Murder Wears White

by Stephanie Blackmoore

  There was Angela, standing with Whitney in a professional kitchen. Whitney couldn’t have been more than three. She was perched on a stool to reach the height of the stainless-steel counter. She was grinning at her aunt and stirring something in a bowl. Angela wore white chef’s garb, including a poufy, mushroom-top cap. I drew in my breath and glanced around to make sure no one had viewed my reaction.

  I let the slideshow commence and stopped it again at the last picture. It was of Whitney’s christening, when she was a tiny, bouncing baby. Her mother, Vanessa, and her father, Porter, cradled their daughter in their arms at the front of the Presbyterian Church. The little nuclear family was flanked on either side by aunts Lois and Angela. A bit of purple and white gleamed at Angela’s throat, peeking out from behind her red blouse like a little plum hummingbird. It was the amethyst pendant.

  My veins turned to ice, and I swiveled around, looking for the restaurant owner. I spotted her in the hallway, conversing with an exhausted Porter, her hand on her brother’s shoulder.

  He hasn’t realized it. Vanessa had so much jewelry, Porter hadn’t known. Beware the Aquarian. Purple was Vanessa’s signature color, and she loved amethyst. But it was also Angela’s birthstone.

  “Son of a gun.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “What a magnificent reception. I knew I made the right decision recommending Whitney marry here rather than at the Senator Hotel.” Angela clasped my hand in hers and gazed into my eyes intently.

  “It’s been a long day.” I took a step back from her and pasted on a nervous smile. “But a fantastic one. I’m so happy for Whitney.”

  A horn honked in front of the house, and the last few guests rushed out onto the porch to watch Whitney and Ian depart. Angela and I moved to the flung-open front doors in time to see Ian give Whitney a dramatic kiss on the front walkway.

  “Whoop!” The guests clapped and cheered, and Whitney threw her bouquet jubilantly behind her. Becca, no doubt still feeling out of sorts from her attack, made a feeble attempt to catch it and missed, but my sister executed a graceful dive and popped up standing, holding the bouquet triumphantly.

  Ian held the door open for his bride in the old-fashioned limousine, and she climbed in, laughing as she tried to squeeze the yards of champagne satin into the small bucket seat. Ian took his place behind the wheel, and they jaunted off into the crisp November night, to the chorus and call of the guests.

  People began leaving, and I retreated to the hall with Angela, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms. Rachel stood outside, talking to my mom.

  “It’s a shame the amethyst seems to have, er, passed from Bruce by the time he was found.” I carefully studied Angela, and her hawkish eyes flinched.

  “It is a shame. If you’ll excuse me.” I’m running out of time. She wheeled around, and I caught her wrist.

  “I saw the picture of you wearing the amethyst. It was yours, not Vanessa’s.”

  “So? That is irrelevant.” But a flicker of concern danced across her eyes and furrowed her brow.

  “I read the police report from Garrett. It was found in Vanessa’s pocket, with the chain broken. As if she’d pulled it off in a struggle.” A struggle overheard by five-year-old Whitney.

  “Vanessa Scanlon was a dirty jewel thief.” Angela drew herself up to her full, prodigious height. “She must have stolen it from me. I don’t have to stay here and listen to this.”

  Garrett spotted me from across the room. His eyes went wide, and he gave me the barest of nods.

  “I think you should hear what I have to say. Some of the jewels and money stolen from the Senator were taken from the dining room. That was your purview, as head cook, not Vanessa’s in housekeeping. You worked together, didn’t you?”

  Angela edged closer to the copse of trees flanking the house, as if measuring the distance and calculating whether to break out in a run.

  “Vanessa was a flake and a child,” Angela stammered. “She wanted to run off with that silly painter Eugene, and she wouldn’t give me my cut from our final heist. I threatened to tell my brother, Porter, about the affair, but Vanessa didn’t care. Lois was already going to inform Porter and had tried to blackmail her. I needed that money to get out from under my family’s thumb at the hotel and open my own restaurant.” Her eyes were narrow slits, and her neck muscles twanged. “How did you figure it out?”

