Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘Yeah, we know,’ Jules thrust his phone in front of Tish’s nose. ‘It’s all over town.’

  Once her eyes acclimated to the shade offered by the porch ceiling, Tish’s focus zoomed in on the main headline on the home page of the Richmond Times Dispatch: LIBRARY DIRECTOR FATALLY POISONED AT ANNUAL FUNDRAISER. ‘Oh no,’ she moaned.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jules assured. ‘The Dispatch doesn’t mention your name or who did the catering.’

  ‘Thank goodness for small favors,’ she replied before taking a swig of lemonade. ‘At least I have some time to spread those cakes around, talk to the townspeople, and find out what really happened.’

  Mary Jo cleared her throat and motioned to Jules.

  Their exchange wasn’t lost upon Tish. ‘What? What is it? What aren’t you telling me?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well, as you know, I’ve been a weatherman for years. So, the folks from my station are on their way into town to cover the story and I, um, I may have accidentally told them who you are,’ Jules timidly confessed.

  ‘What? Why would you do that?’ Tish demanded.

  ‘Listen, we can’t undo what’s been done,’ Mary Jo leapt between her two best friends. ‘We simply need to spin this in a positive light.’

  Tish collapsed on to the cushion beside Mary Jo. ‘There’s no point, MJ. Not only was a woman poisoned at an event I catered, but I may have hired the person who did it.’

  ‘You know who killed Binnie?’ Jules gasped

  ‘Of course not.’ Tish detailed her conversation with Sheriff Reade.

  ‘You don’t seriously believe Celestine poisoned Binnie with hot sauce?’ Mary Jo challenged when Tish had finished.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tish admitted. ‘But the very fact Celestine’s a suspect in this case doesn’t reflect well on me. After all, I hired her without any sort of background check. I got sucked into her cake portfolio, trusted she did a great job at the bakery, and – oh! Oh, wait! Schuyler’s mother owned the bakery and she’s dead too! What if Celestine murdered her as well? Good Lord, I might have hired a homicidal maniac!’

  ‘A homicidal maniac who bakes and decorates fairy princess cakes for little girls’ birthdays,’ a sardonic Mary Jo noted.

  ‘And adores the heart and humor of my man-on-the-street weather forecasts,’ Jules added.

  ‘A jury could have her institutionalized on that count alone,’ Mary Jo said under her breath, eliciting a smile from Tish.

  ‘Hey,’ Jules objected, although he knew Mary Jo had only made the comment to lighten Tish’s mood.

  ‘Listen, honey’ – Mary Jo placed an arm around her best friend – ‘I used to work in advertising and public relations, remember? It’s been a while, I know, but my previous boss maintained that all publicity is good publicity.’

  ‘MJ’s right,’ Jules agreed. ‘The best thing you could do is issue a statement to the press. Get to them before they get to you.’

  ‘A statement saying what?’ Tish challenged. ‘I’m sorry your library director is dead, but it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘Um, kinda. Say you’re sorry Mrs Broderick died in the manner she did, extend your condolences to her family and friends, state that you have the utmost confidence that your food was not involved in the crime, and make it clear that you’re cooperating with police to find the perpetrator of this dastardly deed.’

  ‘Dastardly deed? That makes it sound as if she was tied to train tracks by some guy wearing a black hat and an elaborate handlebar mustache.’

  ‘How about heinous crime?’ Jules suggested.

  ‘Not if I have to say it on television.’

  ‘We’ll work on something else,’ he promised.

  ‘While you and Jules work on the press statement, I’ll generate some positive buzz for the café.’ Mary Jo explained her part of the scheme. ‘Do you think we can set a date for the grand opening?’

  ‘Sure, so long as I’m not a suspect in the case,’ Tish stipulated.

  ‘Oh, honey, I don’t see how you could be,’ Mary Jo dismissed. ‘Anyway, I’ll plan a great party with lots of food samples, giveaways, and the like, and I’ll promote the heck out of it in all the papers. In the meantime, you’ll do your own personal PR work.’

  ‘Well, I was going to distribute the rest of the Finnegan’s Cakes to the townsfolk. Get their view of things …’

  ‘That’s an excellent start, but I think we should also deliver a tray of sandwiches to the police – you know, a goodwill gesture for their hard work.’

  ‘We can get some press for that, too.’ Jules smiled.

