Sun Scream

by Barbara Silkstone

  The sight of her orthopedic shoes and moll’s canteen sent me into giggles. Lizzy soon followed.

  Grams answered Jaimie’s question with a straight face. “I just finished starring in Carousel. Whatcha’ got in mind?”

  “Chip plays the part of a local cop who frequents the club. We need a distinguished looking guy to act the role of the butler. He’ll be the red herring. In the beginning I want everyone to think the butler did it.”

  “Mel Rivers does a great butler.” Grams reached for a slice of pizza. “He’s distinguished looking except for Coke-bottle glasses and being bald as a baby’s butt.” She took a bite, a string of cheese hanging from her lips.

  “See if he’s available,” Jaimie said. “He won’t need much rehearsing. I can fill him in right before the party. He just has to act like he hates me, while welcoming the guests. Like in a real speakeasy they’ll tell him the password to gain entrance. Once in he’ll hand them a card and a pencil.”

  “What is the password?” I asked.

  “You didn’t read your invitation did you? It’s poshookly!”

  I knelt at the coffee table, took a slice of pizza and sat on the floor. This could be fun despite not wearing the flapper dress.

  “I’m playing Grams’ daughter, Baby Face Barker.” Jaimie took a slice and stepped back to the center of the room. “No one knows her reputation so you gals have to gossip about me to the guests. Layer on the suspense. Some of the wording is in your scripts. Adlib the rest.”

  She took a bite of the pizza and gagged. “This is how I die. The guests will think I choked on a bacon-wrapped chicken liver.”

  A chill ran down my spine.

  “They’ll be a catered buffet with lots of retro canapés,” Jaimie said. “Things like

  anchovy finger sandwiches, watercress on white bread, and chocolate covered strawberries.”

  “Do anchovies have fingers?” Grams said.

  “Leave the snark to me,” Jaimie snarled. “The butler will circulate with champagne flutes on a tray. We hired a small jazz band and a gal singer. She’ll call for the group to gather and toast the opening of Grams’ nightclub—The Naughty Lady.”

  “I think I’m going to swoon!” Grams said, placing her pizza-free hand on her chest. “I love that name.”

  “When everyone toasts the club I’ll be in the center of the group. I’ll have the chicken liver in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. I’ll start choking, gasp a little, and fall to the floor.

  Chip, as an off-duty cop, will pronounce me dead. He and the butler will carry me to the study so I don’t have to lay there with everyone walking over me.”

  “How does the medical examiner fit in?” I asked.

  “Chip will announce not only are you a jazz fan but you’re also the local M.E. He scripted you to spend some time with me in the study. When you come out, you’ll announce that I didn’t choke on the chicken liver, I was poisoned.”

  Jamie looked smug. “You start a rumor among the guests inferring the butler might have added something to my champagne.”

  “Here’s where I double-cross Chip,” She cackled. “He thinks I’m going to spend an hour playing corpse in his study and miss my own party? No way!”

  We exchanged worried looks. Jaimie’s practical jokes had a way of backfiring.

  “Olive, while you’re pretending to do a medical exam you’ll actually be helping me change into a maid. It’s a convincing costume with a gray wig, false teeth, cotton to stuff in my cheeks, and a chubby-suit. We’ll hide it somewhere in Chip’s study before the party.”

  She looked at me and then Lizzy and Grams. “You’re not getting it, are you? Chip wants the butler to be the main suspect. My darling husband will think I’m playing dead when I’m circulating among the guests disguised as a maid, serving red herrings that make Chip look guilty.”

  It might not be hard to do.

  Chapter 15

  Jaimie completed her directions waving the folder in one hand and the pizza slice in the other like a concert conductor. “Chip will stress the importance of working together as a group but that in the end there can only be one winner.”

  “What’s the prize?” Grams asked. “Are we eligible even though we know Lizzy’s the killer?”

  “The actors are not eligible,” Jaimie said. “You wouldn’t want the prize anyway. It’s a case of expensive champagne.”

  “I could use that champagne. Swell gifts for my green-bench buddies for the fourth of July.” Grams grinned. “I can hear the corks popping now.”

