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

by Leigh Selfman

  I wandered around to get a closer look and saw that each of the photos had the word, #selfie written underneath it. I realized that must the name of the show. I also noticed that each photo cost at least 500 dollars and I decided I was in the wrong business.

  As Casey stepped out into the hallway to take a call, I stayed inside, looking around the crowded room. Near the opposite wall I spotted Chuck Wright, talking to some people who were standing beneath a large photo of Violet on a horse. She wore a long blond wig and was posed as Lady Godiva.

  I moved in closer and saw that the photo had a red dot underneath it, meaning it was sold. I couldn’t help but wonder who would pay 800 dollars for such a photo—though for all I knew, it had been Chuck himself.

  I studied him as he stood there, looking handsome and dignified in a black sweater and dark pants. His dark hair made his pale skin and blue eyes stand out all the more. He certainly did have the air of a grieving husband—but then again, here he was at the art exhibition of his ex (or possibly current) mistress.

  I was so busy studying him that I was startled when he looked back at me. He nodded in greeting but seemed to be studying my face as though trying to figure out where we’d met before.

  “Are you a friend of my wife’s?” he said. “I’m sorry, I can’t place your name.”

  “Oh, no.…I was at your party. I helped with the catering. I’m so sorry to hear about Mrs. Wright.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a somber nod before taking a sip of his drink.

  “So these photos are wonderful,” I motioned to the room in general. “Are you a friend of Violet’s?”

  He looked at me for a moment without speaking. “Violet used to be our nanny,” he finally said. “And she’s been helping us out again lately…now that…with things the way they are.”

  I nodded. I guess that explained why she was at his house the day I brought over the cupcakes. It was one possible reason anyway.

  Another well-dressed couple came up to talk to Chuck so I wandered off towards the far end of the room, where the crowd was thinner.

  There were more photos of Violet in back and as I studied them, I wondered why I’d even bothered to come to the show. Just what was it I expected to find? But as I turned to leave, a large color photo caught my eye.

  It showed Violet standing at a large picture window, looking out at the rain coming down outside. Visible in the room behind her was a fireplace mantle with a ship captain’s clock sitting on it. Next to the clock was a tall, pretty vase and above it all hung a painting, the bottom of which was visible in the shot.

  But the most interesting thing about the photo was who was standing just to the other side of the fireplace. It was Chuck Wright—I was almost sure of it. And even more interesting, the photo appeared to have been taken at the Wrights’ house.

  I studied the photo closely, unable to ignore the feeling that there something else about it that I should be paying attention to. I just wasn’t exactly sure what it might be. As I stared, I felt someone come up next to me and turned, expecting to see Casey—when I realized it was Miss Purple Streak herself.

  “Oh, hi,” I said, in surprise.

  She didn’t return the greeting but instead took a sip of champagne from the flute in her hand. Her face was a burst of colors. Purple eye shadow, black mascara, red lipstick, pale blush and of course, the purple streak in her hair.

  “Your photos are really good,” I said. “I especially love this one. It was taken in the Wright house, wasn’t it?” I asked, innocently.

  She stared at me and hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said. “I took this one over a year ago. Back when I used to work as their nanny."

  She was tapping her long, blue fingernails against her glass, staring at me as I looked at the photo. The intensity of her gaze made me uncomfortable and I decided it was probably time to go. I was just about to say goodbye when she took a step back and blocked my path.

  “I’ve seen you before,” she said in a hard tone.

  “Oh? It was probably at the memorial for…”

  “No. That’s not it,” she interrupted. “It was on the news. You’re that girl from the crisis line, aren't you? The one who answered the phone when Helen called."

  Her voice was growing loud and aggressive and she was drawing attention our way. I decided I really had to get out of there.

  “I better go,” I said, and again tried to walk past her.

  “And then you were at the house!” she said in the same loud voice as she followed me into the main room. “You were asking Mrs. Pond a bunch of nosy questions!”

  “I just brought over some bakery items,” I explained in a near-whisper, hoping she’d take the hint. But of course, she didn’t.

  “Just what are you up to? Why do you keep showing up asking all sorts of questions? What is it you want?”

  I slipped in between the various clusters of people as I tried to make way out of the room. I went around one large group and wound up practically hugging the wall as I tried to get out of there. But unfortunately, a couple of art aficionados moved right into my path and I was blocked in on all sides.

  “Just what is it you want?” Violet repeated loudly behind me.

  “Actually,” Casey’s calm but authoritative British voice said from somewhere to my left. “What she wants is to go to dinner. So, if you’ll excuse us.”

  He stepped in between Violet and me and put his arm out. I clasped it tightly and let him lead me out of the room.

  When we’d made it almost to the doorway, I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back. Violet was standing in the center of the room, glaring at me. I could feel her eyes following me we walked out.

  “Are you alright?” Casey asked, as he led the way down the long winding hallway.

  “Yes—thanks to you,” I said, clasping his arm even tighter. “Thanks for rescuing me in there.”

  As we walked through the side door that led to the parking lot, I was finally able to breathe again.

