Mystery: The Cook's Comeuppance: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder and Romantic Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 3)

by Victoria Benchley

  "Duncan you must explain how you became known as The Dashing Duncan and A Cute Actuary," Sunny commanded, a sly expression on her face.

  All heads at the table snapped towards Duncan. He shifted his weight. He did not want to discuss his past career glories. Recently brought low, he just wanted to move on.

  "I'd rather not bore everyone," he said with an artificial smile.

  "Oh, now you must tell," enthused Juliette as she leaned across the table closer to Duncan.

  Her excitement made the former insurance investigator uncomfortable.

  Duncan took a deep breath and said, "I developed a program in graduate school that allowed me to determine the causes of industrial accidents. I figured out what caused an accident at a nuclear power plant before the official investigation was over, and it garnered some media attention."

  He paused, hoping that would satisfy everyone's curiosity but they continued to stare at him as if waiting for more information.

  He continued, "I landed on the cover of a national magazine and achieved celebrity status, briefly. Those are nicknames the magazine gave me at the time."

  "Well, I can see why they called you that," Juliette said, fluttering her eyelashes. She added, "You sure don't look like my father's insurance man."

  Everyone at the table laughed and Duncan could feel himself blushing.

  At last Sunny took her leave, but not before stating that she enjoyed the "sobremesa" and hoped to see Duncan soon. The diners then dwindled out of the room. Frogo and Duncan walked back to their offices together. A woman that Duncan could only describe as mousey waited outside the director's office. She did not appear happy.

  "Hola, Isabella," Frogo said. "May I introduce… "

  "I need to speak with you now," Isabella said in a stage whisper, rudely cutting off the director and ignoring Duncan's presence.

  He shifted his gaze to the Scotsman and said, "Would you excuse me un momento, Duncan?"

  "Certainly."

  After a few minutes, Frogo popped into his office and took a seat.

  "Please forgive that interruption. The artists, they are full of quirks, no?" The director rolled his eyes and continued, "That was Isabella Ramon, our poet in residence. She's the oldest artist here and we cannot seem to accommodate her in the mattress department." Frogo shrugged, then added, "Her writing is not my, how do you say, cup of tea… too morbid."

  Duncan figured the poet was in her sixties. He wondered what kind of dark prose someone old enough to be a grandmother might produce.

  "That's quite all right, Frogo. Something is puzzling me though."

  Frogo lifted his eyebrows and palm, encouraging Duncan to continue.

  "What did Sunny mean when she said she enjoyed the sober mesa?"

  The Spaniard burst out laughing.

  "No, no," he said between chuckles. "Sobremesa is what we Spaniards do after a meal. We don't like to rush off. Sobremesa is the art of conversation made over the table after a meal is finished. You noticed how Sunny kept the conversation humming along. She included everyone, to make us all comfortable. She loves the gossip, no?"

  He did not think Sunny tried to make him comfortable by bringing up his former monikers. She was letting him know she knew all about his past. Duncan nodded.

  "Will you take me to Rhinehart's and Juliette's studios?"

  * * * * * *

  Rhinehart Oberman was a glass master. Several large pieces of art glass filled his workroom and the walls were covered with high quality photographs of more. It appeared Rhinehart's work evolved from bright colors to grays and different shades of white. Duncan inspected the photos before turning his attention to the samples in the studio.

  "These are magnificent," he mumbled more to himself than Rhinehart.

  "Danke," Rhinehart replied with a heavy German accent from across the room.

  His studio was spacious with plenty of light from large windows. A hardwood floor was stained with paint drops from prior occupants.

  The artist continued, "I do the glass blowing in Madrid, where there's a good furnace. Here, I am designing my next collection and tinkering with special effects. Care to observe?"

  He straightening to his full height. Rhinehart Obermann was a big Frank. Blonde and blue eyed, he resembled the ideal Aryan Duncan's grandparents loathed. World War II survivors whose own parents lived through the Great War, they had reason to dislike the Germans, but as Duncan grew up he disregarded those stereotypes.

