“I flew back to Louisiana last month, ostensibly to visit old friends, but really to see our family lawyer. He drew up the documents himself.” She hesitated. “My husband and I are not getting along. I’m hoping we can straighten things out, but I wanted to be covered. Just in case.” She hesitated. “Did Goldy tell you I hired Ernest McLeod to follow Sean, to see who he was . . . having an affair with?”
Tom hitched his eyebrows at me. I said, “I didn’t know until tonight that Ernest was working for her. I also found out tonight that the person Sean is fooling around with is Brie Quarles.”
Tom said, “Anything else you’re not telling me?”
“I found a credit card belonging to Sean out at that cabin I went to this afternoon.”
Tom shook his head. “Have you still got it?”
My cheeks reddened. In fact, I did. I pulled it out of my pocket. “Do you want it?” I asked him, then turned to Rorry. “Or should she—”
Rorry held up her hands to stop me. “Don’t give it to me. I’ll just cancel it and then cut it up.”
“I’ll take it, please,” said Tom. He turned to Rorry. “I’d feel better if you went to a neighbor’s house for the night. It’s possible you weren’t the target of the pan ring falling or the skillet accident. But we want to cover all the bases. We’ll wait here while you pack. Then call us when you get where you’re going, and let us know where you are. Then phone Etta and have her bring Seth to you in the morning.”
“There’s no need for you to wait.” Rorry moved toward the foyer. “That ‘just in case’ I mentioned? I always keep a packed suitcase in the trunk of my Mercedes. I’ll drive up to our Beaver Creek condo tonight and change the security code so Sean couldn’t get in even if he wanted to. Seth and Etta and I will be fine,” she said, reassuring me. She glanced around at the chaos of the kitchen. “Will your people clean this up?”
“I’ll ask them to,” Tom promised.
Rorry thanked us both again, turned on her heel, and walked quietly away.
Tom packed up his evidence kit and placed his notebook in his coat pocket. “Miss G., are you ready to go?”
“The sooner the better.”
Tom spoke quietly to his team. Then we left.
The snow clouds had unraveled. Pinpricks of starlight filled the night sky. If Arch had been with us, he would have pointed to the Milky Way, now a river of brightness overhead. Away from Colorado’s metropolitan areas, the glorious fields of stars on clear, moonless nights was breathtaking. I did not want to have my breath taken away, however, and once out of that godforsaken house, I greedily inhaled lungfuls of fresh, cold air that tasted like ice cream.
I followed Tom home. Knowing that once we arrived, Ferdinanda would fill the house with her rage over Yolanda’s accident, I called Tom on my cell. There were things I needed to tell him.
“I need to bring you up to date on what I’ve been doing,” I said.
“There’s more?”
“I wanted to let you know why I was out by the Aspen Meadow Wildlife Preserve. I tried to tell you about it, but you cut me off.”
“My captain was standing right next to me. I still don’t want you going out to the preserve. Especially not alone.”
“Why don’t you want me going out to the preserve?”
Tom heaved a sigh. “Miss G., can’t I just ask you not to do something, and you don’t do it?”
No, I thought, but said reluctantly, “All right, whatever. But remember, Ernest was taking care of Yolanda when he was killed. She has been a dear friend for ten years. I want to help her. I want to find out who murdered Ernest. And now you know about Rorry hiring him.”
“Right. Okay, go back. Where were you, exactly?” I told him about Donna, the evidence she’d collected, and the cabin in the woods. Tom said, “Whose house was this? I’m supposing you dispensed with the usual formalities, like search warrants?”
I decided not to tell him about Sabine breaking a window next to the one that was already broken. “The owners are long gone.” Tom muttered something under his breath, and I plunged on. “I found Sean’s credit card under the woodpile out there. Donna had given me a bag with evidence from one time when they’d broken into one of her rentals, and inside it were cheese wrappers and a wine bottle. So I bought the same kind of everything and observed Sean and Brie indulging in the—” Well, how to put it, exactly?
