A Tiny Bite of Murder

by Constance Barker

  I said, “Tell her she looks pretty in her dress.”

  He shot me a puzzled look. “She can speak English?”

  I laughed. “No. But she understands things pretty well.”

  Emery mumbled to her. “You look, um, pretty.”

  Daisy nodded yes, then silence. I gave it a moment then could not hold back the laughter. “You've never been close to a chimpanzee before, have you Mr. Rumbold?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “Well, there is a first time for everything. This place used to be home to Daisy’s mother, and now it is her home.”

  Grandma came with their food and served them.

  Holly dove in and took a big bite. After savoring it, she said, “This is good. You make your own croissants?”

  “Thank you. Yes, we make everything here.” Grandma pointed towards the kitchen while she spoke.

  Jessica added, “They even make their own jams and jellies for the pastries.”

  Holly pointed to the tree-tier rack. “Maybe I will try one of those petit fours. If it’s as good as...”

  Emery added, “I will have a sampler too, please.”

  I made a small plate with a half dozen pastries and served them.

  Chapter Two

  In a town like Sinking Springs, a restaurant receiving national attention is remarkable. But the visit of a famous food critic to review the establishment creates a must-attend event. The Gilded Nickle booked all tables for the night, and those with reservations bragged to those without. For me, I would be happy to work the tea room for the night, but that was impossible because I had a date.

  Andrew Dregson moved to town recently and is our new handyman. After working here for a couple of weeks, he asked me out on a first date and tonight would be our second. He learned of the food critic’s visit ahead of most, and was astute enough to reserve a table since people would want to attend just to say they were there. And he then used the prized reservation for two to get a second date with me.

  After a bit of trial and error, I decided on wearing my white dress with black, heart shaped polka dots. It went well with my dark hair and fit just right. Initially, I tried my black dinner dress, but Grandma vetoed it, saying it was too formal. So after adding my favorite gold necklace and bracelet, shiny black high heels, as well as a black handbag, I was ready.

  Andrew picked me up, on time, wearing a suit and tie with his wild locks combed into place. He cleaned up nicely, and I was glad to have agreed to the date. We rode in a clean, polished car and Andrew even used the valet parking. Once inside, the host escorted us to our table, and we took our seats. After studying the wine list, Andrew surprised me when he ordered a Portuguese red wine. Then we chatted for a few minutes until we observed Emery and Holly enter the restaurant and take their seats at a table.

  I placed the cloth napkin in my lap. “You pulled out all the stops tonight. Valet parking, suit and tie, you even washed you car and cleaned the interior.”

  “Nothing but the best, well the best I can offer.” He laughed to cover up his impromptu honesty. Andrew continued, “After our first date, I told myself if I got a second, that I would make things special. This critic coming to town was just the ticket.”

  I smiled. “This is so fancy. Look at those flowers on the table. And the table cloths are too nice to eat on.”

  He glanced around. “You’re right. Makes my dining table look a little sad now that I think about it.”

  “You have a dining table?”

  “Well, yeah. Got to eat off of something. But I thought I was being fancy buying place mats at the dollar store till I saw all this.”

  I laughed. “Well, aren’t we being honest tonight. Don’t worry, I like when a man can accept who he is. I’m a pretty straight-forward gal myself. This is fancier than I’m used to for sure.”

  A commotion erupted from one side of the dining room, and two waiters emerged bringing a large champagne bucket attached to a stand, along with some ice. They placed it next to Emery Rumbold’s table. After the bucket full of ice was in place, the sommelier brought a bottle of wine, opened it, and placed the cork on a clean salad plate. Glancing at the cork, Emery left it sitting there as he pointed to his red wine glass. Without pause, the wine steward poured a small amount. Emery sniffed the glass’s contents, took a sip, swished it in his mouth, wrinkled his forehead, and nodded. The sommelier understood, filling Holly’s glass first, then his. After the wine servers left them, Emery took the linen napkin folded like a Pope’s hat off of the table. He whipped it off to one side to open it up, then placed it in his lap.

