The Secret Ingredient Murders: A Eugenia Potter Mystery

by Nancy Pickard

  “I’d bet money it was that awful Ed Hennessey who did it,” one customer whispered to another, right in front of Genia at the fish and seafood counter in the Red Rooster. “I told Stanley he was a fool to hire that man, and him just out of prison. I happen to know that Ed’s father was just like him, no-good from the get-go. I’ll bet you a ham sandwich that the police arrest Ed before this day is out.”

  “You think so?” her companion whispered back.

  “I hope so,” the first woman said with feeling.

  “Why?”

  “Because if it wasn’t Ed, who was it?”

  The two stared at each other, and then glanced back at Genia behind them. “You hear about the murder?”

  She nodded her head, but didn’t say anything.

  “Just awful,” one of them said.

  “Scares me,” the second one echoed. “I know for a fact that Ed Hennessey stole tools from my sister when he mowed her lawn. And he scared her half to death. He was a Peeping Tom, she told me. Always sneaking around, and staring in her windows.”

  “Stanley should have known better,” her friend said ominously.

  “Well, I guess he knows better now,” was the smug reply.

  Genia bought a sackful of fresh clams, and then carried her purchases back out to her car. Then she set out for more shopping. As she stepped off the cobblestone street onto the sidewalk, she ran into Lindsay Wright, who also seemed to be shopping this morning.

  “How pretty you look,” Genia told her.

  In a lemony sundress the young woman looked right off the cover of a Neiman Marcus catalog, and yet Genia had overheard her say to Celeste Hutchinson that she did all her shopping at a certain store which was the Rhode Island equivalent of Filene’s Basement in Boston. The implication was that she could afford good quality clothes because she knew how to shop for great bargains. After more than six decades of living, it was Genia’s private opinion that a person could go broke on bargains.

  “Thanks, Genia. Did you hear the awful news about Stanley?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry to say.”

  Lindsay grasped one of Genia’s wrists and pulled her aside into the shade under a shop’s canopy. “What do you know about it?” Without giving Genia time to reply, Lindsay blurted out, “I called Harrison, and he said all he knows is what they have in the newsroom, which isn’t much. Just that the police say Stanley was murdered by somebody who bashed him in the head with something. Have you heard any more than that?”

  “That’s all I know, too, Lindsay.”

  “I just can’t believe it happened like that! To Stanley! It’s just too creepy. There he was on the way to dinner at your house, and now he’s dead!”

  Although Genia could have lived without the juxtaposition of those two events, she nodded sympathetically. She hoped the fact that Stanley was bound for her house didn’t actually have anything to do with his death.

  “Did the police interview you?” Lindsay whispered, after looking around to see if anybody was listening.

  “They came out to my house this morning.”

  “Well, they called to ask us to come in after Harrison gets off work. They told me that they want to talk to everybody who was at your dinner party! We want to help, but we don’t know a thing to tell them. Did you?”

  “No, I didn’t, either.” Genia decided not to gossip about Ed Hennessey. “Oh, I do know one thing, though. I spoke to Randy Dixon, and he said that he and Nikki will be staying at the Castle. There will probably be a memorial service this week.”

  “Really? Harrison and I had better drop by there.”

  “Do you know Nikki very well?”

  “Well, no, actually, I don’t know her at all, but it seems like the nice thing to do. I knew Stanley well enough.”

  Genia thought that last was said with a dry twist.

  As if she had heard the same note in her voice, Lindsay immediately followed that by saying, “It’s just so sad. I was crying all morning, just thinking about poor Stanley.” She didn’t look it, Genia thought; her eyes were clear and happy; her skin was smooth and firm below them. And yet Lindsay turned her mouth down, making a sad face. “Now he won’t get to see the art festival happen out on his island. I thought it was a terrible idea, but I feel sad for him because it was something he wanted, and now he won’t get it.”

  “Do you think there won’t be one now?”

  “Oh, I don’t see how. I mean, it was Stanley’s island, after all, and where would they hold it, if not out there?”

  A bit mischievously, Genia suggested, “Maybe his daughter will take up the cause in her father’s memory.”

