Death A La Mode

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Oh, you silly girl.” Mrs. Mac chuckled and poured me a mug of coffee. “I just thought you and your young man might like a treat.”

  “Hmmmm.” I eyed her over the rim of my cup. I couldn’t help being suspicious. This was behavior entirely unlike my favorite neighbor—wait, make that my favorite female neighbor—unless, of course she wanted something, and I couldn’t think what that might . . .

  “Oh!” I set down my coffee on the table with a thunk. “This is about information, isn’t it? Somehow you found out—” I broke off. If I was wrong and she didn’t know yet that Lucas had been on the scene of Maddy’s death, I didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag.

  But the older woman’s face clearly showed her guilt. “Norma heard from Poor Myrtle who’d talked to Emily Shunt. You know her grandson’s on the police force down here.”

  I shook my head. “So much for closed-mouth cops. What exactly did you hear?”

  “Not too much. Just that Lucas was there, in Maddy’s office. What was he doing there?”

  I wracked my brain to remember his cover story. “Uh, well, it turned out he knew her, slightly, years ago, and he heard she was in the area, so he just stopped by.” I wondered if the mojo that kept Lucas from being implicated in a death extended to the agile mind of Mrs. Mac. Apparently the answer was yes, because she didn’t persist in questioning me as I’d have expected. “I thought Emily Shunt was still up north for her niece’s wedding. How did Poor Myrtle talk to her?”

  “Poor Myrtle called her. She wanted to get the skinny on how Maddy died, because she owns the office building, and the police wouldn’t let her go in. Emily told her she should talk to Lucas, because he was there.”

  I sipped my coffee and raised one eyebrow. “So why isn’t Poor Myrtle here with sticky buns? How did you get the job?”

  “Well, I’m right next door, and Poor Myrtle pointed out that maybe you’d be more open to talking with me.” She patted the white paper box on the table. “And she supplied the bakery goods.”

  “Aha. I knew you’d never bring breakfast on your own.” I sat back in my chair. “So what do you and your cronies need to know?”

  “Poor Myrtle needs to know about the bodily-fluids situation.” Mrs. Mac nodded sagely. “So she can figure out if she’ll need to have the carpets replaced before she lists it again.”

  Poor Myrtle was our local real estate agent and magnate. Many, many years before, when she was only eighteen, she’d gotten married on a whim. When her groom took off after a month of wedded bliss, Myrtle signed up for a course in real estate, earned her license and subsequently established a multi-million-dollar business. She’d sold it when she moved down here, but boredom had prompted her to open a smaller real-estate agency in Palm Dunes. And although clearly Poor Myrtle was anything but, all the women in Golden Rays continued to refer to her thus, simply because she’d never remarried.

  “Can’t she just wait until the police clear her to go back in? I wouldn’t think it’d be long.”

  “You know Poor Myrtle. She likes to get a jump on these things.” Mrs. Mac narrowed her eyes at me. “And we all think it’s a little odd that the cops sealed the scene. Everyone’s saying she died, but no one says how.”

  “Hmmm.” I was noncommittal. “What’s the top theory among Palm Dunes’ amateur force?”

  “Drug dealer. You know these music types. They’re all involved in drugs. And they get their clients hooked on them. Look at Elvis.”

  I choked on my coffee. “Um, Mrs. Mack, don’t you think it’s a little bit of a leap from Maddy Cane, who’s a small-time manager for a folk singer, to the King of Rock n’ Roll?”

  She blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Luckily for me, Lucas chose that moment to stroll into the kitchen. “Good morning, ladies. Is that coffee I smell?”

  Mrs. Mac jumped to her feet. “It is! And look. I brought you sticky buns, too. From Lurlene’s.”

  “Wow.” Lucas opened the silverware drawer and took out a knife. “And Jackie said it was doubtful you’d bring breakfast.” He shook his head and tsk’d, looking at me sadly. I saw the gleam of humor in his eyes. He totally knew the score. He’d probably been standing just outside, listening to Mrs. Mac talk to me.

