Authors: Leigh Selfman
Éclair Case of Murder: A Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Rosie Kale Culinary Cozy Mystery Book 2) (7 page)
When I got back home, I kissed Casey goodnight outside the guest house, then I went in alone so as not to disturb Laila. She’d fallen asleep on the couch with her cell phone still clutched in her hand, the TV blaring, and all the lights on.
I went around and quietly turned everything off, then I headed to my bedroom and grabbed my laptop off the nightstand.
When I got online, I found the website for the art gallery and navigated to the page featuring Violet Vane’s work. Thankfully it was just as I’d hoped; all the photos that had been on display in the gallery were also for sale on the website. I easily found the photo I was looking for and clicked on it to enlarge the image as much as possible.
The photo showed Violet standing in front of the window at the Wright’s house, one hand resting on the fireplace mantel. She was looking off towards the right, through a set of French windows. On the mantle behind her was a captain’s clock without numbers. There was a tall, iridescent vase sitting on the mantle as well—and above that, you could see the bottom of the painting that was hanging over the fireplace.
In the background, just beyond the fireplace, stood Chuck Wright, but he wasn’t looking at the camera at all. In fact, it looked like he might not even have been aware that Violet was taking a selfie.
I stared at the photo but I still had no idea what had been bugging me about it. I was just reaching out to close the website window, when my finger stopped in midair.
Of course…
I suddenly realized what had been disturbing me about the photo.
It was the painting hanging over the fireplace mantle. I stared at it closely and though I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, I thought it might have been the same painting that was hanging at the Wrights’ house the day I’d visited with the cupcakes: the large portrait of Helen Wright.
Mrs. Pond had told me that painting had only been delivered the day of the anniversary party—which meant that if this
was
the same painting, then Violet was lying about when this picture was taken; it couldn’t have been taken a year ago, it had to have been taken within the last few weeks.
The problem was, only part of the painting was visible in Violet’s photograph so I couldn’t be sure. I had to get back into the Wright house and find out for certain— and most importantly, I had to do it when Purple Streak was nowhere in sight. I didn’t want a confrontation like the one I’d had earlier.
“Omg wake up, wake up!”
I felt my bed bouncing and tried to ignore it but the bright light streaming in through the windows made its way through my closed eyelids and assaulted my eyes.
“Ow stop, what?” I said irritably. I leaned up on my elbows and blinked blurrily.
“I got it! I got the lead role!”
Laila was jumping on the bed, lifting Cupcake up in the air and dancing around with her. The cat reached out with her paw towards her face and Laila pretended to bite down on it. Then she put Cupcake down and plopped down at the end of my bed. “Did you hear what I said, Cuz? I got the lead role in the play!”
“That’s great,” I yawned. I wasn’t really surprised at the news since Laila seemed to get whatever she wanted. And to tell the truth, I was actually pretty happy for her.
I was happy for myself as well, since this acting gig would probably (hopefully) keep her busy and out of my hair for the next little while. But the thing was, I just wanted to feel my happiness later in the day— when I could focus my eyes a little better.
“We should go out and celebrate,” I suggested with another yawn. “Why don’t we have brunch at noon? We can invite Nana and Birdie to come too, since the bakery’s closed today.”
“Yes! That’ sounds great. I’ll go tell Nana!”
Laila hurried out of the room and a moment later I heard the front door slam, suggesting that she’d left the guest house in order to go to Gran’s condo.
“Finally, a little piece and quiet,” I whispered to Cupcake, who’d jumped up next to me on the bed. “She has way too much energy for first thing in the morning.”
Cupcake blinked lazily, as if in agreement, then she curled into my arms and we both tried to sneak in five more minutes of sleep.
But just as I was nodding off, my cell phone rang. It startled Cupcake who jumped up and tangled her paw in my hair.
“Ow, hello?”
“Darling, are you alright?”
I disentangled Cupcake’s paw and sat up, realizing that more sleep this morning was obviously out of the question—especially as it was Casey on the phone, calling to ask me to a charity ball on Friday. I stretched and told him I’d love to go, even though that meant that not only did I have to have my hair done but I also had to get a gown and lose 20 pounds, all in the next few days.
“Sure I’d love to,” I told Casey. “I’ll be there with bells on.”
