Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder (5 page)

Jessica lifted herself up on her elbow and clicked on the light at the other side of the bed. She turned to her mother. One cheek was creased with pillow wrinkles.
At her age they’ll disappear in wink,
Lori thought.

“What’s with Grammy, Mom? Unprocessed wheat germ?”

Lori laughed. “She’s proud of her secret ingredient. It’s very healthy.”

“It’s very awful.” Jessica jumped out of bed and grabbed the empty fudge pan that was lying on the floor. “Come on, Mom, let’s go scrounge for food.”

Jessica, in her oversized Yankees T-shirt and bare feet, stood at the sink washing the fudge pan while Lori, in one of a dozen pajama sets she had bought after the breakup, surveyed the offerings in the refrigerator. A carton of 2 percent milk gone bad, a bottle of ketchup, half a stick of butter, a jar of anchovies, a chunk of Parmesan cheese wrapped in a damp cloth to keep it fresh, and one apple. She tossed the milk and tried the freezer. One shelf was stuffed with red boxes she recognized from the supermarket. Weight Watchers Smart Ones. Lori took one box out—Swedish meatballs—five points. “Jess, did you buy these?”

“No.” Jessica turned both faucets to maximum flow and scrubbed harder.

Lori was familiar with the make-enough-noise-to-discourage-conversation ploy. “Please turn off the water—that pan is clean enough—all I want to know is how did diet Swedish meatballs, broccoli and roasted potatoes and I don’t know what else get into our freezer?”

Jessica tossed the sponge in the sink and turned off the water. “A present.”

“For me? Are you trying to tell me to go on a diet? I’m too fat?”

Jessica threw herself in a chair. “It’s not always about you.” She kept her head low, her hair covering her face.

Lori wasn’t in the least bit relieved to hear that. She pulled out a chair and sat down next to her daughter. “Sweetie, you’re five foot seven and a size eight. You’re perfect the way you are.” She lifted her daughter’s hair off her face. Jessica shook it back. “Is Angie on a diet?”

No answer.

“Did you meet a boy you like?”

Jessica shook her head.

“Talk to me, Jess. Please.”

“Valerie thinks I’m fat. She said in Paris all the women are real thin like her and I’d feel ugly so she bought me that stuff.”

“Ugly!” Rage rose in Lori’s throat. How dare that bitch undermine Jessica. “That woman is preposterous! You’re beautiful. Don’t pay any attention to her.”

Jessica looked at Lori with a doleful expression on her face. “I have to. Daddy married her.”

“Sweetie, I’m sorry.” Lori hugged Jessica’s head against her chest. “You are intelligent, thin, beautiful, and the best daughter anyone could have.” She stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. She jerked open the freezer door and stuck her head in. “I’m throwing this stuff out.”

Jessica got a garbage bag from underneath the sink. “Don’t tell Daddy. Please.”

“Not a word.” Lori started tossing the boxes in the bag Jessica held out. “Given our meager resources, how about spaghetti with butter and Parmesan?”

“Yum. That’s almost better than fudge.”

Lori held a box of chicken and broccoli in midair, struck by an awful thought. “You did eat the fudge?”

“Yes and then I stuck my finger down my throat and threw it up.”

Lori gasped.

“Come on, Mom, give me some credit. I wasn’t going to Paris so why would I throw up my fudge? Anyway, that’s so gross.”

“I give you lots of credit, Jess.” Lori threw the rest of the boxes in the garbage bag, opened the back door of the kitchen, and stuffed the bag with the rest of the garbage that would be collected in the morning. Beyond the maple in the backyard she could see light seeping into the bottom edge of the sky.

When Lori walked back into the kitchen, Jessica was filling the spaghetti pot with hot water. “What do you say if we make this meal a celebration?” Lori asked. “Dining room, candles, good china, the whole nine yards.”

“Mom? It’s four thirty in the morning?”

Lori smiled and took the pot from Jessica’s hands. “I’m sure it’s an elegant dinner hour in some part of the world. Why don’t you put on your new dress and look at yourself in the mirror before you come down. You’ll see how skinny you are.”

After dinner last night, Jessica had modeled the bridesmaid dress for her mother and grandmother—a steel-blue satin gown that offset Jessica’s pale hair. The pleated bodice, modestly low-cut, emphasized her small waist and made her look even taller than she already was.

“Doesn’t she look like Cinderella going to the ball?” Grammy had said, using her new cell phone to take a photo of Jessica.

