Éclair Case of Murder: A Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Rosie Kale Culinary Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Leigh Selfman

  Great. Now it wasn’t just me that was blaming me—it was News Four and all their millions—or at least thousands—of viewers. I turned off the TV and got up to take a bath.

  As I headed into the linen closet to grab a clean bath towel, I heard a knock at the front door. Thinking it was probably Nana, I went to answer it—not that I felt like talking about the sad news, but I realized that maybe she wanted to. So I opened the door.

  And there stood Casey.

  All six feet four of him. All gorgeous green eyes and chestnut hair of him. He smiled a dazzling white smile, his eyes piercing me through the heart.

  “Casey?” I said. I blinked a few times to make sure he was even real.

  “Rosie.” His voice was low as he took a step towards me. His hand reached out and brushed my hair off my cheek. The tingle on my skin assured me that he was indeed real. I held onto his hand and leaned my cheek against it.

  “Casey, you’re early,” I whispered. “You weren’t supposed to be here until ten.”

  “I just couldn’t wait to see you.” He took me in his arms. “I told the plane to go faster.”

  I leaned into his strong chest and sighed as he gave me a tight squeeze. I felt like I could breathe for the first time that day. “I’m so happy to see you,” I said. “I didn’t realize how much I need you here.”

  He held on to me and just as I was starting to relax and think that things were maybe, possibly, hopefully going to be okay, he released me from his grip and motioned with his head.

  “What?” I said, not understanding.

  He motioned his head again and I looked towards the door.

  Which is when my evil step-cousin, Laila stepped forward from out of the shadows on the patio.

  “Ahh!” she screamed excitedly. “Surprise! Can you believe I met your boyfriend on the plane? Isn’t that a crazy coincidence? What are the odds?”

  She gave me a tight hug, and I caught the scent of citrus and flowers as she continued talking without even pausing for a breath. “Can you believe it? We were seated next to each other on the plane and we started talking and we both realized we were coming to the same place and so I insisted we share a cab together! And he thought maybe we should call and warn you. But I said, “Where’s the surprise in that??” And he said…”

  I zoned out and looked over at Casey who was shrugging at me apologetically.

  “Laila. Don’t you want to go say hi to Nana?” I interrupted. “She’s right through there. Right past the pool. You should go now and surprise her. Now."

  “Great idea. I will!” She clapped her pinkly manicured hands together. Then she hugged me again and headed across the patio, her slim, perfect body looking…well…slim and perfect—in her skinny jeans, a pink midriff top and five inch heels.

  I slumped against the door.

  “Sorry,” Casey said. “But she is your cousin.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “And I’d normally be excited to see her—sort of—but I just had some tough news today.”

  He looked at me, concerned as he came inside and closed the door behind him. “I’m all yours—come here and tell me what happened. Let me make it all better.”

  If only you could, I thought. But as I sat next to him on the sofa with his arm around me, snuggled up against his shoulder, listening to his soothing British voice, I started to think that maybe he actually could.

  Chapter 8

  I woke up and blinked several times, unsure of where I was. Then I looked around and realized I was at home in the guest house.

  But still…something felt…off.

  I stretched and smiled a dreamy smile, remembering my wonderful reunion with Casey. How just being there in his strong arms, made everything feel more bearable. How later we’d gone over to Nana’s who whipped up a delicious pesto dish for us all.

  Oh no.

  It was the ‘us all’ part that tipped me off to just exactly what was wrong: My step cousin Laila was in town.

  As if reading my mind, she bounded into the bedroom at just that moment, looking fresh as a daisy, her blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, a purple mud mask on her face. She was carrying a tray of coffee and two slices of burnt-ish toast.

  “Look what I brought you Rosie!” she said in a voice that was much too loud and chipper for the morning. “I’m so happy we’re going to be roomies again! Just like when we were kids and we’d visit Nana, remember? Isn’t this fun?”

