A Potluck of Murder and Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  The two of them locked eyes, seemingly communicating an awful lot without actually saying a thing.

  “Sooo,” I hummed as I stood, feeling as if I was intruding on an intimate conversation, “since it doesn’t appear as if we’ll solve the murder in the next five minutes, I’m going to the bathroom.”

  Barbie wavered before also taking to her feet. “And I’m . . . umm . . . off to the café to get a small plate of . . . umm . . . something or other.”

  “What?” I was surprised by how eager she appeared to get away from Tiny.

  “Mostly I’m after a piece of frosted chocolate cake covered in watermelon chunks,” she rambled. “It’s a great taste combination. Margaret Dukowitz told me about it. According to her, Bill Cooney, her dad, always ate the two together.”

  She glanced at me, the tips of her ears flushed. “I’ll bring him some, too.” She bit her lip as she pointed a finger in Tiny’s general direction but, evidently, couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with the man.

  As for Tiny, he hid his amusement behind his closed fist. He obviously knew the effect he had on my friend and was quite pleased by it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  DONE WITH MY BUSINESS in the bathroom, I aimed myself back toward our table, my progress halted first by a group of kids running unchecked, and next by a hand snaring my arm. With a sharp intake of air, I spun around, not at all sure whom I expected to find. My brain shuffled through a deck of names and faces, Randy Ryden’s not among them. He was working, after all. That’s why I was stunned to see him. Right there in front of me. In street clothes.

  “Hi.” A smile lit his face.

  “What? What are you . . .”

  He chuckled. “Nice to see you, too.”

  I stroked his clean-shaven cheek. “I’m just surprised you’re here. You’re supposed to be working.”

  “I am working.” He bent forward and whispered, “I’m providing Tiny with backup. We decided I’d be less obvious if I dressed like I was simply enjoying myself at the wedding dance.”

  I pitched myself onto the tips of my toes and whispered in return, “You think people will actually believe that? Remember, you’re supposed to be hunting down a murderer.”

  He gripped my bare shoulders and pulled me close. Shivers radiated from my very core to the tips of my fingers and all the way down to my toes. “We’re spreading the word that Greg Rogers got arrested for fraud a few hours ago.” His breath tickled my ear. “We also let it leak that he’s being interrogated in connection to Owen Bair’s murder.”

  “That’s not true, is it?”

  “Well, he did get arrested for fraud. But we’re pretty sure he had nothing to do with the murder. Still, we’re hoping if Rogers is viewed as a suspect, those three dolts will feel more at ease.” He tipped his head toward the President, Booger, and Delmont. “Which should make them careless.”

  I was intrigued. “So, what should we do in the meantime?

  He choked back a chuckle. “‘We’ shouldn’t do anything.”

  “You mean we’re just going to sit around and stare at them? Tiny’s already been doing—”

  He cut me off. “No. We’re going to dance.” He brushed the back of his fingers down the side of my face. “We’ve never danced together, have we?”

  “Nope.”

  “And it’s New Year’s Eve. So we definitely should dance.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “Now, I may not be as good as some of your partners.” Undoubtedly, he was referring to Buddy and Buford. “But I’m confident I can hold my own.”

  I brushed my lips against his and uttered, “Okay, deputy, show me what you’ve got.”

  AS RANDY LED ME to the dance floor, I reminded myself just how lucky I was. He was a wonderful man and handsome, too. He was dressed in black jeans, a light-weight sweater, and a tweed sport jacket. And while he was clean shaven, his hair was in need of a trim. The ends curled just above the collar of his jacket, and when he circled toward me, a wavy band of it fell across his forehead. From what I gathered, the sheriff routinely ordered him to get it cut, but I had the sneaking suspicion he put it off just to irritate the man.

  After finding an opening on the crowded floor, he pressed his hand against my lower back and silently urged me to tuck myself against him. I happily obliged. He felt good. And he smelled good, too. A combination of soap and musk and a scent all his own.

  He lifted my chin with his finger. “Are you sniffing me?”