  “You stopped wearing white the day you murdered Vanessa. You never cooked in your chef garb again, right? You’re always so exquisitely dressed, even when you taught our cooking class. But Whitney saw you that day. You wore white.”

  She laughed, and a chill slid down my vertebrae. “I stopped cooking in white because it was impractical. It shows every stain. Besides, no one will ever believe you.” She pulled a tiny pistol out of her purse and ground the tip between my ribs.

  I gasped and tried to pull away, but she was taller and stronger and wrapped her arm around my middle.

  “Keep walking.” We were edging closer and closer to the woods.

  “You stole Bruce, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I had to pick through that mutt’s excrement for three days until I found the amethyst, which I should have looked for a lot more thoroughly when I murdered Vanessa. It’s at the bottom of the Monongahela now. A pity. I did love it. And I had to knock out Becca. I didn’t expect anyone to be home. It’s a shame she woke up. I took her ring to make it look like a robbery. I took the letters as well, to try to figure out what ridiculous person was claiming Eugene didn’t kill Vanessa.”

  I gasped. “You broke into Garrett’s office to see what kind of a defense he’d built all those years ago for Eugene! They thought a professional picked the locks, and you were a professional thief.”

  Angela nodded, and the moon glinted off her silver watch. “I tore up Whitney’s room as well.” She winced at this admission. “I didn’t want to hurt my niece, but I couldn’t have her poking around in Port Quincy, looking into her mother’s death. I hoped she’d cancel the wedding and go back to Baltimore. And now you’re next.”

  A snap sounded in the woods behind me, and I bit Angela’s wrist as hard as I could.

  “Arrgh!” Angela threw me off of her and booked it for her car, shucking her high heels along the way. Her long legs covered the ground quickly. She pressed her key fob and threw herself behind the wheel of her Audi. It sprang to life, and she peeled out of the driveway.

  “She’s getting away!” I gasped for breath and motioned for Garrett to follow me. He caught up to me and grabbed my hand, pulling me along. I ran so hard I tasted blood at the back of my throat.

  “Arf! Arf!” Maisie ran after us, yapping and barking, thinking it was a game.

  We jumped into the Butterscotch Monster, and Garrett turned around. “Oh no, Maisie, we don’t have time.”

  I ignored him and pulled out with the dog barking her head off in the backseat and caught up with Angela at a breakneck speed. She turned down side roads with a squeal of her tires, trying to shake me, and I followed, the old Volvo gamely keeping up.

  Finally we reached the water. Angela pulled her car up next to the dock astride the Monongahela and hesitated beside her door.

  “Just give it up,” Garrett counseled out the window. He slowly approached her and spoke in a calm voice. “It’s no use, Angela.”

  “I’m not sticking around to be hauled in after all these years.” A crazy light danced in Angela’s eyes, and she stood on the dock, panting in her panty hose.

  A horn sounded, and a disembodied voice echoed over the water.

  “All aboard!” The last ferry crossing the river was pulling away. Angela raised the small silver pistol as she backed up the ramp.

  “No!” Garrett hid me behind him, and her shot went wide.

  “Perfect timing!” Angela sneered and leaped onto the boat as they pulled up the gangplank.

  “She’s getting away,” I moaned, as Garrett pulled me to my feet.

  A blur of blinding white leaped
from the dock and attached itself to Angela’s heel.

  “Maisie!”

  The little Westie hung onto Angela with the ferocity of a wolf.

  “Stop! You’re hurting me!” Angela looked at her leg and the dog attached and fervently kicked her heel. A spot of blood appeared on her ankle, like a burst maraschino cherry, and trickled down her foot. Angela yelped and fell into the drink.

  The wail of a police car pierced the air. Faith jumped out of the passenger side and ran to the edge of the dock. She leaned over and fished out the Westie, but let Angela stew in the water for a bit.

