Death With All the Trimmings: A Key West Food Critic Mystery (11 page)

Danielle was not at her station, but thin lines of light leaked through the slats of Wally’s shutters. I crept closer, listening for voices, but heard nothing. So I quickstepped to the end of the hall and settled in at my desk. Think like an optimist, I told myself. And for ten agonizing minutes, I brainstormed hypothetical articles for my possible future. A story on the lighted boat parade with excellent photographs would be a must for
Key Zest
. Of course the other magazines in town would also be carrying pictures of the boats in the harbor, all strung with Christmas lights. Nevertheless, we couldn’t ignore one of the most beautiful events of the season. And I already had a front-row seat booked on Ray’s boat.

Then I roughed out a review of the Kojin Noodle Bar based on previous experience—its light and savory dumplings, irresistible cold sesame noodles with shrimp, and the more adventurous pho and dragon bowl. My stomach growled ferociously and it occurred to me that
the gut was my ticket in to talk with Wally. I dithered for a couple of minutes—should I ask him or just order? I called in an order big enough for two and went back to my computer.

Minutes later, I phoned Connie to find out where Ray thought the best vantage point on land to see the boats tomorrow evening might be. When she didn’t answer, I left a message with the question. Then I moved on to roughing out a story on the New Year’s Eve day Dachshund Parade, which had to be the strangest parade in Key West. Which is saying a lot, as this is a town replete with strange parades. But two city blocks undulating with dachshunds, aka wiener dogs, dressed in costumes, and other dogs dressed as hot dogs to impersonate dachshunds had to take first place. Last year, a Chihuahua flash mob gathered together through Facebook joined the procession at the last minute.

Finally I couldn’t stand it a minute longer—this pretending to be productive. I went out to pick up my food. Back inside, with two big steaming bags of noodles, I rapped on Wally’s door.

“Come in,” he said, sounding surprised.

I pushed open the door. “Listen, I suddenly had a fierce craving for noodles from Kojin.” I held up the loot. “Hope you’ll help me eat—I ordered enough for the whole office. Want anything special to drink?” I plopped the bags on the floor and clapped both hands to my head. “I’m babbling like a crazy person. Let me start over.” I picked up the take-out bags, turned around, and walked out, closing the door behind me—feeling like banging my head against it. Or simply fleeing. Instead I pasted on a big smile and knocked again.

“Come in.” He opened his door.

“It’s me. Just wondering how things are going.”

Wally burst out laughing. “What about the noodles? Aren’t you going to mention the noodles?”

I grinned. “I figured I’d just show up with them and you’d get interested.”

“Sit for a minute, okay? I am sorry about the way things are going around here,” Wally said. “It’s a stressful time and I wish it wasn’t spilling over onto you and Danielle.”

“Can you tell me anything?” I took the seat catty-corner to him and put the bags of food on the floor, hating that I sounded like I was pleading.

Wally sighed. “Nothing’s been decided for sure. We’re doing a lot of talking. And, of course, I’m talking about you and Danielle as part of the package.”

“And Ava?”

“Ava is a major pill. Nothing is going to change her opinion about you. Well, maybe if you win a Pulitzer. Or a James Beard Foundation award. Yeah, that’s the ticket.” He turned back to his computer and tapped through his e-mail in-box. “I know I got a press release about this earlier in the week. The entries close on December eighteenth.”

“I’ll do whatever you suggest, but the chances of me winning a James Beard award are like the chances of finding a steamed vegetable in Paula Deen’s kitchen.” I pulled the container of dumplings out of the bag, offered one to Wally, and then dragged another through a pool of spicy sauce and popped it into my mouth. Instant ecstasy. “Who are these people who are thinking about investing?” I asked when I’d finished my bite.

He rolled his neck in a slow circle and I heard the crackles of tension. “They’re both from New York City, colleagues of Ava’s when she worked in magazines there years ago. I’m not sure anything will work out
with Marcus Baker; he’s not really clicking with Key West. But Palamina, she loves the place. It’s like she lived here in another life.”

