by Diane Noble
Bubba, Junior, or perhaps their ma? Maybe their godfather was involved at the top of the scheme.
What about Marcel Devereaux and his beautiful companion? They’d conveniently disappeared just before people started getting sick.
Or had it been someone else entirely?
The first two would soon be investigated by the authorities. I’d seen to that. As for “someone else entirely”—that investigation was left to me.
If only I knew where to start.
Chapter Eleven
When I reached the kitchen, a sick feeling came over me as I surveyed what the crew had done while I was gone. They hadn’t wasted a minute scrubbing the kitchen and everything in it until it gleamed. Even the floor was spotless.
Why hadn’t I thought to tell them not to?
Bubba, Junior, and Katie were telling the others what to do to get rid of the abundance of food and garbage. They worked surprisingly well together. Well organized. But dead-on wrong to scrub a crime scene.
Steam belched out of the top of the noisy dishwasher, its sanitizer cycle light shining. Serving trays had been hand washed, dried, and stacked on the counter, awaiting transport to the catering van once the sheriff gave us all permission to leave the premises. Even the garbage cans had been emptied. The smell of disinfectant filled the air.
Katie smiled as I inspected the shining stainless-steel surfaces. “We thought it would lift all our spirits to clean up the mess.”
“Oh, me,” I said as I scanned the kitchen again. “It’s clean as a whistle, all right.”
“You don’t look pleased.”
I swallowed hard, hating to tell her. “You just destroyed key evidence.”
She frowned, not understanding, and then after a moment, she said, “Oh, Mom. I never thought about that. Evidence that would have cleared us.”
I nodded. “If it comes to that, yes.”
I pursed my lips, torn between wanting to tell her how she’d jeopardized the whole company and wanting to hug her because she looked so bereft.
A ruckus rose outside, and floodlights streamed through our windows. I ran to the door and stepped outside to see what was happening, Katie right behind me, Bubba and Junior behind her, muttering they needed to “get outta town.” I turned around, glared at them, and then looked back down at the parking lot.
News vans were parked haphazardly next to the Encore. Reporters with microphones and camera crews swarmed around Sheriff Doyle.
He hesitated, glanced up at me as if sending a warning, and then stepped to the microphone and leaned forward. His eyes glinted in the bright spotlights. “This is what we know at this time,” he said, bouncing on his toes.
“We know that one hundred forty-three people of the three hundred–plus attending the dinner at the Encore have taken ill. Many are in area hospitals, and their conditions are unknown at this time.” He glanced at his notes. “We will update you as times goes on.” He looked up. “Secondarily, we have just discovered the theft of the priceless object that Dr. Maxwell Haverhill planned to unveil at tonight’s retirement dinner.”
Someone asked if Dr. Haverhill was one of those taken ill.
“I don’t have specific information on that,” the sheriff said. “We don’t yet have a list of victims, but we will get it to you as soon as we can.”
“What kind of poison was it?” a reporter called out.
“Again, the investigation is just beginning,” he said. “Details will be released as soon as we know anything concrete. And we don’t know if it was food poisoning or something else.”
“How about the caterers?” another reporter said. “Did any of them get sick?”
The implication was clear, and as the sheriff answered, I turned and herded the others back into the kitchen. I’d heard enough.
Sheriff Doyle turned purple the minute he stepped into the kitchen. “Did anyone stop to realize this is a crime scene and not to be tampered with?”
“Where’s the yellow tape, then?” Bubba smirked.
“Watch it, buddy.” The sheriff glared at the young man. “You’re part of this investigation. You’d better mind your p’s and q’s or you’ll find yourself in the back of my patrol car.”
“Like I’m scared,” Junior said under his breath.
The sheriff stalked over and grabbed him by the collar. “Look, buddy, you knock it off or I’ll throw the book at you. Arrest you right now.”
“On what charge?” His voice came out in a squeak as the sheriff’s hand tightened around his collar.
“For starters, tampering with a crime scene.”
“But all of us were doing it,” he squeaked. He pointed to Katie. “She’s the one who told us to. And she said to hurry up, we wanted to get the kitchen clean as a whistle, not leave even a fingerprint in sight.”
The sheriff let go of his collar and turned to Katie, who stood next to me. “Is that true?”
Katie’s voice trembled when she spoke. I reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“I said ‘fingerprints’ only as a standard I use for cleaning, Sheriff. I tell my daughter the same thing when she’s helping me in the kitchen or cleaning her bedroom.”
He studied her for a long moment and then turned his gaze to take in the others.
“Let’s finish what we started earlier, shall we?” He leaned against the stainless counter and pulled out his notepad. “Did any of you notice anything or anyone suspicious this evening—or even this afternoon during your preparations?”
Everyone started to talk at once.
Dolly raised her hand. “I saw this French guy hanging around here while I was opening the champagne. He was on the phone, arguing with someone in the dining room. Dr. Gilvertin went in to talk with him. Calmed him right down.”
“Uh-huh,” the sheriff said, writing in his notebook. “Anything else?”
“I saw him too,” Will said.
