Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘Wow.’ Although impressive in its accuracy and detail, Tish felt as if she had entered a museum or a historical exhibit rather than a home.

  ‘Thanks. It’s usually more colorful in here, but Mother put the rugs away for the summer and I forgot to cut some flowers for the table as I usually do. Mother always puts the rugs away for summer, just as the Darlingtons have always done. She’s a stickler for such things. I mean she was a stickler …’ Cordelia corrected herself with a troubled expression.

  ‘Her care and attention paid off. It’s a lovely home.’

  ‘Everything is original too. The furniture and family portraits have been in the family for years, and Mother had the walls scraped down so she could match the original paint colors. The only concessions she made were for updated electric and plumbing and a functioning kitchen.’

  Functioning was a loose description, Tish discovered as she followed Cordelia into the aforementioned room. Located at the far back of the house, the kitchen appeared to have been added to the main residence some time shortly after the turn of the nineteenth century. Sanitary white tiles lined the floors and walls, betraying the presence of even the smallest crumb or grease splatter; a giant Hoosier cabinet with a ceramic worktop lent extra storage space to the already generous rows of white metal cabinetry; a white ceramic farmhouse sink with built-in drainboard stood tall and deep enough to accommodate even the largest of cooking vessels; and a Wedgewood gas stove with elegantly curved cabriole legs and a host of burners and baking ovens promised to cook, roast, and boil all the food needed to feed a large family – which was handy since the farmhouse table in the center of the room easily seated ten.

  At the time of its installation, Wisteria Knolls’ kitchen must have been considered luxurious and state-of-the-art. However, it was quite likely that the first woman to cook in it had yet to have been granted the right to vote.

  ‘Mother tried to keep this room as she found it too, but she knew she needed to yield to technology, so there’s a side-by-side Viking refrigerator and a microwave in the butler pantry next door.’ Cordelia turned a dial on the stove until it clicked. The front right burner roared to life. ‘Tea with our madeleines?’

  ‘Sure,’ Tish accepted. ‘May I help you at all?’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ Cordelia’s shaky hands belied her words. As she reached for a black ceramic mug from the Hoosier cabinet, the drinking container slipped from her fingers and shattered against the stark whiteness of the ceramic tile floor. Cordelia burst into tears.

  Tish rushed to her side and guided her into one of the Windsor kitchen chairs. ‘Here, you sit and I’ll take care of that tea.’

  ‘Oh no, I couldn’t. I invited you in.’ Cordelia struggled to stand, but Tish eased her back into her seat.

  ‘Next visit, you can wait on me,’ Tish suggested with a smile. ‘This one, you’re sitting out.’

  ‘That’s so very kind of you.’ Cordelia blew her nose in a handkerchief she had stuffed into the pocket of her ankle-length, ecru-colored, gauzy cotton skirt. ‘It may sound odd, but I don’t have many friends really. My mother, my family, and the house have kept me so busy, I haven’t had much time for a social life.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound odd at all,’ Tish stated as she filled the copper tea kettle at the farmhouse sink. ‘It’s difficult to juggle life at times. A person needs to meet the demands of a job, children, and spouse, all while keeping an eye on the checkbook, the aging parents, and the mold that might be growing in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator.’

  ‘And all the while failing miserably at all of them,’ Cordelia lamented.

  Tish recollected a time not long ago when she herself was trying to make a success of her career as an investment banker and get a shaky marriage back on track, while simultaneously trying to assuage a father who wanted her to move back to New York. ‘I’m sure it feels like you’re failing at times, but I doubt you are. We tend to be rougher on ourselves than we are on others.’

  ‘Do you have children, Ms Tarragon?’

  ‘Please, call me Tish.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she replied with a weak smile. ‘Do you have children, Tish?’

  ‘No, I don’t. Not that it was a conscious decision. I love children and had them in my “master plan” if that’s what it’s called, but I never found anyone with whom I could even entertain the possibility. I know times have changed and I might have tried it on my own, but by the time I’d divorced it felt like it was time to do the things I’d put on hold for so long.’

  ‘Like starting a café?’

  ‘Like starting … well, trying to start a café. We’ll see if it takes off.’