  I smiled wanly as she put the tray on my lap then plopped down on the bed next to me, causing the coffee to slosh over the mug and onto the tray.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay at Nana’s condo?” I asked, looking at her and wondering how she could still look so beautiful, even with purple mud caking her face. “Nana has so much more room over there. You wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch. You’d have your own bedroom.”

  “But I want to be close to you!” she squealed. As she did, she reached over and squeezed my foot through the fluffy white comforter.

  “But you’d only be twenty feet away,” I said, still smiling. I was still hoping to nudge her into moving into Nana’s and out of my hair. “It’s thirty feet tops.”

  “Please! I’d never do that to you. I wouldn’t abandon you at this time. I know how hard it is on you…what with that lady’s suicide and you feeling guilty because it’s all your fault.”

  Boom

  And there it was. The reason I had trouble tolerating Laila: Because, as nice as she was, she always had a way of putting me down and making me feel like crap. I took a sip of the lukewarm coffee, made a face, then put the cup back on the tray.

  “Well, it’s not exactly my fault,” I said, realizing that this is exactly what Nana and Celia and Casey had been trying to convince me of all day yesterday. But when they said it, it only made me feel guiltier somehow.

  Ironically, it took Laila’s actually accusing me of murder, to make me accept my own innocence in the matter. Somewhat, anyway.

  “Of course it’s not,” she said making a sympathetic, pouty face and squeezing my foot again. “I’m sure you did the best you could. Who cares what the internet is saying?”

  “The internet? What’s the internet saying?” I moved the tray aside and picked up my laptop from the nightstand.

  It seemed to take forever to turn on but luckily I had Laila there to fill me in on how everyone was blaming me, the rookie crisis center worker, who couldn’t save the beautiful heiress from her deadly smoothie.

  “Go to the Gossipz site!” Laila said excitedly when I finally got my computer up and running.

  I frowned and nervously navigated to the creepy Gossipz website— and there, in large purple letters was the headline: HEIRESS KILLED BY POISONED BLUEBERRY SMOOTHIE! CRISIS WORKER TO BLAME!

  “Great,” I muttered under my breath, quickly scanning the article. My heart pounded crazily in my chest as I realized what had happened—the story of the tragic beautiful heiress had gone national.

  I continued reading almost to the end, then I put my computer away, unable to read any more.

  “Sorry,” Laila said, wrinkling her forehead and pouting her lips but otherwise looking not sorry at all. “Oh! So, Rosie……what are we going to wear to the memorial?”

  “The memorial?” I looked at her, fearing the worst.

  “The memorial for Helen Wright. Everyone who’s anyone will be there!” she said excitedly. “It’s this weekend. We have to go! Especially you.”

  Chapter 9

  I really didn’t intend to go to the memorial. I really didn’t.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to go and pay my respects. I did. I was just a little worried that someone would recognize me and point me out as the rookie crisis center hotline worker who was responsible for the deceased’s…er…ceasing to be. After which I’d be driven out of town by the pitchfork-wielding-townsfolk.

  Laila, Birdie and Nana, however, convinced me this was nonsense—or at least they almost convinced me— so we all decide
d to go together.

  Sitting near the back of the crowded church, the priest spoke about what a wonderful and giving person Helen was. How she used to do volunteer work for the church and how she donated money, even in her death to pay for a new addition to the building in her son Sam’s name.

  The pastor looked at the young man who was sitting in the front row and nodded to him. “I’m sure had your mother known you were coming home that morning she would have taken care not to do it that way. But sometimes, in our pain, we make mistakes. It is not for us to judge. Now let us pray.”

  After a few more prayers, Helen’s husband, Chuck got up to speak about how impossible it all was to believe. How they were just celebrating their anniversary and now…now…

  He broke into body-wracking sobs and couldn’t continue.

