Wacky Walnuts: A Piece of Cake Mystery (Piece of Cake Mysteries Book 2)

by A. R. Winters

  “We’ll need to talk to all those people,” I told Sharon. “Do you think they’ll help out?”

  “I’ll let them know,” said Sharon. “My dad’ll talk to you if I ask him, and I’m sure Helen, our housekeeper, and George, our gardener, won’t mind having a quick chat. Okay, now we’re going to be doing some overhead presses. You’re going to have to finish this workout before you talk to anyone else.”

  Chapter Ten

  Beth and I managed to finish the workout, which went on for forty-five minutes instead of thirty, and then we went back to our apartments and got ready to head over to Celeste’s house.

  “I’ve told Daddy and Helen to talk to you,” Sharon texted. “You can head over there now.”

  Beth and I drove straight over and parked on the road before walking down the long circular driveway and ringing the bell.

  As we waited for someone to answer, I looked around. The house was huge, and the garden out front was perfectly maintained. I could smell the ocean from where I stood, and I felt a brief pang of envy—this was just the kind of house I’d love to be able to afford.

  The door was opened by a woman who looked to be in her early forties. She had tiny crow’s-feet around the corners of her dark eyes, and her skin was tan and her face framed by dark, curly hair that fell just below her shoulders. She wore skinny designer jeans that had artistic rips around the knees, and a light green t-shirt.

  “Yes?” she said, looking from Beth to me with some distaste. She probably thought we were selling something door-to-door, and she had the busy, harried look of someone who was late.

  “I’m Mindy, this is Beth,” I said. “Sharon said she’d warn you we’d try to chat with you.”

  I smiled what I hoped was a charming smile, but the woman just looked at me coldly for a few long seconds. Finally, she sighed.

  “Come in,” she said. “Let’s get this over with. I’m making a pie, so we can talk as I work.”

  We followed the woman inside. The front door opened into a small entrance lobby, about half the size of my bedroom. To our right, I could see a formal living area, with three different seating areas, a piano in one corner, and a spiral staircase towards the far side of the room. Large windows looked out upon a narrow swimming pool, and a chandelier hung overhead.

  Beth and I turned left, into a gleaming white kitchen. The floor was sparkling and looked clean enough to eat off. A gray-veined white marble counter ran along the middle of the room, and another counter ran along the wall. Large windows looked out upon some small fruit trees, and there was a dining area just beyond the kitchen.

  “I don’t have much time,” the woman said.

  I realized she hadn’t told us her name, so I said, “You must be Helen.”

  She nodded and went to wash her hands before going over to a food processor. “Helen the housekeeper,” she said before turning the food processor on and filling the air with a loud whirring noise. When it stopped, she spooned out some white stuff into a bowl and turned to us. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’ve got some questions about Celeste Rocheford,” I said. Beth and I sat down on two stools opposite the counter, and we watched as Helen opened the dishwasher and began unloading it, noisily putting away clean plates and bowls.

  “The woman got what she deserved,” muttered Helen. “Always making my life miserable.”

  “How’d she make your life miserable?” I asked.

  But instead of answering the question, Helen gave Beth a sharp look and said, “The cops say you did it.”

  Beth shook her head no. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “Hunh,” said Helen. “That’s what Sharon told me.”

  “Anyway,” I said, not wanting to get sidetracked. “How’d Celeste make your life miserable?”

  “I’ve got some chores I’m supposed to do,” said Helen. “Laundry, making beds, spring cleaning, that kind of stuff. Celeste always has orders.” Helen pitched her voice higher and tilted her chin up, imitating her former boss. “‘Do this now. No, don’t bother. Helen, why are you doing it wrong?’ That kind of thing.” Helen looked at us to see if we understood, and I nodded.

  “I get it,” I said. “Meddling.”

  “Exactly. And never being pleased. She fired three chefs in the last month alone. Either she fired them, or they quit. Either way, half the month, I’ve also got to do the cooking.”