  “Help me! I can’t swim!” She bobbed up and down for a moment until Truman hauled her out. She kneeled in a wet, bleeding, howling mess on the dock while passengers on the ferry snapped photos of the mêlée with their smartphones.

  “All’s well that ends well.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Three weeks later, I met Whitney at the Senator Hotel for brunch. She had returned from her honeymoon in Mexico and appeared sun-kissed and relaxed.

  “I’m still shaken up about Aunt Angela.” She set down her spoon and peered out the window at the Monongahela, only a few blocks from where it all went down. “I’ve learned that my mother was no saint, but Angela had no right to take her from me.”

  “But at least now you’ll have your father’s health.”

  Porter was making a quick recovery, now that the arsenic Angela had been poisoning him with had been found in her house. Her poor husband had mysteriously died after a long, unsolvable illness much like Porter’s and was going to be exhumed to find out if she’d poisoned him as well.

  “I’ll miss the Westies.” I wouldn’t have minded fostering the pooches indefinitely, and I’d enjoyed keeping them while Whit and Ian were on their honeymoon. Soda the kitten had delighted in their stay as well, although Whiskey the calico was glad to see them go.

  “I have a surprise for you.” Whit’s eyes twinkled. “Ian and I are moving to Port Quincy! Life is too short, and we want to be around Dad. Ian is going to take over Hunter’s position at the Senator managing security, and I’ll be taking over Lois’s tasks in HR.”

  I beamed at my friend. “I’m glad you’re coming home, Whit.” And I was glad to be home, too. I’d just returned from a three-day wedding venue conference and hadn’t been back to Thistle Park. I’d received a text while at lunch with Whitney that my mother’s final surprise was ready. I hurried back and met Rachel in the hall, and we waited for my mother.

  “Surprise!” Mom led Rachel and me up to the third floor and dramatically threw open the door. The space had been transformed to the beautiful, warm, tropical design she’d first presented for the first floor.

  “How did you do this?” I threw my arms around my mother, and Rachel ran from room to room, exclaiming over the repurposed space. It was a gorgeous apartment, cozy and airy and bright and relaxing. Whimsically patterned furniture in a rainbow of sherbet colors was scattered about. The walls were awash in soft shades of yellow and cheerful hues of turquoise. Lush, verdant flowers and plants filled the windowsills. Antique glass ornaments from around Thistle Park sparkled on shelves. Thoughtful pictures of my trips to visit my family in Florida nestled among vintage framed postcards from the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean. It would be a welcome haven, separate from the business part of the house. My mother had listened and taken to heart my exclamation that her original design would be the perfect thing for the third floor.

  “I did this while you went to the wedding expo. I just want you girls to be happy, honey.”

  We walked from room to room in awe.

  “I have another announcement.” She cleared her throat and crossed the room to clasp Doug’s hand. The two wore matching electric-blue ensembles today with Mom in her sweater set and Doug in his polo shirt.

  “We’re moving back to Pennsylvania! We’ve decided to unretire and claim Port Quincy as our home.”

  Rachel and I looked at each other and beamed.

  “We knew it. We knew you’d caught the decorating bug again and wanted to stay.” The four of us spent the day together in the newly refurbished apartment and counted our good fortunes. It was wonderful to be surrounded by my family.

  The next day Garrett and I pulled up in front of the Presbyterian Church right before our official first date. We parked behind an old beat-up white pickup truck and swung open the heavy doors to the church. The smell of fresh paint wafted down the aisle.

  Eugene put down his paintbrush and gave me a bone-crushing hug, then one for Garrett.

  “My sister saved my pickup for me for ten years. Can you believe it?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and we all stepped back from the mural. He was painting the scene with the lambs anew, but it looked different from before. In this mural there was a stormy sky on the left, and the lambs were led to safety and the sunshine and peace that filled the other end of the frame.