  Andrew said, “Well, he knows he’s being watched and is putting on a show. I’m not sure I could do that.”

  I laughed. “Why would you want to? That is so pretentious.”

  “I guess it’s good manners, but it’s the way he does it.” Andrew picked up his napkin, whipped it at his side imitating Emery, but he lost his grip and the cloth fell to the floor. He turned bright red. “It’s harder to to do than it looks.” Before his face returned to normal color, a waiter rushed over and placed a fresh folded Pope’s hat on the table in front of him. Andrew said thank you, gently opened the new napkin, and placed it in his lap. “It’s easier, and safer, this way.”

  Before I could tease him, a waiter appeared with a wine bucket full of ice, but ours did not have a stand. He placed it on the table and removed the chilled bottle of wine. Andrew said, “I hope you like the wine. I have to admit, I talked with a friend about what to order. I don’t order wine very often.”

  “You did well. I like your selection. I can’t wait to try it.”

  The server opened the bottle and put the cork on a salad plate. Andrew looked at it sideways and asked the waiter, “I noticed the food critic didn’t sniff the cork. I thought you were supposed to smell it.”

  The waiter replied, “Some do, but it doesn’t really tell you much. If the cork leaked and the wine spoiled, it may smell bad but it is better to just taste a sample of the wine. Serious wine drinkers do like to examine the cork and confirm the brand, and to see if it is real cork or a manufactured closure, but they don’t smell it. Shall I pour a taste for you?”

  Andrew nodded yes. The waiter poured and he sipped. “Wow, that’s good. That will work.” And with that, the server filled our glasses.

  I took a taste. “Oh my, that is good. For a man with dollar place mats on your dining table, you can order a good wine.”

  He smiled at me. “Wine hurdle cleared. But we still have the rest of the dinner to get through. Still time to show my humble pedigree and stumble on a few of the remaining obstacles.”

  “We’re off to a good start.” I smiled. On our first date, he was reserved. Tonight, I was getting the real man, honest and humble. I could do worse.

  A couple of tables over, I spotted Jessica and her husband Mike. We talked about making tonight a double date, but decided against it. Andrew obtained the reservation on his own and I thought he deserved some privacy for the effort.

  A waiter interrupted our conversation with a fancy salad and a basket of bread with butter. I studied the pile of greens in front of me with what looked like a cracker triangle sticking out of the top. The greens blend impressed me. In the tea room, we serve salads at times, but they are nothing like this one. Andrew tasted a small corner of the cracker. “Oh my goodness, that is so good.”

  I smiled. “I think it’s Frico, or Parmesan cheese crisps.”

  Andrew snorted. “Frico? That’s an odd name for something so good, sounds like a swear word.”

  “It’s Italian. I think we should try making them in the tea room to kick up our salads. They are easy to make, but use lots of expensive Parmesan cheese.”

  With his Frico devoured, he started on the well dressed pile of greens. “You got to try the salad. The dressing is unlike anything I’ve tasted.”

  I plucked a piece of arugula with my fork and tasted. Balsamic vinegar and strawberry anchored the dressing flavors. In my opini
on, chefs over-employ this particular vinegar, but strawberries and balsamic pair to make a traditional dessert. They pair perfectly, so combining them in a salad dressing was smart. Plus, I could tell The Gilded Nickle used aged DOP vinegar and good extra virgin olive oil, both imported from Italy. The quality showed and made for fine dining. As much as I enjoyed chatting with Andrew, and getting to know him better, the conversation went on pause to enjoy our salad and home-made bread.

  Emery and Holly also enjoyed their bread and salad course, but we were unaware of their presence as we savored our food. Until Holly’s voice rang out, “Emery, is there sesame oil in the salad? I tasted sesame.”

  We both glanced over to their table in response to Holly’s panic.

  Emery studied her. “Are you alright?” Holly began to cough and wheeze. Then she grabbed her throat. Emery hollered, “Call nine one one. She is having an allergic reaction. Is there a doctor here?” Emery grabbed her purse and rummaged through the contents. “Does anyone have an EpiPen?”

