Strangulation & Strawberry Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  Rachel could see Scott steeling himself as they walked up the marble stairs where the mute lions stood with their mouths open in a permanent roar. Scott leaned against a pillar and crossed his ankles, trying to look casual, as he rang the bell. Rachel felt her heart soften as she looked at him. Usually, when he was out of the clean-cut look his sheriff's uniform demanded, Scott always went a bit crazy with his dressing, letting his creative side come out. Today, however, almost as though meeting his grandmother demanded a uniform in itself, he'd worn a grey checked suit with a dark navy shirt open at the collar. The one concession he'd made to his creative side was a Harry Potter-themed pendant that sat at his throat — a triangle with a circle and a line. Rachel wanted to hug him all over again when she saw it. Scott Tanner, no-nonsense Sheriff Tanner, meet the other Scott Tanner, eternal nerd. Privately, she sent up a wish to the heavens, hoping his estranged family would get to know and love both sides of him.

  The door opened to reveal golden light and glimmering chandeliers. Rachel felt her mouth dropping open all over again. The foyer had white doors on each wall and a marble staircase stretching upwards. In one corner, an old-fashioned grandfather clock was ticking away. A white haired woman wearing a grey tunic and white apron greeted them. Her eyes fell first upon Rachel, who held a large cardboard box with the Comfort Cakes logo in pink and mint-green upon it.

  "Service entrance is to the left,” the woman clipped. She began to close the door again when Scott coughed and straightened up.

  "Actually, she's with me. I’m—“

  "Oh, you must be Mr. Scott. You're Miss Florence's son, aren't you? Of course. I can see the resemblance very clearly now. You haven't got her green eyes though. A pity."

  Scott shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to say. "My sister got them,” he said finally. "Green as an Irish clover."

  "But, then, this isn’t…” The woman frowned. "This isn't Emily?"

  "Emily's not coming,” Scott said, looking down. "This is my date, Rachel. She's also the baker."

  "Oh, but..." The maid looked suddenly nervous. "But Mrs. Mallory told me the evening is strictly family. I'm afraid..."

  "If Rachel isn't invited, I'm not invited." Scott's jaw jutted out a little and his eyebrows knitted together. "Do we have a problem?"

  “I… well…” For a moment, the maid looked as though she might drown in her own nervous sweat. Then, she widened the door and stood aside to let them in. "I'll take the cake from you,” she said to Rachel. "If the two of you would just go straight down the hall, everyone's gathered in the family room for drinks."

  "Thank you,” Scott said.

  As they walked on, Rachel snuck a look to her left where one of the doors was slightly ajar. Through the crack, she saw a wood-paneled room with an ornate fireplace and a bookshelf. No doubt, it was the parlor. A shadow moved and suddenly stretched across the doorway but, though Rachel could not see the person to whom it belonged, someone was clearly rummaging around in there. Funny. The maid had said everyone was in the family room down the hall. Clearly one of the guests had gotten bored and snuck off to explore the rest of the mansion.

  She put the thought out of her mind as they approached the family room. The white double doors were open and Rachel could hear piano music and the sound of laughter from inside. Scott hesitated for a fraction of a second before entering.

  All music and laughter stopped as the people in the room turned to stare. Rachel stared back at them, equally curious.

  The room was long, with an arched ceiling and a beautiful, glossy grand piano in one corner. A thin, bearded man wearing a grey suit was seated in front of it, his hands still hovering over the keys. Beside him, leaning against the piano, was a chubby lady with poofed-up blonde hair and a deep-cut dress. Another couple stood to the side and, from the corner of her eye, Rachel noticed a door off to the side quietly open and a twenty-something man slip into the room.

  Scott's focus, however, was on the woman who sat in the very centre of the room in a wheelchair. Old as she was, Mallory Mutton looked as sharp as a chef's knife. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back from her face and her green eyes glittered as they flicked from Rachel to Scott.

  She slowly raised a hand with paper-thin skin and Scott rushed forward to grasp it. "Grandma,” he said. "I'm Scott."

  Rachel marveled at him. Outside, he'd been a bag of nerves, but his walk was confident now and he stood in front of his family with his shoulders thrown back. It was only Rachel who saw the way he thrust his other hand into his pocket to stop himself from scratching the back of his neck in nervousness.

