“Remind Bill of the Christmas present I gave him,” Junebug continued. “He’ll know what I’m talking about. You got a menu yet?”
“I’ve roughed one out,” I told her. I had too but it was still extremely rough as in meat, booze, sides, dessert written down in my spiral notebook.
“Good. Like Jeff said, make sure there’s plenty of beef. That’s what we like. Lots and lots of beef.” Junebug hung up without saying good-bye. After replacing the telephone receiver, I got to work. After an hour or so, I’d come up with a menu that would undoubtedly have won a rave review from the national beef council and made the American Heart Association lock me up with no chance of parole: chili, steak fajitas, brisket and finally beef tips in cognac sauce. I would serve sides of coleslaw, red pepper cheese biscuits, and have veggie trays available just in case the McClellans had any sensible friends who’d heard about cholesterol.
Satisfied that Junebug and Jeff would be pleased with my offerings, I pulled on a light jacket and grabbed my shopping list before heading to the van. I was almost out the door when I noticed that there were still some red velvet cupcakes left from my latest baking spree. To get to Hillside Market, I had to drive past Eden Academy. Glancing at the kitchen clock, I saw that it was a little after three. I could stop at the school, check with Monica to see if she’d cut my check yet—although I was sure that she hadn’t—and then do some subtle pumping via my cupcakes. Monica wasn’t in the Kemper telephone book so if I wanted to talk to her, it was going to have to be back at the school. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to another run-in with Monica Webber, I wasn’t about to let her weasel out of paying me. I may be many things but a chump isn’t one of them.
“Red velvet cupcakes?” Monica asked incredulously. “Why would you bring me red velvet cupcakes?”
She acted like I’d brought her red velvet handcuffs. “Because it’s a new recipe I’m trying out,” I said, using the same story I’d given Claudine and Junebug, although even those two had been more gracious than Monica. “I’m bringing samples to all of my customers.”
“That shouldn’t take you very long,” Monica said snippily. “But why on earth would you make red velvet cupcakes? They’re so passé.”
“They are?” It was on the tip of my tongue to inquire when Monica had become the newest Food Channel find but I controlled myself. From what I’d seen of the woman, she liked to be the only one who knew things, a personality trait that appeared to have served her well at Eden Academy.
“Of course they are. These were popular in what—the 1950s? Then they had a renaissance about five years ago. Now they’re a joke.” Monica looked at my poor little cupcakes with contempt.
“I didn’t realize that,” I said politely. “I’ll remove them from your sight immediately.”
Sarcasm was lost on Monica. Instead she sniffed and then picked up a cupcake. “Oh, I’ll eat them but I do think you need to start brushing up on what’s au currant and what’s not or you’re going to be the joke of the caterers in this town.” Monica snickered. “Provided that hasn’t already happened,” she added.
I really didn’t like this woman but the plus of feeling that way was that it enabled me to be a lot more bold with Monica than I would have been with someone I might hope to befriend. “So how’s the murder investigation going? Any new leads?”
Monica looked at me icily as she licked frosting off her fingers. “Why would I tell you anything? You aren’t an employee here.”
“No, but I was employed by Eden Academy and I’m still waiting to get paid.”
“I figured that’s why you were really here,” Monica said. “I saw through that lame excuse the second you walked in.”
Chalk one up for Monica. Since there didn’t seem to be any point in trying to butter her up, I asked my question again. “So is there any more information about who killed Frank Ubermann?”
“The police are still baffled,” Monica informed me.
Damn. “So does that mean that the assets are still frozen?”
Monica looked away. “For the most part.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, naturally we have to pay our teachers and there are certain other bills that must be paid on time but we’re still waiting for a new director to be named before things get back to normal.” Monica’s face saddened. “As normal as they’ll ever be without Frank behind his desk.”
