Ellen McKenzie 04-Murder Half-Baked (14 page)

T
he office meeting had been blessedly short. I had an hour before I had to meet Anne. Just enough time to stop by Ianelli’s Bakery. I hadn’t heard from Gina about a possible caterer and my need was critical. Mother had left a message at my office. Why she didn’t call me at home I had no idea, but the message had sent me into red alert. She had heard from Aunt Mary that I was having trouble finding a caterer, so would I like it if she came early
? S
he, Aunt Mary, and I could make the dinner. Dinner for over three hundred people! My mother! If cooking skills are contained in some gene, mother didn’t get one. She makes a mean meatloaf, and her fried chicken is really good. She soaks it in buttermilk.
I don’t know what that does, but
it works
. Everything else comes out of a box, the freezer, or the deli. The thought of her bustling around Aunt Mary’s kitchen, or mine, trying to turn out hundreds of tiny shrimp canapés gave me heartburn. I was finding a caterer today. I no longer cared if tri-tip and canned salsa were on the menu.

I drove by slowly, looking for a parking place. There wasn’t one. I turned right on Main, then right again. Nothing. It was getting harder and harder to find parking in our small town. That meant growth, people shopping, all good things for the town, but it was still frustrating. After three times around the block, I decided to try the alley.

There it was. An open parking spot, right outside the bakery’s back door. I hesitated a minute, looking for a sign telling me not to park. I didn’t see one. I parked the car as close to the door as I could get, hoping I wasn’t completely blocking the alley. I got out and looked. Plenty of room. If the car was really small. Trucks? Probably not. As for SUVs, they used way too much gas and should say home anyway.

The screen door was closed but not locked. I let it slam behind me to announce my presence, but it didn’t matter. The kitchen was empty. I took a deep breath, letting the aroma of warm bread caress me, and looked around. The rolling racks were full of bread and muffins
—
pumpkin muffins. With raisins. I sighed. I would once again leave with a little pink box. I glanced at the refrigerator
,
but it contained only a couple of whipped cream topped pies. I stepped closer. The crust of all of them had the same sort of thick look I’d noticed on the turnovers, but the chocolate pie filling looked like satin. Shiny, dark, rich, just itching to calm frazzled nerves at the end of a long day. Maybe
…
no. I refused to be tempted. Dan shouldn’t eat whipped cream or extra rich chocolate. And, although I hated to admit it, neither should I. Besides, there were a couple of slices of Lemon Semolina Cake left. I made my way into the bakery, ready to find Gina. Instead I found Rose. She was standing with her back to me, studying something in her hand.

“Rose?”

She quickly stuffed whatever she was holding in her apron pocket and whirled around to face me.

“Oh, Ellen. It’s only you.” Relief was evident and a smile whipped away the alarm, but
tears still pooled in
her eyes.

“Only me.” I wondered who she had been afraid was there
.
I took a closer look at her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine; I’m fine.” She rummaged in her apron pocket and brought out a tissue and a photograph. She transferred the picture to her left hand and dabbed her eyes with her right one.

“You don’t look fine.” I took a step closer and peered at her. “Has something happened?”

“It happened years ago.” There was bitterness in her voice I’d never heard before. “Usually I don’t let myself remember, but today would have been her birthday.”

“Whose birthday?”

“Gina’s.” She smiled slightly at the puzzled look on my face, glanced once more at the picture, and handed it to me.

I looked down at the radiantly smiling face of a young girl about sixteen or so. Huge brown eyes, long, thick dark brown hair, full red lips, and breasts that would have made Marilyn Monroe crazy with envy. The girl was lush, ripe, and ready for life.

I took another look. The clothes and long loose hair said “late seventies,” and I knew who this was.

“Your daughter? The one who
…?”

Rose nodded. “Gina.”

Gina! The coincidence was unsettling. I remembered from somewhere that Sal and Rose had two daughters, one of whom had died. Had I ever heard their names? I couldn’t remember. No wonder she was teary eyed. Having another Gina in her life, especially now, must have brought back all the old pain. I thought about Susannah and what losing her would mean.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine the
suffering
, the devastation.

“I’m so sorry.” It seemed a little late for condolences. Her Gina must have died
—
I looked at the picture again
—
about thirty years ago.

“She was such a happy girl, always smiling, so friendly. You remember her, don’t you? She used to give you a cookie when your mother brought you in. Everyone remembers her.”

I didn’t but wasn’t about to tell Rose. I looked again at the picture of this laughing, beautiful, vivacious girl. I wondered what she had really been like. There was a devil dancing in her eyes and a stubborn tilt to her chin that made me think people might remember her for things Rose knew nothing about.