Jessica looked like a woman. The thought had filled Lori with a mixture of pride and sadness. Too soon her daughter would fly away.

Lori turned one of the burners on. “The cook, if you don’t mind, will stay in her bathrobe and pajamas.” Jessica was halfway up the stairs.

Valerie was jealous, Lori decided. She might be skinny, rich, and good-looking, but Jessica was thin, gorgeous, and
young.
And her father loved her enough to want to take her on his honeymoon. That’s what the put-down was about. Valerie was a mean woman.

Lori put the pot of water on the burner, covering it with a bowl into which she cut three tablespoons of butter and a mashed anchovy. The heat from the pot would melt the butter. When the water boiled she would add kosher salt, enough to make the water taste as salty as the sea. Next she grated the cheese and added it to the bowl. As the sky lightened outside her window, Lori thought of the day in front of her. She was going to make the most of it: an hour of Pilates, then coffee with Callie’s gals, a run to the supermarket to restock refrigerator and pantry. She had planned to sort her new recipes and begin inputting them in her computer. But now the pasta was ready.

Lori peeked in the glass window of Callie’s Place, the old Greek coffee shop just off Elm Street. She caught sight of her best friend’s short salt-and-pepper hair; Beth was sitting at their corner booth in a pale yellow tennis outfit. Handsome, loving Beth had a wide sculpted face, light brown eyes, a blink-inducing smile, and a serene way about her that had immediately attracted Lori to her during freshman week at Swarth-more.

Beth saw her and waved. Margot and Janet were sitting on either side of her. Lori waved back. Monday morning at Callie’s Place with her friends like almost every Monday of the year. It was great to be back.

Callie, the owner, opened the door. “I know my place doesn’t match up to those fancy Italian cafés, but welcome back.” She was as short as she was wide and made it her business to know everyone’s business. She also baked the best apple pie Lori had ever tasted.

Lori gave Callie a hug. “No place matches this one.” She meant it, too. This was her second home, where she, Beth, Margot, and Janet had eaten countless meals, shared laughs, tears. It was here that, seven years ago, Beth had whispered that her husband was dying of leukemia. It was here that childless Janet announced she was adopting a Chinese baby girl; here that she admitted she was pregnant a year later. Here that, only two years ago, Margot let out that she was divorcing her husband because she’d fallen in love with someone else.

Margot air-kissed Lori so as not to smudge her signature red lipstick. It was Margot’s daughter, Angie, who was helping Jessica maneuver her way through her own family breakup.

“Angie’s a great kid,” Lori said. “Cape Cod will do wonders for Jess.”

Margot moved her Chanel bag to make room next to her. “Warren loves having her. That way he doesn’t have to worry about Angie getting bored.”

Janet leaned forward. “Was Italy absolutely fabulous? We want every detail.”

“The men first,” Margot said.

“Let her sit down first,” Beth said.

Lori kissed Janet and blew a kiss to Beth, who was too far away. “Why do I feel as though I’ve just walked into an episode of
Sex and the Burbs
?”

“Given our age,
Desperate Housewives
is more like it,” Beth said. “Welcome back. I’ve missed you.”

“We’re not desperate,” Janet piped in. At thirty-eight she was the youngest of the group and still pretty in an old-fashioned American Roses way with her natural blond ponytail, snub nose, and perfect teeth. Margot liked to call her Barbie, which Janet found flattering. “We’re not desperate!” she repeated.

The other women looked at each other quickly. They all knew that Janet and a jobless Seth were having serious money difficulties.

The only response that popped into Lori’s head to break the moment was the old cliché,
hope springs eternal.
She sat down and, inhaling loudly, said instead, “Can you smell? Margot’s coffee, Beth’s cheese Danish, Janet’s orange juice, Callie’s apple pies. It’s enough to make me happy again.”

“How are you?” Janet asked, clasping Lori’s hand. “It must be so hard.”

“Apart from my stomach muscles screaming after an hour of Pilates this morning, I’m fine. Really.” Major or minor problems, Janet always cared. “Thanks.” Janet’s kids were lucky. So was Seth, who had been a classmate of Rob’s at Dartmouth. Janet was all sweetness. Sometimes it got on Lori’s nerves, which then made her feel guilty.

“The kids?” Lori asked

“Great. Desiree has announced she wants to be a novelist like Amy Tan and Taylor is going to be seven in two weeks. I’ve got tons of new pictures I want you to see, but as usual I left them home.”

