Dial M for Mousse

by Laura Bradford

  “Done.”

  Winnie ricocheted her gaze off the school’s home page and back onto Bridget. “Done?”

  “Paul Blark, the Herald’s obituary writer, is on vacation in the Caribbean with his pregnant girlfriend, and so Sally’s obituary fell on me.” Bridget leaned her head against the back of her desk chair and let her eyes drift closed. “Among the items I found about her life was mention of a lengthy career as a secretary at the Charlton School of the Arts.”

  Winnie sucked in a breath. “Are you serious?”

  Without opening her eyes, Bridget nodded. “Seems she worked there for thirty years before retiring this past spring.”

  “I take it she was working there during the same time period Colin Norton and Ned Masterson were attending the school?”

  “She was.”

  Winnie reached across her friend and moved the cursor across the website’s masthead and its various tabs—Location, Programs, Admission Requirements, Faculty, Staff, Famous Alumni . . .

  She clicked on the last tab, a dozen or more faces smiling back at her from professional headshots. A few of the faces she recognized from book jackets and music sites, but a few she simply didn’t know. She took in the names listed along with the photos and recognized one right away.

  Abby Thompson, the puppeteer, smiled out at her from the screen, her time at the school recorded beneath her photo. Spying Bridget’s notebook next to the screen, she compared the dates listed under Abby’s picture with the ones written in Bridget’s surprisingly youthful writing.

  Abby’s attendance dates didn’t match with the poet’s or the mime’s, but they did overlap with the time Sally had worked at the school.

  “Well, what do you know?” Winnie murmured. “An hour ago, we had nothing. Now, thanks to your genius, we can connect three of them to Sally for sure . . .” Winnie scrolled down past the last picture to a smattering of names highlighted for their mention in the news. The lengthy list took a few moments to skim, but sure enough, Colin Norton and Ned Masterson made the list as did the final two names associated with the current clientele at the Silver Lake Artists’ Retreat.

  “Bingo! We’ve got ’em all!”

  A click on Abby’s headshot, as well as on each of the four names highlighted in the section below the pictures, led to subsequent links—show reviews, question-and-answer articles, and a handful of special appearances. Nothing jumped out at her as being a red flag, but there would be time for that later. At least now they knew for certain that all five of the people found standing around Sally Dearfield’s body did in fact know her beyond the confines of the Silver Lake Artists’ Retreat.

  “I have to say, Bridget, you are a genius!” When the accolades went unacknowledged, she swung her attention back to the chair to find her friend sleeping peacefully, the pace of the woman’s breath a near-perfect match to the quiet hum of Lovey’s.

  Rescuing the half-eaten cookie from the woman’s hand, Winnie set it on the desk, closed out of the art school’s website, powered off the computer, and made her way over to the double-wide trunk that doubled as a coffee table. Inside, she located Bridget’s favorite summertime blanket and gently unfolded it across her friend’s legs.

  “Are you staying here for the night, Lovey, or are you coming home with me?” she whispered.

  Lovey lifted her head off her paws, blinked up at Winnie, and then slowly lowered her chin back to its starting place.

  “Okay, suit yourself.” She draped the blanket across the chair’s armrests to allow Lovey a way out, and then brushed a gentle kiss across Bridget’s forehead. “Good night, my sweet friend. I’ll show myself out.”

  Chapter 11

  Winnie tossed her keys and rescue bag onto the kitchen table and gestured in the direction of the empty windowsill bed. “Lovey still isn’t back yet?”

  “Nope. But Bridget called and said she’d have her back after lunch.” Renee pitched the lifestyle section of the newspaper onto the ottoman and stood. “You’ve got another delivery for two o’clock. The patient is reportedly quite stressed about a pending visit from her in-laws.”

  “Stressed, huh?” Winnie crossed to the sink and pumped two drops of soap into her hands, glancing back at Renee as she did. “Who called in the emergency?”

  “The woman’s husband.”

  “Any favorite tastes? Allergies?”