  “Nikki?” Lindsay’s sunny mood seemed to darken a bit. “But she doesn’t even live here anymore; why should she be interested in having all that fuss and bother on her island?”

  “I don’t know that she would,” Genia admitted.

  Lindsay nodded, as if that was much the better answer.

  Looking cheered up again, she chatted for a few more minutes, telling Genia about an upcoming arts council meeting on Thursday and inviting her to come. Then she was off, floating away like a lemon meringue confection, Genia thought. She watched as Lindsay swung her trim, fit body into a red Saab convertible and then drove slowly down the street. Genia saw her wave at a tableful of diners at a sidewalk cafe. She looked more like a homecoming queen on parade than like a young woman saddened over the death of an acquaintance. For a moment, Genia felt offended by Lindsay’s superficial responses, but then she brought herself up sharply: She is young, Genia reminded herself, and Stanley probably was more of an acquaintance than a friend. Lindsay shouldn’t have to feel this as deeply as I do. Let her be young and happy; don’t force suffering on her just because you feel bad, Genia.

  At Swamp Yankee’s grocery, she picked up lobster salad, rolls, clam cakes, and jonnycake meal for white cornmeal pancakes. While standing in the checkout line, Genia overheard the checkout girl tell the boy bagging groceries that she’d heard that Mr. Parker had many enemies among the East Coast Mafia. But then the boy countered that Jason Eden had probably smoked some bad weed and done in the old man.

  Genia couldn’t let that pass.

  “Jason Eden did no such thing,” she said in her most authoritative voice, looking the boy straight in the eye. “I’m his great-aunt, and I ought to know.”

  The boy looked embarrassed as he handed her purchases to her.

  But as she walked away, she heard the two teens snicker, and the boy said softly, “Yeah, right, like Jason would tell her.”

  Genia didn’t mind the disparagement of herself—she’d had a similar low opinion of grown-ups when she was their age—but she minded very much the slander on her nephew’s name. She had started to think, on my nephew’s good name, as the old saying usually went, but then she had to sadly amend that to the shorter version. The truth was that Jason had already besmirched his name in his hometown. With a sinking sensation, his aunt realized that whether it was fair or not, more than one aspersion might be cast on Jason’s name this day. Oh, Jason, she thought as she got back into her car, please don’t get into any more trouble of the kind that makes people say cruel things about you.

  She had been going to stop at a Del’s Lemonade Stand for a cup of the famous Rhode Island beverage that had a lemon peel in every drink. Now she only wanted to get away from all of the gossip and go home. Stanley, she thought as she drove away, you would have to have had a cat’s numerous lives—and deaths!—to satisfy all the theories being tossed around in Devon today.

  10

  COOKING UP A STORM

  That afternoon Genia made her second trip of the day to the Castle. This time she drove her car along the paved road of the cul-de-sac, accompanied by her grandniece. They had fixed a big pot of quahog chowder and two dozen muffins made from the season’s last fresh blueberries.

  “I’m overdoing it,” Genia admitted to Janie as they loaded all of the food into the car, “but cooking has always been my fav
orite way to cope. My children tell me they always knew they’d eat well if there was something to celebrate or somebody died. I don’t know, I just seem to think best when I’m cooking large amounts of food for other people. It makes me feel better.”

  “I wish my mom felt that way.”

  Genia glanced at her niece, and they both laughed.

  “Did I tell you that your father loved the bisque we made last night?”

  “He did? I didn’t really do much, though.”

  “Well, you cooked it. I didn’t even stir it. I just told you what to do.”

  “It was easy, except I almost boiled it over.”

  “Almost is not the same as did.”

  Janie grinned at her. “Yeah, but that works both ways, Aunt Genia. That’s what Jason’s teachers say when he almost gets his homework in on time.”

  Her aunt smiled at her, appreciating her wit.

  “But you always do, don’t you?”

  “Jason could, too, if he wanted to.”

  Genia looked up at the defensive tone in Janie’s voice. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have compared you to him. I know your brother is plenty smart, and he can’t help it that he has dyslexia. I know it makes it harder for him.”

