Death With All the Trimmings: A Key West Food Critic Mystery (8 page)

If you want to become a great chef, you have to work with great chefs. If you are gonna be one, be one.

—
Dana Herbert

When all the women had teetered away from the luncheon and the Little White House grounds were restored to their pristine condition, I took off on my scooter for Houseboat Row. Mary Pat had clammed up completely for the remainder of our shift, as if she could sense my intense curiosity about her crushed dreams. She wasn’t about to tell me anything more about them.

I had an hour before I was due to don my elf costume and show up at the Bayview Park public tennis courts where the holiday parade route began. I planned to spend some of that time Googling Edel’s husband and Mary Pat Maloney. But before investing too much time in an Internet sinkhole search, I checked the
Key Zest
Web calendar to see what Wally had laid out for the next few weeks. I preferred to get a little ahead on my assignments by planning my restaurant meals and
drafting some of their history before I visited. Other than the Latitudes review, which I’d already submitted for editing, and the feature on Edel’s restaurant, which had been postponed indefinitely, there was nothing listed. For me, anyway.

Wally was assigned to write a piece on finding a great Christmas dinner in Key West if you weren’t cooking, as well as a story on art openings during the holiday season. Ava was doing a roundup of musical events in the month of December. Ava? Writing? Since when did she do anything for
Key Zest
aside from boss the rest of us around? Even
Danielle
was writing a piece on last-minute gift suggestions. Possibly the busiest time in our calendar across the whole year and I had zero assignments. Zilch, nothing, nada.

Pushing back a cloud of foreboding, I went to the deck to visit with Miss Gloria. Our home rocked gently in the wake of a large motorboat and a snatch of “The Holly and the Ivy” drifted from the boat’s radio. At home in New Jersey, at this time of day, it would have been dark already—and freezing. Miss G was stretched out on a chaise longue, a cat tucked under each arm, a pink fuzzy afghan over her legs. Wisps of white hair stuck out from the green-and-red elf hat on her head. From the next boat over, our four-legged, gray-furred neighbor yapped at me, but without much energy. Miss G put the newspaper down and grinned.

“Heaven, isn’t it? Even Schnootie is relaxing.”

“Heaven,” I agreed as I sank into the chair next to her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look glum.”

“I suppose I am.” Miss Gloria hated it when I treated her like a fragile old lady and held things back that might upset her. On the other hand, she wasn’t young. And, besides, whatever I told her would make its way
back to my mother sooner or later. Not that she intended to tell secrets, but she sometimes forgot that’s what they were.

I settled for this: “I’m worried about work. Worried about getting fired. Worried about the magazine getting bought out. Worried that Wally’s been too distracted by his mother’s illness to stay on top of everything. And worried about him, most of all—he seems tired and unhappy.”

Miss Gloria’s forehead wrinkled right up to her elf hat and she remained quiet for a minute. “Wally’s a smart man. But don’t underestimate the effects of cancer. Everything about it is hard—the diagnosis is terrifying, the treatments are arduous, and the process strains even the closest relationships. Not to mention destroying the feeling of invincibility most of us carry around before this nasty disease sweeps in. My sweet husband battled cancer for almost ten years until it finally got the best of him. I’m sure there were things that slipped through the cracks while our attention was on his sickness.”

Which made me feel terrible—sad for what she’d endured and sad for the loss of her husband. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I hate cancer!”

“Me, too. But they weren’t all bad times,” she said. Evinrude butted her hand and she stroked him until he purred. “It brought us closer together in some ways.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is he letting you in?”

“Excuse me?”

“Wally. Is he sharing his feelings?”

I shook my head. “Not really. But we haven’t had any time alone to speak of.”

“Everyone reacts differently,” she said. “I saw that during my husband’s treatments. Some people—men especially—don’t want to talk about any of it. But
holding it in can make the process so isolating.” Now she stroked Sparky’s head with one hand, and Evinrude’s with the other. “Just make sure you offer him the opportunity.”

“Thank you. You’re so smart,” I said, coming over to kiss her forehead, and then straightening the elf hat, which had slipped to a rakish angle, almost covering one of her eyes. “You look like you’re ready for the parade.”

