Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (2 page)

Fawn asked about the Codger Cook apron, giving Granddad a chance to awe her with his celebrity status as the newspaper’s food columnist. While he preened and Fawn fawned, a second guest knocked on the door.

Val opened it to a thirtyish man with a pallid face and protruding ears. Noah Hurdly had clearly come straight from work, wearing dark trousers, the matching suit jacket folded on his arm and his off-white dress shirt open at the collar. He carried a leather attaché case and a matching overnight bag. Val asked him to sign the guestbook. He took two seconds to scrawl his name and offered her his credit card.

Granddad was showing Fawn his collection of classic movies on the shelves near the fireplace when Noah went into the sitting room and introduced himself.

Fawn’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Noah! The best man, right? I’m a bridesmaid, Fawn Finchley.”

Noah seemed at a loss for words. He cleared his throat. “Oh. The latest bridesmaid.”

His toneless voice gave Val no clue if Fawn had replaced a dropout bridesmaid or had joined a growing line of the bride’s attendants.

If the idea that she wasn’t the first bridesmaid chosen fazed Fawn, she didn’t show it. “I’m so excited to be here this weekend. You’re a lawyer like Jennifer’s fiancé, right?”

“That’s correct. Payton and I are attorneys at the same firm in Washington.”

Fawn turned to Granddad. “We’re all here to plan a wedding. It will probably be at the big house the groom’s parents own on the bay. This weekend we’re going to check out locations for the hen party, the welcome party, and the farewell brunch.”

“Count me out of that.” Noah peered at Granddad’s videos. “I see you have all the Hitchcock films, even his early talkies,
Murder!
and
Blackmail
.”

“Hitchcock fan, huh?” At Noah’s nod, Granddad continued, “You can borrow any of these and watch them on the TV upstairs. It has a built-in DVD player.”

Fawn looked toward the hall. “Here comes the maid of honor. Hi, Sarina.”

A woman with an olive complexion and dark hair in a loose braid walked into the sitting room, not having bothered to knock before entering the house. She cut a bohemian figure in a leather vest over a gauzy top, shin-length gaucho pants, and gladiator sandals.

She gave Fawn a curt nod and the best man a big smile. “Nice to see you again, Noah.”

“Likewise.” He shook hands with her.

She then extended her hand to Val and Granddad. “Sarina Rafael.” She had a few inches on Fawn, less meat on her bones, and a face with coarser features.

“Sarina is a painter.” Fawn fingered her shoulder-length brown hair, which flipped up at the ends, perky like her personality. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your last name, Sarina. Isn’t there a famous artist named Rafael? Is he your great-great-great grandfather or something?”

Sarina rolled her eyes. “That artist’s
first
name was Raffaello. He was Italian and died five hundred years ago. My last name is Hispanic.”

“So you’re not related to him,” Fawn said. “I’ll bet you don’t paint like him either.”

Before Sarina could respond, Val asked her to sign the guest book in the hall and requested her credit card.

When Sarina returned to the sitting room, Granddad suggested the guests go with him to look at the bedrooms, decide who would stay where, and get settled.

Sarina put up her hand like a traffic cop. “No. We’ll wait for Jennifer. She should get the first choice of a room.”

Noah jerked to attention. “Jennifer’s staying here?”

Fawn looked equally surprised. “I thought she was spending the weekend with Payton’s family and just the three of us would be here.”

“She thought so too.” Sarina plopped into the armchair near the sofa. “But her future mother-in-law invited old friends for the town’s festival.”

Val exchanged a look with Granddad. No wonder Jennifer Brown had needed a fourth room at the last minute. If the bride-to-be didn’t have a place to stay, the rest of them had no reason to come. Odd that the mother didn’t tell her son sooner that she wouldn’t have room for his fiancée. Not exactly welcoming. Back when Val was engaged to Tony, his mother had at least been polite to the fiancée she viewed as unworthy of her son. She’d doubtless done a happy dance when Val broke off the engagement.

“Where is Payton staying?” Fawn asked.

Sarina gave her a you-moron look. “At his parents’ house. Where else would he stay?”

Granddad excused himself and headed for the kitchen.

Fawn sidled up to Noah and spoke in an undertone to him. The two of them drifted into the dining room, deep in conversation. Sarina glowered at them.

