Some Enchanted clair : A Magical Bakery Mystery (9780698140561) (16 page)

“Nope. Althea insisted Simon hire her son the budding culinary art student, and since Simon wanted to keep her happy, he agreed.” He made a face. “It wasn't horrible, but the guy has a lot to learn. Apparently, he had a food truck for a while that specialized in waffles.”

“The Waffle Baron?”

Steve nodded. “He should have stuck with that.”

“He's back to work now that Owen Glade rehired him.” I met Steve's eyes. “I bet Althea made Owen hire her son back, just like she did Simon.”

Steve made a noise of agreement and stood. “It's kind of hard to watch her order him around, actually. I'll be glad when they all move on to Dahlonega and I can get back to writing my column and doing my part for the family biz.”

We made our way back toward the white canopies flapping in the breeze.

“Do you think Althea would have gone so far as to kill Simon for firing her son?”

Steve considered the question. “That would be pretty crazy, especially since she had just met him recently as an adult. But who knows? Stranger things have happened, and Lord knows Althea is unpredictable. It was an ugly scene when Simon fired him in front of everyone. Embarrassing. He had a good reason, though. Even if the star actress was his mother, Robin couldn't seem to show up on time.”

I veered toward the catering tent, curious about what Bonner Catering had on offer.

“Katie?” Steve touched my shoulder.

I stopped and turned.

“Are you going to tell anyone about Althea's son?”

I licked my lips. “Honestly? I won't tell people . . . except I think it's important that I tell Detective Quinn, if that's okay. It doesn't seem relevant, but at some point it might prove to be.”

“Okay. But just him. Althea doesn't want anyone to know about Robin,” Steve said.

“Well, okay. But I'm a little surprised she'd be so secretive. There's no such thing as bad publicity, right? And she's certainly had her share of scandal over the years—like the rest of Hollywood.”

“Has it occurred to you that she's not thinking about herself?” Steve asked. “That she's thinking of her son? Not everyone wants their family to be seen as a tacky reality show.”

It hadn't, actually. And maybe he was right.

Or maybe there was still something we didn't know.

“Katie! You
are
here.”

I whirled at the voice. Margie Coopersmith walked slowly toward us. Jonathan's fingers were clasped in one hand and Julia's in the other, while baby Bart gazed with wide-eyed wonder at the world from his backpack carrier.

Declan held Julia's other hand, and as they approached, she skipped and let the two adults swing her through the air for a couple of steps before her flip-flops kicked up and then touched grass again. Deck watched her antics with gentle affection. He didn't talk about it much, but I knew how much he loved kids and that someday he wanted a passel of them.

Hopefully, that someday would fall around the time my biological clock finally kicked in—which, at the rate it was going, would be a few years down the road. Though, honestly, a “passel” seemed like one or two too many to me.

Deck's expression turned stony when he looked up and saw my companion. However, when I smiled a welcome, his features softened a little.

In a low voice, I said to Steve, “Thanks for letting me know about Althea. I'm glad she's not, you know, cheating on you . . .” My words trailed off as his eyebrow lifted in amusement.

“I appreciate you looking after me,” he said.

I shrugged. “You're my friend, right?”

A single decisive nod. “Right.” He lifted a hand to Margie, who smiled in response without letting go of the twins' hands. “I'll see you later . . . friend.” I watched him walk away for a few seconds before turning back.

Margie, looking her usual robust and tanned self, flashed a white-toothed grin at me as they approached. She wore oversized sunglasses, a sleeveless camp shirt, denim shorts, and Keds. A messenger-style bag was slung across her ample chest, another way she kept her hands free to manage three kids at once.

She stopped in front of me.

“What are you all up to?” I asked.

“Mommy says we're running 'rands,” Jonathan said.

On the other side of her mother, Julia solemnly nodded her head. “It's boooring.”

Margie rolled her eyes with a grin. “Ah, my little darlings love to help their mama.”

Declan let go of Julia's hand and looked to me. “Margie said you wanted her to bring you something.” There was a questioning lilt at the end of the sentence.

“Um,” I said.

“You know,” Margie said, and I thought I saw a twinkle behind the dark lenses of her Jackie O's. “That
thing
.”

“Oh, right. That.” What was she up to?

Declan's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

I gestured for my neighbor to follow me. “Over here,” I said, stopping to buss Declan's cheek. “Thanks, hon.”

He didn't protest, but kept an eagle eye on our progress as we made our way toward the catering canopy.

“Katie Lightfoot, was that your good-looking reporter who waved at me?”

“Not mine, but yes, it was Steve,” I confirmed. “Now, what on earth would make you”—I glanced down at the twins—“er, prevaricate to the security guard.”

“Well . . .” Margie drew the word out. “Like the JJs said, we had some errands to run downtown, so I thought I'd stop by and show the kiddos how they make movies.”

