Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (22 page)

Chapter Thirty

“You want to do what?”

We were sitting in the bowling alley eating BLTs and drinking iced tea. The hollow sound of rolling balls followed by the crashing of pins was getting on my nerves, but no one was there except the lunch hour league and none of them was interested in our murder.

“I want to go over everything that happened that Saturday night,” I said, wiping mayonnaise off my face. “As close as we can remember. Carlton saw something, or someone, so let’s start with him.”

Aunt Mary doused her french fries with ketchup, ate one, and nodded her satisfaction. “Don’t you think you should leave the detective work up to Dan?”

“That’s not what we’re doing. We’re just helping. So think.”

“All right,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Wait a minute.” She chewed, swallowed, and went on. “We know where he was until the break. That had to be when Otto was killed, so let’s concentrate on that.”

“Okay. He came up to Dan and me when Mark was doing that tasting thing. After he left, I never saw him again. But you did.”

“Yes, going up the back stairs.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was talking and noticed Carlton mainly because he wasn’t following someone around trying to impress them.”

“We know he put his head into the kitchen, looking for Otto,” I said.

“How do we know that?”

“Larry told me. Wait. Larry said something else. What was it? Yes! He said Carlton wanted to know where Otto was, and Larry told him he was out on the deck.”

“Oh my.” Aunt Mary put her sandwich back on her plate, right in the middle of the ketchup. “So we can—at least we are going to—assume Carlton went out on the deck to talk to Otto and instead saw someone bash him over the head with a wine bottle and push him into the fermenting tank.”

“We are indeed.” I was feeling pretty good, so I indulged myself with a couple of french fries. Not that I wouldn’t have anyway. “Now we just have to figure out who he saw.”

“That’s a bit more difficult,” she said. “It could have been anyone. We weren’t exactly keeping tabs on where people were.”

“Yeah.” I kept nibbling on the fries. They were almost gone. I eyed Aunt Mary’s plate but thought better of it. Not only would my waistline suffer, but I was very likely to get my hand slapped. “You, Dan, and I got back to the table about the time the waiters were coming out with the main course. Everyone else slid into place after us.”

“Giving them all time, in theory, to have finished off poor Otto,” she said. I noticed she had pulled her french fry plate closer to her.

“Waiters! Of course. Why didn’t I think of it earlier?”

“Think of what?” Aunt Mary paused with a fry halfway to her mouth and stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

“Who was on the floor all night? Who took plates of hors d’oeuvres around, who poured wine into every glass that was empty, waiters! I need to ask them who they saw and when. Then, maybe, we’ll have something. Or, better yet, someone.”

“Waiters,” Aunt Mary said thoughtfully. “Sure. They’re like postmen. You don’t notice them, but they see things. And I know just who you need to talk to.”

What a surprise. Of course she did. “Who?”

“Mary Alice Wilson’s son. He goes to Cal Poly and moonlights as a waiter. He was there on Saturday night.”

Aunt Mary had once more saved the day. I’d find this waiter, and through him the others if I needed them, and we’d know, once and for all, who’d been on that deck.

Chapter Thirty-one

It wasn’t until the next morning that I was able to reach Mary Alice Wilson. Aunt Mary had given me her number and said to call her as she had no idea where her son lived. I’d tried that evening until after nine and most of the morning. The line rang busy every time. Finally around two-thirty, I got through.

“You’re Mary McGill’s niece, aren’t you,” she said. I’d just told her that, but maybe she hadn’t been listening. “You’re one of the Page girls. Are you the younger or the older one?” There was a trace of caution in her voice as she asked that question. Catherine had a long reach, across continents and across years.

“The younger one.”

“Good,” she said. I almost laughed. “You want to do—what now?”

“Talk to your son for a few minutes.”

“Which one?”

How many did she have? “The one who was working at the winery the night of the murder.”

She sniffed. “I couldn’t believe it. Thomas may be in college, but he’s still young, and to have a thing like that happen where there are young people, it’s a disgrace, that’s what I think.”

I wasn’t sure that was the way I would describe a murder but didn’t want to get into an argument with her. I only wanted to talk to her son. Besides, I’d be willing to bet Thomas didn’t agree with his mother. “Can you tell me where I can find him?”

“Upstairs in his bedroom, studying,” she said, with some reluctance. “I’ll see if he wants to talk to you.”

He did, and an hour later, Thomas and I were having a cup of coffee at Krispy Kreme. Thirty minutes, one chocolate doughnut, and one cup of black coffee later, I was sitting in my car, staring out the window, trying to absorb what I had just heard. If what Thomas told me was correct, I was pretty sure I had my murderer.