  Mrs. Mac chose to ignore what he’d said. “Lurlene’s is the best.” She took the knife from Lucas and cut the string on the box then pushed back her chair. “Here, you sit down and let me get you a plate.”

  Lucas did as she said, waiting while Mrs. Mac bustled around, pouring his coffee and cutting the buns. When she unfolded a napkin and draped it over his lap, I couldn’t help rolling my eyes.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. She wants information, and she’s bribing you with breakfast.”

  “Jackie.” Mrs. Mac managed to look both shocked and disappointed. “Now that’s just not true. Maybe I wanted to do something neighborly.”

  “Uh huh. And maybe pigs are flying now.”

  “What did you want to know, Mrs. Mac?”

  She shot me a triumphant look. “We—that is, Poor Myrtle and I wanted to know about the office where Crissy’s manager died. Was it torn up? Any damage to the walls or the carpet? Did it look like there’d been a struggle? And what do the police think happened? Was it a hit man?”

  To his credit, Lucas didn’t show any surprise. His lips didn’t so much as twitch as he pretended to consider Mrs. Mac’s words.

  “You know, I promised I wouldn’t say anything. The police asked me not to. But I think I can tell you this much.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward. “No damage to any part of the office. Poor Myrtle should be able to turn it over pretty fast as soon as it’s cleared by the cops.”

  Mrs. Mac’s face fell. “No blood stains? No bullet holes?”

  “Not even one. Sorry.”

  “Then what happened? How did she die? Was it just a heart attack or something?” The idea of plain old cardiac arrest clearly didn’t sit well with Mrs. Mac’s sense of drama.

  “Can’t say.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “So I hauled my cookies—and these sticky buns—over here at the crack of dawn for nothing?”

  I pasted on a sweet smile. “You found out what Poor Myrtle needed to know, Mrs. Mac. Mission accomplished.”

  “Hmph.” She raised one eyebrow at me. “He told you, didn’t he?”

  “Telling me isn’t like telling the Golden Rays hotline. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

  She reached for the bakery box, and snapping down the lid, picked it up. “I’m taking my sticky buns home to share with others who can’t keep their mouths shut.”

  I laughed. “Thank you for bringing over breakfast, Mrs. Mac! We love you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She slammed the door behind her, grumbling all the way.

  “That seals the deal, you know.” I grinned at Lucas. “Today, you’re going to be the most popular guy in Golden Rays. And that’s saying something, since Mr. Beck got his hair transplant last week. Get ready.”

  Lucas stood up and stretched. “Aw, you’re just jealous because you didn’t get any sticky buns. And I’m sure you’re exaggerating. This isn’t going to be that big a deal.”

  By late afternoon, Lucas was eating his words. Well, he would’ve been eating them, if he hadn’t been too busy eating cookies, brownies, fudge, chicken pot pie and a variety of other foods that arrived at his house in the hands of women who were sure they’d be the ones to break his self-imposed silence.

  I was glad he’d gone home after breakfast; the parade of the morbidly-curious skipped my house and beat a path to his front door. I had a front-row seat as I worked on my latest incarnation of pecan pie, this time with a ribbon of caramel running through the nuts. It was delicious, but I still wasn’t sure it was the pie. I was certain that in order to beat Bitsy, the winning pie would have to be outstanding from the first bite. It would have to leave the taster weak in the knees, sagging in her chair as she fanned herself before de
vouring the rest of the slice. I wasn’t there yet.

  When there was a lull in the visits, Lucas jogged across the grass that linked our houses. He opened the back door and stuck his head into the kitchen.

  “Hey, how about we eat at my house tonight? I seem to have a lot of food.”

  I raised my eyebrows, feigning ignorance. “Oh, really? How did that happen?”

  “Okay, just stop. I know you’ve been watching all the females of Golden Rays stream into my house. I give. You were right. They all wanted to pump me for details about Maddy.” He lowered his voice, as though someone might overhear us. “Some of them were downright creepy about it.”

  “Creepy in that they wanted the gory details, or creepy in that they were offering you a little something-something—and I don’t mean meatloaf—in exchange for said info?”

  “First, eww. Definitely the former. None of them made any moves on me.”