  I cringed. “Umm . . . no?”

  He dropped his head back and laughed before starting me across the floor.

  The band was playing the old jazz classic, “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” The song was made famous by Ella Fitzgerald, and while the woman who sang it for us obviously wasn’t on par with that legend, she definitely was first-rate.

  As was Randy. He was a marvelous dancer. True, he didn’t incorporate the creative footwork regularly put to use by Buddy and Buford. But he was smooth and sure of himself, which meant he was easy to follow. Exactly what I’d hoped for since it allowed me to concentrate on him rather than my feet.

  “Randy,” I murmured as we two-stepped around the edge of the dance floor, “are we okay?” Normally I avoided serious discussions, but I felt compelled to find out why he had acted so strangely the previous evening. It had weighed on me all day long.

  “Of course we’re okay. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I guess I’m still confused about last night.”

  “Emme, I told you I had to get some rest. I hadn’t slept in almost two days. I couldn’t have performed—”

  A giggle got past me, stopping him mid-sentence. “I didn’t mean that. I understand why you didn’t stay over. But I don’t get the point of all that talk about never interfering with my work or my friendships.”

  We shuffled around another couple.

  “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “But you did. So explain.”

  He nestled me against his chest and spoke in my ear. “It was nothing.”

  “Randy, please tell me.”

  He sighed. “Oh, all right.” He then whistled along to the music but otherwise remained mum.

  “Now, Randy. Tell me now.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He sighed again as he put some distance between us. “Well, you see, when I got home from Minneapolis after Christmas, Margie asked how our time together went, and I told her it was great. I also told her how much I . . . cared about you. And that I didn’t want to screw things up this time.”

  “Wait a minute. I was the one to cause us problems.” With a spin, he led me past several other dancers. “I was the one who kissed Buddy.”

  He pulled me closer. “Don’t remind me. But that wasn’t what I meant.” He swallowed hard. “Ahh, you see, Rosa dumped me because she said I bossed her around. And I didn’t want that to happen again.”

  Every muscle in my body went rigid. I actually felt it happen.

  Randy must have felt it, too, because I heard him mutter, “Shit.”

  That pretty much summed up my feelings, as well. I dreaded being compared to his old girlfriend. It was a no-win for me. I’d seen her. I couldn’t stack up against her, and not just because she was really stacked. She was gorgeous, too, and she came across as sophisticated and self-assured. All the things I wasn’t. But how could I tell Randy how I felt without sounding insecure?

  “Emme? I wasn’t making a comparison.” Maybe I wouldn’t have to. Apparently, the guy was clairvoyant. “I just didn’t want to wreck what we had going. When we were apart, I realized just how much I wanted you in my life.”

  “Then why’d it take you so long to accept my apology?”

  His laugh bounced off the ceiling as he twirled me under his arm at the end of the song.

  “I ASKED MARGIE FOR ADVICE,” Randy explained as we waited for the band to begin its next tune. He had tugged me against him, my back to his chest, his arms around my waist. “See, I never eve
n realized I was doing it. Being bossy, I mean. Or putting what I wanted ahead of what she wanted. But that’s what Rosa claimed.” He kissed the top of my head. “Anyhow, Margie told me to make sure you knew I respected your job and your friendships.”

  I was glad he was behind me because I didn’t want him to see the tears pricking my eyes. “Too bad you didn’t ask Margie for advice earlier.” I made an effort to sound detached. “If you had, you still might be with Rosa.”

  He swung me around. “I don’t want to be with her.” He clasped my shoulders and peered into my eyes, his own eyes resonating sincerity and, in turn, putting me at ease. “I want you, Emme. Only you. I’m just not very good at expressing myself.”

  I offered him what I’m sure looked like a cockeyed smile. “And what I just said? Well, that was my insecurity getting the better of me.” I shrugged. “It happens sometimes.”

  “Don’t be insecure about us.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He caressed my cheek. “And let me know what I can do to help.”

  “Well, you can start by kissing me.”

