Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘And now? How’s your relationship with Daryl Dufour?’

  ‘I already told you, we’re friends. We chat when we pass each other at the grocery store, and we often see each other when I bring the grandkids to the library. He checked in on me after Cynthia’s death. We’re friends, and if he says he’s happy, I’m happy.’

  ‘And he never brings up Lacey’s paternity?’ Tish was dubious.

  ‘No, although he has looked after us, in a way, through the years,’ Celestine added.

  ‘Looked after you?’

  ‘Years ago, when Lloyd was out of work due to a back problem, Daryl floated me some cash to make sure my kids had new clothes for school. I paid him back, of course,’ Celestine was quick to note. ‘And he gave Lacey a very generous gift for her wedding. All my kids got nice wedding presents, come to think of it, but Lacey might have gotten a little more. And then …’

  ‘Yes?’ Tish prodded.

  ‘There was a time a couple years back, when I found out Lloyd had stepped out with one of the pretty young receptionists at his company’s call center. I was jealous and angry, and I went storming out of the house. I have no vices to speak of, so rather than going to the bar, I went to the Publix and shopped for baking supplies. It was there that I ran into Daryl. I tried to hide what was going on, but that was no use with him. I remember it clear as day. He said, “Celestine, if you’re not happy with Lloyd and need somewhere to go, I’d take you, the dog, the kids, the grandkids – all of it – in a heartbeat.”’

  Tish watched as Celestine’s eyes welled up. ‘Wow. After all these years.’

  ‘After all these years,’ Celestine repeated, blinking back tears.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I told him the idea was silly. I mean, how could I possibly go back to Daryl after what I did to him? He deserves more than the likes of me.’

  ‘I take it Daryl Dufour never married or had children,’ Tish presumed.

  ‘Nope. He graduated top of his class at UVA, went on to get his master’s, and then returned to Hobson Glen to take care of his mother. His father had passed away soon after my Lacey was born, and Mrs Dufour didn’t take his passing too well. She’d been sick on and off the whole time Daryl was away at school – physical ailments, you see? Mama and I would go over and help with the housekeeping and cooking. But once Daryl got his degree and got back home, Mrs Dufour kinda fell off her rocker. Believed Daryl was her husband returned to her. She was harmless to herself and others, but she required round-the-clock care and supervision. Daryl hired nurses for whenever he was working at the library but, as her only child, he was essentially her primary caregiver.’

  Tish leaned forward and rested an elbow on the table. ‘Did Binnie Broderick know all this?’

  ‘About Mrs Dufour’s dementia? Of course she did.’

  ‘No, not the dementia. About you and Daryl Dufour. About Lacey.’

  ‘Daryl never could handle his liquor,’ Celestine lamented once again before leaning forward to meet Tish’s gaze. ‘It was just this past April, the day before Easter, and the library sponsored an egg hunt and story time for the kids, accompanied by a thank-you lunch for the library staff sponsored by the Lions Club ladies auxiliary, of which I’m a member. The lunch, unfortunately, featured wine and Daryl, feeling emotional over the holiday, picked up the box of Riesling like it was his own personal Capri Sun sippy thing. Well, it wasn’t long before he was telling some of the auxiliary members his life story.’

  ‘And Binnie Broderick was there?’

  ‘Naturally. You know, I swear that woman was part bat. She had sonar hearing whenever gossip was concerned. Her ears could detect a rumor drop from a mile away.’

  ‘And at this lunch, Daryl mentioned that Lacey might be his daughter?’

  ‘I didn’t hear what he said. I was too busy in the kitchen. But after the lunch, on Easter Sunday, he caught me at church and apologized for mentioning that he may have a child floating around out there. That’s the expression he used – “floating around out there.” Man’s only ever lived in Hobson Glen his whole life. Where in Sam Hill did he think people would expect that child to be?’ Celestine shook her head in exasperation.

  ‘So Binnie figured it out,’ Tish surmised.

