“Just now, thinking back over the scene . . . There was a shattered teacup next to Sally’s body that Greg postulated broke as a result of Sally’s falling.” Winnie resumed her pacing, her feet suddenly propelled by more than just her legs. “But we didn’t hear anything shattering! And they gasped when we stepped into the doorway—as if Sally had just collapsed at that moment! But she couldn’t have. If she had, we’d have heard the cup shattering!”
Lovey eyed Winnie suspiciously from her spot on Mr. Nelson’s lap—a lap that was now inching forward on the chair, thanks to Winnie’s words. “You think one of them artists killed her?”
Was it possible?
Was that why they all seemed so cavalier about Sally’s death?
“Winnie Girl?”
She reached the front railing and turned to face her friend, the horror of finding another dead body bowing to the sudden certainty of her answer. “I’d bet the Dessert Squad on it.”
• • •
She was just putting away the last of the ingredients from her early-morning baking session when Renee strode into Winnie’s apartment with a large brown bag and a drink carrier in her hands. “Ty is having dinner at Bob’s, so I’m having dinner here . . . with you. Don’t worry, though, I stopped at Luigi’s on the way here and picked up a meat-filled ravioli for me, chicken farfalle for you, and a little tiny scoop of pureed meat for Lovey.”
Winnie closed the cabinet above the sink, rehung the dishcloth on its hook, and crossed to the table and the intriguing aromas emanating from the now open to-go bag. “Oh. Wow. You have no idea how good that sounds right now.”
“So you don’t have other plans?”
“Nope.” Retracing her steps, she returned to the cabinets to secure two plates and the necessary silverware for their meal. “Now that everything is cleaned up from this morning’s deliveries, I have no other plans.”
“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t come back here with you after everything that happened but—”
“There was no way of knowing our deliveries would end with a dead body and having to wait on Chief Rankin to ask us questions.” Winnie set the plates and silverware on the table and sank onto the bench seat as Renee reached into the bag, pulled out each of their meals, and then claimed the spot on the opposite side of the table. “Which brings me to the fact that I’ve been unable to think of anything else since I got home.”
Renee opened the plastic lid on her ravioli and scooped a generous helping onto her plate, her green eyes bouncing between the food and Winnie. “You and me, both.”
“Can I ask you something?” Winnie said, pausing her fingers atop her still-sealed meal.
“Shoot.”
“What’s your gut say about what happened at the retreat house today?”
“You mean besides the fact it’s the first time I’ve seen a dead body up close and personal?” Renee forked up a ravioli and popped it into her mouth.
Winnie opened her own meal and took a moment to breathe in the medley of scents before transferring some food onto her own plate. “I’m talking, specifically, about what you think might have happened to Sally.”
“I don’t know. Maybe a heart attack? She was packing quite a few extra pounds around her middle, if you noticed.” Piercing another ravioli onto her plate, Renee inspected it closely and then popped it into her mouth, too. “Not that I should talk, of course. Ever since Bob traded me in for a younger model, the numbers on the scale have been creeping upward—a pound here, a pound there.”
“Oh, please. You look fabulous twenty-four/seven, Renee.” Winnie took a bite of her farfalle and then chased it down with a quick sip of soda. “I spoke to Greg by phone about an hour ago, and he said the medical examiner is pretty certain Sally didn’t die of natural causes.”
Renee stopped chewing. “Meaning?”
“They detected a bitter almond smell on her body.”
“So? She ate some almonds before she dropped. Does that really matter?”
“A bitter almond smell is often an indicator of cyanide poisoning.” Winnie ate a few more bites and then pushed her plate forward. “Pieces of the shattered teacup have tested positive for it as well.”
“Why would she put cyanide in her tea . . .” The question disappeared between them as Renee’s eyes widened. “Wait. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Winnie spotted another piece of farfalle that looked particularly tempting and ate it quickly. “If you think I’m saying Sally was very likely murdered, then yes, I’m saying what you think I’m saying.”
“But why? And by whom?”
“I can’t answer the why. But as for who might have done the deed . . . I’m thinking it was one of the people in that room when we found her.”
Renee sucked in a breath and, in the process, made herself choke on a ravioli. A sip of water and a few coughing fits later, she was ready to speak. “Do you think it was my hot mime?”
“Your hot mime?”
“I saw him first.”
“I’m not trying to claim him, Renee, I’m just asking about your choice of pronouns, is all.” Winnie swiveled to the side, threw her leg over the bench, and carried the small container of pureed meat over to Lovey’s bowl. “Lovey! Renee brought you a treat.”
A slight jingle from her bedroom grew louder until the brown and white tabby was peering around the corner of the kitchen. When Lovey spotted the addition to her bowl, she pranced all the way into the room as Winnie straightened and returned to the table and her still wide-eyed friend.
“Winnie, you can’t leave me hanging like this . . .”
“I don’t know if it was your hot mime or not, Renee. It could have been him, or it could have been one of the other four. That part, I haven’t figured out yet.” She grabbed hold of her to-go container and gave it a little shake. “Do you want to take the rest of this home for you and Ty for tomorrow?”
