by Lynn Cahoon
The woman scurried away toward the couple. When he looked up and saw Helen barreling toward them, the smile on his face vanished. Mia watched him whisper something to the blonde, then Hurricane Helen was on them and the other woman quickly disappeared.
He’s in trouble. The marital disagreements between Helen and her husband seemed to overwhelm the room, black wisps of smoke probably only she and Grans could see.
A noise came from the back of the room. Raised voices broke through the music and the conversation stopped, with everyone listening to the strands of loud words from the hallway. All Mia could hear was phrases like, “my aunt deserved . . .” and then, “I’m just going to talk . . .”
The tone and pitch of the voice made her very glad that whoever was in the hallway, at least they didn’t want to talk to her. She looked over at the next table and saw John Louis. He raised his cup like a toast when he saw he had her attention. She noticed a woman dressed in what must have been a Chanel suit standing next to him, her eyes downcast. She guessed there was a Mrs. Louis. And as she’d predicted, the wife looked more like a whipped pup than the spouse of a successful real estate broker. Black smoke flowed between the two of them as well. Not my problem.
Mia turned her attention to Grans. “How long do you want to stay?” She took a sip of her coffee.
Grans didn’t respond. Her eyes were focused on something in the back of the room. Mia turned to see a man walking toward them. Or at least what Mia thought was a man. The way the day had gone, a Greek god coming down from Olympus wouldn’t have shocked her any more than what had already happened. “Earth to Grans, how long are we staying?”
“Until I have a few words with you,” a male voice from behind her snarled. Mia looked up into the man’s face. The chiseled lines, the deep blue, almost purple eyes, and the scowl that made it all seem more attractive, not less.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“William Danforth the third. You are Mia Malone?”
She sighed. Getting out of this wake wasn’t going to be easy. Then she felt guilty about rushing her grandmother. Putting on a smile, she answered, “Yes. How can I help you?”
“I want to know why you killed my aunt.” The man’s voice rose louder, and the murmured conversations that had been floating in the large gym stopped. Even the band seemed to be on break at the moment.
“I’m sorry?” Mia felt trapped, confused, and scared all rolled up together. The man continued to stare at her, and now Mia realized he was older than he looked, probably in his sixties, but the dye job on his hair kept the gray just a salting of the color rather than the predominant strain. “I had nothing to do with Adele’s death.”
“That’s not what I’m hearing. John said you didn’t like her. And then she comes up dead? What are the chances?” The man tapped his finger on the table, stepping closer. “I didn’t much care for the old broad myself, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to kill her.”
John, of course. Mia’s gut twisted as she looked at the now-smiling broker at the next table. He’d said he’d make her regret buying the place. Apparently, he’d gotten the ear of Adele’s nephew pretty fast. If this total stranger thought she killed Adele, how many others in the room thought the same thing? How many more people had John’s poison words reached? If she became involved in the investigation, she might as well kiss her business goodbye. Small towns had long memories, and even if the police force cleared her, she’d be suspect number one until the real killer was found. She glanced over at Grans, whose face had gone white.
“Look, I don’t know what John’s been saying, but I didn’t kill your aunt.” Mia stopped; she’d been about to say she had kind of liked Adele, but lying was lying, either in court or out, and she knew she’d be caught in that one.
“You’re not getting away with this.” William Danforth stepped closer, towering over Mia. She felt suffocated by his presence and his Brut cologne. Mia hadn’t known anyone who wore Brut since her grandfather had died, twenty years ago. But now, instead of inflicting good memories, the scent cloyed, making her thoughts fuzzy.
All of a sudden, she could breathe. She put her head in her hands and leaned toward the floor, taking in deep breaths of clean air. Lifting up her head, she saw Trent looking at her with concern. “You okay,” he asked.
When she nodded he turned back to Danforth, who had been pulled away from the table and now stood between two of the waiters, both holding tightly to one of Danford’s arms. Trent put up his hand, trying to calm the man. “Look, I know you’re upset, but if you can’t act like a human, you’re going to have to leave.”