“Is Ava out with them now?”

“She set up a little mini tour for each of them based on their interests. I think Palamina was going to hit the Hemingway House and then the butterfly museum. Or was it vice versa? Ava’s got other things to do today, so I’m meeting Palamina at the Banana Café at noon. And, no, I’m sorry you can’t join us. And I’m sorry about all those noodles.” He flashed a wry smile. “They smell delicious, but I need to save myself for lunch. Maybe you can take the leftovers home to Miss Gloria?”

I nodded, feeling a heaviness settle into my stomach. Feeling ridiculous and hopeless. “I roughed out some ideas for articles for this week and next,” I said, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “I’ve never been so productive.”

He ducked his head, looked away. “Let’s give it some time. See how things go.”

I slumped back to my cubicle with the take-out food. Sometimes hard news makes me hungry as a bear bursting out of hibernation. Other times—like now—I lose my appetite completely. I checked my e-mail, scrolled through a dozen Facebook status updates about holiday baking and cat antics, considered calling my mother. Instead, I stashed the noodle-shop takeout in Danielle’s refrigerator and left the office. I headed across the island on Duval Street, which, I had to admit, looked better than any other time of year, decked out in faux-fir garlands with red bows and lots and lots of lights.

If Duval Street were a woman, she was dressed to kill.

I had a lump in my throat the size of a bundt cake pan.

—Jessica Soffer,
Tomorrow There Will Be Apricots

I parked in the open lot between Duval and Simonton streets and jogged toward the butterfly conservatory. Even if Palamina wasn’t inside or even if she refused to talk with me, a visit with the butterflies would calm my galloping mind and soothe my spirit. I went into the gift shop crammed full of butterfly doodads and paraphernalia, bought a ticket, and stepped inside the double doors that protected butterflies from escaping to the harsh outside environment.

The temperature was warm, the humidity high, and the air permeated with the sounds of birdsong and bubbling streams; I could feel my blood pressure plunging. I stopped to admire two gorgeous striped butterflies feeding on fresh cantaloupe, and watch a school of pink fish dart through the pond shaded by tropical foliage. Each time one of my negative thoughts pushed into consciousness, I shoved back.
You’re going
to lose your job.
Get lost.
You don’t have a boyfriend.
Not listening.
Your stepfather-to-be prefers your cousin.

“Ridiculous!” I said out loud. My inner voice was sounding like the lament of a ten-year-old.

The woman ahead of me turned around. “Were you talking to me?”

Palamina. I would have recognized the patterned tights and the over-the-knee black boots anywhere.

I grinned. “I have the bad habit of muttering to myself and sometimes it gets louder than I expected.” I thrust my hand at her. “Hayley Snow. We met yesterday in the
Key Zest
office.”

“Of course I remember you,” she said, clasping my hand between both of hers and shaking it warmly. “I love your reviews. I’ve been reading over all of the back issues, and I think you bring a special zip to the magazine. Aside from that, I can tell you truly love to eat. Nothing worse than an anorectic food critic who picks at her meals.”

“I’m definitely not a picker,” I said, grinning and patting my belly, feeling my cheeks flush. “Thanks for the nice compliment. I’m glad you think I add a special zip, because, to be honest, Ava Faulkner wouldn’t always agree. In fact, she’d like to pull the zipper closed on my employment contract.”

“Ava doesn’t hold all the cards,” said Palamina. But her face had tightened, the warm, welcoming smile faded. “This place is amazing,” she said, pointing to a pair of flamingos who had waded out of the shadows of the pond. “Wally and Ava had some wonderful suggestions for visiting what they imagined might be my favorite things in this town. And they were spot-on. I’m going to see the Hemingway cats next.”