She patted her hat and grinned. “Your mother and Sam are picking me up in a little while and we’ll watch it from the vacant lot in front of Bare Assets.” We both giggled, because the idea of watching a Christmas parade from the vantage point of a strip-club parking lot seemed so nutty.

I went back inside to my cabin to dress for the float. The costume fit a little more snugly than I’d expected, which should not have been a surprise, given than Danielle had done the ordering. With her deep experience on the bench as a bridesmaid, she’d assured me that one should always order a size down or risk an unflattering, baggy fit. I squeezed into the red-and-green tights, added an inch to the skirt’s waistband with the judicious use of a giant safety pin, and Velcroed the pointy, felt elf shoes over my red sneakers. Then I pulled on the hat—similar to the one Miss Gloria was wearing, only taller and with more bells—and jingled out to the deck. Schnootie began to bark furiously and flung herself to the end of her leash. She choked and sputtered and started to bark again.

Mr. Renhart, who had been sleeping in a hammock on their boat, struggled to sit up, finally tipping out of the sling and slamming onto the deck. “Shut up, damn dog!” he yelped.

Mrs. Renhart rushed out to check on the commotion.

“What’s the problem, silver beastie?” she asked as she scooped up the dog and buried her nose in her fur. “Did Daddy scare you?”

Mr. Renhart struggled to his feet, scowling, and stomped back indoors. Schnootie tried to wiggle out of her arms, still barking. Mrs. Renhart looked over at us.

“Schnootie,” she said, “it’s only Santa’s elves. Were you a good doggie this year? Mommy’s going to take you to the drag bar later to have your picture taken with Santa and those great big pretty ladies.” She cracked a huge smile. “That’s going to be our Christmas card photo this year.”

Miss Gloria burst out laughing. I bit my lip to keep from joining her, not wanting to hurt our neighbor’s feelings. But Schnootie posing with drag queens? I started to giggle.

“Anyway, so sorry about all the ruckus,” Mrs. Renhart said. “Schnootie didn’t recognize you in those outfits. She must have thought you were men. She doesn’t even like Mr. R., especially since he’s started growing that silly beard.” She ducked her chin at the door through which her outraged husband had retreated.

Schnootie wasn’t the only one with mixed feelings about Mr. Renhart. Still chuckling, Miss Gloria and I both removed our hats and the dog quieted immediately. Mrs. Renhart motioned good-bye with Schnootie’s paw and returned to her houseboat’s cabin.

“I’m off to Bayview Park,” I told Miss Gloria. “You’ll recognize our float when we go by—I suspect we’ll be the only elves dancing in a key lime pie.”

I drove the short blocks to the tennis courts, which were jammed with frolicking parade participants waiting to take their places. With the police presence prominent, the homeless fellows who often gathered in the park at night had settled elsewhere. As I found the
Key
Zest
float, the parade marshal blew a whistle and announced the start. I hopped into the back of the golf cart with Danielle and we headed out.

Wally glanced over his shoulder. “You ladies look adorable. If I were Santa, I’d be very happy with my staff.”

“You are Santa,” Danielle said with a laugh.

I tried to look and act lighthearted, stopping myself from asking the obvious question: Was he happy with us as his staff at the magazine, even though Ava obviously wasn’t? Now was not the time for a serious conversation.

For the next half hour, the parade lurched down Truman. We grabbed handfuls of candy from our burlap sacks and distributed them to the kids clustered on the sidewalks. When the action slowed, we danced to “Jingle Bell Rock” in front of the cart. In the parking lot of Bare Assets, I spotted Tony with a small group of homeless men, drinking beer and smoking.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Danielle and darted into the crowd.

Tony did a double take when he saw me. “Wow, nice duds,” he said.

I jingled my bells. “I guess you heard about the fire on the bight.” Of course he would have heard about it—everyone would. In the flickering red-and-green lights flashing on the Metropolitan Community Church float as it rumbled by, the expression on his face shifted from friendly to guarded.

He pulled on his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “We heard,” he said. “Cops have been all over us, wanting to know if we know the guy who died. Are any of the homeless guys missing? What did we see? What did we hear?” He jutted his chin out and then spat on the sidewalk behind me. “We don’t know. None
of us. People come and go in this town, and they don’t sign out on some damn master attendance list. None of us saw anything, either.” He dropped the burning cigarette and ground it into the pavement. “You working for them now?”

