Fatally Frosted (5 page)

“I know what they are, Suzanne. What I don’t know is why you are starting before we’ve opened the tour.”

I couldn’t believe this woman. Was she going to be hovering around me all day? “Peg, I’m just measuring out some of the things I’ll need ahead of time. It will make the demonstration go smoother, trust me.”

She shook her head. “I absolutely forbid it. The entire purpose of this tour is for our patrons to see the kitchens in real working conditions. You mustn’t start anything until we open the doors.”

“What if no one’s here when I start?” I asked. “Do I have to sit around waiting for an audience before I start preparing my food?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Peg said. “You may begin precisely at ten
A.M.
, and not a moment before.”

“Fine,” I said as I dumped some of the flour I’d already measured back into the container. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“I’d suggest you find a quiet place to relax and take full of advantage of it while you can. You’re going to be on your feet constantly for six hours once the tour begins.”

“I do more than that every day in my shop,” I said. “Six hours is going to feel like a vacation.”

Peg smiled cruelly. “Yes, but have you ever done it with an audience? I’m sure it’s not as easy as it may seem.”

I nodded. I hated to admit it, but she had a point. Then, I had a thought. “You’re not staying here the entire time the tour’s going on, are you?”

Peg laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in the sound. “Suzanne, as important as you must think you are, I have seven kitchens open on the tour today. I simply wanted to stop by to check on your setup, and to brief you one last time on the rules.” As
she looked around, she added, “It’s a good thing I did, too.”

I gave her my most artificial smile. “Well, you’ve done that, so why don’t you move on to the next vic . . . I mean kitchen on your list.”

I swear, I saw Marge stifle a giggle when she realized I’d been about to say victim. She’d been surprisingly quiet during my conversation with Peg, and I wondered how the tour organizer had managed to intimidate her so much.

After Peg was gone, I said, “Well, I for one am certainly glad we got all of that cleared up. It could have been an absolute disaster if I’d continued measuring out ingredients. What was I thinking?” I’d done my best to imitate Peg’s nasal voice, but though I wasn’t all that effective a mimic, Marge had understood the impression.

“She’s certainly unique, isn’t she,” Marge asked.

“I’m kind of surprised you ever agreed to do this,” I said. “How did you two manage to bury the hatchet?”

She waved her hand in the air. “Peg is harmless.”

“That’s not the first word to describe her that pops into my mind.” Seeing coffee brewing on one of the countertops, I asked, “Is there any chance I could get a cup? I have a feeling Peg’s right about one thing. It’s going to be a long day, and I might not have much time for breaks once we get started.”

Marge said, “Where are my manners? Why don’t you sit over on the sofa, and I’ll bring you a cup.”

“I can get it myself,” I protested.

“Nonsense. Let me wait on you. Now go sit.”

I did as I was told, and sat on a sofa in the nearby
sitting area where I could look outside at Marge’s landscaping. While it was true she skimped on buying things for herself, when it came to her flower garden, Marge hadn’t held back. An explosion of blooms dotted the landscape outside, and a fountain centered on a delightful stone patio supplied a constant, aerated stream for the birds. Several feeders were arranged near my vantage point, and as I watched, a Carolina Chickadee swooped in for a quick black oil sunflower seed before darting off again.

“I think I found the best seat in the house,” I said as Marge walked over with two thick mugs.

“I had the entire landscape in back designed just for that spot,” she said as she took another seat.

“Then you should sit here,” I said as I started to get up.

“Suzanne, you’re here doing me a wondrous favor. Besides, I get to enjoy this view every morning. I can share it with you today.”

“I appreciate that,” I said. I wasn’t about to fight her on it, especially when I noticed a bright red male cardinal come in for some seed of his own. Instead of making a hit and run on the feeder, though, this fella was obviously more interested in sampling a few of the offerings before giving up his spot in line.

“Who’s that?” I asked as I saw part of the back of a head peek around the corner of the courtyard.

“Is someone out there?” Marge asked as she stared where I’d pointed. “They know they’re supposed to wait at the front door.”

