Fat-Free and Fatal (A Kate Jasper Mystery) (21 page)

“I’m keeping the children home this week,” Rose told us once we were seated. She looked down at the table as she spoke, her hands compulsively patting her silver hair. “I know I’m not their mother, but I do love them. I think…I hope it’s better for them to be home.”

Barbara and I nodded.

“I do worry about Topaz,” Rose confided abruptly. She looked up at us, her eyes unhappy behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “She’s violent. She got it from her mother, I guess.” A natural blush bloomed beneath the artificial color on her cheeks. “Though Danny can be pretty explosive too. His father was the same way.” She shook her head. “They say it runs in families.”

We made sympathetic “uh-huh” noises. I noticed Barbara didn’t say anything about her own violent family. Maybe she didn’t want to interrupt Rose. Rose was on a roll.

“Danny doesn’t mean anything,” she explained, her voice rising in pitch. “He just yells and makes a fuss.” The inside corners of her brows rose too, giving her eyes a pleading expression. Then she looked down at the table again.

Dan Snyder’s ramming my car didn’t seem to fall into the category of simply yelling or making a fuss, but I kept my mouth shut.

“Danny and Sheila just didn’t know what to do with their lives after they left that hippie commune,” Rose continued, talking faster now. “They did odd jobs, no real career for either of them. So, after my husband died, I decided to help them out.” She looked up. “Did you ever eat at the Good Thyme Cafe?” she asked.

“I have,” I admitted. I tried to think up a compliment, but Rose raced on without me.

“The restaurant was Sheila’s idea,” she told us. “Sheila thought a vegetarian restaurant could make a fortune in Marin. So I gave them the money to buy this building and set up the cafe.” Rose smiled softly. Were these memories good ones for her? But the smile faded as she went on. “It was awfully hard work, though. I should have realized that. Sheila worked thirteen hours a day, six days a week. That’s one thing I can say about my daughter-in-law, she was a hard worker.”

“Was the Good Thyme making money?” asked Barbara.

Rose blinked at her as if she’d forgotten we were there.

“No,” she sighed. “Just barely breaking even. And with both Danny and Sheila working full-time. It was hard on both of them. A lot of stress, I guess you’d say. Danny took it out on Sheila. And Sheila took it out on the kids. Oh, she was level-headed enough, especially since she’d stopped drinking. But with Opal and Topaz…” She shrugged her shoulders, looking heartsick. “I suppose I shouldn’t have gone along with the restaurant idea, but I didn’t realize. This cooking class was supposed to make a little extra money. Sheila was taking half the proceeds, but…” She faltered.

“It’s not your fault,” I told her. I knew I shouldn’t interrupt, but I couldn’t stand to see her so miserable.

“Danny hasn’t hurt anyone, has he?” she demanded suddenly, her eyes pleading again.

“Not really,” I mumbled. “But you might want to talk to him.”

“I’ll try, but—”

“Grandma! Grandma!” came a familiar shriek.

We left Rose Snyder to her grandchildren.

On the way out of the restaurant I bumped into Iris Neville. Literally. She was standing, bent over the buzzers by the door, her finger moving toward
B
. Barbara and I were busy whispering as we walked. I felt the impact of Iris’s body before I saw her. Luckily, I didn’t hit her hard enough to knock her over. I reached out to steady her.

“Oh my, excuse me,” she gasped and unbent until she stood ramrod straight. Her deep blue eyes stared into mine for an instant. I stared back, noticing the strength of her bones beneath her expertly done makeup. Then she smiled.

“Well, hello,” she chimed. “Such a surprise to see you here.” She reached up and pushed loose hairpins back into her French twist, still in place in spite of the impact.

I dropped my hand and was about to apologize for knocking into her, but Barbara was faster.

“What’re
you
doing here?” she demanded, then softened her tone. “I mean…I didn’t realize you were a friend of the Snyders.”

