It was twilight by the time Val had visited three different eateries, cobbling together a meal of oyster stew, crab-cake sliders, and locally made ice cream. On her way to the festival’s opening ceremonies, she took a shortcut, turning into a side street with few tourists on it. In her athletic shoes, she moved quickly and soundlessly on the sidewalk. She heard footsteps behind her. She glanced back, but the claw hanging from her crab hat interfered with her peripheral vision. She swept the claw back, looked behind her again, and froze. Chef Henri La Farge! She’d hoped never to see him after she left New York, where he’d waged a vendetta against her. He blamed her for the crash that destroyed his vintage car and landed him in the hospital. Hard to believe, though, that he’d come all the way here to harass her.
His dark mustache, halfway between a handlebar and a Hitler, twitched. “You! I recognized you even under that silly hat. You can’t hide from me.” Chef Henri’s accent suggested he grew up on the left bank of the East River, not of the Seine.
Val took off her crab hat. “I have no reason to hide from you.”
“You wrecked my car. You nearly killed me. You ruined my life!” He punctuated each accusation by pointing his index finger in her face. “After months in rehab, I’m still on pain meds. All because of you.”
She didn’t flinch though she risked getting her eye poked by a fingernail his manicurist had honed into a weapon. “I didn’t cause that accident. You grabbed the steering wheel away from me.” If he hadn’t been drunk, she wouldn’t have had to drive his car for him.
“That’s not what happened.”
“How would you know? You were too soused to remember anything that occurred that night. If you hadn’t unbuckled your seatbelt, you would have escaped with minor injuries.” His bones had broken in the accident, but his habit of blaming other people for his failures had survived intact. “Did you come here to stalk me? The police chief is a friend of mine. He’ll run you out of town if you don’t stop following me.”
Henri emitted a strangled noise as if choking on bile. “Follow you? Don’t flatter yourself. I came here to judge the cook-off.”
He was judging the cook-off? Val had heard that the festival chairman was looking for a replacement judge after the chef who’d agreed to do it backed out a few days ago. But Henri didn’t usually venture far from Manhattan. He had nothing to gain by coming here except getting in her face. “You traveled to Bayport just to judge the cook-off?”
“Of course not. I’m opening a new restaurant in Washington and publicizing it here.”
Why would he open a new restaurant in the culinary hinterland of D.C.? A second Manhattan location would make more sense, but only if he still had a business at the first location. Ah. Now she understood. His restaurant must have folded. Losing it also meant he’d have trouble finding a publisher for his next cookbook. “So your New York restaurant went under. What a shame.” She spotted a family of four, Granddad’s neighbors, walking toward the festival.
“It went under because I was in the hospital, thanks to you. It’s your fault that—”
She cut off his tirade by zipping across the street and joining the family. Too bad he was judging the cook-off. He was sure to find out that one of the contestants was her grandfather. The chef wouldn’t just destroy Granddad’s chances of winning the contest, he would make fun of the old man. She’d better prepare Granddad for that. She put her crab hat back on and looked behind her. No, Henri wasn’t following her.
When she arrived at the park where the festival’s main events would take place, a large crowd had already gathered. She had no hope of finding anyone she knew amid the sea of crab hats. She settled down on a small patch of ground to watch the opening ceremonies and the fireworks that would explode over the creek bordering the park.
* * *
Back at the house after the fireworks ended, Val made a berry syrup for tomorrow morning’s pancakes while Granddad set the dining-room table for breakfast.
He joined her in the kitchen. “Our tourists are back. They went to the festival together, but they came back separately. While I was in the dining room, I heard the front door slam three times.”
Val noticed his eyelids drooping. “Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll take out the trash and set up the coffee maker.”
“Okay.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good night.”
Val carried the trash bag through a small, enclosed porch and opened the back door. With no moonlight, she could barely see across the yard to the shed where the garbage bin was. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark and then started toward the shed, focusing on the uneven ground so that she wouldn’t stumble.
