1 Catered to Death

by Marlo Hollinger

  “It would be hard to cater a meal and serve steak,” Steve observed, “wouldn’t it?”

  “I’m not a grill master, as you know. They like Western things so I think what I’ve come up with will be OK.”

  Steve sampled a beef tip, smacking his lips and rolling his eyes. “Fantastic! Did you go over the menu with Junebug?”

  “No, she didn’t want to. She said to serve whatever I thought was best.”

  “Then you’re good.”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous. I want tomorrow night to be perfect.”

  Steve sat down on one of the tall chairs next to the breakfast bar and watched me work. “The book club job went well. That should give you some confidence.”

  “Oh, it did,” I assured him, putting off for as long as I could the news that I’d happened to be on hand for another murder at Eden Academy that afternoon. “I’m also very happy to have another catering job so soon. I guess I just have pre-party jitters.” I scooped a small pile of chopped jalapeno peppers into my hands and then dropped it into the chili. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” I told him with a lot more conviction than I actually felt.

  Steve drew a deep breath and I could tell something was up. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator before sitting down at the kitchen table. “DeeDee, we need to talk.”

  “About what?” I asked, wondering if Steve was going to bring up the Visa bill. I hadn’t charged that much to it but it was bigger than usual, thanks to the deadbeats at Eden Academy.

  “You know how much I love you and how much I want your new business to be a success.”

  Oh, yes, this definitely sounded like a precursor to a discussion on our budget and how we really need to stick to it. I looked up from the enormous pot of chili I was stirring. “Of course, I know that, Steve.”

  “But this whole murder thing is making me nervous. I think you’re hanging around with that Eden Academy crowd too much. It didn’t bother me at first but the more I think about it, the less I like it.”

  Oh, boy. Just wait until he heard about today’s adventure. “I’m not in any danger,” I hedged.

  “How do you know that, honey? You might be if you ask the right guy the wrong question. DeeDee, if one of those people really did murder Frank Ubermann, do you think they’re going to look the other way when you show up with a few red velvet cupcakes and a lot of nosy questions?”

  Sighing, I turned the flame down under the chili, put my wooden spoon on the spoon rest, and turned to face my husband. “I think I need to tell you something, Steve.”

  Steve immediately looked nervous. “What?”

  “I stopped at Eden Academy today with some more cupcakes and I’m afraid something else did happen.”

  “What happened?”

  “Monica Weber was killed.”

  “Oh, my God, how?”

  “Someone ran her over with one of the Eden Academy buses.”

  Steve slapped a hand against his forehead in an overly dramatic move that I hadn’t seen him use since the days when he used to look at Tyler’s report card. “Do you see what I mean? That place is dangerous, DeeDee, and I forbid you to go there anymore!”

  Now it was my turn to stare. “You ‘forbid’ me? Since when do we have the kind of marriage where one of us can forbid the other to do something?”

  “Since you started hanging around that school. I’m serious, honey, I don’t mean to sound like some kind of Victorian husband but it scares the daylights out of me to think of you talking to those people. Can’t you see how dangerous it is?”

  I dismissed his concerns with a wave of my hand. I truly didn’t feel threatened by anyone at Eden Academy. Whoever killed Frank Ubermann and Monica clearly had it in for both of them. No one who worked there could have a grudge against me since I barely knew any of them. “Oh, Steve, really you worry too much.”

  “And you don’t worry enough, apparently. I wish you’d check in with the police and see what they have to say about all of this.”

  “All of what?”

  “Your involvement in trying to solve this crime. I can’t think they’d be in favor of it.”

  “Well, of course they wouldn’t be in favor of it! The police never want amateurs sniffing around and that’s exactly why I’m not going to say anything. Besides, it’s not like I’ve uncovered any major clues anyway. So far I’ve only confirmed the things I’ve suspected—such as Monica and Claudine were both in love with Frank. Or maybe I should say they both had crushes on him. Simpson said Monica was sleeping with Frank but I don’t know that for sure. Besides, having a crush on someone is hardly a crime. I’ve had a crush on you for years.”