At Renee’s nod, she deposited it back in the bag and carried her plate over to the sink. “But I will. One way or the other.”
“You will what?”
Winnie considered washing the dish right then and there, but opted instead to rejoin Renee at the table. “Figure out which one of them killed her.”
“Uh, don’t you think maybe you should let Rankin do that? It is, after all, um, sort of his job . . .”
“And, hopefully, he’ll do it. But you and I both know there’s only so much you can accomplish when you only show up at the office for an hour here and an hour there.”
Renee closed up her ravioli container and added it to the bag, her eyebrows furrowed. “Last I checked, we were still trying to grow EDS’s business.”
“And we are.”
“So, don’t you think that’s a better place to expend your energy?”
“I do. And I will. Figuring out who killed Sally and why doesn’t have to affect that.” She pointed at Renee’s plate and, at the woman’s nod, added it to the sink. “I have a couple of hand pies left from this morning. Do you want one?”
Renee leaned around the edge of her bench, clicked her tongue behind her teeth, and summoned Lovey to her side. “What do you have?”
“Apple, blueberry, and strawberry.”
“I’ll take the apple.” Renee lifted Lovey onto her lap and, using her long nails, scratched the cat behind the ears while simultaneously sizing up Winnie. “I guess the part I don’t get is why it matters. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s horrible that woman is dead—doubly so if she was murdered. But you didn’t even really know her, did you?”
Winnie placed a plump apple hand pie on a dessert plate, added a fork, and passed it across the table to Renee. “The only conversation I ever had with the woman was when she placed the order and when we called her outside the first cabin to find out how she wanted us to handle a no-show.”
Setting Lovey on the bench be
side her, Renee took a bite of the apple hand pie and released a moan of pleasure. “So, so good.” After a few more bites, she met Winnie’s gaze once again. “Then I repeat, why does it matter?”
“Because we were played this morning, Renee, and it ticks me off.”
“Played?”
Winnie recounted what she’d figured out while talking to Mr. Nelson earlier that afternoon and then leaned against the center island while Renee digested her words. Sure enough, the hand pie was abandoned for a fist smack atop the table. “You know what? You’re right! I didn’t hear a cup shatter . . . and I didn’t hear any sort of thump, either. If she’d collapsed as we reached the door, we should have heard both!”
“My sentiments ex—” A series of vibrations against her skin stole the rest of her sentence and sent her reaching into her back pocket for her phone. A quick check of the caller ID screen brought an instant flutter to her chest. “It’s Jay!”
Renee grinned. “Go on, I’ll wait.”
Lifting the phone to her ear, Winnie took a deep breath and wandered around the corner and into her bedroom. “Hi.”
“Hey, Winnie. How are you?”
“Missing you.” The second the words were out, she wished she hadn’t sounded quite so fervent, but then again, why hide how she felt? “So how’s it going with Caroline and her mother?”
“Surprisingly well. Dinner was great last night, and breakfast at Didi’s house was pretty darn delicious.”
She tightened her hold on the phone and swallowed. “Y-you went with them?”
“Didi insisted. And in hindsight, it was probably smart. Anyway, so what’s been happening on your end?” he asked through the sudden roar of insecurity in her ears. “Did you have any deliveries today?”
“I did. Five, actually.”
“Five? That’s great!”
She made herself focus on the enthusiasm in his voice rather than the road her imagination was trying to take where he, his daughter, and his ex-wife were concerned.
Let it go.
This trip is about Caroline . . .
Dropping onto the edge of her bed, she made herself smile as she often did when she was uncertain. It was a trick she’d been taught when she was a little girl—a trick that worked and netted her the first in a long line of elderly friends. “All five deliveries were actually to the same place, but each was a different rescue for a different person.”
When he didn’t respond, she continued. “You know that artists’ retreat across the lake from your place? There’s a group out there right now—a poet, a magician, a mime, a puppeteer, and a comedian. I did a rescue for each one of them, only they weren’t actually in their respective cabins when I got there so it ended up being more of a standard delivery than a true rescue.”
“Uh-huh.”
Uh-huh?
“Anyway, Renee went with me this time on account of the fact we were making all five deliveries in one main trip. At first I wasn’t sure how Lovey was going to handle having someone in the passenger seat, but since it was Renee and not me . . . she saw it as an opportunity to get some lap time.”
“Yeah, uh-huh.”
“Jay?” she asked, her voice hesitant even to her own ears. “Is . . . is everything okay?”
“Huh, what?”
“You seem kind of distracted. Is everything okay?”
“No, no, it’s fine. Didi just walked in the door and I guess I got a little sidetracked for a minute. So tell me again what you were saying?”
The roar was back, smile be damned. “What was the last thing you heard me say?”
“You said you had five deliveries today—which, by the way, is really fantastic, Winnie. How’d everyone hear about you?”
She took a deep breath and started again. “It was five deliveries to one place, actually. You know that artists’ retreat across the lake from your place?”
A giggle in the background was followed by the sound of Jay’s answering laugh.
