Previous Confections

by Ruth Hartzler

  “Why are you defending your ex-husband?” Eleanor asked me.

  “I’m not defending him at all; I just don’t want Cherri to be upset,” I told Eleanor.

  Cherri tapped both her ears. “I can hear you. I’m right here. I don’t understand why Ted didn’t tell me, especially when he thinks I hired you, Matilda.”

  “I did ask him to tell you,” Matilda said.

  Cherri’s face softened. “Poor Popsicle. He must be so terribly afraid to tell me. I just want to run home right now and give him a big hug.”

  I pulled a face and shook my head. This was all too much.

  “Why don’t we talk about the suspects,” I said, hoping to change the subject to something more cheerful than Ted’s indiscretions and crimes.

  “Yes. Who do you think it is?” Cherri said.

  “My guess is Brendan Bowles. He had the motive and the opportunity, and he has a direct link to Botox as he appears to know Dr. Davidson quite well. I saw the two of them acting quite friendly with each other at the funeral. They’re certainly not strangers, at any rate.”

  Cherri poured herself another glass of wine. “So the people who had access to the Botox were Brendan, Melissa, and Candace.”

  “And Rick,” I reminded her. “He’s also friends with Dr. Davidson.”

  “Maybe they were all in it together,” Matilda said gleefully. “Maybe Dr. Davidson, Rick, Candace, and Melissa all did it. The same sort of thing happened on Murder on the Orient Express, if you recall. Everyone always thinks there is only one murderer, and that confuses people. When you open your mind to the possibility that there could be more than one murderer, then it becomes obvious, doesn’t it?”

  I frowned. “Not really. I must say, I’m a little confused. You really don’t think all four of them murdered Marcus, do you?” I asked Matilda.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea, but perhaps each of them had a reason to do away with the vic.”

  I turned to Cherri. “Cherri, were you aware that Marcus’s finances were in a terrible state?”

  She shot me an absent look. “I think Ted did mention that to me.”

  “Then Melissa would have a lot to gain if she murdered him. Marcus was in danger of losing the house and losing his businesses. He stubbornly wanted to trade out of his financial position, but the chef said he wouldn’t have been able to. He refused to sell the businesses to Candace and Rick, but now that Marcus has gone, Melissa hasn’t wasted any time agreeing to sell his businesses.”

  “That’s not suspicious in itself,” Matilda said, “because what else would a level-headed person do under such circumstances?”

  I selected a strawberry cream chocolate and swallowed it before answering. “You’re right. Besides, she took out that life insurance policy on her husband ten years ago. No one would plot a murder ten years prior to committing it.”

  “Then we’re back to Rick, Candace, and the chef,” Eleanor said.

  “But what about the waiter?” Candace asked me.

  “He’s already been discounted by the police,” I said. “I find it strange that someone would try to frame him. It would soon be discovered that he couldn’t have done it, so what was the point in trying to frame him? It doesn’t make sense.”

  Matilda tapped her chin. “Maybe the murderer wasn’t trying to frame him,” she said. “Maybe the murderer wanted the police to know the poison was Botox.”

  I shook my head. “Now you’ve really lost me. What possible motive would the murderer have for doing that?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Matilda said. “It often takes Miss Marple some time to put the pieces together, but she always does in the end. There’s something not right about it. You know, it seems to me the murderer did want the police to know the poison was Botox.”

  “Let’s brainstorm the advantages of doing that. The one that springs to mind is that it would advance the case.”

  Cherri looked at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the police would know at once he was murdered with Botox. They would waste no time looking for natural causes. But how could that benefit the murderer?”

  We all fell silent for a few moments, but no one came up with a solution.

  “What’s the next move?” Cherri said.

  “I don’t know,” Matilda admitted. “I agree with Jane that the chef is the likeliest suspect. Chefs take pride in their work. The restaurant was understaffed, and Marcus wouldn’t give him the budget for quality food. That would have put his career in jeopardy.”