  Tish was hesitant. ‘Um, not to be a Debbie Downer here, but mightn’t my bringing food to the sheriff’s office be construed as a bribe? Especially since either the food or the hot sauce I provided the victim is probably the murder weapon?’

  Jules and Mary Jo groaned in unison.

  ‘Yeah.’ Tish frowned.

  ‘OK, scratch that idea,’ Mary Jo stated. ‘Give me a chance to brainstorm; I know I’ll come up with something terrific!’

  ‘You mean like donating several pints of blood, adopting a pack of shelter dogs, or maybe even delivering a week’s worth of meals to a convent run by elderly nuns?’ Tish half joked.

  ‘Nuns! That would be – oh, wait, no.’ Mary Jo swung from excitement to dismissiveness. ‘The nearest convent is over an hour and a half away. That would do you no good here in Hobson Glen.’

  Tish rolled her eyes and drank back the remainder of her lemonade. ‘On that note, I’m going out.’

  ‘Out?’ Jules asked. ‘You only just got here.’

  ‘Public relations stuff,’ she answered and then got up from the swing with a broad stretch. ‘I have cakes to distribute, people to schmooze, babies to kiss. Oh, and a visit to a certain cake decorator who may owe her new employer an explanation.’

  SEVEN

  The Rufus residence consisted of a white-shingled, single-story ranch home nestled at the end of a shady, tree-lined dirt road. Tish pulled into a dusty driveway littered with tricycles, bicycles, sporting balls, a hard-sided kiddie pool, and a little red Radio Flyer wagon. At the top of the drive stood a white-shingled double-car garage, complete with a basketball hoop over the door. It was clear from the scene that Grandma’s house was a favorite gathering place.

  Tish swung open the driver’s door, only to be greeted by Celestine herself. ‘Hey, girl! How you holdin’ up?’ the older woman asked with a welcoming embrace.

  Tish returned the hug. ‘A lot better than Binnie Broderick.’

  ‘Crazy. Just plain crazy. Though I suppose when you go through life being mean, it catches up to you eventually. Still, it’s not proper someone should go that way.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘So you said on the phone you needed to talk to me?’

  ‘Yes, if you’re not too busy.’

  ‘Nah, just baking a cake for my son-in-law. He passed his head mechanic test over at the town garage. He’ll be making three dollars more an hour than he was before. Maybe now my daughter can lay off the night shifts and spend more time with the kids. They spend their afternoons with me most days until my son-in-law can pick ’em up in the evening.’ Taking a break from her storytelling, Celestine swung open the white aluminum storm door that led into the kitchen, and allowed Tish to step inside before following behind her.

  Tish glanced around the kitchen in wonder; it was as if she had been transported back to the 1980s. Oak cabinets with raised arched panels and large brass handles fronted the wall and base cupboards, square white tiles with contrasting grout lined the countertops and backsplash, and white, brick-patterned linoleum covered the floors. Despite its outdated style, Celestine’s kitchen was as warm and welcoming as the woman herself. African violets bloomed on the ledge of the over-sink window and were framed by a pair of lacy tier curtains, the aging refrigerator was covered with photos, thank-you cards from satisfied customers, and children’s drawings, and atop the bank of wall cabinets rested a collection of vintage cookie jars.


  It decidedly was not, Tish determined, the kitchen of a murderess. At least, not unless Binnie Broderick had committed some terrible crime against a member of Celestine’s family or cadre of close acquaintances. If Binnie had, then, as the saying goes, all bets would have been off.

  ‘So, you said you needed to talk to me. I can only imagine it’s about this Binnie Broderick business,’ Celestine surmised as she pulled a lidded plastic pitcher from the refrigerator. ‘No other reason for you to drive all the way up here on a hot day like today. Unless it was just to see my pretty face.’

  ‘I’m actually glad to see you,’ Tish said honestly. ‘And your home. It’s lovely – very warm and welcoming. But, yes, I did come to talk about Binnie. I saw Sheriff Reade not too long ago.’

  Celestine poured the contents of the pitcher into two tall glasses. ‘Lemon for your tea?’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Tish accepted. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Yeah, Clem called here a few minutes ago.’ Celestine called the sheriff by his more familiar nickname. ‘I’m scheduled to see him first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’m afraid I may have had something to do with that,’ Tish confessed with a grimace. ‘When he asked me who served Binnie last night, I told him about Melissa. Then I remembered that it was you who had delivered the hot sauce. I’m sorry for pulling you into this.’

