Death of the Family Recipe (A Scotti Fitzgerald Murder Mystery Book 3)

by Anita Rodgers

  "Sure."

  "That night, I woke up to Ingrid screaming. I thought somebody was trying to kill her. So I jumped out of bed, grabbed a baseball bat and hauled ass into the living room."

  His eyes got a faraway look in them, like he’d time-traveled back to that moment. "What happened?"

  Ted grunted and said, "Nothing. Nobody there but her. She was sitting on the floor and stabbing my guitar with a butcher knife. Sawed off the strings, slashed the body, gouged it." His lip curled in disgust. "Crazy bitch destroyed it."

  I shivered at the image of Ingrid murdering Ted’s guitar "Why?"

  "It was payback for sleeping with Ginny." He shook his head. "Total bullshit. She knew I wasn’t cheating on her, especially not with my brother’s girlfriend. It had nothing to do with another woman. No, my sin was taking the spotlight away from her." He took my hand in both of his. "You see, babe. Ingrid doesn’t want me, she wants my attention. She wants everybody’s attention. And if she thinks you’re taking the attention away from her, she goes ape-shit."

  "Why did you stay with her?"

  Ted twisted his lips. "I didn’t much longer. She tried to convince me it was a one-time thing." He shook his head. "But even when you want to believe somebody, sometimes the facts won’t let you." He kneaded the back of his neck. "I joined the Army not long after that." He shrugged. "I knew she’d dump me if I left her for a war." He smirked. "The truth is I felt safer in a war zone than with her in the next room."

  I put my arms around him. "So, you really weren’t upset that she slept with your friend?"

  He made a sad face. "No, that stung like a bitch. I still cared about her. But any doubts I had about my decision were gone at that point."

  I looked at him. "What do you think? Is she just evil or is she sick? Mentally ill?"

  Ted shrugged. "I don’t know. She’s done a few rounds of rehab." He smirked. "They called it an eating disorder or body image disorder or some other bullshit." He shook his head. "Drugs. Alcohol. Mind games. You name it, she’s done it. And nothing seems to work."

  I sighed and lay my head on his shoulder. "Well, let’s hope Melinda’s brand of whoop-ass takes care of her."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Melinda and Zelda threw me a combination bridal shower and bachelorette party at my house. Ted was banished from the premises until we met at the altar the next day. I cycled between nervous, nauseous and excited. But whenever it got too bad, Zelda smacked me upside the head and stuffed a cupcake in my mouth. Friends, right?

  Ever the rebel, Zelda flaunted tradition and put together a treasure hunt as the main event. She drew maps, wrote directions and clues. So, trying to follow her clues, directions and maps, we all tramped through the house as I searched out gifts. Each time I found a gift, the girls downed shots of tequila — Zelda’s favorite rule. And since Zelda’s maps and directions were pretty bad, everybody got increasingly hammered as the search continued. And even the simplest things were hilariously funny. The finale of the evening was Melinda belting out a rousing performance of "Born to be Wild" — karaoke machine included.

  But due to the multitude of tequila shots, by ten o’clock the only two people left standing were me and Melinda. Zelda, queen of the tequila shots, slept where she fell, on the chaise lounge, poolside. I covered her with a blanket and went inside.

  Melinda, armed with blankets walked through the house, covering passed out guests as though it were normal. Although as a mother of six sons that kind of thing probably was normal to her. She was covering Ginny with a blanket when I walked into the living room. She brushed the hair off Ginny’s face and kissed her forehead, like a mother tucking in her child. I whispered, "Good work, Mom."

  Melinda smiled. "Thanks, daughter." She took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen and nudged me into a stool while she made tea. Then we drank our tea and listened to the crickets’ night song and the occasional tinkle of a wind chime. And it was lovely just to share the silence for a moment. "This is nice," I murmured.

  Melinda smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. "One more day of freedom."