  “That you picked up on, anyway. Sometimes men can be a little dense when it comes to women coming onto them.”

  “Somehow I think you’re talking about more than the old ladies here, but I’m not going there. Will you come over to eat?”

  “Of course. Always happy to help when it comes to food. Makani!” I called, and my sweet pup came out from under the table, doing a long and luxurious full-body stretch. He wagged his tail at Lucas and then trotted after us as we walked across the lawn, stopping to lift his leg on his favorite bush.

  Lucas wasn’t kidding about the bounty of food. I must’ve missed a few women, I decided, as we served up full plates. “We should freeze some of this. We’ll never eat it all today. Or maybe even this week.”

  “Sounds like a good plan. Or we could have a party. Invite a bunch of people over, serve some wine and beer, let them eat.”

  “Uh huh. And just who would you invite? Most of our friends are the ones who brought you the food you’re trying to get rid of. Oh, and Nichelle. We could invite her family over. I’ve seen them eat, and they’d make short work of this.”

  “Hmm.” Lucas scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

  “I don’t know why you two don’t like each other. You’re both lovely people. You must be, because I like you both.”

  “Nicelle doesn’t like me?” He frowned. “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea. And I don’t know that she doesn’t like you, but I’m not sure she trusts you. Can you blame her? She delivers blood to your house every three days. Speaking of which, aren’t you about due for a delivery?”

  “Tomorrow. Which is good, because I’m out.”

  My stomach tightened. I wasn’t squeamish so much anymore about the fact that my boyfriend drank blood, but neither did I enjoy sitting around watching him do it. But it was more the idea that his need for blood seemed to be increasing that made me nervous. It made me wonder if his supernatural side was growing. I remembered the night—or more accurately, the early morning—before we’d performed the ritual that had led to my possession. Lucas had drunk from me, as he almost always did when we made love. But it had been different. In the gray light before dawn, he’d seemed almost unable to stop. He’d pulled himself away, yes—but with more difficulty than ever before. Since that was the last time we’d been together, it stuck in my mind, and my unease grew.

  “Hey, you still with me?” Lucas leaned across the coffee table, where we were eating, and kissed me lightly. “You disappeared for a minute.”

  I forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  “Well, don’t. Or if you’re going to, give me a head’s up. It freaks me out when you go blank. When Delia—” He shook his head. “It was fucking horrible, looking into your eyes and not seeing you looking back. I never want that to happen again.”

  “I’m on board with that. And I—” The doorbell rang, and I jumped as Makani stood up and barked. “Who—oh, crap, is that more food? I thought everyone would be home getting ready for bed by now.”

  Lucas set his plate on the table and stood, moving toward the front door, the pup at his heels. He glanced through the side window and then opened the door. I couldn’t see beyond him to who was there, even when I craned my neck. But I could hear their voices.

  “Hey.” Lucas sounded surprised. “How—I mean, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve called, I guess.” No, that wasn’t the voice of an older woman. I knew who it was, and my heart pounded.

  “No, no. It’s fine. Come on in.” Lucas stood back, and Crissy Darwin walked through his front door.

  “Oh, I’m interrupting.” She spotted me and stopped, clutching her hands together.

  “Not at all. Crissy, this is my girlfriend, Jackie O’Brien. Jackie, you know Crissy Darwin.”

  “Yes.” With carefully controlled movements so I didn’t do something stupid like leap to my feet and squeal like a teenaged groupie, I set my plate down and stood. “I mean, I know of her. Of you. Nice to meet you.”

  “Hey, I know you, don’t I? I’ve seen you at shows, I think.”

  “Yes.” It seemed to be the one safe word to say. “Yes. I’ve been at all your local performances.”

  “Well, thanks. It’s always so great to meet someone who’s been following me from the get-go.” She bent to rub her knuckles on Makani’s furry white head as he begged for attention.