  Casey looked at me skeptically. “Why was she so angry? Please don’t tell me you accused her of murder or something dreadful like that.”

  “What? No, of course not,” I rolled my eyes. “She was just very drunk, I think.”

  “Rosie, please tell me you’re done with your investigation—which as you’ll recall, you promised you weren’t going to do in the first place.”

  I looked into his concerned, green eyes and my heart melted. “I’m done,” I said, softly. “I’m really done. It’s over. Now let’s go have dinner.”

  He exhaled in relief. “Yes, dinner. Absolutely.” He opened the car door for me.

  But as I got inside and buckled myself in, I frowned, thinking again about the photograph of Purple Streak that I’d been staring at—about whatever it was that I was just on the verge of noticing, before she interrupted.

  I frowned and glanced at the art show brochure I’d taken from the pile inside. At the bottom, in small writing it said that all the art work from the show was available to purchase online at the AREA 12 website.

  Putting the brochure away, I decided that I’d have another look at Violet’s photo online when I got home to see if I could figure out what had bugged me about it. But in the meantime I’d go with Casey and have a nice dinner.

  There was no need to tell him about my plans. Why worry him after all?

  Chapter 17

  When I got back home, I kissed Casey goodnight outside the guest house, then I went in alone so as not to disturb Laila. She’d fallen asleep on the couch with her cell phone still clutched in her hand, the TV blaring, and all the lights on.

  I went around and quietly turned everything off, then I headed to my bedroom and grabbed my laptop off the nightstand.

  When I got online, I found the website for the art gallery and navigated to the page featuring Violet Vane’s work. Thankfully it was just as I’d hoped; all the photos that had been on display in the gallery were also for sale on the website. I easily found the
photo I was looking for and clicked on it to enlarge the image as much as possible.

  The photo showed Violet standing in front of the window at the Wright’s house, one hand resting on the fireplace mantel. She was looking off towards the right, through a set of French windows. On the mantle behind her was a captain’s clock without numbers. There was a tall, iridescent vase sitting on the mantle as well—and above that, you could see the bottom of the painting that was hanging over the fireplace.

  In the background, just beyond the fireplace, stood Chuck Wright, but he wasn’t looking at the camera at all. In fact, it looked like he might not even have been aware that Violet was taking a selfie.

  I stared at the photo but I still had no idea what had been bugging me about it. I was just reaching out to close the website window, when my finger stopped in midair.

  Of course…

  I suddenly realized what had been disturbing me about the photo.

  It was the painting hanging over the fireplace mantle. I stared at it closely and though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, I thought it might have been the same painting that was hanging at the Wrights’ house the day I’d visited with the cupcakes: the large portrait of Helen Wright.

  Mrs. Pond had told me that painting had only been delivered the day of the anniversary party—which meant that if this was the same painting, then Violet was lying about when this picture was taken; it couldn’t have been taken a year ago, it had to have been taken within the last few weeks.

  The problem was, only part of the painting was visible in Violet’s photograph so I couldn’t be sure. I had to get back into the Wright house and find out for certain— and most importantly, I had to do it when Purple Streak was nowhere in sight. I didn’t want a confrontation like the one I’d had earlier.

  Chapter 18

  “Omg wake up, wake up!”

  I felt my bed bouncing and tried to ignore it but the bright light streaming in through the windows made its way through my closed eyelids and assaulted my eyes.

  “Ow stop, what?” I said irritably. I leaned up on my elbows and blinked blurrily.

  “I got it! I got the lead role!”

  Laila was jumping on the bed, lifting Cupcake up in the air and dancing around with her. The cat reached out with her paw towards her face and Laila pretended to bite down on it. Then she put Cupcake down and plopped down at the end of my bed. “Did you hear what I said, Cuz? I got the lead role in the play!”

  “That’s great,” I yawned. I wasn’t really surprised at the news since Laila seemed to get whatever she wanted. And to tell the truth, I was actually pretty happy for her.

  I was happy for myself as well, since this acting gig would probably (hopefully) keep her busy and out of my hair for the next little while. But the thing was, I just wanted to feel my happiness later in the day— when I could focus my eyes a little better.

  “We should go out and celebrate,” I suggested with another yawn. “Why don’t we have brunch at noon? We can invite Nana and Birdie to come too, since the bakery’s closed today.”

  “Yes! That’ sounds great. I’ll go tell Nana!”

  Laila hurried out of the room and a moment later I heard the front door slam, suggesting that she’d left the guest house in order to go to Gran’s condo.

  “Finally, a little piece and quiet,” I whispered to Cupcake, who’d jumped up next to me on the bed. “She has way too much energy for first thing in the morning.”

  Cupcake blinked lazily, as if in agreement, then she curled into my arms and we both tried to sneak in five more minutes of sleep.

  But just as I was nodding off, my cell phone rang. It startled Cupcake who jumped up and tangled her paw in my hair.

  “Ow, hello?”

  “Darling, are you alright?”