  "I'd love to," he replied, not knowing what Rhinehart meant by special effects.

  Rhinehart lowered the shades on the windows and walked to what looked like a stereo tower in the corner. He fiddled with various knobs and buttons before music blasted through speakers. He adjusted the volume and Duncan recognized Beethoven's Pastoral. One of the glass sculptures began twinkling with small lights. Before long, he realized the lights were synchronized to Beethoven's Sixth Symphony. The sight of the intricate white glass work, that resembled seaweed, winking in multiple colors spurred a degree of joy in Duncan. The lights even changed in color and intensity to reflect the music. He knew the natural landscape around Vienna inspired Beethoven to write this piece. As he enjoyed the light show, Rhinehart eased towards his guest.

  "It's a chandelier, commissioned by a client," the artist said, pointing to his work.

  The fixture was at least one and a half meters tall, composed of countless glass leaves protruding from a vertical axis.

  "The program will synchronize the lights to whatever music the client plays," he added.

  "Really?" Duncan asked, eyebrow raised.

  He'd never seen anything like this before.

  "Ja," Rhinehart said, adding, "my background is in computers. I played the cello as a child and now I have combined my love of music and art with my professional training."

  "It's genius," he said, shaking the artist's hand with both of his in congratulation.

  "Danke, again."

  "How can I get one?" he asked just as the music grew in intensity, signifying a rainstorm.

  The lights became dark blue with the occasional white flash for lightening. Both men laughed.

  "There's a waiting list," the artist stated.

  Duncan figured that meant he couldn't afford Rhinehart's work. The Scotsman was a music lover, and he couldn't wipe the grin from his face to save his life. He enjoyed the effects.

  "It's good to see someone appreciate my work so," Rhinehart added.

  He returned to the corner with the electronic equipment and made adjustments as Duncan lost himself in the experience. When the music ended, Rhinehart opened the shades and broke the magic created by his special effects. Duncan hated to bring up the accident after such an experience, but this was a golden opportunity he could not allow to pass.

  "So, Ms. Peña's accident didn't scare you off?"

  Rhinehart stared at Duncan for a moment before speaking. "Are you aware I found the body?"

  "No, I was not. I'm sorry. The police report stated a worker discovered Ms. Peña."

  Duncan used the cook's name on purpose, gaging the artist's reaction. Humanizing a victim as much as possible often revealed a great deal when questioning witnesses.

  "The janitor came along just as I spotted her. He was in better shape to be questioned since I had been out all night," Rhinehart revealed. He added, "I was still a bit zonked."

  Good, Duncan thought, Rhinehart referred to the victim as her. I'd wager he had nothing to do with it, since he thinks of Ms. Peña as a human being.

  "Did you know her prior to the accident?"

  "No, she was almost new to the academy when it happened. I don't even remember seeing her in the dining hall. Armondo comes out and speaks with us now and then, explains the menu, that sort of thing, but she never did."

  "Do you remember anything else? Did you see anyone besides the janitor?"

  "I remember it was awful, horrendous. I saw no one other than Ms. Peña and the worker. She was sticking out from beneath th
e stove."

  Rhinehart made a face that suggested repulsion and shook his head from side to side, reliving the moment.

  "That tank managed to hold together even after being dropped from that height. Poor Ms. Peña, the force of the stove bruised her entire body. Every visible inch of her was black."

  Duncan had heard of such a thing, once. A missionary to Africa had been crushed under a truck while working on its mechanics. He knew Rhinehart was not exaggerating.

  "I'm sorry you witnessed that," he said. "How has it been here since? Morale low?"

  "There's been a lot of talk and many of the artists left, mostly those from the States," Rhinehart stated. Then he added, "Sunny did a lot to encourage us."

  His own time in America as a chubby youth did nothing to give him a high opinion of its citizens. He'd been picked on without mercy and even beaten up a few times on his way home from school. The fact that an American had recently broken his heart didn't help either. He was definitely sour on the States and could imagine those artists, easily rattled, running for home.

  "What was the talk about?" he asked.