I got out of bed and thought about going for a run in order to jump-start my crash diet, but then I remembered that I still had to shower and dress and get over to the Wright’s house before 8:00 AM. I figured if I got there early, it would lessen the odds of seeing Violet or Dr. Wright.
So unfortunately a run was out of the question—thank goodness.
I grabbed an éclair and headed out… I needed to keep my metabolism up after all.
Unfortunately, getting into the Wright house, without being seen by Violet was much harder than I thought it would be. She was always there! And if she wasn’t there, she was always coming or going at unpredictable times or at times that weren’t convenient for me—what with my bakery job, my writing job and my newest job of all: that of chauffeuring Laila to her rehearsals and her other play-related errands.
“So isn’t this fun, Cuz?” Laila asked as I drove her to the warehouse a few days later. “I really think this acting thing is for me. I’m really such a natural!”
“If I do say so myself,” I said, sarcastically.
She glanced at me then smiled. “Do you think so too? Oh, thank you!” she squeezed my hand, obviously touched. Then, as I parked the car, she flounced out, calling behind her. “Oh, could you get that box of props in the back seat? I promised Diane I’d be on time today!”
I rolled my eyes, about to tell Laila what to do with the box…when she added, “Oh by the way, Diane wanted to talk to you about having the Cozy Cat cater the event.”
I stopped and stared. Boy, Laila really knew how to get her way.
I reached into the back seat and grabbed the overstuffed box which was full of hats and fake guns along with some other things that Laila had wangled for free from a local costume shop. As I carried it in, some of the hats and a very real-looking plastic gun were about to fall out.
“Laila, could you help me,” I called out, but she’d already rushed inside without me.
Struggling to balance the box, I carefully bent down and retrieved the fallen items, and stuffed them in my tote bag, just to be safe. Then I brought it all inside and placed the box on one of the chairs. I was just taking everything out of my tote and piling it on the table, when I spotted Diane, talking on the phone. She saw me and smiled, and then hung up and came over.
“Hi, Rosie. Laila told you about the catering job?” she asked, grabbing a mini bottle of water of the snacks table and offering me one.
“No thanks,” I said. “Yeah, she mentioned it, but she didn’t say much else. What exactly were you interested in?”
“Well, I’ve heard your bakery does wonderful things with éclairs. Maybe an assortment of different flavors. And of course some cupcakes. And some cake balls. I’ll get back to you with the exact number of guests. It’s for the silent auction/cocktail party that we’re having after the play. Oh people are donating the most wonderful things. You’ll see when you come.”
“That sounds great,” I said. Then I frowned. “You know, I’d have to talk to Nana about it, but I’m guessing she’d love to donate the desserts. It’s for a great cause, after all.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” Diane gave me a big smile. “As you know, the proceeds are all going to the Women in Crisis Charity. We’re even having someone sing a special song after the play to honor Helen.”
“That’s lovely. I’m sure her family will appreciate it.”
Diane nodded. “Sammy’s still so broken up. And Chuck.” She shook her head, sadly. “I hope you’re not still thinking he had something to do with it.”
“I honestly don’t know,” I shrugged. “But my investigation has sort of stalled out right now anyway.”
“That’s good,” Diane said. “I’d hate for you to do anything to upset the family any more. Not at this time.”
I was about to respond when she looked at her watch and then glanced at the stage.
“Well let me know about the catering,” she said. And with that she turned to head back towards her waiting actors.
The next morning I was back in my car, across the street from the Wright’s house, waiting and determined. I was going to get inside today if it killed me.
First Chuck Wright’s car pulled out.
Then, twenty minutes later, Purple Streak drove off in her red jeep with Sammy Wright in the passenger seat. I didn’t know if they were leaving for the day or if she was just going to drop him somewhere and then return, so I knew I had to hurry. The last thing I wanted was another confrontation with that purple-streaked maniac.
I left my car where it was across the street and hurried up to the house to ring the doorbell. Mrs. Pond answered it almost immediately then stared at me for a moment as if trying to place who I was.
I smiled sweetly and said, “Hi, I’m Rosie Kale, I brought those cupcakes by last week.”
“Of course, how are you, Rosie?” she said with a smile. Though friendly, she appeared slightly puzzled by my presence.
