Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (10 page)

“My beautiful Sabrina. No, no. No joke. I’m going to stay here, in this charming small town, and make fabulous meals. I will also finish that lovely old house in a style befitting it. I must admit, I’m amazed Otto has started off so well, but with Mary to help me, we’ll do even better, much better. And, of course, the worthy Larry will be my right hand. Otto could not do without him and neither can I.”

I have never seen anyone look less thrilled at a prospect than the worthy Larry, unless it was someone whose stay on death row was about to end.

Sabrina didn’t look too thrilled either. “I don’t get it.” She came down another step. “You sold Tortelli’s, which you swore you would never do, and now you’re going to jump into another restaurant? Why?”

Frank looked a little uncomfortable but immediately covered it up with a smile. However, he ignored the question. “My first triumph will be the grand opening dinner. Otto has invited a small group of important people; people who can help make this restaurant, this bed and breakfast, truly world famous. Each dish must be perfect, and it will be, it will be.”

“He’s changed the whole menu,” Larry blurted out. We all whirled around to look at him. It was his first contribution since uttering “fate.” He glanced at Frank as though this was a personal affront.

Frank smiled benignly back. “It will be much better, you’ll see. And think of what you’ll learn.”

Larry didn’t look convinced. He looked caught between fury and despair. “Now we’ll have to change the wine menu. Nothing we picked out will do.” His eye twitched again, and he took another deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sabrina,” he went on, deliberately, “but the wines you delivered will have to go back. Frank has chosen two others of yours. Could you get someone to deliver them?” The “Frank” was emphasized a little, and the look he directed at him was not one of fondness. Why, I wondered. Frank seemed like fun. Opinionated, vain, but fun. He couldn’t be worse to work with than Otto. Could he? I hoped not. Poor Larry. Working with chefs, at least these two, seemed to leave him a nervous wreck.

Sabrina glared at Frank but softened it for Larry. “I’ll do it. The tasting room is closed, but the storage area’s open. I can still get to the case goods. I can’t do anything else, so I might as well. This afternoon? Get me a list of what you want and how much.”

“I’ll call you as soon as we get back.” Larry took another deep breath, and transferred his worried attention to me. That proprietary smile was back, the one that said we’d known each other before, and it was time to take up where we’d left off.

“Ellen, why don’t you come with Sabrina? I could show you what we’re doing.” He smiled that smile again. This was the first time I’d seen him without his chef’s hat, and I examined him more closely. His blond hair was a little thin on top; he was a little thin everywhere. A nice tan on his naturally pale face, light blue eyes framed by surprisingly dark lashes, a great improvement on the skinny, sunburned, awkward boy I barely remembered. He must remember me as a scared, flat-chested, awkward girl who had just graduated from braces to a retainer. So why did he keep looking at me like, like, he made me nervous. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t want to go with Sabrina. He’d called me several times, left messages that seemed to say we were old friends, maybe more. We weren’t. We’d shared a geometry class for several weeks, one movie, and a postcard, all when we were fifteen. That was it, and there wasn’t going to be any more now. I needed to say something to make that clear. I didn’t get the chance.

“What a nice idea,” piped up Aunt Mary. I could have kicked her. “Ellen can keep Sabrina company and see that beautiful old house at the same time. I’ve always loved that house.”

“It’s settled then,” Frank boomed. “We’ll see you girls later, and, Mary, don’t forget about tonight.”

With that little comment, Frank pushed Larry out the door, beamed at the cameras that still remained on my sidewalk, and headed for his car. Sabrina and I stood in the hallway, facing Aunt Mary.

“Tonight?” I asked. “What about tonight?”

“Watch out for him,” Sabrina warned. “He’s a, a, snake in wolf’s clothing.”

“You are mixing your metaphors,” Aunt Mary said serenely. “We’re having dinner. That’s all.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Why, my house, where else?”

“Your house,” Sabrina repeated. “And what time does Mr. Frank Tortelli plan on leaving?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” Aunt Mary blushed.