“Was he talking with Dr. Gilvertin?”
“She was smiling and laughing with him, and he was following her down the stairs.”
“She smiles and laughs with everyone,” Katie said. “She was just being nice. He told her he was looking for the administration building, and she pointed out how to find it. I overheard their conversation.”
“But not all of it,” the sheriff said.
“No.”
“Mrs. Littlefield, I’ll need you to supply us with samples of everything you served tonight—both food and drink. As I said earlier, representatives of the FDA and a disease control specialist from the CDC are on their way.”
I looked at Katie, who frowned. “We didn’t save anything. I thought it would be especially important to clean it up, sanitize everything as fast as we could.”
“We have leftovers in the walk-in fridge, don’t we?” I gave Katie a questioning look.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. We tossed those, worried someone else might get sick.”
The sheriff let out a deep and troubled sigh. “You’ve just tried to obstruct the investigation. Nice try. It just makes it harder to get samples, but believe me, it will get done.” He flipped his notebook closed. “Okay, you can leave now, unless anyone has anything else to tell me.”
“Only that the food we threw out is in the receptacles outside,” Katie said.
“Pleasant,” he said without looking up. He jotted a few notes in silence and then fixed his gaze on me. “I need to talk with you further,” he said and then looked at Katie. “And you too.”
My dejected crew shuffled to the door and quietly exited.
“If this turns out to be something food related, you two are suspects, perhaps others in your company as well. I advise you not to leave town.”
“Please, Sheriff, you know me better than that. Get off your high horse and look at this realistically. You know Hyacinth. We’ve worked w
ith you on other cases. And Katie, you know her too. None of us would do anything like this. Why would I—or any of us—sabotage my company?”
“I don’t think you realize the seriousness of what’s happened here.”
“I do,” I snapped. “And I’m terribly upset over it. Excuse me if I’ve got it wrong, but I thought, in our country, people were assumed innocent until proven guilty. You are acting as if my catering company is at fault for this. The investigation hasn’t even begun. The folks from CDC and FDA haven’t arrived.”
“Go, Mom,” Katie said under her breath.
“May we go now?” I said, my voice calmer. “We’re all very tired. It’s been a long day.” I turned to leave.
The sheriff heaved a sigh. “It may be a murder investigation now.”
I whirled around. “What?”
“I just received news that Dr. Delancy died a short while ago.”
“Oh no.”
Katie put her arm around me again. “I’m so sorry.”
Just then, Juan barreled through the service-entrance door. “The van is missing. My brother is gone too. We looked everywhere. There’s blood. And broken glass.”
Chapter Twelve
Hyacinth
As soon as Hyacinth had attempted to unmask Julia Child, one of the thugs in the front seat must have bonked her on the head again. They certainly had a bad habit of head clunking. As consciousness slowly returned, another roaring headache seemed to split her skull in two—déjà vu all over again.
It was either evening, or she was losing her eyesight from blows to the head.
This time, her arms were secured with duct tape to a rolling stool. Apparently the gurney was in use. She looked across the dark interior of the vehicle, her memory still fuzzy. She’d made a giant leap into the back of the ambulance; she did remember that. Why had she done such a risky thing?
A bulky object wrapped in a sheet lay strapped to the gurney next to her. It was past dusk now, and the lights from the instrument panel cast an eerie glow across the interior of the vehicle. The sheet took on a ghostlike appearance.
The Lady. Of course. Her heart quickened. Max had told her about the secret it held someplace inside, the secret that even the experts in Washington couldn’t find.
The memory of flashing lights and pulsing sirens came back to her. Near the library? She couldn’t picture it. Or in the distance? As if near the Encore. She blinked as ideas filled her head.
A covered object, resembling a human body. An ambulance that probably pulled into a line of others.
Her heart twisted as she thought of the sirens. There had been many. Too many. Tears threatened. How serious was it? El … Katie, who was like a daughter to her … the catering kids … the faculty, all of them her friends of many years … Max … had something harmed them? She prayed the thugs had just set off a false alarm, calling out emergency vehicles to create a diversion.
Hyacinth had a choice to make. She’d jumped into the vehicle to save the figurehead, in essence “kidnapped” herself. Should she remain with the Lady, or try to get back to El to see if she needed her help with whatever disaster had happened on campus?
She wasn’t one to be snooty about such things, but it seemed the robbers had little education, especially when it came to objets d’art. First clue was when Emeril compared the figurehead to a statue at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas. Second was when the man wearing the Julia mask peeked underneath the Lady’s cover, giggled, and said he preferred his women with fewer clothes.
Maybe they would change their minds with a little education about the value of the piece—not the secret value—but the other, known value as a piece of American history.
But first things first. She needed a phone to call El. And fast. If El needed her, she’d find a way to extricate herself from the ambulance.
“Hey, guys,” she called to the masked men. “A ladies’ room certainly would be appreciated right about now.”
The men were deep in animated conversation and, with the road noise and hum of the engine, they obviously didn’t hear her.
She blinked. Only two men sat in front. Apparently, they’d dropped Paula Deen off when she passed out.
