Crunch Time (31 page)

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.”

“Rorry, I can do this,” I insisted. “It’s my job. Please go entertain the guests. That’s
your
job.”

As soon as she was gone, Tom huddled next to me at the coffeemaker. “Tell me what happened to your head.”

“The pot hanger came down.” I pointed to the ceiling. “A corkscrew caught me in the face. Do you know how Yolanda is?”

Tom shook his head. “They’re not at the hospital yet. Boyd gave me the outline of what happened. He said the handle just came right off the pan.”

“I wasn’t here. Still, Rorry says she thought Etta told her they didn’t have an electric skillet. They were supposed to have lots of other pots we could use.” I felt distracted. “I supposed Etta could have gone out and bought one for us, but I would have thought she would then tell Rorry she’d done that. I’ll tell you something else: I
was
out here when the pot hanger came down. And I found a wrench outside.” I stopped what I was doing and pointed at the ceiling. “This house is decorated in an old style, but it’s practically new. It’s like the whole damn place was sabotaged.”

Tom moved away and peered into the hole in the ceiling. “It was. Question is, who was the target? Maybe it was you, Miss G. Maybe it was Rorry. I’ll want to talk to her about who had access to the kitchen and when.”

I inhaled. “Boyd already did. Everyone here, practically, came during the day, to leave food.” Tom tied on an apron, stepped to the sink, and washed his hands. “A couple of guests have already left. Humberto and his ‘date,’ if that’s what you call a stacked girl in her twenties wearing a skintight silver outfit. Here, I have her picture.” I pulled out my phone and queued up the pictures of Odette. “Does she look familiar to you?”

“Nope.” He eyed the kitchen, including the two covered flourless chocolate cakes. “You need me to serve these people dessert?”

I checked my watch. Incredibly, the guests had had the main course for twenty minutes. I said, “First we have to clear the dinner plates.” The coffeepot was gurgling merrily, so I led Tom out to the porch.

There was a general reaction of surprise at Tom’s appearance. Yes, he was a member of the church, but he was not a dinner guest. So why was he there? And was it my imagination, or was Sean Breckenridge suddenly twitching nervously in his chair?

Donna was once again trying to command the floor. Without Humberto, she directed her remarks to all the guests, who appeared to be drooping with boredom. “And then I got my license, and what with my success as treasurer of St. Luke’s, I was honored by the Aspen Meadow Chamber of Commerce to be the Businesswoman of the Year—”

“Oh, yes,” Marla said, interrupting her. “The fire department loves you, too, right? I heard one of your rentals burned to the ground—”

“Marla!” I cried. Kris, Harriet, and Brie and Paul Quarles snickered. Marla pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh.

Venla touched the white hair in her bun and turned to Father Pete. She asked, “What did Marla Korman say that was funny?”

Rorry shook her head, while Sean’s face was racked with misery.

The Juarezes looked as much at sea as usual. The Ramoses continued to ignore everyone.

“I will not be insulted by you, Marla Korman!” Donna Lamar cried. She whirled in her seat. “And not a word from you, either, Tom Schulz!”

“That’s
Investigator
Schulz to you,” Tom said as he balanced a pile of the new dinner dishes Rorry had brought out. I gulped and looked away as Tom made a beeline for the kitchen. If we had one more accident tonight, I did not want to witness it.

Quickly gathering up all the soiled silverware, I deposited it onto the remaining tray and hurried out to the kitchen.

“What in the world were you correcting Donna Lamar for?” I asked Tom as he carefully sliced the flourless chocolate cakes into eighths. “Odette, or whatever her name is, has already made mincemeat out of her in the science and math departments. And you heard Marla make fun of her. I’m actually beginning to feel
sorry
for Donna.”

“Oh, don’t.
Somebody
needed to puncture Donna Lamar’s good opinion of herself,” Tom said nonchalantly. “Without Humberto Captain, she’d still have that hole in the wall on Main Street and be renting wrecked houses to even more wrecked people.”