  I disentangled Cupcake’s paw and sat up, realizing that more sleep this morning was obviously out of the question—especially as it was Casey on the phone, calling to ask me to a charity ball on Friday. I stretched and told him I’d love to go, even though that meant that not only did I have to have my hair done but I also had to get a gown and lose 20 pounds, all in the next few days.

  “Sure I’d love to,” I told Casey. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  I got out of bed and thought about going for a run in order to jump-start my crash diet, but then I remembered that I still had to shower and dress and get over to the Wright’s house before 8:00 AM. I figured if I got there early, it would lessen the odds of seeing Violet or Dr. Wright.

  So unfortunately a run was out of the question—thank goodness.

  I grabbed an éclair and headed out… I needed to keep my metabolism up after all.

  Chapter 19

  Unfortunately, getting into the Wright house, without being seen by Violet was much harder than I thought it would be. She was always there! And if she wasn’t there, she was always coming or going at unpredictable times or at times that weren’t convenient for me—what with my bakery job, my writing job and my newest job of all: that of chauffeuring Laila to her rehearsals and her other play-related errands.

  “So isn’t this fun, Cuz?” Laila asked as I drove her to the warehouse a few days later. “I really think this acting thing is for me. I’m really such a natural!”

  “If I do say so myself,” I said, sarcastically.

  She glanced at me then smiled. “Do you think so too? Oh, thank you!” she squeezed my hand, obviously touched. Then, as I parked the car, she flounced out, calling behind her. “Oh, could you get that box of props in the back seat? I promised Diane I’d be on time today!”

  I rolled my eyes, about to tell Laila what to do with the box…when she added, “Oh by the way, Diane wanted to talk to you about having the Cozy Cat cater the event.”

  I stopped and stared. Boy, Laila really knew how to get her way.

  I reached into the back seat and grabbed the overstuffed box which was full of hats and fake guns along with some other things that Laila had wangled for free from a local costume shop. As I carried it in, some of the hats and a very real-looking plastic gun were about to fall out.

  “Laila, could you help me,” I called out, but she’d already rushed inside without me.

  Struggling to balance the box, I carefully bent down and retrieved the fallen items, and stuffed them in my tote bag, just to be safe. Then I brought it all inside and placed the box on one of the chairs. I was just taking everything out of my tote and piling it on the table, when I spotted Diane, talking on the phone. She saw me and smiled, and then hung up and came over.

  “Hi, Rosie. Laila told you about the catering job?” she asked, grabbing a mini bottle of water of the snacks table and offering me one.

  “No thanks,” I said. “Yeah, she mentioned it, but she didn’t say much else. What exactly were you interested in?”

  “Well, I’ve heard your bakery does wonderful things with éclairs. Maybe an assortment of different flavors. And of course some cupcakes. And some cake balls. I’ll get back to you with the exact number of guests. It’s for the silent auction/cocktail party that we’re having after the play. Oh people are donating the most wonderful things. You’ll see when you come.”

  “That sounds great,” I said. Then I frowned. “You know, I’d have to talk to Nana about it, but I’m guessing she’d love to donate the desserts. It’s for a great cause, after all.”

  “Oh, that would be wonderful!” Diane gave me a big smile. “As you know, the proceeds are all going to the Women in Crisis Charity. We’re even having someone sing a special song after the play to honor Helen.”

  “That’s lovely. I’m sure her family will appreciate it.”

  Diane nodded. “Sammy’s still so broken up. And Chuck.” She shook her head, sadly. “I hope you’re not still thinking he had something to do with it.”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I shrugged. “But my investigation has sort of stalled out right now anyway.”

  “That’s good,” Diane said. “I’d hate for you to do an
ything to upset the family any more. Not at this time.”

  I was about to respond when she looked at her watch and then glanced at the stage.

  “Well let me know about the catering,” she said. And with that she turned to head back towards her waiting actors.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning I was back in my car, across the street from the Wright’s house, waiting and determined. I was going to get inside today if it killed me.

  First Chuck Wright’s car pulled out.

  Then, twenty minutes later, Purple Streak drove off in her red jeep with Sammy Wright in the passenger seat. I didn’t know if they were leaving for the day or if she was just going to drop him somewhere and then return, so I knew I had to hurry. The last thing I wanted was another confrontation with that purple-streaked maniac.

  I left my car where it was across the street and hurried up to the house to ring the doorbell. Mrs. Pond answered it almost immediately then stared at me for a moment as if trying to place who I was.

  I smiled sweetly and said, “Hi, I’m Rosie Kale, I brought those cupcakes by last week.”

  “Of course, how are you, Rosie?” she said with a smile. Though friendly, she appeared slightly puzzled by my presence.

  “I was wondering if I could get that cupcake tray back,” I explained. “We could use it at the shop. Though if you already got rid of it, I understand.”

  “No, of course not. We have it inside. Come in, come in.”

  As she led the way through the family room and into the kitchen, I followed behind, pausing to look into the living room at the large painting of Helen that hung on the wall over the fireplace. I particularly looked at the lower half of it—the portion that was visible in Purple Streak’s photo.