Who'll Kill Agnes? (12 page)

Of course, Lester, Audrey, and Penny had never gathered in the library for the purpose of attaining wisdom from Agnes’ books. During Agnes’ dinner grilling sessions, Penny would answer whatever she thought Agnes wanted to hear, and the other two improvised, smirking at each other as they recited their newly acquired, albeit false, knowledge. Agnes had never realized that when she asked Lester and Audrey what they had read that they sometimes made up titles and authors. Their gatherings in the library had evolved over the years into a ritual of bemoaning their fate at the hands of Agnes. With the arrival of Bernie, their meetings had become more boisterous, unfortunately attracting Agnes’ attention.

As he entered the library, Lester could barely wait for the others to drift in. He glanced out the window to make sure that Kevin was following his usual custom of sunning and taking a dip in the pool before dinner. He considered what a sensible kid Kevin was, always going out when there was no danger of sunburn.
The freckled, fair-skinned Kevin had never been able to tan. Lester studied his own olive skin and thought how lucky he was in that regard. Then he thought how lucky he’d be if one of his female housemates would hurry up and kill his wife.

Audrey, Penny, and Bernie soon arrived. Good, everyone was here
,
thought Lester.

“Has Agnes returned from her meeting?” asked Audrey.

“Yeah, I heard her moving around in her room,” replied Lester.

“Well, that’s interesting,” commented Audrey.

“Why?” asked Bernie.

“The rumor around town is that Shirley Gates is going into television.”

“And you think,” said Penny, “that the meeting was to announce the next nutritional director?”

“Exactly. And since we haven’t heard any gloating, self-praising congratulations from Agnes, it can only mean one thing.”

“That she’s been passed over again!” said Penny gleefully.

“Hey!” exclaimed Bernie, “let’s drink to that!”

They clinked their glasses to laughter and delight but Lester was dismayed. He wanted the conversation to be serious. He had told them not to discuss the plot to kill Agnes but he was worried about how they would alibi each other.

Why did he tell them they would improvise? Damn, they needed better planning. But how? It was best that he didn’t know who was going to do it. He looked at the three women. He wanted them to appear worried, concerned, not lighthearted. Hell, they weren’t even toasting her death like they usually did. He couldn’t have cared less whether Agnes was promoted or not. He wanted her dead and soon. Somebody had to kill her but how was he going to prod that someone along? Which one was going to do it?

But the women maintained their lighthearted façade.

Perhaps, they were putting on an act, not only for him, but also for each other
.
He could only hope.

As they seated themselves at dinner that evening, Audrey bravely asked Agnes how her meeting had gone, if Shirley Gates was indeed going on to television.

Annoyed by the question, Agnes nevertheless put on a good front and replied pompously, “Shirley has decided to remain so that she might benefit more from my tutelage.”

No one said a word but there was muffled snickering and snorting as her tablemates grabbed water glasses or ducked behind napkins. Audrey was amazed that Agnes even knew such a word as tutelage much less pronounce it.

Agnes skipped her routine questioning, and the others assumed it was because she was in a bad mood due to not being promoted. Luckily for Agnes, Mark soon appeared with the main entree.

“Ah, Marcel,” said Agnes grandiosely, grateful for the interruption, “what delicious repast do you have for us tonight?”

“Uh, muh-dom, I have le especial goulash.”

“Ohhh,” murmured Agnes, “how marvelous.”

Although he was unaware of the plot to murder his mother, Kevin was definitely a part of and amused by the act that Mark performed for his mother each night. He recalled Mark Robeson in first year Spanish class, a class that Mark had barely passed. As far as Kevin could tell the only French words that Mark knew were “le” and “merci”
,
which he used over and over. Once in a while, he threw in a few Spanish words, which fooled his mother and probably Bernie also, and entertained the rest of them. But what the hell, he thought, the guy could cook, no matter that it was really just down-home stuff and not that fancy cuisine his mom thought it was
.

But as long as Mark attached elaborate names to his dishes, Agnes was happy. And Kevin was grateful that Mark’s cooking was a lot better than what the two home economics students from his mother’s office ever came up with. That stuff was the pits. Yep, he had to leave it to Bernie, daring Mark to work here as a French chef had been a benefit to everyone. But how the hell did Bernie come up with an idea like that? Maybe it was those goofy romance novels she read once in a while.