  He did. It was soft and warm and wonderful.

  “And, Randy? Don’t worry about bossing me around. You can say whatever you think needs saying. But, in the end, I’ll pretty much do what I want.”

  “Believe me, I’ve figured that out.”

  I chucked. “So, are we okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “Dance with me some more, and I’ll see.”

  I smiled. “Okay, boss.”

  WHEN WE REJOINED BARBIE and Tiny at the table, they were looking especially somber, notwithstanding the funny cardboard New Year’s Eve crown on Barbie’s head.

  As I sat down, she handed me a crown of my own, and I worked it into my hair.

  “Now Vivian’s not the only queen around here.” Despite her cheerful tenor, she was clearly on edge.

  Wanting to ease the tension in the air and put a genuine smile on my friend’s face, I decided to tease Tiny. It was a daring move, but I did it just the same. “So, Tiny, where’s your crown?” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. “Don’t you want to be a queen, too?”

  He snarled, which would have been scary if Barbie hadn’t laughed. “Tiny, you have to admit that was funny.”

  He glowered. “I don’t have to admit anything.”

  That made her laugh all the more, and I tentatively joined in as I snatched a piece of watermelon from the small plate in the middle of our table.

  Randy also grabbed one, popping it into his mouth before whispering something to Tiny.

  Right away, Barbie and I hunched forward to listen in, prompting them to fall silent.

  “What?” Barbie asked incredulously. “It’s rude to whisper in front of others. In fact, you should be ashamed of yourselves.” She squared her shoulders. “Now, what were you discussing?”

  Tiny must have figured sandbagging her would be impossible because he instantly answered, “Burr Nelson. We were talking about Burr Nelson.”

  “And? What did you say about him?”

  Tiny scowled, but his quirked lips belied his otherwise stern expression. “Randy just told me it sounds like the guy didn’t know anything about the fraud scheme. At least not initially.”

  The waitress approached the table, and Randy paid her for our drinks. “Thanks, Kate,” he said with a wink. Kate’s cheeks turned red, and my eyes rolled all the way back in my head.

  “‘At least not initially?’” Barbie repeated. “What does that mean?”

  With his voice uneven from laughing over my reaction to his exchange with the waitress, Randy answered, “He probably caught on at some point. It’d be tough for anyone, even someone as clueless as him, to be oblivious forever.” He passed out our drinks. “But we’ve been unable to find evidence along those lines. And he wasn’t involved in the scam himself.”

  “How about the other two council members?” Barbie asked. “The two who didn’t invest in the wind farm?”

  “They’ve been cleared,” Randy noted. “They may have become suspicious, but that’s it.”

  “Let’s return to Burr for a minute,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Barbie agreed. “Why was he in here earlier, yakking it up with the President and those other two yahoos?”

  “That’s what I was about to explain to this guy.” Randy nudged Tiny’s arm. “Ed called just before I got here. He caught Burr on his way out of town and interviewed him for a second time. I guess Burr caved and told him the President had blackmailed him into resigning his council seat after his daughter—”

  I waved my hand to stop him. “We know all about that, Randy.”

  Visibly baffled, he opened his mouth but closed it right away again.

  “We just can’t figure out why he was in here.” Barbie subtly pointed her finger in the direction of the bar. “With them.”

  Randy shook his head in an obvious attempt to clear his confusion. “He wanted to make sure the President wouldn’t cause any trouble for him or his daughter. Supposedly, he was afraid the guy might do something drastic.”

  “Drastic?”

  “Yeah. You see, Burr messed up. He was supposed to confirm the President’s story. The one about him entering the Maverick ahead of Tom. But he didn’t do it. Either on purpose or—”

  “Because he’s so dumb he got confused,” Barbie finished for him.

  “This is all very interesting.” Tiny pushed back his chair. “But, I have to go see a man about a horse.” He flicked Randy’s shoulder. “The President’s on the move. Headed for the john.” Tiny hoisted himself up, then did the same with his pants.

