Pudding Up With Murder

by Julia Buckley

  “How about if you introduce me to Lola?”

  He brightened. “Okay. That will give me a reason to talk to her.”

  “That was the idea.”

  “I like you,” Cash said. “And your dog is pretty awesome, too. He’s just been staring at us with this hilarious look on his face. Maybe he’s the one who likes Cleopatra.”

  I looked at Mick, who wore his usual expression of perpetual devotion, and felt a pang of love. Cleopatra had almost fallen asleep against Mick’s side, but as we moved down the hall, she perked up and followed Mick.

  The four of us made our way into the backyard, where the delectable smell of barbecue wafted on the air. People stood in companionable clumps, talking loudly over the music and posing occasionally for the photographer.

  Cash made a beeline for the dark-haired girl, who occasionally darted glances in our direction. If I knew jealousy, and I was pretty sure I did, I was seeing it on the face of the pretty Lola. Before we reached her, a loud voice yelled out, making us pause and look around. The man in black leather, Prue’s boyfriend, was leaning aggressively into the face of another man. “Who is that?” I whispered to Cash.

  “It’s Owen, my stepbrother. He doesn’t get along with Prue’s boyfriend.”

  The yelling man seemed slightly inebriated, and Owen, red with embarrassment, was leaning away from him.

  “You lied to Prue!” the leather-clad man said. “You led her on, and you lied to her! Your whole family is a bunch of liars!”

  Owen said something low and drowned out by the music. The leather jacket man shoved him, and a woman stepped forward. “Cut it out, Damen, or I’m calling the police! I’m dialing them now.”

  “That’s Emma,” Cash said in a low voice. “Taking charge, as always.”

  The man called Damen didn’t even look at Emma or acknowledge her warning. Another woman who looked like the picture of Prudence from the hallway came hurrying through the crowd, holding a plate filled with sumptuous-looking food. “Damen, stop!” she said, looking distressed.

  It was too late; Damen’s fist shot out and made contact with Owen’s jaw. Owen recoiled, and then his fist lashed out in turn, plunging into Damen’s stomach and winding him. “What the hell?” Owen yelled, his hand on his wounded face.

  Suddenly a tall woman stood in between them. When Damen tried to punch again, she caught his wrist and twisted it in such a way that Damen looked almost ready to cry. “You finished?” she asked. She still held his arm in what must have been a strong grip, because he was looking like he really wanted her to let go. I decided she was my new hero when Damen pulled back his hand and, with a wounded expression, slunk away into the crowd.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emma reappeared. “I just called the police,” she said importantly.

  “I am the police,” said the woman. That was when I realized that I knew her. It was Jay Parker’s partner, Maria Grimaldi. I had always resented her because I feared she might end up in a romance with Parker, but now he was officially mine, and Grimaldi had just done a kick-ass job breaking up a fight between two testosterone-fueled men. I drifted toward her, guided by a budding hero worship.

  “Oh,” said Emma. “Should I call and cancel, or—”

  Grimaldi held up a hand. “I told them I’d take the call. I heard it as I was pulling up. I’m here to get my niece,” she said, pointing at Lola, the girl that Cash liked.

  Emma nodded. “Okay, well—thanks. I guess Owen will let you know if he wants to press charges. Right, Owen?” She looked expectantly at her stepbrother, who was nursing his jaw with one hand.

  “Nah, it’s okay. We had a misunderstanding. We punched it out. Everything’s fine now.”

  Emma snorted. “Men,” she said. Then her expression changed as a tiny little girl made her way across the lawn and up to her. The little girl had wheat-colored hair and a smattering of freckles; she wore a pale green dress with a glittery flower on the bib, and on her head she wore a rhinestone tiara. It looked good and made me want a crown of my own. The little one wore a concerned expression; she said something, and Emma bent down to hear her better, then laughed. “No, sweetie, Uncle Owen is not going to die. Neither is Auntie Prue’s boyfriend. It wasn’t very nice of them to hit each other, was it?”