I handed back the picture. She looked at it once more before gently slipping it into her pocket.
“It was the worst day of my life. Sal hates me to talk about it. So, around him, I don’t. But that doesn’t keep me from remembering.”

Her eyes had lost focus, as though she was seeing a world lost long ago. Her usually smiling mouth was pinched, the lines around it deep. There was bitterness in her voice, mixed with a sorrow the years hadn’t even dented. I didn’t know what to say, but it probably didn’t matter. I wasn’t sure my presence registered. Rose was somewhere else, in another time, reliving a tragedy. Her shoulders started to shake, and tears welled up once more. I didn’t know what to do but it didn’t seem like a good time for words. I reached out and touched her on the shoulder, and she almost fell into my arms. I found myself patting her on the back as one would a small child, wishing I had a tissue as I felt hot tears soak into my blouse. I felt her take a gulp and then she pushed herself back away from me.

“I’m so sorry, Ellen. It’s just that
…
sometimes ...” She reached again into the pocket of her voluminous apron and pulled out a tissue tangled around a thin latex glove. She dropped the glove into the white trash can beside the counter and dabbed her eyes with the tissue. Sh
a
k
ing
off the world of memories
, she
tried hard to smile. “That’s why I took on the new Gina. She reminds me of all the good things about my daughter, and she makes me laugh.”

There was a faint resemblance
—
the dark hair, the beautiful bod
y—
but the laughing part I didn’t buy. No devil danced in the sad eyes of the Gina I knew, and no smile stayed for long on her serious face. As for her being funny, I’d met camels with a better sense of humor.

I glanced at my watch. It was time to change the subject. “I was in here the other day and asked Gina if you worked with any caterers. I’m getting desperate and thought maybe you could help me.”

“Oh. Caterers?”

“For the wedding.”

She looked as if she had never heard of the wedding.

“Mine and Dan’s. New Year’s Eve. At the Inn ballroom.”

“Of course.” She frowned at me. “Did you think I would forget?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that the Inn caterer has been booked for months,
and
so has just about everyone else I’ve talked to
.
I thought maybe you might know someone
—
”

“Rose!”

There was no mistaking that roar. I watched Rose stiffen, fright flickering in her dark eyes. But it just as quickly disappeared. Her chin rose a little and she answered, “I’m in here.”

Sal stalked into the bakery from the kitchen, fury staining his face bright red. “Some idiot woman’s parked right in front of the door. I had to park down by Belle’s Flowers. I told you to put up a sign. But no, you forgot, didn’t you. Why can’t
…
oh.”

He forced a smile when it finally registered there was a customer in the bakery. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Ellen, I didn’t know you were here. Is Rose helping you all right?”

He walked over to the catalog laden table, pulled out one of the chairs and drop
ped
into it. “Rose. Is there any of that coffee left that’s fit to drink? Make a new pot. Sit down, Ellen. Won’t take a minute. Rose?” He rummaged in his jacket pocket, took out a red handkerchief, and mopped his face.

Rose hadn’t moved. “What makes you think it’s a woman?”

He looked at her with blank eyes. “What?”

“The car. Why do you think a woman parked it there?” There were a lot of emotions mixed up in Rose’s voice. I couldn’t even begin to sort them all out, but resentment came out loud and clear. Resentment and a little bit of fear.

Sal finally looked up at her. “Because it’s a dumb place to park.” There was only one way to describe his voice. Belittling. The casual way he threw his little barb spoke of years of practice. I thought about Brian and thanked God one more time for my escape.

“Ellen, how about that coffee?”

“No, thanks. I have to leave. I just stopped by to see if you
—
either of you
—
could recommend a caterer. I talked to Gina, and she was going to ask Marilee, but I’m running out of time
…
and Sal, I’m the idiot woman parked out there. I’m so sorry. I’ll move my car right away.”

I was furious, so furious I didn’t care about caterers or even pumpkin muffins, except I would have gladly thrown one at Sal. Rude beyond belief to Rose, and then the whole Uriah Heap act with me
. W
ho did he think he was? I looked at him again and had to sigh. He was an old man, old and cranky. I wondered why he was sweating on this chilly day. Was he sick? He really didn’t look good. His hair was thin and what was left was white. His mustache was also liberally laced with white, uneven
ly trimmed
and droop
y
. His face was deeply lined, his eyes faintly red
-
rimmed, and the knuckles on his hands were large and swollen. His feet hurt
—
I guessed that because he already had pushed off one of his shoes
—
and who knew what else. And I’d taken his parking space.

Rose reappeared with a small tray. Silently she put a white mug in front of him, along with a matching sugar bowl and cream pitcher. He poured the cream liberally and spooned several large helpings of sugar into the mug. I shuddered to think what his arteries looked like.