  “Here’s how it works,” Jaimie said. “Each guest will deduce who killed me and write that name on their card.” She grinned impishly. “There’s a prize for the final winner but only if they guess the method and the motive along with my killer—Lizzy.”

  “What motive would I have to kill you?” Lizzy asked.

  “The answer is in here.” Jaimie waved the folder.

  “Who am l supposed to be the night of the party?” Lizzy frowned not happy at playing the bad guy. “Just so I can get the feel for my motive.”

  “You’ll be Colonel Mustard’s wife,” Jaimie grinned like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. “I’ve been blackmailing you.”

  Lizzy and I exchanged looks and burst into giggles. “Don’t tell me I’ve been having an affair with Professor Plum?”

  “You peeked!” Jaimie grouched. “Chip will have to change the motive when he gets home.”

  Heather peeked in the doorway. “What are you laughing about?”

  “Grownup silly stuff,” Lizzy said. “More pizza?” She put a slice on a napkin and handed it to Heather on the balcony. She checked Puff’s leash then made an okay sign with her fingers.

  “Are you really going to serve chicken livers?” Grams asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “They’ll be lots of things from the roaring twenties. We hired a caterer from Tampa who specializes in themed parties. There is one thing,” Jaimie put on her pleading face and locked eyes with Lizzy. “Would you please make your famous cheese covered olives?”

  A soft groan escaped Lizzy’s lips. “It’s a lot of work. I have so much to do for the shop.” Her shoulders slumped as she gave in. “How many guests?”

  “Forty more like fifty.” Jaimie made it sound like nothing.

  “What’s so special about this cheese and olive dish?” I asked.

  Lizzy rubbed a spot between her eyes. “I mix up a special concoction of cheddar and other cheeses, a little flour, and seasonings. Then individually cover each blinking olive in the mixture.” She cut her eyes to Jaimie, who clearly didn’t take the hint.

  “The trick is baking them just the right amount of time so the cheese cooks evenly but doesn’t crumble. I suppose I can get them done the day before the party and then freeze them. I’ll bake it the afternoon of the party. Fifty people? That’s a lot of olives if you figure ten per person.”

  “You’re a doll,” Jaimie said.

  We finished our pizza, cleaned up as best we could. Considering every counter in the kitchen was stacked with cold cream fixings it was no easy task. I opened the windows to allow the breeze from the balcony to sweep through and remove the smell of garlic. I stacked the empty boxes on top of the kitchen trash bin.

  “Time to call it a night,” I said.

  “I’m relieved now that everyone knows their parts.” Jaimie slipped a paper to Grams. “Here’s my number. I’m counting on you to get me that butler guy. Tell him to ring me before Saturday.”

  She hugged Lizzy. “Thanks for making the cheesy olives. I love them.”

  Lizzy herded Grams, Heather, and WonderDog out the door. I watched from the walkway as she packed them into her Beetle, gave the horn a light tap, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  I stepped back in the condo greeted by Jaimie’s yammering. She’d hardly missed me. Rather than settling down, her excitement over the party had amped up. Tuning her out, I stepped onto the balcony.

  She was at my elbo
w. “Chip is going to be so pleased!”

  Chip. My inner Nancy Drew stirred, provoked by the memory of almost dying in a fume-filled garage. Once Jaimie fell asleep I intended to call the Marquis Hotel in Atlanta and ask for Chuck Roast’s room to verify his alibi. I’d hang up when Chip picked up—if he picked up.

  Chapter 16

  Halleluiah! I greeted the morning with a whispered cheer. Chip would be home today to take Jaimie off my hands. With a good night’s sleep, my logic returned pushing Grams’ paranoia from my mind. Chip was one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. He couldn’t possibly be responsible for Jaimie’s accidents.

  I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Lawn gnomes don’t wedge themselves on gas pedals. The slash in her brake line had to be deliberate. Somebody was out to get her but it wasn’t Chip.

  Jaimie sapped my energy. It was midnight before she ceased blathering about her party and I escaped to my bedroom. The nightstand clock read ten-minutes-after-nine. My considerate partner would be at the shop. Lizzy hadn’t called, kindly allowing me time to take the edge off my sleep deprivation—a given with Jaimie as a houseguest.