Lori ordered decaf coffee. “Bring them next time.” The day before she had left for Italy, Janet had come over with forty new prints.

“I’ve experienced the same problem with my muscles when I come back from one of my vacations,” Margot said. “My personal trainer keeps going on about doing the ab series every morning, but our muscles have a right to a vacation.” She waved the milk jug at the waitress. “Are you sure this is skim?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Callie shouted from the other end of the room.

“She doesn’t like me,” Margot said.

“That’s the most perceptive statement you’ve made all morning,” Beth said. Margot laughed.

It was easy not to like Margot when you first met her. She was vain, self-involved, always beautifully turned out in the latest, most expensive fashion, but she was kind, fun, and always generous with the fortune her father had left her.

“Let’s all hush now and hear from Lori,” Beth said.

Three faces turned her way. In the back she could see that Callie was waiting, too. Lori wished she could make up some fantastic love affair: how she and her lover had lain next to each other as they floated in a gondola down the Grand Canal, how he had kissed her in front of Michelangelo’s
David,
how she had rubbed herself against him in the Colosseum.

“I saw lots of incredible art, walked my feet to the bone, ate like a goddess, got lots of good recipes thanks to Beth’s fake business cards, and even managed to stop thinking about Rob and Valerie every minute. That’s my story.”

“How much did you gain?” Margot said.

“Don’t know and don’t care.”

Margot’s fingers combed her smooth dark cap of hair. “I’m green with envy.”

“It was good for you?” Janet asked.

“It was great,” Lori said.

“Do you feel up to catering a small dinner party this Saturday for twelve?” Beth said. “It’s for Mrs. Evelyn Ashe’s eighty-fifth birthday.”

“Yikes, so soon?”

“I told her you were very good and very expensive.”

Why not plunge in,
Lori thought. “I have to ask Jess what she’s up to on Saturday.”

“She’s going to a party with Angie,” Margot said.

“If that’s the case, I’ll say yes, but let me check with Jess first?”

“Tonight’s the deadline.”

“Thanks.” Beth was always coming through for her. She wouldn’t have survived the divorce without her, without all three of her friends. They had hovered around her, warming her like a blanket, muffling the awful noise her head and heart were making. “Starting off with a small dinner party would be perfect.” She had cooked enough of them for Rob, his partners, his clients. She wasn’t ready to cook for a crowd.

Margot tapped Lori’s shoulder. “Now don’t tell me you didn’t meet a breathtakingly handsome Italian man who was dying to ravish you.” Her eyes betrayed a mixture of envy, wishful thinking, and intense curiosity.

“I did meet a man on my last night in Rome.”

“Your last night?” Janet said. “How sad.”

“Not sad at all. He was American, far from breathtakingly handsome as I remember, and as for wanting to ravish me, he spilled steaming hot gnocchi on a brand-new very expensive dress, and then doused the burn with most of a carafe of red wine.”

Janet looked startled. Margot wanted to know if Lori had made him pay for the dress. Beth started laughing. Lori laughed, too. What else could she do? “He gave me two thousand dollars in cash,” she said to shut Margot up.

Callie came over with her undulating gait and dropped a plate in front of Lori. “Eat.” She handed Lori a fork. Lori stopped laughing. In front of her was a slice of apple pie, Callie’s cure-all.

Lori took a bite. The apples were warm, firm, bathed in a dark coat of caramelized sugar. “You wouldn’t give a desperately unhappy woman the recipe, would you?” she asked Callie.

Callie snorted and walked away.

“Anyone want to share?” Lori asked.

“She’d kill us,” Beth said.

Janet sat up. “Is it true that someone tried to kill Rob Friday night?”

Lori took another bite of the pie. She was getting tired of this story. Next she would hear that she was seen trying to run him over.

“Only tried to kill him?” Margot said. “That’s too bad.”

Beth grabbed the check. “Of course it’s not true! Why would anyone want to kill Rob?”

Margot waved fingers at Beth from across the table. “Hello, E.T.? Time to get off your bicycle and come down to earth.” She jerked her chin toward Lori.

Lori waited to swallow her food before asking Janet, “Where did you hear that?”

Janet’s face turned red. “I don’t know. Did you tell me, Margot?”

Margot’s voice was indignant. “How would I know anything about that horrible man and that ungrateful woman I introduced you to.” Valerie had been an old boarding school friend of Margot’s.