Murder on Parade (6 page)

“Glad it’s over?” Alex asked.

I nodded. “And I’m very, very glad you were there.”

“Me too. I love weddings.”

But did he want one of his own?

Chapter 8

It was finally Christmas morning! Unlike the day before, I rolled out of bed, undeterred by cold floor and colder porcelain. Alex and I had been too tired to exchange presents the night before, but now I was rested and ready to get down to some paper-ripping.

But first things first. I put on the coffee and put the monkey bread in the oven. It has risen overnight in the Bundt pan and was ready to go. Next, I gave the animals their breakfast and their stockings, so Blue would have her compressed rawhide to chew and the cats could roll in their catnip and leave our presents unmolested.

Alex let me play Santa first, so I made him sit in the chair near the fire and close his eyes. I got out the violin, fluffing the bow which the cats had somehow slept on. He was moved and for a moment speechless, but I saw the way he touched the violin and knew that he was feeling reverence for the antique. After tuning the strings, he let the violin say thank you, and I was certain that I had been right to give it to him. Musical instruments should be with those who love them.

Then it was my turn. I had been sincere when I told Alex that I had no idea what he was giving me for Christmas and I was genuinely surprised and also moved by his choice of gifts. His last trip to New Orleans he has stopped in a shop that specialized in masks and had purchased a dragon’s head. It was covered in velvet and jewels and was the most astonishing thing I had ever seen. If the renaissance jewelers had made dragon masks, they would have created one like this. In the other box there was a cloak, of matching green velvet with many small capes that reminded me of the covers of some Regency romances I had read. The style was called a driving cape.

It was my turn to be speechless, but I guess I looked happy because Alex laughed and then hugged me.

“You look like someone just gave you glass slippers and an invitation to the ball.”

“Only this is better. I would rather be the dragon than the princess!”

 I tried the mask and cape on and after admiring myself in the mirror for longer than Mom would approve of, I dragged a coat tree into the living room and hung up the costume where everyone could see. It was disconcerting to catch glimpses of the dragon from the corner of my eye as I went about getting breakfast, but I felt a small thrill when I thought that I would be wearing it to a costume ball. It was just as I had told Alex, some girls might have wanted to be Cinderella or a knight, but I would much rather be a dragon.

After we had a quick breakfast and then dressed, I got started with cooking. Rubber bands contained the floppy sleeves of my Christmas sweater while I worked. I was armed with detailed instructions on how to treat the prime rib and the rest of the meal was made up of dishes I had prepared before. I assured myself that all would be well.

We had two desserts that day, a Kahlua Pecan Pie and Tortini Au Café. The pie can be made a day ahead, but I hadn’t had time and so needed to get it the oven right away. The tortini is only good for a few hours and then begins to separate.

Kahlua Pecan Pie filling:

¼ C butter

¾ C sugar, 1 tsp vanilla, 2 T flour

3 eggs

½ C kahlua

½ C corn syrup

¾ C evaporated milk

1 C pecans (I like whole but pieces will do)

Make pie crust (or cheat and get pre-made deep-dish crust in frozen food section) Preheat oven to 400*. Cream, butter, sugar, vanilla, and flour. Add eggs one at a time. Stir in kahlua, corn syrup and evaporated milk and pecans. Pour into pie shell (there will be extra if you use small shell. Bake at 400* for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 325* and bake 40 minutes more.

You can make the pie very fancy by using leaf cookie-cutters and dabbing pastry leaves around edge of pie with egg yolk which turns a dark, amber brown.

Tortini Au Café:

Part 1:

1 egg white

1 T instant coffee or espresso powder

1/8 tsp salt

2T sugar

Part 2:

1 C whipping cream

½ C sugar

1 T vanilla

1 T almond extract.

Beat egg white, coffee, salt and sugar until stiff in one bowl. In another bowl, whip cream, sugar, vanilla and almond extract until stiff. Fold the egg and cream together—carefully! Spoon into champagne flutes. Garnish with slivered almonds. Will last 6 hours in refrigerator.