“Gou-lash,” pronounced Agnes slowly, “how very European and trez chick.”

Audrey who had actually been to France and could speak a little of the language chortled into her wine. She assumed Agnes was trying to say “trés chic”.

“Hey man,” said Kevin, “what all did you put in this?”

“Kevin, darling,” admonished his mother, “don’t be rude, don’t you remember that Marcel’s recipes are secret?”

“Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah, Mom. Sorry, uh, Marcel.”

“No problemo, monsoor Keveen.”

Audrey had a sudden fit of coughing as her wine went down the wrong way. Penny quickly slapped her on the back, disguising her own attempts to keep from laughing.

“But, Marcel,” continued Agnes, “this goulash is so amazing. Only the French would think to add raisins and nuts as well as stuffed olives. This is so different, so elegant,” she added as she stuffed her mouth with the hamburger-macaroni mixture.

Lester thought Mark had gone overboard with the goulash. Everything but the kitchen sink seemed to have been thrown in. Macaroni, spaghetti sauce, hamburger, and cheese would have been enough, dammit. Why the hell did he have to add all these vegetables? Damn! He hated celery and mushrooms. And peas and corn? He needed to tell Mark’s daddy to have a little talk with him
.

Lester, however, was the only one who did not fully enjoy the unusual goulash. Audrey and Penny were in such a good mood because of Agnes’ losing another promotion that they couldn’t care less what Mark threw together. Agnes, Kevin, and Bernie gobbled it up, leaving Mark feeling quite proud of his creativity.

“And now,” he announced, “the piece of resistance , ze chocolaty diablo,” and saying this he produced a conglomeration of chocolate cake smothered with a mixture of whipped topping and chocolate pudding that had been mixed with chocolate-covered nuts drizzled with maple syrup.

“Ohhh, Marcel,” spewed Agnes, “You must fix this for my Garden Club. Ohhh, it is divine.”

“Wiz plezhure, muh-dom.”

While Agnes was the first to arrive for meals, she was the last to arrive for the post-dinner gatherings in the library. She liked to make a grand entrance and survey the members of her household deep in intellectual pursuits. She glanced at Penny who was deeply engrossed in
Murder After Hours.

“Come, Penelope, play gin rummy with me,” demanded Agnes quietly but sternly.

“What?” quipped Lester, “you’re not going to improve your mind by watching the news or reading the newspaper?”

“Lester dear, don’t be rude. Penelope is my companion, and we love to match wits by playing cards.”

“Hmmph,” he mumbled. He knew Penny hated to play cards with Agnes and could probably beat her blindfolded. But Penny always let Agnes win, not only to placate Agnes, but also to end the game as soon as possible. He watched Penny reluctantly put down her book and slowly walk to the card table with a resigned expression on her face.

Good, good, he hoped, would this be enough to push Penny over the edge? Maybe now she would be so fed up that she’d do the deed tonight.

CHAPTER NINE

Tuesday, June 4th

After a restless night, Lester listened for sounds from Agnes’ room, hoping against hope that all would be silent and that Penny had sneaked upstairs and done away with Agnes. He hadn’t considered how the murder was to be accomplished. He just figured, “Where there was a will there was a way.” He didn’t want to know any particulars in case he had to take a polygraph test. Besides smothering her with a pillow, his own personal choice, would be to drown her in her bath, but he knew Penny wasn’t strong enough to hold Agnes’ head under water while Agnes struggled. In fact, none of the three women was strong enough to do that. And considering how fat Agnes had become, especially with Mark’s cooking, he wasn’t sure that he could do it either.

The sound of Agnes’ door opening and closing put an end to his meditations. “Damn! What a wimp that Penny is!”

Agnes seated herself in the breakfast nook and waited for her French chef to pour her first cup of coffee. She eagerly anticipated the French toast and maple syrup that made Tuesday mornings so enjoyable and continuously thought how nice it was to have someone cultured who knew how to cater to her needs, not like the students with their surly attitudes who had preceded him.

