Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (22 page)

Payton and Sarina protested.

Jennifer’s eyes blazed at Val. “You’re crazy. You know nothing about it.”

“I know you were doing well financially. Fawn wasn’t.” Val had surmised the rest. “Fawn did you a huge favor ten years ago, lying about who’d typed the text in the car right before the accident. After she ran into you last month, she demanded favors in return. You had to include her in your wedding so she could hobnob with Payton’s rich friends. You had to cover the cost of her room this weekend. Maybe you even gave her money to pay her bills. If you’d refused, she might have told Payton and the police what really happened that night.”

“I didn’t murder her. You can’t prove that I did.”

Val returned Jennifer’s defiant look. “Fawn had only one weapon to use against her strangler—a fondue fork. I think she stabbed her killer with it. I played the role of victim earlier today and hit the mock strangler in the thigh with the fondue fork.” She glanced at the chief. Did he now have grounds to check Jennifer for tine marks?

Payton reached out to Jennifer as if to hold her hand. In a sudden move, he tugged up her skirt and ripped off a Band-aid. Two scabs, half an inch apart, marred her lovely leg.

The sun was shining by the time Val joined Granddad, Mom, and Gunnar at the crab house for a late lunch. They ate on the deck of the restaurant overlooking the river, with water lapping against the piers as background music. Keeping her voice low so the other diners couldn’t hear, Val told Mom and Gunnar the strangler’s identity and the motive. She answered their questions until Granddad quashed further talk about the murder, saying he wanted to forget about it and enjoy his meal.

After lunch, Val picked up the food she’d need for the café the next day, Mom returned to the house with Granddad so she could pack, and Gunnar went to buy ingredients for the dinner he insisted on cooking for Val that night.

Four hours after Chief Yardley escorted Fawn’s murderer to police headquarters, Val was giving her mother a good-bye hug in the driveway.

“I’m so glad I got to meet Gunnar,” Mom said. “He’s a keeper. Don’t you think so, Pop?”

“He’s all right.”

Val hid her astonishment. What had Gunnar done to merit such high praise from Granddad?

Mom started up her rental car and rolled down the window. “I meant to ask you about Bethany, Val. She ate baby food for lunch. Does the poor thing have digestion problems?”

“No, Mom, she has body image problems. She tries on wacky diets for size. She’ll give up this one by tomorrow or the next day.” But the protein bar diet might replace it. Val turned to Granddad after her mother drove off. “Now I’m going to unpack the big suitcase I filled up three days ago.”

He joined her in her bedroom, carrying an armful of her clothes on hangers. “Here’s some stuff you put in my closet.”

She took the clothes from him and hung them up. “I’ll bring up the rest later.”

“Okay.” He went over to the table and chair by the window and sat down. “Too bad the rain washed out your murder demonstration in the backyard. Were you planning to poke Jennifer with a fondue fork?”

“With the handle, but she couldn’t count on that. Once stabbed, twice shy. If she jumped out of the way of the fork, I would have been positive she’d killed Fawn. As it was, I was ninety percent certain.”

“I sure didn’t see her as the murderer. She couldn’t make up her mind about the smallest thing without asking for advice. I figured she’d take a poll before she murdered anybody, but she acted fast Friday night.”

Val moved her athletic shorts from the suitcase to the bottom drawer of her dresser. “Jennifer only pretended to be indecisive. She was never going to leave Bayport unless Payton went with her. She asked people for their opinions and then took the advice that matched what she’d already decided.”

“What made you think she was guilty?”

Val held up her hand and ticked off the clues on her fingers. “The fondue fork, her new clothes, the crab hats, the ropes, and the texts. They don’t mean much in themselves but when you string them together, they tell a story.”

“You gotta give me some credit. You figured out that Fawn used the fondue fork on the strangler because of the bloody Band-Aids I found.”

Partly.
“Yes, but I didn’t know whose blood was on them. Jennifer’s clothes gave it away. Before the murder, she wore really short skirts, showing off her legs. The morning after the murder, she wore blue jeans, probably the only long pants she’d packed. As soon as she could, she went shopping for a skirt and pants that would cover her legs above the knee.”

“But she couldn’t keep Payton’s hands off her thighs.”

“So he knew she didn’t have a Band-Aid on before the murder and she did afterwards.” Val took T-shirts from the suitcase and stacked them on the bed. “Hiding her wound was only one of Jennifer’s problems after the murder. Apart from Fawn’s husband, she was the likeliest strangler because she knew Fawn. So Jennifer had to convince people that the strangler really intended to kill her.”

Granddad pointed to the crab hat Val had left on the table. “Those hats helped her do it. She could have left her crab hat here when she came back to the house before the fireworks. But she wore it to play up her resemblance to Fawn.”

“And she dropped a hat near the body so everyone would think Fawn was wearing it when she was strangled.”

Granddad rubbed his chin. “What do you think happened to your favorite knife? We haven’t seen it since the murder.”

Val had given up hope that the knife would turn up in the house. “Jennifer probably grabbed it when she stopped at the house before the fireworks Friday night. It would have fit in that long, narrow purse she was carrying this weekend. Maybe she intended to stab Fawn, but on her way to the fireworks, she saw the rope plant hanger and decided to strangle Fawn instead.”