  “If you aren’t back in five minutes,” Randy said in a hushed tone, “I’m coming in after you.”

  “Oh, God, now I’m so excited I won’t be able to do my job.”

  Randy showed him his middle finger, and Tiny chuckled as he lumbered away.

  “Well, I’m going back to the café for a minute.” Barbie got up. “When I was in there before, I noticed Sherri Bjorklund’s ‘Broccoli, Cheddar, Chicken, Tater Tot Hot Dish’ on the counter.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a mouthful. And it’s incredible. She won this year’s Pelican Pontoon Pussycat’s annual cook-off at the Breeze Barn down in Tracy, Minnesota.”

  “Tracy, Minnesota? That’s a long way from here, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. But that doesn’t stop folks from entering the competition. They just hook batteries and converters to their cars to keep their electric skillets warm, and off they go.”

  I gently pulled on her arm. “Barbie, I know you’re worried, but you simply can’t keep eating like this.”

  She swept my hand away. “You wouldn’t say that if you saw that hot dish.” She patted the front of her spandex dress. “So, are you coming along or not?”

  I looked at Randy. “I better go with her. If I don’t, she might do something extreme, like devour an entire pie.”

  “I only did that once!”

  I looped her arm. “Come on. Let’s go.” I glimpsed over my shoulder. “We should be back in a minute. If we aren’t, call—”

  “An ambulance?” Randy suggested.

  “No. Overeaters Anonymous.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  WE STARTED ACROSS THE MIDDLE ROOM, Barbie two steps ahead of me. “I have to make a pit stop,” she said over her shoulder while gesturing toward the bathroom.

  At the same time, I spotted Booger and Delmont moving in the direction of the back door. Randy saw them, too, his demeanor clearly communicating his dilemma. He wanted to keep tabs on the pair, but, as Tiny’s backup, he had to stay put.

  I pivoted, fully intending to inform Barbie that this was her chance to visit with Booger and Delmont without the President interfering. Just one problem. She was no longer in front of me. In fact, I only caught a flash of her leopard print as the bathroom door closed.

  Damn! I snuck another peek. Booger and D
elmont were definitely on their way outside. If they were headed home, we’d lose our opportunity to learn what they knew about Boo-Boo’s death. After all, striking up a conversation in a bar was one thing. Following them to their houses to discuss murder was something else entirely. Even Barbie would have misgivings about doing that.

  Muttering an entire string of colorful curses, I weaved my way through the crowd, toward the pair. While I hadn’t planned on involving myself any further in the investigation, I couldn’t wait for Barbie. Who knew how long she’d be? Just pulling her Spanx over her thighs and hips would take a while. I’d seen that firsthand.

  As I neared the back door, Randy caught my eye, and it was obvious from his expression he was aware of my intentions and didn’t approve of them. He glowered while shaking his head.

  In response, I merely looked at him quizzically, as if I had no idea what he was trying to convey. Then, I gave him a little finger wave while assuring myself that later—perhaps, much later—he’d be pleased that I’d trailed after the idiots for him.

  ONCE OUTSIDE, I BECAME Nancy Drew in four-inch heels and a mini dress.

  Right away I noted that my “subjects” had rounded the corner of the “V” and were dogtrotting across the back parking lot. I followed at a distance. They stopped at a red, extended-cab pickup, complete with topper, and, there, under the glow of a streetlight, lit cigarettes while loitering near the driver’s door.

  As for me, I sauntered past their vehicle, as well as the next three, before strategically meandering back to the rear of their truck. Assured I was hidden from view, I then folded my arms and rebuked myself for not grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. Of course, that would have meant getting close to Randy. And he would have handcuffed me to the table to keep me from following these clowns. So . . .

  “Can we trust him to keep quiet?” That was one of the men.

  “Oh, yah,” answered the other. “He wouldn’t dare say a word about us because we can incriminate him.”

  The first guy then mumbled something I couldn’t make out before the second man scoffed, “To my way of thinkin’, he got himself killed. It was his own damn fault.”