  Holly pointed to her purse, but was unable to speak. She was gasping for air. In an act of desperation, she ripped the purse out of Emery’s hands and emptied it on the table. Emery asked, “Where is your EpiPen?” Holly slumped in her chair and went limp.

  After five minutes, medics rushed through the door and whisked Holly away. Emery tried to go with them but the first responders refused. As they left for the hospital, he turned to the head waiter. “How could you let this happen. We provided explicit instructions for the meal. And we made it clear, no sesame seeds or oil. Holly is very allergic to sesame.”

  The head waiter stuttered then said. “Sir, I don’t know what to say to you. We don’t use sesame oil. And I see no seeds in her salad. The only thing we use sesame seeds for is the bread. And tonight, special for you, we didn’t use any seeds on the bread.”

  Emery huffed and took a piece of greens from Holly’s plate. He tasted it. “Then how do you explain this? It is definitely sesame oil.”

  The head waiter followed Emery’s example, tasted the salad, and nodded yes. “I agree, it tastes like sesame oil. But I assure you, we do not have that particular oil in the kitchen. Someone must have slipped it into her salad.”

  Emery snorted. “And just who would do such a thing? And how would they be able to do it without being noticed? It had to be added in the kitchen.”

  “You can come and inspect our kitchen for yourself, Mr. Rumbold. Again, I assure you we have no sesame oil.”

  Emery turned white. “Do you suppose it was meant for me? I dislike sesame oil and is it possible someone tried to ruin my salad but Holly got it instead? How could they know she’s allergic to sesame?” He paused. “I need to go to the hospital, see if she is going to be alright.”

  Andrew glanced over to me. “What do we do? I am so sorry, I wanted this dinner to be memorable.”

  “It is, but not in the way you intended.” I watched the food critic and waiter continue to argue. “They are asking the right questions, though. Who put the oil in her salad, and why? And how did they do it without being noticed? Was it even meant for her?”

  Andrew sighed. “That’s so bizarre. I hope she is alright.”

  “I do too. Do you want to leave?”

  “I don’t know what to do. What is proper?”

  “I’ve never experienced something like this, so I don’t know either.” My eyes scanned the room. Did someone spike her salad, or Emery’s, and who would do that? I inspected for anything unusual, and I noticed the stranger from earlier in the day sitting at a table, alone. The same tea room customer who confronted Holly and Emery.

  Andrew put his hands in his lap and stared at the food. I did the same. “Andrew, how about we follow what the others do. If they leave, so will we.”

  He nodded yes. Apparently, the dismantling of his detailed dinner plans robbed him of the ability to speak. And to my surprise, everyone remained in the restaurant, so we stayed, too. But the atmosphere was tense, and no one enjoyed the excellent food after the medics left with Holly. Everyone rushed through the dinner, including Andrew and me, and I returned home earlier than expected.

  Chapter Three

  The alarm clock screeched to my dissatisfaction. Last night, the unfortunate restaurant accident interrupted a nice date, and as a result, I turned in early. But I was distraught and could not stop running the incident through my mind. I tossed and turned all night and kept seeing Holly Triste laying on that stretcher. The long, sleepless night left me tired and sluggish this morning. I should have just stayed up late.

  Even worse, the night’s events saddened me. Unfortunate circumstances derailed Andrew’s elaborate plans for the perfect dinner, leaving him downtrodden. And it all happened because of a little sesame oil. Life is at times cruel and unfair.

  I showered and put on my tea room uniform. Actually, we do not have uniforms, but Grandma insists on a white blouse with dark, preferably black, slacks to go with the tea room decor. Grandma Rose preferred things to match, including the people working there. So after donning the correct outfit and making the bed, I devoured a banana and left for work.

  The morning began with more customers than usual. The critic drew a few foodies to town, some of which made their way to The Monkey’s Eyebrow for today’s brunch. So business was good until a stern faced man entered. He was in his early sixties wearing a well-worn sport jacket that should have been retired long ago. As he seated himself, Daisy made her presence known by approaching him while shaking her head no. He looked at her and pinched his eyebrows.