  Helen's best friend, Diane, got up to speak after him. She was a stunning, wealthy-looking brunette who dabbed gently at her eyes as she recalled what a wonderful friend Helen was to her. She told us how Helen and Chuck had come to her office to buy life insurance policies on each other as soon as they found out she was pregnant, all those years ago. And how Helen came to work for her company for a little while after that and she was so nice and humble that Diane hadn’t even realized she was an heiress. How she wished she knew just how depressed Helen had been lately, so perhaps she could have done something for her.

  Diane mentioned Sam and looked tearfully towards where he was sitting in the front row--at which point, Sam got up from his seat and ran out of the room.

  Everyone turned to watch him go, murmuring amongst themselves, as his father Chuck got up and hurried after him.

  “Wow, dramatic,” Laila whispered, looking towards the back of the chapel in appreciation.

  And it was. But it was more than that.

  I kept thinking about what the priest had said, about how if Helen had known that her young son Sammy was coming home that morning, she never would have killed herself that way.

  But the thing was…she did know. I was sure of it.

  I’d overheard her telling someone about Sammy at the party.

  Helen had been talking to an older woman about how excited she was to see Sammy and about how she just wanted to give him a big hug. She even mentioned something about having made plans to take him to the air show. At the time, I had no idea who Sammy was, but clearly, it was her son.

  Which made me wonder…if she was so excited to see him, why would she kill herself just before he got home?

  ***

  I wondered about it again as we left the service and couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole drive back. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I barely even heard Nana, Birdie and Laila as they argued about where to stop for a bite, après funeral.

  “Funerals always make me so hungry,” Birdie sighed.

  “Everything makes you hungry,” Nana smirked. “But I know what you mean. Eating…it’s like ‘life’ in the face of death. Oh I know! Let’s go to Carl’s Deli.”

  I looked at the huge, tall pastrami sandwich on my plate. “This looks more like a heart attack on a bun,” I said as I tried to figure out how to fit it into my mouth. It seemed like I would have to unhinge my jaw if I wanted to get it all the way around the heaping, delicious-smelling sandwich.

  I looked over to see Laila plucking some of the layers of pastrami out from between the slices of rye and piling them onto her plate so she could take a dainty bite. But somehow that seemed like cheating.

  Taking a sip of my soda, I said, “Did anyone else think it was weird that Helen Wright killed herself right before her son came home? That he was actually the one that found her?”

  “Well, like the priest said, in our pain we all make mistakes.” Birdie sighed.

  “No, I think he said in our mistakes, we all have pain,” Nana corrected.

  “No, I’m quite sure it was the way I said it,” Birdie said firmly.

  I could see where this was going and decided to put a stop to it before their little argument lasted throughout our whole entrée and on into dessert.

  “The thing is,” I interrupted. “She did know that her son was coming home. I overheard her telling someone at the anniversary party. And I really don’t believe that she’d kill herself in that case.”

  “What are you saying?” Nana asked, looking at me through narrowed eyes. “That she was murdered?”

  This got everyone’s attention and they immediately stopped bickering and stared at me with interest

  I shrugged and picked up my sandwich. “Maybe,” I said. “It’s possible.” Then, for emphasis, I took a big bite of the delicious pastrami and practically swooned as I munched it.

  “You’re just saying that because it’s your fault she killed herself,” Laila blurted out. “That’s all.”

  I looked at her in shock, my mouth falling open.

  “Don’t chew with your mouth open honey,” Nana chided, handing me a napkin. “And Laila, don’t accuse your cousin of murder. It’s not nice.”

  “And…it might not even be true,” I said when I was over my shock and finally able to talk again. “I think Helen Wright was murdered and I’m going to find out who did it.”

  Chapter 10

  That night, I was explaining my theory to Casey as we walked along the boardwalk near the water. He seemed to have the same doubts as Laila though he put them to me in a much more tactful manner.

  “Darling,” he said, putting his arm around me as we walked. “I understand what you’re saying. But people do kill themselves at all sorts of times, without really thinking of anyone else. Isn’t it just possible that you want it to be a murder because you still feel responsible for her death? Not that you are, of course.”