  I chuckled and pointed. "Now I know where Ted got that move from."

  Melinda looked into my eyes. "No doubts? No cold feet?"

  I shook my head. "Nope. Actually, I miss him."

  Melinda liked that. "I’m sure he’s thinking about you too."

  I giggled. "I’m sure he’s hammered and passed out on Tom’s living room floor." I slid off my stool and pulled a tray of chocolate sour cream cupcakes out of the pantry. "I had to hide these from Zelda."

  Melinda snatched one and bit into it. "Yours are still better than mine. You do something else, don’t you? Something not in the recipe?"

  I wiggled my eyebrows. "That’s for me to know and you to find out."

  Melinda studied me for a moment. "Ted’s a lot like his father."

  I licked frosting off my fingers and said, "Oh?"

  Melinda waved a hand. "Oh Jim was hard on him. Too hard, sometimes. But Ted adored him." She smiled at my skeptical look. "Yes, I know what he says about his father, but part of that is because of guilt."

  I put down my cupcake. "For what?"

  Melinda used a napkin to wipe frosting off my nose. "Ted was in Afghanistan when Jim died. He was on a mission so he didn’t learn about Jim’s death until weeks later."

  I put my hand over my heart. "Oh, poor Ted."

  Melinda nodded. "He blamed himself for not being there for me, for us." She shrugged. "But we knew it was part of the life. The separation, missing things." She smiled and smoothed back my hair. "Thank God that’s behind him now. You won’t have to endure it, and I’m glad about that."

  For a moment I imagined Melinda back then — a military wife with small children and a husband overseas. The loneliness, the yearning, and the fear. "That must’ve been hard for you. All those years?"

  Melinda fluttered her hand. "What I mean about Ted being like his father — he’s one and done." I tilted my head, not understanding what she meant. Melinda blushed. "What I’m trying to say Scotti is that you’re Ted’s one. Just like I was Jim’s."

  Those few words touched me to my soul. "I am?"

  She took my hand and said, "I know I was hard on you at first. But it was so obvious how he felt about you." She took a napkin and daubed my tears. "It was never Ingrid. It was never anyone else. Only you." She grinned. "I just needed to know that he was your one too."

  I twisted my engagement ring and smiled. "And when did you figure that out?"

  Melinda shrugged. "I’m not sure. The little things about you just started to add up — how happy you were to help, to cook, hiring Matt to help you with your business. Then that cake you made for Tom and Ginny and the way you were with the girls that day. I could see what a good heart you have." She blushed. "At the anniversary party, I watched you with Ted when you didn’t know anyone was looking. You were so sweet together. Later when we were around the table, everybody talking at once, passing food, clanging silverware — the usual pandemonium." She squeezed my hand. "You looked at him, just for second, like you were the luckiest woman in the world. That’s when I knew for sure."

  "I feel like I am the luckiest woman in the world." I took her hand and said, "I promise you, I love Ted more than anything. And all I want to do is make him happy."

  Melinda rolled her eyes and twittered. "Look at us being such sob sisters. Drink your tea. You need your beauty sleep if you’re going to marry my son tomorrow ."

  <<>>

  The next morning, when the girls stumbled into the kitchen, I had glasses of my secret hangover cocktail in tumblers waiting for them. Then Melinda fed them toast, home fries and pancakes. While we ate we passed around my phone and howled over the drunken bridesmaid pictures.

  After breakfast, we had a quick fashion show of the girls in their dresses. They were beautiful and I cried. I couldn’t believe they’d found so many matching dresses. Then Zelda smacked me upside the head and told me Melinda had them custom ma
de to compliment my wedding dress. Then I cried again — because, you know, hormones and wedding day jitters.

  After the fashion show, the party was officially over. The dresses were returned to their garment bags and left in Zelda’s custody to be transported to Melinda’s for the wedding that evening. The girls changed back into their jeans and tee shirts, then blowing kisses and waving goodbye, deserted me.