“You probably helped her kill Aunt Adele,” Danforth accused, his eyes wide and one of his hands already balled into a fist. No doubt about it, Mia’s first catered event was going to turn into a fight.
“That’s enough.” Officer Baldwin appeared beside the table. “Trent’s right, it’s time for you to leave.”
The man glared at the men standing in between him and Mia, catching her eye. “I’ll leave, but this isn’t over, missy, not at all.” He struggled free of his restraints, straightened his shoulders, and ran his fingers over his jacket. Happy with his new, free condition, he glared at Mia. “I’ll make you pay.”
Officer Baldwin walked with Danforth as he left the room, the man shrugging off the police officer’s hand on his arm. He pushed through the door, slamming it against the outside wall. Mia flinched at the bang. Baldwin followed him out of the building, and so did a short, petite redhead. She still wore a fur coat, and a bright red dress peeked out from under the coat, the bottom half of her long legs covered in knee-high hooker boots. Mia watched the procession, dumbfounded.
“What the heck just happened?” Grans asked.
“I think our friend John Louis has been riling him up, telling him stuff that isn’t true.” Mia stood, ready to give the other man a piece of her mind. Trent grabbed her arm and lowered her back into her chair. She spun toward him. “What?”
He didn’t release her arm as he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You need to stay away from that guy. Him and this William Danforth. He seriously has it in for you.”
“Trent, he’s telling people I killed Adele.” Mia slumped in her chair. “And people are listening to him. This nephew thinks I killed her. Can you believe that?”
Trent pulled a chair up to the table from another grouping. He leaned on the back, watching her face. Concern filled his face when he answered her. “John’s not the only one.”
CHAPTER 5
Mia turned over again, glancing at the clock. An hour had passed since she’d gone to bed and she wasn’t any closer to sleep than she’d been when she’d climbed out of her morning shower. Trent’s words kept rolling around in her head. She’d sunk every last dime of her savings into the purchase of the old school. She’d negotiated a business loan with the local bank to complete the restoration, and now everything could be taken away. Especially if she was known as the business owner more likely to kill than provide a warm meal at the end of the day. Sunny yellow walls or not, she’d lose everything.
Sighing, she threw back the covers and reached for her robe. No use just lying there. She padded barefoot to the kitchen. Tonight she’d forgo the sleeping spell and ease her insomnia the old-fashioned way, by cooking. Opening the door to the refrigerator, she reached for peppers, sausage, and mushrooms. She pulled out the loaf of bread she’d bought from the local bakery a few days before. Just stale enough, she thought as she squeezed the crusty loaf.
She moved through her prep work—the mise en place, as her culinary school teacher had called it—without thinking. Finishing chopping the peppers, she started chopping an onion to add to the mix. Once everything was prepped, she flipped on the gas stove and sautéed the veggies, slowly crumbling the sausage into the pan. The kitchen smelled wonderful. She flipped on a second burner under the teakettle. Brewing coffee would only keep her awake longer. A nice cup of cinnamon apple tea, however, might slow her r
acing mind. And she might, just might, get back to sleep tonight.
She sat at the butcher-block table and pulled out the notebook she used to plan recipes. This breakfast strata would be a nice addition to the weekend menu. In fact, she could do it as a welcome gift for first-time clients. Purchase a dinner for four, get breakfast free. And the strata could make use of the day-old bread that always seemed to accumulate in a kitchen. She could make them in batches and freeze them for future sales.
She added the idea to a list for Christina for menu development. She had amazing graphic art skills. Roxanne Adams had been wrong to steer her daughter toward a business degree. Christina might not be able to make it as a dancer, but Mia knew with her artistic ability and marketing savvy, she’d be amazing in advertising or design. Even untrained, Christina was twice as good as the account executive hired by her ex-employer when they redesigned the menus.