  I hadn’t seen Crissy in nearly a year, since most of her gigs had taken her outside the state or in parts of Florida far from Palm Dunes. She’d grown up, I realized; her face, always pretty in a cute and girlish way, had thinned out a little, giving her defined cheekbones and make her green eyes look even larger. Blonde hair was secured in a single braid down her back, and she was dressed casually in jeans and a black scoop-necked shirt. Her voice was soft, giving no indication of the range and power it displayed on the stage.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Lucas pointed to the winged arm chair adjacent to the sofa.

  “But you’re eating. I don’t want to disturb you.”

  “Nah, we’re just . . .” He spread his hands over the food. “A bunch of neighbors brought over food today, and we’re trying to eat as much of it as possible. Can I bring you a plate?”

  “Thanks, but I ate with my parents.” She perched on the edge of the chair, and Lucas came around the table to sit next to me. “I know this is weird. But I needed to—you found Maddy. I just needed to talk to someone else who was there. I’m freaking out. I keep seeing her—the way her eyes were staring, and her mouth, and her body, the way it was twisted—”

  “Crissy.” Lucas leaned forward to cover her hands with one of his. “You’ve got to stop thinking about it. Try to remember Maddy from before. The way she looked when she laughed, or when she was talking to you. Don’t let yourself go down that path. It’ll eat you up.”

  “I can’t help it. Every time I close my eyes, that’s what I see. I had to take a sleeping pill last night. I stayed at my parents’ house—I just got my own apartment last month, and here I am back in my old bedroom. It’s killing me. I don’t understand what happened, and why.”

  “Have the police told you anything? I mean, you don’t have to tell me,” Lucas hastened to add. “But I just wondered if you had more information.”

  “Not anything specific, except that the ME is fairly certain it was poison. They’ll tell me more tomorrow, I guess. But one thing they didn’t have to tell me.” She hunched her shoulders. “I saw what Maddy had been eating. It was on her desk. It was Kung Pao shrimp. That’s got to be where the poison came from.”

  “Okay.” Lucas nodded. “If it was a fast-acting poison, that makes sense.”

  “But you don’t understand. The Kung Pao shrimp was mine. I was supposed to meet Maddy for lunch yesterday at her office, and I told her I’d order food for us and have it delivered. I did it online, and they ask you to assign names to each dish. You know? So I ordered Kung Pao shrimp for me, with my name, and then I ordered her Hunan shrimp. But the box that was opened on h
er desk—that was Kung Pao. I always used to tease her about not being able to figure out which was which. If I didn’t specifically show her, she always ended up thinking mine was hers.”

  Lucas frowned. “So let me get this straight. When she died, Maddy was eating food that was intended for you? You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I saw the peppers. I watch out for them, because if you eat them, they burn really bad.”

  I glanced from Lucas to Crissy. “So you think someone was trying to poison you, and Maddy ate the food by mistake?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Crissy covered her face. “I can’t think why anyone would want to do it. The police told me it was probably a random thing, some crazy person wanting to lash out at someone he didn’t know. But even so, it was supposed to be me, not Maddy. She made a mistake, and it killed her.”

  “You told the cops about this? About the shrimp being your meal?” Lucas rubbed his jaw.

  Crissy nodded. “I did. Right away. I don’t think they saw how it was important.”

  “If it’s what they think, then it probably isn’t.” Lucas kept his words gentle. “I know it feels like you could’ve done something, but you couldn’t. It was just one of those things.”

  “If I’d been on time to lunch though . . . I was always late. If I’d picked up the food instead of having it delivered, I would’ve made sure she had the right meal.”

  “And you’d be dead instead of Maddy.” Lucas patted her hands. “Do you think she’d have wanted that?”

  “Of course not.” She sniffled. “I know she wouldn’t. I guess you’re right, it was just random. An accident.” Fumbling in her pocket, she pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her nose. “Thank you. I needed to talk about it, and my mom and dad won’t let me. They keep telling me to put it out of my mind. I think they’re afraid I’m going to mess up this chance for the contract. Go off the deep end and not be able to perform.”

  “I’m sure they’re worried about you, and they don’t want you to lose any opportunity.” I spoke up at last. “You’re amazingly talented. If Maddy was as passionate about your career as you and your parents are, she wouldn’t want this to derail it.”