  “Crumb cakes!” I buried my head in my pillow. Engaged in listening to Jaimie babble I forgot my intention to call the hotel and ask for Chuck Roast.

  My cell phone sat on the nightstand next to my bed. It was set to respond to my voice. I said “Marquis Hotel Atlanta.” A few rings later a guy sounding like Elvis answered “The Marquis. Derrick speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Mr. Charles Roast or Chuck Roast? He’s a guest there.”

  A few computer clicks and he returned. “Sorry. Mr. Roast checked out this morning.”

  Toast or Roast, Chip was in Atlanta last night. Maybe.

  A call came in just as I lay the phone on the nightstand.

  “Would it be convenient if we came to see your cold cream making establishment at one o’clock?” Sophia asked, her accent reminding me of my beloved Nonna.

  “That would be dandy, but I don’t want you to be disappointed. I should have made it clearer. All the creams are created in my kitchen. You are just going to see a kitchen crammed with cosmetic stuff. I promise you will be underwhelmed.”

  “And I promise I will love it. Isabella Peroni’s granddaughter could never disappoint me. Fabio knows the way. See you at one. Ciao. ”

  No sooner had I clicked off than the phone rang again.

  “I just cruised Jaimie’s house,” Grams’ voice crackled through a bad connection. “Chip’s home. I saw him in the driveway talking to some guy in a white truck. Couldn’t make out the lettering.”

  If I’d had my morning coffee I would have taken the news better but my right eye started to twitch. It was strange Chip hadn’t called me—he knew Jaimie was spending the night with me. Didn’t he care about his wife and what she’d been through? Did he expect me to deliver her to his doorstep?

  With the thought of fine-tuning the kitchen-factory, dumping the stinky pizza boxes, and getting rid of Jaimie before she stuck her nose into our business with Sophia, I growled at Grams. “I can’t take Jaimie home. I have company coming.”

  “No problema!” Grams chirped. “That’s why I called. I’m her bodyguard—I’ll pick her up and stick by her side. I won’t let her out of my sight until we have the goods on her husband. All I have to do is decide what I’m going to wear when I appear on Chick Chat.”

  “I’ll have Jaimie downstairs in the lobby at noon.”

  “Perfezionaire!” Grams said.

  Surprised at Grams’ sudden use of Italian phrases, I recalled her rolling on the floor with Fabio. The dear lady must have a new crush.

  I called Lizzy at the shop. “Quick update. Sophia will be here at one o’clock to inspect our factory. Chip is home. Grams is on bodyguard duty. She’s coming to get Jaimie and turn her over to her husband.”

  “Two birds with one stone.” Lizzy said, chuckling. “You take care of Sophia. I can handle our customers.”

  After a mug of coffee, a quick shower, shampoo, and blow-dry I was ready to rouse the Loud Mouth of the South. Carrying a half-cup of coffee into the guest room I let the aroma waft from the night table to the bed.

  Jaimie groaned as she sat up. “Hand me the coffee,” she growled without opening her eyes.

  “Don’t spill.” I waited until she finished before I broke the good news. “Chip is home. Grams is coming to get you at noon. It’s almost eleven now. Check your phone. He didn’t call me so he must have tried you.”

  “Why isn’t Chip coming for me? Where’s my purse?” She handed me the empty cup and literally rolled out of bed.

  The phone wobbled in her hand. She listened and tapped a button, repeated two more times.

  “There’s three messages from Chip last night and now one this morning. I didn’t hear it ring.” She put the last message on speakerphone.

  “I have a surprise for you at the house,” Chip said. “It’s something you’ve been wanting. I can’t wait to see the expression on your face. It’s going to lift your spirits. I’d pick you up but I need to be here to take delivery.”

  Jaimie clicked off. “It’s got to be a new car—don’t you think?”

  I kept my no to myself.

  Chapter 17

  I waited with Jaimie in the glass-enclosed lobby. The turquoise and white Edsel pulled into the parking lot and creaked along between the parked cars. It mounted the curb in front of us with two tires on the sidewalk and two tires on the asphalt.