  “I can’t wait for you to come to Thistle Park and finish the mural there,” I smiled.

  “Me too.” Eugene touched up the golden rays of the sun in the mural. “It feels good to let the light shine.”

  Recipes

  CHINESE FIVE-SPICE APPLE TARTS

  Crust

  1½ cups flour

  2 teaspoons sugar

  1 teaspoon salt

  1½ sticks butter cut into small pieces

  cup ice water

  Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Combine flour, salt, and sugar in a bowl. Mix in butter pieces with your fingers until the mixture resembles coarse sand. Add ice water. Form dough into a ball. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for half an hour. Roll the dough out on a floured surface, adding flour if necessary. Use a small plate to cut out 12 tart circles. Place each circle in an individual section of a greased muffin tin and trim edges.

  Filling

  5 apples, peeled, cored, and diced

  1 cup brown sugar

  4 tablespoons flour

  1 tablespoon Chinese five-spice powder

  1 stick of butter, cut into 12 small pats

  Mix brown sugar, flour, and Chinese five-spice powder together in a bowl. Mix in apple pieces. Spoon mixture into tart shells in muffin tin. Dot each tart with a pat of butter.

  Bake for 25 minutes or until tart shells are golden and apples are soft.

  PUMPKIN RUM CAKE

  1½ cups granulated sugar

  1 cup brown sugar

  2 sticks butter

  3 eggs

  2 cups pumpkin

  3 cups flour

  2 teaspoons baking soda

  1½ teaspoons cinnamon

  1 teaspoon nutmeg

  1 teaspoon ginger

  ¾ teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon ground cloves

  ½ teaspoon allspice

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Beat granulated sugar, brown sugar, and butter in a bowl. Add eggs and beat well. Add pumpkin and beat well. Combine flour, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, salt, cloves, and allspice in a separate bowl. Slowly add flour mixture to pumpkin mixture, mixing well. Bake mixture in greased Bundt pan for approximately 65 to 70 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean. Cool for 10 minutes and invert cake.

  Rum Glaze

  1 stick butter

  ¾ cup sugar

  3 tablespoons water

  ¼ cup rum

  Combine butter, sugar, and water in a small pan. Bring to a boil. Remove from heat. Stir in rum. Poke holes in top of cake. Pour rum glaze on top of cake.

  FLOURLESS RED VELVET TORTE

  Cocoa for dusting

  24 ounces semisweet chocolate chips

  3 sticks butter

  12 eggs

  1 cup sugar

  1 tablespoon red food coloring

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  ½ teaspoon salt

  Raspberries to decorate

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 2 round cake pans. Dust pans with cocoa powder. Melt chocolate chips and butter together in a
double boiler and stir until smooth. Beat eggs, sugar, vanilla, food coloring, and salt together until mixture is frothy, for approximately 5 to 10 minutes. Fold chocolate mixture into egg mixture. Pour batter into cake pans. Bake for approximately 50 to 60 minutes or until a knife or toothpick inserted in the middle comes out almost clean. Cool completely on a rack. Remove from pan, and spread cream-cheese frosting between each layer. Spread a layer of frosting on top, and top with raspberries.

  Cream-Cheese Frosting

  1 stick butter, softened

  8 ounces cream cheese

  3 cups confectioner’s sugar

  2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  Beat butter and cream cheese together. Add confectioner’s sugar and vanilla, and beat until smooth.

  MELLOW COCOA CAYENNE TRUFFLES

  ¾ cup heavy cream

  1½ teaspoons cinnamon

  ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

  12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips

  1 teaspoon almond extract

  Cocoa and red pepper flakes for rolling

  Heat the cream, cinnamon, and cayenne pepper in a saucepan until simmering. Remove from heat. Add chocolate chips and almond extract to cream mixture, and stir until melted and combined. Chill for at least an hour. Scoop out truffle balls with a teaspoon or a melon baller. Roll into balls and coat with cocoa and red pepper flakes. Makes approximately 30 truffles.