  ‘Of course she did. Binnie Broderick was many things, but a fool wasn’t one of them. I thought, maybe, Daryl had dodged the bullet, because Binnie was quiet for while after that luncheon, but then right before Mother’s Day I bumped into her at the bank and she asked me how Lacey was doing. Not Lloyd, not my family, just Lacey. I tried to pay it no mind, but then at our annual barbecue she cornered me while I was away from my family’s table and said she thought it was fascinating how all my children resemble Lloyd. All my children apart from Lacey. Lacey, Binnie determined, didn’t look like either of her parents or her siblings.’

  ‘Ouch,’ Tish winced.

  ‘Yeah.’ Celestine sighed.

  ‘Did she do anything else with this information?’

  ‘Nothing other than innuendo and the occasional offhand remark.’

  ‘But there was a risk that she’d expose you to Lloyd or Lacey, wasn’t there?’

  ‘Of course there was. Binnie was a loose cannon. One never knew what she’d say, to whom, or when. Or when she might decide that the information she had could help her get something she wanted.’ Celestine’s normally cheerful, friendly face grew grim. ‘But that doesn’t mean I killed her.’

  Tish sighed. As much as she wanted to believe Celestine and, in her heart of hearts, actually did, the information was extraordinarily damning. ‘What about Daryl? You said he’s been protective of you through the years. How far would he go to keep you safe, Celestine?’

  ‘Not murder, if that’s what you’re implying,’ Celestine insisted. ‘Never murder. Daryl is a kind, wonderful, sweet man with integrity. He hasn’t the temperament to do such a thing.’

  ‘Even if Binnie was threatening to destroy your life? Your reputation? Your relationship with Lacey?’

  ‘He still wouldn’t. Daryl is not a murderer, Tish. I know he isn’t.’

  ‘How can you be so certain?’

  A tear trickled down Celestine’s cheek and dropped on to her upper lip. ‘Because, after all the years he’s been alone, all the time he spent as a sole caregiver to his mother, all the Christmases spent with whatever friends invited him, all the children he’s read to at the library without a hope of reading to his own, if there was anyone on this earth Daryl would have and should have murdered, it’s me.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  Mary Jo, the tray of sandwiches balanced upon one arm, arrived at the Channel Ten television news studio at five minutes after twelve. While still in the station lobby, she was greeted by a breathless Jules. ‘Oh, thank goodness you’re here. I am positively famished.’

  Jules peeled back a corner of the plastic wrap protecting the sandwich tray and reached a set of greedy fingers beneath it. Mary Jo promptly swatted away his hand. ‘That’ll be four dollars, please.’

  ‘Four dollars?’ Jules exclaimed. ‘You’re making me pay four dollars for a sandwich?’

  ‘You know what? You’re right.’ Mary Jo set the tray of sandwiches down on a nearby magazine table. ‘The chicken and pimento cheese is five dollars.’

  ‘What? After all I’ve—’

  Mary Jo burst into laughter. ‘I got you.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ he mimicked. ‘It’s not fair to tease a starving man.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. You sound like one of my kids. So, why did you call and ask me to bring the sandwiches here? I thought we were going down to the police station to sell these to the reporters in the parking lot.’

  ‘Change of plan. You’re going to sell them to the reporters and staff in our lunch room,’ Jules explained as he crammed a Zelda Fitzgerald biscuit sandwich in his mouth. ‘Good Lord, how does the woman come up with these flavor combinations? So good.’

  ‘Mind telling me why we’re staying here, or do you need some time
alone with your sandwich?’ Mary Jo wisecracked.

  ‘Sorry … just so good,’ Jules mumbled and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘We’re here because I found something that might help solve Binnie’s murder case.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Phil in the newsroom.’ Jules punctuated the statement by taking another bite of the fried chicken and pimento cheese sandwich.

  ‘And? I swear if you don’t tell me everything right now, I’m going to grab that sandwich of yours and stomp on it,’ an impatient Mary Jo threatened.

  Jules giggled between chews. Even in college, Mary Jo never liked being kept in suspense. It was clear that some things never changed. ‘Phil does camera work for us, along with some other odd jobs. I found out today that he was hired by Binnie to film the fundraiser Friday night. I thought we’d stay here, sell our sandwiches, and then watch his footage.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that footage go to the police?’

  ‘It has, but Phil has a copy of the file here at the studio.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you think we’re going to get out of it that the police won’t?’ Mary Jo was skeptical.