  Grams slipped out of the vintage car wearing her over-sized black T-shirt and fedora. Carrying her candlestick, she entered the lobby and put her arm around Jaimie. “I got her.”

  Jaimie shook her off. “You’re a bodyguard not my mother or my grandmother. Let’s just step on it. Chip has a surprise waiting for me,” Jaimie said, stomping out the door and round to the passenger side of the Edsel. With an obvious effort she opened the door, got in and shut it with a whomp!

  Grams winked at me. She climbed behind the wheel, adjusted the pillow under her bottom so she could see over the dashboard, and gave me a salute.

  I watched until they’d cleared the lot and turned onto Starfish Boulevard then I dashed up the stairs. It was almost time for Sophia’s visit. I stepped into my condo trying to see it as she would and make any final tweaks.

  The first thing I noticed was Nonna’s collection of photos and portraits of the actress. Would the exhibit look like a deliberate suck-up—false flattery? Torn between taking them down and leaving them up, I chose to leave them. I liked to think Nonna was guiding my hand advising me from a cloud in heaven—besides what would I hang or stand in their place?

  With less than an hour to get everything done, I began to zip around on a caffeine high without the coffee. I took the pizza boxes to the trash chute then placed a stack of Nonna’s Cold Cream flyers on the foyer table. My fast movements aroused Puff’s curiosity. She climbed to the top of the sofa and watched me. Something was out of the ordinary and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  Three quick raps on the door and I checked my watch. It was barely twelve-thirty. I hadn’t had time to freshen myself. I gave the living room a quick scan certain the chairs were free of domestic clutter and went to open the door. So certain was I that it was Sophia and company, I didn’t bother with the peephole—I just swung it open.

  I felt the wind whoosh out of my chest and the blood rush into my head. Talk about lousy timing. Digby stood on the doormat wiping what looked like mud off the bottoms of his boots. Nonna’s bee farmer held a gallon-sized jug of honey in one hand and a cloth shopping bag in the other.

  Our business arrangement was I called Digby to order honey as needed. Two weeks

  later he would deliver Nonna’s secret Italian honey—always only one quart at a time. Nonna said it didn’t keep its magical properties if you didn’t mix it into the cold cream soon after opening. A quart went a long way. A gallon—oh my!

  As far as Digby knew, I used it for baking. Nonna said n
o one was to know the Italian honey was the key ingredient in the magical cold cream. It was what made the miracle honey into a magical potion—a fountain of youth in a jar.

  Could Nonna’s old friend, canoodler, and honey supplier have chosen a worse time to show up uninvited? A quick glance led me to think he’d given some thought to his visit. His overalls where new and they appeared ironed with a crease running down the legs. His hair was neatly parted, and the white stubble on his cheeks had been razor cut leaving a sugared effect on his face.

  “I’m on my way to Tampa airport to pick up my cousin. Thought since I was in the neighborhood I’d drop off some of your Nonna’s honey and see how you use it for baking.”

  Starfish Cove was hardly on the way to the airport but I didn’t make an issue of it.

  I couldn’t keep him standing in the doorway, nor could I let him see the kitchen with all the cold cream makings lined up on the counters. True, there was no honey sitting out but how was I going to explain the beekeeper’s presence to Sophia, Fabio, and Raelyn?

  “What a surprise!” Please let this be my only understatement for the day. “Come in!”

  Digby handed me the heavy jar. “This feels like more than a gallon. Let me put this in a safe place, meantime have a seat in the living room.”

  I looked around the kitchen, which would be on full display when Sophia arrived. No one uses honey by the gallon. Its very existence would stir questions. I wouldn’t feel comfortable fibbing—at least not to Sophia. I had to hide the huge jar and quickly.

  The pantry was loaded. The shelves were full. It was too tall to fit in the oven. Maybe I could put a slipcover over it and pass it off as a mini table? Just as the doorbell rang, I wedged the jar alongside the U-shaped drainpipe under the sink.

  The bell rang a second time. I hopped up, patted my hair in place, and crossed my fingers hoping to greet our would-be endorser and not another surprise guest. I held my breath and opened the door.

  Chapter 18