She vaguely remembered being driven from her home to a side street in a dusty Honda Accord. How did that fit in? Her head hurt too much to think about it now. Besides, there was another pressing matter. Getting a phone.
“Hey, guys!” she shouted. “I need a ladies’ room. I also need my handbag. Now.”
The captain’s chair on the passenger’s side swiveled toward her, and she got her first look at the unmasked man, his cold eyes, his expressionless face. Her level of anxiety shot up like a rocket. These were the real deal. Thieves. Thugs.
“Who are you?” She tried to sound bolder than she felt. “And why did you kidnap me?”
“We didn’t nab anybody. You did it yourself. We had it planned so you wouldn’t see our faces. We were gonna leave you at the library. But now you’re stuck with us. So get used to it.”
“I just came along for the ride and now I need a restroom.”
“Deal with it,” said the man, the one she’d been calling Julia Child. He swiveled back around to face forward.
The driver, who’d worn the Emeril Lagasse mask, glanced back at her, his thinning blond spiked hair reflecting the dim glow of the dashboard. “Do we look like some sort of valet service? We’re on a job, and you got in our way. You weren’t supposed to get in this vehicle, and now you pay the consequences. You hear?”
“As for your phone, I believe you accidentally dropped it in your driveway.” He snorted when he laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.
Her stomach dropped. She pondered the problem for a few minutes. She would just have to take one of theirs.
“We can talk about those consequences right after you stop at the next rest area.”
“Rest area?” The snorter laughed. “Look around. Does this look like the interstate?”
In the glow of the headlights, she could see the winding road had a thick forest of pines on either side. They passed no other vehicles, and she saw no houses or even fences that showed a sign of human habitation. Now that darkness had fallen, the forested terrain loomed dark and frightening.
Hyacinth’s mind reeled. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened at the university. She was thirsty—she was telling the truth about the restroom thing—and she had to get hold of a phone.
Lagasse slowed the vehicle and turned again, this time onto a narrow mountain road. The headlights showed more curves ahead. The forest seemed to be thicker than before.
“Hey, guys,” she called up to them. “I’ve got an idea. Just stop here. I’ll go off in the forest a bit, behind a bush. You can wait. I promise, I’ll be right back.”
They looked at each other and shrugged. Their profiles were anything but attractive. They looked better with their masks on.
“Hey, Lagasse,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. Neither one turned around, so she shouted the name again.
The man on the passenger side finally laughed. “She’s talking to you, bro,” he said.
“I’m not your bro, and I’m not Emeril LaJassy, or whatever his name is.”
“Lagasse,” Hyacinth corrected. “You need to stop. Like right away.”
“Hear that, Emeril?” chortled the second thief.
“Yes I did, Julia,” said the driver, going falsetto.
“I mean now,” Hyacinth said. “I need you to stop. And if you’re not going to introduce yourselves properly, you’re now known to me as Child and Lagasse.” She hoped her chatter would keep them off-balance.
“Believe me,” Lagasse said. “It’s bad enough that you’ve seen our faces. You think we’re gonna tell you our names?” He pulled off on the side of the road and stopped the ambulance.
Child
opened the side door, came round to the back doors, and flung them open. He hefted himself up with a grunt, then made his way toward Hyacinth. He pulled out a box cutter and cut her loose from the chair.
“Now, do your thing and hurry right back,” he said. “Got it?”
“Got it.” She stood and rubbed her wrists, jingling the bangle bracelets she’d planned to wear to the banquet. On the fly, she’d grabbed them from her Fendi handbag before tossing it on her desk and racing out to the ambulance.
Some people carried prayer beads as a reminder to pray for their loved ones. Her bangles served the same purpose. Even their sound was a comfort, a reminder of family, especially of Chloe Grace, her goddaughter who’d given them to her, one each Christmas for the past few years.
She scanned the forested terrain, and shivered. Night had fallen, and everything except where the headlights aimed was pitch-black. She jingled the bangles again to give herself courage and then turned back to Child.
His shirt pocket sagged with something the size of a cell phone. She stepped close to him and faked a stumble.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, feigning embarrassment. “My legs aren’t as strong as they used to be. I’m a bit weak from all this excitement.” She fanned her face, the bangles jingling.
Child stepped back quickly to let her pass, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. She gave him an innocent smile and dropped his phone into the front pocket of her jeans.
She climbed down the few steps to the ground, letting the bracelets jingle. When she was out of sight, she grabbed the cell and turned it on.
It was locked. She needed a passcode to use it. Without the code, it was useless. There was also no signal. She examined the number pad on the lock screen. At the bottom was an emergency button.
She tapped it, but nothing happened, so she tried it again. Still nothing.
Child had given her some privacy for her bathroom break but stood leaning against the ambulance a few feet away.
She had to make a quick decision. If she ran into the woods, she might get away and reach higher ground where she might have a cellular signal. If she stayed with the thieves, they would discover she had the phone and take it away from her. Now that she’d seen their faces, who knew what they would do? And to compound her problems, her head ached something fierce, and her dizziness was doing battle with her nausea to gain the upper hand.
