Death of a Cookbook Author

by Lee Hollis

  Randy, who was also burned and nauseated, pounded on the back window of the truck to get Stephen’s attention, but with his windows up, the air conditioner blasting, and Rihanna’s latest hit jacked up to full volume on the radio, needless to say he didn’t hear anything. He just caught a glimpse of Randy waving frantically in the back window and gave him a smile and a thumbs-up.

  Randy was the last one to collapse next to the rest of us. We were all officially sick from drinking too much amaretto coffee and not preparing properly for the harsh rays of the beating sun. The crowd watched our float pass by, puzzled to see no one in the bar that was erected in the flatbed since we were all lying down, moaning and complaining and covering our heads from the sun.

  When Stephen glanced at his rearview mirror again, and didn’t see any of us, he immediately thought we had somehow fallen out of the back. He slammed on the brakes, tossing us around, threw the truck in park, and jumped out to find us.

  Unfortunately the MDI High School marching band wasn’t quite able to stop as fast as Stephen, and the band director, who was marching backward so he could conduct the band, ran right into the back of the truck. After that, according to eyewitnesses, it was like watching a game of dominoes as the poor marching band began running into the line in front of them and crashing to the ground, falling down row by row with instruments flying everywhere! The last one to go down were the cymbals, crashing to the ground and making a clanging sound so loud it seemed like the song’s finale! The crowd didn’t know whether they should applaud or rush to help.

  Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, poor Stephen was running up and down the parade route screaming that there had been a horrible accident and people were missing! This set off a panic in the crowd of people, and many of them whipped out their cell phones and called 911.

  Fortunately Sergio arrived promptly at the scene since he was already riding at the end of the line of parade floats, and quickly realized the missing people were all accounted for in the back of the truck, sunburned and sick from too much amaretto.

  One must always have a good strong cup of coffee and a hearty hot breakfast to begin the day. Suffice it to say, a shot of amaretto in your coffee is sure to make you want to celebrate something, even if it’s not an official holiday. Just stay indoors if it’s a hot day!

  Amaretto Coffee

  1 cup hot coffee

  1½ shots amaretto

  Whipped cream

  Sliced almonds

  Pour your hot coffee into your favorite coffee mug.

  Add 1½ shots of amaretto and stir.

  Top with whipped cream and a few sliced almonds, kick back, and enjoy!

  Easy Breezy French Toast Casserole

  4 tablespoons butter (½ stick), melted

  ¾ cup packed brown sugar

  1 loaf brioche bread cut into 1½ inch slices

  8 eggs slightly beaten

  1 cup whole milk

  1 tablespoon vanilla extract

  1 tablespoon cinnamon

  ¼ teaspoon ground ginger

  ¼ to ½ cup chopped pecans (to your liking)

  ½ teaspoon salt

  Combine your sugar and melted butter in a small bowl and pour into the bottom of a 9-by-13-inch baking pan. Lay your slices of bread on top of the mixture, overlapping if necessary.

  Combine your milk, beaten eggs, vanilla, cinnamon, ginger, and salt in a medium bowl. Pour the mixture evenly all over the sliced bread in the baking pan.

  At this point cover your French toast tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours and up to 12 hours.

  In the morning take the casserole out of the refrigerator at least 15 minutes before baking. Preheat your oven to 350°F and bake the casserole 30–35 minutes, until a knife comes out clean. Remove from oven and cool slightly. Yummy!

  Chapter 10

  It was no surprise when Gerard Roquefort’s Cod, Potato, and Fennel Casserole easily took first prize in Penelope Janice’s celebrity potluck competition that evening. Carol Kay came in a distant second with her Oyster Casserole, which everyone agreed was tasty, but ultimately inferior to Gerard’s heavenly dish. Hayley’s Spaghetti Pie Casserole didn’t even place, even though she was quite proud of her final effort. Penelope said it was “tasty” on camera as she swept through, fork in hand, trying all of her esteemed guests’ entries, having dramatically disqualified her own dish, a simple Spinach Gratin, when she revealed on camera that she, in fact, would be the deciding judge. Hayley never seriously thought she had a shot at actually winning the contest, but she was happy knowing she had been invited to participate.

