Carbs & Cadavers (18 page)

“So she claims,” Bennett muttered crossly as he examined the hole in his shiny black boot.

“I can’t see her planning something like that out,” Lindy said. “Whitney is smart, but—and I know from having taught her—Amelia isn’t the sharpest tack in the drawer. She works hard, God love her, always did as a student and now she gets up at dawn to help Megan bake. It can’t be easy for a young girl.”

“What’s the story with her parents?” James asked Lindy.

“Megan’s husband split years ago, when they lived in another town. She opened the Sweet Tooth when Amelia was a freshman in high school. I know they really struggled for a while. Even now, Megan probably can’t make a go of it without her daughter’s help.”

“I would think that Brinkley could have made Amelia angry enough to want to take
some
kind of action.” Bennett pursued his argument.

“
I’d
want a piece of him after what he’s done to these innocent girls!” Gillian exclaimed. “Let’s just pray he’s already been reincarnated as a dung beetle.”

The supper club members stared at her in bewilderment.

“Anyway,” Lucy plowed on, unsure of how to respond to Gillian’s bizarre comment, “We didn’t find out if there was another person at this blackmail victim sleepover.”

“Maybe the two girls planned the murder together.” Bennett suggested wildly. “I mean, why are they so intent on covering for one another?”

“No.” Lucy frowned. “We’re missing something, some clue as to the identity of the killer. Whitney didn’t run herself over and Amelia doesn’t even own a car. If she
did
hit Whitney with Megan’s delivery van, I think someone would have noticed.”

“Plus, Whitney said it was a car and that it made a funny noise,” James reminded his friends.

“I think we need to confront Amelia again,” Lindy said firmly. “I’ll get her to tell us if anyone else was being blackmailed by that little punk. It would be fun to go to the haunted hayride anyway. Maybe Principal Chavez will be there and will need my protection.” She raised and lowered her eyebrows suggestively.

At that moment, the mayor stepped up to the microphone, accompanied by a fidgety Beau and Caroline Livingstone. Beau was wearing a blue suit that looked a size too large for his frame and Caroline had donned a long dress with black and white polka dots. They both looked slightly embarrassed and rather overwhelmed by the enormity of the gathered crowd.

“Welcome friends,” the mayor began. “I have never been so proud to be a Virginian as I am tonight.” The crowd cheered. “You folks came from all across our beautiful state to help these good people beside me. Now I know when we turn on our televisions, the news shows are filled with horrible stories about people hurting each other. Our books, magazines, newspapers, they all show how . . . how negative mankind can be. Well, I think they’re showing a very small side of us. I believe that most people are good, and tonight, you all have proved me right!” Roars erupted from around the podium. The mayor held up her short arms to shush the throng. “I hold in my hand the total number of monies raised here today, so far. It’s still coming in and I’m sure the fine men and women of our postal service will be delivering hundreds of letters to the Livingstones’ mailbox over the next week.”

The mayor turned to Beau and Caroline as she unfolded a piece of paper.

“Tonight, through the generosity of your fellow Virginians, those neighbors reaching out from the Blue Ridge Mountains to the Chesapeake Bay, those folks who saw the mistreatment done to your sweet daughter, have managed to raise over thirty-five thousand dollars!”

Caroline’s hand flew over her mouth as Beau took an involuntary step backward in shock. Two reporters, Murphy Alistair and a suave-looking young man holding a mini recorder aloft, began snapping pictures.

“We owe a special debt of gratitude to Shilling’s Stables for the donation of their fine thoroughbred colt. It brought the highest bid at our silent auction at ten thousand dollars! Thank you all for your heartfelt contributions.” The two reporters swung their cameras in the direction of Allison Shilling and her mother, but Mrs. Shilling hid behind Allison and Chase so that the couple appeared to be the generous donors. Allison wore a pasted-on smile that never reached her eyes as Chase put a proprietary arm around his fiancée’s trim waist and waved benevolently in the direction of the reporters.

The mayor then held out the microphone toward Beau, but he was too overcome to speak. Caroline, her eyes brimming with tears, profusely thanked the crowd and then sank down in a chair, still crying. The crowd whooped and hollered for another five minutes and then began to disperse.

The supper club members waited to offer their personal congratulations to Beau and Caroline. After being held in a bear hug by each of them, Lucy wriggled free and asked after Whitney’s condition.