Was she always bad-tempered, Val wondered, or did she have something against the new bridesmaid in particular? Maybe Sarina was jealous of the more attractive Fawn.

Val pointed to the pamphlets and flyers on the coffee table. “There’s some information about the festival. The opening ceremonies and fireworks are tonight. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

“Thank you.” Sarina picked up the pamphlets. “This is all the information I’ll need.”

Val took the curt words as dismissal. She hurried to the kitchen.

Granddad was pouring melted chocolate into the fondue pot. “Everyone might as well sit down and enjoy this instead of twiddling their thumbs until Jennifer shows up. You’re sticking around, aren’t you?”

“For a while.” Val couldn’t pretend enthusiasm. She preferred twiddling her thumbs to sitting at the same table with the odd trio, but Granddad could use some help with them. “Do you mind if I sample the fondue?”

“Go right ahead, but don’t tell me it doesn’t taste good. I’m serving it anyway. Fondue is a great icebreaker. People sit around the table and talk.”

Val speared a banana chunk with a fork, dipped it into the chocolate, and popped it into her mouth. A mixture of dark chocolate and milk chocolate with a hint of brandy. Pretty good. “It tastes terrific.” She dunked a cake cube as he beamed with pride. “Did Jennifer already pay for her room and Fawn’s?”

“Nope. I took a credit card number to hold the reservation, but I didn’t charge her card.”

“Fawn thought Jennifer had paid for both rooms. I’ll work it out with them.”

Val took the fruit plate and the bowl of cake cubes to the dining room table while Granddad set the fondue pot on a stand with a candle under it. He invited everyone to sit down and suggested they slide the chairs close to the end of the table where he put the chocolate.

Fawn clapped her hands together and said that chocolate fondue was her absolute favorite. Once seated, she pricked a strawberry with her fondue fork, plunged it into the melted chocolate, and promptly lost the fruit. While everyone else watched, she went spearfishing for the berry and succeeded only in coating the metal half of her fondue fork in melted chocolate. Chocolate dripped onto the tablecloth as she moved the fork from the pot to her plate.

Luckily, Granddad had chosen a washable tablecloth. Val jumped up. “I’ll get you a new fork.”

“I can just lick the chocolate off.” Fawn brought the fork to her lips.

“Stop!” Sarina barked. “Nobody wants a fork with your saliva going back into the chocolate.” She launched into a lesson in fondue hygiene, ordering the removal of dipped food from fondue forks before eating it.

Meanwhile, Val brought Fawn an unused fork.

Noah, sitting next to Fawn, speared a cake cube, bathed it in chocolate, and gobbled it up as quickly as he could while observing Sarina’s sanitary rules. As he chewed, he impaled his next piece of cake. Fawn shoved her fork into a banana chunk, apparently determined not to lose that piece of fruit in the chocolate.

Val dipped a kiwi wedge in the fondue pot as soon as Fawn’s banana emerged from it. “What type of work do you do, Fawn?”

“I’m a gate agent at Reagan National Airport.”

Noah’s fork stopped halfway to the chocolate. “Do you like that job? Dealing with passengers complaining about delays and demanding different seats?”

“You’d be surprised how many of them smile when you smile at them. If I can change frowny faces into happy faces, I go home feeling like I’ve made the world a better place.”

Granddad beamed at the Pollyanna-on-steroids bridesmaid. “I’m sure you make everyone’s day a little brighter.”

Sarina stabbed a heart-shaped strawberry and held the fruit up for inspection. “How much money does a gate agent make?”

With that question, she stuck a forkful of reality into the bridesmaid’s jar of honey.

Fawn’s smile at the maid of honor was forced, showing only a hint of her dimples. “I don’t earn much, but I get benefits and travel perks. I love to travel, like you love to paint, Sarina. How much do you make from selling your paintings?”

Touché.

Sarina plunged her strawberry into the fondue and lifted it out. “I work full-time as a computer graphics specialist. That job pays well.” While she held her strawberry over the bowl and examined it from various angles, no one could get a fork in edgewise.

Fawn held a strawberry at the ready. “What kind of job do you have, Val?”

“I manage the café at the Bayport Racket and Fitness Club. For the festival, I’ll have a booth with salads, sandwiches, and snacks.”

“It’s healthy food,” Granddad said, “but it tastes good anyway.”

Sarina put down her fork. “Where’s Jennifer? She should be here by now.”