  My attempt to sweeten Steve’s mood failed miserably. “Why are you so hell bent on figuring this out?” Steve asked again. “I know how you said you feel morally obligated to help but I have to think there’s more to it than just that.”

  I got up and went back to my chili. “I wonder if I should add a little more salt,” I said. “I don’t like to over salt things and since the McClellans are older maybe I should skip it. High blood pressure and all that. Then again, taste buds fade when you get older so they might want it a little saltier.”

  “Dee Dee––”

  I looked up at Steve. “Monica said the school can’t pay me until everything gets sorted out. Apparently Frank was the only one who could sign checks for Eden Academy. I figured that if I found out who killed him, maybe the school would move along a little faster to find a replacement. Of course, now that Monica’s dead too, who knows when the school will be able to write checks again?”

  “That’s crazy. They have to pay you. They have to pay everyone else too. Somebody’s going to have to take Frank Ubermann’s place when it comes to administrative duties.”

  “I know that but Monica was really dragging her feet and since she seemed to be the one in charge of the purse strings at Eden Academy, I thought I’d just help her along by doing some sleuthing on my own.”

  “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, DeeDee.”

  “Maybe not, but I want my money,” I replied. “Simpson said Monica and Frank had a bad habit of accidentally ‘forgetting’ to pay people who have done services for them. Really, Steve, I’m being totally discreet. I’ve talked to Ruth Sparrow, Simpson, Claudine and Junebug and I don’t think any of them knew I was secretly interrogating them.”

  “Unless they get together and compare notes.”

  “Not going to happen. They don’t like each other enough to compare notes.”

  “Now that Monica’s dead, maybe the school will decide to loosen those purse strings and you’ll be able to get paid. Then will you stop your investigation?”

  “Aren’t you at all curious over who killed Frank Ubermann and now Monica Weber?” I demanded.

  “I would like to know but I’m willing to wait until the police figure it out.”

  Steve meant it. He could be as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be. “So I suppose that means you aren’t going to help me at the McClellan’s tomorrow night? I could really use an extra pair of hands. There’s a lot of food and extras to lug over. Plus, you could do some investigating too.”

  “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  “I can’t,” I told him. “I’ve already invested too much time and money.”

  “DeeDee, you catered that lunch a week ago for around two hundred bucks. That isn’t all that much time or money.”

  “It is to me.”

  We were at a standoff and we both knew it. If Steve caved and came to the McClellan’s with me, I risked the possibility of his being a lot more proactive in his detective work than I really wanted him to be and if I caved, then I could kiss my brand new career adios.

  Tyler breezed into the kitchen dressed in pajama bottoms and a ratty T-shirt. “Morning, Mom, Dad,” he said as he headed for the basement where his computer was set up along with a large screen television.

  “You mean ‘Good afternoon,�
��” Steve informed him. “Or maybe good evening. It’s almost time for dinner.”

  “I was up late,” Tyler replied. “Need to get my beauty sleep, don’t I?”

  “Want to sample some chili, Tyler?” I asked, hoping to stave off yet another confrontation between Tyler and Steve. I was going to be very happy when Tyler finally got a full-time job that paid him enough to move into his own place, if that blissful day ever arrived. As much as I adore my only son, playing the buffer between Tyler and Steve gets exhausting.

  “I just woke up,” Tyler said. “My brain isn’t ready for your chili first thing, Mom. Neither is my stomach. I’ll try some later.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek before continuing toward the basement.

  To his credit, Steve waited until Tyler had vanished down the steps before muttering, “His brain isn’t ready for anything at any time of the day.”

  “Steve,” I began but then stopped. Steve had a point; Tyler was something of a procrastinator, a characteristic I was sure he’d outgrow once he moved into his own place and had to pay his own bills. That or when he hit forty, whichever came first. “Why don’t you finish telling me how you don’t want to help me with this catering job?”