“The food trap. Anything else?” I told him about possibly seeing Charlene, or her BMW, anyway, on the way to Sabine’s. And after Sabine and I ran away from the abandoned love-nest, she told me about seeing a suspicious bald man at the feed store. She’d thought perhaps he was Hermie’s beagle breeder, whom Hermie thinks is running a puppy mill hidden behind a legitimate operation, I concluded.
“Back up,” said Tom. “It was while you were trolling through the cabin, presumably, that you heard the gunshots?”
“Well, yes.”
“Christ, Goldy.”
A silence fell between us. I felt terrible, unable to speak. Unfortunately, any disagreement between Tom and me reminded me of the many arguments the Jerk and I had had, conflicts that had ended with him beating me up.
We were passing Aspen Meadow Lake. The sparsely placed streetlights reflected in the icy water’s surface. I was suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. The fatigue from catering, the shock of Rorry’s china breaking, the pot holder crashing down, the boiling oil burning Yolanda, and now Tom’s extended silence—all these threatened to pull me under.
“Miss G.,” Tom said at last, “I just worry about you.” When I said nothing, Tom asked, “Did Rorry tell you whether she had a prenup? I mean, we can find out, but she could just divorce him. She doesn’t have to prove he can’t keep it zipped.”
“She has a prenuptial agreement, Tom. Her father made her get one drawn up. He didn’t trust Sean, smart fellow. Rorry did. Plus, she’s religious. She loves the church and she thought she loved Sean. So before she divorced him, she wanted proof of the affair. Sean knew he’d have to keep his dalliance secret. Don’t you think the DA might be interested in the fact that Rorry hired Ernest McLeod to get the proof for her?”
In front of me, Tom braked at the Main Street red light. He said, “The DA might find that interesting. But the grand jury might want to have more than an empty wine bottle, some cheese wrappers, and Sean’s credit card with your fingerprints on it.”
I sighed.
We hung up so as to negotiate our icy street. The van’s tires crunched noisily between the plowed and frozen snowbanks. Tom parked by the curb and pointed for me to take the driveway. I moved slowly along the slippery drive and managed not to slide into Arch’s Passat, which was outside the garage.
“Oh my God, how glad am I to see you!” Ferdinanda cried when we came through the front door. She’d been parked out in the hall, apparently, waiting for our arrival. Behind her, Arch gave me a helpless look. Clearly, he’d tried to soothe Ferdinanda, to no effect.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to Yolanda—” I started to say, but Ferdinanda interrupted me.
“This didn’t happen to her.” She wagged a wicked-looking finger in my direction. “Kris did this to her. Tom!” she said reprovingly as he helped me off with my coat. “You gotta do something about this man. He’s going to kill my niece unless you kill him first.”
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” Tom replied softly.
Ferdinanda didn’t budge. “I want to go down to that hospital.”
“Sergeant Boyd is bringing Yolanda back here,” Tom said evenly. “He just phoned me and they’re leaving now. If we take off, we’ll miss them.”
Ferdinanda crossed her arms. “And Boyd and Yolanda are just going to walk right up the sidewalk to the house? With Kris living across the street?” My mouth must have fallen open, because Ferdinanda looked bitterly triumphant. “Yeah, he came today in that loud car of his. Then a truck with furniture arrived. Kris drove out again and returned with a girl who had two suitcases.”
“A young woman,” Ferdinanda replied, dismissing this person with a wave. “You know. A whore.”
I said, “What? Arch, would you please go upstairs?”
Arch groaned but clopped upstairs anyway. Ferdinanda wheeled herself around in a tight circle, then pushed herself toward the kitchen. “Tom!” she cried over her shoulder. “Come out here, please, without Goldy, so I can talk to you without her asking stupid questions.”
Tom patted me on the shoulder and whispered, “She’s just upset. Why don’t you look at those pictures you took again? Maybe you’ll remember how you know Humberto’s girlfriend. I’ll go calm Ferdinanda down.”
I sat on the living room couch and scrolled through the photos I’d taken. I had seen this young woman in some other context, not one associated with catering. I was having a hard time making a withdrawal from my mind’s memory bank, though, because Ferdinanda’s shrill voice still emanated from the kitchen. Tom’s calm replies were like a low rumble. I placed the cell phone on the coffee table, plugged my ears with my fingers, and stared at one of the images.