Granddad skewered a cake cube. “Traffic’s heavy on three-day weekends with good weather. All you need is one fender bender on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and you got a mess.”

“She usually texts if she’s delayed.” Sarina fished a phone from the deep pocket in her gaucho pants and pressed buttons. “No messages from her.”

Noah dipped his cake cube, beating Granddad to the chocolate bowl. “Texting while driving is illegal in Maryland. She must have read the warning signs on the road.”

“As if anyone pays attention to that,” Sarina said.

“Jennifer would.” Fawn’s strawberry fell off the fork on its way to the chocolate pot. “Gosh, I hope she’s not involved in an accident.”

Much ado about lateness. Val wondered if Jennifer was accident-prone or if her friends had little to say to each other except to dissect her every action.

The fondue didn’t serve as the icebreaker Granddad had expected. Sarina maintained stony silence as Fawn peppered Noah with questions about his favorite movies and his tastes in music.

A wind-chime tune came from Sarina’s skirt pocket. She pulled her phone out and stared at the screen. “Jennifer’s just getting into Bayport, but traffic’s at a standstill with so many streets closed off.”

Val had plotted a way around the detours. “I can give her a back route here if you like.”

She took the phone Sarina handed her. Jennifer sent a text describing what she could see from the car. Val texted back directions for avoiding the Main Street traffic, read the updates Jennifer sent about her location as she drove along, and then handed the phone back. “She should be here in a few minutes.”

Fawn stood up. “Great. I’m going outside for a cigarette. I’ll take my plate to the kitchen.”

“No need,” Granddad said. “We’ll clean up.”

But Fawn had already disappeared through the butler’s pantry.

Val picked up the nearly empty bowl of cake, followed Fawn into the kitchen, and pointed to the back door. “If you’d like, you can go out here and sit in the yard. There’s a picnic table.”

Fawn finished dumping the strawberry stems from her plate into the trash. “Perfect.” She put her plate in the sink and went outside.

Val refilled the bowl of cake cubes. When she returned to the dining room, Noah was scrolling through messages on his phone, and Sarina asked where the bathroom was.

Val decided to send her upstairs rather than to the bathroom outside Granddad’s bedroom on the main floor. She didn’t want the guests intruding on his personal space. She walked Sarina to the hall and pointed up the staircase. “Turn left in the hall upstairs. It’s the third door on the right.”

As Sarina climbed the stairs, Val looked out the screen door. Three cars were parked on the street besides her grandfather’s big Buick. The Ford that looked as beat up as Val’s ten-year-old Saturn probably belonged to Fawn, the shiny black sedan to Noah, and the compact hybrid to Sarina. A gold hatchback slowed down and eased into a spot behind the sedan.

A woman in a tan miniskirt and jacket emerged from the hatchback. She took a large wheeled suitcase from the trunk. Rolling it behind her, she walked on spike heels toward the house. Val still owned shoes like those, left over from her New York life, but she’d never worn them here. Just looking at those heels made her feet hurt. And looking at the woman’s cascading tendrils of light brown hair with gold highlights made her envious.

Val tried to smooth down her own curls that spiraled out in all directions. If she highlighted her hair, it would still look like a bad wig, but multicolored. Better to stick with its natural cinnamon color. Less conspicuous.

Jennifer Brown introduced herself and clasped Val’s outstretched hand in both of hers. She signed the guest book with a flourish. “Here’s my credit card.”

“Thank you. Should I put Fawn’s room on your card? She’d thought you’d paid for her room already, but my grandfather didn’t charge anything on your card yet.”

“Fawn said that?” Jennifer’s golden brown eyes widened. “Go ahead and put it on my card. I’ll straighten it out with her. I don’t want you caught in the middle.”

“Thank you.” Val charged the credit card for both rooms.

When Sarina came down the stairs, Jennifer air-kissed her and then went into the dining room to bestow an air-kiss on Noah.

Granddad welcomed her and suggested she sit next to Sarina, where Val had set another place. “We’re having chocolate fondue.”

“Thank you.” Jennifer plopped down. “I’ll have some fruit and skip the chocolate. So which is the tastiest fruit?” She listened to the opinions of her friends, with her fork poised over the platter.

The indecision amused Val. She too was often undecided, but never about food, only about minor matters like where to live and work.