  Steve suddenly stopped scowling in the direction of the basement as a light bulb clearly went off over his head. “I have a great idea. Why don’t you bring Tyler along with you?”

  “Tyler? On a catering job?”

  “Why not? You’re the one who always says that he needs to have some initiative.”

  “Somehow helping me out isn’t the kind of initiative I had in mind.” I tried to picture my son at Junebug’s house but my mind simply wouldn’t go there. Tyler had long black hair, several tattoos and a lip ring. I wasn’t positive but I imagined that most of the McClellans’ guests would look like escapees from the Bush ranch. On the other hand, maybe it would do Tyler some good and the McClellans good too to see how other people looked and lived. “I could ask him, I guess. I suppose I could pay him too.”

  “He should pay you since he doesn’t kick in for groceries or rent or anything else around here,” Steve began but stopped himself. “No, you’re right. If he’s helping you then he should get paid. What time do you have to be there?”

  “I thought I’d head over around four to get everything set up.”

  Whistling to himself, Steve headed down the basement steps. “Tyler? I hope you’re not busy tomorrow night––”

  I smiled to myself, happy that Steve had abandoned the subject of me dropping my investigation, for the time being anyway. I was fairly certain that once the fact that another murder had been committed at Eden Academy sunk in, he was going to pick up the pressure on getting me to back off. Which meant that I needed to pick up the pressure and figure this whole conundrum out. Someone killed Frank and someone killed Monica. The odds were extremely good that that someone was one and the same. But who?

  Shaking my head, I gave the chili another stir. The brisket was in the oven and I’d make the biscuits the next day but I wanted to bake the individual pecan pies next. I was getting tired. Catering was more exhausting than I’d thought it would be, both physically and mentally. Steve came back up the stairs, whistling cheerfully and looking pleased with himself. “He said yes?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? He can’t wait, especially after I told him that he’d make fifty bucks for a couple of hours of work.”

  “Good! If he does really well, I’ll give him a tip.”

  “I wouldn’t go overboard,” Steve suggested. “Just letting him live here is a tip enough in my opinion. Now, honey, I want to hear more about what happened to Monica.”

  “I told you. Someone ran her over with the school bus.”

  Steve looked at me shrewdly. “You do realize that this is the second murder that has happened while you were in proximity within the same week?”

  “Yes…”

  “So the first time it happened, you called me in hysterics. Why didn’t you call me today?”

  Steve had a point. “I don’t really know. When Frank was killed, it was like being slapped or something—I was semi-hysterical. Today when Monica was killed, it was different.”

  “Different how?”

  “I’m not totally sure,” I said slowly. “Maybe because I’m jaded already?”

  Steve laughed. “I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Then maybe because of what Simpson said—that Monica getting killed wasn’t all that much of a surprise. Honestly, Steve, if I had to pick one person out of the entire staff who would end up under a bus, I would have chosen Monica. She didn’t seem to like anyone other than Frank. And none of the other staff seemed to like her either.”

  “I wonder if the same person killed both of them.”

  “I would guess yes, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid I would—DeeDee, I don’t know about this––”

  “Well, I do. It’s fine, Steve. I’ll be fine. And I promise you that if I don’t pick up any good clues at Junebug’s party or if the school finally pays me then I’ll stop my investigation.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that promise,” Steve warned.

  “You have my word.”

  Visibly relaxing, Steve got another beer out of the refrigerator. “What time are we eating?”

  “Are you kidding me? I’m ordering a pizza for us. I’ve had enough of cooking for the day.”

  Steve laughed. “Do you need me to do anything for you?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Then I’m going to catch a game in the den.” Steve kissed me warmly before leaving me alone in the kitchen.

  I got out the ingredients for the biscuits, my mind on my next catering job and also on poor Monica’s demise. Maybe whoever snuffed Monica would also show up at the McClellan’s. Maybe Tyler could do some eavesdropping too, possibly even a little investigating on his own.

