Pop Goes the Murder

by Kristi Abbott

  “How much longer, do you think?” I wasn’t sure which of us was going to burst sooner. Well, technically, she was going to be doing the bursting, but I was going to have sympathy bursts at this rate.

  “Any minute. The house is spotless. Evan is carrying around one of his teddy bears and calling it his baby. There’s enough food to feed us for a month in the freezer. Her bag is packed.” He grimaced. “Last night she handed me a three-page typewritten single-spaced birth plan so I would be ready for any and all contingencies.”

  “Wow.” That was intense even by Haley standards.

  “I’m not sure what else she can do, but I’m afraid if she doesn’t go into labor soon, we’ll find out.”

  * * *

  After I closed the shop, I walked Sprocket home. I let him into the apartment and then turned to leave. He sprinted back to the door and stood between me and it.

  “Sorry, boy. I’ve got to go,” I said, trying to skirt around him.

  He feinted and stayed between me and the way out.

  “Sprocket, sit.”

  He did.

  “Now stay,” I said, and tried to go around him.

  He didn’t. It was as if he knew where I was going and thought it was a bad idea. He was right. I had no idea what I was walking into. I knew Antoine was cooking up something and I didn’t mean a new dish. As usual, however, Antoine had somehow coaxed me into doing something I wasn’t sure was a good idea.

  Bad idea or not, I had to go and I was not going to be outsmarted by a dog, even if he was a poodle, a notoriously smart breed. I sauntered over to the kitchen area and casually opened the cupboard where I kept the liver snacks, Sprocket’s favorite treat. He instantly sat and watched as I pulled two out of the box. I gave him one. He picked it up and then trotted after me to the door, once again making sure to maneuver himself so he was between me and the way out.

  I pulled the second liver snack out of my pocket and held it up so I was sure he saw it. I waved it around in the air a little bit, watching his head bobble as he followed the snack with his eyes. Then I tossed it behind me.

  He leapt for it and I leapt for the door. I was out with the door slammed behind me before he knew it. I heard the first howl when I reached the bottom of the stairs. I winced. Maybe he’d stop after a minute or two.

  * * *

  Antoine was waiting for me in the lobby of the hotel when I arrived. He ushered me toward the conference room where we’d met with the crew the night before.

  “Come in, Rebecca. Come in.” Antoine waved me into the room. The furniture had been moved around in the conference room. Everything had been pushed up against one of the far walls, leaving a big open space where there were three high canvas chairs set up with lights peppered around them. It looked like an interview set.

  “What are you shooting in here?” I asked.

  “I’ll explain.” There was something wrong with Antoine’s smile. It was stretched a little too far and he was showing too many teeth. It was his television smile.

  I slowed my steps down. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, chérie. Nothing is wrong. Everything is just as it should be.” He put his arm around my shoulders to draw me farther in.

  I shrugged him off. “Cut it out, Antoine.”

  Lisa Elliott of WOHH News walked into the room. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  I looked from her to Antoine to the three chairs. I’d been ambushed. Antoine had booked an interview with Lisa and had tricked me into showing up for it. I should have listened to Sprocket and stayed home.

  “No problem,” Antoine said, his big, hearty, fake smile plastered on his face. He turned to me and whispered, “Please.”

  “Why should I?” I crossed my arms over my chest and didn’t bother to whisper.

  “Think of the publicity,” he said. “The extra revenue will help me pay for Ms. Harlen’s fees. They were substantial and in no way contingent on me being innocent.”

  I softened. I’d seen the number. I knew what he’d paid her. She had been totally worth it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt a little when it was time to pay up. “What do I have to do?”

  “Nothing. Sit next to me. Answer a few questions.” He stepped in closer and looked me in the eyes with that steady sharp gaze of his.

  Lisa walked over to us and pursed her lips. “Well, I guess it’s good you showed up with no makeup on. It gives Tanya a blank canvas to work with.” She turned and in a sharp tone said, “Tanya! We need some work here.”

  In moments I was seated at the table, facing a woman with lashes so long it looked like spiders were sitting on her eyes. “So, what will you be wearing?” she asked.

  I looked down at the long-sleeved cotton shell I was wearing under a cardigan.

  “Oh,” she said. “The casual look is great. Makes you relatable to the audience. Good choice.”

  I wondered what she’d say if I was wearing a sweatshirt, which I very well could have been. She spent the next fifteen minutes in a state of constant chatter, asking questions about my skin care regime, my preferred eyeliner and my opinion on lip liner. I didn’t answer a single question. She didn’t seem to notice. Finally, she stepped, looked at me with her head cocked to one side and yelled out, “Ready!”

  As she walked away, I was pretty sure I heard her say “Or as ready as she’ll ever be.”

  I was led to the chair farthest to the right. Antoine sat in the center with Lisa in the far left chair. We were miked up and somebody said, “Speed” and we were rolling.

  “We often hear about women who stand by their men, and of course there’s always the adage that behind every great man is a great woman. It’s not often, however, that the great woman is the great man’s ex-wife.” Lisa turned to Antoine. “Tell us how you happened to be here in Grand Lake, Ohio, in the first place, Antoine.”