“She’s finally at home,” Caroline answered, relieved to be discussing a subject other than the incredible amount of money raised on their behalf. “She begged me to get her out of the hospital. Seems she doesn’t like their food.”

Beau chuckled. “Can’t say I blame her. I think that’s what
really
caused my stroke.” The group laughed along with Beau.

“Anyway, it’ll be quite a few weeks before she can go back to Dolly’s since she’s got that cast on her arm, so we told her to catch up on her schoolwork.”

Beau looked suddenly thoughtful. “Though if those Pet Palaces sell as well in Harrisonburg next week as they did here, we might be able to let her go back to school full time in the near future.” His eyes shone with hopefulness.

“I’ve got a few ideas for launching this product,” Gillian gestured toward two chairs behind the podium. “Do you want to hear them?”

“Absolutely! Lead the way, ma’am.”

“I’m off to the Haunted Hayride,” Lindy announced. “
Someone
has got to come with me.” She cast a look of appeal among her friends.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go.” Bennett jerked his thumb in the direction of the parking lot where a pickup truck waited to lead the out-of-towners to Miller’s farm. “But don’t expect me to act all scared when some teenager in bad makeup wielding a plastic axe jumps out from a row of hay.”

“Maybe they’ll have an eight-year-old brandishing a dart instead,” Lindy teased and elbowed Bennett in the ribs.

James and Lucy watched their friends walk away. “Well, I’ve got to go home and cook dinner for my Pop,” James explained to Caroline and Lucy.

“How is he these days?” Caroline asked. “I never see him around town.”

“He doesn’t come out. He’s pretty much a recluse these days.”

Caroline made a sad face. “Such a shame. I’d like to make some meals for the freezer for him, if that’s all right. You and your friends have done so much for us and I’d like to be able to show you how grateful we are.”

“Sure.” James brightened at the thought of not having to cook separate meals for himself and his father for a while. Jackson never seemed to want anything James needed to eat to maintain his diet. He deliberately demanded flour pasta dishes, casseroles, potatoes, and sweets like brownies and chocolate cake, just to tempt his son into cheating, but so far, James had avoided succumbing. Suddenly remembering how he and Lucy had wolfed down the chili cheese fries, James flushed.

He was about to head toward the silent auction booth, to see whether any of the volunteers could tell him what was inside the box his father had donated, but before he could, Caroline put an arm out to restrain him.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” She said excitedly. “Whitney remembered something when she woke up this morning. Guess gettin’ hit on the head made her forget some details about the accident for a few days.”

“What did she remember?” Lucy asked, her blue eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“She said that she thought the driver was wearing a mask. She only remembers gettin’ a quick look, like a flash, but she swears she’s remembering it right.”

As James turned his full attention on Caroline, his plans to visit the silent auction booth drifted away like the steam rising from a nearby booth selling roasted corn. “What kind of mask?”

Caroline’s expression reflected some doubt, but she went ahead and delivered her daughter’s message. “Whitney says it was a dog mask. Like, some kind of poodle.”

On Sunday evening,
Lucy was the first to arrive at the Henry residence. She knocked timidly at the front door instead of using the doorbell. When James opened it with a mighty creak, he noticed that Lucy’s hands, which were holding a glass casserole dish, were shaking slightly.

“You okay?” he asked her.

She released her breath and smiled as she glanced down at her hands. “To tell you the truth, I was half expecting your daddy to come barreling out with a sawed-off shotgun, screaming at me to get off his land.”

“No chance of that,” James gave a forced laugh. “He’s still shut up in his shed. I told him this morning that I had some friends coming over for dinner but he didn’t care to comment, so who knows how he’ll act when
his
dinnertime rolls around.” He stepped back into the house. “Come on in.”

James led his guest into the kitchen and followed Lucy’s glance as she took in the sad state of the once-charming kitchen. The floral wallpaper dotted with tiny blue flowers had yellowed with age and little cracks had sprung up around the edges, especially by the stove and fridge. The beige linoleum floor was stained and peeling in the corners and though James had spent all morning cleaning, the overall impression what that of a tired and neglected room.

“You can tell men live here,” Lucy said, in an effort to ease James’s mind, but his eyes were hooded and unreadable as he led her to the dining room.

Unused since his mother’s death, the small room was the only place where time seemed to have been kind to the old, dark pieces of wood furniture, the sage-green oriental rug, and the framed botanical prints gracing all four walls. James had dug out some green candles from the sideboard and had placed them throughout the room. The inexpensive chandelier was dimmed to a low light and a cluster of deep red chrysanthemum stalks set in a simple glass vase in the middle of the polished table created a romantic aura.