  “But would someone murder someone over such a thing?” Cherri asked.

  Matilda shrugged. “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

  “What do we do next?” Cherri asked us again.

  “I’d like to speak with Candace and ask her some hard questions,” I said. “Unless Matilda wants to go in disguise again as a private detective.”

  “We can’t do it tomorrow because we have the fundraiser,” Matilda said.

  I gasped. “Fundraising? You didn’t mention it to me!” I certainly hoped she wouldn’t mention calendars.

  “Yes, we did,” Matilda protested. “You know, the goats.”

  “Coats?”

  Matilda shook her head. “No, goats at the petting zoo in the park. Didn’t you hear me mention it to Rebecca?”

  “I did hear you saying something about it, but didn’t realize it was so soon.”

  Matilda turned to Cherri. “Tomorrow Eleanor and I are helping with the fundraiser. There’s going to be a petting zoo with goats.”

  I trembled. I was certain something would go wrong.

  Matilda, Eleanor, and goats. I shook my head. That was a recipe for disaster.

  Chapter 17

  When I awoke the next morning, my neck was sore again. I figured I had once more slept badly from stress, but this time it wasn’t from stress over the murder; it was from stress over Matilda, Eleanor, and the goats.

  As a child, my family had two milking goats and I knew just how mischievous and naughty goats could be. They were filled with personality. Given the fact that Matilda and Eleanor had the same type of cheeky personality, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something untoward was going to happen.

  As I staggered out of the bathroom, Matilda thrust a coffee cup into my hands.

  “Denki,” I said, for some reason lapsing into Pennsylvania Dutch. I followed it by the translation, “Thank you.”

  I took a sip of the coffee and smiled. Matilda really did make wonderful coffee.

  “Now hurry, everyone. We don’t have much time to waste. We have to get there to set up.”

  “Just what type of animals will be at the petting zoo?” I asked suspiciously.

  Eleanor shot me a blank look. “We don’t know. There will be chickens of course, and I think a miniature pony for children to pat.”

  “Well, what else would children do with a miniature pony if not pat her?” Matilda said with a rude snort. “It is called a petting zoo, after all.”

  “It’s not called a patting zoo. Besides, children ride ponies.”

  “They don’t write miniature ponies because they’re too small. That’s why they called miniature.” Matilda’s tone was derisive.

  “It depends on the size of the pony and the size of the child,” Eleanor pointed out. “Honestly, Matilda I hope your mood improves.”

  So do I, I said silently. Aloud I said, “So where did you get these goats. Did Rebecca recommend somewhere?”

  They both looked at each other and then at me. Eleanor said in a puzzled tone, “Rebecca?”

  “Maybe we should have asked her,” Matilda said. “I had no idea she would know where we could borrow some goats.”

  “Many Amish people have their own milking cow or a couple of milking goats,” I told her.

  When they didn’t respond, I pressed them for an answer. “So where did you happen to find goats? Are they dairy goats or are they fiber goats?

  Eleanor frowned. “I don’t k
now what a fiber goat is.” Even Mr. Crumbles who was sitting next to her on the couch stared at me in his unblinking way, as if puzzled by my words.

  “An angora goat or a cashmere goat,” I told them. “You know that goats are used for mohair and cashmere. And then there are dairy goats and then meat goats.”

  Eleanor put both hands over Mr. Crumbles’ ears.

  “They’re rescue goats,” Matilda said.

  “Rescue goats?” I repeated. “Where did you get them?”

  Matilda drew her hand across her brow. “We rescued them.”

  The sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “Where exactly did you rescue them from?”

  “They were going off to be, well you know, eaten.” Matilda glanced at Eleanor who put her hands over Mr. Crumbles’ ears once more. “We couldn’t have that, so we bought fifteen of them.”

  “You bought them!” I shrieked. “Where on earth are you going to keep them?”

  “That’s where Rebecca did come in handy,” Eleanor said. “You said you overheard us mentioning the petting zoo fundraiser to her the other day.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t paying attention,” I said. “What exactly is Rebecca going to do with these goats?”