“No blood to get her clothes dirty. She took a second piece of rope to plant on a scapegoat. After I found the rope in Noah’s room, I was sure he was the strangler.” Granddad rested his chin on the palm of his hand. “I wonder what she did with the fondue fork.”

“She might have put the fork, the knife, and Fawn’s phone in the portable johns at the festival. Jennifer told me she visited them early Saturday while they were still clean.”

“I don’t want that fork back if that’s where it went.” Granddad grimaced. “It’s a good place to ditch incriminating evidence. The folks who vacuum out those things have found guns in the muck. Do you know why Jennifer took Fawn’s phone?”

“I guess to keep the police from finding any texts about the accident. She assumed Fawn had sent the text to Payton in the restaurant Friday night. So she got rid of Fawn to make sure Payton didn’t find out the truth about the accident.” Val paired up the socks jumbled in the suitcase. “The next morning, when Jennifer got the rhyming text, she realized that killing Fawn hadn’t solved her problem. No wonder she got sick when read that verse.”

“Noah didn’t commit the murder, but he’s partly guilty. If he hadn’t sent those texts, Fawn would be alive. He should have taken Payton aside and told him Jennifer lied about the accident.”

“But then Jennifer would have blamed Noah if her marriage plans fell through. He sent the texts to push her into telling the truth, hoping Payton would then break off their engagement.” Val moved the socks to her dresser. “If Payton’s as scrupulous as Sarina says, he wouldn’t have excused Jennifer’s lie. He might even correct the record about that accident.”

“Jennifer could be prosecuted for manslaughter, but that’s better than first-degree murder. You remember the two old movies Noah talked about when he arrived on Friday, the first Hitchcock talkies?”

Val nodded. “
Murder!
and
Blackmail
. Who knew the weekend would involve those two things?”

Granddad stood up and gazed out the window overlooking the backyard. “Fawn really had me fooled. She was like a sour grape dipped in chocolate fondue, sweet only on the outside.”

“She was desperate for money, but she probably wouldn’t have done anything if Jennifer had stood up to her. After all, Fawn had lied about the accident too.” Val zipped up the now empty suitcase. “This whole weekend was about dealing with the past. For the wedding group. For me, with Tony and Chef Henri.” And the job offer she would turn down tomorrow. “Even your dessert came from the past.”

“I’ll never make it again. From now on, I’m all about the future.” He walked toward the door of her room and then turned back with a mischievous grin. “There’s one mystery you didn’t solve this weekend. You never figured out who was in Monique’s backyard.”

Val couldn’t remember telling him about the prowler. Why was he looking so pleased with himself? Light dawned. “
You
were there? You frightened Monique’s mother-in-law. She took the kids away for the weekend.”

“That’s better than the chef storming the place to get at you. The police wouldn’t protect you. I had to do it myself, with a little help from Gunnar. He relieved me Saturday night just before midnight. I told him to keep watch until dawn.”

“
What?
He stayed up all night?” No wonder he’d been so irritable about Tony. Lack of sleep would make anyone testy . . . and spacey enough to do something out of character, like leaving litter behind.

“I tested him to see how much he really cared for you. And he passed the test.”

“I’m glad he finally met your high expectations.” Despite her dry tone, she really was delighted. “By the way, I’m going over to Gunnar’s place now. Don’t wait up for me.”

Granddad frowned. “What about my dinner?”

“You had a big meal at the crab house. I brought home the leftovers from the booth. There’s plenty to eat in the fridge.”

“I figured you and I could work on
The Codger’s Cookbook.
”

“I’m taking the night off, Granddad.”

“Well, then I’ll finish my detective lessons. After that, I may take a course in viral marketing. I have to do a media campaign for
The Codger’s Cookbook
and my sleuthing business.”

Val put her arm around his shoulder. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks—that doesn’t apply to you.”

“Sure doesn’t.” He pointed to his chest. “This old dog teaches himself new tricks.”

I’d like to thank those who contributed the essential ingredients to make
Final Fondue
: subject-matter experts, writing partners, beta reviewers, and the publishing team.

Thank you to D. P. Lyle, M.D. for information that helped me create the crime scene. I’m grateful to my son, Paul Corrigan, who provided a Gen-Xer’s perspective on technology and terminology. Thanks also to my friend Susan Fay, who contributed a key idea for the murder scenario.

Thank you to my writing partners, mystery authors Carolyn Mulford and Helen Schwartz, who gave me helpful advice during our weekly meetings. Their suggestions on the first draft through the nearly final version of this book were invaluable.

I’d also like to thank everyone who read the book in its late stages for their helpful feedback: Joyce Campbell, Paul Corrigan, Toni Corrigan, Susan Fay, and Elliot Wicks. As always, I’m grateful to Mike Corrigan for his support through the long process of writing a book and his comments on the manuscript. Special thanks to him for acting out several variations of the crime scene with me and for accepting whichever role I assigned to him, murderer or victim.

I’m grateful to the team who worked on
Final Fondue
at Kensington Books: my editor, John Scognamiglio, the cover designer, copy editors and proofreaders, and the marketing and sales team.

Finally, there would be no
Final Fondue
without readers who enjoy mysteries. Thank you.