  "We, meaning the artists, heard that the staff thought it was no accident. They thought Ms. Peña was somehow lured to that spot and murdered. The police thought otherwise," Rhinehart concluded, shrugging.

  "You said Sunny encouraged the artists. Are you two friends? Did she know Ms. Peña?"

  "Sunny tried to get everyone to stay, to pull together. I didn't know Sunny until I came here, and we haven't socialized outside of the academy. I think she likes these though," Rhinehart said, flexing his arms and chuckling.

  The German had huge biceps, which he would need for making glass.

  He continued, "I don't know if Sunny was friendly with Ms. Peña or not."

  "You've been very helpful, Rhinehart. If you want to try out any more music, please call me. I'd love to experience your work again," Duncan said, leaving the studio.

  "Bitte schön, anytime, Duncan."

  Frogo said the next door down the hall on the left was Juliette's studio space, and Duncan decided to try and catch her there. He checked his watch. It was after three o'clock. He'd spent over an hour with the glass artist and, at the time, he'd enjoyed every moment, except for the shop talk about Ella Peña. Now, something unpleasant nagged at his mind regarding the experience.

  He knocked on the honey stained wooden door. It sounded solid. There was no answer, so he pounded again, louder this time. Still no answer, Duncan eased the door open, noticing its heavy antique hinges.

  "Hallo, anyone there? Juliette?" he called.

  Over by the window, Juliette bent over a potter's wheel, ear buds on her head. Duncan waved his arms about and stomped on the wood floor trying to get her attention. He did not want to startle the artist.

  "Hola," Juliette said, looking up and pulling the ear buds off. "Are you dancing a jig?" she asked, giggling. "Let me finish up here. Look around and I'll join you un momento," she added, still laughing.

  This studio looked completely different from that of Rhinehart's. Cellophane-covered blocks of clay lined shelves down one length of the room. Various tools sat atop the blocks. An empty steel armature, or framework for a sculpture, shaped like a human occupied one corner. Various portable heaters of all sizes and shapes were scattered throughout the room and large yellow bricks made of what appeared to be wax obscured a counter. He spotted two blowtorches among the clutter. Bags of what he assumed was plaster leaned against a wall, side by side with Styrofoam, and a kiln took up additional floor space.

  "Finito," Juliette called, approaching Duncan. "What do you think of my studio?"

  "It's amazing," Duncan said, observing various sculptures placed on pillars throughout the room.

  "A bit of controlled chaos, I'd say, no?" Juliette said with another giggle and a pretty smile.

  Juliette wore her thick, black hair long, had a petite frame, and outgoing nature. She dressed in a black tank top and black jeans with sneakers. Duncan guessed she was still in her mid-twenties. She had that youthful enthusiasm that usually disappears in one's thirties. He couldn't place her accent.

  "Let me give you the grand tour," she added, bounding towards Duncan and taking him by the arm to lead him through her workroom.

  She headed straight for the sculptures.

  "These are all models for bronzes I am going to produce. Most of these are made of Plastilina, an oil based clay that won't dry out." She pointed towards the heaters and continued, "When the modeling material gets too hard to work, I heat it up with those and continue sculpting. The medium softens under a higher temperature. I'm one of a few of the younger generation of artists who employs the Lost-Wax process in my bronzes. It's a tedious procedure, but the results are worth it."

  They continued to another column which held a diminutive sculpture made of the yellow material Duncan observed earlier.

  "Here I made my model of wax. The features are finer when one employs this medium, but it's so difficult to work with, it's only good for small items," she added.

  Duncan studied the object. A classical dolphin at the foot of a man met his gaze. The man wore a toga and sandals. His long beard and shoulder length hair appeared wind blown. Juliette had carved the scales on the fish with incredible detail. The sculpture stood less than a third of a meter high.

  "Brilliant!" he declared.

  "Gracias. It's for the desk of a captain of industry in Norway, commissioned by his wife for his 60th birthday."

  "Will you have it finished in time?" Duncan asked.

