Beignets, Brides and Bodies

by J. R. Ripley

  Speaking of which … I could see the bronze statue on a marble plinth in the center of the square from where I stood. It was a life-sized rendition of our fair town’s founder, Arthur B. Honicker. I’d heard he had founded Table Rock as a haven from religious and political persecution. The religion he founded, still operating out of an abandoned feed store just up the road, is something called The Universal Guiding Light. Sounded more like a soap opera to me with episodes running daily on public access cable TV. Local historians say the middle initial B in Honicker’s name stood for Brigham. I think it stood for Bonkers.

  I handed Cosmic Ray the sheaf of papers. ‘Mrs Higgins told me I was supposed to turn these in to you.’

  ‘Maggie’s Beignet Café, huh? Sounds familiar.’

  ‘We’re right next door to The Hitching Post on one side and Caitie Conklin’s Salon de Belezza on the other,’ I explained. I gave his Karma Koffee-branded cup a dirty look.

  ‘Karma Koffee is across the street.’ Unfortunately.

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ He smiled a toothy smile, his fingers reaching for the cup. ‘I’ve seen your place. Used to be a deli.’ He had a gap between his two front teeth. ‘Before that,’ his eyes came unfocused, ‘a head shop. Before that …’ Long pause. ‘A dress shop.’ His eyes shot back into focus. ‘I wonder what it will be next. Oops!’ He looked embarrassed. Cosmic held up his palms. ‘No offense, ma’am.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ I’d go home and have a good cry later.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to try some of your product.’ He made up for his social clumsiness with a broad smile.

  ‘Come by anytime,’ I said, returning his smile. The tourism office occupied one smallish corner cut out of a souvenir shop on the edge of the square. Besides the lovely statue of our dear founder, Table Rock Town Square held a covered white bandstand, numerous park benches and plenty of shade trees, including rows of ancient sycamores that lined the perimeter. A cobbled red-brick walkway crisscrossed the square in a giant X with a ring circumnavigating the bandstand.

  Some long-ago architect had had the foresight to design a large number of the buildings lining the public square with belvederes. The large open galleries looked down on the square. Perfect for dining, people watching and just plain relaxing. The architectural style also served to keep the sidewalks below well-shaded. Always a good thing in this part of the world.

  Cosmic Ray wet his thumb a second and then a third time as he riffled through my paperwork. He pulled all the pages together and thumped them on the counter. ‘Everything appears to be in order.’ He thumbed through the packet one more time. His jaw twisted. ‘I’m going to be needing your check for four hundred dollars, Ms Miller.’

  ‘Of course.’ I rummaged through my handbag. ‘Ugh,’ I grunted. ‘I forgot to bring my checkbook.’ I’d left it in the storeroom. That’s what I got for letting my emotions get the best of me. ‘Can I bring it by tomorrow?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘Great.’ I promised to come back first thing the next morning. I spotted a handful of uniformed city workers out on the square with trailers filled with electrical cables, tables and tenting. They were probably beginning preparations in the town square for the weekend’s Labor of Love festivities.

  More of a Labor of Poverty, if you asked me.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ Cosmic Ray called as I departed. ‘I’ll see you get a great spot!’

  After that I got carried away window-shopping downtown and the café was closed by the time I returned. I stuffed my checkbook in my purse so I’d have it tomorrow then pedaled home in time to find dinner and dessert waiting.

  Mom had made apple turnovers. I could smell them a mile away. Good old Mom, I thought, ready to forgive her transgressing on me for a week as I inhaled the scent of apple and cinnamon. Apple turnovers are one of my absolute favorites. Besides, the way I see it, if a dessert contains chunks of fruit it must be good for you. I don’t care how much butter Mom puts in that oh-so-flaky crust she handcrafts. Fruit and dairy. What could be healthier?

  Everybody was sitting around the table when I arrived: Mom, Andy, the nephews, even Johnny. Donna was wrapped in my apron and hovering over the stove like a happy hen.

  Oh, no. Donna. Has. Made. Dinner.

  I rolled the Schwinn out the sliding glass door to the patio, careful to avoid hitting the wilted cactus struggling to stay alive in a small earthenware pot while surreptitiously trying to figure out what my sister was going to try to poison us with tonight.