Chapter Nine

In its day, the old Adams mansion had been beautiful. It sat high above the street, sweeping lawns like green velvet skirts spread round it. A brick pathway gradually climbed toward the pillared front porch that ran the length of the house. The front door still held its original glass, as did the French doors that opened from rooms on either side of it, but the doors, and the shutters that flanked them, needed paint. White wicker rockers and low tables were scattered along the porch, waiting for cushions. Empty ceramic flowerpots sat beside them. Tree trimmers had cleaned out the dead branches from the ancient oak that guarded one side of the house, but a pile of leaves and twigs remained.

“If they’re going to be ready for guests by their grand opening dinner, they’d better hustle,” Sabrina said, juggling a full wine carton while she reached toward the crank doorbell.

“Uhmhp,” was all I managed. I had a wine carton also, and it was heavy.

The door flew open, revealing Larry wrapped in a white apron. “Oh,” he said, not moving out of the doorway. “Those look heavy. Maybe you should—Sabrina, you shouldn’t be lifting—Oh, Ellen, let me…”

“Move over, Larry,” Sabrina ordered. “Where do you want these?”

“The kitchen,” Larry said, pointing into the dim interior of the house. “That will be fine.”

Sabrina brushed past him, got to the staircase rising against the entryway wall, balanced her box on the handrail to get a better hold on it, and proceeded down the hall. I handed my box to Larry.

“Where’s the kitchen?” I asked him with artificial brightness.

“Oh,” he said again, staggering a little under the weight of the box. “Down here, follow me.”

The hall was long, narrow, and dim. I caught glimpses of rooms off each side of it, all in the disarray of redecoration.

The kitchen was a pleasant surprise. Large, sunny, gleaming with modern conveniences, it felt warm, friendly, and finished. A brick fireplace took up one end of the room, an indoor gas barbecue grill built in beside it. A long, narrow table, flanked by armless Windsor chairs, sat in front of it. The soft white cupboards on the other end of the room were interspersed with open shelves stacked with plates, bowls, glasses, and pitchers. The counters were a mixture of wood, marble, and Corian, with the largest chopping block I had ever seen in the middle of everything. Pots hung on a rack above it; knives, lots of knives, fit into slots on the side of it.

“Isn’t it great,” Larry breathed into my ear. “Otto designed it. He really was a genius.”

“Maybe he was,” I admitted, looking around.

“See.” Larry put the wine carton on the chopping block and pointed toward a huge stainless steel stove. “That is a Viking, it has six burners, a warming rack, and two ovens. The grill is here.” He pointed toward a monstrous stainless steel thing. “And this is the prep sink. The washing up sink is over there.”

“What’s that door?” Sabrina asked. She had set her own carton down on a counter and was also looking around, admiration obvious.

“Our pantry.” Larry threw the door open. “Storage for everything and, of course, wine racks.”

There were lots of wine racks, most of them full. I wondered why we had brought more but was distracted by Larry showing us the next marvel.

“Not only do we have a Sub-Zero refrigerator, but look at this!” He stood in front of a heavy stainless steel door with a lever handle. He pulled it up and the door slowly opened. “A walk-in freezer!”

Cold air filled the kitchen. I took a step closer and shivered.

“Go on in,” Larry insisted. He hit a switch on the wall by the door, letting a soft glow flow over the contents. Big enough for one person to step in and maybe turn around, the freezer had shelves on two sides, bins on the third, all filled with plastic containers or wrapped packages, neatly labeled. “We make our own sauces, soup bases, lots of things, then freeze them for later use. That wall is different kinds of meat.”

I’d seen enough and backed up, right into Sabrina. “Sorry.”

She didn’t seem to notice me, just continued to stare into the freezer. “Efficient, isn’t it.”

“Close the door,” I pleaded. “That thing is frosting up the whole kitchen.” I could see puffs of blue air floating around the up-to-now warm kitchen and shivered again.