  Before she left, Melinda said, "Zelda promise me you’ll have Scotti at the house by four. We don’t want her to be late to her own wedding, do we?"

  Zelda nodded. "No problem Melinda, I can take her if she tries anything cute."

  Melinda nodded, blew me a kiss and said, "I have to run, if I don’t get there before they deliver that ice sculpture it’ll be a disaster."

  I stared at Zelda. "Ice sculpture?" I clutched her hand. "Do you think she ordered swans and doves too?"

  Zelda cackled. "God, I hope so."

  Chapter Seventeen

  When we got to Melinda’s it was a madhouse; catering trucks, florists, furniture rentals, event workers — if there was an industry involved in weddings, it was represented. Dressed in sweats and hot rollers, Melinda had a phone stuck to her ear. "No, we don’t have enough chairs. I ordered one hundred and twenty-five and I have one hundred and eleven. Well, that’s not my problem. I don’t care what you have to do, get me those chairs." She ended the call. "The nerve."

  I made a little finger wave. "Hi."

  Melinda smiled briefly, then grabbed a pimply-faced kid in an rental company uniform passing by. "You, go to the jeep in the driveway and start unpacking. Carefully." She held up a finger. "Very carefully. Do you understand?"

  The kid gulped and nodded. "Yes, ma’am."

  Melinda pointed to Zelda. "Don’t just stand there, show him where the jeep is parked."

  Zelda raised her eyebrows at me then led the guy outside. Melinda hugged me then whisked me up the stairs. "You, young lady are late. But we’ll make you the most beautiful bride that ever lived."

  "Melinda, you’re scaring me."

  "I know darling, but you’ll get used to it." She opened the door to the guest room and nudged me inside. "I’ll see you in a little while."

  Four women charged with the mission of making me the most beautiful bride in history stared at me with determination. I recoiled. "Hi."

  Those ladies wasted no time in working me like a side of beef that needed to be chopped, separated and packaged. First a twenty-minute massage to relax me. Followed by an ice cold shower to brighten the skin. While I received a seaweed and aloe facial, I got manicured and pedicured. Someone fed me mineral water through a straw while she murmured, "Think peaceful, cleansing thoughts."

  Once the cucumber slices were off my eyes and the facial gook rinsed off my face, I spotted Zelda smirking at me. "Damn this bride thing has it’s perks."

  "Are the dresses here?"

  "Yeah, in the other room."

  "Is everyone getting ready?" She nodded. "Except you?"

  She smacked her forehead. "I knew I was forgetting something. Be back later."

  I leaned out of my chair. "Bring me a cookie?."

  The facialist pushed me back and shook her head sternly. "No food. Mineral water. You get married, then you eat."

  Zelda chuckled. "Good luck, roomie."

  "No Zee, don’t leave me."

  Satisfied, they’d whipped my body into shape, the facialist and masseuse left me in the hands of the stylist and makeup artist.

  The hair stylist, a tall flashy redhead, grabbed up a handful of my hair and frowned. "Are we sticking with the curls?"

  "Yes."

  The makeup lady, a stern Vietnamese lady with delicate hands, said, "No talking."

  The stylist looped a curl around her finger and studied it. "Because I could flat iron these corkscrews in no time."

  Sure, I wanted to look just like Ingrid on my wedding day. "No," I mumbled out of the side of my mouth. "Curls, definitely curls. A simple up-do."

  The stylist wrinkled her nose. "How about a French braid, that’s very popular for weddings."

  I yanked my head. "No!"

  The makeup lady who was plucking my eyebrows said, "No talking."

  I covered my eyebrow with my hand. "Go easy on the tweezing – I don’t want to be surprise-bride."

  The makeup lady put down her tweezers and stared at my mouth. "We must wax upper lip."