  Celestine handed Tish her glass of tea and invited her to sit at the round oak dining table. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, honey. All you did is tell the truth. No need to apologize for that.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Tish settled into a carved oak Windsor kitchen chair and took a sip of tea.

  Celestine took her spot at the table. ‘Now then, you didn’t come all this way just to apologize, did you?’

  ‘No, I didn’t,’ Tish confessed. ‘I, um … well, as we know Binnie Broderick was poisoned, and it was most likely something she ate that contained the arsenic, I was … well … I was …’

  Celestine’s voice held the gentle yet perceptive tone of a mother who knew her child was hiding something. ‘You were wondering what happened when I brought the hot sauce out to Lavinia,’ she said, completing Tish’s sentence and calmly taking a sip of her iced tea.

  ‘Yes, I was. Although now I’m sorry I even thought it—’

  ‘Oh, don’t be, honey,’ Celestine shooed. ‘You invested your life savings in this business of yours, and even though you hired me to bake cakes for your parties, you really don’t know me from Adam. If the shoe were on the other foot, I’d be sitting right where you are just about now.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate your understanding.’

  ‘No problem. Last night, I brought the hot sauce to the table and slammed it down in front of Lavinia. Not polite, I admit, but she needed to know that I wasn’t gonna put up with her guff.’

  ‘What did she say to you?’

  ‘Not much. She was too busy watching the mayor, who had stopped by the table to say hello to everyone. He’s always campaignin’. He was talking to Roberta Dutton, that strange woman who runs the library circulation desk. Lavinia took the hot sauce without even looking at me, soaked her ham and polenta, and started eating. In between bites she mentioned that you were to come out of the kitchen to see her. That was it.’

  ‘Did Roberta Dutton appear angry when speaking with the mayor?’

  ‘Angry? No, more like amused. Augusta May Wilson, on the other hand …’ Celestine whistled. ‘If looks could kill. She wasn’t talking to the mayor but her eyes were. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that knife of hers in his back.’

  ‘Hmm, wonder what that’s about?’ Tish mused.

  ‘Couldn’t say.’

  ‘Well, thanks for your honesty, Celestine. And, again, for your understanding. Although I still don’t feel very good about questioning you in your own kitchen.’

  ‘Nonsense. The whole town knows how I felt about Mizz Lavinia Broderick. Only a matter of time until you found out that I hated her.’

  Tish felt a hole suddenly develop in the pit of her stomach. ‘Hated her?’

  ‘Hate is a strong word, I know. And I try never to use it. I’ve lived my life giving people the benefit of the doubt.’ Celestine added with a half-smile, ‘Until Binnie. With that woman it was all doubt and no benefit.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Well, aside from being a self-righteous, stubborn, stuck-up cow of a woman, Lavinia Broderick killed my best friend.’

  Tish stared at her glass of tea, her soul in turmoil. What the hell was she doing here, invading this woman’s privacy? Saving one’s business was one thing, but Cookin’ the Books was not a business. It was simply a dream – nothing more. If she’d been smart, she’d have sold her Richmond home, moved to the coast, kept her bank job, and retired in twenty years. But no, she had to come to Hobson Glen …

  Before Tish had further time to reflect, questions tumbled from her subconscious to her mouth. ‘What? Who? How?’

  ‘Cynthia Thompson, the previous owner of your café there. I told you how she ran a bakery. Cynthia wasn’t just my boss; she was the best friend a gal could ever have. I was already working the counter and register and cleaning up at closing when Mr Rufus’s arthritis flared up, causing him to take a month off work. Knowing I had some money woes and seeing how I loved to bake – always have; thought about doing it as a career back in the day – she – I mean, Cynthia – sent me to formal baking and decorating courses. Two years in total, entirely on her own dime. As I learned more about baking, my job evolved and so did my paycheck. It was a future I’d never dreamed I’d have. An actual career instead of just a job.’

  ‘Cynthia sounds like a wonderful human being. Why would Binnie Broderick wish to kill her?’

