by Krista Davis
Nina raised her free palm in protest. “We didn’t even know her! But I wish we had. She seemed like a fun person.”
“Who is she?” Wolf shot the beam from his flashlight around Abby’s backyard.
“Abby Bergeron,” I said. “She was ghostwriting a book for Tilly Stratford, but she unexpectedly quit on Friday. Her neighbor says Abby’s indoor cat turned up at her place on Friday night, so that’s probably around the time she was murdered.”
“How do you know she was murdered?” Wolf’s back was to me and he was tilting his head to get a better look at the cat collar hanging on the tree branch.
“I’ve never heard of anyone dying a natural death in a freezer surrounded by food.”
Despite the darkness, when he turned to look at me, I caught his surprised expression, which was saying a lot. I had often been frustrated by Wolf’s ability to hide his emotions. “Where’s the freezer?”
“In the basement.”
Wolf grunted. “Okay. I know where to find you. Get out of my crime scene.”
Daisy led the way through the passage to the sidewalk. A second police vehicle pulled up as we walked toward Eunice’s house.
“I’d like to tell Eunice what’s going on if that’s okay with you,” I said to Nina.
“Sure.” Nina shook her head. “It’s so sad. We didn’t even know Abby, but I still feel a loss. She was probably about our age. It could have been one of us!”
Eunice was standing in her doorway, holding onto a cane and watching the police who were arriving. “What’s going on? Did you find Abby?” She stepped aside and motioned for us to come in.
A large long-haired black and orange tortoiseshell cat with green eyes meowed at us as we walked in.
“That’s Abby’s cat, Oscar.” She shook her finger at the cat. “Hush now and behave,” she said to him.
I was about to introduce Eunice to Nina when they hugged. “I haven’t seen you at the shelter lately,” said Nina.
Eunice nodded and tapped her cane on the hardwood floor. “As you can tell, I’m not getting around as much as I used to. That’s the one place I miss. I find I don’t care about seeing people, but those sweet babies need and deserve help.”
A completely white cat walked up to Daisy without a qualm, and they touched noses.
Nina, Daisy, and I followed Eunice into a large living room, where I counted seven more kitties. Daisy stayed close to me but didn’t seem distressed by the presence of so many cats.
Eunice slowly sat down in a recliner. From the looks of it, I suspected that she slept there, too. The elegant living room with a marble surround on the fireplace had turned into an all-purpose room for Eunice.
A table next to her chair contained lotions, a clock with extra large numbers, tissues, a Bible, a laptop computer, and a couple of bags of cat treats. I could see into the kitchen, where little had been put away in cabinets. The counters and floor were covered with boxes and bags of food. Cans of cat food cluttered the counters, too. I assumed that the bags of dry cat food on the floor were too heavy for her to lift.
As gently as I could, I asked, “Eunice, do you have anyone who comes to help you?”
“No!” she barked. “I don’t need any help. I’m not a doddering old fool yet. My cleaning lady, Lula, comes over once a month and we have a grand old time catching up on gossip.”
From the looks of things, Lula wasn’t doing much in the way of cleaning. I could understand wanting to keep things close at hand, but Eunice would be tripping over the mess on the floor fairly soon if someone didn’t straighten things up for her.
“What’s going on over there at Abby’s place?” Eunice asked. “I can’t imagine it’s good news, or all those police cars wouldn’t be pulling up.”
My eyes met Nina’s. “I’m sorry, Eunice. It appears that Abby has died. We don’t know for sure that it’s Abby, but it’s not very likely that it would be someone else.”
Eunice pulled a tissue out of the box and wiped the tears that spilled from her eyes. “It’s just not right when a young person goes too soon. I knew something was wrong over there. What happened to her?”
“We don’t know yet, Eunice,” said Nina. “But we think she may have been killed about the time her cat showed up at your house.”
“Killed?” Eunice’s eyes widened. “Mercy! Right next door? I thought you meant she had fallen or taken ill. Someone murdered my sweet Abby?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said gently.