  ‘From the taste of your food, I’m sure it will.’

  ‘Thanks. From your mouth to God’s ears, as they say.’ From their argument earlier, Tish already knew Cordelia and John had a daughter, but she saw no better way to introduce the topic into conversation. ‘And how about you? Do you have children?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cordelia’s wan countenance brightened as she fidgeted with her cell phone. ‘A daughter, Charlotte.’ With an outstretched arm, Cordelia displayed a digital photo of a smiling teenage girl with long dark hair and braces.

  ‘She’s lovely.’

  ‘Thanks. She gets her looks from John’s side of the family.’ As if suddenly giving thought to her own appearance, Cordelia pulled her bleached hair out of its ponytail and fluffed it with her fingertips.

  ‘I don’t know about that. I see quite a bit of you in her too. How old is she?’

  ‘Sixteen. Seventeen in a few weeks. I was hoping to celebrate with her.’ Cordelia’s glum expression returned.

  ‘Why can’t you?’

  ‘Oh, she’s been away at boarding school the past year. Normally, she’d be home for the summer, but Charlotte decided to undertake a special project. Always an overachiever.’ Cordelia giggled nervously.

  ‘You must be very proud.’ Tish retrieved two mugs from the Hoosier cabinet and placed them on the table.

  ‘I am. But I do miss her terribly.’

  ‘Perhaps she’ll fit in a visit before the new term starts. Or maybe you can manage a visit to her school? Where are the tea bags?’

  ‘Second shelf. In there.’ Cordelia nodded toward the butler pantry. ‘Oh I wish that were possible. The house feels so empty and lonesome, especially now that—’

  Tish retrieved a box of Earl Grey and returned to the kitchen. ‘Will Charlotte be here for your mother’s service?’ she asked as she plopped a tea bag into each mug.

  Cordelia shrugged. ‘I haven’t even told her yet. Charlotte can be rather sensitive at times and I don’t want to distract her from her schoolwork. I’ll probably wait until her project’s done and try to tell her in person.’

  The kettle whistled. Tish turned off the burner and poured the boiling water into their cups. ‘You’re probably right. Telling Charlotte about her grandmother in person might be best. Her passing might come as a shock to her.’

  ‘I’m sure it will. My mother was as fit as a fiddle. Some cholesterol and blood pressure concerns, but nothing unusual for a woman her age. She controlled everything with medication.’

  After some direction from Cordelia, Tish retrieved a couple of spoons, plates, and a bowl of sugar from the Hoosier and then opened the bag of madeleines. ‘Do you have any idea at all who may have wanted to kill your mother?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’ Cordelia took a madeleine from the bag and bit into it. ‘Mmm … that’s lovely. Really hits the spot.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Tish sat down and stirred a small spoonful of sugar into her cup of tea. ‘You really need to take care of yourself, Cordelia. You’ve experienced quite a shock.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I can’t believe Mother is gone. Nor can I believe that anyone would want to murder her. She may have ruffled a few feathers here and there, but my mother was a well-respected member of the community. Everyone who knew her admired her courage and honesty.’

  Admiration was very
different to being accepted or well liked. ‘Even after the library incident? I don’t wish to sound judgmental or accusatory, but it didn’t seem that your mother’s actions were viewed in a positive light.’

  ‘It was an accident. I’m not sure what people expected my mother to do about it. She made mistakes, just like everyone else. This one happened to be quite costly. Quite costly …’ Cordelia’s eyes focused on some point in the distance. Whether she was contemplating the expense of her mother’s book purging or some other event long ago, Tish could not determine.

  ‘And now Doctor Livermore’s been shot,’ Cordelia continued with a sob. ‘Why? He’s been a doctor to most of the families in town for decades. Why would anyone want to hurt him?’

  Tish got up to fetch some paper napkins from the Hoosier and passed them across the table to Cordelia. ‘I’m sure the police are looking into it as we speak.’

  ‘It’s all too much to take in,’ she cried while dabbing at her eyes. ‘It’s all too much.’

  An unexpected electronic chime jolted Cordelia from both her seat and her sorrow. ‘Oh, excuse me,’ she sniffed while fishing around in her skirt pockets. As she pulled out a red smart phone and glanced at its screen, a gentle smile spread across her face.