  I jumped out of my chair and flapped my arms at them. "No, no, no and no." They stared blankly. I pointed at the makeup lady and said, "No waxing or plucking. Just nice, simple makeup. I’m not the bride of Frankenstein. Okay?"

  Then I turned on the stylist. "And when I say curls. I mean curls. I don’t mean maybe curls or not curls at all. I mean curls. A simple up-do with my curls tumbling down. Got it?"

  The stylist nodded. "May I ask if you’re wearing a veil?"

  "No veil. One rose in the hair. That is all."

  Melinda ducked into the room — stunning with her hair in soft waves and subtle makeup that brought out her eyes and cheekbones. The periwinkle Chanel suit she’d chosen fit her perfectly. She looked like the one who should be getting married. "How are we doing ladies?"

  I tried to see past the hands buzzing around my head. "Where’s my dress? Where’s Zelda?"

  Zelda swept into the room with my dress in a garment bag. "Chill out drama queen, I’m right here."

  Stunned, I stared at her. "Zee, look how pretty you are. Does everybody look this great? Except for me, because I look like a freak show."

  Zelda laid garment bag gently on the bed, then put her hand on my shoulder. "Breathe, hon. You’re doing fine."

  Melinda smiled and went to the door. "I’ll be back in a little while."

  Despite my wincing and asking Zelda every thirty seconds how I looked, the makeup lady and the hair stylist finished quickly. Frazzled, they wished me luck and left.

  Zelda unzipped the garment bag, slid out my dress carefully and held it up. "Ready?" Thrumming with nerves, I stepped into the dress, terrified it wouldn’t fit. But Zelda buttoned me up and smoothed down the hem without any seams ripping. She helped me into my shoes and said, "Okay. You’re officially a bride to be."

  The dress was my something old. The sapphire earrings from Melinda my something blue. My something new was the garter belt from the shower. I frowned. "I don’t have something borrowed."

  Zelda grinned and winked. "I knew you’d forget something. Getting married really eats up those brain cells, don’t it?"

  I sighed. "I know you’re trying to make me laugh but it’s not working."

  "Okay Grumpy McGrumperson, turn around." I bit my lip and winced. Zelda rotated her finger. "Turn around."

  I sighed and turned around, hoping it wasn’t some kind of practical joke. Then Zelda draped a pendant around my neck and clasped it at the back. In all the world there was one possession Zelda had that came from her family — her Gram’s cameo. Strung on a simple gold chain the pale peach pendant was the perfect compliment to my wedding dress. Tears welled in my carefully made-up eyes. "Oh Zee, I can’t."

  "Just shut up and say thank you." She turned me around to face the mirror. "Looks good. You look good. You’re one beautiful bride, roomie."

  It was a miracle, but she was right. I looked good. I looked the way I wanted to look. We stood shoulder to shoulder admiring our reflections probably because we knew we’d never look that good again. "We did it."

  "Yup."

  Melinda came through the door and stopped when she saw me. With her hand to her heart she said, "Scotti, you really are the most beautiful bride in the world." She took my hands and studied me. "Poor Ted doesn’t have a chance now."

  A soft rap sounded at the door. "Father of the bride has come a-callin’." Joe opened the door and stepped inside looking like a million bucks in a dark navy tux — bowtie and all.

  I fanned my face with my hand. "Well Joe Enders if you don’t look like a bona fide dreamboat, I don’t know who d
oes."

  Joe blushed. "Oh, go on."

  <<>>

  The wedding was staged in the backyard. The ceremony in Melinda’s rose garden, under a wedding pergola, strung with string lights and flanked by urns of white and lavender roses. White chairs were fanned in a semi-circle for guests, with a white linen runner going up the center to mark the aisle.

  On the other side of the yard, a tented reception hall was set up with tables, chairs, a dance floor and bar. Already, waiters were finalizing the buffet and I could see the top of my wedding cake displayed at the front of the room. I was in awe of Melinda, whose talent for resources made Ted look like an amateur.