Dial M for Mousse

by Laura Bradford

Renee looked at Winnie over top of her pizza slice. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “She’s the puppeteer staying out at the retreat center.”

  “Did she have her puppet with her?” Renee asked.

  “No.”

  Renee took a bite and then paused, her cheek full. “I thought it was kind of weird the way she was moving that puppet’s mouth when she was reacting to Sally’s death. Like the puppet was talking for her.”

  “I know. I thought that, too.” Winnie closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to simply take in the night air. “But maybe it was force of habit. Kind of like it is for me when we eat dessert out at a restaurant and I start critiquing it, ingredient by ingredient. What I do know for certain is that she was none too pleased when I brought up her connection to the victim.”

  The gentle creak of Bridget’s rocker came to a stop. “The same connection they all had to the victim.”

  “I wonder if they knew one another prior to this week,” Winnie mused. “I mean, I know they didn’t all attend the school at the same time—some were long graduated before the others attended—but I wonder if they knew each other from schoolwide reunions or something.”

  Bridget scanned the floor of the porch until she located Lovey and then patted the cat up and onto her lap. “I was wondering the same thing earlier this evening, so I did a little checking on the school. Seems they have a strong alumni network that not only supports the school financially, but also benefits the students in terms of networking and, sometimes, getting that first big break after graduation.”

  “So maybe they know each other that way?” Winnie suggested.

  “Maybe. Hard to know without asking them directly.”

  Winnie looked up at the stars and tried to imagine Jay looking out at the same ones in California. Then again, it could still be considered dinnertime on the West Coast . . .

  Shaking the interloping image of Jay and his ex-wife laughing together across a white linen tablecloth from her thoughts, she willed herself to remain focused, to be in the conversation happening on the porch rather than the one in her head. “Based on how that worked with the mime and the puppeteer, I’m not holding out hope we’d get anything useful.”

  “But you asked them when leaving was an option, didn’t you?”

  She gave Renee her full attention. “Meaning?”

  “Didn’t you say you asked the good-looking one if he knew Sally prior to this week while he was sitting on the edge of the lake bed?” At Winnie’s nod, Renee continued, stopping every few words to chew her latest bite of pizza. “He didn’t have to stay . . . so he didn’t. Sounds like that was the case this evening with Abby, too.”

  Mr. Nelson pointed the end of his cane at Winnie. “She’s right, Winnie Girl. When you asked her about that school, she hadn’t ordered yet. In fact, she hadn’t even sat down yet. So it was easy for her to just go.”

  It made sense. But really, what was the alternative? Tie them down before she asked them certain questions?

  “I get what you’re saying, but a person can walk away from a conversation anytime they want, can’t they?”

  Bridget stopped rocking once again, earning Winnie a death glare from Lovey in the process. “Not if those questions come in a public forum.”

  “What kind of a public forum?”

  “Well, like Beans, for starters.”

  She stared at her neighbor. “Beans? What on earth could Beans possibly have to do with any of this? Besides the fact that I’m now craving a mug of their coffee?”

  “It’s summertime, Winnie.” Bridget resumed the steady pace of her chair much to Lovey’s delight.

  “And?”

  “Tomorrow is open mic night at Beans.”

  “Okay . . .

  “The owners have asked Mr. Masterson to serve as emcee for the event.”

  She sat up straight as Bridget’s words registered. “As in Ned Masterson, the comedian?”

  “One and the same.”

  She took a moment to process the news, but it was Renee’s voice that brought it home. “Maybe you could ask whatever question you want during the Q and A they always do in the middle of the show.”

  “Ain’t gonna be easy to turn tail and run when you’ve got a coffee shop of people hanging on your every word.” Mr. Nelson cleared his throat, straightened his bow tie, and gestured toward the popcorn bowl Bridget had set on the floor beside her purse. When Renee passed it to him, he acknowledged her gesture with a wink.