I actually felt a little sorry for Monica. True, she was quite unpleasant but she’d also obviously been dealt a serious blow when Frank was killed. So serious that I had pretty much crossed her off my list as a possible suspect. She obviously cared about the man too much to have killed him. “That has to be hard,” I said.
“It’s impossible. Life just isn’t the same without Frank here.”
“Did Frank like jewelry?”
Staring at me like I was nuts, Monica said, “What?”
“I was just wondering if Frank liked jewelry.” I was thinking about the hand in the picture at Claudine’s apartment, the definitely male hand wearing the big silver and turquoise ring. If I could connect that ring to Frank Ubermann, it would be one more concrete way to connect Frank and Claudine as a couple. It wasn’t much but when you have next to nothing to work with, you grab what you can.
“What kind of question is that? And why would you care?”
“I don’t know…I saw a turquoise and silver ring and it reminded me of Frank Ubermann.”
“You met him once and you saw a ring and it reminded you of him? Are you sure you’d never met him before? Is that how you got hired for Junebug’s party?” Now Monica had the same suspicious look on her face that Sylvia Ubermann had worn at the book club meeting. Maybe I’d better stop my amateur sleuthing before people started adding two and two together and wound up with seven.
“Never mind. It isn’t important.”
“Then why’d you bring it up? Where’d you see this silver and turquoise ring?”
“In a picture. Never mind, Monica; it really isn’t important.”
Monica sniffed deeply. “Frank didn’t care for rings but if he did, he wouldn’t have worn turquoise anything. The only ring I ever saw Frank Ubermann wear was a diamond pinky ring that had belonged to his father. Does that answer your questions, Miss Nosy Pants?”
“Beautifully,” I said.
Monica’s telephone rang. Still giving me a deeply suspicious look, she answered. “Eden Academy….what? Oh, all right. I’m on my way.”
“Business calling?” I asked as chirpily as I could manage.
“Yes. Some of us have to work for a living.” Monica rose and walked around her desk. Practically shooing me out the door, she turned and locked it behind her. Wherever she was going, she obviously didn’t want anyone snooping around her desk while she was gone. “Good-bye,” she said somewhat forcefully.
“Nice talking to you,” I lied. I watched as Monica hurried down the steps. A moment later I heard the back door that led to the parking lot open and then slam shut. Was Monica leaving or was she meeting someone in the back? What a waste of time. Not only had Monica dissed my red velvet cupcakes, I also hadn’t picked up so much as half a clue about her relationship with Frank, other than that she was obviously still devastated by her loss. But was that because she had been in love with Frank or because she loved working for him? I would have sworn that she’d been head over heels in love with Frank Ubermann but now I wasn’t so sure. What Monica really seemed to have for her late boss was the kind of hero worship that most people outgrew with their training bras and retainers. Then again, Simpson had said the two of them were having an affair.
“Hi, DeeDee!”
I was pulled out of my muddled thoughts by the sound of a friendly voice. Ruth Sparrow was standing in the doorway of her office cradling a coffee cup. She actually looked happy to see me. “Hi, Ruth.” Walking down the hallway, I reached her office in a few moments.
“Are you here to see someone?”
“Monica,�
� I said a little flatly. “I’m still waiting to get paid.”
Ruth gave a little a laugh. “And how’s that going?”
“Not very well.”
“Come on in and visit for a minute,” Ruth suggested. “This time of day is always quiet for me. The students are gone and the teachers are usually in a meeting around now.”
“All right,” I agreed. I had time for a visit with Ruth before going to the store. Hopefully, chatting with Ruth would be more enlightening than talking to Monica had been. I settled myself in a small chair tucked in the corner of Ruth’s miniscule office. “I’m starting to wonder if Monica’s ever going to pay me,” I commented.
“I think you’re smart to pester her,” Ruth replied. “If you don’t bug her, the odds are good that she’ll never come through.”
“She’s certainly broken up over losing Frank. Not that I blame her,” I added hastily. “Everyone here must be in a state of shock.”