I clapped my hands. “Totally my number-one happy place on the island. I take the tour at least every couple
of months, because each of the guides adds his own twist to the Hemingway story. But sometimes I go just to sit with the cats. The cats are the best.”

We began to wander through the rest of the conservatory, Palamina exclaiming joyfully at each new species of butterfly. “I wonder how they get here.”

I shrugged and pointed out a pair of hummingbirds hanging over the flowers of a flashy red royal poinciana. “So it sounds like you’ve known Ava a long time. How did you meet her?”

“We were sorority sisters,” she said. “Seems like a lifetime ago. After graduation I stayed in New York, where I’ve been working on women’s magazines for the past ten years. And meanwhile Ava was smart enough to move to paradise.” She held out her arms, as if she meant the butterflies, the conservatory, the day, the island. She seemed to have fallen in love with Key West even more quickly than I had.

“I’m not convinced my colleague is bowled over by this opportunity,” Palamina continued, “but I love what you and the other staff have done with
Key Zest
so far.”

I made a snap decision: There was no advantage to being coy. “Unfortunately,” I said, “I suspect you’ll find that you have to choose between Ava and me.” I sighed. “Since she is the big boss, there’s not much of a contest.”

Palamina laughed, tossing her streaked mane back like the horse she was almost named after. “Don’t give up yet. I do know how to deal with her,” she said. “We worked together for years as copy editors and researchers and general magazine gofer slaves.”

I left Palamina meditating on a small metal bench in a recess of the conservatory. Glancing back, I saw two or three butterflies had landed on her multicolored hair
to check out the new territory. I felt a little better knowing that she admired my writing and my ideas, but I thought she underestimated the power of her former classmate’s wrath.

Back outside I stood on the sidewalk, blinking, adjusting to the tumult of tourists and the bright sunshine. I walked to the parking lot where I’d left my scooter and noticed a police car idling near the corner of United and Duval. The door swung open and Detective Bransford got out.

“Oh lord, what did I do now?” I asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said, cracking a grin. “I know I was a little rough on you yesterday,” he added gruffly.

I couldn’t see his eyes through his dark sunglasses but he still had a small grimace on his lips. I kind of enjoyed seeing him grovel. “You were.” I waited him out, letting him sweat.

“I’m under a lot of pressure to solve both the arson and the mysterious death,” he said. “You know as well as I do how much is going on in this town during the Christmas season. The Chamber of Commerce has made a huge push about the lighted boat parade and the Old Town harbor as a holiday destination. Christ, they’ve spent a small fortune on advertising, even placing posters in the New York City subway system. But I’m getting panicked phone calls from the bed-and-breakfasts in town that people are canceling because they’re spooked by the fire.”

He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “So, I’m sorry if I came on too strong.”

“I get it,” I said. “Okay—you’re under a lot of pressure. But I have nothing to do with any of this. I don’t have anything to add.”

“You don’t think you have anything to add,” he said
abruptly. “But you spent a full day and a half in Ms. Waugh’s kitchen before the events in question occurred. I suspect you may have seen something that you don’t realize that you saw.” He removed his glasses so I couldn’t avoid the fierce look in his eyes. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to review your experience during those days.”

“Now?” I asked.

“If you don’t mind,” he said. “If it’s not inconvenient.”

He couldn’t seem to help a little sarcastic inflection on the last word. I slid into the passenger’s side of his cruiser and he maneuvered the laptop computer protruding from under the dashboard out of my way.

“So, Ms. Waugh called you to come and observe her kitchen,” he began.

“No.” I shook my head. “Wally told me that my assignment was to do a piece on this new chef who was quite well-known in New York City. I was to write about the restaurant she was opening in Key West. It was only later that I learned that she had asked for me.” I paused for a moment, puzzled. “But how did the assignment come about in the first place?” I wondered aloud. “It couldn’t have been that Ava wanted the feature on Edel’s place. Ava definitely didn’t want me writing the piece. Maybe worth looking into that,” I told Bransford. “Maybe she hates her for some reason. Although, in my experience, she dislikes about eighty percent of the people she runs into.” I frowned. “But, on the other hand, my opinion is colored by the fact that I’m one of the people she can’t stand.” I stopped to draw a breath.