The doorbell rang, and she got up to answer it. She’d gone halfway through the sitting room when Jennifer brushed past her, zoomed into the hall, and cried, “Payton!”

“Jennifer, baby, I’m so sorry you have to stay in a dump like this.”

The man with the husky voice spoke quietly, but Val heard him. Incensed, she clenched her fists and glanced back at the dining room. Granddad, whose hearing was no longer acute, couldn’t have overheard the conversation in the hall. Sure, the house’s exterior could use a facelift and half the furniture was ready for the dump, but that didn’t make the Queen Anne Victorian with its handsome woodwork and stone hearth a dump.

From where she stood she couldn’t see Payton’s face, only his hands kneading Jennifer’s backside as they embraced.

Val’s cell phone rang. She hurried to the front room, the former courting parlor now used as a study. She turned her back to the adjacent sitting room and pulled her phone from the pocket of her jeans. Gunnar was calling. His mellow voice warmed her all over, like a smooth wine banishing the burn of Payton’s rotgut.

“How are your weekend boarders?” he asked.

“Well, they’re everywhere.” Some of them possibly within earshot. “I’ll tell you more tonight.”

“About tonight. I can’t meet you for dinner after all. Building the sets for the play is taking longer than we expected. If we keep at it for a few extra hours tonight, we can finish the work tomorrow morning and go to the festival when it’s in full swing.”

Val stifled a groan. Between her work on the Tricentennial committee and his on a local theater production, they hadn’t spent much time together for the past few weeks. She would have more free time when the festival ended, but Gunnar would be tied up with rehearsals for the play opening at the end of October. “I won’t see you until tomorrow afternoon.” She didn’t quite manage to keep the whine out of her voice.

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow night?”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She hung up, disappointed. So much for her plan to talk to Gunnar tonight about her job offer. Val didn’t want to discuss it with Granddad yet, unsure how he’d react. She couldn’t talk to her cousin about it either. Monique would just reiterate what she’d said a few months ago:
You belong in Bayport
.

Val tucked her phone away and joined the guests in the dining room. Jennifer’s fiancé had gone.

Granddad came in from the kitchen, carrying something behind his back. “I have gift certificates for a souvenir hat for each of you. Val left her hat in the kitchen. She’ll model it for you.” He presented her with a red felt object. A pair of plastic eyes protruded from the top of it and long pieces of stuffed felt hung down from either side.

Fawn, back from her tobacco interlude, giggled. “It looks like a frog.”

“It’s a crab hat,” Granddad said. “Crab is king around the Chesapeake Bay.”

Val put on the hat, tucking her hair under it. “The things hanging down like floppy ears are supposed to be crab claws.”

“Maybe my bridesmaids should all wear crab hats.” Jennifer winked at Fawn.

Granddad handed out small envelopes with the certificates inside. “You can redeem these tonight at the festival. Everything in town is an easy walk from here. Turn right and walk five blocks to get to Main Street. Then follow the signs to the festival.”

Val filled in details that Granddad’s sketchy instructions lacked. “Most of the festival events will take place in the park on the other side of Main Street—the fireworks over the water tonight, concerts, and the cook-offs on Sunday. The municipal parking lot across from the park is where you’ll find the food and craft booths, but those don’t open until tomorrow. Tonight you might want to eat on Main Street. Several restaurants in the historic district are offering small-plate samples of their signature dishes.”

Val would make a meal of those herself tonight, now that dinner with Gunnar had fallen through. Granddad was going out for pizza with a buddy.

He walked around the table to the sitting room. “If you’re ready, I’ll show you folks the bedrooms.”

Val figured she was excused. “I’ll clear the table, Granddad, and then head to town myself, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’ll take care of the table. You go ahead.”

* * *

Tricentennial banners hung from the lampposts and stretched across Main Street in the historic district. Narrow wood buildings, once the homes of eighteenth and nineteenth century merchants and shipbuilders, now housed boutiques, restaurants, and antiques shops. With the center of town closed to cars, people who would have clogged the brick sidewalks strolled in the middle of the street. Like Val, many of them wore crab hats.

She ran into two members of her tennis group. While talking to them, she spotted Granddad’s guests. Jennifer in a black top and a miniscule red skirt tottered on black high-heeled sandals. Sarina and Fawn wore the same outfits they’d arrived in. Noah had changed from business attire to a turtleneck, cargo pants, and boat moccasins.