Lucy seemed to grow a trifle nervous being alone in the candlelit space with James. Her eyes kept darting to and fro as if Jackson Henry was hiding somewhere, spying on the two of them. “So . . .” she began awkwardly. “I’d better preheat the oven for the fish we’re having tonight.”

James grimaced involuntarily. “Ugh.”

“Don’t worry.” Lucy punched him playfully on the arm. “It’s so well-disguised with spices you’ll think you’re eating chicken.”

Raising his hand to give her a flirtatious poke in return, James froze in mid-air as the doorbell chimed. He guiltily scurried to the door, disappointed that the others had arrived so quickly.

All three of the other supper club members waited on his front stoop, shivering in the chilly November night air.

“Finally!” Lindy exclaimed. “I get to have a look at the mysterious father of our own Professor Henry. You know, we all saw him so regularly when he had the hardware store, but I don’t remember ever talking to him much.”

“That’s because he’s never been much for talking, and don’t expect him to sit down and join us for dinner, either.” James draped their coats one at a time over one of the ladderback chairs in the living room. “Come on in the kitchen. Does anyone need pans or anything?”

Bennett held out a pie plate covered with aluminum foil. “I have created my own low-carb dessert and it is
good
. So good that I ate a whole one by myself last week.”

“What kind of pie is it?” Gillian asked hungrily. “May the Buddha provide that it is better than those
awful
tombstones I forced y’all to eat last week.”

“I’m not telling ’til it’s time to serve it,” Bennett said stubbornly, placing the pie in the fridge.

Gillian held up her own baking dish. “Green beans with almond slices and Parmesan cheese. I can just nuke them for a few minutes when we’re ready to eat.”

“I’ve got spinach salad with homemade bacon dressing.” Lindy plunked a heavy ceramic bowl down on the dining room table. “Oh! It looks so pretty in here. James, you certainly know how to make a room warm and inviting.”

“Thanks.” James felt himself relaxing. If his father remained in the shed, then they might have a nice evening after all. He began taking drink orders for diet soda or water.

“When can we start having wine or something more grown up to drink?” Lucy demanded. “I’m getting sick of all this caffeine-free, diet, chemical-filled, brown, bubbly crap!”

Her friends laughed. “When you model your jeans for us, then we’ll have a glass of wine to celebrate,” Lindy suggested. “Deal?”

Lucy’s cheeks became suddenly dappled with red, as if small raspberries had been rubbed all over them. “Deal. In fact, I think I’m not that far away from fitting in them. In two weeks we’re back at my house, so I won’t try them on until you’re all over for dinner. Who will bring the wine in case they fit?”

James raised his hand high in the air like a kindergarten student anxious to share his show-and-tell item and then quickly dropped it, feeling stupid. “I have a great bottle of Merlot that I bought in case a celebration came up a few years ago. It’s ready to drink.”

“Like, a celebration with your wife?” Gillian asked, sipping a glass of water.

“Yeah. Nothing ever came up, though.” James turned to Lucy, his warm brown eyes filled with generosity and a hint of sadness. “But if you get in those jeans, Lucy, that’s celebration enough for me.”

Lucy returned his stare, her own eyes reflecting gratitude and something stronger. James thought he saw a trace of longing there. A longing for what? To be able to lose the weight and become a deputy or, dare he believe it, a longing for him?

The others sensed something charged in the nonverbal exchange between their friends and bustled away to prepare the dinner. James began to set the table, feeling like a teenager who’s been caught making out in the back seat of his parent’s car. Lucy remained unfazed, checking up on her catfish and chatting away about the success of Neighbor Aid.

“All right, James!” Lucy proclaimed after they all sat down. She placed a plate of fish in front of him with a flourish. “Taste this and then dare to tell me that you don’t like fish.”

She served everyone else and then sat down. “Y’all, this is Bombay Catfish. It is a tad bit spicy, so get your drinks ready.”

James took a hesitant bite. He loved Indian food, but felt sure the taste of fish would ruin the flavor of any of the other ingredients in the dish. He was pleasantly surprised to taste the curry, paprika, and yogurt flavors that had saturated the tender fish, but nothing disagreeable assaulted his tongue as he chewed. He still wasn’t fond of the entrée’s flaky texture, but he refrained from mentioning that aloud.