  “It was, of course, to help my beautiful Rebecca let the world know about her amazing shop, POPS.” He reached across, took my hand and then lifted our clasped hands to his lips.

  First I tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. Instead I pushed forward and bumped into his lips. Hard. He twitched and put our hands back down.

  Lisa laughed. “And it is amazing. I know I’m getting addicted to the pumpkin-spice breakfast bars. I’m trying to stay away from that fudge, though! It looks dangerous.”

  “Uh, thanks,” I said, trying to smile. “I’m working on a lower-calorie chocolate popcorn as well.”

  “Sounds great. Rebecca, you were key in getting the charges brought against Antoine dropped. Not many ex-wives would step up to do that for an ex. What led you to lead that fight?”

  I stared down at his hand on my hand. I tried to wiggle my hand out from under his, but he gripped tighter. “I didn’t think he did it,” I said, still trying to wriggle loose.

  “That’s it? You thought he was innocent? That’s the only reason?” She seemed surprised.

  I finally managed to jerk my hand from Antoine’s grip and threw it in the air. “Can you think of a better reason?”

  Lisa turned back to the camera. “Well, there you have it. A woman’s belief in her ex-husband’s innocence. It all comes down to that.” She froze for a few seconds, staring at the camera with a fixed smile on her face.

  “And we’re out,” the camera operator said.

  I shoved back my chair and stuck my finger right in Antoine’s face. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Try it and you will regret it. I swear.”

  “Don’t be angry. It will be great press for you and for me. You’ll see.” He laughed. Laughed! As if my concerns, my priorities, my life that I’d built were unimportant. Worse. That they were funny.

  I wasn’t laughing. “I’m beginning not to care about press. It’s not worth it, Antoine.”

  “It’s always worth it. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Sitt
ing next to me? Holding hands? We could be like that again.” He took another step toward me.

  I could smell the scent of lavender with warm baked bread tones beneath. Today, it turned my stomach. “No, we couldn’t. Why is it you want me back so much, Antoine? There are dozens—maybe hundreds or thousands—of women who would be happy to take my place. Women who would forgive you for ditching them in less time than it takes to cook a three-minute egg. Leave me alone and find one of them.”

  He dropped his head in his hands. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. Enlighten me.” He looked pathetic, but I didn’t budge.

  He raised his head and fixed me with those bright blue eyes. “Since you left, I have not developed one new recipe. Not one.”

  I’d been gone more than two years. It’s not like Antoine whipped up new recipes for his television show or his cookbook on a daily basis, but in the kitchen at L’Oiseau Gris? He tried something new nearly every week. “Not anything new at all?”

  “Not even a variation on something I’ve done before. Nothing. At least, nothing that has worked.” He slumped against the wall.

  That was a heck of a dry spell. “What does that have to do with me?” I had been an educated palate for him to try new ideas out with, but it wasn’t like I’d developed recipes for Antoine.

  “It’s because you are not by my side. You were my muse.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d been granted muse status. There’d been a musician, a bassist and a composer. Being his muse hadn’t kept him from sleeping with several other lesser women (lesser according to him). I’d decided then that as the horse thief said about being run out of town on the rails, but for the honor, I’d just as soon walk. “There is no such thing as a muse,” I told Antoine. “There is hard work and study.”

  “Yes, yes. For years I thought the same thing. I still do. There are no divine beings that will come out of the sky to grant inspiration. There are people, however, who by their very presence inspire us.” He grabbed both my hands and kissed his way across my knuckles. “You inspire me, my darling. You make me want to be my very best. You must come back to me so I can begin to create again.”

  I slid my hands out of his. “No way, José.”

  “You don’t understand how bad it has become,” he said. “I’m afraid that Melanie did not switch the formulas for the spice mixes when she sold them to Sunny. I think they were simply bad. How am I supposed to start a new product line when I cannot cook? How am I supposed to do anything without you by my side?”

  “You cooked before I came into your life. You don’t need me.” I backed away from him, but he still held my hands.

  “You are wrong. I may have cooked before you came into my life, but somehow you have ruined me. I need you, Rebecca.”

  “No.”

  Antoine flung his hands wide. “But why? You cannot possibly mean to spend the rest of your days in this dreary little town making popcorn. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”

  “What you believe doesn’t matter to me, Antoine. I don’t know why you’re not coming up with new recipes, but I doubt it has anything to do with me.” In fact, I did not fail to notice that the reason Antoine wanted me back had nothing to do with me at all. He didn’t want my input. He didn’t want my opinion. He didn’t want my help. He wanted my presence, a weird passive presence at that. The reason he wanted me back had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him. Once I realized that, it all became very clear.

  I’d often thought that Antoine wanting me back had to do with the fact that he’d never actually failed at anything before. He didn’t know how. He’d failed at marriage—at least marriage to me—and it had shaken his confidence.

  Antoine was smart. He studied food. He understood the science behind what makes a sauce come together or become a gloppy mess. He knew the chemistry involved in making a cake. On a certain level, however, like all artists, there was a magic that happened because of his unique take on the sauce or the cake or the marinade. That came from a place that science couldn’t touch. It came from his gut. Somehow when I’d left, I’d apparently sucker punched him in that gut and he didn’t trust it anymore.