  "Oh yes. This is one of two that I created. Its twin is ready for pouring at the foundry. I made an investment casing around that form. Then, I heated everything until the wax melted and drained out a hole in the bottom. That's why it's called the Lost-Wax process. Next week, I'll witness the pouring. Foundry workers pour molten bronze into the empty exterior and let it cool for several hours. Then, we crack the casing, remove outside shell, and the statue is ready for finishing. It's exciting at this stage," she enthused, leaning into Duncan.

  My, but she's familiar, he thought, looking down at the artist. That was a mistake. She happened to glance up at the same time and Juliette took his gesture as an invitation to lay a kiss on Duncan.

  "Whoa," he exclaimed, pulling away from the lass.

  He saw the initial hurt look on her face transform to anger as she spouted something in a foreign tongue. He thought it was Spanish, but she spoke so fast he wasn't sure.

  "Triste, triste, triste!" Duncan repeated at frantic speed, taking a step back from the girl.

  One of the few Spanish words he'd learned before leaving Scotland was sorry. Something told him it might come in handy. Just as he was sure Juliette was about to hurl a block of clay at him, her countenance changed, her shoulders began to shake, and she started to giggle. He breathed a sigh of relief. All he needed was some kind of incident to tarnish his reputation further.

  "No, Yo triste," she managed to get out between guffaws. "I'm sorry, Duncan. You look so frightened, I will ask for your forgiveness. I have a fiery temperament, no?" she added.

  "Yes," Duncan responded, his worries alleviated.

  She was still giggling, and he joined in as well, the stress of the moment producing laughter.

  "You are quite handsome, Señor Duncan. You should not be cozying up to young girls in their studios, no?"

  Juliette continued chuckling.

  She added between chortles, "We will forget it for now. But I cannot promise it won't happen again."

  Now that he saw she had a sense of humor about the whole episode, Duncan found Juliette more attractive and her personality engaging.

  "Can I ask you a few questions about the accident, before I get back to my office, Juliette?"

  Juliette lifted an eyebrow and said, glancing around the room, "You could work from here, no? You would accomplish much. It is almost time for siesta."

  She held back another laugh and snorted in the process.

>   "I bet I would," Duncan responded. He continued, "Now about those questions?"

  Juliette was giggling again and waved her arm as a gesture for him to continue. It would take a moment for her to compose herself.

  "Did you see anything strange the day of the accident?"

  "No, no. I left before the crane workers departed to visit the foundry in Madrid. The crane was here, but they had not lifted the stove yet," she answered. "I spent the weekend in the city," she added.

  "Were you acquainted with Ms. Peña?"

  "I spoke with her once. She seemed nice enough. We talked in the kitchen, perhaps a week or two before the accident. I went there late one evening to find some milk for my stomach. She was upset from a meeting with someone, disturbed. When I asked her if I could help, she brushed me off and poured me a glass of leche. Ms. Peña asked me about my work. Something she said stays with me since the accident. She told me if she had a daughter, she'd want her to be like me. I could tell she'd been drinking and I guess it made her talkative."

  "How so?" Duncan asked.

  "She said she would want her daughter to be talented and unafraid to pursue her dreams. I thought it a little odd and sad, at the time. Now, I think it is very sad."

  "Did she say whom she argued with, before you arrived?"

  "No, but I felt the person had just left. You know, when you can smell their cologne or sense a tiny breeze created by their leaving?"

  Juliette had a charming way of phrasing things. Duncan got distracted for a moment by the memory of the brief kiss they just shared.

  "Would you recognize that cologne again?" he asked, when he snapped himself from his thoughts.

  "Hmm. I'm not sure. There are many scents in a kitchen. It might be hard to distinguish exactly."

  "I understand. Will you let me know if you come across it again or remember anything else?" Duncan asked.

  "Of course," Juliette said with an alluring smile.

  Duncan matched hers with a grin and headed back to his office. He was thinking about how Juliette was the polar opposite of Caroline Menzies, the woman who broke his heart and ruined his career. Caroline was cool, reserved, and blonde. Juliette was dark, fiery and forward. He liked her. But, he wasn't about to give a woman the upper hand again. Not now, not ever.