  ‘Well, I think I’d best be going and let you drink your tea in peace,’ Tish announced. ‘And maybe have a nap later? You could probably use the rest.’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, yes – I’m sorry, it’s … it’s a text from Charlotte.’ Cordelia stuffed the phone back into her pocket.

  ‘I’m glad you heard from her.’

  ‘Yes, I am too,’ Cordelia answered absently. ‘I … I think I will have that nap.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll just let myself out through the butler pantry and you can lock up behind me,’ Tish suggested, having realized that the butler pantry must have served as Enid Kemper’s escape route from Wisteria Knolls on the previous afternoon. Precisely what Tish expected to see in the butler’s pantry, she hadn’t a clue, but the temptation to give the room a cursory scan was far too overwhelming to resist.

  ‘Oh, we’ve never locked the doors at Wisteria Knolls.’ Cordelia shunned the notion with a blow of her nose.

  Tish reflected upon the events of the past forty-eight hours. ‘This might be a good time to start.’

  Cordelia was vehement. ‘If I do that, then the madman who murdered my mother has won.’

  Tish disagreed with Cordelia’s assessment, but she was not about to argue. Indeed, she was pleased to see the woman exhibit a bit of pluck. ‘That’s the spirit. Now, I’d best be going. If it’s OK with you, I’ll just let myself out.’

  Cordelia nodded. ‘Oh, and thanks for the madeleines, the tea, the talk. Everything.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Tish pulled a pen from her handbag and scribbled her cell number on to a paper napkin. ‘If you need anything else – even if it’s just a cup of tea and a chat – give me a call or stop by the café.’

  ‘I will. Thanks.’

  Tish pushed her way past the kitchen table and chairs and made her way through the swinging door of the butler pantry en route to the exit. Once inside, she had but a few fleeting seconds to inspect her surroundings. A narrow room, approximately six feet wide and nine feet long, the butler pantry was lined with glass-fronted cabinets that, in days of old, would have displayed the Darlington china and silver, but now held the less romantic so-called necessities of a modern kitchen: food processor, baking pans, electric mixer, and a myriad of canned, jarred, and boxed foodstuffs.

  In the far right corner, a series of cupboards had been removed to make way for a stainless-steel industrial-sized refrigerator. On top of the humming appliance rested cartons and shrink-wrapped packages of supplies that had been purchased in bulk: toilet paper, paper napkins, canned tomato juice, and, perched atop a stack of disposable paper plates, a half-empty case of hot sauce.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘So, did you follow him?’ Tish greeted the call from Jules.

  ‘What? Not even a “hello”? You know, since you’ve become a detective, your manners have gone right out the window,’ Jules teased. ‘We may have to deport you back north. You’re no longer polite enough to live side by side with Southerners.’

  ‘Helloooo, Jules,’ Tish exhaled in a tired sing-song fashion from outside the driver’s door of the Matrix. Jules’s call had arrived just as she was exiting the butler pantry door of Wisteria Knolls.

  ‘That’s better.’ Tish could hear Jules’s smirk over the phone.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in the parking lot of Short Pump Town Center Mall.’

  ‘The mall? What are you doing there?’ Tish opened the door of the Matrix and climbed in behind the steering wheel.

  ‘Apart from trying to ignore Nordstrom’s notoriously fabulous end-of-summer sale on men’s shoes – remember the Italian leather wingtips I got last year? Absolutely divine. I’m staring across Route 250 at the beige stucco exterior of the Wingate Hotel into which John Ballantyne disappeared approximately three minutes ago.’

  ‘A hotel? I knew it! Did you happen to see whom he met?’

  ‘A woman. Brunette, great body, but with a scowl on her face like she’d just been asked to clean a gas-station toilet.’

  ‘Roberta Dutton,’ Tish excitedly named. ‘She’s the senior librarian.’

  ‘You recognized her from that description? You mean she always looks like that?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Tish replied as she started the engine of the Matrix and moved the vehicle two blocks down the road so as not to appear to be monitoring Cordelia Ballantyne. ‘And she has the personality to match.’