  ‘Because Cynthia was a bon vivant. She grieved for her husband, Schuyler’s father, to be sure, but she loved living too much to spend her life in mourning. She baked, danced, enjoyed making other people happy through her food and her work. And, like any warm-blooded, straight woman under the age of ninety, she enjoyed the company of men. Oh, I don’t mean a revolving-door situation; Cynthia was too classy and far too invested in her son’s well-being to expose him to that kind of life. However, if Schuyler was at a friend’s house or away at Boy Scout camp, she’d go out for dinner with a gentleman, maybe dancing and a few drinks. Sometimes she’d come right back home after. Other times, I’d get the message that she’d be late the next morning and would I mind opening. I never minded. There’s more to life than work and raising kids. Woman’s gotta feel like a woman sometimes too.’

  ‘But if it didn’t bother you, why should it bother Binnie?’ Tish asked and drank her tea, all her previous concerns having dissipated.

  ‘Why should it, indeed?’ Celestine asked and stared at a spot on the floorboard, seemingly lost in the past. ‘Except for the fact that Lavinia Broderick was a judgmental bitch.’

  Tish watched as Celestine drew a deep breath and, with a look of fury, gulped down the rest of her tea. When she had finished, she set her glass on the oak table and went to the refrigerator to retrieve the pitcher.

  ‘One of Lavinia’s board members owned a coffee shop down the road from Cynthia’s. It’s long gone now and has since become the local restaurant and watering hole. Business at the coffee shop was already bad for Lavinia’s friend when Cynthia set up shop. I mean, if you can’t fix a decent pot of coffee, you have no business using the word on your sign.’ Celestine chuckled as she poured herself another glass of sweet tea. ‘But that didn’t matter to Lavinia. She was determined to ruin Cynthia’s business before it even started.’

  ‘But still … why?’ Tish asked as Celestine offered her another glass of tea, which she readily accepted. ‘I know Binnie was tight with her library donors, but to run someone to the ground for no other reason than to save a donor’s failing business seems awfully extreme. Even for her.’

  ‘Because, to Lavinia, Cynthia was an immoral, self-serving woman taking business away from a hard-working, God
-fearing family man.’ Celestine refilled both glasses with tea and returned to her chair. ‘That, and Lavinia’s own brother was one of Cynthia’s gentleman callers for a time. He was widowed, Cynthia was widowed, and they provided each other with a measure of companionship, but neither of them was ready for a full-on committed relationship, so they parted ways. That didn’t sit well with ol’ Binnie, who was quite clearly from the “once you taste the milk, you’d better buy the cow” school of thinking.’

  ‘Wow!’ Tish shook her head. ‘What year is it again?’

  ‘I often wonder,’ Celestine commiserated.

  ‘So how exactly did Binnie kill Cynthia Thompson? And if she did kill Cynthia, why wasn’t she in prison?’

  ‘It wasn’t a direct kill with a gun or poison. This was rendered quietly. Steadily. Wearing Cynthia down bit by bit until the cancer in her body multiplied and consumed her. You see, Mizz Lavinia was always of an argumentative nature. Whether it was because she believed someone was ripping her off, or she disliked the way someone dressed, or disagreed with a person’s lifestyle choice, Lavinia was always looking for a fight. She felt it her duty to call people out on their, um, “misdeeds.”’ Celestine drew a pair of quotation marks in the air. ‘When she waged war against Cynthia Thompson, it was just another in a long string of skirmishes for Lavinia, but for Cynthia, who only sought the good in people, it was a terrible battle. Cynthia never could wrap her head around Lavinia’s cruelty – it was in such contrast to the way she lived her own life.’

  ‘And you? From the toys outside and the crayon drawings on the refrigerator, I can see that you’re a woman who adores, and is adored by, her friends and family. Would you kill to avenge the murder of someone you loved?’

  ‘I considered it,’ Celestine admitted. ‘There were moments during Cynthia’s last few days when I’d watch Schuyler blink back the tears as he held his mama’s hand. Times when her pain was so unbearable that the nurses had to hook her up to yet another morphine drip, only to be unable to find a usable vein cause they’d all been tapped into. Those nights, I’d drive home from the hospital and stop in front of the Broderick house, my foot hovering over the gas pedal as I wondered if I shouldn’t just drive Mr Rufus’s big ol’ Dodge pickup right through Lavinia’s bedroom and end it for both of us.’