  "So. You've grown up, boy." Mallory Mutton looked him up and down, her smile widening. "I'd be surprised if you had any memory of your old grandmother!”

  "Given your age, I’d be quite surprised if you have any memory of me, either,” Scott joked, smiling nervously as he realized what he’d just said. Rachel sensed, but didn't see, the sudden tension in the room. Scott's words and tone were teasing and friendly. But, apparently, Mallory wasn't one to be teased. She raised her chin a little and Rachel felt a twang as she recognized the gesture. She'd seen Emily do the same more than once. It was eerie to see it in this old lady whom Emily had probably never met.

  Family's a funny thing, Rachel thought. You can't choose it, and it follows you like an invisible shadow long after you think you're independent.

  "A tasteless sense of humor,” Mallory said. "Clearly you inherited that from your father."

  This time, there was an audible gasp and it took Rachel a second to realize that it was from herself. Scott's face had hardened a little, but the man at the piano stumbled forward to prevent any further hostilities.

  “I’m…your Uncle Sidney, Scott. I suppose you don't remember me at all.” He grabbed Scott's hand and shook it.

  "Pleasure to meet you." Scott smiled, and Rachel could tell he genuinely meant it. Sidney seemed nervous, on edge and eager to please. A hard man to dislike.

  "I'm a professor at the University of San Luis,” he said. "I've heard you became sheriff of a nearby town, isn’t that right? We're quite proud."

  Mallory waved a hand in front of her face as though she were swatting away a fly but neither man seemed to notice.

  "I'm the sheriff of Swaddle,” Scott confirmed, nodding. “But, don’t worry. I’m off duty,” he said, smiling. “And, anyway, Mulberry Mansion is just a bit outside our jurisdiction.“

  "That's right, we're part of the neighboring town of Bertford,” Sidney said.

  "Though we didn't mix with town folk all that much growing up. Mama was quite particular about our circle of friends,” the woman with the poofed-up hair had stepped forward to explain. Rachel saw that her eyes were a little moist as she sized Scott up. Then she suddenly reached forward and embraced him in a tight hug. He froze for a second, and then happily hugged her back.

  "I'm your Aunt Paris,” she said. "I'm four years older than your mother was. I know you don't remember me. I was away traipsing around the world when you were young. I've only recently moved back to the mansion. Oh, it's so good to see you, dear."

  "Well, I—“

  "And who is this?" Aunt Paris turned to Rachel and, taking her hand, gave it three solid pumps. "You aren't little Emily, are you?"

  "No. I'm Scott's friend, Rachel. Rachel Rowan. Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

  "Ma'am! Why!" The woman touched her hair self-consciously. "Save your ma'ams for Mama. I'm just plain old Paris, please."

  "Rachel Rowan?" The woman who had been sitting on the other side of the room got up. She was thin with dark-framed glasses, fine cheekbones and a no-nonsense jaw. Her wrinkled skin seemed to enhance her beauty instead of taking away from it. "Did I read about you in the papers recently? Something about an author's death? I'm Bethany, by the way. I'm married to Scott's uncle, Jordan."

  It was as if the name sucked all the air out of the room. Scott's jaw tightened, even as his smile stayed fixed upon his face. This was the one man he hadn't wanted to s
ee or talk to. Yet now, surely, he'd be forced to. Rachel had felt the man's presence, dark and ominous, ever since she’d entered but only now did she dare turn around and look at him — the man who had once tried to murder Scott's mother.

  *****

  Chapter 3

  Murder In Mulberry Mansion

  As Jordan crossed the room towards them, Rachel wondered if she'd simply imagined malevolence based on what Emily had told her. Jordan seemed to be a sweet teddy bear of a man, about a foot shorter than his wife, and at least a foot wider. His thinning blonde hair came up sharply to a widow's peak, revealing a large, high forehead. Rachel shivered when she realized that Scott — while he had thick, dark hair instead — had the same big forehead and widow's peak as his uncle. She'd never tell him that, of course. She was pretty sure Scott would hate to know he had anything in common with this despised man.