Halfway across the yard, bulging eyes looked up at her. She jumped back, startled, and dropped the trash bag.
Then she laughed. The plastic eyes sat atop the festival’s souvenir crab hat. One of the tourists staying in the house must have dropped the hat in the yard.
Val stooped to pick up the hat and froze. Two feet away, a woman lay on the ground, a rope around her neck, her eyes open and lifeless as the crab eyes.
Chapter 3
Val raced into the house and bolted the back door behind her. Nausea hit her like a rogue wave, churning up her stomach. She ran to the kitchen sink and took deep breaths.
The queasiness died down. Maybe she hadn’t stumbled on a dead body after all. Fawn could be playing a prank, wearing Halloween ghoul contact lenses and white makeup.
Val didn’t believe that enough to go back outside. If Fawn really was dead, whoever had put a rope around her neck might still be in the backyard.
She pulled out her cell phone and noted the time. Five after ten. On a Friday night with so many tourists in town, the police would still be busy. She called Bayport Police Chief Earl Yardley. If this was a prank, he would give the prankster a lecture she wouldn’t forget. And if it wasn’t, he’d know what to do. Before taking over as chief here, he’d worked as a detective in other Maryland jurisdictions.
Val was relieved to reach him in person instead of his voice mail. “Chief, it’s Val Deniston. Someone—I think one of the tourists staying here—is lying in our backyard. She looks dead, and she has a rope around her neck.”
The chief groaned. “If anyone else in this town said that to me, I’d tell ’em to go sleep it off. With your knack for coming on dead bodies, I take this seriously. Do the other tourists staying at the house know about this?”
“They don’t know I found her dead.”
“Don’t say anything to them. I’ll be there shortly with the EMTs. For now, stay inside with the doors locked.” He hung up.
Val went to the front hall, saw that a light was on in her grandfather’s room, and knocked on the door. “Granddad? I have something important to tell you.”
“Come in.” Still dressed, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, with one shoe on and one off. He looked up at her. “You’re pale. What’s wrong?”
She sat down next to him. “Get ready for some bad news. I found one of our guests dead in the backyard—Fawn.”
He clutched the edge of the mattress. “Are you sure she’s dead? Did you check her breathing and her pulse?”
Val shook her head. “She has a rope around her neck. I think she was strangled.”
He reached down for the shoe he’d taken off. “She might still be alive. I’m going to check. You stay inside the house.”
Val couldn’t talk him out of going to the backyard. She walked back to the kitchen with him, gave him a flashlight, and watched from the window when he went outside.
He returned a minute later. “She’s dead alright. The strangler took the time to make loops at both ends of the rope for a better grip.”
Not a spur-of-the-moment crime. “I saw you shining the flashlight around. What else did you see?”
“A crab hat and two cigarette butts on the ground. A couple of strawberries on a plate and a little bowl of chocolate on the table.”
“She was having seconds on th
e fondue.” Half an hour ago, Val had wiped fondue drips from the counter near the microwave and wondered who’d melted chocolate tonight. Now she knew.
Granddad stared at a photograph on the wall, a candid shot of himself and Grandma taken a few months before she died. “Over the last few years, I’ve seen a lot of deaths. Your grandmother, Ned’s wife, and a couple of real good friends. They were in their seventies. It’s unnatural for a young person to die.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Do you think one of them murdered her?”
“Not necessarily. Someone she didn’t know could have followed her here after the fireworks. Let’s not assume we have a murderer staying here.”
Granddad squeezed her hand. “I’m mighty glad you’re not staying here.”
“Me too.” She reached into her pocket and fingered her cousin’s house key. Good thing Monique wouldn’t have to wait up for her. The police might be here for hours, and Val didn’t know when they would let her leave. “Be sure to lock your door tonight.”
“You forget I have a watchdog. I’ll put him in the hall outside my room before I go to bed.”