  “This is perfect!” Winnie declared, rising to her feet. “I mean, I know that only helps with one of them, but one is better than none at this point.”

  Renee worked her pizza down to the crust and then pointed it in Winnie’s general direction. “Come Saturday afternoon, you’ll have two.”

  “Two?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  Renee gnawed on the crust for a moment and then dropped it onto her paper plate. “Well, I’m kind of hoping I can talk you into helping me with an impromptu party I’ve decided to throw for Ty.”

  “Ty’s birthday isn’t until October,” she reminded her friend.

  “I know. But he’s been through a lot this year with the divorce and the split time between Bob and me. I thought a just-because day with his friends might be a nice thing to do.”

  Winnie wandered closer to Renee and met the woman’s eyes with the reassuring smile she knew was needed. “I think it’s a fabulous idea. I’ll help in whatever way you need me to—just name it.”

  “Desserts?”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “An extra pair of eyes?”

  “Done.”

  “Pick up and return the entertainer I hired?”

  “You hired an entertainer?” Winnie repeated.

  Pitching forward on her rocking chair, Bridget reached into the back pocket of her jeans, pulled out a small rectangular card, and handed it to Winnie. “You told me you put this on your desk and I couldn’t resist checking it out.”

  Winnie took the card and held it up to the porch light, a smile spreading across her face as she read the words aloud. “‘George Watkins. Mime. Birthday parties, corporate events, retirement parties, special events . . .’”

  Chapter 14

  She was less than a foot from the Dessert Squad, with Lovey in tow, when she heard the telltale thump of his cane as he stepped onto the porch from their shared vestibule. Turning, Winnie balanced her latest rescue on her right forearm and waved.

  “Good morning, Mr. Nelson. I didn’t hear you snoring last night. Did you sleep okay?”

  Poking his head beyond the porch rail, he shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Where you off to this morning?”

  “A dessert rescue.” She lifted the plated cake level with her face and then set it on the top of the ambulance. “It’s a kuchen.”

  “A what?”

  “A kuchen—like a coffee cake of sorts.”

  He nodded. “And whatcha calling it? For your rescue?”

  “A Kootchy-Kootchy-Koo Kuchen.” She glanced at her wristwatch and willed herself to relax. After all, she always padded her departure time in case of an unexpected delay. “My customer apparently needs a bit of cheering up. So I’m delivering an edible tickle.”

  “A pickle? Who orders a pickle?” Mr. Nelson shouted.

  Winnie tapped her ear and waited for Mr. Nelson to get the point. He, in turn, fiddled with his hearing aids. When she saw his hand drop back to his side, she repeated the misheard word. “I’m delivering an edible tickle.”

  In lieu of his usual nod, he caned his way down the stairs and over to Winnie. “I was thinking about your little dilemma last night, Winnie Girl.”

  Keenly aware of her decreasing delivery window, she retrieved the dessert from the roof of
the ambulance and carried it around to the back of the rig. “What dilemma is that, Mr. Nelson?” She unlatched the back door, set the dessert inside its waiting container, and secured her rescue bag in a holder to its left.

  “Trying to find out things from people who don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Meaning?”

  Mr. Nelson trailed her back around to the driver’s-side door. “The mime, the puppeteer—them folks.”

  With a snap of her hand, she opened her door to admit Lovey, and then slid into position behind the steering wheel. “That’s going to change, remember? I’m going to hit up Open Mic Night at Bean’s tonight to see what I can find out from the comedian, and then I’ve got Ty’s party on Saturday with the mime.”

  “But that’s only two of ’em. You’ve got three more, don’t you?”

  She pulled her keys out of the inside pocket Bridget had sewn into her uniform top and inserted the correct key into the ignition. “True, but opportunities haven’t presented themselves for those three . . . yet.”

  “I can help.”

  A vibration from the same pocket had her reaching for her phone and checking the text display.

  You’re going to be late!