  The small camera crew followed Penelope around as she congratulated everyone on their individual impressive culinary achievements, making sure the cameraman didn’t miss Gerard’s son Tristan pouting in a corner, a sore loser, whining to his father that his Chicken and Swiss Chard Enchilada Casserole, in his opinion, had been unfairly judged. Penelope loved any drama she could squeeze out and exploit on her show, and bad sport Tristan was handing her a great promotional spot with his sullen attitude.

  Still, poor Penelope got a lot more drama than she bargained for when she chose to ignore her husband Conrad spending too much time refilling his glass with scotch at the bar during the post-competition interviews.

  Hayley had been eyeing him all evening, and he appeared tense and angry, even storming out at one point when his own dish, a simple Root Vegetable Gratin, was summarily dismissed by his wife as “humdrum and pedestrian.” A producer had to chase him down and coax him back, which took almost a half hour.

  Hayley had tasted Conrad’s casserole herself and, though not a huge fan of root vegetables, thought it was quite flavorful and yummy and undeserving of such pointed criticism.

  She had to assume Penelope was purposely punishing her husband for his boorish behavior and possible dalliance with her ravishing assistant. Penelope’s harsh words did not sit well with Conrad, and he showed it by getting rip-roaring drunk, quietly at first, but then as his inhibitions melted away, he steadily became more combative and abusive.

  “This is all a farce,” he slurred, jiggling the ice in his glass before downing what had to have been his seventh or eighth scotch on the rocks.

  Penelope whirled around, a furious look in her eyes, as she sized up her hopelessly inebriated husband. “I think you’ve had quite enough to drink, Conrad. Perhaps it’s time you turned in for the night.”

  “The Queen of the Kitchen has issued her decree and has ordered me exiled from the castle,” Conrad bellowed, playing it up for the camera which was recording his every word and movement for posterity.

  Penelope eyeballed the camera nervously.

  This was not a scene she wanted featured on her special Fourth of July holiday episode.

  “I’m not a child you can send off to bed before the party is over like one of those cloying von Trapp kids in The Sound of Music,” Conrad blustered, nearly tripping over his own feet as he made a beeline for the bar and sang off key, “So long! Farewell! Auf Wiedersehen . . .”

  “Conrad, enough!” Penelope cried, marching over and physically pushing the lens down so the cameraman couldn’t capture any more of the embarrassing scene.

  She hissed in the producer’s ear, “I don’t want to see any of this in the editing room.”

  “God forbid the public gets an accurate picture of what really goes on around here,” Conrad scoffed, stumbling over an ottoman.

  Gerard lunged forward to catch him before he fell, but Conrad managed to balance himself and shook Gerard off, raising his arms and accidentally elbowing Gerard in the face.

  Gerard flew back and crashed into the long table with all the potluck dishes, knocking it over and causing all the half-empty casserole plates to smash to the floor.

  There was stunned silence.

  Tristan rushed over to help his father to his feet.

  Penelope flashed a panicked look at her producer and them calmly announced, “I think we should call it a night.
”

  The guests and camera crew silently filed out of the room as Penelope signaled to one of her kitchen staff, who was hovering near the entryway. “Gloria, could you please clean this mess up for me?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Janice,” the young girl said, racing to find a broom and dustpan.

  Penelope traipsed past Hayley, her face tight, trying desperately not to lose it in front of her. “Good night, Hayley.”

  “Good night,” she answered, watching Penelope disappear around the corner, leaving her all alone in the dining room.

  Hayley walked over and lifted the table upright before kneeling down and picking up shards of broken glass off the floor.

  Gloria returned and began sweeping the smaller pieces of glass into her dustpan, shaking her head.