“Oh, I’ve known Rose for years,” Iris told us, her tone hushed yet animated at the same time. Apparently she took no offense at Barbara’s bluntness. “Rose was a Richardson before she married, you know. Her father owned a good deal of Marin County in his time. And her mother was a charming woman, such a wonderful soul. Did you ever meet her?”

“No, I never had the pleasure,” Barbara said quietly, her tone almost matching Iris’s. “Did you know Dan and Sheila?”

“No, not really,” Iris admitted. “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t connect either of them to Rose until I saw her the night of the murder.” She shook her head sadly. I wondered how well she really knew Rose Snyder.

“You must have met a lot of interesting people in this county,” Barbara flattered shamelessly. “I’ll bet you know some of the people in the cooking class, too.”

“Only Leo Hermann, I’m afraid,” Iris told us, a frown on her handsome face.

“Leo Hermann?” echoed Barbara.

“Leo Hermann is lechy Leo,” I whispered in her ear.

“Actually, I can only claim a nodding acquaintance with Leo,” Iris continued, oblivious to my whisper. “Louise Hermann is more of a friend. Such a good human being. Her parents were quite wealthy. Meat packing, you know. But what she has to put up with from her husband! The artistic temperament can be very trying.” She sighed. “It’s all very sad.”

I nodded knowingly, wondering what exactly was so sad.

“You must know Ken too, then,” Barbara prodded.

Iris’s blue gaze sharpened. “Do you mean Louise’s boy?”

“Yeah, Ken,” Barbara answered. “He came with Leo to the cooking class.”

Iris’s frown gave way to a large smile. “You mean that was Kenny?” she exclaimed in apparent delight. “He’s so big now! Why, he was no more than eight years old the last time I saw him.”

Barbara and I smiled back, waiting for her to go on.

“Such artistic hands the boy had,” she obliged. “Did he become an artist?”

“No,” I told her. “An accountant.”

The large smile disappeared. I’d have bet that Ken Hermann’s hands would never make it to her photo collection now. Unless he was our murderer, of course.

“Well,” she said, pulling her shoulders even straighter. “I must let you two go. Such fun meeting you like this.”

We made polite noises and left quietly. Then we watched from the Toyota as Iris rang the
B
buzzer and was admitted to the Good Thyme Cafe.

I started the engine.

“How well do you think Iris really knows these people?” I asked Barbara as I pulled away from the curb.

“Not very,” she said, shrugging.

That was a pretty short answer for Barbara. She was staring at the dashboard, her forehead crinkled into a frown, her eyes somewhere else. I almost asked her what was wrong, but then decided she’d tell me if she needed to.

I drove in silence for a while, brooding over my own worries. We were almost home when Barbara spoke again.

“Is there a back door to the Good Thyme?” she asked in a whisper.

I turned to stare at her, then brought my eyes back to the road, and my Toyota back into my lane. It had been drifting over the yellow line. I hoped Barbara’s driving style wasn’t catching.

“Why do you want to know?” I asked her back.

“Suppose the murderer is Dan Snyder, or Rose Sndyer. Or someone we don’t even know about yet,” she replied, her voice at full volume now but still grave. “How did they get into the building to murder Sheila Snyder?”

“Through the front door…” I stopped to think. Would the killer have risked being seen by the members of the cooking class?

“A back door would make more sense,” Barbara said after a moment or two.

“Maybe,” I agreed halfheartedly. I turned into my street. “But the murderer still had to leave the pantry without being seen.”

“That’s not as hard,” she answered quickly. “A fast look up and down the hallway and you’re out.”

In my mind’s eye I would see a picture of Barbara doing just that. Goose bumps prickled the skin on my arms as I pulled into my driveway.

“It wasn’t me,” Barbara said. Her voice deepened as she added thoughtfully, “But it could have been someone from the cooking class, someone who was supposed to be outside.”

I turned off the engine and took a good look at her. I had rarely seen her beautiful face look so stern.

“We gotta go up to the Good Thyme tonight and check out the doors,” she told me.

“Oh no, we don’t,” I disagreed firmly, getting out of the Toyota. “No midnight visits to murder scenes.” I slammed the door.