Larry laughed, pushed the heavy door shut, and pulled down the lever, locking it in place. “Have you ever seen a better kitchen?” He waved proprietarily around. He had a silly grin on his face, like a proud father staring at his newborn through the nursery window.

I had to admit I hadn’t. My own kitchen, which I’d thought I’d made pretty modern with a new dishwasher, range, and refrigerator with automatic icemaker, suddenly seemed hopelessly old fashioned. On the other hand, I reassured myself, I had no intention of producing the quality, or quantity, of food for which this kitchen was designed.

“I want to show you something else.” Larry reached for my hand. It was a fumbling gesture, but he connected. I could feel his thumb run over the back of my hand, and the “just you and me, babe” smile was back. Involuntarily, I stepped back, taking my hand with me.

His face fell. “Oh,” he said, a stricken look on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, don’t think, oh.”

For a moment, I felt as embarrassed and flustered as Larry looked. I’d rejected him when all he’d—wait a minute. Of course I had. And he should be embarrassed. I was a happily engaged woman, and he had no reason to think—I hadn’t given him any reason to—this was ridiculous. He’d obviously gotten all this wrong, but that wasn’t my fault, and I wasn’t going to hold his hand, let alone let him stroke it. I turned a little, trying to think of something distracting to say.

Swinging doors at the other end of the kitchen stood open, and I walked quickly into a bright, sunny room that smelled of fresh paint and furniture polish.

“What’s this room?” was what I came up with. “Is this what you want me to see?”

There was a large bay window that looked over the side yard. A graceful serving cart, inlaid with mother of pearl, sat in the bay. On top of it was a fragile-looking china coffee server, beside it a number of tiny cups and saucers. They looked old and expensive. A round table sat in the middle of the room, surrounded by ladder-backed chairs with flowered cushions on their seats. A massive sideboard, empty of plates or serving pieces, stood along one wall; a graceful, and obviously old, lady’s writing table was placed against a far wall. An open laptop computer sat on it looking utilitarian and out of place.

“This is beautiful.” I walked around the room. “Are all these things real?”

“Do you mean, are they real antiques?” Larry laughed a little. “They are. Lovely, aren’t they?” Again that silly grin. He couldn’t have looked prouder if he’d owned the whole house and everything in it. “This is the morning room. When we start taking overnight guests, this is where we’ll serve breakfast. It’s almost finished. That,” he pointed through a doorway to a much larger room, “is the restaurant dining room. We’ll serve dinner three nights a week, and there will be only one seating. Each dinner will be something special.”

The dining room was huge and bare. Scuffed hardwood floors, chipped paint on the crown moldings and the French doors that led to the front porch, and red flocked wallpaper half stripped off the walls; it had a long way to go before it would be ready for company.

“This is where your grand opening dinner will be?” I asked. I hadn’t meant my tone to be so incredulous, but I couldn’t help it. This room needed everything.

Larry’s eye started to twitch, and the anxious expression returned. I winced, but he didn’t seem to notice. Only my implied criticism.

“We’ll be ready. You’ll see. You’re coming to the dinner, aren’t you?”

“No,” I said. “Somehow Otto overlooked inviting us. Besides, I had enough trouble dragging Dan to the winery dinner. I’d never get him to this one.”

“Actually,” Larry’s expression softened, but his eye still continued to twitch. He took a deep breath, then let it and all of his words out with a rush. “I wasn’t thinking about Dan. I thought you might like to come as my guest. Sort of be my hostess.”

His hostess? His date? I could feel my mouth drop open, but nothing came out.

“I’ve heard that you and Dan are engaged, but I don’t believe that. He’s not really your type at all. Not nearly sensitive enough. So, you might as well come.”

“What are you talking about?” I finally managed. “Dan and I certainly are engaged. And I fully intend to marry him.” Well, maybe. But what business was that of his? “And,” I said stiffly, “I wouldn’t consider going anywhere without him.”