  “That was quite a show,” Hayley said.

  Gloria nodded, not eager to gossip with a stranger, something that could potentially backfire on her in a big way.

  “Does this kind of thing happen often?” Hayley casually asked.

  Gloria shrugged. “No, not really. He only drinks too much when he’s upset about something.”

  Hayley dropped the broken pieces of glass she had gathered in a small wastebasket. Gloria kept sweeping vigorously, trying to scoop up every last remnant of food and glass that littered the hardwood floor.

  “What do you suppose he was upset about?”

  “Beats me. But believe me, she gives him plenty of reasons to be upset. She’s terribly tough on him.”

  “Penelope wears the pants in the family, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Gloria said, chuckling. “It’s no wonder he—”

  “It’s no wonder he what?”

  Gloria realized she had said too much and suddenly sealed her lips and bent down to pick up the dustpan full of casserole bits and shattered glass. She then dumped it in the wastebasket.

  “Gloria, you were going to say something . . .”

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you. I don’t want to get fired like Clara.”

  “Whatever you tell me will be in the strictest confidence,” Hayley promised.

  Gloria wavered, debating with herself. She wanted to get something off her chest, but wasn’t sure Hayley was the right trusted confidante.

  “Please, Gloria, I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

  Gloria sighed, making a decision.

  She glanced around the room to make sure no one else was within earshot.

  “Last night Penelope was in a pretty nasty mood and was taking it out on Conrad and . . .” Gloria said, hesitating.

  “And . . . ?”

  “Well, I saw him in the kitchen and he had a bottle of pills . . . he was crushing some into a powder and stirred it into her warm milk with nutmeg.”

  “Which she has every night before bed.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you see the bottle? What kind of pills were they?”

  “Sleeping pills, I think.”

  Sleeping pills in her milk.

  Penelope was admittedly a very light sleeper.

  But those pills would no doubt have knocked her out cold for the entire night allowing Conrad to slip away freely and rendezvous with Lena.

  In order to secretly discuss Penelope’s murder.

  After helping Gloria clean up the mess and thanking her for confiding in her, Hayley retreated to her room, exhausted from the evening’s intense drama.

  On her way up the stairs she spotted Lena slipping out of her room and quietly tiptoeing down the hall.

  Was she meeting Conrad?

  Or Tristan?

  Or some other secret courter?

  Hayley debated following her, but was overcome with exhaustion, still weak from her nasty bout of food poisoning the night before, and so she just trudged into her room, peeled off her clothes, threw on her nightgown, and crawled into bed.

  She was asleep within seconds.

  * * *

  When she awoke hours later in the early morning, everything was still dark and she was having trouble breathing again. As she tried to open her mouth and suck in some air, she inhaled a wad of fur and started choking. Realizing Sebastian the cat was parked on her face again, she pushed the hefty feline off her, causing him to emit a short abrupt hiss and then a growl. Sebastian huffily marched to the end of the bed, tail high in the air to signal his disapproval, and then circled the comforter a few times before plopping down into a big round fur ball.

  Hayley leaned down and patted him gently on the head. “I don’t mind us being roommates, Sebastian, but I’m sorry, pal, you can’t sleep on my face.”

  As much as he wanted to maintain his distant and cold demeanor, Sebastian simply couldn’t resist Hayley’s magic fingers scratching his head and soon he melted into a euphoric state, purring like the hum of a motorboat’s engine.

  Suddenly Sebastian’s blissful mood was shattered by a woman’s screams. The sharp shrieks were so startling he flew off the bed and skittered underneath it to hide.

  Hayley jumped up and raced to the window, tugging open the curtains, unhooking the latch, and throwing open the window. Down below, by the cliff’s edge, she could see Carol Kay, in a loud pink sweat suit, presumably out for an early morning jog, yelling and pointing over the rocky drop-off.

  “There’s a body down there!” she wailed.