“Wait, wait!” she called, scrambling out of her side of the car. “Not midnight, Kate. Twilight. The same time that Sheila was killed.”

I marched up the stairs, shaking my head violently. “No,” I repeated. Suddenly, I was tired of this amateur investigation.

Barbara trotted up behind me. “Come on, kiddo,” she cajoled, her voice lighter now. “We don’t need to break in or anything. We’ve just gotta find the door and see what it looks like at twilight.”

“Why?” I asked, keeping my voice even with an effort. I didn’t want to see the Good Thyme again. Not now. Not ever. I could feel anger rising, cramping my chest.

“Jeez-Louise, Kate! Because I may feel something there!” Barbara shouted. “Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t see!” I shouted back. I glared at Barbara. She glared back, her narrowed eyes ugly to me for an instant.

“Why are we arguing?” I asked after a minute had gone by.

“Because you don’t wanna drive up with me tonight to look at the back door of the Good Thyme Cafe,” she answered loudly, as if I were deaf. Then the glare receded. A foolish grin took its place.

“Oh,” I said, feeling a little foolish myself.

“But you will,” she told me, the grin widening. She turned and trotted back down the stairs. “See you at seven-thirty,” she shouted over her shoulder.

No wonder I was mad at her, I thought, and yanked the front door open.

I almost hoped I’d run into Vesta. I was in the mood to clarify our relationship…the hard way. But she was nowhere in sight. I heard her footsteps moving out of range down the hallway and then the slam of her door. Maybe she knew what kind of mood I was in. She’d probably been listening as Barbara and I argued. I wouldn’t have put it past her. I let out a long sigh and headed for my desk.

Wayne got home some hours later. I had finished my work for the day on the ophthalmologist necktie and was processing mail orders.

He walked into my office, carrying a grocery bag under each arm.

“Stuffed tomatoes and mushrooms Dijon over spinach noodles, tonight,” he announced quietly. There was a shy smile on his face.

I jumped out of my chair to hug him. “How’d you know I needed cheering—?” I began.

“Why doesn’t
she
ever cook
you
dinner?” Vesta interrupted, appearing out of nowhere like a bad genie.

I stopped in place, a yard away from him.

“Because that’s our agreement, Mom,” he explained gently. He carried the groceries into the kitchen. “We each cook our own meals. Kate’s a vegetarian. I’m not. Can’t expect her to cook for me. This is just a little treat—”

“Are you celebrating throwing me out?” Vesta demanded as she followed him in.

“Now, Mom,” Wayne objected. “You know I’ll take good care of you.”

I went back to my desk, gritting my teeth to keep from speaking. This was their private battle, I reminded myself and sat down.

“Well, don’t count your chickens, Waynie,” Vesta hissed all too audibly. “I’m not gone yet.”

Now my stomach muscles tightened. This was the disadvantage of using my dining room for a home office. I could hear everything they said from the kitchen.

Wayne sighed. I even heard that.

I turned on my adding machine and began humming.

“Got you a nice piece of steak, Mom,” he offered. “From my restaurant downtown. Marbled just the way you like it.”

“Do you think I can eat when I know you and that woman are plotting to get rid of me?” she asked, her voice suddenly tearful and wavering.

Damn. It was time for the violins. I hurried down the hall to the bedroom, grabbed my boom box and brought it back to my office. I tuned in a classical music station. Orchestral harmony poured forth from small speakers. I let my jaw relax. And yes, there in the background, I could hear violins.

“I’m just scared, Waynie,” Vesta’s voice intruded from the kitchen. “And I don’t feel good. I get these heart palpitations…”

I ground my teeth and turned the sound up.

An hour later Wayne tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped in my chair. I hadn’t heard his approach over the blare of Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony.

My plate was waiting for me at the kitchen table. Unfortunately, Vesta was too. She squinted malevolently across the table at me as I took my seat. I forced a smile onto my face. Wayne sat down on the chair between us.

“Looks great!” I said enthusiastically as I gazed down at my plate. My enthusiasm wasn’t entirely feigned. The food was attractive, despite the company.