“The cops? Hardly,” I said. “Only trying to help a friend. And keep my job.” I sighed and turned away. No point in pressing any harder—he wasn’t in a sharing mood. His reaction did raise a question, though: Why were the police pressing the vagrants so hard? In my experience, it took a lot to piss Tony off. A man couldn’t afford to be too sensitive, living off the grid in Key West. I trotted back to the parade and hopped in the cart just as Wally took off again.

“Everything all right?” Danielle asked, a worried frown on her lips. “He didn’t look very happy with you. That face he made was scary.”

I shrugged. “We’re all under pressure right now.”

Wally slowed down the cart and looked over his shoulder. “I’m sorry about the scene in the office this morning. I know you two are concerned about the direction we’re going with the magazine. I’ll do everything I can to make this a win-win-win-win.”

Danielle grabbed for the seat back in front of us and screeched, “Watch out!” Wally jammed on the brakes, nearly missing smashing into the float just ahead—a flatbed truck loaded with kids and adults wearing flannel pajamas, gathered around a chimney and waiting for Santa. Then I spotted my mother with Miss Gloria, Sam, Cassie, and Joe. And right in the middle of all of them, Edel.

I hopped back off the cart, distributed a dozen candy canes, and waded through the crowd to my family. “You’re the cutest elf in the whole parade,” my mother said. “Come meet us for a drink at the Turtle Kraals
when you’re finished? I promised Sam steamed shrimp and grilled wings. And look who we picked up.” She tousled Edel’s hair as only a mother could get away with.

“See you there,” I said, and returned to our mini float. The parade lurched off Truman onto Duval Street, where the crowds were massive. Danielle and I took our sacks of candy and walked ahead of our cart. I waved and passed out candy and yelled “Merry Christmas” to the onlookers—feeling both part of something big and at the same time, part of nothing. Quicksand, that’s what my life felt like at this moment.

I reminded myself that many of these tourists would give their grandmother’s secret recipe for sugar cookies to be in my position, living in paradise. Something would work out with
Key Zest
—it just had to. And if my job was cut, I’d find something else to do. Even if it meant cleaning houses for a while, as I’d done when I first moved here. Wasn’t a little bit of hard labor supposed to be good for the soul? That’s what my father used to say when he told me to take out the garbage. And if things didn’t work out with Wally, well, there were other men in the world. Lots of them. Maybe not as sweet and cute, but my mother would jump on that challenge like white on rice.

We made our final turn onto Eaton Street and Wally pulled the cart over to the curb. As Danielle and I packed the candy away and gathered our belongings, Ava and her two investors materialized beside our float. “I’d like to take our guests out for a bite. Can you come?” she asked Wally, not even looking at Danielle and me.

He squinted uncomfortably and fumbled for the right words. “Can you make room for Hayley and Danielle?”

I cut him off, forcing a big, regretful smile before Ava could say she’d make room for us at her table when hell froze over. “I’d so love to join you, but I’m meeting my family for a drink in a few minutes.”

“And I,” said Danielle as she twirled her cap and swiveled her hips, “have a date.”

“Settled, then,” said Ava to Wally. “I’ll text you about where we are.”

The three of us watched her go.

“She’s the rudest person I’ve ever met,” said Danielle. “She was probably a mean girl in junior high school—and a cheerleader. The kind of girl who invited other cool kids to her birthday party right in front of the dorks and geeks. And her parents probably let the kids drink in their basement when they were in high school. And the girls went to third base and ruined their reputations, and she’s spent the past fifteen years trying to prove she really is worth something more than a quick poke in the cellar.”

Wally looked stunned.

“Thank you, Dr. Danielle,” I said with a snicker. “You’ve nailed her psyche. We should remember that it’s not about us; it’s about her insecurity. Do you want help putting the cart away?” I asked Wally.

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll park over by the harbor and then drive back to New Town when we’re finished.” He shrugged apologetically. “She is rude. And ordinarily I would have told her to invite all of us or stick it. But I’m afraid to leave her alone with those people. You know what they say. . . .”