School, I thought. I know her from some academic context. And just as surely, I realized that she had some connection with Arch—not as a hooker, thank God. She had helped him. But doing what?
I took the stairs two at a time and knocked on Arch’s door. When he let me in, his face was racked with worry.
“What is it?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
He went back to his bed, where he sat down and crossed his arms. “Not really. What do you need?”
“Arch, is something—” No, I’d already asked him that. I inhaled sharply to steady myself. Whatever was bothering him, he’d tell me in his good time. Or not. “It’s just that I’m trying to place a guest from tonight’s dinner party. I took a picture with my phone.” I cued up the best image and handed him my cell.
Arch turned his attention to my phone. His brow furrowed as he paged through the pictures. Then he smiled and shook his head. “She sure looks different from when she was helping me with my math homework.”
“Who is it?”
“Gosh, Mom. I can’t believe you don’t recognize Lolly Vanderpool.” He handed the phone back to me, a glint of triumph in his brown eyes.
“Your old babysitter?” I squinted at the picture. “The one who had a full ride at Elk Park Prep? You’re kidding.”
“Nope. You used to say she was the smartest person you’d ever met, don’t you remember?”
“Not really. Well anyway, I thought Lolly went to college.”
“So did I.”
“It doesn’t look as if that worked out.” Mentally, I added, And if she’s really smart, why hasn’t she made a better career choice?
Arch grinned mischievously. “So what’s she doing instead?”
I pressed my lips together as high-pitched Ferdinanda and low-toned Tom continued their dialogue downstairs. To Arch, I said, “Did you get your homework done?”
“Good old Mom.” Arch heaved himself up off his bed. “As soon as the conversation gets interesting, you find a way to make me do something else.”
“I’m not making you do anything else.” Although, of course, I was.
“Math homework’s done.”
“Good. Thanks for staying here with Ferdinanda. And for helping figure out the puzzle with Lolly.”
“No problem.” Arch walked me to the door of his room. “Do you think Lolly’s available to come over tomorrow night, to do some tutoring with me? She could wear that same outfit.”
“Very funny, buster.”
Reluctantly, I went back down to the kitchen. Ferdinanda wailed at Tom, “But I don’t understand why you can’t arrest him. Look at what he’s done!”
Tom rubbed his chin for a moment. “Let’s put it this way. Do you like the fact that Fidel Castro promised elections within a year of taking over the country but, in all the fifty years since, has never held free elections?”
“Of course not!” Ferdinanda retorted. “I believe in democracy. I believe in freedom of speech. He wouldn’t allow either. That’s why I left.”
“Presumably, then,” Tom said patiently, “one of the reasons you came to this country is that we are a nation of laws that we enforce.”
Ferdinanda waved this away. “Kris peeped in the windows of the house we were renting. Or he hired somebody to do that. Then he burned the place down.”
“Ferdinanda, we have no proof—”
“So we moved to Ernest’s house. Then Kris killed Ernest and burned down his house. Today he moved in across the street. He’s crazy, Tom! Now, tonight, he tried to kill Yolanda. Aren’t any of those things laws that have been broken?”
“Breaking and entering, arson, murder, and attempted murder,” Tom said, still calm, “are all against the law. But Kris has an alibi for every single one of those events, and we do not have a shred of evidence that he was involved in any of it.”
“Isn’t stalking against the law?” asked Ferdinanda. “He stalked her.”
“If we could prove it, it would be,” Tom replied. “I understand what you’re saying.” It was clear to me, and no doubt to Ferdinanda, that he may have comprehended the older woman’s accusation, but he was by no means certain of its veracity. And yet, he trusted Yolanda and Ferdinanda, liked them, even, as I did. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have allowed them to come live with us.
Ferdinanda held her hand up to her ear. “You know I’m partially deaf. Why can’t I hear you?”