Facts were taking their places with a certainty that was absolutely terrifying. I closed my eyes and pictured the winery. Entryway, bathrooms off to the right, tasting room straight ahead, with the large picture window beside the fireplace. The walkway in front of the building led around the side of the building to the deck. Inside, the offices and the kitchen were down a hall to the left, ending at the stairs that led to the cellar floor. And running around the top of the tanks was the catwalk. The murderer had made sure Otto would be on the deck, and, bottle in hand, had crept along the catwalk, waited on the deck, hit Otto over the head and dumped him in the tank, and returned the same way. No one would have seen a shadowy figure on the dim catwalk. The wine bottle had to have been hidden behind one of the tanks and retrieved later. I hoped I wasn’t right, but I knew I was. I sighed heavily. This was not turning out the way I had thought. I turned on the engine and headed for Aunt Mary’s house.

She was waiting for me. “Did you learn anything?”

When I was finished, she said simply, “Oh dear.”

We sat looking at each other, trying to come to terms with what we had learned.

After a while, I said, “We have to go to the bed and breakfast.”

“You have to call Dan.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” she asked, incredulously. “You just proved who killed both Otto and Carlton.”

“No, I haven’t. I have a theory that seems to make sense, but what if Thomas is wrong? He’s pretty vague on times and things, and this whole thing hinges on times. We—I—have to verify what he said before I can go to Dan. And we have to do it now, before someone else gets hurt.”

“I still think you should call Dan.” When she gets an idea in her head, it’s hard to dislodge.

“Dan will simply tell me it’s a good theory, but I have no proof. We have to go. If you don’t want to, I understand, but I’m going.”

“Damn,” she said, and pushed her chair back. “You always were a willful child.”

I pushed mine back also and reached for my purse. But the sight of her, standing in front of me, made me pause. “Ah,” I said.

“What’s the matter?”

“Ah,” I repeated. “We have a few minutes. You might want to change your top.” In my agitation, I hadn’t noticed this one. Bright red, with little ball tassels all over it, and, given Aunt Mary’s ample chest, gently swaying in all the wrong places.

“You don’t like it?” she asked, with a trace of a smile. “Ellen McKenzie, you’re a wimp.” But she changed.

Chapter Thirty-two

I’d pulled up in front of the old Adams house, now Frank’s as-yet-unnamed restaurant and B&B. Aunt Mary and I sat in the car and looked up the long brick walkway toward the front door.

“Where is everybody?” asked Aunt Mary.

“I’ve no idea,” I said. “Yesterday this place was crawling with people. I see they got the deck finished.”

Aunt Mary made no effort to climb out of the car. “I’ve always loved this old house, and the new paint job fits. White house, green shutters. It’s nice Frank left the original door, that beveled glass is wonderful. I wonder where he found those wicker rockers. They’re even older than mine. Or yours. But that deck, it looks kind of raw.”

“It’s new, that’s the trouble. Once it weathers a little, it’ll be great. Wait until you see the back. It’s huge, goes right down to the pool. Are you going to get out, or are we going to sit here all day, admiring the house?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” Aunt Mary reached for the door handle, but not very fast.

“That’s why we’re here, because none of this feels right,” I said. I climbed out of the car, walked around to the passenger’s side, and opened her door.

“I don’t see Frank’s car, do you? I don’t see any cars. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

“There’re all in the back,” I replied, feigning a confidence I didn’t feel. Yesterday there had been cars and trucks everywhere. Today, nobody on the street; nothing in the freshly paved next-door parking lot.

Aunt Mary was finally out of the car, still staring at the house. “Isn’t that Larry?”

“Where?” I joined her on the brick pathway.

“There. Right behind that curtain. See? It moved.”

“I didn’t see anything move. You’re spooked. Come on, let’s go find someone.”

I marched up to the front door, Aunt Mary trailing behind. The planters on each side of the door had roses, still in cans, sitting on top of them, pony packs of unplanted pansies beside them.

“This looks a little messy,” commented Aunt Mary.

“They got the shutters painted.” I turned the handle on the old-fashioned doorbell, but I had to agree. If the front porch needed to make a good first impression, it was about to fail. The major work was probably going on inside, preparations started for the dinner and all that, but someone needed to get to this as well.

I rang the bell again, but was answered by silence.

“I know I saw someone at the window,” Aunt Mary said. She reached over and turned the bell hard. “Why doesn’t someone answer the door?”

“Maybe they’re all in the kitchen. Come on. We’ll walk around back.” I was beginning to get a little uneasy. The place was much too quiet for a bed and breakfast expecting eight overnight guests in a short forty-eight hours, and triple that amount for an elaborate, grand opening, formal dinner.

“This place looks as gloomy as a funeral parlor.” Aunt Mary stopped to stare at the heavily draped French doors that yesterday had stood open invitingly to the front porch. “Why do they have it all closed up?”