“Well?” Lucy looked at him with an expression of inquiry.

“It’s good. Really. What’s in it?” James said once his mouth was empty.

“Fat-free yogurt, curry powder, paprika, cardamom—and I had to drive twenty-five miles to find
that
one—cilantro, and salt and pepper.”

“
This
is good for us?” Gillian happily stabbed at her fish with her fork.

Lucy nodded. “Yep. And easy to make. I marinated the fish in the fridge for a few hours and then cooked it for ten minutes. Nothing to it.”

Everyone ate in silence for a few minutes, passing dishes back and forth and simply enjoying the food and the company.

“So what’s the next step in our investigation?” Bennett asked, putting down his fork and breathing a deep sigh of contentment. As usual, he was the first person finished.

“We’ve got a new clue,” Lucy said in a sing-song voice.

Lindy swatted at Lucy across the table with her napkin. “Don’t hold out on us. Spill it!”

“Children, children,” Gillian intoned as if she were saying a prayer. “Behave. Now Lucy, tell us or I’ll be forced to illustrate some of my fiercer jujitsu moves on you.”

James laughed. Gillian had certainly lightened up since he had first met her a few weeks ago.

“Whitney has remembered a detail about the driver who hit her. She says he or she was wearing a mask and she’s pretty sure it was a poodle,” Lucy explained.

“A poodle!” Lindy shrieked. “What a ridiculous mask!”

Bennett cleared his throat. “Toy poodles are ridiculous, perhaps, but did you know that the standard poodle is one of the oldest dog breeds in history? In fact, there are carvings on Roman tombs closely resembling today’s poodle. A noble and loyal dog, I would say.”

Lindy scowled. “I just mean it’s a silly mask for a killer to wear, Mr. Representative of the Standard Poodle Association of America over there.” She turned a pair of inquisitive eyes on the rest of her friends. “Does Goodbee’s Drug Store sell poodle masks?”

No one knew. “Do you regularly groom anyone who owns a poodle?” James asked Gillian. “Maybe the killer chose the mask because he . . .
or she
, actually likes the breed.”

Gillian frowned as she thought. “That’s not an unreasonable line of thinking, actually. People do often identify with their pets on a
deep
and
spiritual
level
.
A bunch of my customers have both toy poodles and standard poodles. I can’t bring up an image of anyone who seems particularly violent at this moment, but I’ll flip through my books tomorrow and see.”

Lindy wiped her mouth with her napkin and said, “I’ll swing by Goodbee’s after school tomorrow. Most of the masks are gone now since he put them at 75 percent off, but I’m sure he’s got a record somewhere of which ones he ordered.”

“How are you going to justify asking him for a list?” Lucy wondered.

Lindy waved off the question with a flick of her wrist. “I’ll just say I wanted to order one to use in one of our drama productions.”

Bennett chuckled. “Remind me never to play poker against you, Lindy.”

“That’s our only lead for now.” Lucy pointed to indicate herself and James. “Did you get to talk to Amelia last night?” She directed her question to Lindy.

“Ha!” Bennett snorted. “That girl was too busy throwing her tongue down the neck of Darryl Jeffries to even bother trying to scare us!”

Lucy leaned forward on her elbows. “Brinkley’s friend?”

“The same.” Bennett grimaced. “Doesn’t say much about Amelia’s taste in men.”

“Wait a minute!” Lucy startled her companions by yelling. “What if Darryl killed Brinkley in a fit of revenge? If Amelia is Darryl’s girlfriend, he must have been pretty ticked about Brinkley’s blackmail attempts.” She twirled a lock of caramel hair around her forefinger. “James, can you fill up your truck tomorrow at the Amoco where Darryl works and try to get a read on him? I’d better not because I complained about the patch he put on my tire over the summer and his boss reamed him out about it. I don’t think I’m on his list of favorite customers.”

“Sure,” James agreed, though he had no earthly idea how he was supposed to initiate a conversation with the young man. “Anything to keep us in the game.”

Just then, the group heard the slamming of the back door. Jackson’s shuffling footsteps made their way into the kitchen. No one spoke. James held his breath as his friends listened closely, their eyes round with expectation. It was as if a ravenous grizzly bear was prowling in the next room instead of an irascible old man in a pair of worn overalls and slippers.

“What in the hell?” they heard Jackson holler on the other side of the wing door leading into the kitchen. “Where’s the goddamn crust on this pie?”