“I was wondering if I could get that cupcake tray back,” I explained. “We could use it at the shop. Though if you already got rid of it, I understand.”
“No, of course not. We have it inside. Come in, come in.”
As she led the way through the family room and into the kitchen, I followed behind, pausing to look into the living room at the large painting of Helen that hung on the wall over the fireplace. I particularly looked at the lower half of it—the portion that was visible in Purple Streak’s photo.
To my untrained eye it appeared to be the same as in the photo: a sea of black fabric that made up the lower half of Helen’s dress, against a dark blue background.
Just to be sure, while Mrs. Pond’s back was turned, I quickly snapped a shot of the entire painting with my cell phone. Then I followed her into the kitchen.
“Ah here it is,” she said as she searched through one of the lower kitchen cabinets for the cupcake tray. She turned around with a pleased expression on her face and handed it to me. “Thank you again for bringing the cupcakes by. Everyone loved them.”
“I’m so glad to hear it. How are you all doing?”
“Holding up,” she sighed. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. It’s very hard on Sammy. He’ll be staying home instead of returning to boarding school for awhile.”
“I guess it’s important for him to be with his father at this time,” I said.
She nodded sadly. “Well, thank you again for the cupcakes.”
We both started walking back out towards the front door and as we passed the living room, I again let my eyes wander to the painting over the mantle.
“It’s such a striking painting,” I said, stopping to stare. I was hoping that my comment would be enough to elicit more information from her.
“Isn’t it though?” Mrs. Pond answered, looking sadly at the painting. “I’m just so glad Helen got to see it that evening before the party. It was so thoughtful of Chuck to have had it painted. Such a lovely gift.”
“It is,” I nodded. “I remember you said that he commissioned it for her, for their anniversary? And that it was only delivered the day of the anniversary party?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Pond said. “And believe you me, it was a close call. Helen had an appointment for “the works” at the spa at 10:30 that morning but she was running late. And I knew the painting was going to be delivered at 10:45 or so as well, so I was trying to hurry her out of the house, but she kept forgetting things. First she forgot her water bottle. Then she forgot her phone…”
“Must’ve been nerve-wracking for you,” I smiled.
“It was. It really was.” Mrs. Pond smiled to herself. “I finally I got her out of here at 10:27—by reminding her how upset Greta gets when she’s late.”
“Greta?”
“Her masseuse at the Blue Ocean Spa—believe it or not, she’s actually fired her clients who arrived late. Helen finally left not ten minutes before the painting arrived—thank goodness.”
“Wow, close call,” I said.
She nodded. “I had the men hang it up, then I quickly prepared the smoothie and put it in the fridge before I left. I had my own hair appointment to get to for the party that night, of course.”
“Of course.”
I nodded sympathetically but inside my nerves were all tingly, so I quickly said my goodbyes and hurried out to my car.
Once inside the car, I compared the photo I’d just taken at the Wright’s house to the photo on the art gallery website. To me, the bottom section of both of the paintings looked the same—both showed black folds of fabric against a blue background.
I smiled to myself, pretty sure I’d just uncovered Violet’s lie. It was now clear that Violet’s selfie couldn’t have been taken last year. It had to have been taken the day of the anniversary party or sometime thereafter.
If only there were some way to narrow it down…
I started the car and drove off, excited to tell Nana and Birdie what I’d learned, when it hit me.
Of course!
In Violet’s selfie, it was raining outside—and the only day in the last month that we’ve had any rain was the morning of the anniversary party. Which meant that the photo had been taken the same day.
All of which meant that Violet had been in the house with Chuck Wright after Mrs. Pond had left. After Mrs. Pond had already put the smoothie in the fridge.
Was Violet the one who crushed up Helen’s pills and added them into the smoothie? She could easily have dropped them into the blender, knowing that Helen would drink it down the next morning?
And if so, was Chuck in on it with her?
I forced myself to calm down as I thought about it again. After all, Violet’s visit to the house that day could have been perfectly innocent.
But in that case, why lie about it?
My guess was that Violet wanted Chuck for herself. And maybe she was willing to do anything in order to get him.
I doubted that the police even knew she’d been in the house that day. Or that they knew about her affair with Mr. Wright at all.
It certainly seemed like something I ought to tell them, as soon as possible.