Thinking of Christina made her glance toward the direction of the bedrooms and the hidden safe that held her cookbook. Isaac had insisted he owned the recipes she’d developed for the catering section of the hotel’s business. Converting recipes to feed a larger group had been a challenge. But soon it had come naturally. Grans always said she still cooked for a large family, even though she’d been living alone for close to thirty years.
As if she’d been called by Mia’s thoughts, Christina showed up at the kitchen door. “It smells amazing in here. Want some company?”
Mia smiled at her houseguest turned roommate. “I’d love some.” She stood and removed the whistling kettle from the burner. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Christina shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. I feel bad about what I told the police. And then that jerk at the wake. Why would anyone suspect you?”
Mia laughed and poured steaming water over two cups with tea bags already in place. She turned off the stove under the cooked meat and veggies, setting it aside to cool before finishing the strata. “People around here know anyone who worked with Adele for longer than a day would want to kill her. But that also works in my favor, because the list of people who hated her is pretty long. I probably overreacted a bit when Baldwin questioned me. He has to question everyone, right?”
“Still, if I hadn’t gotten up and seen you gone last night, they never would have questioned you.” Christina took the offered cup and played with the tea bag, pulling it up and down. Isaac used to do the same thing, unwilling to wait for the water’s heat to do the magic.
“There’s a saying: It’s none of my business what others think about me. And because I didn’t kill Adele, nothing anyone thinks will convict me. I’ll worry about it when there’s something to worry about. Right now we need to focus on getting the business up and running before our grand opening. You think you can stay on until then?” Mia glanced at Christina. They hadn’t talked about anything past Adele’s party. “I’m starting to depend on you. You’re amazing with the marketing ideas. I’ve listed off a few more things for the menu I’d like you to play with.”
Christina stood and went to the stove, absently stirring the mixture in the pan. She kept her head turned away from Mia as she spoke. “I’d like to stay. Mom’s pushing me to go back to school next semester. She’s even talking about summer school.”
“You’ve been talking to Roxanne?” Mia didn’t know how she felt about this—betrayed, happy? Something in between?
“Something Grans said a few weeks ago made me call her.” Christina turned back from the stove. “You know, when we were talking about family and how they always love you, no matter what?”
Mia remembered the conversation. Christina had told Grans that her mother hated her, especially after she’d left for Vegas. Grans, being the eternal optimist, had told Christina that a mother’s love never died, no matter what the child did. Mia hadn’t been so sure; she’d met the mother in question. Roxanne Adams could be described as controlling and vicious, but those words would be too gentle for the woman.
“I remember. Grans would be proud to know you took the first step.” Mia walked the high road, even though she didn’t think a family reunion would be in Christina’s best interest. She hoped for the girl’s sake her gut feeling was dead wrong.
Christina smiled and sat back at the table. “I was worried you wouldn’t like that I called her.”
Mia leaned over and fist bumped against Christina’s hand to get her attention. “No matter what I think about Isaac and your family, I hope I’ll always be a part of your life. I’m here for you, don’t forget that.”
Christina nodded and sniffed.
“Let’s get this strata together and go to bed. Tomorrow we’re getting back to renovations and putting this dream of mine in the bag. That way when you leave for summer school, I’ll barely miss you.” Mia stood and dumped the cooling meat into a colander in the sink. “First we need to drain off the fat from the mixture. Get me one of those large metal bowls.”
The next few minutes they worked like they’d been cooking together for years. Mia would miss Christina when she left. And, from what Mia could tell, Christina might just miss the work. She had a knack for creating, and being innovative was a good quality for potential chefs. She put aluminum foil over the baking dish and slipped it into the fridge. By the time they woke up, the strata would be ready to slip into a nice, hot oven and they’d be ready to start a new day.
Mia turned out the lights, slipping downstairs to check the main door locks one more time. With the living quarters on the third floor, a prowler could do a lot of damage downstairs before anyone even noticed. Mr. Darcy silently padded after her, jumping up on the window seat when she went into what would be the kitchen to check the back door.
Certain that the locks were solid, she turned out the downstairs lights and went back to where she’d left Mr. Darcy. The cat had already abandoned his post. “Here, kitty, kitty,” she called. No responding meow.
