A Potluck of Murder and Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  “It’s not like we were communicating.” I wrapped a clump of my hair around my index finger. “The truth is, I refused to answer his calls, and I erased his voicemails and text messages without ever checking them. I assumed he wanted to get back together. And I didn’t want any part of that. I wanted . . . I want to be with you.”

  Randy closed one eye while concentrating on me with the other. “Then how’d you end up scheduled to meet with the guy?”

  “He got a different phone. I didn’t recognize the number and answered his call by mistake.”

  He opened both eyes. And I didn’t like what I saw. Anger, of course. But something else, too. Was it distrust or simply a boatload of disappointment? Whatever, it sucked. It gave me the sinking feeling that Randy wasn’t as understanding as I’d prayed he’d be, which meant just one thing. He’d had enough of me messing up. As a result, by the time this conversation was over, more than likely, we would be, too. Yep, we’d be done as a couple. Kaput, as Margie might say.

  The air in my chest escaped me, leaving my heart feeling heavy and unsupported. I was certain all further attempts to explain myself would serve no purpose. My motivation for meeting Boo-Boo, regardless how innocent, wouldn’t matter. Randy was fed up. And our relationship was doomed.

  My shoulders slumped before involuntarily rising again as I inhaled. If you have nothing left to lose, why not speak your mind? That question was a mere whisper in my head. The ones that followed were louder and more insistent, fueled by my intake of oxygen and, quite possibly, my naïveté. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll dump you like garbage. But, if you’re lucky, you’ll say something to convince him to reconsider.

  Relying on that dubious logic, I spilled the rest of my story. “He was scared, Randy. He was in trouble and needed my help.” I contemplated that. “At least that’s what his last call was all about.”

  “His last call?”

  Oops.

  “How many calls were there?” He clinched his jaw.

  “None. No others.” I’d tangled my hair around my finger so tightly it had turned blue. My finger, not my hair. “That’s not right. Like I said, there were lots of calls.” I unspooled my hair and wiggled my finger to get the blood flowing. “And texts. Lots of texts. But I didn’t respond to any of them, and I only took that one call. A couple days ago. Tuesday. Yeah, that’s right. I spoke with him on Tuesday.”

  Randy stood a little taller, his shoulders pulled back a little farther, his countenance stern. Once again he was in full cop mode. “What exactly did he say?”

  I tucked my fingers under my thighs to keep from wrapping my hair around them. If cutting off my circulation would have guaranteed a halt to Randy’s interrogation, I would have bound all my fingers and all my toes. But, in view of his unyielding demeanor, I suspected that nothing would prematurely end it.

  “He begged me to hear him out,” I explained. “I insisted I was done with him. And that’s when he claimed he wasn’t calling for personal reasons. He said . . . umm . . . it was more of a professional call.” I addressed Randy’s bewildered expression by providing him with one of my own. “I don’t know. He said he was working in the area and got himself into a jam. He wasn’t sure where to turn.”

  “He didn’t specify the kind of ‘jam’ he was in?”

  “No. When I told him I was coming up this way, he said he’d rather talk in person. That’s when he asked to meet with me at the park at four o’clock today.”

  “Emme, didn’t that strike you as odd? Your old boyfriend requested a clandestine meeting but refused to provide any details?”

  “Well, when you put it that way—”

  “There’s no other way to put it! You were stupid to agree to get together with him!”

  Stupid? That made me angry. He’d made his point. It wasn’t necessary to resort to name calling. “He was scared, Randy!” I slid off my stool. This time on purpose. “I’d never heard him sound that way before.”

  Randy’s eyes showed he regretted his rudeness, yet he failed to apologize, though he did curb his tone. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me, Emme. I’m actually trained in law enforcement, remember?”

  “At the time, I had nothing to tell you because I hadn’t yet met with him.” I vacillated, but in the end, I laid the rest of it out there. “And since things were just getting good between us again, I didn’t want to chance ruining them by bringing up my old boyfriend unless I had to.”

  “Unless you had to?”