“Jay?” she asked after a moment. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. Sorry about that. I—”
Winnie stood and began the slow trek across her tiny bedroom toward her kitchen and the friend she’d left behind to take this call. “You know what? It sounds like now isn’t such a great time to talk so I’ll let you go. If you get some private time later on, give me a call, okay?”
“Yeah, you know what, that’s probably best. I’ll give you a call when things are a little less hectic here.”
She could have sworn she said good-bye but she wasn’t really certain of anything except the heaviness in her chest as she slipped the phone back into her pocket and stepped into the kitchen once again. “Sorry about that, Renee.”
“No problemo, Winnie. So how is it going with the Hollywood Hag? And did you tell him about the body we saw?”
“No, I—he only had a few seconds to talk. I’ll tell him next time.” Bypassing the table completely, Winnie made her way over to her baking cabinet and began pulling out every ingredient she could find.
“You want to bake something now?”
“I need to bake something now.”
Chapter 5
Winnie was on her second cup of coffee when she heard Renee’s giggle at the bottom of the stairs. “Better late than never.”
She glanced at the kitchen clock and then down at the floor as Lovey pranced her way over to the sun spot in the middle of the living room.
“I felt that flick on my leg, Little Miss.”
Lovey responded by flopping onto her side and preening her nether regions with reckless abandon.
“Must you always do that right there? In the middle of everything?” Winnie implored. “Have you no shame?”
The public bath ceased long enough for Lovey to narrow her sudden displeasure on Winnie.
Hissss . . .
“Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake.” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling before fixing them, again, on the tabby who hiked her leg still higher on her shoulder. “Continue on with your beauty regimen, Your Highness.”
“Talking to yourself again?”
Winnie turned toward the door and the voluptuous blonde peering back at her with pure amusement. “You’re late.”
“Mr. Nelson wanted to show me something.” Renee tossed her purse onto the kitchen table and flopped down at the same spot she’d inhabited during dinner the previous evening.
Holding up her hands in surrender, Winnie squeezed her eyes shut. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Know.”
Renee resurrected her downstairs giggle and added a playful snort. “Since when do you think along those lines?”
“Have you seen the way Mr. Nelson looks at you? And how many bow ties he now owns because of you?”
“He was wearing a red one today.” Renee set her elbow on the table and dropped her chin into her hand. “Why can’t he be thirty years younger? I mean, really? Is that so much to ask?”
“If asking Lovey to refrain from licking her private parts in the middle of my living room is too much to ask, shaving thirty years off Mr. Nelson’s life is probably a bit unlikely, as well.”
Renee dropped her hand and her head onto the table and sighed. “It figures . . .” Then, like a parched man making his way through the desert, Renee lifted her chin just enough to afford a view of Winnie’s face. “So what did you end up making last night? And can I have some?”
“I started out making thumbprint cookies because I had a rather strong urge to press and push something, but when I was done, I decided to make cannoli and mousse, too.”
“Cannoli, mousse, and thumbprint cookies—those’ll both work.”
“I can let you have the cookies and mousse.” Winnie crossed to the refrigerator, opened the door, and gestured at the covered plate on the middle shelf. “The cannoli, though, are accounted for.
”
Renee looked around only to shift her focus back to Winnie. “By . . .”
“Colin Norton, I think.”
“You think?” Renee repeated. “And who on God’s green earth is Colin Norton and why does that name sound familiar?”
“The poet from the artists’ retreat.”
“He didn’t like his No s’More Writer’s Block of Fudge?”
Winnie transferred the cannoli plate to the center island and shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him.”
“So who ordered the cannoli, then?”
“I did.” Winnie looked down at the cookies and resisted the urge to pat her own back. “I’m thinking they’re probably a bit traumatized with everything that happened yesterday, so I’m going to make a follow-up delivery to Colin. If I don’t get what I want from him, I’ll deliver the thumbprint cookies to one of the other ones.”
Renee placed her hands over the table. “You’re not making any sense, Winnie.”
“It’s like I said last night, over dinner. I think one of those people killed Sally and used our presence as a way to make it seem as if her death was a shock.” She looked around for the rescue bag and, with the help of Renee’s pointed finger, located it on the smaller, portable island that served as extra work space for larger rescue orders. “I don’t like being used by anyone, least of all a murderer.”
“So you’ve taken it upon yourself to order a rescue for a man you’ve never met?”
“That’s right.” She added fresh napkins, plates, and plastic utensils to the recovery bag and then zipped it closed. “And, technically speaking, we did sort of meet him yesterday.”
“Over top of Sally’s dead body.”
“Semantics.”
Renee wandered around the table to stand beside Winnie. “Dare I ask why you chose cannoli?”
“Because, as the saying goes, You Cannoli Run but You Can’t Hide . . .”
The giggle and the snort were back for a second and far louder encore. “You are a real piece of work.”
Winnie hiked the strap of the rescue bag over her shoulder, balanced the cannoli plate inside the bend in her opposite arm, and made her way over to the hook that held the keys to the ambulance. “It’s my job.”
Dial M for Mousse Page 4