  Janie’s face still looked flushed with resentment. “I’m sorry, too. I just get this knee-jerk reaction when somebody tells me what a good student I am, ’cause when Mom says it what she really means is what a good student Jason isn’t. Sometimes I hate getting good grades. It just makes life harder for him.”

  Genia reached over to grasp one of Janie’s hands and pull her around to face her. “Sweetheart, let me tell you something. First of all, your mother loves both of you more than you know.” When Janie started to interrupt, Genia held up a hand to silence her. “And second, I am not worried about either of you. You will do just fine in this life, and so will he, honey. I should know. I got to see him in action down on the ranch, remember? He worked hard, he got along well with everyone he met, and he was smart as a whip about catching on to things.”

  She had a feeling that Janie wouldn’t feel so defensive of her twin if the girl herself had more genuine confidence in him. Her words, as she hoped they would, seemed to buoy up her niece, and Genia felt Janie’s arm relax a little in her grasp. Gently, she let her go.

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m his mother,” Janie muttered.

  “I know you do,” Genia said kindly, “and the hardest thing a mother ever has to do is let go of her child.”

  She smiled at Janie and suddenly got a lopsided grin in return.

  “Weird, huh?” the girl asked, with a little laugh.

  “Normal,” her aunt pronounced.

  “Oh, gross, just what I want to be, normal!”

  They both laughed at the very idea of it.

  When they arrived at the Castle, Nikki herself answered the door, looking, to Genia’s sympathetic eyes, sweet and young and very sad. Stanley’s only child wore a long pink cotton skirt, a white cotton blouse, and sandals. As she tucked a loose strand of her brown hair behind an arm of her eyeglasses, she smiled tiredly at Genia and Janie. Under the glasses her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying a lot.

  “Genia, you sweetie. Look at all this that you’ve brought for us.” The young woman reached for one of the packages. There was a catch in her voice. “My dad was right, you’re really a dear person. This is wonderful. This whole town is wonderful. People are so kind and generous. I do believe we’ve got enough food to feed the whole state. It’s a good thing, too, because it’s beginning to look as if everybody in Rhode Island is going to show up. I think Dad knew everybody!” As she held open the door for them, she said, “Randy told me you called earlier.”

  “Nikki, I’m so sorry about your dad,” Genia told her, pausing in the doorway to say it. “It’s such a terrible thing.” She hesitated, and then added, “Did Randy tell you about Ed Hennessey?”

  “Yes, but I can’t do anything about that right now.” Nikki looked harried, overwhelmed, and ready to burst into tears, and Genia felt guilty for overburdening her. She stepped into the foyer in order to let Nikki and Janie in, too. “I need somebody to take care of the grounds, and there’s no time to hire anybody new until all this is over.”

  “Nikki, do you know my grandniece, Jane Eden?”

  Janie nodded her head politely above the load of packages she was carrying for her aunt, and explained, “I’m Donna’s daughter.”

  “And Kevin’s,” Nikki said, with a warm, quivery smile for the girl.

  As they followed their hostess back into the Castle’s kitchen, Genia thought about how Stanley used to call his daughter “soft,” and “a pushover.” Genia wondered if the truth might be that Nikki was just plain nicer than he. Stanley had always said exactly what was on his mind, often to a fault, and frequently mowing over people’s feelings in the process. “They shouldn’t get their feelings hurt so easily,” he’d say, thus neatly absolving himself of any responsibility for being kind. Genia had a feeling that his daughter would never do that. Maybe that made Nikki weak, or maybe it made her good.

  They walked by groups of visitors in the central living room to the right and the library to the left. Genia recalled how very “masculine” this residence had seemed to her the first time she had walked into its massive foyer with its thirty-foot ceiling, walnut balustrade, and dark paneling. Stanley had appeared quite naturally at home in the vast rooms with their dark brocaded draperies that shut out the light, but she had wondered how Lillian had stood it for all of those years of their marriage. If there had been suits of armor standing about, it could not have seemed any more like a “castle” or any less like a home for a queen.

  This was a king’s castle, no doubt of it.

