Ganache and Fondant and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  She looked up, caught my eyes, dropped her gaze quickly. “You didn’t have to come back.”

  “I did.” I sank to the floor across from her, squeezing one of her feet. All of the anger ran out of me, leaving me feeling deflated and tired. “Mom, I went back to the set. I checked the sugar.” She sniffed softly, stroking Petunia’s ears. “I was right. I tasted it. Mom, someone cut it with salt.”

  She finally met my eyes again, a faint bit of her own anger rising before it died. I watched it snuff itself out while she wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

  “It doesn’t matter, Fee,” she said. “I should have tasted my batter.”

  She’d be using that punishment against herself for a long time, unless I could change her mind.

  “Since when do you expect your best recipe that you’ve made a million times and tested every single time to need testing again?” I wished I could fix this for her, but she had to come to forgive herself on her own. I saw it as she cringed from my attempt to make her feel better. “Mom.”

  “Always test your batter.” A life lesson? “It doesn’t matter anyway.” Was she getting over it? That would be awesome. Except the bright and bubbly woman I knew wasn’t coming back, hadn’t bounced out of her funk just yet. I guess she earned a bit of angst, and her defeat had only come this morning. Still.

  “Mom,” I said. Stopped. Telling her what happened might piss her off. Then again, being angry with me for finding yet another body could snap her out of her sadness. Still, she’d been so upset with me in October when I’d gotten tangled in Sadie’s murder, I wasn’t sure spilling what happened tonight was a good idea. Except, of course, Crew was going to come and question her and she’d be finding out anyway. Best to get the mess direct from the horse.

  She looked up when I didn’t finish right away. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “That’s not it.” I groaned and sagged back, Petunia leaving her and coming to me before snuffling Mom’s pristine floor for crumbs. “Ron Williams was murdered.”

  Mom gasped, both hands going to her mouth, bloodshot eyes huge. “What happened?” I told her, wincing as I admitted I found him. Despite my initial nervousness, I needn’t have worried. Mom patted my knee before sinking back against the stove again, shaking her head.

  “How horrible,” she said, hiccupping softly. “For you, honey.” Her eyes narrowed. “Not him.”

  Yikes. Well, if she wanted to hate him where once she adored him, awesome, I was all for it. Except, of course, he was dead and that kind of attitude in front of Crew would get her a nice, warm jail cell and a murder charge. “Where were you tonight?” I knew better than to ask, but she had to understand what was coming.

  Mom shrugged, casual and uncaring. “Here,” she said. “Baking. Trying to figure out what I did wrong.” Her shaking hands rose a moment then fell into her lap. “Silly. I knew in my heart it wasn’t me, Fee. But I couldn’t help myself.” This time a tiny sob rose, one she smothered with a fist over her lips.

  I looked around then, anger reappearing. “Where’s Dad?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I took a nap and when I got up, John was gone. So I started baking.” Petunia seemed to have found some trace of what Mom was making earlier and got busy snorfling it in the corner. Not like Mom to leave a mess, but then again she wasn’t exactly herself right now.

  Meanwhile, my heart hurt. How could he leave Mom alone at a time like this? Yikes. I’d suspected Dad of murder once before, of killing Pete Wilkins. Could he have killed Ron? But no, Dad would never do anything to point the finger at Mom. Like me, if she wanted the guy dead, he’d be dead. But if Dad did it? No one would ever find the body.

  “Fee.” Mom swallowed hard, staring at her hands in her lap. “There was a controversy last season. One of the contestants claimed she was sabotaged and she lost because of it. It was a huge scandal the show swept under the rug.”

  I stared at her a long moment but didn’t see her. Not when the face of Joyce Young swam in my head.

  “The contestant accused Janet of cheating.” Mom cleared her throat before going on. “But Ron backed her and the other woman lost. Someone said she was paid off to shut her up and the mess increased ratings.”

  “You knew the show was rigged,” I said. “Why did you enter?” Oh Fee, way to hurt your mother.