  “We’ve hired a field for the goats until we find good homes for them.”

  “But Matilda, that might be a very long time,” I said reasonably and slowly, as if talking to a recalcitrant child. “Most people have cats or dogs as pets, not goats. Besides, do you have any idea how naughty goats are? They love to jump up and down on cars. They love to eat potted plants and anything in the garden that they shouldn’t eat.”

  “I’ll train them,” Eleanor protested.

  A horrible thought struck me. “These are wild goats, aren’t they?”

  “That’s a bit judgmental, dear,” Matilda said. “They’ve just had a difficult upbringing.”

  I sat on the nearest chair and put my head between my hands. I had figured there was something wrong with this. Matilda and Eleanor had bought fifteen wild goats. Not only were they going to put them in a petting zoo, they were going to take them to Rebecca’s farm afterwards.

  “You do realize goats can jump fences?” I asked them. “They might not stay in Rebecca’s field for long. Goats can jump high and they’re very good at climbing. Besides, they’re browsers, not grazers so they like to eat leaves and branches more so than grass. And then their hooves need doing, and they need deworming and vaccinating.”

  “A vet can do that,” Matilda said.

  “And how do you propose to catch the wild goats?” I asked her.

  “Goodness gracious me, enough of the judgment, Jane!” Matilda exclaimed. “These are perfectly nice goats. They will realize they have come to a good home and will be on their best behaviour.”

  I wished I could be somewhere else, maybe fleeing from a murderer, anything to be away from this whole goat situation.

  When we arrived at the park, the scene that greeted us was peaceful, much to my relief. A big sign at the front announced this was a fundraiser for the local fire station. I hadn’t even asked what the fundraiser was for but now it made sense. Matilda and Eleanor were clearly helping their friend, Gene, but surely they could have found another way to do it.

  We walked past a cheery man with crates of chickens and a happy family with a crate of turkeys. Clearly these were pets. We continued on under some trees, past a crate with a peaceful, sleeping pig. That was when I heard goats bleating.

  “I wonder why he delivered them to the building?” Eleanor asked Matilda. “It’s such a lovely day and everyone had decided to have the petting zoo outside unless it rained.”

  I walked inside the long brick building and gasped.

  A high mesh wire fence was in front of me, and behind it were fifteen clearly wild goats of every size and shape. Their hair stuck out in all directions, and they had long, scraggly beards. They certainly were a motley assortment.

  One of them looked at me with big yellow eyes and bleated.

  I looked back at Matilda to see she was speaking to a man. “Thanks for delivering them,” she said as she counted out a bunch of bills to him. “So you’ll be back in five hours to collect them and deliver them to the farm?”

  “Sure,” he said, handing her a key. “This is for the padlock. Be careful with them, won’t you? I told you they’re wild. We don’t handle them at all. We just breed them and sell them to the meat market.”

  Eleanor gasped. “The poor little things.”

  The goats were running around crazily. One was jumping up and down on the spot. I looked again and realized the goat was trying to jump out the window high above.

  “I’ve given them water, as you can see.” He pointed to a water trough. “And those are the bags of grain over there.”

  Matilda opened her purse again, but he said, “No, you already paid me for that.” He handed her a receipt, and then hurried out the door.

  “How are you going to feed them without going in there?” I asked them. “I don’t think you should open the gate. These goats will be better than Mr. Crumbles at escaping.”

  Matilda and Eleanor both looked discomfited. “I know, we’ll throw the hay over the fence to them,” Matilda said.

  I looked at the fence. It wasn’t too tall, but it was certainly tall enough to prevent the goats jumping out—at least I hoped so. Call me optimistic. “That’s a good idea,” I said, at the same time wondering if it was.

  I walked over to a bale of hay. The man had already opened it. Matilda, Eleanor, and I threw the bale of hay to the goats bit by bit. The goats munched it hungrily.