  ‘Townspeople are sharing all sorts of things with Tish. We might see something that doesn’t line up with what they’ve told her. And if not, no harm done.’ Jules shrugged and took another bite of sandwich.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. How long is the footage?’

  ‘Hour and a half. Two hours. Somewhere around there.’

  ‘So like a feature-length film, only starring a few well-heeled Hobson Glen inhabitants and wealthy people from Richmond. Sounds absolutely riveting,’ Mary Jo quipped.

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Jules led her to the lunch room. ‘You’ll love it.’

  The station lunch crowd had long disbanded from the studio cafeteria and returned to their desks when Mary Jo, a leftover fried chicken and pimento cheese sandwich in hand, sat beside Jules, who was now digging into a hummus pita, to watch the fundraiser footage on his laptop.

  ‘OK,’ she commanded, as she drew her chair closer to the long folding table. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It will be fun.’ Jules was upbeat as he munched on his pita. ‘Like watching those cheesy award shows and mocking the red-carpet fashions.’

  ‘Only this red carpet isn’t for Hollywood celebrities. It’s for a bunch of people who requested a Dixieland band for entertainment and probably own every single episode of Hee Haw, Bonanza, and The Big Valley on DVD.’

  ‘Not The Big Valley – Stanwyck was far too stylish. Hello? Fashion icon.’

  ‘True,’ Mary Jo agreed. ‘Gunsmoke?’

  Jules shook his head in the negative. ‘Miss Kitty was a saloon girl.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. Not exactly the family-values show, huh? Personally, I think that fundraiser bunch has Matlock in their video library. I could see some of those big-haired ladies swooning over ol’ Andy Griffith back in the day. Come to think of it, some dude came to the bar wearing the exact same rumpled gray suit Matlock did. He must have been trying to conjure up those old “magic Andy” feelings.’

  Mary Jo scowled. ‘If you wanted my fried chicken sandwich, you could have just asked. You didn’t need to try to make me ill, OK?’

  Jules chuckled and pressed the play button. Almost immediately, a parade of formal-attired bodies became visible on the computer screen. Mary Jo and Jules watched the display attentively as the fundraiser guests entered the reception area of the lodge through a set of double doors and then along Tish’s old carpet runner.

  As they viewed the footage and consumed their sandwiches, either one or both of them would break the silence with a comment (‘Look at that crowd; it’s as if everyone just got off the same bus’), a snicker (‘Up until now, I’d only seen a bouffant hairdo in photographs’), or accolades (‘The cut of that man’s suit is exquisite’) for someone’s evening wear.

  ‘Oh, look, there’s Binnie rushing off to greet someone,’ Mary Jo noted as she pointed to the image of the dead woman herself flitting across the screen. ‘Strange to watch her now that we know …’

  ‘Yeah,’ Jules agreed with a slight shiver. ‘Chilling.’

  The pair inhaled sharply as the video switched to footage of Binnie’s speech.

  ‘This is far creepier to watch than I thought it would be,’ Jules noted.

  ‘Let’s just focus on the audience. Someone out there is bound to let their emotions show,’ Mary Jo suggested. ‘If the camera ever pans there, that is.’

  ‘Oh, it will. Phil is excellent at his job. He won’t be here in Hobson Glen for very long. Some DC station is sure to pick him up.’

  True to Jules’s word, the camera panned to the rows of tables in front of the speakers’ podium. Jules and Mary Jo leaned in and scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces.

  Spotting a sneering Roberta Dutton in the crowd, Mary Jo cried out, ‘Oh, there’s Binnie’s table. Pause the video!’

  Jules promptly obeyed.

  ‘I’d say that’s the face of anger, but Roberta Dutton always looks like that,’ Mary Jo noted.

  ‘I can’t imagine what she looks like if you bring a book back late. Or ask her to reserve something,’ Jules commiserated. ‘Daryl Dufour, in the meantime, is all of us.’

  Mary Jo moved closer to the computer screen. The assistant librarian was clearly yawning. ‘I must admit, I was glad I was in the kitchen while this was going on.’