Mom and Dad arrived with Aunt Dot around eleven. Usually I don’t like other people in my kitchen but Aunt Dot was feeling misty so I let her help. Being tactful, I didn’t express my opinion that she would very shortly see that life without Althea would be much more pleasant. And anyway, her daughter was only moving three blocks away.

We had presents while the roast was cooking, filling up the house with wonderful smells that had Blue drooling. Alex was amused that my predictions were right about what gifts I received.

Dad liked his smoke detector and Mom and Aunt Dot were glad for new slippers. Alex was a little taken aback by the smoking jacket mom had made him, but he slipped it on and modeled it willingly. He even claimed that he had always wanted to smoke a pipe
.

Mom brought her creamed onions and my aunt had one of her Jell-O salads to add to the table. Alex further perjured his soul by complimenting Aunt Dot on her gelatinous monstrosity.

“Oh, I could do it in my sleep,” she said modestly.

Looking at the mix of carrots, candied fruit and mayonnaise I could only assume she had. Nothing else would account for such a strange mix of flavors.

“Is it from the Grange cookbook?” Dad asked, taking another helping. He was picking out the candied fruit. Dad does love his sugar.

“Yes, the section on Jell-O salads was my contribution!”

I smiled and stuffed a large piece of cauliflower in my mouth so I wouldn’t have to say anything.

Aunt Dot was at the far end of the table, but I kept catching a whiff of her perfume as the furnace kicked in and it was bothering me. Finally I realized why.

“Aunt Dot, is that gardenia perfume you are wearing?” I asked.

Alex and Dad both looked at me.

“Yes. It’s a new one for spring. I think it will be popular too. I’ve been giving out samples all month and the advanced orders are really pouring in.”

“Lots of people are wearing it?” I asked weakly.

“Yes, some of my ladies have even come back for more samples.”

“Linda Borders is one of your customers, isn’t she? Maybe I smelled the scent on her?”

“Yes, she got a couple of samples from me. She hasn’t placed an order yet though. Probably after the holidays. It’s a busy time of year for them with the tree farm and all. And with her brother passing.…” My aunt cleared her throat and changed the subject. Death had no place at the Christmas table.

We began talking of the weather and whether we needed to wait for dessert and walk off some of dinner first. Mom and Aunt Dot chattered happily, Dad and Alex were both watching me though. It seemed that I would have to make a clean breast of it and tell Alex exactly what I was thinking. He wouldn’t like it, but on the bright side, this time I wouldn’t be in any danger with my snooping.

Chapter 9

The streets were clear enough that Jeffrey and I could report to work and chide the over-zealous after-Christmas shoppers about illegal parking. Many people stayed away from the post-Christmas madness, but a lot came out into the cold because they were tired of being housebound and the after-Christmas sales were alluring to shopaholics.

Alex wasn’t thrilled but ruefully resigned to the fact that I was doing some off the record investigation. He listened in while I called Dad and asked if he had talked to Herb Dillon’s insurance agent yet, and was not surprised to learn that Herb had contacted his insurance agent about making changes to his policy, but that nothing had happened because Mickey Drambacher had been out of town when the storm hit and, by the time he got back, Herb was dead.

This probably suited Laurie Dillon. The question was whether she knew her husband’s intentions. I couldn’t imagine anyone being dumb enough to tell their already enraged spouse if they were either increasing their life insurance or else naming a new beneficiary, but then men in lust have done stupider things.

Then Dad asked to speak to Alex. I could hear him saying as I passed the phone: “Time to get back on the campaign trail.”

At least Alex would be kept busy while I was at work.

There were a few car shaped humps under the drifts of plowed snow, but most people had gotten their autos indoors before the storm hit. My own vehicle could only hold a charge for half a day even when I stayed mostly on the flat streets, so I was back at the station just after lunch. Blue wasn’t with me because she had elected to remain with Alex and the leftovers.