“I’ve no idea. That’s the dining room, and it was all open when I was here before. Larry had the china unpacked, the serving pieces out. It looked pretty impressive. And expensive. Haviland—old Haviland—sterling silver, all kinds of stuff. Why he let Otto, and now Frank, borrow such valuable things is beyond me.”

She turned back toward me, surprised. “What? Frank picked out dishes, silverware, crystal. Nice things, but all from a restaurant catalog. Are you sure it was Haviland?”

“Positive,” I told her. “The house is full of those kinds of things. It would worry me to death, wondering if someone were going to drop it.”

“Or walk off with it. I wonder where it all came from?”

“It came from Larry.”

“Larry?” She stopped. “Of course, Larry.”

“This way.” I headed for the kitchen door. “Hey,” I called out. The door was ajar. I pushed it open further. The kitchen was no longer full of packing boxes, and the open shelves were stacked with dishes.

“That’s what Frank ordered,” Aunt Mary told me, looking around. “Creamy white, with that little embossed pattern around the rim. I don’t see any Haviland.”

“It was in the dining room,” I said. “Probably still is. The important question is, why isn’t anybody here?”

“Someone must be around somewhere. Look at all this food!”

I couldn’t miss it. There were crates of vegetables, bottles of wine, bags of flour and sugar, and a multitude of pots, pans, ladles, and knives everywhere. But no people.

“I don’t understand this. Shouldn’t someone be here, doing something with all this?”

I had no answer.

“What’s that?” Aunt Mary pointed at the freezer door.

“A walk-in freezer. Larry showed it to me the first time I came here. It’s wonderful, holds all kinds of stuff. Here. I’ll show you.”

“Don’t go in there.” The voice came from the breakfast room and was so unexpected my hand flew off the door handle.

“Larry. Good grief. You scared me to death,” I protested.

“I’m sorry, Ellen. Mrs. McGill, how are you. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I brought Aunt Mary over to see the house.” I wondered why I felt so nervous. “I’ve been telling her what wonderful things you’ve done. And I had a couple of questions…” I let my voice fade away. Larry didn’t look as if he heard me. He kept looking around the room, letting his gaze rest on the crates of food, then on the stacks of dishes, all the while alternating between pushing his hair back away from his eyes and pulling the sleeves of his yellow polo shirt over his hands.

“Maybe this is a bad time,” I said, backing up. “We don’t want to bother you. We’ll just look around, you must be frantically busy.”

“There is a lot to do.” He looked around the kitchen as if he was seeing it for the first time. “Yes, a lot to do.” He made no move toward the towering mountain of unprepared food.

“Don’t you have any help?” asked Aunt Mary, also looking around. “It’s going to take hours to get this together.”

“I had help. Lots of help. I sent them all home.”

“Home!” exclaimed Aunt Mary. “Larry, you can’t get all this done by yourself. And the rest of the house, are the rooms ready? When are the first guests due? Where on earth is Frank?”

“Frank?” repeated Larry.

“Yes, Frank. Where is he? Why isn’t he here, doing something? Larry, what on earth is the matter with you?”

Aunt Mary’s voice clearly said she was losing patience, and I had a horrible feeling she was going to grab an apron and start making that kitchen hum. Larry must have had the same feeling, because he began to seem more alive. Only it wasn’t the threat of Aunt Mary putting away lettuce that had gotten through.

“Frank.” He made it sound like a dirty word. “He couldn’t wait to take over after Otto died. That lasted a couple of days, then he turned everything over to me, and now he’s back. This is wrong, that isn’t good enough, why did I put out all of my own things? I hate him.”

Larry’s face was getting blotched, his hands waved in the air, and his eye had started to twitch. Frank was not good for Larry’s nervous system. What I was about to ask him wasn’t going to make it better.

“Larry,” I said, standing directly in front of him so he would have to look at me, “Thomas, one of the waiters last Saturday night, tells me you delivered a message to Otto from Frank. Is that true?”

“What?” Larry seemed to have a hard time leaving his hatred of Frank for a moment and concentrating on the question. “Message?”

“Yes.” I moved toward the breakfast room, letting him follow. I hoped movement would calm him down, make him think about what I wanted to know. “Thomas says you sent Otto out to the deck to meet Frank.” I looked back at him. He looked confused. “Is that true, did Frank ask you to send Otto out to the deck?”

He stopped in the middle of the room and looked around. He reached out and picked up a hand-hemmed napkin, shook it out, smoothed it in his hand, refolded it, and placed it back on the table. The sterling silver fruit bowl, filled with red and green apples lying on autumn leaves, got moved a quarter inch or so, then he started toward the sideboard, his back to me.