  She leaned forward enough to catch a view of her second-floor window and, sure enough, Renee was looking down at them. “Mr. Nelson, you don’t need to worry about this stuff. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I want to help. I’m not any good at computers like Bridget is, so I can’t do none of that inline research stuff she’s always babbling on and on about.”

  “Online,” she corrected.

  His brows furrowed. “Huh?”

  “You just referenced Bridget’s research. Only you said ‘inline’ instead of ‘online,’ and it’s online.”

  “Online, inline, offline—it’s still like listening to a foreign language to me. I know nothing about that stuff.” Something about the lack of sparkle in his eye caught Winnie off guard, but before she could inquire about it, he continued, his voice void of its usual happy lilt. “And I don’t have a kid to throw a party for like Ms. Ballentine does. But that don’t mean I can’t help. Why, I can—”

  Winnie looked from Renee, to Lovey, and back to Renee, before coming up with just the right words. “Mr. Nelson, trust me, your comic relief last night helped tremendously. There’s enough heaviness in the world these days. Being able to inject the kind of lightness that makes people laugh the way you do? That’s a gift. One I treasure.”

  “I just know you’ve got a lot on your plate, Winnie Girl, what with your business . . . and your young fella . . . and . . .”

  She knew he was still talking. She could see his mouth moving out of the corner of her eye. But the moment he referenced Jay, her thoughts were off and running.

  On yet another night that came and went without a call . . .

  On the blanks her brain had insisted on filling in while she tossed and turned through the night . . .

  On—

  Her phone vibrated in her hand.

  You have five minutes to get across town!

  Tossing the device onto the seat alongside Lovey, she turned the key and listened to the answering hum of the engine. “Mr. Nelson, I really have to go.”

  “But I—”

  Another vibration.

  Go!

  “Why don’t you go inside, Mr. Nelson, and turn on the news. Maybe you’ll get an early sighting of your favorite weather girl.” Reaching across the gap between her body and the open door, Winnie wrapped her hands around the handle and pulled it closed. Then, slipping the gearshift into reverse with her right hand, she blew a kiss to her housemate as she maneuvered the ambulance off the driveway and onto Serenity Lane.

  A kiss he didn’t catch, or return.

  • • •

  She was halfway to the ambulance when the jingle of her phone from deep inside her purse mocked her full hands.

  “Great, just great,” she murmured. Shifting the plastic dry cleaning bag and the uniform tops it contained from her left hand to her right forearm, she fumbled inside her purse until she had a visual of the phone’s screen.

  Renee . . .

  She contemplated letting it go to voice mail, but her curiosity won out. “Hey, Renee, what’s up? I swung through the grocery store to replenish the ingredient cabinet and now I’m just leaving the dry cleaners. We’ll be back at the house in about ten minutes—twenty if we stop for a milkshake at Jake’s.”

  “If you do, get me banana.” Renee paused and then rushed to amend her order. “Wait! No! Make it a peanut butter chocolate chunk shake.”

  At the ambulance, Winnie nodded at Lovey through the partially open driver’s-side window and then carried the dry cleaning around to the back. “Text that to me when we get off so I don’t get up to the counter and order banana.” Wedging the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, she opened the gate and thrust her uniforms inside.

  “Roger that.”

  She made her way back around the ambulance, unlocked her door, and slid in behind the steering wheel before Lovey got any bright ideas. “So if you’re calling to check on the delivery—it went well.”

  “Your driveway gabfest didn’t make you too late, did it?”

  “Thankfully, no. Thanks, no doubt, to the traffic light gods who kept things green the whole way there. I pulled into the woman’s driveway two minutes ahead of schedule.”

  “I’ll take credit for that,” Renee said. “The way you two were yakking, I suspect you’d still be here if I hadn’t pestered you with those text messages.”

  Winnie inserted the key into the ignition and listened as the engine hummed to life. “Yeah, thank you for that. Though, I think I might have hurt Mr. Nelson’s feelings by running out on him the way I did.”

  “Puh-lease. Like you could ever do anything to get that man upset with you.”