 I was not entirely surprised when the chief waved me into his office and told me to shut the door. The coroner had decided that Herb Dillon’s death was caused by a heart attack but brought on by a severe asthmatic reaction to the perfume that had been spilled on the deceased. Also, though Herb had carried a rescue inhaler in his pocket, it had been empty. There were also traces of perfume on it. The coroner was doing more tests.

I asked the chief if he had heard any distressed gasping from the Grand Marshall and he said no.

“But we were waving out opposite sides of the car and with the band right there playing Jingle Bell Rock I wouldn’t have heard a bomb go off.” The chief looked cross and I imagined he was berating himself for not noticing that anything was wrong until it was too late. “So, Boston, was it murder and not just a stupid accident?”

An accident? I tried to stretch the point. Could someone have not planned an attack but accidentally spilled perfume all over the Grand Marshall and then left without helping him, maybe telling themselves that Herb had an inhaler and if he died anyway it was only nature taking its course? At the very least that was negligence and manslaughter. And I wasn’t buying it.

“I think it was murder,” I said unhappily and then told him about the insurance, my aunt passing out gardenia perfume to every woman in town and what I knew about Herb’s situation with his sister. “I know this isn’t conclusive, but my gut says something is wrong. I’m headed over to the pharmacy now to see what I can find out.” Everyone thinks it is your hairdresser who knows your dirt, but that’s nothing compared to what a pharmacist knows.

“The pharmacist will talk to you? What about patient confidentiality?” The chief was both impressed and disapproving. I think he would have been disapproving even if I was an official detective.

I had wanted to be a detective for most of my life, but recently those feelings had changed. The chief had promised that this time I would pass the department physical, but I hadn’t taken the test again. Maybe it was a kind of lingering PTSD from almost being killed in October, or perhaps it came from watching Alex work quietly but effectively from behind the scenes, but I had a feeling that I was better at doing my unofficial job by stealth. People had few qualms about talking to Chloe Boston, meter maid. I think that chief knew this too and it was why he hadn’t pressed me. I was more useful as a secret weapon.

Also, and this was harder to admit, I was not objective when the people suspected of wrong doing were friends and family. And in a small town nearly everyone was one or the other.

“No rules will be violated,” I said, though not sure if this was strictly true. “I just kind of talk around things and see the general shape of what isn’t said.”

“Hmph. Damn. I didn’t want another murder. But if this is homicide I want it cleaned up fast. Keep me informed.” The chief smiled suddenly. “The Cardinals won.”

I nodded again and left his office. The building was unusually quiet. Most of the guys were on vacation and the public seemed to be in a law abiding mood so few calls were coming in.

The drugstore was busy, but the only riots were in the cards and gift-wrap section. 75% off takes some people that way. I shook my head and brought my unneeded bottle of aspirin to the druggist's counter and smiled at Bess Trader who was busy working a crossword puzzle. She is a very nice woman but not someone you wanted working at a crisis center or as an ER nurse since she tends to dither and discuss before making decisions. Bess was not an indiscriminate gossip, but she did like to talk with me and I am not above using this in the line of duty.

We chitchatted a bit about holiday things and then I said: “Isn’t it a shame about Herb Dillon dying right before Christmas?”

“I know!” Bess lowered her voice though I was the only one at the counter. “Though if he had to die anyway, he should have done it before humiliating Laurie that way.” I recalled that Bess and Laurie were both in the garden club with my mother and Aunt Dot. Bess was also a friend of Linda Borders.

“Men!” I said, since she knew my history with David.

“They are saying a heart attack killed him. I am so glad it wasn’t the asthma. I wondered if he was crazy, taking Viagra when he has lung problems.” I shook my head in wonder. Could Viagra contribute to a heart attack? I would have to check.  “His wife came and got him a new inhaler the day of the parade because he was too busy to come himself. Imagine being that thoughtful of the b-a-s-t-a-r-d.”

I shook my head some more. Either the Grand Marshall had sucked down a lot of asthma medicine that morning or the new inhaler hadn’t made it into his pocket.

“Do you know what else poor Laurie did that day?” Bess asked.

“No.” It took no acting skills to sound interested.