  “No allergies.” Renee wandered into the kitchen and over to the order pad situated next to the phone. “As for favorite tastes, the husband mentioned vanilla, strawberry, banana—”

  “Goin’ Bananas Foster—done.” Winnie turned off the faucet, dried her hands with a paper towel, and then turned to find Renee trying awfully hard to stifle a laugh. “What? No good?”

  “You scare me. Truly.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s like you have an endless dessert bar in your head, twenty-four/seven.” Renee plucked three bananas from a bowl on the counter, held them up, and then returned two at Winnie’s direction. “I picture your mind as having all these desserts showcased on shiny plates. You know, with spotlights shining down on each one as it slowly spins around and around.”

  “Funny, but that’s how I picture your brain in relation to shoes. To each her own, I say.”

  She shrugged off Renee’s answering laugh and began firing off ingredients as they took a turn in her mental spotlight. “One banana, half a tablespoon of lemon juice, one tablespoon of unsalted butter, an eighth of a cup of dark brown sugar, an eighth of a teaspoon of ground cinnamon, a tablespoon of banana liqueur, an eighth of a cup of white rum, and half a pint of vanilla ice cream.”

  Renee moved from cabinet to cabinet assembling the required measuring spoons, cups, and ingredients. “Do we have banana liqueur?”

  She made a face at her friend. “It’s a potential baking ingredient, isn’t it?”

  “Oh. Right. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”

  It was Winnie’s turn to laugh. “Anyway, since this will pretty much be made right in front of our patient, we really need to just make sure I have everything I need on-site, including the portable burner.”

  “Roger that.” Renee transferred all nonperishables to the rescue bag and then pointed at the refrigerator. “Hey, how about I make us both a sandwich since we don’t have to worry about baking right now?”

  Like Pavlov’s dog, Winnie’s tummy gurgled at the mere mention of food. “Yeah, sure. That sounds great. I’ll take a ham on rye, but there’s roast beef, too, if you’d rather have that. In the meantime, I’ll grab the pretzels.”

  “And the cookies.”

  “Cookies?

  “The ones I found in the cookie jar while you were on the last rescue.” Renee removed the ham from the refrigerator and placed it on the counter next to the cutting board. “I wish I could just say they look really good, but considering I’ve already eaten two, I’ll just go ahead and tell you they’re awesome and I want more.”

  Winnie located the pretzels on the top shelf of the pantry and carried them over to the table. “That’s good to hear. I brought a plate of them over to Bridget’s last night and she fell asleep before she even finished one.”

  Renee removed four slices of bread from the bag and topped two of them with ham. “What were you doing over there?”

  “It was either that or bake another dessert.”

  Looking up from her nearly complete task, Renee’s eyes narrowed on Winnie. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong?”

  “Am I that transparent?” She plucked two water bottles from the refrigerator and joined Renee at the table. “Seriously?”

  “When it comes to late-night bake-athons, yes.” Renee took a spot on the far side of the table, lifted her sandwich from her plate, and shook it at Winnie. “I thought those bags under your eyes were a bit darker than normal this morning.”

  “Than normal?” Winnie echo
ed, helping herself to a pretzel. “Gee, thanks.”

  Renee took a bite of her sandwich and then set it back on her plate. “So? What gives? Is it Jay?”

  She took another pretzel and nibbled off the salt. “Partly.”

  “He still hasn’t called?”

  “No.”

  “Men. They’re as fickle as the day is long,” Renee mused. “If they weren’t so adorable, I’d say forget them all.”

  Winnie considered her friend’s suggestion and realized it had merit. Still, they were talking about Jay—a man she was pretty much crazy about. “California is three hours behind us. Maybe it’s more a case of him not wanting to call too late.”

  “Okay, but what is he doing? I thought this trip was for Scream Queen to spend time with her mother. Shouldn’t Jay have oodles of free time while that’s happening?”

  This time the merit in her friend’s words was harder to explain away. Instead, she merely shrugged and took a bite of her own sandwich. “Oh, hey, did I tell you I’m getting a bit of a reputation at Silver Lake High School?”