Tom got up. “Ferdinanda, you know Goldy and I want to help you and Yolanda. I don’t know why someone would target one or both of them or even somebody else, in the Breckenridges’ kitchen. As I’ve said here several times, it sounds as if all the guests were in and out of that kitchen during the day. So I can’t just go and arrest one person, can I? As I keep telling you, we actually have to have evidence. On the other hand, you could tell me more about Humberto Captain than you have. Did he know about Ernest’s investigation of him?” Ferdinanda muttered under her breath. “Speak up, Ferdinanda! I can’t hear you.” The older woman fixed Tom with a baleful stare. Tom, unheeding, changed the subject. “Boyd will be home soon with Yolanda. Do you want one of us to stay here in the kitchen with you until they arrive?”
Ferdinanda, who was already wheeling away, stopped. “No. I’ll tell you what I want. When they get back, I want you and Boyd each to stand beside Yolanda and bring her into the house. She needs to be protected.”
“All right,” said Tom. I could hear the fatigue in his voice, but he pressed buttons on his cell to tell Boyd how they were going to bring Yolanda into the house. Ferdinanda, satisfied, rolled herself into her makeshift bedroom without, I noticed, a word of thanks to Tom.
I shook my head. “Tom, I have something to tell you.” I related Arch’s news about his former babysitter, Odette, aka Lolly Vanderpool. “She’s more than smart. She’s brilliant. You should let me talk to her about Humberto.”
Tom’s sea-green eyes were full of skepticism. “You’re going to interrogate a prostitute about a john who’s a murder suspect, between your catering events?”
“Please, listen. First of all, it’s much more likely she’ll talk to me than she would to someone at the sheriff’s department. Second, we’re having dinner at this murder suspect’s house tomorrow night—”
“I’ll be wearing a weapon—”
“And third, I don’t actually have catering events this week. Just the dinner at the Bertrams’ place on Thursday night, and for that I’m making soup.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you talking to Humberto alone.”
“Humberto? No way. I only want to talk to Lolly.”
“Couple things, then. You have max two days to talk to her before we do. And you have to tell me immediately whatever she says.”
“Oh-kay.” I moved toward the walk-in. “Have you eaten? I’m famished.”
“Yeah, I did. Wait, let me talk to
Ferdinanda for a minute.” He knocked on the swinging door between the kitchen and the dining room. When Ferdinanda roughly told him to enter, he asked her questions in a low tone. Again, Ferdinanda’s querulous reply made me wonder what was going on, but when Tom said, “Thank you,” I was even more curious. When he closed the dining room door, he said, “I’m going to fix you dinner.”
“Tom, please. Don’t. I can do it. And besides that, I don’t think we have anything ready—”
“You do enough, Miss G.,” Tom interrupted. He peered into the depths of the walk-in. “I came out to the kitchen yesterday and found Ferdinanda rummaging through the freezer.”
I sighed. I’d found her in our pantry. Tom had found her searching through our freezer. In spite of the fact that I’d said mi casa es su casa, Ferdinanda’s proprietary attitude toward our kitchen was getting a little old.
“Anyway, she asked me if she could thaw a package of ground pork. I said yes, and I just got her permission to cook one of her recipes that she was telling me about.” He flipped through some papers by the computer. “All right, here we go.”
I was too tired to argue. “Sounds great.”
“I’m also putting together a salad for you,” he said, his head back in the walk-in. He emerged carrying the pork, a container of cooked rice, and a bunch of fresh cilantro, which he placed on the counter. “Now, where is that balsamic vinaigrette I was making. . . .”
“What you’re making is a mess,” I said. But I found the sauté pan and brought out the olive oil for him.
“I have an ulterior motive,” Tom said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “you don’t want me to get grouchy because I’m hungry.”
“That, too,” he said as he washed his hands to prepare for cooking. “Not another word until I have the food in front of you.”
He poured me a glass of an expensive sauvignon blanc that Marla had given us, set the table for one, and went about his tasks. Twenty minutes later, he placed a heavenly scented platter on the table, filled with ground pork in a steaming orange-lime sauce. Next to it he put two bowls: one filled with fluffy heated rice topped with chopped fresh cilantro, the other brimming with a salad of baby field greens, grape tomatoes, toasted pine nuts, and tidbits of blue cheese, all cloaked in Tom’s new dressing.
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