacket. ‘I’m Doctor Livermore,’ he hastily introduced himself to Tish. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Oh, Doctor Livermore,’ Cordelia cried. ‘Thank God you’re here! My mother’s choking. Help her!’
Before any such anti-choking treatments could be attempted, Binnie Broderick stood up, gurgled, gasped, and fell face forward into her plate of Prime Rib of Miss Jean Brodie, splattering Stilton gravy all over the white table cloth, the white floral centerpiece, and the garments of those who surrounded her.
Cordelia released a blood-curdling shriek that resonated from the floorboards to the rafters.
At the sound of the scream, the kitchen staff surged into the reception room, a member of Tish’s wait staff dropped her tray, sending plates of food crashing to the dance floor, and the light dinner music came, instantly and abruptly, to a halt.
‘Everybody stay calm. No one panic,’ Tish commanded. ‘Someone call nine-one-one.’
‘Already dialing.’ Jules rushed forth from the crowd.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ a dark-haired, mustached man in a red-and-white striped jacket, white pants, shirt, and tie declared as he moved through the crowd, a highly polished brass instrument still encircling his body.
‘
I appreciate you wanting to help, sir,’ Tish responded, ‘but as the caterer in charge, I don’t think a tuba player is precisely what’s needed right now.’
‘Sousaphone,’ the man corrected while pulling a wallet out of his back pocket.
‘Sousaphone? This woman is fighting for her life and you—’
The man coolly displayed his sheriff’s badge and ID. ‘I’ve already radioed.’
Tish’s mouth drew into a tiny ‘o.’ ‘Oops.’
‘That’s not all you were wrong about,’ Doctor Livermore pronounced as he felt Binnie Broderick’s neck for a pulse. ‘Mrs Broderick isn’t fighting for her life. She’s already dead.’
FOUR
After the body of Binnie Broderick had been wheeled out of the Hobson Glen Masonic Lodge on a gurney, Tish and company, along with the three hundred guests in attendance, provided their contact information to the police and were allowed to go home.
Sheriff Clemson Reade (whose name she learned shortly after their extremely awkward first meeting) left strict orders that apart from leftovers, which could be wrapped and refrigerated, nothing in the lodge – food served, dirty dishes – should be touched or removed from the premises until further notice.
That notice arrived at noon the next day, when Sheriff Reade called Tish to inform her that the lodge was cleared for cleaning and to request that she stop by the precinct at three o’clock that afternoon.
‘Oh, by the way,’ the sheriff added before hanging up, ‘we got the coroner’s preliminary report. Binnie Broderick was poisoned.’
With the sheriff’s go-ahead, and her stomach in knots about Binnie’s death and what it might mean for her business, Tish called Celestine, Mary Jo, and Jules to share the news. The quartet, along with Mary Jo’s children, met at the Masonic Lodge shortly afterward to commence with the scrubbing, washing, and drying.
Not even an hour into their work, Jules took a break to microwave himself a serving of prime rib, gravy, vegetables, and a baked potato. He stood, hunched over the counter, devouring it with gusto.
‘How can you eat at a time like this?’ Tish scowled as she emptied the first of many loads of dishes from the dishwasher.
‘What? I finished clearing all the tables. I’ll disassemble the tables and chairs and get to the mopping when I’m done.’
‘No, I mean, how can you eat with everything that’s happened?’
‘Better question is how can I not? Not only haven’t I eaten breakfast, but I am a major stress-eater. I always have been. I just can’t help it.’
‘He’s telling the truth,’ Mary Jo substantiated. ‘Remember how he’d plump up right around mid-terms and finals?’
‘Oh, that’s right. We thought we’d have to expand his graduation gown,’ Tish recollected.
‘I was never plump,’ Jules maintained. ‘And I’d like to remind you, Mary Jo, that your children are in this kitchen. What kind of example are you setting for them? How about young Kayla here? She doesn’t need to hear her mother fat-shame another human being. Do you, honey?’
Kayla grinned as she dried a pot lid her mother washed and rinsed. ‘I saw the yearbook photos, Uncle Jules. To be fair, you were just a wee bit on the plump side.’
Jules reared back. ‘That’s it. You’re out of my will.’
‘But you were still fabulous,’ Kayla swiftly added.
‘Aw, honey. You’re so sweet,’ Jules gushed. ‘MJ, you’re doing such a fine job with your children.’
Tish cleared her throat. ‘Child rearing, plumpness, and other issues aside, you do realize that eating the same meal the dead woman ate might not be the best idea.’
‘Humph?’ Jules questioned, his eyes wide and his mouth full of potato.
‘Sheriff Reade said she was poisoned.’
‘This was in the refrigerator. Never served, never plated. It couldn’t possibly have harmed anyone.’
‘Not unless the poisoning Sheriff Reade referred to was food poisoning,’ Tish posed. ‘Food-borne botulism can cause both difficulty swallowing and trouble breathing.’
Mary Jo and Celestine stared at Tish, their faces a question. ‘What? I learned it in a food safety class,’ she explained.
At the word ‘botulism’, Jules had looked up from his prime rib. ‘Wait. You really think Binnie could have died of food poisoning?’
Tish nodded. ‘Possible. That might be why the police want to see me later today.’