  Renee stopped chewing. “As . . .”

  “The second coming of Lady Tremaine?”

  “Wait, I know this!” Renee hijacked a pretzel from the bag and broke it in two before popping it into her mouth. “Lady Tremaine was Cinderella’s evil stepmother, wasn’t she?”

  Winnie nodded.

  “And you’re getting that reputation because . . .” The words trailed from Renee’s mouth only to pick back up as her eyes widened with understanding. “Wait. Scream Queen goes to Silver Lake High School, doesn’t she?”

  “She does, indeed.”

  “So you’re being painted as an evil witch at school. How do you know this?”

  “Do you remember the rescue I did yesterday afternoon?” Winnie asked as she finished her sandwich and took a sip of her water. “The Black-and-Blue Cookies?”

  Renee stopped nibbling and waited.

  “Seems the patient knows Caroline. And when she realized who I was in relation to her, she pretty much filled in the rest.” Winnie pushed the cookie plate over to Renee, waited while she took one, and then helped herself to one as well. “There’s one positive, though. Our patient doesn’t agree.”

  “Who would?” Renee’s lip curled in disgust before she sought solace in her cookie. “Anyone with two eyes knows you’ve been nothing but amazing with the Scream Queen. She just doesn’t want to share her dad. Period.”

  Winnie looked down at her own cookie, her appetite suddenly gone. “You’ve gotta stop calling her that.”

  “Calling her what?”

  “Scream Queen.”

  “Why?” Renee challenged. “I’m quite sure she calls you worse.”

  Sadly, there was no argument to be made. Still, she had to keep her chin up. “I need to remember what Mr. Nelson is always telling me about Lovey. Who knows, maybe he’s right. Maybe if I give it time, she’ll come around.”

  “Is Lovey still hissing at you?”

  Winnie’s shoulders slumped. “Yes.”

  “How long have you had her now?”

  “Five months.”

  “Maybe Mr. Nelson needs a new catchphrase.” Reaching across the table, Renee plucked Winnie’s cookie from her hands and ate it. “These are way, way, way too good to go to waste.”

  Sliding her empty plate to the side, Winnie set her elbows on the table and rested her chin inside her right palm. “Can we talk about something else for a while? Like maybe what’s going on with you and Bob? Is the custody schedule working out okay?”

  The glimmer of mischief that always seemed to hover around Renee disappeared. In its place was a hint of sadness that showed in her eyes, her mouth, her demeanor. “Insofar as there’ve been no issues, yes. But the nights when Ty is with him are seemingly endless.”

  “Dating from time to time would probably help that,” Winnie suggested.

  “Chocolate does just fine, thankyouverymuch.” Renee ran her fingers through her white-blond hair and then shook it back into place. “Besides, if I couldn’t hold my husband’s interest, why would I think I could hold someone else’s?”

  “Because Bob is an idiot.”

  “Among many, I’m sure.” Renee considered a third cookie but gathered their plates and empty water bottles instead. “Seriously, I’m not interested. My focus now is on raising Ty to be a good man. My future daughter-in-law will thank me one day.”

  Winnie wanted to argue, to point out all the reasons her friend shouldn’t give up on romance, but maybe it was too soon. The ink had been dry on Renee’s divorce papers for only a month or so longer than the Dessert Squad had been up and running. The thought of dipping one’s toe into the dating pool after fifteen years of loving someone else had to be tough all on its own. Trying to do it after the aforementioned someone cheated on you had to make it even harder.

  Reaching across the table, she squeezed Renee’s arm. “One of these days, when you’re ready, you’ll see all the heads you turn on a daily basis.” Then, without giving her friend a chance to pooh-pooh her comment, she moved on. “I saw your mime last night.”

  “My mime?”

  “Yeah, the one who taught Ty how to skip rocks over the weekend.”

  There was no denying the dash of hope that momentarily pushed the pain from Renee’s emerald green eyes. There was also no denying the way she shook it off and tried to play nonchalant. “Oh?”