  Another oops. “Well, the truth is, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to mention it at all.”

  “Nice, Emme. Great way to build a relationship.” Like me, Randy appreciated sarcasm and didn’t pass up many opportunities to use it.

  “Don’t get all self-righteous. I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid you’d react like this.” I waved my hands in exasperation. “And I was right!”

  He glared at me but said nothing.

  Okay, casting blame in his direction was totally unfair, and I immediately adopted a more conciliatory approach. “When he didn’t show up or answer his cell phone, I got worried. And that’s when I decided I had to talk to you. Get your advice. Ask for your help.”

  “With your old boyfriend?” The cords in his neck strained against his words.

  “I’m not . . . I mean I wasn’t interested in him romantically. You know that. But I didn’t want anything awful to happen to him, either.”

  When Randy inhaled his next breath, he practically sucked all the oxygen out of the room. In fact, it took me a while to locate enough of the stuff to fill my lungs to make my final point. “In any case, it wasn’t my fault he was murdered.”

  He chewed his bottom lip. “That may not matter. If you recall, the sheriff doesn’t take kindly to you. You’ve upstaged him twice over the past five months by solving murders he couldn’t.”

  “So?”

  “So, he’d like nothing better than to cause you trouble.”

  “And?”

  “And now he might get his chance.”

  “How?”

  He rested his large hands on his hips, the fingers of his right hand absently tapping his holstered gun. “We found a piece of paper in Owen’s jacket pocket. It had your name on it, and the notation, ‘4:00 p.m., Thursday.’”

  I gave myself a moment to put two and two together. When I came up with five, I raised my hand. “If you already knew about my meeting with him, why all these—”

  “I wanted to hear directly from you.” He caught my gaze with those piercing dark eyes of his. “Even though I knew better, I guess I was hoping there was another Emme out there. See, I didn’t want my Emme caught up in another police matter. Especially one concerning her ex-boyfriend’s death.”

  He sounded disheartened, which made me feel bad. On the flip side, he had called me “his Emme,” which felt really nice. Not surprisingly, those conflicting emotions couldn’t co-exist and ended up colliding somewhere between my head and my heart, leaving me bewildered.

  With no idea what to say, I went with my old standby. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, I know. You always are.”

  Okay, that was harsh. “What?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s never easy with you, that’s all. You’re constantly nosing around where you don’t belong.”

  The sympathy I had momentarily felt for the guy was kicked aside by a big boot of furious. “Well, if I’m too difficult—”

  “That’s not exactly what I said.”

  “It’s what you implied.”

  “Emme.” He splayed his hands in front of his chest. “Let’s stop before we say something we’ll regret.”

  “Too late for you.”

  He reached for me, but I stepped away, avoiding his grasp. “I can take care of myself, Randy. I’ve been doing it for years. I don’t need your help. And, as I said, if I’m too much trouble, just stay clear of me.”

  Tears gathered behind my eyes, threatening to
undermine all my tough talk. To steel myself, I closed my hands and dug my nails into my palms. I wasn’t about to buckle. I’d come too far. I’d made too much progress. I was growing stronger and more self-assured every day. At least that’s what my therapist routinely wrote on the bottom of my monthly counseling bills. “If Sheriff Halverson has questions for me, tell him to bring them on.” I stiffened my spine and, with any luck, my resolve. “I have nothing to hide.”

  Randy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you have nothing to hide.”

  Detecting some affection in his tone, I let go of my anger. “Mighty big of you to believe in me.” I guess a bit of snarkiness replaced it.

  He offered up a throaty chuckle and pulled me into his arms. “You’re lucky I like sassy women.”

  This time I willingly snuggled against him. “I’m sorry you’re upset, but I’m not sorry for offering to help Boo-Boo.”

  He gently rubbed my back. “Was that an apology?”

  “As near as you’re going to get.”