“Monica and Frank were very close,” Ruth said. “Extremely close.” She pursed her lips.
Dropping my voice, I asked, “Is it true that they were having an affair?”
Ruth looked shocked. “Who told you that?”
“Simpson. And I heard Junebug say it too.”
Ruth sighed. “I don’t suppose it matters anymore. Yes, they were having an affair but it was over. It ended some time ago. Frank never kept any of his women for very long.”
“How do you know that?”
Ruth looked at me sadly. “Because I was one of them.”
I almost fell off my chair. Sweet, quiet Ruth Sparrow had been fooling around with Frank Ubermann too? “What happened? I hope you don’t mind my asking—tell me if it’s none of my business.”
“It’s all right. It was years and years ago, almost twenty years. I was working as a secretary at a public school and Frank was a teacher there. He showered me with attention and I fell for him. Oldest story in the book. Of course, when I wound up pregnant, he suddenly didn’t have the time of day for me or for our child.”
My eyes darted to the framed picture of Ruth’s daughter. No wonder those unusual blue eyes had looked familiar. They were the same as Frank Ubermann’s. “How did you wind up working for him at Eden Academy?”
“He didn’t want to pay child support so I told him that he’d better find me a decent paying job.” Ruth spoke bitterly. “He did; this one. It pays very well and I’ve kept my end of the bargain and never told his wife that her husband fathered my daughter. Of course, now that Frank’s gone, who knows what will happen next? I sincerely doubt that Monica will allow me to continue to make twenty-five dollars an hour to be the school’s receptionist.”
Wow. My mind refused to wrap around the fact that Ruth and Frank had had an affair. Ruth seemed so down-to-earth, so normal. How could she have fallen for someone like him? “Does your daughter know who her father is?”
“No. That isn’t the kind of information that she needed to know. You’re a mom, aren’t you, DeeDee?”
“Yes, I have a grown son and a daughter.”
“I thought so. Moms can recognize each other and I can tell just by talking to you that you’d do anything for your kids.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “I would.”
“So would I, and for me, that has meant protecting my only child from knowing what a creep her real father is. I’d rather see him dead than let Amanda find out.” Ruth clapped her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you didn’t,” I said but I was wondering if I really believed that. Ruth Sparrow had a serious axe to grind with Frank Ubermann. Maybe he’d decided that enough was enough and that he’d no longer pay her the exorbitant salary that she’d been receiving for being a receptionist for so many years. I liked Ruth and she seemed sincere but what did I really know about her?
A sudden loud thunk interrupted our conversation, so loud that it made me jump. “What was that?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It sounded like it came from the parking lot.” Ruth got to her feet and ran down the hall. I followed behind her. Together we tripped down the steps until we reached the back door, the same back door I’d heard Monica slam a few minutes earlier. Stepping outside, we both scanned the mainly empty parking lot. “Look!” Ruth pointed toward the short yellow bus that had Eden Academy painted across its side.
Turning my head, I saw what Ruth was pointing at. Sticking out from under the bus, much like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz, were two legs. “Dear God,” I said as we sprinted over but even though Ruth dialed 911 as we ran, I knew in my heart that it was too late. Monica Webber was already dead.
“In a way, it makes sense,” Simpson Ingalls remarked a short while later. The police were busily marking off spots on the pavement while a cluster of Eden Academy staff plus myself watched. Simpson, Claudine, Jack and the student teacher Emily had joined Ruth and me seconds after we reached Monica’s body. The scenario was eerily reminiscent of how we’d discovered Frank Ubermann’s lifeless form lying on the floor of the school’s basement just a week before.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He shrugged somewhat nonchalantly. “Monica was an ace at throwing other people under the bus. She loved that expression. ‘I just threw so and so under the bus!’ I can’t tell you how many times I heard her say that over the years after she’d stabbed someone in the back or gotten someone fired or just tattled on one of us to Frank. It seems like poetic justice to me that that’s how she’d end up—literally under a bus. The Eden Academy bus yet.”
