Crunch Time

“Oh,” I said mildly as I began to circle the table, placing a salad in front of each guest, “I don’t know. He just said he wanted to take it with him.” I was getting good at this lying business.

Father Pete said, “Your friend certainly seems accident-prone.”

I had come to Kris Nielsen, and I hesitated slightly before lowering his salad in front of him. He said in a low voice, “Yolanda should be more careful.”

“Speak up, Kris!” I said immediately. “I don’t think the rest of the table heard that comment of yours.”

“Yeah, Kris,” said Marla. “I want to hear what you said.”

“Goldy’s making a mountain out of a pile of manure,” he said, his tone again mild.

“I’m sorry,” said Norman Juarez, addressing both the table and yours truly. “I do not know this expression.” When he was nervous, his voice betrayed a tinge of an accent.

I said, “Father Pete?” And then I gave our priest a slit-eyed look that I hoped said, Be pastoral, why don’t you?

“Don’t worry about expressions,” Father Pete said to reassure Norman Juarez. “I don’t understand most of them myself. And, uh, where are you and Isabella from?”

“I already asked them,” Paul Quarles put in. “They said—”

“You mean, before we came to Colorado?” Norman Juarez calmly interrupted Paul. Norman gazed at Humberto, who hadn’t had the forethought, this time, to keep his eyes on the centerpiece. Humberto blushed. “Miami,” said Norman. “I worked in restaurants there.”

I rolled my eyes heavenward, hoping the Lord would somehow intervene. And He did, in the appearance of Rorry, who materialized holding aloft a tray of Navajo tacos that she had assembled herself. She’d also wrapped the lamb chops in foil and placed them next to the tacos. I set down my own empty tray, then relieved Rorry of hers. “Please sit,” I begged her.

“I want to help,” she said fiercely.

“You have helped,” I said. “But in the catering biz, I’ve noticed that most people don’t want to start eating unless the hostess is in her chair.”

“You’re right,” she said before sliding into her place at the head of the table. I was beginning to like Rorry more and more. If Etta ever failed her, I hoped she’d call me to fill in.

Father Pete cleared his throat and directed his attention to Norman and Isabella. “I am of Greek ancestry myself. My grandfather and grandmother both came from Athens, but they did not know each other there. They only met in New York!”

“My father and mother came from Cuba,” Norman said. He had not touched his food, and his gaze was still trained on Humberto Captain. “Our family was wealthy there, but someone took all our money.”

Marla piped up. “That commie bastard, Castro—”

“Oh, it was not Fidel who stole our wealth,” Norman said heatedly. I noticed Isabella putting a restraining hand on her husband’s thigh. It didn’t work. “No. Our father gave our gold, gems, and a valuable necklace of my mother’s to a man he thought he could trust. His name was Roberto Captain. Roberto died, and since then, only one person has been able to find our wealth—”

Humberto stood up so swiftly his chair fell over. “It is time for us to leave.”

“—and his name was Ernest McLeod,” Norman said, his tone becoming more ferocious. “He had found something, and was about to tell us about it when he was murdered. Maybe by someone in the Captain family?”

Humberto took a deep breath, which puffed out his chest like a rooster’s. “I will not stay and allow the name of my family to be impugned. Odette, come.”

Odette, who was holding her taco and had just taken a big bite, reluctantly got up.

“Thank you, Sean and Rorry,” Humberto said in a formal tone, pulling himself to his full height, which wasn’t tall in any event. He rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a pristinely white handkerchief, and wiped his eyes, as if he had to deal with this type of accusation all the time. Then he cleared his throat. “Up to a few minutes ago,” Humberto declared, “we have enjoyed being part of your party for the church.” He turned to Norman and Isabella and raised his voice. “I do much good in this community. Many people appreciate me.” He turned, took Odette’s elbow, and made as if to lead her out.

Odette lost her balance momentarily on her high heels, then let Humberto right her. Directing her attention to Rorry, she swallowed her food and mumbled, “Yeah, thanks. Great food. Lotta fun. ’Bye, everybody.”

Sean offered to see them out. When the three of them were on their way off the porch, Marla called across the table, “So, Norman! You think Humberto stole your stuff?”

“I know he did,” Norman said.

“Let’s hear the juicy details,” Marla demanded.

“No,” he said stiffly. “I should not have said anything. I am sorry. I do not want to ruin this dinner party.”

Yeah, yeah, I said to myself as I skirted the table, pouring more wine. Let’s not ruin this dinner party! Ha! Ha!

Marla scowled at Norman, then wrinkled her forehead at me, as if she were trying to remember something. “Say!” she said suddenly, causing the guests to jump. “Does anybody know anything about breeding puppies? I mean, like an investment?” When no one answered her, she plunged on with, “Has anyone heard of a puppy farm in Aspen Meadow? I did hear a rumor about one, where a guy was breeding beagle puppies, that ended up being—” With all the curiosity about Ernest, I did not want to talk about this now, after all. When Marla saw my black look, she stopped. “Well anyway,” she said, “I took three of the puppies that had been . . . abandoned, let’s say. So did my cleaning lady, Penny Woolworth. Has anybody heard anything about abandoned puppies?”

Everyone looked puzzled.

“I took three of the beagle puppies,” said Father Pete into the uncomfortable silence. “The odd thing to me, though, is that they were all female, and they’d all been spayed.”

“But that was true of mine, too!” Marla exclaimed. “Why would you raise beagles that you hoped would be passed off as American Kennel Club purebreds and then spay them?”

I busied myself slicing the lamb chops. After placing them on a platter, I rounded the table with them, trying to look as if I had no idea what it was Marla was talking about.

“Maybe you didn’t want someone to breed them,” Isabella Juarez said. It was the first thing I’d heard her say all evening. “Maybe your clients didn’t want to have to deal with puppies, if they came along. Something like that.”

“Wait a minute,” said Kris Nielsen, suddenly interested. “They were all female, and they were all spayed?”

“Yeah,” said Marla. “Why? Are you going into the dog-breeding business, Kris? Puppies would make a mess out of your Maserati, I’ll tell you that.”

As Harriet, Kris’s date, snuffled with laughter, the doorbell gonged inside the house. I put down my empty platter and headed toward the front door. Once more, Rorry accompanied me.

“You should just let me get this,” she said.

“I think it’s my husband, Tom.”

“Tom? Why would he come?”

“Oh,” I said, working to appear offhanded, “Boyd wanted me to call Tom to get him to help me out in the kitchen.”

“Dear me,” said Rorry. “I should have helped you. There’s no need for your husband to come all this way —”

But I had already opened the front door, and there was Tom, looking even more commanding and suspicious than usual. He said, “Show me the oil spill.”

“I cleaned it up,” said Rorry. “I’m so sorry you had to come all the way over here.” Tom held up his hand for her to be quiet, and she immediately stopped talking. I was used to Tom’s air of authority having that effect on people.

“Let me make the coffee,” Rorry murmured as she led us into the kitchen. She busied herself with water, a bag of ground beans, and the pot. “I suppose I should find out if people want regular,” she said, flustered. “Well, no, I’ll just make all decaf.”