  “So you did the cooking for Saturday’s party?”

  “Yeah. Apparently my Thai food’s passable enough for guests. But Celeste didn’t trust me to make the desserts.” Helen laughed shortly. “And a lot of good that did her.”

  “So you knew what desserts she was having delivered?”

  Helen nodded and looked at Beth. “I remember you delivered them. In the boxes. I put them out on the countertop, and I was going to prepare them nicely before serving.”

  “So the cake just lay out here till dinnertime?” I said.

  Helen shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t want to put it in the fridge and ruin the texture.”

  “Who else had access to the cake?”

  “Just me and the family,” said Helen. “And my niece, Norma, and her friend Fiona. The two girls came over just before dinner to help with serving the food and some cleaning up afterward.”

  I nodded, trying to imagine someone having access to the cake.

  “And it just lay here the entire time,” I repeated.

  “Now that I think about it,” said Helen, “at some point, someone must’ve ripped off the lid and thrown it out. Because I remember the box was closed, but after a while it wasn’t.”

  “When was this?” I asked Helen, my pulse quickening.

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure, sorry. Probably sometime in the afternoon.”

  “And Fiona and Norma were here then?”

  She nodded. “They both helped to clean up the living area and set the table.”

  “Do you know where I can get in touch with Fiona and Norma?”

  “Sure,” said Helen. “They’re students at Santa Verona University. They live in an apartment building just west of the college. You should be able to find them at home after their classes, or maybe in the morning before classes.”

  She gave me their phone numbers, and I saved them in my smartphone.

  “Can you tell me anything else about Celeste?” I asked Helen. “Had she seemed any different recently?”

  Helen shook her head. “Just the same old finicky woman. Never happy with her lot in life, even though she had everything. A lovely home, lovely red Porsche, lovely family.”

  Helen waved one hand to indicate the massive house, and I nodded. Celeste certainly did live in the lap of luxury. If I had such a nice house, I wouldn’t go around being mean to everyone. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t.

  “Celeste didn’t have any kids of her own, did she?” I asked.

  Helen shook her head. “Said kids would mess up her social life and her figure. Can you imagine?”

  “Do you have any kids?” I asked.

  Helen smiled, a thin, unhappy smile. “I never met the right person,” she said softly. “I’m still hoping to. Maybe I’ll get married now, and have kids with the right man.”

  I made a face, uncomfortable with facing my own biological clock. Helen was in her forties. Beth and I were in our late twenties. Every now and then, my mom would remind me that my “prime time” was running out. I needed to meet someone soon if I wanted kids. And I did want kids. I just didn’t feel like hurrying love. It was a dilemma, but one I hoped would get sorted out without too much stress.

  “I don’t understand Celeste,” I said. “Children bring so much joy. I’ve only got a pet parrot, but I love Pixie so much. I can’t imagine someone saying no to love and joy.”

  “Well, that’s Celeste for you,” said Helen drily.

  “And her husband?” said Beth. “Didn’t he want kids?”

  “He already had Sharon.” Helen looked off into the distance tho
ughtfully. “I guess he does want more kids, but he wouldn’t go against Celeste’s wishes.”

  “I suppose he loved her a lot,” I said.

  Helen snorted. “There was no love there.”

  “How d’you mean? They were together a long time.”

  “Howard is a good man,” said Helen slowly. “But Celeste—she wasn’t happy with anything. Not her money, not her man.”

  “You mean, she was cheating on him.”

  Helen nodded. “It was always one man or the other. She even slept with our last gardener, and then had him fired when he asked for a raise.”

  I smiled despite myself. “He must’ve been heartbroken.”

  Helen shrugged. “I’m not sure about that. But Celeste didn’t care. She just moved on to the next man.”

  “And what about Howard?” I said. “Did he know about this?”

  “I guess he did know. But I don’t think he cared. He didn’t love her, so why should he care?”

  “How d’you know he didn’t love her? Was he also having affairs?”