  I studied the grizzled man and kept an eye on Daisy. “Hi. She seats the guests. You didn’t let her do her job.”

  “I didn’t know. Sorry, cutie.” He extended his hand to shake. Daisy went to the next level, she reached out both arms to hug him. “Well, guess that means we made up.”

  I smiled. “Yep. Daisy does her job well. Sometimes a little too well.”

  “Are you Raine Wilson by any chance?”

  The question made me freeze. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m following up on the incident at The Gilded Nickle last night. I’m told you were there and I am touching base with all the diners from last night.”

  I folded my arms. “That seems like a lot of trouble for an accident. By the way, how is Holly?”

  His tired eyes locked with mine. “She’s dead.”

  The tears formed in my eyes but I refused to let them flow. “And who are you?”

  “Detective Gavin Lambert. It seems we did indeed have an unfortunate incident last night. But it is my job to investigate and confirm whether it was an accident, or something else. I would like to know if you saw anything during dinner.”

  My mind raced, but apart from watching Emery and Holly come in and take their seats, I did not notice them much. “I didn’t see anything. I was on a date and preoccupied. When Holly raised her voice, to ask if there was sesame oil on her salad, then we noticed her. But all we could do is watch while the poor girl struggled to breathe.”

  “I know this hard. But did you see anyone that may have had bad intent toward Emery Rumbold or Holly Triste?” He took out a small notebook while he asked.

  The words ‘bad intent’ sparked my memory. “The stranger! We had a man come in to the tea room yesterday. He said he had something to talk with Holly about and he confronted them, right over there.” I pointed to table nine.

  “What happened? Did they argue?”

  “Not really. The stranger said that Holly made him look bad for no reason and he wanted to discuss something with her. Emery instructed Holly to give him a business card, so the stranger could contact her by phone or email. Emery did not want a public scene. And the stranger complied. He took the card and left.”

  “Did this stranger make any threats, to Emery or Holly?”

  “No. But he was clearly upset.”

  Detective Gavin Lambert took out his card and handed it to me. “If you think of anything else, please contact me. With all
the people that were in the room, it seems no one really saw much. I would appreciate any help you can offer.”

  “I will, if I think of something.” I looked down at the card and noticed his title was ‘homicide detective.’

  He rose and shook my hand. He went to shake Daisy’s hand, but Daisy shook no. I said, “She saw you give me a card. Now she wants one too. Do you think you could give her one?”

  “Sure.” He took out another card and held it out for Daisy. She took the card and he again held his hand out to shake. This time she took his hand and shook it.

  But afterwards, she blew him a kiss. He smiled. “That is one friendly monkey. She is cute. Listen, I really hate to meet you like this and sorry to disturb you. It looks like you have a real nice place here.” He shot Daisy a quick wink. “A bit quirky, but nice. I’ll let you get back to work.” He put his notebook away and turned for the door and took one step. Then he spun on his heel. “Oh, one more thing, which way were you sitting, looking toward the front or back of the dining room?”

  “Um, kind of to the front corner, our table was on a bit of an angle.”

  “Could you see the kitchen door?”

  “Not really.”

  “How about your date...” He took out his notebook and flipped a few pages. “Andrew Dregson. Could he see the kitchen door?”

  “I don’t know, you should ask him.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Thanks again. You have nice day.”

  Grandma came over and put her arm around my shoulders. She stared at the homicide detective as he left. “That is just awful news. That poor, poor girl. And did that handsome detective just Columbo you? You know, that one more thing, thing.”

  I chuckled. “I think so. But he did it well. I understand what he's trying to do. He wants to know who had a good view of who came and went into the kitchen. Makes sense if you're trying to identify someone that might have messed with the food.”

  Mr. Twain entered and bowed to Daisy. She responded with a big grin and escorted him to his favorite table. “My dear ladies, good morning. Have you heard the tidings?”