“So that’s why Oscar came to me. How’d he get out? Abby was so careful and adamant about him being a house cat.”
“The sliding glass door in the back was unlocked,” I explained. “Maybe he made a dash for it when someone opened the door to check on Abby?”
“Or perhaps her killer was a cat lover,” Eunice observed. “How odd. Cat people are usually very kind.”
Her comment caught me by surprise. Had Abby’s killer opened the door for the cat? Suddenly the collar hanging on the bush seemed more sinister than bizarre. Why would someone remove Oscar’s collar? I wondered how many murderers took the time to close doors. A killer would probably be in a state of panic and rush to leave. Maybe it was commonplace that doors were left open after a murder. In fact, that might be a clue to her killer. Most strangers wouldn’t know where the keys were and would have to leave a door unlocked. That indicated the murderer wasn’t someone who was close to her.
“How well did you know Abby?” I asked.
“Pretty well. She came over here a lot. Used to bring me leftovers when she was trying out recipes. I ate like a queen!”
“Was she married?” asked Nina. “Did she have children?”
“She had an ex-husband but no children. I think that was the one thing she regretted. She loved kids and would have been a great mom. Her ex is a good-looking fellow. I saw him come by once in a while.”
“Did you hear anything unusual around the time Oscar showed up?” asked Nina.
Eunice buried her head in her hands for a few moments. “Honey, I wish I had.” She pointed at her ear. “My hearing isn’t what it used to be. Visitors complain that I have the TV on too loud. I tell them it’s on the right volume for me and if they don’t like it, they can leave. But I guess it’s right loud for people with normal hearing. I didn’t hear a thing. I’d have called the cops if I had.” She winced and dabbed at her eyes. Speaking softly, she added, “I have hearing aids, but I don’t wear them because I loathe the stupid things. Now I wish I had worn them.”
On a whim, I asked, “Did Abby say anything about Tilly Stratford’s husband, Wesley?”
Chapter 7
Dear Sophie,
There’s a restaurant where I live that serves the most delicious macaroni and cheese. It’s so creamy! I have tried everything. Adding heavy cream, cream cheese, and soft cheeses, but I can’t get the combination quite right. Any suggestions?
Mac and Cheese Lover in Caerphilly, Wales
Dear Mac and Cheese Lover,
Have you tried using cream cheese and Colby cheese in your recipe? Colby contains more moisture and is creamier when melted. A relative of cheddar, it’s a natural for mac and cheese.
Sophie
“Now that’s an interesting question,” said Eunice. “I watch a lot of those crime shows, and I know they’ll suspect Abby’s former husband first. But if he has an alibi, they’ll sniff around the other men in her life.”
“Are you saying Tilly’s husband was involved with Abby?” asked Nina.
Eunice pointed her forefingers and waggled them. “If you ask me, Abby liked him a little bit too much.”
“They were having an affair?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of her innuendos.
“She never said as much, but she raved about how wonderful he was and how he always made it a point to drop by the kitchen and sample the dishes she and Tilly were cooking. You girls understand what it means when another woman thinks too highly of a married man. It’s always trouble.”
&nb
sp; “Sophie’s going to take over ghostwriting Tilly’s cookbook,” said Nina.
“Did Abby tell you about it?” I asked.
“Abby talked about it all the time. She liked Tilly, and she loved the two girls—”
“Two girls?” I interrupted.
“Only one was Tilly’s. The other was her friend.” She paused to think.
“Schuyler?” I asked.
“That’s it. Must be a family name. Abby thought they were wonderful.”
If she liked them all so much, then I had to wonder why she quit.
Eunice continued. “She was always telling me stories about them. They’re at that age when every little thing is such a big deal. When you get to my age, you’ve learned not to let the little things bother you. You have to let things go.”
“What did Abby say about the cookbook?” I prompted, hoping she’d said something helpful. Or maybe Abby had even shared the odd code.