  "Hey, I’m—“ Jordan put his hand forward to shake Scott's just as Scott abruptly turned his back to him and made a comment to Uncle Sidney about how lovely it was to see him again. Jordan dropped his hand immediately and, for a split second, malice flashed in his eyes. Almost immediately, though, he'd turned to his mother, swiftly pretending that he'd never intended to talk to Scott.

  "Are you sure you won't have just a little drink, mother?" Jordan asked. "A glass of nice whisky to celebrate your 90th?"

  "You know I never could stand the smell of alcohol,” Grandma Mallory sniffed. “Nothing’s changed. Help yourself to one, though."

  "Thanks, I think I will." Jordan headed to a table to pour himself a shot out of a decanter. His wife, Bethany, put a hand on his forearm.

  "Dear, don't you think you've had—“

  The door creaked open and the maid, looking nervous as ever, peeked in. Grandma Mallory's shoulders straightened a little. "About time!" Grandma barked. "You're three minutes late, Zizka!"

  "Well, Ma'am, I-"

  "No excuses!" Grandma Mallory barked. "Serve the cake immediately. We must remain on schedule. Dinner had better be ready on time, as well!”

  Zizka moved inside, wringing her hands. "Well, Ma'am, you see, Mr. Hayes is here and—“

  "Johnny?" Grandma Mallory looked astonished. "Johnny Hayes is here?"

  "Yes ma'am and he's most insistent—“

  The door swung wide open and a bald man with overly-large glasses and a white suit stepped inside, elbowing the maid aside. His eyes widened and his face paled as he looked around the room full of people.

  "Mr. Hayes, sir, I told you to wait outside!" Zizka protested.

  “I—I—“ the man sputtered, trying to get a hold of himself. But Grandma Mallory spoke before he could gather his breath.

  "What's the meaning of this?! I've told you not to harass me outside office hours, Hayes! Accountants these days! I give you one document and you demand three more. Your lot is worse than Hercules' hydra, I tell you!"

  "But Ma'am—“

  "I don't want to hear it!" Grandma Mallory thundered. "You may come back on Monday. This is a family gathering and there's already enough outsiders." She gave Rachel a cold look as she said this, and it took Rachel some courage to stare right back into those fiery green eyes without tugging at her collar or running away.

  "It's urgent, ma'am. It can't wait till Monday,” Johnny said. "We need to talk about—“ He hesitated, suddenly conscious of all the eyes on him, then thought better of completing his sentence. "It's urgent,” he repeated.

  "When you get to my age, boy, you'll realize that only two things in life are urgent. Birth and death,” Grandma Mallory said. "Zizka. Escort him to the parlor. I'll meet with him after dinner."

  "But—“ Johnny tried to protest, but was stilled by a rather steely look from Grandma.

  Zizka, with her nose turned up as though Johnny were a smelly piece of fish, put a hand on the man's elbow and led him out. She jumped a little as Grandma Mallory commented, "And make sure you serve the cake immediately after, Zizka! No more delays!"

  There were murmurs among the others as the door shut behind Zizka. The one person who seemed to be unaffected by the whole scene was the twenty-something man Rachel had seen earlier. He was hunched over on his phone, typing furiously.

  “Put that away, Tyler,” Uncle Sidney said, noticing Rachel’s eyes on the young man. "You're here to spend quality time with family, not text all night."

  Observing him closely now, Rachel could see the resemblance between he and his father. Both were tall and skinny, with pointed noses and rather long chins. While Sidney chose to cover his up with a thin beard, Tyler was clean shaven, with bangs nearly covering his eyes.

  "Oh, leave the boy be." Jordan walked to Tyler and gave him a slap on the back. "It's good to be flirting with girls at his age. I remember how I was back then... not a girl in town that hadn't given me her number."

  "I'm not texting girls,” Tyler said with some disdain. "I'm working."

  "Well, this isn't the time,” Sidney said. "Put it away."

  Rolling his eyes, Tyler shoved the phone into the pocket of his maroon hoodie and drew his chin towards his chest, looking incredibly bored.

  "If we’re getting started, I’d better go get Grandma Mallory’s gift,” Bethany said suddenly. Rachel noticed her eyes resting for a second on the glass in Jordan's hand before she left the room.

  "I'd better go, too,” Paris agreed, patting her hair. "Might as well touch up a little if we're going to do photos."

