CHAPTER 15
WHEN I GOT HOME I TRIED TO DISTRACT MY thoughts from the unfortunate incident with Byron Nederman by cooking a quick dinner. Besides, I was still hungry; Patricia’s appetizers were really appeteasers, being more about looks than substance. The bits of brie and tiny mushroom puffs were just enough to remind me I’d skipped lunch. And I still had Romance Night at the bookstore to deal with.
I changed into the ballet flats, went into the kitchen and wrapped an apron around the black linen dress. I put some water on to boil for pasta and swirled some olive oil and garlic in a frying pan over a low fire. I took out a bag of cut-up vegetables and a jar of sun-dried tomatoes while I called Dinah to give her an update. I hoped this time she could talk. It turned out she knew Byron Nederman or at least who he was. It seemed everybody knew him but me.
“He owns a chain of health clubs, including the one where Sheila works,” Dinah said.
“Great,” I said with a groan, making a mental note never ever to run into him again. “As I was leaving I heard Patricia making excuses for me. Something about my being distraught because I’d been recently widowed. I think her whole spiel about being part of the team might be bogus.”
“Not necessarily. You do have publicity experience. He’s probably going to win, anyway. I think the only other person running is the guy whose wife owns Caitlin’s Cupcakes.”
Dinah was making me feel better. But just when I thought I had my friend back I heard the sounds of crying on her end and Jeremy’s agitated voice.
“E. Conner just poured grape jelly all over the floor. Got to go.” As she clicked off, I heard her mutter something about having to get out of there.
As I put the phone back in the charger, a door down the hall opened and Morgan drifted out of her room. She laid some crochet work on the table to show me what she’d created. She had only done the beginning of a shawl, but it was perfect. Not a surprise as I was getting the feeling she demanded perfection from herself. I complimented her on it and dropped some shredded carrots, broccoli florets and sun-dried tomatoes into the olive oil and garlic.
“Want to join me for dinner? I always make too much.” I took out a package of angel-hair pasta and dropped it in the boiling water.
She hesitated. I knew the smell had gotten to her. But she shook her head.
“I’m being supervigilant about my diet.” She went to the freezer, took out a frozen diet dinner and put it in the microwave. “But we can still eat together. I’ll even set the table.”
“You know, if you don’t eat enough you won’t have the energy to give the auditions your all.” Then I backtracked and apologized for minding her business.
Morgan smiled. “I kind of like it. My mother is so wrapped up in her own life she never pays any attention to what I do.” She put plates and silverware on the kitchen’s built-in table. She was dressed in warm-up pants and a tiny tee shirt. I still didn’t know where she was going to find that five pounds she wanted to lose.
But I liked having her around, too. It was almost like having a daughter.
I strained the pasta and mixed it with the sauteed vegetables, then made myself a plate. When I joined her at the table, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off my dinner, which seemed a lot more appealing than her reduced-calorie macaroni and no-fat cheese with a side of green beans. If I’d had just a little longer, I bet she would have weakened and had some of mine.
As we ate I told her about my debacle at Patricia’s party. “My only hope is that I never meet him again.” By now I could see the humor in it. Morgan laughed at the story—something I hadn’t seen her do before. The way her face brightened, it really was like the sun coming out on a cloudy day.
“How’s it going with your murder investigation?” she asked.
“Are you joking?” I asked, checking her expression, which was completely serious now.
“No,” she answered. “Why would I do that?”
I went down the list of people who either were telling me to stay out of it, like Barry, or were afraid I’d do something to embarrass them, like Peter or Mrs. Shedd, or who were just hoping I’d do something to give them a reason to arrest me, like Detective Heather. Samuel, I realized, was only worried I might get hurt.
I couldn’t believe what she did next. She came around the table and hugged me. “Molly, I think what you’re doing is wonderful. You’re trying to help a friend.”
Fueled by Morgan’s support, I told her what I knew and mostly what I still didn’t know about Drew’s murder. “His brother Kevin seems to have gained the most from Drew’s death. Now the whole place is his, and he certainly didn’t waste any time starting to remodel. Kevin certainly had the opportunity. I wasn’t paying any attention to his whereabouts before the murder. He could have hit Drew, and when he heard Trina coming, stepped into his own office.”
I looked up as if a thunderbolt had just hit me. “That’s how the hanky ended up under his desk!”
Morgan’s confused expression made me realize she didn’t know what I was talking about. I had put the hanky in a plastic bag for safekeeping and then put the bag between some cookbooks to flatten the handkerchief out. I pulled the bag out from the kitchen shelf to show her. She wrinkled her nose when she saw the red spots, so I quickly explained my soup theory. She became more animated than I’d ever seen her before, though I was disturbed to notice she’d barely touched her dinner.
“Then you think Kevin Brooks did it for sure?” Morgan’s hazel eyes were keen with interest.
“He certainly could have. But I’d still like to talk to the bald guy—the right bald guy. I’d like to know what he was so angry about and why he wasn’t anywhere to be found when the police showed up.”
Morgan helped me load the dishwasher when we’d finished eating. Then she said she was off to an evening dance class. No matter how I tried to tell her that too much of a good thing like exercise could be bad and suggested instead an evening of romance at the bookstore, she wouldn’t budge.
Since Barry hadn’t come by, I assumed he was tied up with work so I let Cosmo and Blondie in the yard and fed them. Then I slipped back into my heels and headed for Romance Night.
All was still quiet at Shedd & Royal. I was glad I’d already done all the prep work. Since we always got an extra large turnout, I had put out all the chairs. The black dress, red jacket and heels I was wearing were more formal than what I usually wore for Romance Night and certainly not good for moving stacks of chairs. Tonight was supposed to be extra special. Not only did we have the author of
Bob the barista had made plenty of scones, and I brought out the special blend of tea and spices we called Romance in the Night. Our romance authors liked to read an excerpt, and they usually chose something really sexy, which tended to inflame the crowd’s appetite. We always sold out of whatever snacks we had.
As people began to trickle in, I noticed right away the crowd was even bigger than usual. From the buzz of conversation, I gathered it had a lot to do with the appearance of “Captain Blackhart.” No one was hanging around not wanting to be the first to sit down. The early comers went right for the seats in the middle of the front row. Everyone dressed up a little more for Romance Night, but tonight they’d gone over the top. I’d never seen so much cleavage. They were all ages, from teens on up to granny types.
Dorothy and Trina came in and sat in the third row. I walked over and greeted the two saleswomen from the Cottage Shoppe. Something occurred to me from
However, Dorothy and Tina seemed more interested in admiring the covers of their copies of
“Lucky we snatched our copies early,” Dorothy said, pointing at the end cap display of the books. The crowd usually waited until the end of the program to decide if they wanted a book. Tonight they were more concerned with making sure they got one. The display was already close to empty.