Julia's eyes followed a man wearing a lace cravat, breeches, and a powdered wig hurrying toward where Niklas Egan consulted with a cameraman “This doesn't look like our movies,” she said.

“Uh-uh,” Jonathan said, his nose wrinkled.

“I bet most of your movies are made on a computer screen,” I said.

Margie let out a full-bodied laugh, startling Bart into his own chortle. “Hadn't really thought of that. But you do like Mr. Van, and he's not a cartoon character,” she reminded the twins.

“Van's the man!” they shouted.

My neighbor turned the full wattage of her smile on me. “Think we might be able to . . . ?” She wisely did not say, “Meet Van Grayson,” in front of the young fans by her sides.

“Uh . . . ,” I said. “I really don't know. I guess I could find out. I saw him earlier.”

Her head jerked up like a pointer's when a bird is flushed. “Yoo-hoo!” she called. “Mr. Grayson!”

He was a hundred feet away, strolling toward his RV. His steps slowed, and his eyes cut toward Margie, who was now hurrying toward him as fast as she could with multiple offspring in tow. He picked up speed, pretending not to hear her.

“Yoo-hoo!”
She let go of the twins' hands to give the actor a double full-armed wave.

He'd have to be deaf not to hear her.

The JJs recognized him then, squealed like only five-year-olds can, and ran pell-mell across the lawn, shrieking, “Van's the Man. Van's the Man.”

From my angle, I saw his lip curl up as if he smelled something unpleasant. Then he looked up and saw me watching him. Instantly, his distaste morphed into a big, happy smile. He stopped and turned, eyes as wide and delighted as the kids'.

“Oh. My. Goodness! Are these a couple of my very own Vanimals?”

The two children squealed again, more high-pitched than ever.

I caught up with Margie. “Quite the showman,” I commented.

“Oh, isn't he wonderful with them? I can't tell you how many hours they've spent sitting in front of the television watching his videos. I swear, they love Van the Man as much as Simba or Ariel.”

“Ariel?” I asked.

“You know.
The Little Mermaid
.”

Ah. Vaunted company, indeed.

Julia held two of Grayson's fingers in an iron grip, grinning up at him like the little imp I knew she was. As a smile crept onto my face, he pulled back, but she held on, screeching with laughter. His smile slipped, revealing a sneer. With his other hand, he peeled her fingers off his own and leaned down to say something to her. When he stood back up, her features had transformed from joy to tragedy. He patted both of the JJs on the head and turned toward their mother.

“Delightful children you have here, ma'am. And who is this little darling?”

Margie practically preened, swiveling so Bart was hovering over the man like a thoroughly seat-belted cherub from on high.

Instinctively, I mentally reached out toward Grayson with my senses, searching for clues like an aardvark searching for ants.

Bitterness. Revulsion.

I managed to control my features just as he looked at me, pasting a big smile on my face.

“Gotta go get dressed for the big scene, little Vanimals. Will you be sticking around to watch me?” His question was directed at me and was none too friendly.

“Not today,” I crooned. “Come along, guys. Let's leave the big movie star to get ready.” I nodded at Grayson, and understanding flashed between us.

Margie gushed the whole time I led her and her miniature entourage back to where Declan stood. “Oh, my God, isn't he wonderful? So good with the kiddos. Kind, gentle, such a touch with the little ones. Of course I knew that from seeing him on television, but I hadn't realized that he's
so
handsome! It must be awfully hard for you to work around such a good-looker. . . .” She trailed off as we reached Declan.

I snaked my arm around his waist and smiled at her. “Oh, Margie. If you only knew.”

Never mind that I wasn't exactly working on the set.

And never mind that I'd just learned Van the Man abhorred children. It certainly made me wonder what other secrets he might have.

* * *

That evening, Aunt Lucy and I closed down the Honeybee and got things ready in the kitchen for the next morning's work. I'd called Uncle Ben and asked him to stop by after he and Declan had turned over the daytime security of the abbreviated movie set to the next shift. Declan had agreed to fill in for a friend at the firehouse who wanted to attend her daughter's piano recital for a few hours. We'd get together for supper after he was finished.

Now my aunt and uncle and I, supplied with the requisite drinks and a plate of molasses peach muffins, lounged in the Honeybee library to chat about where things stood in Simon's murder investigation. Ben had pulled over one of the bistro chairs, straddling it and leaning his forearms on the back. Mungo padded over from his bed on the bookshelf and put his front paws on my leg. I lifted him up to my lap, where he promptly curled into a canine comma and began to snooze.

“Okay,” I said. “I know we're all busy, but I need to bounce some ideas around and I don't know anybody I'd rather do that with.”

Lucy smiled and took a sip of peppermint tea. “Of course. Anything we can do.”