  The little girl shook her head, clearly near tears, so Emma swept her up and said something into her ear, then carried her away to a food table. Cash murmured something to me and went to join his sister and make faces to amuse his niece. Maria Grimaldi had watched it all, too, but hadn’t yet seen me.

  “Hello, Maria,” I said.

  She turned; I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the nearly joyful expression I saw on Grimaldi’s face. “Lilah! What in the world are you doing here?” She gave me a spontaneous hug, which had me tongue-tied for a couple of seconds.

  “Uh—I came with Marcus’s neighbor Ellie. Jay’s mom. She lives next door. She and I are friends.”

  “Oh, I remember Mrs. Parker. She was with you when that whole chili thing went down in the fall.”

  “Yes. Not our best memory.”

  “No. But it sure made you both well-known at the Pine Haven PD.” She grinned at me.

  “So you’re related to the young lady over there?” I pointed at the dark-haired Lola, who continued to watch Cash Cantwell when she knew he wasn’t looking.

  “Yeah. She’s my niece—can you believe it? Makes me seem old, although at least I can say she’s my older sister’s daughter. Sophia was only eighteen when she had Lo there. But she married her boyfriend, and they’re still together. Goes to show you some young loves make it through.”

  “How nice,” I said. Cash had caught Lola watching him, so she made a show of walking in the other direction. Cash’s face fell. Gosh, guys were dumb. “She sure seems to like Cash Cantwell.”

  “Oh, those two. They’ve been on-again, off-again for two years. I will say he’s a nice kid.” She looked like she would say more, perhaps about the rather strange Cantwell clan, but clearly this wasn’t the place. “We should meet for coffee sometime,” she said, surprising me again.

  “That sounds fun. Maybe you can teach me how to do whatever you did to that motorcycle gang guy.”

  Grimaldi laughed. “No problem. Plenty of tricks of the trade I can pass on—although I’m sure Jay has already taught you some basic self-defense moves.”

  “He hasn’t, actually. By the time we got our dating life on track, he was off to that stupid conference.”

  “Aww. Someone is missing her Jay Parker.” Grimaldi grinned again.

  “Do you tease him like this, too?”

  “Way worse. He doesn’t care, though, because he’s so happy. You make him happy, Lilah.”

  I felt a blush make its way up my neck and into my face—half pleasure and half mortification. “Good,” I said, and then felt ashamed of my own lame remark.

  “That little Peach is just precious. Normally I would think that name was ridiculous, but she looks just like that—a little peach.” Grimaldi was just full of surprises today—breaking up guy fights, acting friendly, loving children. This was a woman I had never seen because I was too busy being jealous.

  I stared at the little Peach in question; she was now laughing at the antics of her uncle Cash, and Lola had found a reason to draw closer, as well. Ellie appeared and spoke to Peach; some other children were following Ellie around as if she were the Pied Piper of Pine Haven. “And we’ll have some lovely rice pudding,” Ellie was saying.

  “Oh!” I said. “I should go see this. Uh—Ellie was telling me how good her casserole was, and I just want to see—”

  “Hey, Lilah,” Grimaldi murmured near my ear. “Don’t be mad, but Jay told me your secret. The whole undercover-cooking thing.”

  I looked at her, openmouthed, and she held up a hand. “It was when you two were fighting or broken up o
r whatever. He needed my opinion. He wanted to know if he had the right to be angry.”

  “And what did you say?”

  She slung a friendly arm around my shoulder. “I told him it was a moot point because he was clearly hung up on you either way.”

  My face grew red again. People made fun of my propensity for blushing; I wished I could be cool and calm like the tall and elegant Grimaldi. “Well, anyway, I want to see what the kids think of the rice pudding.”

  Maria and I made our way inside the house, following the children and some adults to the kitchen, where Ellie had set up the rice pudding pan and some child-size dishes. “Who would like the first taste?” Ellie said. “My mother used to feed this to me when I was a child, and I always added extra cinnamon and sugar—although as you can see I baked that in for you! Oh my—it looks like some little fingers have already been in here!” Ellie said good-naturedly as she spooned the pudding into dishes and handed them to waiting children. Little Peach took hers with eager hands; I watched her taste the pudding and was pleased to see her eyes widen. Within seconds she had gone in for another bite. Score one for Lilah.