  ‘I was happy to be near the booze while this was going on,’ Jules half joked. ‘Check out Edwin and Augusta.’ He pointed at their faces on the screen. ‘They look like they’re just not having any of it.’

  ‘John Ballantyne too.’

  ‘He looks annoyed with the entire world. And Cordelia just looks plain …’

  ‘Miserable,’ Mary Jo stated.

  ‘Painfully so.’

  Jules hit the play button, allowing the video to pan to the next table before pausing again. ‘There’s Mayor Whitley. Semi-conscious and quasi-caring. Nothing new there.’

  ‘And two seats away is Opal Schaeffer. She looks—’

  ‘Drunk,’ they declared in unison at the image of the writer with her eyes closed and mouth open and a balloon-shaped glass of wine in her hand.

  ‘And where’s Hobson Glen’s answer to Matlock?’ Jules squinted at the computer screen.

  ‘If you mean Schuyler Thompson, he’s right there, right in front of your face.’ Mary Jo pointed to the attorney, who was at the mayor’s table in the seat closest to John Ballantyne. ‘It might be time to look into glasses. You know your eyes can change dramatically once you’re past forty.’

  ‘Thanks. That makes me feel simply marvelous,’ Jules deadpanned. ‘Hey, is it me or is Schuyler smiling in this shot?’

  ‘He is. He had just visited Tish in the kitchen.’

  ‘Ooh,’ Jules sang. ‘Cozy. Speaking of cozy, poor Schuyler looks like he’s shoulder to shoulder with Mr Happy himself – John Ballantyne. I really don’t get these kinds of functions. I understand the ticket sales go to charity, but the comfort of the guests should still play a factor in how many seats are available.’

  Mary Jo nodded her head in silent agreement and gestured to Jules to press the play button. He complied without hesitation.

  Their stomachs full and Binnie’s speech less than spellbinding, Jules and Mary Jo fought hard to stay awake during the next few minutes of footage, lest they miss another view of the audience. The second shot never came.

  As the speech came to a close, they yawned, stretched, and sighed in relief – until Mary Jo noticed Celestine’s granddaughter, Melissa, in the background, emerging from the kitchen bearing a round tray. ‘Here we go. Dinner is getting underway.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure I’m ready to see this.’

  ‘I know, but if it helps put Tish’s business in the clear, then we need to watch.’

  Jules agreed and rested his head on his hands as he and Mary Jo viewed the subsequent footage
intently. ‘There’s the mayor heading to Binnie’s table.’ He pointed to the image of the tuxedoed man on the screen. Within a matter of moments, a rather heated exchange transpired between him and the late library director. The mayor could be seen waving his finger and shaking his head emphatically. ‘Wow, who knew he had it in him. I’ve never seen him fired up like that.’

  ‘I suppose there had to be some passion in him to keep Cordelia Ballantyne intrigued.’

  ‘She’s not exactly a powder keg herself,’ Jules observed. ‘But, as my mama always said, still waters run deep.’

  The mayor charged off from Binnie’s table, nearly upsetting the tray of a passing member of the wait staff who was serving the main course. ‘He practically knocked over that waitress. There’s a vote he won’t be getting this fall,’ Mary Jo joked.

  ‘Here comes Opal.’ Jules singled out the writer as she careened across the dance floor and staggered up alongside Binnie’s chair just as she was being served her plate of prime rib. ‘Oh, boy. How’d you like to see that coming at you?’

  ‘Are we certain Binnie was poisoned by arsenic? It looks as if Opal only had to breathe on the woman to put her out.’

  ‘Maybe we should have Sheriff Reade put that to the coroner,’ Jules suggested with a hearty laugh. His amusement soon dissipated. ‘MJ, look.’

  A stunned Mary Jo followed Jules’s gaze to the computer screen and watched as the image of Schuyler Thompson rose from his chair, pushed between Binnie and Opal with his back to the camera, and then walked off camera.

  Jules immediately replayed the scene. ‘What the … Do you think he might have done something?’

  Mary Jo was nonplussed. ‘I don’t know, but he certainly had the opportunity. Opal was too buzzed to notice anything and Binnie was probably too focused on the conversation. What do you think? I mean, do you really suppose he might have poisoned Binnie?’