  ‘Charming. Between her and Binnie Broderick, I’m glad I download all my books on Kindle. So where are you right now?’

  ‘I just left Wisteria Knolls after talking to Cordelia Ballantyne.’

  ‘Does she know about her husband’s fling with Wednesday Addams?’

  Leave it to Jules to insert an appropriate pop culture reference. ‘Yes, I heard them argue about it. Although Cordelia didn’t mention Wednesday, erm, Roberta, by name. Say, what do you know about Cordelia and John’s daughter, Charlotte?’

  ‘Not much. Teenager. Attended a private school in Richmond until she got into some trouble last year, then she got shipped off somewhere. Why?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I overheard Cordelia and John arguing over moving Charlotte to some place in Baltimore. It almost sounded like a hospital of some sort. What it may have to do with Binnie’s murder, I have no idea. Doctor Livermore might be linked – doctor, hospital – but still, I have no clue how.’

  ‘Are you sure they were talking about a hospital?’ Jules questioned. ‘As far as I understood it, Charlotte got sent to some super-strict boarding school. Bad behavior, rumor has it.’

  ‘I suppose they might have been discussing a school,’ Tish allowed. ‘It’s all probably nothing, but for some reason the whole conversation just struck me as odd.’

  ‘You’ll figure it out in time. Where are you headed next?’

  ‘Not sure. Seeing John Ballantyne is out of the question,’ she giggled.

  ‘For the next little while, at least,’ Jules agreed.

  ‘And the mayor’s office is closed until tomorrow,’ Tish listed. ‘There’s only one person left to visit. My landlord.’

  ‘You can’t possibly think Schuyler Thompson could have done it, do you? He’s too hot.’

  ‘What? You don’t think good-looking people commit murder?’

  ‘No, I’m sure they do, but Schuyler’s an attorney and polite and charming, and, I must say, positively perfect for you.’

  Tish felt herself blush. ‘I don’t know about that. But I do know he owns the house I’m renting. If he goes to jail, I’d truly be sunk.’

  ‘Don’t you worry. You could stay with me and we’d continue selling baked goods from the backseat of my car,’ Jules assured. ‘Speaking of which, if you no longer need me to play bloodhound, I have a trunk full of made
leines and a fleet of paparazzi to feed.’

  ‘No, I think we’re good. Thanks for following Ballantyne.’

  ‘Are you kidding? This detective thing is far more entertaining than telling Richmonders they’re in for yet another ninety-degree day,’ Jules said with a note of weariness. ‘So, I’ll meet you back at the café when I’m done?’

  ‘Yeah, sounds good. See you then.’ Tish disconnected the call and pondered her next move. She knew she needed to contact Schuyler, yet he being both single and her landlord made her not want to show up at his home unannounced.

  The sudden gurgle of her empty stomach offered Tish direction. Turning the Matrix around, she returned to the café for a light lunch and then, she planned, a phone call to Schuyler.

  A brief perusal of the café refrigerator, however, pointed out the error in this decision. Bearing leftover prime rib, a few red bell peppers, a handful of chives, a near-empty half-gallon jug of skim milk, a couple of eggs and the usual array of condiments, the appliance offered little to quell Tish’s appetite. Upon a brief shuffle of the refrigerator’s contents, she was elated to find a seasoned, grilled fillet of sea bream wrapped in a wodge of aluminum foil.

  Placing the aluminum parcel on the counter, she retrieved a jar of mayonnaise from the refrigerator door and the handful of chives from the crisper, and set about making a fish salad to spread upon one of several surplus dinner rolls. Alas, she was interrupted by the vibration of her cell phone from somewhere within her handbag.

  Tish stared longingly at the sea bream in quiet deliberation but, in the end, she thought it wise to take the call.

  ‘Hello?’ she asked, not recognizing the number on the display.

  ‘Hi, Tish?’

  ‘This is Tish.’ She leaned the phone against her shoulder while she flaked the sea bream into a bowl.

  ‘This is Schuyler. Schuyler Thompson.’

  So flustered was Tish that she allowed the phone to slip from her shoulder. She fumbled to grab it and overturned the bowl in the process. The flaked sea bream scattered across the tiled floor. Fortunately, she still had half a fillet left.