  Helen looked at us warily. “I’m not sure. Maybe. But he really didn’t seem to care much about her.”

  I made a mental note about Howard. But it’s not like I could ask him directly, “Hey, I heard you didn’t really love your wife.”

  “So who knew about her nut allergy?” Beth asked. “I mean, she told me when she placed her order, but I’d think not too many people knew?”

  “Oh, Celeste always made a big deal of it,” said Helen. “I think half the world would’ve known by now. She was allergic to all kinds of nuts.”

  “And,” I said, “she was a big fan of desserts.”

  “She liked to eat them,” agreed Helen. “But I’m not sure if she kept them down.”

  Beth and I exchanged a glance. “Was that also common knowledge?”

  Helen shook her head. “But that woman kept up appearances. She wouldn’t eat desserts in public, pretended to be dieting. But at night, she’d often have a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a slice of cake. Can’t say I blame her. I like ending my nights with wine and cake, too.”

  “Except,” said Beth, “she died from the cake. How come nobody found her sooner?”

  “Sharon and her fiancé, Fred, went off to a club after the dinner,” said Helen. “And Howard came down to the dining area.” Helen indicated the dining table just off from the kitchen. “He sat there, reading some book on Churchill, and I don’t think he got to bed till late.”

  “Her body was discovered in the early morning,” I said. “Did he stay down here all night?”

  Helen shrugged. “I guess so. I cleaned up till three in the morning, then I went up to my room.”

  “Where’s your room?”

  Helen gave me a funny glance. “I’ve got a bedroom, bathroom and living room above the garage,” she said. “You can enter from the outside, or you can take the stairs from the inside.”

  “Do you like living here?” I said.

  Helen shrugged. “I’ve been here three years now. It’s okay. It pays well.”

  “It’s funny how everyone runs away from Celeste, but you’ve managed to stay.”

  “I just tune her out,” said Helen. “I need this job. I’m not about to risk it by saying or doing something stupid.”

  “Like killing Celeste,” I suggested.

  Helen nodded. “Exactly. I don’t want to mess up my paycheck.”

  “I guess you’re lucky Howard decided to keep you on.”

  “I guess so,” she said vaguely. “I should get back to work now.”

  I watched as Celeste began wiping down the counter, and I racked my brains, trying to come up with anything new to ask.

  “I guess we should go chat with Howard Rocheford,” I said finally. I handed Helen one of my business cards. “Please call me if you think of anything else. You’ve been very helpful.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure if I believed the last sentence. Helen didn’t seem to be hiding anything, and she’d let us know a couple of new things. There did seem to be a trail, but I wasn’t sure where the trail was leading.

  Chapter Eleven

  We found Howard Rocheford in his home office, a bookshelf-lined room with a couch against one wall and a heavy mahogany table. Howard sat behind the table, leaning back in his plush leather chair, watching Beth and me, who were sitting opposite him.

  “I appreciate you taking the time, Mr. Rocheford,” I said nervously.

  “Please, call me Howard.”

  “Howard,” I said.

  Howard Rocheford was a short, chubby man with reddish-pink cheeks, barely-there brown hair, and intelligent brown eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He was wearing a green polo t-shirt, and I was sure he wasn’t the kind of man you messed with.

  “Beth used to be in Sharon’s math class,” I told him. “It’s all a big misunderstanding.”

  “So I keep hearing,” Howard said slowly. “And I’ll do whatever Sharon tells me. But if you ask me, I don’t really care about finding the killer. Celeste got what she deserved. She’d been too unkind to too many people.”

  His words sent a chill down my spine, and I frowned. “You’re not worried people will take your words the wrong way? I mean, the cops always suspect the husband, first thing. And here you are, saying you don’t care if Celeste lived or died.”

  Howard looked down at his desk, shuffled some papers around, and then turned to face us again. “You’re right that they suspect the husband,” he said. “But rich and powerful men don’t need to use wacky walnuts to kill their wives. I’m not sorry she’s dead, though. Makes my life easier.”