  Ellie was flushed with pleasure as she fed the children, who ranged in age from about four to about twenty, because Cash Cantwell stood in line with the rest of them and accepted a bowl, grinning at me. I wondered how much sugar was coursing through his veins. Once people took their bowls of pudding, they wandered back outside; the kitchen was stylish and looked as though it had been recently redesigned, but it was too small to accommodate lingering. When the serving dish was almost empty and the kitchen nearly deserted, Ellie gave me a subtle thumbs-up. “It was so good, someone couldn’t wait to have it served!” she said.

  “That was me, I’m afraid,” said Marcus Cantwell, looming in the doorway of the kitchen. Apparently he had left his monastic silence to join his own party. “My mother made it for me when I was a boy, and I loved it. This is delicious, too, Ellie. You’ve got the touch!”

  Ellie winked at me, but I barely noticed, because I saw that Cantwell’s hands were shaking again, and he seemed to be walking in a rather disjointed way as he came toward us.

  “Mr. Cantwell, are you all right?” I asked. I looked to Grimaldi, who had also noticed Cantwell’s weird gait.

  Grimaldi started to say something about how Cantwell should sit down when he pitched forward headlong and collapsed on the counter, facedown in the last of the rice pudding. Grimaldi was immediately in motion, darting forward to feel his pulse and lift his head off of the table. “He’s unconscious,” she said. She pointed to Cash. “Help me get him on the floor. See if he’s breathing.” She had her phone out already and was dialing for help. She looked at me. “Shut that kitchen door and don’t let anyone in.”

  I did, locking in the four of us—Cash Cantwell, Ellie, Grimaldi, and me—along with the ailing Marcus Cantwell. “This cannot be happening again,” I murmured.

  Grimaldi flashed me a sympathetic glance, slipped her phone in her pocket, and moved over to the Cantwells, father and son. Cash was moving furiously, pumping his hands on his father’s chest. “That’s good,” Grimaldi said. “You keep the compressions going—you clearly know how to do it right.”

  We heard sirens moments later; soon there were ambulance attendants at the door; behind them stood a whole crowd of people. I could see the faces of Emma and Owen, and Prudence behind them, and for the first time I picked out Scott in the crowd. All Cantwell’s children, to their credit, looked white with fear and concern. “Dad?” Emma was saying. “Is something wrong with Dad?”

  Grimaldi went to the door. “Stay there for the time being,” she said. “We need room in here. Please stay in the yard and let the EMTs do their job.”

  This did not please the children of Marcus Cantwell. Freckled Scott and chestnut-haired Emma barged to the top of the stairs, pushing their way through. Dark-haired Prue and blond Owen moved in behind them, peering over their shoulders. “Oh God—it’s Dad,” Scott said. “What happened?”

  The EMTs were working on Cantwell now, even as they transferred him to a stretcher. “I’m not getting a pulse,” one of them said. Prue moaned; her face was now even paler beneath her dark hair.

  “I’ve got it! Pulse is thready, but it’s there,” said one of the white-clad men. They hustled Cantwell out to the ambulance; we moved to the window to watch. Cantwell’s children followed in his wake, along with a small crowd. Tiny Peach appeared, and Emma picked her up. Another little girl sidled up to Emma and received a comforting pat on the head. Before the ambulance doors shut I could see that one of the EMTs had started chest compressions again. Cantwell’s skin looked whiter than skin should look.

  I turned around and saw that Ellie, Maria Grimaldi, and I were the only ones who remained in the kitchen. Ellie still held her serving spoon, to which clung sad remnants of the rice pudding casserole.

  My hands were shaking. “This is way too familiar. He said he ate my food. Then he collapsed. This cannot be happening again.”

  Maria put a hand on my shoulder. “He could have been having a heart attack. It could have been a lot of things. Hopefully he’ll get better.”