  The attempt was futile. Nothing smelled remotely familiar except the lure of Mom’s apple turnovers. I could see them collectively cooling on a wire tray on the counter. One delicious corner of a golden brown turnover peeked out from beneath the paper towel she’d set atop them. I saw sparkles of sugar embedded in the crust and licked my lips.

  Could I skip dinner and go straight to dessert?

  I sighed as I leaned the bike on its kickstand. The idea would never fly. Mom and Donna would force me to eat a proper dinner first, no matter how much I argued that anything Donna came up couldn’t possibly fit the definition of proper. I washed my hands at the kitchen sink. ‘What’s cooking?’ I dried my hands on a plump navy dish towel before giving Donna a peck on the cheek, determined to make the best of a bad situation.

  Donna stirred some giant gold-brown balls around in the skillet. ‘Icli kofte.’ She set down the spoon and grabbed a bowl from the fridge.

  ‘Icky what?’ I peered at the big brown balls, wondering nervously what they held.

  ‘Bulgur balls with flam.’

  ‘Flam?’ I’d heard of flan, but flam?

  Donna smiled. ‘Faux lamb. My own invention.’

  Oh, great. I was going to die. And there was so much I wanted to do yet. ‘Sounds yummy!’

  Donna nodded. Boy, was she dense or what? ‘Grab that bowl and take it to the table, would you, Mag?’

  I carried the big green bowl to the table. ‘Let me guess,’ I said, ‘tabouli?’

  ‘Right,’ replied my mother. ‘Donna thought it would go great with the bulgur balls.’

  Sure, what wouldn’t?

  Mom and Johnny were drinking wine, something red. I chugged the remainder of Mom’s glass before she could raise a protest.

  Donna carried the skillet to the table and began doling out the balls of doom. ‘Yes, I got the recipe from one of my customers. It’s actually a hemp seed tabouli. She tells me it’s delicious.’

  In other words, my sister had never tried it. Great, we were going to be her guinea pigs. Donna’s a bit of a – and I’m being politically correct here – nut. So is Andy.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly. It was just that right then I’d love them to be eating dinner at their own house while I pigged out on a Bell Rock Burgers quarter pounder with cheese. And I mean real cheese, not that fake soya stuff Donna touts as cheese and sells in Mother Earth/Father Sun.

  How they stay in business I’ll never know.

  ‘Dig in, Aunt Maggie!’

  I looked at Connor, the older of my two nephews. I didn’t know if he meant those words as an invitation or a dare but by this point I was too hungry to care. Besides, the sooner I got this over with the sooner we got to the apple turnovers. Across from me I noticed Johnny had already devoured half an icky. He wore the same clothes he had on yesterday, so he must not have gone home at all. Ingesting the icky didn’t appear to have killed him or even have slowed him down. How bad could it be?

  I snatched my fork with confidence and cut into the first of the three balls staring me down. Gray juice squirted over the plate. I ignored the unpalatable color and hoisted a mouthful.

  ‘Delicious,’ Mom cooed. She scooped a pile of chilled hemp seed tabouli onto her plate.

  ‘Yeah, really good, Donna,’ added Andy. What else could he say? He was married to the woman, after all. Was it any wonder he was thin as a proverbial rail? What would he weigh if he’d been married to a real American? One who cooked meat and potatoes with bisc
uits and gravy on the side and served him a cold beer to wash it all down with?

  I feared we’d never know. They were a happy couple. Marriage was something Donna had gotten right and me wrong.

  I chewed some more and wiped my face with my napkin. Sweat trickled from my hairline. I let my hand fall to my side and fed Carole Two the flam that I’d spit out into my napkin. In retaliation, she bit me on the calf. ‘Ouch!’ I swatted blindly, catching nothing but air.

  ‘Something wrong, dear?’ Mom asked, turning to face me.

  I rubbed my calf. ‘No, just a cramp.’ I glared at Carole Two. She sat on her haunches under the table, glaring back at me. The flam rested on the floor between her paws like a dead mouse. Tasted like one, too, I’m sure.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you here, Johnny,’ Andy said as he cleaned his plate and washed down his dinner with a glass of iced green tea that he poured from a glass pitcher. ‘I didn’t realize you and Maggie were,’ he seemed to be word searching, ‘so close.’