  “After I had the joy of hearing just how widespread Caroline’s hatred is for me, I decided to stop out at the lake and unwind. But no matter how many times I told Lovey she needed to stay put, she didn’t listen.” Winnie shot her hands in the air. “Big surprise, I know. Anyway, she spotted the one lone person on our side of the lake and had to make friends.”

  “It was him?”

  Winnie eyed the clock, then swung her leg over the bench and stood. “It was. We chatted a little—if you want to call me talking and him arching his eyebrow now and again chatting, that is. I tried to get a handle on his background insofar as any connection he could possibly have to the victim, but he shut down on me.”

  “Shut down on you?”

  “He suddenly had to go at that exact moment.” She carried the plates to the sink and the trash to the wastebasket and then washed her hands again. “But I got his card before he left. It’s on my desk.”

  “Do you think there really is a connection? I mean, beyond just being at the retreat when Sally died?”

  Winnie dried her hands on a paper towel and then turned her attention to the cold items that needed to be packed into the cooler for the next rescue. “Thanks to Bridget and her nose for news, I know there’s a connection.”

  Renee met Winnie at the center island and took the ice cream from Winnie’s hands. “You get the portable burner, I’ll finish packing this stuff up.”

  “Thanks, Renee.” She made her way over to the pantry and the section she’d carved out for special equipment. Once she located the portable burner, she returned to the center island for her rescue bag and the cooler. “So now I know he attended the same special arts school where Sally worked for more than three decades. The other four did, too. But all that does is show prior knowledge of the victim. I’m going to need a whole lot more than that before I can finger her killer.”

  Glancing up at the clock, Renee patted the bag and then helped Winnie hoist it up and onto her shoulder. “You better go. I’ll call you if we get another order.”

  Chapter 12

  The second they stepped inside the entryway of Luigi’s, Winnie lifted her chin and savored the aromatic medley of warm bread, garlic, and marinara sauce. While she still preferred the now-defunct Mario’s for her weekly pizza night with Mr. Nelson, the newer, hipper Italian eatery was beginning to grow on them.

  “Mmmm . . . I say we get an order of garlic knots before our pizza.�
�� Winnie took in one more deep breath and then met her housemate’s smile with one of her own. “What do you say, Mr. Nelson? Are you in?”

  “Don’t gotta ask me twice.” Gesturing her forward with his non-cane-holding hand, he led the way past the vacant hostess stand and over to his preferred booth in front of the large picture window overlooking Main Street.

  When they were settled on their respective sides—Winnie with a view of the stationary dessert tray, and Mr. Nelson with a clear shot of the women coming in and out of the yoga studio next door—he tucked his cane underneath his feet. “I about fell over when Bridget told me she wouldn’t be joining us. Can’t remember a time her jaw hasn’t been flappin’ a mile a minute across this very table.”

  It was true. In the nearly two years since they’d established their weekly pizza night, none of them had missed an outing. They pointed to their shared love of pizza as the reason, but they all knew the tradition meant so much more. For Mr. Nelson, the outing was a chance to see and be seen. For Winnie, it was a chance to be waited on while enjoying time with two of her best friends. For Bridget, it was likely a tie between not wanting to miss something and knowing that, despite the ribbing she suffered at the hands of Mr. Nelson, she was treasured by both him and Winnie.

  A cloud of something Winnie couldn’t quite identify shifted across Mr. Nelson’s face, taking with it his normal jovial mood. “You ain’t keeping something from me, are you, Winnie Girl?”

  She paused the carafe of water above his empty glass. “Like what?”

  “Like maybe one of those winces she’s always making, or one of them pains she’s always yakking about, is something real?” His pale blue eyes moved between the water she’d added to his glass and the tabletop Parmesan cheese before slowly making their way back to hers. “She ain’t getting ready to check out on us, is she?”

  “If only Bridget were here now,” Winnie said, grinning. “If she was, she’d be able to see with her own two eyes that you care about her.”