  I frowned over that last thought. Somehow encouraging my son to be an eavesdropper and a snoop was never one of my goals when I used to take Tyler to the Mommy and Me class in the basement of the Methodist church. Still, this was to solve a crime—two crimes, actually, so I supposed it would be all right to ask for Tyler’s help.

  Feeling better, I decided that this might all work out. Tyler really did need to do more in the way of job hunting so maybe working for me would give him the nudge he needed to start filling out more job applications. I’d have Tyler handle the bar while I took care of the food. I’d also tell him to wear a nice shirt that would cover most of his tattoos and to perhaps remove his lip ring. It was all well and good to try and expose Junebug’s crowd to someone as young and as hip as my son, but there was no need to shock them. I wanted to get paid for this gig.

  I decided that I wouldn’t mention to Steve that I planned on enlisting Tyler’s help as a junior league sleuth and I’d be sure to tell Tyler not to say anything either. Steve tended to worry too much but I honestly didn’t see any harm in keeping my ears open and my mouth firmly shut. I knew I wasn’t going to rest until I got paid for my first catering job, no matter how much sideline detective work it took on my part and if I managed to solve a couple of murders in the process, well, how cool would that be?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Geez, Mom, they’re all so old,” Tyler said in a loud whisper as he surveyed the crowd gathered in the McClellan’s backyard. I looked at him with more than a little pride. Tyler looked quite handsome in a white shirt, clean blue jeans and with his long hair pulled into a pony tail, very different from the far more scruffy son I saw on a daily basis. “I feel like I should be wearing diapers next to them.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to remark that I was sure that a few of the guests at the party were also wearing diapers but I controlled myself. “I think it’s pretty nice for you to be here,” I told Tyler. “You never get to see your grandparents so just pick out a pleasant looking couple and pretend they’re related to you.”

  Tyler looked doubtful. “Grandma and Gra
ndpa don’t drink like these people,” he said. “I’ve already gone through a bottle of Jack Daniels and I’ve only been here for an hour. Man, can they suck it up. It’s kind of disgusting.”

  Watching a silver haired couple sloppily make out in one corner of the yard, I had to agree with his assessment. The guests at the McClellan’s were a pretty rowdy bunch. “They are…lively,” I said.

  “Lively? They’re gross! But they tip great. I’ve already made over a hundred bucks,” Tyler said. “What time do you think this will be over?”

  “Oh, probably by eleven or twelve.”

  “I don’t mind staying and taking care of the bar once you’re done serving the food. Like I said, I’ve gotten some pretty good tips tonight. It’s given me an idea—maybe I’ll go to bartending school.”

  It wasn’t the law school degree I had once dreamed of my only son getting but it sure beat sleeping until one in the afternoon and then sitting in front of the computer for the remainder of the day and well into each night. “You should look into it,” I encouraged.

  “Do you think Dad would mind if I became a bartender?”

  I didn’t tell him that his father wouldn’t mind if he became a Porta Potty cleaner if it meant steady employment. “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” I said. “We both just want you to be happy.” And employed. “I’m going to go see if anyone needs any more food.”

  “All right,” Tyler said.

  “How about you? Are you hungry? I could bring you a plate of something.”

  “No, I’ll eat later. Seeing everyone eating and drinking has kind of killed my appetite.”

  A silver haired woman wearing a lovely black pantsuit approached the bar. “I’ll take a rum and Coke, young man,” she said to Tyler. “Light on the Coke and use a heavy hand on the rum.”

  “Coming right up, ma’am,” Tyler responded politely.

  Walking away, I was proud of Tyler and his professional behavior that night. I couldn’t wait to tell Steve how well his idea worked out.

  “DeeDee? Is that you?”

  Turning, I saw Ruth Sparrow, Eden Academy’s sweet-natured receptionist standing alone and holding a glass of wine. “Ruth! What are you doing here?” I didn’t mean to sound surprised but I couldn’t help herself. Ruth was so demure, so quiet and so civilized acting while the crowd at the McClellan’s house was anything but those things.