  “Said the pot to the kettle.” Yet even as the retort left her mouth, she knew Renee was right. Mr. Nelson enjoyed flirting with Renee, but he treated Winnie like gold. “Maybe I should pick up a shake for him, too. Strawberry.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Hang on a sec, I’m putting you on speaker so I can drive.” She hit the Speaker button, set the phone down next to Lovey, and piloted the car toward Main Street. “Okay . . . so where were we?”

  “The shake for Mr. Nelson. I wouldn’t bother. He’s not here,” Renee repeated around a yawn. “Master Sergeant Hottie showed up about twenty minutes after you left.”

  At the mouth of the parking lot, Winnie turned left and headed toward Jake’s. “Did Greg say what he wanted?”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm . . .” She felt the smile spreading across her face and confirmed it in the rearview mirror. “The Dessert Squad wasn’t in the driveway, so if he came inside it wasn’t to see me . . .”

  “I may drift off to sleep to fantasies like that, but in the cold light of day I’m not blind. You might be, but I’m not.”

  She slowed as Jake’s Milkshake Shack came into view and silently marveled at the way Lovey (an ice-cream enthusiast thanks to Mr. Nelson) placed her front paws on the driver’s-side door and peered out at their destination as if she knew . . .

  “Winnie? You still there?”

  “Um . . . yeah. Sorry. I was distracted by Lovey. She’s like a savant when it comes to Jake’s.”

  “Smart cat. Anyway, when are you going to realize Master Sergeant Hottie only has eyes for you?”

  “You’re nuts, Renee. Greg knows I’m with Jay and he gets it. You know this. We’ve been over it a bazillion times.” She flipped on her blinker, turned into the drive-thru lane of Jake’s, and took her place in line. “Maybe it’s like I said—maybe he was there to see you.”

  The car at the front of the line placed an order and moved forward, prompting Winnie and the rest
of the order line to move up one car length.

  Getting closer . . .

  “Considering he didn’t come upstairs, I highly doubt it.”

  She stopped salivating and concentrated on her friend. “Then why was he there?” she asked.

  “To pick up Mr. Nelson.”

  There was no denying the dread that ignited in Winnie’s chest and spread outward to every nook and cranny of her body. “Wh-what happened? Is he okay? Did . . . did he fall?” A movie reel of worst-case scenarios fast-forwarded through her mind’s eye, making it difficult to breathe. “It was that damn top step, wasn’t it? The one from the sidewalk onto the porch?”

  “Whoa. Slow down, Winnie—”

  “Please tell me he was lucid, please?”

  “Good grief, Winnie, relax! Master Sergeant Hottie wasn’t here in an official capacity. He wasn’t wearing his paramedic garb, he wasn’t driving the ambulance, he wasn’t here like that at all.”

  Relief sagged Winnie against the seat back. “Thank God.”

  “He parked at the curb, walked toward the house in all his hotness, and disappeared out of my sight line,” Renee explained amid another pair of yawns. “By the time I located anything even remotely resembling lipstick in your bathroom cabinet, I heard him back out on the front walkway again. With Mr. Nelson.”

  Winnie inched the Dessert Squad up until she was next in line for the order window. “Where were they going?”

  “Since I’m not the one on Sergeant Hottie’s personal speed dial, I can’t answer that. I wish I was, so I could . . . but I’m not, so I can’t.” Renee’s voice lowered for a moment, indicating a shift in position of some sort. “You there yet?”

  “There?”

  A sigh filled her ear. “At Jake’s, dummy.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I’m next in line to order.”

  A notable silence filled the cabin, followed by a quick vibration atop Lovey’s seat. Leaning over, Winnie fixed her gaze on the seconds-old text message.

  PB Choc Chunk. Large.

  Chapter 15

  They were a little over a mile from home when Winnie’s phone vibrated next to a milkshake-staring Lovey. Keeping her eyes on the road, she reached over and hit the Speaker button.