  My brow shot up. Andy didn’t seem to realize that Johnny had spent the night.

  ‘Hadn’t I mentioned?’ Mom said. ‘Johnny spent the night.’ She folded her napkin and laid it on the tabletop.

  Thanks, Mom.

  Andy spluttered. ‘He did?’

  Donna gasped and looked at me, then the boys. ‘Maybe you two want to go watch some TV now.’

  ‘Now?’ said Hunter. ‘We haven’t had dessert yet.’

  ‘Johnny did stay the night,’ I replied. I pointed. ‘He slept on that couch.’

  ‘Oh.’ Donna released a sigh of relief.

  I rolled my eyes. Did she really think I’d get involved with Johnny Wolfe? Not to mention the man was married to Clive Rothschild.

  Johnny returned from the bathroom. ‘Not a very comfortable couch either,’ he complained, pointedly rubbing his lower back. ‘I’ve slept on cozier airline seats.’

  ‘Besides,’ laughed Mom, ‘it’s that reporter Brad Smith that your sister was kissing last night. If you had any thoughts of your sister with anybody, that’s who you should be suspecting.’

  I slunk down in my chair, nose to bulgur ball. My cheeks flamed. I wanted to scream. I settled for whimpering. ‘Dessert, anyone?’

  Dear Lord. Mom had seen me making out with Brad Smith. How had she seen me making out with the reporter?

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Mom said, rising quickly and moving to the rack where they sat cooling. She set the aluminum sheet on a couple of trivets between us after Donna and Andy cleared some space at the table. ‘Johnny only spent the night to avoid talking to the police.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Andy’s voice carried over the cries of Hunter and Connor to be served first.

  Uh oh.

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘Don’t get excited.’ I pumped my hands in Andy’s direction. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  Andy folded his arms across his chest. ‘I think Johnny is avoiding talking to the police about an ongoing murder investigation. I think the police might not be taking too kindly to that. I think you’re butting in where you don’t belong.’

  Johnny looked like he wanted to skate away as Andy continued, ‘I think you could be making things worse for yourself.’ Andy ripped off the corner of his apple turnover. Baked golden delicious apple in a buttery sauce oozed out. ‘And making them worse for Clive, too.’

  OK, so it was exactly what Andy was thinking. ‘It’s really not like that at all,’ I said, despite knowing better.

  ‘Miller’s right.’ Johnny came to my defense. He stuffed a mouthful of turnover down his gullet and chewing heavily. ‘I have a reputation to protect.’

  Andy glared at the both of us.

  ‘Sorry?’ I whimpered.

  ‘I’m sure Maggie and Johnny didn’t mean to cause any trouble,’ Donna said in an obvious attempt to assuage her husband.

  ‘Of course, not,’ Mom said lightly. ‘I’m sure Johnny will be happy to talk to the police tomorrow.’ She smiled. ‘Won’t you, Johnny, dear?’

  Johnny readily agreed.

  Johnny, dear? I ripped my turnover in two. Hot apple, sugar and cinnamon spilled over my fingers. ‘Ouch!’ I hollered as my fingers turned pink.

  Donna warned me to be more careful as Connor asked, ‘Are you going to jail, Mr Wolfe?’

  ‘Yeah,’ added Hunter, ‘did you kill somebody?’ Hunter was practically drooling. ‘With your bare hands?’

  ‘Like on TV?’ That was Connor again.

  Both boys bobbed their heads excitedly.

  ‘Nobody here killed anybody,’ Donna said sternly. ‘Eat your dessert.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said to my sister, then poked my nose at the boys.

  ‘No problem.’ Donna laced her fingers together and rested her elbows on the table. ‘Now, let’s hear all about Brad Smith and that kiss.’

  Mom and Andy snickered.

  ‘What kiss?’ enquired Johnny. ‘Did I miss something? Has Miller actually found another man?’

  I glared at Johnny. ‘You may have been a little premature, Donna.’

  Her brow shot up. ‘About what?’

  ‘About nobody here having murdered anyone.’

  Johnny shot me a look that would have withered a tomato plant quicker than a hundred-and-twenty-degree day in the sun, then refilled his wine glass. ‘Spill it, Miller.’ He wiggled his fingers in a come-hither manner.