She ducked outside, but was back just as quickly. It was clear that whoever had been out there was now gone.

“Suzanne, did you see who it was?”

“No, I just caught a glimpse of red hair.”

“Was it a man or a woman?” she asked.

“Honestly, whoever it was had short hair, but that’s all I could say from the little bit I saw.”

Marge frowned. “Peg should be doing a better job of keeping people in line.”

After she settled back down beside me, I said, “Marge, may I ask you something?”

She looked surprised, but nodded. “I owe you that much, at least.”

I wasn’t satisfied with her terse explanation about her relationship patch with Peg, and if I was ever going to find out what had happened, this was the time. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but that didn’t keep me from dying to know the truth. I took a sip of coffee, then asked, “Why has there been bad blood between you and Peg for so long, and why did you ever agree to do the kitchen tour?”

“That’s two questions,” Marge said.

“Indulge me,” I said as I sipped my coffee. It was a first-rate blend, and I wondered if she’d bought it and brewed it just for the tour.

Marge stood and started to pace around the large space. “I don’t believe I even know where to begin. Peg and I have always been at odds over one thing or another. I suppose it all goes back to our fathers.”

“They knew each other?” I asked as my attention was diverted from the backyard habitat for a moment.

“I should say so. They were business partners once upon a time, and I’m afraid it ended badly.”

“What happened?”

Marge said, “Peg’s father, Daniel, grew tired of the
investment house they were running, and from the way my father used to tell it, he’d done more than his part to run the company into the ground. One day Daniel came to my father and asked him to buy him out. My father agreed that it would be a good idea, but refused the outlandish price Daniel put on his half of the business. After much arguing, Father finally agreed to turn over the keys and title to his new car, a Cadillac that was the talk of the town. My father told me Daniel’s share of the business wasn’t even worth that, but he wanted to be rid of a partner who’d become dead weight. The papers were signed, the car exchanged hands, and my father proceeded to work eighty-hour weeks until he built his firm into a place he could be proud of. A year after the transaction, Daniel drove while he’d been drinking, and he crashed the Cadillac into a tree, totaling it beyond repair and killing himself in the process.”

I’d heard stories growing up that Daniel Masterson had died in a car wreck, but I hadn’t realized the history behind it.

“How awful.”

“Not as bad as how Peg’s mother acted. Shelly had to blame someone for her husband’s death, someone besides the man himself, so she focused on my father. Peg must have grown up with stories of the evil man who’d stolen her father’s business, so it’s a wonder she speaks to me at all.”

“It’s tragic, though, isn’t it?”

“On more levels than I can convey,” Marge said. “Last year Peg talked me into serving on some of her favorite committees, but I don’t have time for that anymore. My life these days is rather full without
worrying about fundraisers and benefits.” She glanced at her watch, then said, “Look at the time. We’ll be opening in ten minutes! Suzanne, do you think anyone will come?”

“Of course they will,” I said. “You’re taking tickets at the front door, right?”

“If anyone shows up,” she said.

“Why don’t we go peek and see if anyone’s out there waiting to get in?”

Marge looked surprised by the suggestion. “What if they see us?”

“Come on. It will be fun.”

We slipped through the kitchen, and I started for the front door when Marge touched my shoulder. “Let’s go into the living room. We can get a better view from there.”

I followed her into yet another room of the big house, and she ducked behind the curtain first. When she came back out, she looked positively stunned.

I felt my heart start to sink. It was beginning to feel like I was going to be making beignets all by myself. “What’s the matter? Did no one come?”

“Look for yourself,” she said.

I brushed past her and glanced outside. There were at least sixty people on the sidewalk and stoop waiting in line to get in, all of them dressed in their Sunday best.

“I’d better go get ready,” I said, more nervous than ever at the prospect of cooking in front of such a large audience.

Marge must have seen the terror on my face. She patted my arm as she said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Make me proud.”