“Mostly she was worried that Tilly’s recipes were too bland. She wanted to spice them up a little. Not so that they burned your tongue or anything. I’m very sensitive to spicy-hot foods. Never could eat ’em. But she felt that Tilly cooked a little too plain.”
It wasn’t the kind of information I had sought, but it was extremely helpful to know. She was adding spices to the recipes? Maybe that’s what the odd notations meant. Could they be her personal shorthand for spice ideas? D for dill? B for basil? That wouldn’t explain the numbers, but maybe they represented amounts? They hadn’t looked like measurements. After all, if they meant half teaspoons or quarter teaspoons, wouldn’t a lot of them be fractions? And wouldn’t there be a lot of ones?
I took out the two recipes I had brought with me. “She made notations on some of the pages that I can’t quite figure out. Three letters followed by numbers. Does that mean anything to you?”
“Sophie, it has been quite a while since I cooked. I imagine everything has changed. Do you still use measuring cups?” Eunice winked at me.
I rose and showed her the pages.
Eunice was quiet for a long moment. “Sophie, they look like codes.”
“Yes, but for what? What do they mean?”
“You’d have to figure that out. Sometimes people have a particular book, and the numbers represent pages and a line where a letter or a word is located. If you have the identical book, you can unravel the code and read the message.”
“Thanks, Eunice.”
She scowled at me. “Like this one. B C F four one seven. The B might mean chapter two. The C could mean the third paragraph. I’m not sure about the F. The four could indicate the fourth line. Are you following me? Once you know the book and understand the pattern, it’s easy to decipher.”
I didn’t want to offend her, but I hardly thought Abby was writing secret messages on the recipes. The only people who would see them would be Tilly and maybe the editor.
Nina asked, “Did you ever see Wesley Winthrop at Abby’s house?”
“I’ve seen him on TV, so I know what he looks like, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen him in the flesh. I suppose Wolf will be over here soon asking me the same questions.”
I suspected she was right about that. Leaving Nina to chat with Eunice, I tried to unobtrusively tidy up Eunice’s kitchen. I washed a few dishes and put them away.
“Leave that stuff out where I can see it,” Eunice shouted. “I don’t have enough years left to waste my time looking for things.”
I took out everything that I had stashed in cabinets and placed it all neatly on a table. I gathered empty cookie bags and old newspapers and placed them in trash bags. I wondered if Lula the housekeeper was the same age as Eunice.
I flicked the light switch by the back door so I could see where I was going and stepped outside. Holding the trash in one hand, I grabbed the railing and walked down three steps to a brick patio, where I could hear the police going about their business next door. They were being very quiet, but I overheard one of them say, “No computer, no phone, no tablet, watch, or iPad.”
If someone had said that about Eunice, it wouldn’t have surprised me. But Abby was probably closer to my age. It was odd that she wouldn’t have a cell phone or a tablet. I supposed some people still didn’t. I carried the garbage bag to the trash can. Out of curiosity, I opened the gate in the fence and stepped into the alley that ran behind the houses. It was dark and silent. A couple of houses had electric lanterns mounted near their gates. I’d have to come back during the daytime for a better look, but preliminarily I’d have said it would be an easy way to drive or walk up to a house without being noticed.
I couldn’t see much in the dark, but it appeared to be a lovely patio. A deck box for cushion storage sat behind two comfortable armchairs. Someone had placed yellow cushions on them and opened a yellow-and-white-striped umbrella over a round dining table. I bet Eunice didn’t get out here much to enjoy her backyard. The stairs and uneven bricks probably made her dread a trip to the garage or an afternoon outside.
I returned to Eunice and Nina.
Eunice dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Abby was always tidying up around here. She pretended she wasn’t, but I knew what she was doing. Like Sophie did just now.”
“Eunice, do you know if Abby had a cell phone or a computer?” I asked.