  I felt him smile against the top of my head. “Emme, I only got angry because you didn’t come to me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, especially if I can keep you safe.” He hugged me tighter. “I don’t want you to keep secrets from me, either. I understand that for most of your life, you haven’t had people you could confide in, so you’re not used to doing it. But, you’ve got me now. And you have to be open and honest with me. It’s the only way our relationship will work.”

  A few of the tears I’d been holding back spilled down my cheeks. Randy was overprotective, but he truly cared for me. Boo-Boo, on the other hand, only cared about himself. He’d treated me poorly while alive and continued to cause me problems in death.

  “Boo-Boo wasn’t a nice person, Randy. Even so, he didn’t deserve to be murdered.” I quickly added, “Contract a painful sexually transmitted disease? Yes. But not murdered.”

  I sniffled against Randy’s chest, as images of my happy times with Boo-Boo flickered through my brain. Because there were so few of them, the same couple of pictures played over and over again. He in his Twins’ uniform, grinning through his closely cropped beard as he motioned to me from the field following a home game. Then, he in a tux, winking at me while we slow danced at a charity gala at the Walker Art Center.

  Despite my best efforts, a few more tears fell, turning an area on Randy’s tan shirt a wet, dark brown. “I was terribly naive when I met him.” My voice was hushed, as if I were talking to myself alone. “When he looked at me, I felt like the only woman in the world. And, my God, every time he kissed me, my knees practically buckled.”

  With his arms still wrapped around me, Randy spoke into my hair, “Hey, when I said we needed to be open and honest with each other, I didn’t mean we had to share all the sordid details of—”

  “I loved him so much. At least I thought I did.” I was lost in ruminations, oblivious to the words I was uttering out loud. “I believed he loved me, too.”

  “Emme, please don’t tell—”

  “I’ll admit that after he cheated on me, I dreamed about doing him in. A couple nights Jose Cuervo and I even concocted some plans. Not for murdering him, mind you. Just hurting him like he had hurt me.” I peeked up at Randy. “I did a few things I’m not very proud of.” I grimaced at the recollection of puncturing his car tires. “But I never did him any bodily harm. I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  Randy cupped my cheeks. “Emme, you don’t have to explain. The truth is, I’d rather you didn’t.”

  As if in a trance, I continued. “Eventually, I got over him.”

  “Emme . . .”

  “Regardless, for a long time, I—”

  “Emme!” he shouted, and I jumped.

  It was only then, as I gaped at him, that I realized what I had done. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on like that.”

  “Everything will be all right.” He brushed my wet cheeks with his calloused thumbs. “To be on the safe side, though, you may want to avoid mentioning any of that ‘getting even’ stuff to Sheriff Halverson.”

  “You’re sure he’ll question me?”

  He tweaked the tip of my nose. “Your name was found on the murder victim, and since the sheriff genuinely dislikes you, odds are you’ll get a visit from him. You can also count on him giving you a lot of grief. Remember, you’ve exposed his incompetence. Given that, he probably blames you for having an opponent in the upcoming election.”

  I eased myself from his arms. “He has an opponent because he’s ineffective at his job, and he’s a first-rate ass.”

  “There you go again with that mouth of yours.”

  I shrugged.

  “Don’t worry.” He patted his breast pocket. “This receipt is your ‘get out of jail free’ card. Even if the sheriff refuses to believe you were physically incapable of committing the crime, he has to agree that the receipt exonerates you. It puts you fifty miles away at the time of death.”

  “You’re convinced about when he died?”

  “Yep. The body was discovered by a cross-country skier at 6:25 p.m. He’d already been dead for more than two hours.”

  I had to swallow a few times to digest that information. “Randy, regardless of the receipt, I had no motive to kill Boo-Boo. I let go of my anger a long time ago. And I certainly didn’t want him back.”

  “I know.” He took my measure. “And even if you did have a motive to murder him and were strong enough to commit the crime, you wouldn’t have been dumb enough to leave a note implicating yourself. You’re too smart for that.”

  I stared at him. “Thanks, I think.”