  Instead, Mom shrugged, voice tiny as she answered. “I didn’t believe it. I thought she was lying. I wanted to think Ron was a good person.” She stilled. “I was wrong. About so many things.”

  I exhaled into the quiet of my mother’s dark kitchen, my pug finally finishing her hunt for extra morsels and collapsing between us, groaning softly in the stillness while I wondered about our screwed up culture and how much stock we put into total strangers we thought we knew because we saw them on television every week.

  “I know you think I’m pathetic,” Mom said, wiping at her nose again absently. “I’m a grown woman. It’s a stupid cooking show. I shouldn’t have believed I even had a chance. Or that I should expect to be treated fairly. But I did, Fee.” She finally met my gaze again. “I really did. Now I don’t know what to do or how to feel about myself.”

  My lower lip trembled as I slid toward her, trying to hug her. She dodged me but I wasn’t going to let her escape a giant Fee hug, not right now, not when she needed it the most. Except, naturally, at that instant, the doorbell rang and I promised myself I’d punish whoever stood on the other side for giving Mom the excuse to escape me.

  Just before she reached the entry, I called out to her. “Mom, what was the contestant’s name? The one who accused Janet?”

  “Joyce Young,” she said, and opened the door.

  Of course it was.

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  I scowled at Crew when Mom let him in, as he took off his fur hat and nodded to my mother, voice low but carrying.

  “Evening, Lucy,” he said, glancing up when Petunia waddled to greet him, then to me before he met Mom’s eyes again. “I’m sorry to bother you. Fee’s told you about the murder?” Mom nodded. “You’ll understand then why I have some questions?”

  I wanted to be mad at him, but his tone was careful, kind, respectful. So I didn’t say anything when Mom gestured for him to enter. He even took a moment to slip out of his boots, to scratch Petunia behind her ears as she moaned her happy pug pleasure at his touch. When he joined us at last sock feet sliding over the polished hardwood, jacket zipper humming when he undid it, I did my best not to cut him any slack for what he was about to do. His job, but still.

  Still.

  “Is John home?” Crew didn’t look around, kept his gaze on Mom. Too compassionate, too gentle. I wanted to be furious with him and instead I found myself mentally begging him to just get it over with.

  “No.” Mom’s pale cheeks pinked faintly. “I know what you’re here to ask and I can assure you neither of us had anything to do with Ron Williams’s passing.”

  Crew’s gaze flickered to me and back to Mom. “You of all people know I have to do this, Lucy. To eliminate you.”

  Her normally gracious nature was nowhere in sight. She turned sideways, away from him, arms crossing over her chest, chin tilting upward as her face set into a mask of blankness.

  “John’s right,” she snapped. “You’re a young fool without the sense the maker gave you. Ask your damned questions and then get out of my house.”

  Wow. I’d never seen Mom act like this before. Bitter and resentful and not herself at all. Wasn’t letting Crew off the hook, though. Because he could have left, apologized and done this later. Instead, he gritted his teeth visibly, jaw jumping, and forged on.

  “Where have you been since the taping ended?” Nice way of saying since she ran off the set in a mess of tears.

  “She’s been here,” I snapped.

  “I didn’t ask you,” he said. Inhaled. Exhaled. “Lucy? Have you been home?”

  Mom flinched, not out
of guilt, I was sure of that, but because I could see her face, while he only had her profile. Watched the self-condemnation travel over her features when she clearly relived her exodus from the Lodge earlier in her mind. This wasn’t happening, not on my watch.

  “I told you already.” I stepped between him and Mom. “You know, I think my mother is too tired for your questions and maybe she wants to talk to a lawyer before she says anything further, Sheriff.”

  Crew’s temper made an appearance. At least he saved it for me and didn’t use it on Mom. “Does she need a lawyer, Fee? Something I don’t know about?”

  “I think everyone who comes in contact with you in this town needs a lawyer at some point,” I snapped back. “Because you obviously have zero idea how to investigate a real crime or you’d be out there talking to the people who worked with and were screwed over by Ron Williams.”