It was twilight by the time Val had visited three different eateries, cobbling together a meal of oyster stew, crab-cake sliders, and locally made ice cream. On her way to the festival’s opening ceremonies, she took a shortcut, turning into a side street with few tourists on it. In her athletic shoes, she moved quickly and soundlessly on the sidewalk. She heard footsteps behind her. She glanced back, but the claw hanging from her crab hat interfered with her peripheral vision. She swept the claw back, looked behind her again, and froze. Chef Henri La Farge! She’d hoped never to see him after she left New York, where he’d waged a vendetta against her. He blamed her for the crash that destroyed his vintage car and landed him in the hospital. Hard to believe, though, that he’d come all the way here to harass her.

His dark mustache, halfway between a handlebar and a Hitler, twitched. “You! I recognized you even under that silly hat. You can’t hide from me.” Chef Henri’s accent suggested he grew up on the left bank of the East River, not of the Seine.

Val took off her crab hat. “I have no reason to hide from you.”

“You wrecked my car. You nearly killed me. You ruined my life!” He punctuated each accusation by pointing his index finger in her face. “After months in rehab, I’m still on pain meds. All because of you.”

She didn’t flinch though she risked getting her eye poked by a fingernail his manicurist had honed into a weapon. “I didn’t cause that accident. You grabbed the steering wheel away from me.” If he hadn’t been drunk, she wouldn’t have had to drive his car for him.

“That’s not what happened.”

“How would you know? You were too soused to remember anything that occurred that night. If you hadn’t unbuckled your seatbelt, you would have escaped with minor injuries.” His bones had broken in the accident, but his habit of blaming other people for his failures had survived intact. “Did you come here to stalk me? The police chief is a friend of mine. He’ll run you out of town if you don’t stop following me.”

Henri emitted a strangled noise as if choking on bile. “Follow you? Don’t flatter yourself. I came here to judge the cook-off.”

He was judging the cook-off? Val had heard that the festival chairman was looking for a replacement judge after the chef who’d agreed to do it backed out a few days ago. But Henri didn’t usually venture far from Manhattan. He had nothing to gain by coming here except getting in her face. “You traveled to Bayport just to judge the cook-off?”

“Of course not. I’m opening a new restaurant in Washington and publicizing it here.”

Why would he open a new restaurant in the culinary hinterland of D.C.? A second Manhattan location would make more sense, but only if he still had a business at the first location. Ah. Now she understood. His restaurant must have folded. Losing it also meant he’d have trouble finding a publisher for his next cookbook. “So your New York restaurant went under. What a shame.” She spotted a family of four, Granddad’s neighbors, walking toward the festival.

“It went under because I was in the hospital, thanks to you. It’s your fault that—”

She cut off his tirade by zipping across the street and joining the family. Too bad he was judging the cook-off. He was sure to find out that one of the contestants was her grandfather. The chef wouldn’t just destroy Granddad’s chances of winning the contest, he would make fun of the old man. She’d better prepare Granddad for that. She put her crab hat back on and looked behind her. No, Henri wasn’t following her.

When she arrived at the park where the festival’s main events would take place, a large crowd had already gathered. She had no hope of finding anyone she knew amid the sea of crab hats. She settled down on a small patch of ground to watch the opening ceremonies and the fireworks that would explode over the creek bordering the park.

* * *

Back at the house after the fireworks ended, Val made a berry syrup for tomorrow morning’s pancakes while Granddad set the dining-room table for breakfast.

He joined her in the kitchen. “Our tourists are back. They went to the festival together, but they came back separately. While I was in the dining room, I heard the front door slam three times.”

Val noticed his eyelids drooping. “Why don’t you go to bed? I’ll take out the trash and set up the coffee maker.”

“Okay.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Good night.”

Val carried the trash bag through a small, enclosed porch and opened the back door. With no moonlight, she could barely see across the yard to the shed where the garbage bin was. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark and then started toward the shed, focusing on the uneven ground so that she wouldn’t stumble.

Halfway across the yard, bulging eyes looked up at her. She jumped back, startled, and dropped the trash bag.

Then she laughed. The plastic eyes sat atop the festival’s souvenir crab hat. One of the tourists staying in the house must have dropped the hat in the yard.