  While Margie had disappeared right after Randy’s arrival, she was back again, now that the yelling and crying were over. “You two need another cup of joe?” In her hands, she held a tray with a fresh pot of coffee, a few clean cups, and a plate of homemade peanut clusters. “I pulled this together out front.”

  “No, thanks.” Randy zipped his jacket. “I should go. I have to get back to work. We have a long night ahead of us.”

  I offered him my best big-girl look. “I’m not afraid of Sheriff Halverson. Go ahead and tell him where he can find me. Although, if he actually wants information, I have no idea what I can offer.”

  “Well,” Randy began, his brain clearly percolating, “someone must know why Owen Bair was up here.”

  Margie set her tray on the prep table. “Oh, I can help ya out there.”

  Randy wrinkled his forehead. “Really?”

  “Ya betcha.” She motioned for us to sit down and join her.

  I hesitantly returned to my stool. What on earth did Margie John-son know about Boo-Boo?

  I’m not sure you really want to find out, a voice whispered from the back of my mind.

  Chapter Five

  MARGIE WAS BAFFLED, so I took another stab at clarifying myself. “Boo-Boo and Owen Bair are—or were—one and the same person. And he was found murdered earlier today in the park in Lake Bronson.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” Margie sank down on her stool. “Emme, I had no clue the guy I knew was your Boo-Boo.”

  “He wasn’t ‘mine.’”

  She ignored my point of clarification. “To me, he was just Owen Bair, a former baseball player.” Randy poured coffee all around before pulling up a stool for himself. “Because I’m not into that sport,” she added in his direction, “I didn’t realize he was connected to Emme.” She fussed with her coffee cup. “Baseball’s just too slow for me. And there’s way too much crotch scratchin’.”

  The corners of Randy’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. He was Margie’s friend, but first and foremost, he was a cop. And, at that particular moment, he was investigating a murder and wanted information. “Go on.” He rolled his hand, motioning her to get on with it.

  “Well, he came into the café here a few times during the last several months. Said he’d retired from baseball and was workin’ with some investors to start a wind farm up here. Said it would
be part of a network of wind farms across the state. And he asked if I was interested in gettin’ in on it.”

  “What did you tell him?” Randy tossed a nut cluster into his mouth.

  I did the same. I couldn’t get past the fact that Boo-Boo had been to the Hot Dish Heaven Café and hoped some sugar might improve my brain function.

  “I said that from what I understood, the wind blew too hard ’round here for a wind farm to operate effectively. It’s so flat, and there are so few trees . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence, obviously presuming we understood where she was headed. “Anyways, he said they had that worked out. I then asked how he and his buddies were gonna harness the excess energy that the turbines would generate.” She swiveled her head in my direction. “Otter Tail, the local power company, only has to accept so much, don’t ya know.” She refocused on Randy, her pale blue eyes sparkling. “See, I’m not just another pretty face. I’ve got some smarts.” She tapped her right temple with her dry, red, index finger. This time a smile ghosted Randy’s lips. “But the guy had an answer for that, too. Somethin’ about havin’ a long list of commercial customers to ensure there’d never be excess energy.”

  She huffed. “He had a ready reply for everythin’. Made me suspicious. I hate to say it, Emme, but I got the feelin’ he wasn’t an honest person.” She smoothed her hair away from her face. “Before long, I got the sneakin’ suspicion he wore that beard of his mainly so no one could call him a bare-faced liar.”

  “Margie, you aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. It just took me a while to see him for who he truly was.”

  Randy filled his mouth with a second nut cluster, then a third. He clearly didn’t appreciate talk of my relationship with Boo-Boo, but there was no getting around it.

  “Margie?” he asked, clusters stuffing his cheeks. “Did you end up investing in the venture?”

  “Oh, no, not me, though lots of other folks did. Most gave $5,000 or $10,000. But, from what I gather, the President invested a heck of a lot more.” She stared off in the distance, apparently viewing something through her mind’s eye. “One day several weeks back he came in here and announced to everyone that if we were gonna save this county from becomin’ nothin’ but a half dozen ghost towns, we had to be willin’ to risk some of our own money on the deal.”