  I couldn’t help but smile to myself at how conscientious he was about my feelings. I gave his waist a squeeze and said, "I'm so happy you're back."

  He stopped walking and turned to me. His hands were on my shoulders as he looked me in the eyes. “Rosie, do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”

  “I really do,” I said, lifting my face to him.

  He leaned in and gave me an amazing kiss, but when he pulled back his brow was furrowed with worry.

  “But Rosie, I do hope you’re not going to go around stirring things up again. You almost got yourself killed last time. I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

  “Pfft. I won’t stir,” I assured him. “I’m just going to ask around a little. A very little. It won’t even be an investigation. I’ll be very discreet. No one will even know what I’m up to. Discreet is my middle name.”

  “Discreet is most definitely not your middle name,” he said, giving me a look. “Discreet doesn’t even belong in the same sentence with your name.”

  “You’ll see,” I said, happier than I’d felt in days. “I’ll be so surreptitious no one will even know I’m snooping.”

  I decided to start my non-investigation at the bake shop. After all, what better way to worm your way into someone’s house than with a tray of hot-out-of-the-oven cupcakes?

  After convincing Nana to let me take them, I put the huge tray in my car and drove over to the Wrights’ house. Then I checked my make-up in the mirror and walked up the steps to the mansion. I didn’t know what I was going to say so I decided to let the sweet delicious smell of the red velvet cupcakes do the talking for me.

  The sound of melodic chimes echoed through the house and a few moments later, the front door was opened by a boy of about thirteen or fourteen. Though I hadn’t seen him very clearly at the funeral—only from the back, and then from the side as he was running out—I was pretty sure that this was Sammy Wright, Helen’s son who’d returned home from boarding school to find her dead body.

  At the moment he was looking at me, saying nothing.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Rosie Kale from the Cozy Cat Bakery. We dessert-catered your parents’ anniversary party and we were so saddened by the loss of your mother, we wanted to give these to your family.”r />
  “Oh. Okay,” he said. He stepped aside, making way for me and my big tray to enter. He pointed through the entryway and past the living room to the kitchen beyond.

  “The kitchen’s that way,” he mumbled.

  I nodded and carried the tray past the beautiful, light-filled living room, only to see that there was no one around. I was happy to bring the family something at this difficult time, but feared that in terms of my investigation, this trip might wind up being a bust.

  When I stepped inside the kitchen, however, I realized I wasn’t actually alone. There was an blonde-haired woman of about sixty, blowing her nose in a hanky. She looked up, startled at my entrance and quickly wiped her eyes.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Hi, yes. I’m Rosie from the Cozy Cat Bakery We wanted to bring these cupcakes for you all.”

  “Thank you, dear,” she said, in an accented voice. “That’s very kind of you.” She pointed to an empty spot on the counter and I put the tray down. “I’m sure Dr. Wright would like to thank you himself,” she added. “But he’s not here now. He went to work. If you’ll leave your card I’m sure he’ll get back to you.”

  “I didn’t actually bring a card,” I said. “But that’s okay, we really just wanted to do something for the family. We dessert-catered the party the night before and we were just so saddened to hear what happened.”

  The woman nodded, her eyes tearing up again. “Ah, yes, I thought I recognized you. I must have seen you at the party.” She offered me her hand. “I’m the Wrights’ housekeeper. Mrs. Pond.”

  As I looked at her more closely, I realized she did look familiar. “Right, I think I remember seeing you that night, talking to Mrs. Wright towards the end of the evening.”

  “Yes, the party was the last time I saw Helen,” she said, her eyes tearing up. “Mrs. Wright gave me the weekend off, so I wasn’t here the next day. The morning that…,” her voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Of all the weekends to not be here. If only I’d stayed, I would have been here that morning and maybe it wouldn’t have happened. I would have been the one to make her smoothie and…she would be alive.”