“Larry?” I said, following him. “Did Frank ask you to do that?”

“Yes,” he said, still not looking at me. “Yes, he did. But I told you that. I felt bad afterward.” He finally turned to face me, the vague look gone. “Do you think Frank killed him? He must have, you know. I hope it wasn’t my fault.”

“When did Frank ask you to do that?” Larry was still wandering around the room, picking things up, admiring them, putting them down, and I was following him. It was beginning to get exasperating.

“When?”

“Yes, Larry. When. You said you never left the kitchen, so when did Frank come in and where was Otto then?”

Larry’s eyes were shifting back and forth. “I don’t remember,” he told me.

“Was it after you told Carlton Otto was on the deck?”

“Did I tell Carlton that?” He was beginning to look like a cornered rabbit.

“You said you did. When did Otto go onto the deck, and who came in after he’d left?”

His eye was starting to twitch again. He put down the silver bowl and picked up a small marble egg. “Isn’t this beautiful? It’s Chinese. Or maybe French.”

“Larry, when did you leave the kitchen?”

I had his attention now. “Oh, I never left. Otto was gone, and I had to direct the waiters. Someone had to take charge. Someone had to make sure everything was going to go the way I—we’d—planned it.”

“Where’s Jolene?” I asked him. “Isn’t that her car out back?”

The shift of subject seem to really unnerve him. “Jolene?”

“Yes, Jolene. I moved right in front of him, trying to get his attention directly on what I was asking. “Is she with Frank?”

“No, no. I don’t think so.” He made a vague gesture and looked around as if expecting her to materialize out of a corner. “She was here a while ago. Maybe she went into town.”

Her car was there, and she wasn’t with Frank. How had she gotten into town? Should I try and find her? Or leave? I’d learned what I needed from Larry. It was time to spill all this on Dan, but I was worried about Jolene. Where was she?

The scream was low, gurgling, and horrified. Aunt Mary. I whirled around, bumped Larry out of my way and ran toward the kitchen. The freezer door was wide open and staggering out of it were Aunt Mary and a very blue, very frosty Jolene.

“My God!” I exclaimed. “What happened?”

“I was putting some of that food away,” Aunt Mary puffed, dropping Jolene down on a chair, “and when I opened the door, there was Jolene. I’m afraid I screamed.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “And it was a good one. Scared me to death. How did Jolene get in the freezer? Is she all right? Shouldn’t we do something?”

“A blanket would be good for starters. Larry, go get one. Ellen, you call nine one one.” Aunt Mary rubbed Jolene’s hands, then took off her sweater and wrapped it around her shoulders. Jolene was shaking uncontrollably, little icicles hanging from her extravagant eyelashes, her hair a mass of white. Her fingers were blue, and she couldn’t close them, but she was still trying to talk.

“What’s she saying?” Aunt Mary leaned down to try to hear. “I can’t make it out. Where’s that blanket?”

“No blanket,” Larry said, “and no nine one one. I’m real sorry you and Mrs. McGill got involved in this, but now that you’re here, well, you haven’t given me much choice. Have you?”

I turned to face him, the full impact of Jolene’s plight, and now ours, sinking in. He stood by the chopping block, a long French boning knife in his hand, calmly contemplating us.

“Larry!” Aunt Mary looked up from rubbing Jolene’s arms, indignation giving way to shock as she saw the knife, “What are you doing? We have to get a doctor, right away. How she could have gotten locked in a freezer, I can’t imagine. Oh. Oh my.”

I would have put it a little stronger. Realization that I had gotten my answers sank in, along with the fact that Larry had understood the questions. Worst of all, for the first time ever, I saw Aunt Mary at a loss. She glanced quickly at me, but I wasn’t much help. My eyes were glued to that knife.

“I’m going to have to think,” Larry said. “I could put you all in the freezer. No, that wouldn’t work.”

That, at least, was a relief, but the list of Larry’s options didn’t look promising. Neither did ours. I let my eyes drift around the kitchen, frantically wondering if there were something I could use in our defense. I spied a large wooden tray. Could I? Too far away. My hand touched the edge of the chopping block, and I moved it along, watching Larry’s face, hoping I would come on something.

“Are you going to try and stop me with that bunch of carrots?” There was amusement in Larry’s voice and a confidence that was new. And terrifying.

“What’s the matter with Jolene?”

None of us had heard Frank come in, but there he was, all six wonderful feet of him, slamming the kitchen door behind him, striding toward us.

“She looks blue, and she’s shaking.” He examined her critically before turning his attention to the rest of the kitchen. “Where’s the help? Nothing is started. For God’s sake, Larry. What is the matter with you? Do something about this woman, and then get going! Mary, Ellen. What are you doing here? It is wonderful to see you, but…”