“Oh sure. She loved that kind of stuff. She’s the one who showed me how to play bridge online.” Eunice tapped on the laptop near her chair. “I thought I’d have to give it up since I don’t get around much anymore. But playing online is almost as good! The only thing I miss is the gossip.” Eunice heaved a great sigh. “Abby was a blessing to me. She was a friend.” She grasped Nina’s fingers. “How did she die?”
I wasn’t sure we should tell her. Would she ever sleep again knowing what happened to her friend right next door?
Nina looked at me with large eyes. She was probably thinking the same thing.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Wolf might know after the medical examiner takes a look.” That was actually the truth. We didn’t need to mention that her dear friend had been folded up and mashed into a freezer. All Wong had seen were her toes. That hadn’t told us anything about how she had died.
Eunice held a hand out to me. “I want to hire you to solve Abby’s murder. That’s the least I can do for Abby when she was so very kind to me. Name your price.”
I took her gnarled hand into mine. “I don’t charge anything, Eunice. But don’t forget that Wolf is very competent and has a lot more resources than I do. I bet he’ll figure it out in no time.”
“You and Nina will look into it as a favor to me, won’t you?” asked Eunice. “I would do it myself, but I’m not as spry as I used to be.”
“Of course we will.” I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“I can do any research you need online!” she offered.
She was adorable. “You’d better be careful what you offer, or we’ll be back here with work for you,” I teased.
Nina and I gave Eunice hugs and saw ourselves to the door. I made sure it locked behind us.
“I guess I should call Tilly before she hears about Abby through a rumor,” I said.
“Do you think Tilly’s husband had something to do with Abby’s death?”
“I hope not. Do you think she overheard something nefarious? Maybe she threatened to go public with information that could ruin Wesley’s career?” I squinted into the night as cops walked in and out of Abby’s home. “Who lives on the other side of Abby?” I asked.
We turned together as if our move had been orchestrated. Even Daisy was happy to swing in the other direction. We crossed the street, and for a long moment we stared at the house next to Abby’s.
“I have no idea who lives there,” I said.
“Me either.” Nina’s mouth twitched. “We can ask around.” She scribbled the house number on a scrap of paper.
“Maybe we should drop by with questions for Eunice every day. That would give us an excuse to bring her food and check up
on her,” I suggested.
“She’s pretty sharp. I think she would catch on. Wasn’t she friends with Francie?”
“She was.” My elderly neighbor, Francie, was a longtime Old Town resident. “I wish we could find someone to help her. Maybe Francie is clever enough to persuade Eunice to hire someone who could cook and clean and keep her company.”
We walked home in the dark. Even though streetlights and porch lights provided enough illumination, both of us were jumpy and overreacted when a cat darted in front of us. Only Daisy strolled along as usual.
An automatic light had turned on in my kitchen. We could see Mochie waiting for us in the bay window. As we approached, he leaped off his viewing perch and raced to the kitchen door, where he waited, thrilled to see us.
After greeting Mochie, I phoned Tilly to tell her about Abby, but her phone rolled over to voice mail. It didn’t seem right to leave a message about Abby’s death, so I simply asked her to call me.
Nina popped the remaining mac and cheese in the oven to warm it up. She heated a pot of apple cider and disappeared to the dining room, where I kept alcohol.
We wouldn’t eat six chicken breasts, but I baked them all, anyway, planning to use the rest for future meals. I tossed a salad of baby spinach leaves, slices of red onion, a handful of crunchy walnuts, and halved grape tomatoes. Still thinking of Abby, I whisked together a quick dressing of apple cider vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, minced garlic, a pinch of dried mustard, and a couple of tablespoons of brown sugar.
Nina returned and splashed a healthy amount of bourbon into the apple cider.
When the chicken breasts registered 165 degrees on my cooking thermometer, I placed them on plates and poured some of the buttery juices from the pan over them. A sprinkle of salt and fresh parsley, and they were ready to eat.
Nina brought the macaroni and cheese to the table, which bore a tablecloth of burnt orange, gold, and maroon. I fed Mochie chicken in aspic and cut up a chicken breast for Daisy to eat with her dinner.