Marcel waited on her hand and foot and seemed to enjoy the privilege. He was an elegant, elevated, dear servant but, she reminded herself, a servant nonetheless
.

For his part, Mark appeared to take it all in stride. The others, knowing his charade, treated him as an equal and enjoyed his company. In fact, most of the time he felt as if he were a regular member of the household. He always laughed whenever some of the others tried to help him with a kitchen chore and Agnes would intervene, saying to help a servant was undignified, even a genuine French one.

“Ah, Marcel, such aroma,” marveled Agnes as she sniffed her coffee before tasting it.

“Wee, muh-dom, always le best for you.”

“And what are we having for dinner tonight?”

Since Marcel had arrived, meals had become Agnes’ favorite focus each day.

“My especial, le bone chili.”

“Ooh, and your chili is the very best. Tangy but not too spicy hot.”

“Tank-you, muh-dom.” He almost said “gracias” as that was easier for him to remember than “merci”. He didn’t think Agnes would know the difference between the two languages but he usually stuck with “tank-you” which impressed her to no end because she was proud of his learning English so quickly.

Audrey entered the breakfast nook. “And what are you so grateful for, Marcel?” she asked lazily.

“Ah, muh-dom was complimenting my le bone chili, which we are having tonight.”

“Oh yes, the chili with the secret ingredients,” she said as she winked at Mark out of Agnes’ sight. Everyone except Agnes knew that Mark’s chili was the canned kind mixed with sweet pickle juice and lots of ketchup, yet it had surprised them all by being astonishingly delicious.

Yes, thought Audrey, they were definitely reaping the benefits of The Cracked Cup Diner and Mark’s dad’s eccentricities regarding food. However, she regarded last night’s goulash as a bit off the wall, not to mention the dessert.

Audrey didn’t know that many of Mark’s dishes were last-minute improvisations.

Mark set down a plate of French toast, which had been dipped in a mixture of whole milk and fresh eggs then sautéed in real butter. He placed a silver pitcher full of maple syrup beside the toast.

“No one is going to stay thin around here with this kind of food, Marcel, especially if you make more desserts like last night,” commented Audrey as she helped herself to the delicious cholesterol concoction. “Except Bernie, she’ll stay thin,” she added to irritate her sister.

“Oh, but this food is wholesome and so very French,” declared Agnes, as if being French compensated for fat and calories.

Audrey couldn’t remember eating so-called French toast during her tour of France thirty years ago. As for French fries, they were served all through Europe and in several countries they went by the English name, chips. But at that time she had been very young and not particularly interested in international cuisine. Then she thought of Mark’s potatoes, which he fried in bacon grease, much to Agnes’ delight. If only she would die of coronary disease. That would solve her problem,
she wished silently as the X floated in front of her mind’s eye.

“And how are you going to spend your day today, Audrey?” the older sister asked condescendingly.

“Oh, I don’t know. Read a book. Go shopping with Bernie.” She knew doing anything with Bernie would irritate her sister.

“Really, Audrey, you should find something worthwhile for your time such as a charity fund-raising.”

“You’re so right, dear sister. Bernie and I will definitely go out and look for a charity and maybe look for needy French chamber maids to complement Marcel.”

“Don’t be fakatious. It’s not becoming,” Agnes reproved her pompously.

“Oh, I would never become ‘fakatious’. Facetious maybe, but never ‘fakatious’.”

“You know what I mean,” her sister countered indignantly. “You need to present a more respectable front to the community.”

“Well, I shall certainly try harder. I’ll go look for Bernie and we’ll see how we can better ourselves.”

“You would do better to leave Bernadette at home.”

“Oh no,” gushed Audrey, “I wouldn’t think of it. I’m sure she’ll have some wonderful ideas.” She got up and left the room, not giving Agnes time to respond.

The other inhabitants drifted in and out of the breakfast nook desiring the French toast but not Agnes’ little admonitions and lectures on how to spend idle time. For some reason she was more unbearable than usual. Even the always-affable Kevin seemed a little irked at his mother’s prodding. Penny said very little, just nodded from time to time and said, “You’re right, Agnes,” as she hurriedly ate the toast. Bernie took her time and ate as much as she wanted, but she glowered at Agnes and said very little, which was quite out of character for her.