  Hayley struggled into her clothes that were strewn across the floor from the night before and bolted out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, running as fast as she could to reach Carol, afraid her worst fears were about to be confirmed, and Conrad and Lena had made good on their diabolical plan to kill Penelope.

  If only she had followed Lena the night before, perhaps she could have somehow prevented this, found some way to save Penelope from her husband’s deadly machinations.

  When Hayley finally reached Carol, who by now was on her knees, hugging herself, weeping uncontrollably, Hayley stopped to comfort her for just a moment, rubbing her back and telling her it would be all right, and then she slowly, carefully stepped over to the cliff ’s edge and peered down at the body.

  She gasped as she stared numbly at the corpse, lying broken on the jagged rocks far below as the rush of water from the crashing waves washed over it, threatening to pull it far out to sea.

  It wasn’t Penelope Janice.

  It was her husband Conrad.

  Chapter 11

  Police Chief Sergio Alvares was back on the scene at the posh Seal Harbor estate in record time after Carol Kay finally collected herself enough to call 911 on her cell phone between sobs and tears. The other houseguests, alerted to the commotion outside, quickly dressed and gathered together in a huddle as Penelope, hand over her mouth, her whole body shaking, insisted against the advice of her friends to see the smashed body of her husband for herself.

  After peeking over the edge, she howled, and then collapsed into Sergio’s arms, hanging onto him as she buried her face in his broad, muscled chest.

  It was quite a performance.

  One Hayley didn’t buy for a second.

  Especially when she spotted Penelope, supposedly grief-stricken, cover her eyes with her hands as she moaned and blubbered in the arms of Sergio, but peering through her splayed fingers at her houseguests’ reaction to her grieving, as if she wanted to make sure her emotional display was thoroughly convincing enough for all the witnesses on the scene, especially the chief of police.

  Penelope clearly wanted to put on a good show leaving no doubt in everyone’s mind that she was sufficiently heartbroken over Conrad’s untimely death, whether she truly felt that way or not.

  Sergio managed to peel Penelope off him and consult with his officers who were canvassing the area for clues. Hayley noticed a pipe lying on the ground near the cliff’s edge. She knelt down to inspect it, and sure enough, it looked as if it had been discarded. There was some recently burnt tobacco in the small round bowl of the pipe. She signaled Sergio, who trotted over to take a look at what she had just foun
d.

  He bent down to examine the pipe.

  “Do you think it belongs to Conrad?” he asked.

  “Yes, he must have dropped it when he tripped or stumbled, before falling over the side of the cliff,” Hayley said solemnly.

  Sergio waved over Officer Donnie to bag and tag the pipe in the event Conrad’s death was ruled a homicide and the pipe needed to be submitted as evidence.

  “What do you suppose happened?” Hayley asked Sergio, who surveyed the area near the cliff’s edge where Conrad presumably fell.

  “I’m leaning toward an accident. So far, everyone I’ve talked to has told me Conrad was blisteringly drunk last night when he left the dining room. I can only assume he took a stroll along the property, something he did every night before bed according to his wife and the household staff. He stopped here to smoke his pipe, and accidentally slipped on some rocks, which were wet from a brief rain last night. He probably stumbled, tried regaining his balance, dropped his pipe here, and just tumbled over the side, dying instantly when his body hit the rocks.”

  It all made perfect sense.

  And yet, Hayley believed, given the previous events that had already unfolded during her stay here, the friction between Conrad and Penelope and the murder plot she had heard discussed between Conrad and Lena meant that this horrific occurrence was far more than just a simple tragic accident.

  She was still convinced Conrad had every intention of murdering his wife to be with Lena.

  But somehow the tables had suddenly turned.

  And she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  “Excuse me, everyone, please, will you all accompany me back to the house?” Penelope called to her guests who were milling about the scene. “The police have a lot of work to do, and the coroner’s office and fire department have just arrived to bring up Conrad’s body, so I think it would be wise for us to all get out of their way. Breakfast will be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”