  Genia looked curiously about her: There were many faces she recognized, people who smiled or nodded to her courteously, and she to all of them. Some of her dinner-party guests were there, as well as people she recognized from town. Was one of them a murderer, come to pay sardonic tribute to the victim? It was a terrible thought.

  “Hello, Mrs. Potter!”

  She looked up to see Randy Dixon coming down the main staircase from the second floor. The young man looked confident and at ease in a way Genia had never seen him look around his late father-in-law. He was a physical type that girls through the generations had always labeled “cute”—below average in height, but broad shouldered and slim waisted, with lots of curly black hair, outrageously blue eyes, and an infectious grin.

  “Hello, Randy,” she responded, stopping to see if he wanted to talk.

  But he merely smiled in a welcoming way, and strode past her into the living room to greet the important guests for whom he was now the host.

  In the vast kitchen Nikki briefly removed her glasses and Genia noticed again the pillows beneath her brown eyes. Suddenly Nikki turned around and cried out in tones of deep distress, “Genia, they’re saying my dad was murdered! No one would murder my father! You don’t think it’s really true, do you?”

  “Oh, my dear,” Genia said, with deep sympathy.

  She had certainly never expected to stand in this familiar kitchen having this kind of conversation. Everywhere she looked were reminders of Stanley, because it was he—not Lillian—who had planned every inch of this cooking space, and he who had used it the most, apart from their hired cooks. From the stainless steel of the custom-made counters to the wide window above the triple sinks, from the cast-iron utensils to the industrial stove and oven, it was all Stanley’s design.

  “The police have been here!” Nikki said, a look of disbelief on her face. “The police! The way they asked Randy and me questions, you’d have thought they suspected we murdered my dad for the inheritance! But Genia, I’ve always known I would inherit almost everything! Randy has, too, and if we were going to kill my dad for the money”—she looked utterly dismayed by her own words—“why would we wait to do it now? I mean, sure Randy’s out of work a lot, but that’s the nature of
what he does! We’ve always gotten by, with some help from my dad. So why would we do such a thing now? And, anyway, I loved my dad!” She smiled, and her mouth trembled. “He claimed I nearly killed him when I married Randy. But for me to really kill my own father? It’s so impossible; I told the police that. And they know me, for heaven’s sake, I went to grade school with most of them. I told them I hope they’re looking for the person who really did it.”

  Her words reminded Genia painfully of what Kevin Eden had said the previous night in her own kitchen, about how the Devon police knew him, too, and ought to know better than to treat him with suspicion. These things were especially hard in a small town if neighbor turned against neighbor, and longtime friends against their own school chums.

  Genia put an arm around Nikki and led her to a chair to sit down.

  A woman suddenly burst into the kitchen, holding a casserole pot in her hands, but paused when she saw the emotional little scene. She put her contribution down on a counter, murmured, “I’m so sorry,” threw a compassionate look toward Nikki, and then tiptoed back out again. Janie walked right over, picked up the casserole, and placed it in one of the two large refrigerators. Then she busied herself with the things that she and her great-aunt had brought. Genia felt proud of the girl for trying to be so tactfully helpful, when many teenagers might have hung back or fled from the scene.

  Just then the doorbell rang, causing Nikki to rise halfway up from the chair instinctively. Genia placed a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her down again. “Just sit here and rest for a minute, Nikki. There are lots of people out there who can answer the door for you. Janie, let’s you and I get some of this food out into the dining room.”

  While Nikki sat at the table, her face buried in her hands, Genia put Janie to work layering clam cakes on lettuce on a platter and arranging the gingerbread in a basket. Periodically, the three women were interrupted by other people coming in to deposit more food and to give Nikki hugs and words of sympathy. Foodstuffs were piling up, so Genia started dishing a few of them up and then making room for the others in the refrigerator and along the countertops. From spending time in this kitchen with Stanley, she knew right where to go for serving spoons and napkins, glasses and pickle forks. She plugged in the big stainless coffeepot that Stanley had used for large groups and she uncorked several bottles of wine. And through all her tasks she wondered if Stanley would approve.