Val smiled. “RoboFido to the rescue again. You’ve come up with more uses for that barking motion detector than anyone could imag—” She broke off at the sound of knocking on the front door. “That must be the chief. I’ll let him in.”
“Look out the sidelight first and make sure it’s him.”
Val went to the hall and peeked through the sidelight. Chief Yardley, a large man in his late fifties, stood on the front porch with a young policeman, Officer Wade. Val remembered the rookie from the last time she’d reported a murder in Bayport. He looked no older than a recent high school graduate, though he was probably in his twenties. She opened the door.
The two men came into the house, followed by a pair of EMTs, a wiry man and a husky one. They’d come without sirens, but the flashing lights on the ambulance would alert anyone who looked out the window of an emergency at the house. Maybe no one would look. Harvey, the neighbor with a driveway adjacent to Granddad’s, had left for the weekend to avoid the influx of tourists. Across the street, the couple with a baby and a preschooler usually didn’t stay up this late. But dog walkers might come by. Everyone on the street would know something had happened at Granddad’s house, by morning if not sooner.
Val led the way to the small enclosed porch at the back of the house. She pointed to the door leading to the yard. “She’s out there, on the ground, halfway between here and the shed.”
The chief nodded. “Okay. You and your granddaddy stay inside.”
Relieved at not having to look again at those dead eyes, Val stood at the back door with her grandfather, watching as Officer Wade’s powerful flashlight illuminated the yard. The EMTs crouched down. The body language when they stood up confirmed that Fawn was beyond help.
Val left her grandfather on the porch and went into the kitchen.
“Hello? Anybody here?” a man’s voice called from the front of the house.
Noah. Val hurried to the dining room to head him off. “Hi. Do you need something?”
“I was in the window seat upstairs, looked out, and saw the ambulance lights flashing. Is your grandfather ill?”
“He’s fine. Thank you for asking.” Val would have been surprised if that answer satisfied Noah, the lawyer.
“Why is there an ambulance here?” Noah’s eyes widened, his curiosity giving way to concern. “Is Jennifer okay? And the others?”
The unnamed others sounded like an afterthought. Why would he think Jennifer wasn’t okay? Though Val wanted to allay the man’s fears, she abided by the chief’s request not to tell the guests what was going on. “I have no reason to think there’s anything wrong with Jennifer.”
Val heard voices in the kitchen. The chief said something she couldn’t catch, but Granddad’s voice carried.
“She was the only likable one in the bunch,” he said. “Where’s Val?”
“I’m in the dining room, Granddad.”
The chief came into the dining room with Granddad and showed his badge to Noah. “Earl Yardley, Bayport Police chief. Your name, sir?”
Noah gaped at the big man. “I’m Noah Hurdly, attorney-at-law in Washington, D.C.”
“I take it you’ve reserved a room in Mr. Myer’s house for the weekend.” Chief Yardley pointed toward the sitting room. “Please have a seat in there. Mr. Myer will join you there.”
The chief turned back to the kitchen, motioning Val to follow him. He asked her what she knew about the woman lying in the backyard.
“She registered as Fawn Finchley. She told us she worked as a gate attendant at Reagan National Airport. She and the other guests are here to help plan a wedding for Jennifer Brown, who’s also staying here.”
“Which room was Ms. Finchley staying in?”
Val shrugged. “Granddad would know. I left here before the guests chose rooms.”
“You know the drill from the last time you found a body. The medical examiner and the crime scene unit will be here shortly. Don’t talk about what you saw at the crime scene to the media or anyone else.
“I want everyone together in one room, including you. Would you tell your other guests to join your granddaddy and Mr. Hurdly? Don’t say why. I’ll give them the news.”
Val took the staircase that went up from the kitchen. She paused outside the room she’d occupied for the last eight months and knocked softly on the door. No answer. She went down the hall and knocked on the first door to the right. No answer in the Rope room either.