“I’ll do my best,” I said as I hurried back to the kitchen so I could don the smock and hat before my audience was admitted. As I settled the tall hat down in place over my hair, I gave myself a little pep talk. There was no reason to be nervous. I made donuts for a living, and the beignets I was about to prepare were very much donuts, despite their fancy name and appearance.

Taking a deep breath, I trotted out my brightest smile and prepared for the mob of visitors.

“If you’ll all quiet down, I’ll get started,” I said. Even in the spacious kitchen and the adjoining sitting area, the room was packed with folks eager to see Marge’s kitchen, and while they were there, watch me make a pastry.

Once they settled down, I said, “Today I’ll be making beignets, and though they are traditionally made in the shape of squares, triangles, and even diamonds, though they lack the hole we’re used to, they are donuts just the same. I’ve been told that even the name, in Cajun, means ‘French donut.’ Using flour, sugar, shortening, milk, eggs, salt, and yeast, the result is a spectacularly decadent treat, drenched in powdered sugar as it cools for a final touch of elegance.” I held a photo I’d taken of some of the beignets I’d made practicing for today, and they looked suitably impressed. So far, so good.

I went on. “My recipe today uses baking powder instead of the traditional yeast. It’s a shortcut I’ve come up with for our demonstration. When I make these in my shop, I prefer using yeast so they
have time to rise, but these are quite tasty as well, as you all will soon find out.”

As I laid the ingredients out on the counter, I was about to start mixing when a scream pierced through the room.

“She’s dead,” a voice cried out behind the crowd, and all eyes turned to the garden, visible through the windows where I’d watched the birds flitting in and out before. I didn’t need to see the victim’s face to know who was lying there beneath the feeder. I’d seen that outfit before; just that morning, in fact.

Someone had murdered Peg Masterson, and I knew that my time with the Kitchens Extraordinaire tour had ended before it had barely even started.

As everyone rushed to the window, I said loudly, “You all need to calm down. There’s no reason to panic.” I don’t know why I said it, but it seemed to get their attention.

An older man in informal attire headed for the door to the garden.

“You shouldn’t go out there,” I said.

He barely slowed down as he said, “I’m a doctor. She might not be dead. I’m going to check on her.”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Fine, go ahead, but everyone else needs to stay right where they are.” I said to the rest of the crowd, “Somebody needs to call Chief Martin and get him over here.” That was one telephone call I had no desire to make. The police chief and I had clashed too many times in the past, and I had no desire to add anything to the list, though I knew he’d be cornering me soon enough.

A dozen hands went for their cell phones, and I looked around for Marge. She’d be shattered by a murder happening at her home, no matter how she might have felt about the victim.

But she was nowhere in sight.

I started toward the rest of the house to look for her when she bumped into me coming down the stairs.

“Where have you been?” I asked.

“I had to change my clothes. Silly me, I accidentally spilled coffee on my suit after I took up the tickets at the door.” She noticed everyone staring out the window. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you making beignets?”

“I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” I said, not knowing how else to tell her that her chief rival was most likely dead.

Marge grabbed my hands and quickly looked me over. “Are you hurt? What happened? I’ve been worried about that hot oil all week. Oh, dear. Was it one of our visitors?”

I took my hands back from her. “Marge, I’m fine, and no one was injured during the demonstration. Something happened outside.”

She craned to get a look out the window, but I stepped in front of her and blocked her view.

“Suzanne, move over. I can’t see. Who is it? It’s my house; I have a right to know what happened.”

I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t try to stop her as she stepped around me. After a moment of silence, she asked softly, “Is that Peg?”

“It appears to be,” I said.

“What happened to her?” Marge asked. The flat tone in her voice was something that caught me completely
off guard. It was as if she’d just learned that oranges were six for a dollar.

“Marge, it looks bad.”

My statement caught her attention. “For me? Just because it’s my house? I didn’t kill her, Suzanne. You can vouch for me. I’ve been with you all morning.”

I hated myself for saying it, but I had to let her know what was on my mind before Chief Martin arrived. “Marge, I didn’t see you while I was setting up, and you weren’t there when I started my demonstration. There’s at least fifteen minutes when you were out of my sight completely.”