“Simpson!” Claudine snapped. “Shut up for once in your life.”
Simpson shrugged again. “I’m sorry she’s dead but I’m not going to act like I liked her. Monica and I never liked each other. I don’t think Monica ever liked anyone other than Frank.”
A policeman approached us and began to fire off questions. Since I didn’t know the answers to any of them, I listened as I tried to piece together this latest tragedy. It couldn’t have been an accident so who ran her over? “Who drives that bus?” the police officer asked.
“Maxie Cox usually does but she took the other bus today because that one’s been acting up,” Ruth replied. “We need a new bus but the school hasn’t been able to afford one.”
“We do have a lot of expenses, don’t we, Ruth?” Claudine said icily. Hmmm. Was Claudine making a jab at Ruth’s salary? Claudine had to know how much Ruth made an hour. I recalled Monica commenting that Claudine was on the school’s finance committee.
“Where is Ms. Cox?”
“Running her route,” Ruth replied, ignoring Claudine. “She usually gets back to the school around four-thirty.”
As if on cue, another short bus pulled into the lot. I could see Maxie’s large, hulking frame behind the steering wheel dressed in a red and black plaid lumber jacket with a matching cap. She expertly parked the bus in a corner and then climbed out of the bus and began walking toward us. “What now?” she barked as she got closer.
“Another murder,” Simpson announced. “The ever-so-charming Monica. Boo hoo.”
“This isn’t a laughing matter, sir,” the policeman said sternly.
“Sorry,” Simpson said. “I know that but I also know that I’m not a hypocrite. If you think Frank Ubermann was asking to get murdered, then I’m afraid you can say the same thing about his little Girl Friday there.” He gestured toward Monica’s legs with his chin. “Monica was practically begging for it.”
“Why do you say that?” the officer asked in a pleasant enough tone.
I noticed Claudine lightly kick Simpson in the shin and he seemed to remember that anything he said could be held against him in a court of law. “Oh, don’t mind me. All I’m saying is that Miss Monica didn’t have a winning personality.”
“That’s an understatement,” Jack muttered under his breath.
Maxie was staring down at Monica’s legs. “How the hell could that have happened? I couldn’t get this bus started this morning.”
>
“Apparently someone could,” Claudine said.
“Does anyone know why Ms. Weber was out in the parking lot?”
“I was in her office when she received a telephone call,” I volunteered. “She said she had to meet someone and she left but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”
The officer eyed me. “Weren’t you here when Mr. Ubermann was killed?”
“Yes. I catered a lunch that day.”
“Funny coincidence that you’d be here now,” the officer noted.
“Whoa,” I said, holding up a hand, “I was in Ruth’s office; we both heard the noise when Monica got hit.”
“That so? Well, do me a favor and don’t leave town unexpectedly. We’re probably going to want to ask you a few questions. Got a card?”
Reluctantly, I handed him one of my Classy Catering’s business cards. I should have headed straight for the Hillside Market instead of stopping to see Monica. How was I ever going to explain this second brush with murder to Steve?
“Really, DeeDee,” Simpson remarked, “Forget changing the name of your business to ‘DeeDee Gourmet.’ Maybe you should change it to ‘Killer Catering.’”
I didn’t laugh because the police officer was right; this was no laughing matter.
Chapter Fifteen
“You look industrious,” Steve commented that evening when he entered the kitchen after getting home from work. “What smells so good?”
“Chili, fajitas, beef tips—enough red meat to choke a horse. Plus homemade biscuits and individual pecan pies. Does that sound like enough to you?”
“Enough what? Calories? Cholesterol? Fat? I’d have to say so.”
I hit him lightly with my wooden spoon. “Enough food, Steve! Junebug and Jeff said they wanted a menu that was heavy on red meat and hard liquor. I bought out the booze section at the liquor store so I’m good on that but I’m a little concerned that they’ll be upset that I’m not serving steak.”
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