  Oopsie doodle. I watched his own brand of doubt cross his face before he slammed it down again.

  “I’m doing my job,” he said, quiet, controlled. “I’m questioning people connected to the victim. It’s called police work, Fee. Something you don’t understand because you never went to the academy. Instead, you prefer to bumble around and make everyone’s lives miserable, preferably mine, from what I can tell.”

  “If that means keeping you away from my mother when she had nothing to do with the murder you should be out there investigating,” I said, “then so be it.”

  “Oh, would you two just stop it!” Mom startled me, startled both of us. I spun to find her cheeks wet with tears, dark red with building emotion, hands wringing in front of her. “Just stop it and go away and leave me alone!” I watched her run from the room, down the hall, the sound of her footfalls ending at the slamming of her bedroom door.

  Petunia’s whine and a wash of icy air was the only warning we had we weren’t alone anymore, that we’d had a witness to Mom’s outburst, unexpected and terribly timed. For Crew, that was. I turned to find Dad standing in the entry, looking about fit to tear the sheriff in half, glaring as he slammed that door, just as Mom had hers, towering over both of us like a bear who’d been poked one too many times with a very sharp stick.

  “What’s going on?” Dad stomped toward us, not bothering to take off his boots. A small part of my mind winced that Mom would be furious with him for tracking the world outside onto her clean floor while Crew stiffened beside me.

  “I had questions for Lucy,” he said, all professional again, “and I have some for you.”

  “I heard.” Dad wasn’t in the mood, apparently. “We’ll be by the station in the morning. But right now, Crew, you’re no longer welcome in my house. Not if you insist on making my wife cry.” He paused on his way past both of us. “In case you missed it, she had a bad day. You know very well Lucy didn’t kill that judge and putting her through this right now is just petty.” Crew actually flinched next to me. “You’ve got a lot to learn yet about being sheriff in a small town.” Dad swallowed, anger fading while he walked away, his parting words carrying over his shoulder. “You want to make sure this job stays yours? A bit of compassion never hurt anyone, young man.”

  I had no idea what Dad’s comment about Crew keeping his job meant, but I didn’t really care just then. Dad left, finally shedding his boots at the threshold of the kitchen, leaving us both there, Petunia panting between us, and disappeared down the hall toward the bedroom and Mom. Never mind he was in a whole heap of trouble for leaving her alone in the first place. But I’d deal with that later.

  I spun away from Crew and headed for the exit, hating how much time it was going to take to get away from him, feeling the burn of tears in my eyes, the tightness in my throat. Why couldn’t it be summer? I could slip on sandals and race out the door. Instead, I grunted my way into my boots before snapping on Petunia’s lead, grateful I hadn’t taken off her foot protection, looking up at last to find Crew standing there, his own boots firmly in place, hands in his pockets, expecting it to be awkward.

  Instead, his blue eyes were so sad I faltered, paused. Waited for him to say something despite wanting to run away.

  “If you could just…” he gestured for me to make room. Ah. He wasn’t being polite, I was in his way. I grunted at him before stepping aside, staring down at Petunia who whined softly at me, as if sensing I was unhappy and not sure how to fix the problem. If only she could.

  Crew didn’t try to leave, though he did close the gap between us, hovering with one hand on the door handle.

  “Did he suffocate?” Because asking about the case felt better than trying to figure out why the distance between Crew and me felt as vast as a chasm instead of a bare few inches in a small entry.

  He nodded without argument. “Right before you found him. Doc said he’d been dead less than a half hour.”

  Creepy. I’d arrived at about 6PM. Had I been entering the set when he’d been struggling for his last breath through the thick plastic over his face? Queasiness turned my stomach but I wasn’t here to defend myself.

  “Mom’s awfully small to wrestle such a big man and hold him down long enough to smother him with a plastic bag.” Not quite an accusation.

  “Doc thinks he was struck from behind, was unconscious before the bag was applied.” Crew gave that up without a hint of hesitation. “Someone whacked him with a pot. I found it in the trash with a big dent in it. Fee, the only one missing was from your mother’s kitchen.”