  "Be back in five minutes, no longer!" Grandma Mallory exclaimed.

  With this explicit permission given, the room emptied within seconds. Rachel had to bite down a laugh as everyone who could think of an excuse to leave made a beeline for the door. Some family reunion! When the dust settled, only Jordan, Scott, Rachel and Grandma were left in the room. Jordan looked down into his glass of whisky, glanced up at Scott, and then muttered something about needing fresh air. Opening up the French windows in the back of the room, he stepped out into the garden, as far away from Scott's glare as possible.

  Rachel squeezed Scott's hand. She could feel his discomfort. Most likely, he was wondering how Emily would react when she found out that Scott had been in the same room as Uncle Jordan, let alone that he’d nearly shaken his hand.

  Scott was still staring out when Grandma Mallory said, "You need to behave, boy."

  "Excuse me?" Scott looked at her, startled.

  "Behave. It's my birthday party and I won't have it ruined with all this scowling and dagger-staring. You're upsetting poor Jordan, too. When he comes back, shake hands and be nice."

  "Sorry. It's hard to like the man who nearly murdered my mother,” Scott said. His voice was calm, but firm. Rachel squeezed his hand again.

  "Psht! Murdered!" Grandma Mallory cackled. "You youngsters are far too sensitive. In my day, if a brother and sister fought, they had a good breakfast together and forgot all about it the next day. These mistakes happen. My Florence was always far too sensitive. But it's not becoming in a boy like you."

  "It was a little more than a fight, wasn't it? Uncle Jordan tried to strangle mom!" Scott exclaimed. "I was really young then, but I remember it pretty clearly. I was there."

  Grandma Mallory shifted in her chair. Her mouth pursed up and her nose wrinkled as though Scott had tramped on her sofa in dirty boots. "Well, if you're only here to rake up the past, I might as well not have invited you,” she said. "First you bring along this… this… baker to my birthday. Then, you go around speaking ill of my Jordan. Can't a woman have some peace on her 90th birthday? I don't have too many more, you know."

  Scott looked instantly repentant and more than a little guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… But Rachel is more than—”

  "All I want is a happy day surrounded by family. At my age, there's not much more to look forward to,” Grandma Mallory continued, ignoring Scott’s words. "I reached out to you after all these years because, in the end, blood is thicker than water. But all you want is to scratch old wounds."

  Scott looked
even more upset, but Rachel wasn't fooled. There was an air of theatricality to everything Grandma Mallory was saying. She didn't mean a word of it. If anything, Rachel suspected, the drama just gave Grandma more fuel to live off.

  Scott opened his mouth to say something, but his words were cut off when the lights suddenly went out and they were plunged into darkness.

  "What the dickens?!” Grandma Mallory exclaimed. Rachel could hear other exclamations from up and down the house.

  "Zizka! Zizkaaa!" Grandma Mallory shouted. "Where is that fool of a girl? Zizka! Come here immediately."

  Scott took out his phone and turned the flashlight app on.

  "Get that thing out of my eyes!" Grandma Mallory said.

  "Sorry." He pointed it down at the ground, letting a small circle of white light shine on their feet. His black chukkas, Rachel's green ballerinas, and Grandma Mallory's old fashioned Mary-Janes all stood out against the hardwood floor.

  "Shall I go look for Zizka?" Scott asked.

  "And leave me alone in here?" Grandma Mallory exclaimed. "I think not. The silly fool will be along any minute if she knows what's good for her. This has never happened before, you know. And we're irreversibly delayed now. Thirty minutes with the lights out! We can’t afford it!"

  "Actually, it's only been ten minutes,” Scott remarked. "We can still have dinner by nine if we get these lights back on quickly.”

  Ignoring him, Grandma Mallory called out for the maid one more time.

  Despite it all, Rachel suddenly felt happy. Jordan had left the French windows open when he went out, and the ocean breeze wafted in, bringing a sweetish smell with it. It reminded Rachel of a recent date, when she and Scott had gone out to the beach at night to stargaze. Maybe after this party was over, she'd take him to the beach next door and take his mind off things with a kiss or two. She ran her thumb across the back of his hand, trying to wordlessly give him some comfort. She felt him shift beside her and, even in the dark, she could tell he was smiling.