  I would have liked to have spilled that liter of wine over his thick skull. ‘There’s nothing to spill.’ I turned to my brother-in-law. He was the only reasonably normal person in sight, after all. ‘Can we talk about Lisa Willoughby’s murder instead? You won’t believe the things I’ve heard.’

  Andy leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m listening.’ He turned to Connor and Hunter. ‘You can finish your desserts on the sofa, boys. Watch TV if you want.’

  ‘OK,’ said Connor. ‘But there’s never anything good to watch at Aunt Maggie’s.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Hunter chimed in. ‘She hardly gets any stations at all.’

  Could I help it if the cable company had found out the last tenant had left and then cut off the premium channels when they had realized I wasn’t paying for the package?

  ‘Watch PBS,’ suggested Donna. ‘That’s free.’

  Connor gave his mother a look that implied she was just this side of the loony bin. He grabbed Hunter by the shoulder. ‘We’ll watch Sports Center.’

  ‘So,’ I began, ‘Lisa’s brother, Houston Willoughby, arrived today.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked my mother.

  ‘He came in the café this morning. He arrived from Santa Fe.’

  ‘Santa Fe?’ Johnny rubbed the bridge of his nose with the edge of his empty wine glass. ‘Great little town,’ he reminisced. ‘I skated there once.’ His eyes rolled back in his head, searching for memories, no doubt. ‘For some charity or another.’

  ‘Anyway,’ I said firmly, ‘he came to break the news to his sister that their aunt had passed.’

  ‘He didn’t know his sister was dead?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You told him?’ Johnny looked appalled.

  I shrugged. ‘Sort of.’ I leaned toward my brother-in-law. ‘I also heard that there was something fishy about Lisa’s death.’

  That seemed to get Andy’s interest. ‘Like what?’

  I heaved my shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Detective Highsmith wouldn’t tell me. He got all official. He only said there were circumstances about the scene that raised questions or something.’

  Andy tapped his finger against his lips. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t think he believes Clive had anything to do with the murder at all.’ I took a mouthful of turnover then said, ‘Have you learned anything new from your sources, Andy?’

  ‘Not a word. But then, I do have other things to do besides play lawyer. I’ve got a farm and a store to help run.’ Connor and Hunter broke out into an argument on the sofa. ‘And boys to raise. Quiet down over th
ere, you two!’

  I tapped my empty glass. ‘You know, from everybody I talk to, it seems like Lisa Willoughby was anything but a saint.’

  ‘Rumors,’ Andy said. ‘And innuendo.’

  Mom agreed. ‘I don’t think it is polite to speak poorly of the dead.’

  ‘I agree with Miller here.’ Johnny stabbed his fork against the table. ‘Lisa was a horrible person. She lied, cheated and stole from me and Clive.’ He lifted his chin. ‘I don’t care that she is dead.’

  Andy looked surprised. Mom looked shocked. I was somewhere in the middle. Donna was staring at her empty dessert dish. ‘I wouldn’t go blabbing that opinion around,’ Andy warned Johnny.

  Johnny wagged his head.

  ‘Lisa lived in a condo in the same complex as Laura Duval from Laura’s Lightly Used.’ I drummed my fingers against the tabletop. ‘I sure would like to get a look inside.’

  Andy’s eyebrows turned into dark thunder clouds. ‘Don’t you dare go near that place,’ he demanded. ‘Either of you!’ He pointed a threatening finger at both myself and Johnny.

  Johnny pouted then rose and started opening and closing my cupboards like he owned the place. He didn’t.

  ‘Can I help you with something?’

  ‘Where do you keep the wine?’

  ‘I keep an extra box on the bottom shelf of the fridge,’ I explained. ‘For emergencies.’ And having Johnny Wolfe, my mother and the whole clan in the house definitely qualified as an emergency.

  Johnny cringed but with no other options dragged out the chunky three-liter box of chilled red. Donna, Andy and the kids left soon after. Probably headed home to nibble on some pine nuts and watch a documentary on butter churns on the local educational channel.

  Mom was out on the patio running through a yoga routine.

  Before leaving, Andy had made Johnny promise to go down to Table Rock Police Department tomorrow morning. He made me promise to keep my nose out of the whole Lisa Willoughby murder business. ‘Don’t do anything crazy or illegal,’ he’d insisted.