  “Great, that’s calmed them down,” Eleanor said.

  “How can anyone pat those goats?” I asked them.

  “Why like this, of course,” Eleanor said. She walked up to the goats and pushed her hand through the wire. To my surprise, she was able to pat a nearby goat that was greedily munching hay. “As long as we keep them fed, I think someone can pat them.”

  I shook my head. “It’s going to be awfully hard to capture those goats if they escape.”

  I wasn’t looking forward to a day of guarding goats that were likely to escape at the first opportunity. I had visions of them running around town, creating havoc.

  I shook my head. I shouldn’t imagine the worst happening. Maybe they wouldn’t escape. Maybe this would all go smoothly. The man would return and transport them to Rebecca’s farm where they would stay in a field and not jump out and live happily ever after.

  Yes, I was sure that would happen. I smiled and nodded, trying to convince myself.

  “Jane, would you mind the goats while Eleanor and I get some coffee? We’ll bring you back a coffee too of course. Maybe something to eat?”

  “That would be great, thanks. I’m ravenous,” I said. “Just bring me anything.”

  After they left, I walked over to check the padlock, just as a young woman hurried inside the building after five enthusiastic children. “They’re not all mine,” she said to me.

  I smiled. “The goats aren’t terribly friendly, I’m afraid. Maybe if the children take a piece of hay and poke it through the wire, the goats will come up to them, but make sure they don’t put their fingers through the wire.”

  The children all took a piece of hay and pushed it through the wire. It wasn’t long before the goats were taking hay from the children.

  I was enormously relieved. Maybe this might work out after all.

  I watched as the goats became braver, sticking their faces against the wire to get every last piece of hay.

  A shriek startled me. “What have they done?” the woman yelled.

  I looked up to see the youngest child. He must have had his head pushed against the wire because the goats had eaten his hair.

  His hair looked terrible, his original long strands of hair sitting next to pieces of almost bald scalp. He looked like the lead singer in an extreme heavy metal band. The child did not appear to care, but the woman was al
most crying. “My sister will kill me!” she wailed. She shot me an accusing look.

  I simply sat there dumbstruck. “A goat ate your hair,” one child told the victim.

  The victim’s face lit up. “Really?” he said, touching his hair and smiling widely. The woman grabbed the child’s hand and took him out the door, followed by the other children who were all doubled over with laughter.

  I knew something bad would happen. To make it worse, Matilda and Eleanor were certainly taking their time with my breakfast and coffee. I figured they had been side tracked and had abandoned me to babysit the goats.

  I heard footsteps and brightened, but to my surprise it was Detective McCloud.

  “Detective McCloud,” I said, by way of greeting.

  “Damon, please,” he said.

  “Damon.” My heart was beating out my chest so loudly that I was afraid he would be able to hear it. I always did feel rather off-balance in the detective’s presence.

  “Are you guarding goats?” he asked with a laugh.

  At least, that’s what I thought he said in his thick Scottish accent. Maybe he was asking about his coat. “Your coat’s at the dry cleaners,” I told him. “It will be back tomorrow.”

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

  “It was kind of you to lend it to me. Are you here to question me more about the murder?”

  “No,” he began, but Matilda burst in the door. “Sorry I took so long,” she said.

  When she saw Detective McCloud, she stood stock-still. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Oh no, no,” I stammered.

  She hurried over and handed me a polystyrene cup of coffee and a cream cheese bagel. “Have the goats been good?”

  “Not at all.” I explained what happened to the child’s hair.

  “Oh yes, I saw that woman out there complaining. I wondered what all the fuss was about. She’s making a mountain out of a molehill. It could easily be fixed by shaving that child’s head. I’ll go out and offer to shave his head now.”

  I put a restraining hand on her arm. “Maybe it’s just best if you let her go on her way,” I said.

  “These goats don’t look very friendly,” Damon said. He put his hand through the wire mesh and wiggled his fingers through the wire mesh. The goats all stood at the back of the building and stared at him warily.