  Her last words hung on the air and then fell flat. We had seen Cantwell. None of us thought he was going to get better.

  Ellie said, “He seemed ill long before he stole the casserole. Remember, Lilah? In the living room, when he petted Mick. His hands were shaking, and it seemed as though he was having trouble thinking clearly.”

  “That’s true!” I agreed, remembering. “He had been sipping that drink on his side table, and—”

  Maria looked interested. People like her and Parker just couldn’t help it—they were always on duty, always looking for a potential crime to solve. “His drink? Has anyone else been in that room?”

  Ellie shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. He was sitting in there to relax, get away from the party for a moment. I didn’t realize he wasn’t feeling well, but that must be why—!” She looked a bit shaky herself now. She set down the spoon and wiped her hands on a napkin.

  Maria nodded briskly. “Ellie. Find a plastic bag and some kind of Tupperware container. We’re going to save that drink and this casserole—just in case.”

  My hands shook as I tapped Maria’s shoulder. “If there’s something wrong with the casserole—all those little kids just ate it. That little Peach—I watched her eat some.”

  Maria thought about it, then shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with the casserole, Lilah. Let’s be logical: who had access to it besides you?”

  “I gave it to Ellie. It was in a bag.”

  She turned to Ellie. “And was it ever out of your sight?”

  She shook her head. “For maybe a minute, while I went out to tell people to come inside. And earlier I went to say hello to Marcus—Lilah was there, too—but then I returned and there was no one in here.”

  “Cash was in the house,” I said, remembering. “He was holding a bunch of brownies, but I don’t know if he got those from here in the kitchen or from the table outside.”

  Grimaldi nodded. “I’m saving the samples, just in case. But there’s no need to panic right now. We don’t know anything. Ellie, find me that plastic container.” Ellie searched Cantwell’s cabinets, which had clearly been maintained by one of his children, or perhaps a maid, because they were neat and surprisingly well stocked. She located a snap-top container and handed it to Maria, who left the room. When she returned with the last of Cantwell’s drink in her container, she turned to me. “Could you ask his children to come back in here?”

  I nodded and went outside. I scanned the crowd until I found Cash, who was talking with the photographer in low tones. I jogged over to them. “Cash, Maria Grimaldi is in your kitchen. She wants to see you and all your siblings—officially.”

  “What?” he said.

  “Lola’s aunt is a cop. She’s in
the kitchen, and she wants to see all of your dad’s kids.”

  The photographer backed away slightly, sensing a private conversation. Cash pulled him back. “This is my friend Wade. He’s taking pictures today, although I guess we won’t want any now.”

  Wade nodded. “I’ll probably take off, then. Unless you want me to hang around?” There was a naked curiosity in his face. Soon everyone at the party would probably wear that same expression. I wondered when I could leave.

  “No, it’s cool. Just send us those pics, you know. There were some really nice ones on there.”

  “You bet.” Wade grabbed the camera bag that was slung over his shoulder and started putting his equipment away.

  “Do you have a card?” I asked. “A business card, I mean.”

  “Sure.” He pulled one out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. He was a youngish man with a thatch of brown hair and intense dark eyes. “Are you having a party?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no—it’s—for something else. Thanks.” I tucked his card in my purse.

  Wade gave the rest of the pile to Cash. “To pass around—you know.”

  “Okay—thanks, man. I’ve got to go round up my siblings, but I’ll see you later.” They exchanged an odd, secretive look, and then Wade waved and walked away.

  Cash held up a finger to me, a pointer meaning “Just a minute,” and jogged into the crowd. I went back inside, where Maria and Ellie stood together talking in low voices. Her “samples” were nowhere to be seen.

  Cantwell’s adult children came barging into the kitchen, looking put out. Cash came in last, his face watchful. Maria stood before them, her face impassive.

  Emma took a belligerent stance, and her pretty features twisted unattractively. “I’m sorry. Did you just summon us to the kitchen in our own father’s house? And who are you, by the way?”

  Maria took out her badge. “I’m Detective Maria Grimaldi of the Pine Haven Police Department.”