  “Yet another reason not to suspect her,” I said. Because obvious did not become a former sheriff’s wife.

  He sighed. Nodded. “I know,” he said. “But I have to do my job.” Again with shoving that fact between us. I wondered about what Dad said. Was Crew in trouble over how he ran things? He left without another word while I shivered in the cold he let in, knowing that shudder reaction had more to do with the regret in his voice than the January night.

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  I almost turned around and went back into the house, to confront Dad and try to comfort Mom again. Instead, tired and knowing I could only make things worse, I headed out the door, Petunia tugging on the leash, eager to go home. I kind of agreed with her.

  I made it to the street before I realized Crew hadn’t left yet and flushed while I stopped in surprise, my pug happy enough to pause and wait for me to do something besides gape at him sitting behind the wheel of his truck, staring into the dark.

  I could have kept walking. After all, he’d done it to me, exited Mom and Dad’s and gave me an out. But I had two important things to tell him and while I knew I ran the risk of setting him off all over again I also couldn’t in good conscience let them go.

  My mittened knuckles knocked on the glass and made him jump. Honestly, I’d just seen him. Why did he look so surprised to find me standing there? He wound down his window, blue eyes startled and open as I nodded to him, letting him see I wasn’t angry but determined.

  “Two things and I’m out,” I said. “Look into Joyce Young if you haven’t already. She lost last year and accused Janet of cheating. Ron sided with her. She was at the Lodge today.”

  Crew didn’t flinched or look pissed so I rushed on.

  “And I saw Malcolm Murray leaving the set,” I said. “I have no idea if he’s connected, but he and his boys were there for a reason, so he might have a history with someone there.” I stepped back from the open window, shivering in the cold. “There. That’s it. I’m done.”

  “Fee, I’m sorry about Lucy.” Did he hear what I just told him? “That was… horrible. She deserves so much better.” Did he mean just now, tonight, or at the show? Didn’t matter. He looked truly regretful, upset. “She’s a really great person. I hope she’s okay.”

  I cleared my throat because I wasn’t going to break down and cry on the sidewalk in front of Crew. Not happening.

  “She’ll be fine,” I said, knowing it sounded forced, before sighing into the darkness. “This is just terrible timing for her. She’s under a lot of pressure with
the wedding coming. And Vivian’s been pretty nasty about Mom taking on the job.” Crew didn’t seem surprised by that. “The last thing she needed was a hit like this. I think she’s been struggling with confidence.” Yikes, way to stab your mother in the back like that, Fee. But where else did this burning need to prove herself come from? I knew I was right, that I’d been trying to ignore the truth of the matter since Mom told me about Aundrea and Pamela’s upcoming wedding. Since Vivian’s secret conversation with Mom in October, the details of which I still hadn’t heard. I’d warned the Queen of Wheat off, but that didn’t solve the initial issue.

  Was my amazing, strong and talented mother suffering a crisis of personal faith?

  “I have nothing but respect for Lucy,” Crew said. “I want you to know that, Fee. She’s been so kind and welcoming when not everyone was.” This was news. “But she made sure I knew I had her support from the day I arrived.” I didn’t know that, either. Huh. “It meant a lot to me.” His hands grasped the steering wheel, as if doing so gave him the courage to speak. “I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision. I knew when I took the job your father was well loved and had been sheriff a long time. But when I showed up that first day and your mother was in my office with a basket of fresh baking and a hug… well. I wasn’t expecting that.” He licked his lips, finally met my eyes again. “And knowing I hurt her just now, that doesn’t sit well with me. There’s no excuse, regardless of what my job demands.”

  I gaped at him. I had zero clue Mom did such a thing, but you know what? That was Lucy Fleming. All class, all the time. I could just see her and her beaming smile, her eager embrace, how firm and friendly she’d have been with him. Making sure he was at ease in his new job. More tears threatened. She was my hero.

  Crew glanced down at Petunia, then up at me while I swallowed past my burning throat. “It’s pretty cold,” he said. “Did you two ladies need a ride home?”