Jules stared hard at his plate. ‘It tastes just fine to me. In fact, it’s absolutely delicious.’
‘That’s the thing about food poisoning. Food doesn’t have to taste “spoiled” to carry bacteria.’
‘Oh, come on, Tish,’ Mary Jo reasoned. ‘You’re a perfectionist. You wouldn’t have put any of this food at risk of contamination.’
‘Not normally, no. But I’ve never cooked for a crowd this size before. I could have goofed somewhere along the line.’
Jules stared a few more moments at his plate. ‘How much did Binnie eat?’
‘Two bites.’
Tish’s answer appeared to make Jules shrug off his concerns. ‘Well, I’ve already eaten seven times that amount and I seem to be doing OK.’
‘Seven? More like ten,’ Mary Jo remarked.
‘Hey, I’m not going to let the best cut of beef I’ve ever eaten go to waste. I may even have another when I’m done with this one.’
‘Two pieces of prime rib that might have food poisoning. Your stress eating has just reached a whole new level.’
‘Y’all just stop with the food-poisoning talk already,’ Celestine requested. ‘I was in this kitchen all day with Tish, helping her prepare. We all were. There’s nothing wrong with that food. I’m willing to swear to it.’
‘Thanks, Celestine,’ Tish said in a near whisper.
‘No need to thank me, I’m just saying it as it is. I’m sorry to have seen Binnie go the way she did, but truth is, she was a miserable woman. That sort of misery has a way of catching up with a person.’
‘You’re so right,’ Jules agreed. ‘I don’t know of anyone who really liked the woman. Not only was Mrs Broderick mean, but she obviously had absolutely no taste whatsoever. To say what she said about your food, Tish? Why, had she said that to me, I would have dragged her into the parking lot and shot her. Oh. I mean …’
It was Jules’s turn to be the subject of questioning stares.
‘Sorry. Wrong phrase.’ He self-consciously put a forkful of vegetables in his mouth.
‘Well, food poisoning or not, my reputation as a caterer is shot,’ Tish sighed.
‘That’s not true, honey,’ Celestine soothed. ‘As soon as the police prove it wasn’t food poisoning, you’re in the clear.’
‘Legally, perhaps, but not in the minds of the locals. Whatever the cause of her death, the last thing Binnie did was take a bite of my food. Everyone at that table saw it. Everyone in the reception room knows it. None of them will ever eat at my café or hire me to cater their event. Not after this.’
‘You know, when I worked in marketing and PR, we had a saying, “There’s no such thing as bad publicity,”’ Mary Jo shared. ‘At least people are talking about you and your food.’
‘Great. But how do I make them talk about it in a positive light?’
‘Well, when my clients would get a bit of bad press, I’d first make them apologize for the action and make amends—’
‘Not applicable here.’
‘Then I’d send them out on a goodwill project. A visit to a hospital, a donation to a charitable foundation, that sort of thing.’
As Mary Jo provided her professional advice, Jules had finished his prime rib lunch and extracted a Finnegan’s Cake from the refrigerator.
‘What are you eating now, Uncle Jules?’ a bemused Gregory asked.
‘Just a little something sweet to complete my lunch.’ He plopped the cake on to a dessert plate and dug in with the same fork he had used on the prime rib. It had, naturally, been licked clean before slicing into the c
hocolate confection.
‘Are you here to clean dishes or create more?’ Tish teased.
‘The word “poison” mean anything to you, honey?’ Celestine asked, shaking her head in both bewilderment and amusement.
‘These are totally safe. They were never served to anyone. Not even Binnie Broderick.’ He licked his lips and took a bite.
‘He does have a point.’ Mary Jo salivated as Jules licked the creamy frosting from his lips.
‘Celestine, these are pure genius.’
‘Why, thank you,’ the baker blushed.
‘No, I mean it. Rich and yet light as a feather.’
‘They are awfully good,’ Tish stated. ‘Maybe it’s time we all take a break?’
Tish didn’t have to ask the question twice, for Mary Jo and her kids were at the refrigerator door within moments.
Tish grabbed dessert plates and forks for everyone and then dug into her own cake. ‘Mmm … this is heavenly!’
‘Outrageous,’ Mary Jo agreed. Gregory and Kayla, meanwhile, plowed through their cakes as if they had been denied such sweet treats all their lives.
‘May I have another one?’ Gregory asked.
‘How much booze is in the icing?’
‘Oh, just a couple shots for the whole batch,’ Celestine replied.
‘OK … it’s fine with me, but you need to ask Tish and Celestine.’
‘It’s fine with me too, honey. I don’t need them’ – Celestine placed a hand on a well-rounded rounded hip – ‘and Mr Rufus doesn’t much like sweets.’
‘Totally good with me too,’ Tish concurred. ‘I mean, we only have nearly three hundred of them to get rid of or freeze or …’
Like lightning, a thought flashed into Tish’s mind. She immediately rushed to the refrigerator and opened the door to admire the stacks of pristine miniature cakes lining the appliance’s shelves. ‘Three hundred of them,’ Tish repeated. ‘Celestine, do you happen to have a smaller carrier for these? Say, something to transport about a dozen cupcakes at once?’
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