She checked the downstairs rooms that had their doors open. No cat. Shaking her head, she glanced up the stairs. The feline had probably returned to curl up on Christina’s bed. Mia went up the stairs, shut the apartment door, and went straight to her room.
This time when she slipped between the sheets sleep found her and she drifted off into a dreamless state.
The insistent buzz of her alarm clock woke her promptly at seven the next morning. Late, compared to her usual start time, but early for her body, which objected to the lack of her normal eight hours. She slipped on her robe and slippers and headed to the kitchen to put the sausage strata in the oven and start coffee.
As she walked through the living room, a scratch sounded at the apartment door. She unlocked the door and Mr. Darcy ran in, heading to Christina’s bedroom.
Mia watched the cat paw open the door. Where had he been? She’d looked through all the downstairs rooms without finding him. She glanced at the apartment door as she gently closed it. Maybe she’d have to put in a pet door. She hated to think of him wandering the downstairs all night.
In the kitchen she turned on the oven. Going through the rote motions of making coffee, Mia’s mind puzzled over the cat’s whereabouts. He must have found one of the second-story-room doors open. Mia would have to make sure to walk through nightly and close up all the doors. Especially when the construction guys started next week.
Satisfied she’d solved the mystery, she sat at the table with her cup of coffee and started making out a list. They’d delivered a large dumpster on Friday. Today, she’d finish cleaning up the trash from the first floor, and by the end of the weekend all the painting would be done and dry. She’d added another twenty items to the list before Christina walked through the kitchen, Mr. Darcy in her arms.
“Good morning. You have about thirty minutes before the strata’s done.” Mia let her voice rise into a happy chirp. “You want some coffee?”
“How can you be happy this early?” Christina plopped in the wooden chair. Then she groaned. “Coffee.”
Mia handed her a cup and a spoon, movi
ng the cream pitcher and sugar bowl closer to the girl. “You take out the strata when the buzzer sounds. I’m grabbing a shower.”
“Ugh . . .”
Mia hoped that meant, sure, no problem in grumpese. Walking through the living room, she saw the light flash on the wall. Someone had just rung the doorbell. The previous owner had set up the warning light mostly because it was impossible to hear the door chime this far up. She glanced at her pj’s and tightened her robe. No time to worry about changing clothes now.
She headed down the stairs, hearing the chime buzz again as she got closer to the door. “Hold on, I’m coming,” she called out.
Undoing all the locks took some time, but finally she swung open the door. Trent Majors stood there, a box in his hands. He pushed past her and quickly closed the door.
“It’s freezing out there this morning. Waiting on you, I could have been a Popsicle.” He glanced around the room. “I like the color. Sunny.”
Mia stared at him. “I don’t remember inviting you over this morning.” She glanced at her wrist at a nonexistent watch. Self-conscious, she pulled the robe tighter around her throat. “So why are you here?”
“Figured after I dropped that bombshell last night I had some explaining to do.” He held up the box and grinned. “I brought doughnuts.”
People lined up on summer weekends to get Majors bakery doughnuts before they sold out. Mia smelled the grease and sugar combination and her stomach growled. “You bring a maple bar?”
Trent smiled. “Two.”
“Then come on up. I’ve made coffee and the strata is just about ready.” She pointed to the stairwell. “I’ll follow you.”
Trent glanced around the lobby area. “You’ve been busy. I hated that gray. The school got a deal on the paint and went through the whole place with it.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not totally settled on the yellow, but it will get me started. I haven’t even started the upstairs. But the contractors are coming to finish the kitchen, so if I get an all clear from the county, I’ll be set up for home delivery and catering maybe late next week.” Mia smiled. Just keep going. Her grandmother hadn’t raised her to be a quitter. Sure, Adele’s death had been a shock, but honestly, it had nothing to do with her. Follow the plan and everything will work out. She noticed Trent wasn’t following her. He just stood in the doorway, looking at her.