  It was the first time I’d ever felt sorry for Antoine. It was also the first time I’d felt regret about leaving him based on something other than how hard I was making my own life. I took his hands now. He looked up at me, a horrible hope in his eyes.

  “Antoine,” I said. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry that you aren’t coming up with new recipes and that I might have had something to do with that. I don’t want to be married to you, but I think your gifts in the kitchen are gifts to the world. Forget me. Reach inward. You’ll find the inspiration there. I know you will.” Then I let go of his hands and left.

  I thought that would be the end of it. I thought we were done with taping the segment of Cooking the Belanger Way. I thought Antoine had gotten his interview.

  I should have thought about who was listening to us. I should have remembered that Lisa was actually a reporter and not just a talking head on the television set. I should have remembered what a live mic was. If I had, I wouldn’t have been so surprised when the headlines the next morning read:

  FAMOUS CHEF SAYS EX-WIFE IS HIS MUSE

  Followed by an article that began like this:

  Antoine Belanger made an emotional plea to Grand Lake popcorn entrepreneur Rebecca Anderson. According to Belanger, he has been unable to create new recipes or execute old ones well since the two split up. Anderson has promised to consider returning to him.

  * * *

  The second I saw the headline I called Garrett. “It’s not what it looks like. They twisted everything.”

  “What?” he asked, sounding groggy and confused.

  Then I remembered how early I get up. “Sorry. When you get up, try to remember this phone call. It will make more sense later.”

  “What?” he repeated.

  “Also, I want some kind of relationship points for calling. I mean, it’s not a dead body, but it’s something, right?”

  “What?” He was very repetitive when he was sleepy. I’d have to remember that.

  I clicked the phone off. This was not going to be good. I did the only thing I could figure out to do. I got dressed and went to work. I nearly tripped over a rake that Dan had left across my stairs for some reason. It was lucky that Sprocket went down the stairs first and growled at it. I might not have seen it since it was still dark when I left the apartment. Dan usually wasn’t that careless. The combination of the Melanie Fitzgerald murder and the incipient arrival of the Peanut were clearly getting to him.

  * * *

  As we were setting up, Dario said, “I have an idea, by the way. Something that might make the morning easier.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “We set up a self-serve coffee station in the corner. Get those big thermos things and to-go cups. It would save us a lot of time and move the line through faster.”

  “Brilliant. I’ll go out this afternoon and get what we need.” I thanked my lucky stars for him every day. Who knew getting clobbered over the head would set in motion a string of events that would end up with me getting great kitchen help?

  We finished setting up and I opened the doors. A barrage of flashes half blinded me. Then someone yelled, “Rebecca, is it true? Are you getting back together with Antoine?”

  “Do you really think you’re his muse?” someone else called.

  I put my fists on my hips and waited for everyone to quiet. “Do any of you out there want coffee and breakfast bars?”

  A forest of hands went up.

  “The original deal still stands. Hold the questions. Anyone who asks me or Dario a question about Antoine or anything else regarding this case will be immediately ejected from the shop. Try to ask a second question and you will be banned for
life. Understood?” I gave them all my best glare, the one I’d seen Haley give Evan when he colored on the walls in the hallway outside his room.

  The microphones lowered. I propped the door open and went back in the shop. We were mobbed by the time I made it behind the counter, but no one said a word that wasn’t popcorn or coffee related.

  The morning rush finally ran its course and within minutes there was a knock at the back door. The days of leaving it unlocked were long gone. I twitched the curtain aside to see who it was. Annie. I unlocked the door and ushered her in.

  “Interested in a pumpkin breakfast bar?” I asked.

  “Nothing to experiment on me with today?” she asked, sliding into a seat at the table.

  “I didn’t say that.” I pulled out some of the new low-calorie chocolate popcorn and some Bacon Pecan Popcorn.

  “Hey, girl,” Dario said. “Coffee?”

  “Yes, please. So, Rebecca, what was the deal during that interview? You looked like you had to go to the bathroom,” Annie asked.

  “You saw it?” I cringed.

  Annie looked up at me, blue eyes crinkling at the edges a bit. “Are you serious? I’m pretty sure everyone saw it. So what was your problem?”

  “I was trying to get my hand away from Antoine. He wouldn’t let go.” I sank down in a chair and rested my head in my hands.

  “And then the two of you argued while forgetting that you had hot mikes?” Annie asked.

  I nodded without looking up.

  “And then the headlines hit this morning.”

  I nodded again.

  “And you talked to Garrett already?”

  This time I shook my head. “I called him the second I saw them, but I woke him up. I told him I’d talk to him later.”

  “And he hasn’t been by?”

  I shook my head again.

  Annie sat back in her chair and took a long sip of coffee. “Well, being single isn’t so bad.”

  I threw a wadded-up napkin at her.

  Fifteen

  Right before I locked up the shop at the end of the day, I got a text from Haley: “Come to the house when you get home. Please.”