“Well, mostly I wanted to talk about the possible suspects in Simon's murder and ways that Simon might have fixed things for them. Because I still think that's why he died. I think in his fervor to get something done, he pushed someone too far. Either that or someone he fixed a situation for decided they didn't like that he knew so much about them.”

Lucy nodded. “Secrets. The longer you keep a secret, the more power it has over you.”

“And the more you'll do to protect it,” Ben said. “You wouldn't believe some of the things I saw when I was working in the firehouse before getting into the administrative aspect of the department. Nothing like a fire to expose how people live.”

“I bet,” I said, curious but wanting to stay on track. “There were only a few people left on the set that evening: Althea Cole, Van Grayson, Steve Dawes, Niklas Egan, Ursula Banford, and the makeup specialist, Susie. And, of course, Simon himself and Owen Glade.”

“And there was a key grip and his best boy,” Ben added.

“Right,” I said. I passed on Quinn's assessment to my aunt and uncle. “But they vouch for each other and Quinn can't find any evidence that they had anything to do with Simon.”

“He didn't hire them like he did Ben?” Lucy asked.

“Nope. Niklas hired his own crew. Now, everyone seems to have been away from the catering tent when Simon was killed, but no one has a bona fide alibi except those two crew members and Ursula and Susie the makeup lady.”

“And Owen Glade. We all saw him come back from the Welsh Wabbit well after Althea screamed the alert.”

“So that leaves Althea, Van, and Niklas,” Ben said. “That's a pretty short list, really.”

I frowned. “And they all have secrets of some kind, all right.”

Lucy settled back against a cushion. “Do tell.”

“Well, Niklas Egan told Quinn right off the bat that Simon had paid off the husband of a woman he'd been seeing on the side,” I said. “Quinn told me earlier today that he'd confirmed the story.”

“What about the others?” Ben asked around a bite of muffin.

I hesitated. “I did find out something from Steve today about Althea. He didn't want to tell me at first, because it's kind of gossipy, if not actually scandalous.”

Lucy frowned.

“Still,” I went on. “It might be relevant. Otherwise I wouldn't pass it on.”

My aunt glanced at her husband. “If you're asking whether we can keep whatever you're about to tell us mum, you can count on us to be discreet.”

I looked at Ben, and he made a get-on-with-it gesture. So I told them about how Simon had enlisted the Daweses to reunite Althea with Robin Bonner.

When I was done, Lucy was already shaking her head and
tsk
ing. “That poor girl.”

I almost protested that Althea was hardly a girl, but then I realized what Lucy meant. She'd been only a teenager when she had given up her baby.

I sobered at that. “Yeah. I guess she's had her share of heartbreak.”

“Okay, so we know what Simon did for Althea,” Ben, ever the practical one, cut in. “What about Van Grayson?”

I pointed my finger at him. “Funny you should ask, because I'm pretty sure he's hiding something pretty juicy. I just don't know what.”

“You should ask Jaida what she can find out about him,” Lucy said, eyes flashing.

“Can she do that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “She knows her way around public records. And one time she told me that it doesn't always take that much digging to find secrets, once you know they're there to find.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Though even after only one encounter, I'd say Simon wasn't one to leave things to chance.”

“Meh. She can at least try.”

I nodded. “That's a good idea. Anything she can find out about Van Grayson would be helpful. Ben, is there anything else at this point?”

He shook his head. “Nothing you don't already know about.”

I stood. “I'm going to call Jaida, then.” Mungo followed me into the office. Jaida answered her cell on the second ring.

“Any idea where I should start?” Jaida asked after I explained that we needed help digging into Van Grayson's background.

“Well, my neighbor, Margie Coopersmith, told me he used to be a children's comic. A TV personality with a show on cable, the whole bit,” I said.

“Really? Well, that will give me a good place to start.”

“The strange thing is that now that he has his foot in the door of grown-up movies, he doesn't have the time of day for little kids. At least he didn't seem to today.”

“Do tell.”

“Margie brought her twins to the set this afternoon. You should have seen Grayson with the JJs and little Bart. He was really grumpy about having to deal with them. And he said something to Julia that made her look like she was about to burst into tears.”

“That's horrible,” Jaida exclaimed.

“I know,” I said. “I could sense his distaste, but when he saw me watching him, he turned on the full-wattage charm. The look on his face before that, though . . .”

“Hmm,” Jaida said. I heard her Great Dane, Anubis, bark in the background. “Well, I'll see what I can find out about Mr. Grayson.”

“Thanks,” I said. “And while you're at it, maybe see what you can find out about Owen Glade. I know we saw him return from the Welsh Wabbit well after Althea found Simon's body, and he told me Simon hired him after working on some movie in Owen's hometown, but he's such an odd guy for Simon to hire as his assistant.”