  I frowned. Howard really was rich and powerful, and if he thought life was better off without Celeste…

  Beth broke my thoughts by saying, “If you didn’t like Celeste, why’d you stay married to her for so long?”

  “Celeste’s family was very powerful,” said Howard. “She knew all the right people. Marrying her meant my business did better. Marrying her meant I could run for office if I wanted to.”

  “Do you want to?” I asked.

  Howard shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe, maybe not. I haven’t decided yet. But politics seems like a way to help many people. I’d like other things, too. Happiness, a loving family.”

  I nodded, watching him closely. “And you didn’t get any of those things from Celeste.”

  Howard smiled thinly. “That doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  “You just said you didn’t care—”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean I killed her.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think. Howard certainly could have killed Celeste if he’d wanted to. He knew she’d have a slice of the cake. And he made sure to stay downstairs so that he couldn’t be accused of ignoring her cries for help. Since Helen had been around Howard that night, she could vouch for his whereabouts.

  On the other hand, if he’d really killed Celeste, he wouldn’t have bothered to help Beth and me with our investigation. It benefitted him for the cops to think that Beth had killed Celeste, and Howard didn’t seem particularly hostile towards us.

  “Did you know Norma and Fiona?” I asked, trying a different tack.

  Howard shook his head. “No. Who’re they?”

  “Helen’s niece and her friend,” I said. “They came to help out during the dinner.”

  Howard shrugged. “I don’t really bother with the arrangements. It’s up to Celeste.”

  “And…” I tried to phrase this delicately. “How happy was your marriage with Celeste?”

  Howard laughed shortly. “She cheated on me. Is that what you’re trying to ask? I mean, half the world knew it. I didn’t care. It didn’t look good for me, man can’t control wife. But it’s not like I had much choice. As long as it didn’t get out in public—not much, anyway.”

  “You could’ve divorced her,” suggested Beth.

  “No,” said Howard. “That would’ve ruined my reputation and then my business. Couldn’t have that h
appen.”

  But now Celeste was dead, I thought. Howard was free. His reputation unscathed.

  “If you knew she was cheating on you,” I said, “weren’t you ever tempted to do the same?”

  Howard gulped. “I may have had one or two indiscretions,” he said slowly. “But Celeste made it clear that if she ever got proof of my unfaithfulness, she’d leave me. Things weren’t exactly fair in our marriage.”

  “Would it really affect your reputation that much?” asked Beth. “I’m sure people would get over it.”

  “Some of the people I work with are incredibly conservative,” said Howard. “They’d rather think of Celeste as some old-money angel, and if I left her, I’d be the devil to shun.”

  “Speaking of money,” I said, “who did Celeste leave her estate to?”

  “The world?” said Howard cynically. “She didn’t have much of an estate. She had her family background, but that was the last of her assets.”

  I nodded, and Beth and I exchanged a glance. Whoever had killed Celeste wasn’t after money—they’d just really hated her.

  “Was Celeste any different before she died?” I asked, trying to find one last clue. “Anything going on in her life?”

  Howard shook his head. “No. She seemed pretty smug and happy, if anything.”

  I nodded. “Well, you’ve been very helpful.”

  Howard shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t care if you girls killed her or not. But I don’t want to get any more publicity about this. And I’m not sure…” He glanced at Beth. “You seem like a nice enough person, and Sharon seems to like you. But you never know who might be a killer.”

  Chapter Twelve

  After we left Howard’s office, we headed out to the garden. The backyard was rather large, and there was a man wearing shorts and a green t-shirt, working away on one of the garden beds.

  “You must be George,” I said, approaching him. “I’m Mindy. This is Beth.”

  George nodded at us. He was a tanned, broad-shouldered man with sun-bleached blond hair that flipped over his forehead. His eyes were gray-green, and he looked slightly distracted. “You’ll excuse me for not shaking hands.” He held up both his hands, which were clad in thick gardening gloves. “I need these to stay safe from bug bites and thorns.”