Sarina opened the door to the North by Northwest room a second after Val’s knock. She wore a zippered black caftan that could serve as either a robe or a costume for Morticia in The Addams Family. “What is it?”
“There’s an emergency. Could you please go downstairs?”
“What kind of emergency?”
Val framed an answer that no one could call a lie. “I don’t know all the details. We have to vacate the second floor.” She knocked on the nearby door to the Birds room.
Jennifer stuck her head out, her hair mussed and her face free of makeup. “What’s going on?”
Sarina glared at Val. “She says we have to leave our rooms and go downstairs for some reason. This better not take long.” She banged her bedroom door closed and marched down the front staircase.
Jennifer opened her door fractionally wider. “Is this really necessary? I was already in bed.” She wore what looked like a red silk scarf hanging from spaghetti straps and ending at her upper thigh. Her black satin pajama bottoms swept the floor.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have woken you if it weren’t important.”
“Okay. Give me a minute to get dressed. Is Fawn downstairs already?”
That would depend on the meaning of is. Val tried to come up with a better evasive answer. “I knocked on both doors down the hall and no one answered. I’ll try again. Which room was she in?”
Jennifer pointed toward Val’s room. “Straight ahead at the end of the hall.” She closed her door.
Val retraced her steps and paused outside the bedroom that was usually hers. Would she ever go into it again without thinking about Fawn’s death? She took the back stairs down to the kitchen and found Chief Yardley still there, putting his cell phone away.
She pointed at the ceiling. “Fawn had the room right above here, my room except for this weekend. I’m staying at my cousin’s house for the next three nights.”
“Your room here is off limits until we’ve had a chance to search it. Is everyone downstairs?”
“All except Jennifer, the bride-to-be. She’ll be down shortly.” Val headed for the sitting room.
Granddad was in his usual chair facing the fireplace and TV. Instead of leaning back in the recliner, he sat rigid. Val moved an ottoman she often used as a footstool from the study to the sitting room. She set it near Granddad’s chair and perched on it.
Jennifer came into the room, wearing jeans and a turquoise T-shirt. At her
current rate of wardrobe changes, she’d go through everything in her large suitcase before the weekend was over. She settled down on the sofa next to Sarina.
Noah, in an armchair at a right angle to the sofa, frowned. “Why isn’t Fawn here?”
Sarina folded her arms. “She’s probably one of those women who keep everyone waiting.”
And Sarina was one of those women who belittle other women, Val decided. Fawn’s three friends had talked as if she were still alive. A smart murderer would do the same.
“Did you folks wear those crab hats tonight?” Granddad asked with forced joviality.
Jennifer smiled at him. “Fawn and I put them on as soon as we picked them up. Of course, I took mine off when I went to meet Payton for dinner and then put it back on when he left. It was easier than carrying it around.”
Noah’s mouth turned down at the sides. “Payton left?”
“He couldn’t stay for the fireworks,” Jennifer said through tight lips.
“Did you pick up a hat, Sarina?” Granddad asked.
“Yes, but I didn’t wear it. I’m giving it to my eight-year-old niece. She might want to be a crab for Halloween.”
As far as Val could tell, the aunt didn’t need a hat to prove she was a crab.
“I’m saving mine too,” Noah said, “as a gift for a neighbor’s son.”
Val covered her mouth to hide a smile as she imagined the staid lawyer in the souvenir hat. The “claws” hanging down like spaniel ears from the hat would hide the big ears that protruded from Noah’s small head. He might be the only person in Bayport who’d look better in a crab hat than without it.
Chief Yardley strode into the room, a daunting presence in his uniform. Both Sarina and Jennifer gaped at him in surprise. Officer Wade followed him, a notebook in hand. The rookie would jot down information for his boss, as he’d done the first time Val had met him.
The chief introduced himself to Jennifer and Sarina. Jennifer gave him her name. Sarina didn’t, until he prompted her.
Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) Page 3