Already he was looking annoyed. “Okay, your boss didn’t want the feature. But you went over there, anyway.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “before you start assuming
I do whatever I want, no matter what the people in charge think.”

“That sounds about right,” he said.

I looked away, my hand on the door handle. “I have two bosses. Wally Beile is the editorial director. He’s the one who assigned me the piece.”

“Go on,” he said.

“So I went to the restaurant, as I was asked. Edel was preparing for what she called a soft opening. She showed me around and had me observe for a couple of hours and then fed me dinner, along with the rest of the staff. Spaghetti Bolognese,” I added, “in case you’re interested.” Which I doubted he was. He was not the kind of man to slow down and swoon over the subtle meld of pork and beef, tomatoes and milk and fresh basil, all simmered for hours. And then nestled on top of authentic Italian pasta and sprinkled with freshly grated Parmesan cheese. Or, I wondered, had she made the pasta herself right there in the restaurant? I remembered an incredible chewy texture and the way it had perfectly soaked up the sauce. But I hadn’t seen a pasta machine.

“Earth to Hayley,” said Bransford.

“Sorry. I was having a foodie moment.” I grinned. “So, then I learned that after Wally made the first contact, she asked for me specifically on account of the problems that she was having in her kitchen. I told you guys all of that. And the second day I visited was when she threw a fit over the change in cooking oil.”

“What kinds of reactions did you notice from the staff?” Bransford asked.

“They couldn’t get away from her fast enough,” I said. “She was scary, screaming at the top of her lungs. I mean, I understand why she was upset. A person could have died.”

Bransford broke in. “A person did die. In fact, it was her husband.”

“Her ex. But I know very little about that,” I said. “We did not discuss her personal life the two nights I was in her kitchen.”

“And you never saw him come by?”

“Never. I don’t even know what he looks like. I assumed he was still up north.” I pressed my hands to my cheeks. “That’s not quite it—I didn’t assume anything because his presence or absence didn’t cross my mind.”

“And you know nothing about their relationship.”

I squirmed. “We talked about it a little after the fire. And I did some reading. I’m sure you saw the Page Six article, too.”

Bransford studied me, his lips twitching. “Listen, we’ve had our disagreements, you and me. And I understand how you react if you think someone is trying to influence you. Truth is, you’re the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, how you flatter me,” I said, blinking my eyes like a debutante.

He did not smile. “But you really don’t know what you’ve gotten into this time. This is a ruthless woman. If she’s killed once and tried to hide it, she would do it again in a heartbeat. If she feels threatened. And you probably make her feel threatened. Because you are nosy and relentless,” he said, ending that speech with a sputter.

“Why, thank you,” I said. “What a lovely description.” I pushed open the car door and sprang out. “I know. I know. Don’t hesitate to call if I think of anything else.”

I rattled off his phone number, which I wished I could erase from my brain at the same time that I
eliminated Chad Lutz’s number from my memory. Then I poked my head back into the cruiser.

“And since you’ll probably hear this, anyway, you might as well hear it from me. Edel and her ex-mother-in-law are coming to my mother’s home for dinner tonight. My mother is fully in the loop. Whether Edel killed him or not, both she and Juan Carlos’s mother are desperately grieving. And for the record, I don’t believe she did kill him. I think she still loved him. I believe she was devastated by his infidelity.”

He shook his head, looking beyond annoyed. “Honest to god, you make me want to throttle you.”

“So unprofessional,” I said, gritting my teeth and smiling. Wondering how I could taunt him back. “Since our boundaries are loose today, anyway, would you like to come for dinner, too?” I slammed the door and stalked off to my scooter.

He rolled down his car window and called after me. “What time?”