“Goodness gracious!” Marla appeared at the kitchen door. “This is something I didn’t know! So,
what
did Humberto do for Donna Lamar?”

“Brought her business up to a whole new level,” said Tom as he gently placed slices of cake onto gold-edged dessert plates. “Gave her that office rent-free for the first year,” he said, continuing as he scooped even spoonfuls of crème fraîche onto each piece of cake, “just so it would look as if someone was leasing the place. He said he was hoping that would attract more tenants. It didn’t.”

“And you know all this how?” asked Marla. She plucked a fork from a drawer and began eating a piece of cake.

“From Humberto himself,” said Tom as he placed a tray holding eight plates on his shoulder. “We talked to everybody after the fire at Yolanda’s place, to see if Donna could have set it. She owned the place and so was the beneficiary of the policy. We were thinking that if we dug into her financials, we’d find a debt on her own rent or something like that.”

“And did you?” asked Marla breathlessly.

“Tom,” I said, warning him. Did he really want any information he gave Marla fed into the town gossip machine?

“Oh, this was all in our report, which we made public,” said Tom. “Goldy, can you bring sugar and cream with the coffee? I didn’t see any out there.”

Marla blocked his way out of the kitchen. “Tell me what you found out about Donna Lamar and her finances. I’ve endured her singing her own praises this entire evening. I’m desperate for a dose of Schadenfreude
.
”

“Let’s see,” said Tom as he placed his tray on a counter. “Schadenfreude, rejoicing in bad news about others. I’ll tell you what isn’t in the report but was a result of my male intuition, how about that? Donna has the hots for Humberto. He gave her that office rent-free, and she thought,
I’ve found myself a meal ticket
. But alas, Humberto’s taste doesn’t seem to run to women who are close to being his peers, that is, in their thirties, forties, or fifties, no matter how good-looking they are. Does that make you rejoice?”

“Not really,” Marla declared. “I could have told you Donna was making a play for Humberto after the first five minutes of this party. Goldy, load me up with the rest of the dessert plates. I’ll take them out.”

I obliged, then stood in the kitchen, thinking. The coffee wasn’t quite done, so I made a quick call to Southwest Hospital, to see if Yolanda Garcia had arrived safely. They wouldn’t tell me anything, so I paged Boyd. He called from outside the hospital. He said Yolanda was in the ER, waiting to be seen, which should be in the next five minutes. I asked if he’d called Ferdinanda, and he said he had.

“Was she a wreck?” I asked, immediately worried.

“Yes and no. She told me I should have arrested Kris Nielsen. She’s sure he did this.”

“Tom didn’t even consider Yolanda the target. He thought maybe it was an attack meant for me or Rorry Breckenridge.” I felt suddenly queasy at the thought that Yolanda might have been the target.

“I don’t know,” said Boyd. “I gotta go. They’re taking Yolanda back.”

“Call me later!” I hollered into the phone, but he’d already signed off.

Somehow, we got through the rest of the party. As soon as the last bite of cake had been downed, the Juarezes stood and told Rorry how much they had enjoyed the dinner. They hoped she and her husband would come down to their restaurant soon. I broke out in a sweat, just then realizing that with all the commotion, I’d completely forgotten to heat their enchiladas. They’d undoubtedly noticed, and I bumbled through an apology. They graciously said it was no problem, that I’d had my hands full with other things. Rorry assured them both that she loved Mexican food and would enjoy the enchiladas for the rest of the week.

Marla piped up and said, “I’m claiming a few for myself, if that’s all right,” whereupon Father Pete said, “Me too!” and everyone laughed.

At the beginning of the evening, Rorry had been adamant that the guests turn off their electronics. When Father Pete said he’d have to at least have his on Vibrate, in case a parishioner died suddenly, Rorry relented, but only for him. She hadn’t noticed when I’d used mine to take pictures of Odette, thank goodness. But hostess’s instructions or no, I always, always kept my cell phone on, in case Arch needed to reach me. He knew it, I knew it, and I didn’t care if anyone else knew it.