“I’ll arrange it all with Frank.” He went on as if I hadn’t spoken, smiling that damned “you and me” smile. “It will make me so happy to have you come. Just like old times.”

I didn’t know what to say. Old times had never consisted of dinner, and new times weren’t going to either. I could feel my teeth grind. This was all Aunt Mary’s fault. If she hadn’t tricked me into coming with Sabrina I wouldn’t be in this fix. Now, how did I get out of it?

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of it.” Larry reached for my hand again. This time I wasn’t quick enough. He dragged me out into the hallway and started up the stairs.

Aunt Mary won’t live to see tomorrow, I vowed as I stumbled after him.

“This is the only finished room,” Larry said. He dropped my hand and stared through a partially opened door. He looked so sad that curiosity got the better of me. I pushed up against him to look in.

“Well,” I said after a minute, “the wallpaper’s pretty.”

The four-poster bed was not only unmade, it was strewn with clothes. The quilt was on the floor in a tangled heap. Spilled cosmetics, empty wineglasses, and what looked like the remains of a pizza littered the lovely cherrywood dresser. A filmy nightdress hung over the slipper chair, a bra was draped over a doorknob, and discarded panties, intertwined with a still damp bath towel, were on the floor just inside of the door where we stood.

“Jolene’s room,” Larry said unnecessarily. “She’s supposed to clean up after herself. We don’t have any staff yet, and she’s getting the room free.”

“Ah, yeah,” was all I could think to say. Poor Larry. It was going to take a lot to clean up that mess. No wonder his eye twitched.

He moved out of the doorway into the hall and, not knowing what else to do, I followed, but a question had formed. “Why was Otto letting Jolene have a free room? It sounded like they hated each other. Or that Otto hated her.”

Larry stopped and looked at me, eyes sad. “I think he wanted a glowing write-up in her magazine. It had been a while since he’d had a really good review.” He shook his head and started down the hall again. “Sad, sad.” I didn’t know if he meant Otto’s lack of reviews, his death, or that he had given Jolene a free room.

“I’m glad you’re coming to the dinner,” he said suddenly. He stopped again and stared at me for a second. I opened my mouth to tell him once more I wasn’t coming, but he interrupted me. “It really is going to be nice. Let me show you the other bedrooms.”

Larry smiled down at me. Any embarrassment he might have felt in the kitchen was gone. The “you and me babe” thing was back, and he seemed to be trying to add a little something extra. Some intimacy kind of thing that made the smile seem more like a leer. Uncomfortable is way too mild a word for the way it made me feel. I had no idea what he had in mind; actually, I was afraid I did, and being alone with him in a bedroom, even one with no furniture, was, I decided, not on my agenda. Too late. He threw open the next doorway.

“Hey!” a voice said. “Watch it!” I caught a quick glimpse of a man on a ladder, paintbrush in hand. Larry had narrowly missed him.

“Sorry.” Larry quickly closed the door. He retreated to the middle of the hall, looking indecisively at the other closed doors. “Those rooms will be finished by next week,” he finally said, moving down the hallway, “then we’ll have six bedrooms and four bathrooms ready for guests. Later, we plan to add three more bedrooms and two, maybe three bathrooms on the third floor. Have you seen this?”

It was another door. Dark wood, white porcelain knob, old-fashioned keyhole, it looked like all the rest.

Larry threw it open with a flourish. “The servants’ staircase.”

Dark, steep stairs descended, and another set went up. I reluctantly stepped on the landing and looked down. Being a servant in a Victorian home couldn’t have been much fun under any circumstances, but having to climb those stairs would have been downright painful.

“How interesting.” I could feel Larry’s breath on my neck. I had no intention of going down those stairs, but if I stepped back, I’d probably land right on Larry’s toes. Oh well.

I had started to shift my weight when something smashed onto the front porch, shaking the front of the house. The tinkle of pottery breaking followed.

“Shit!” said a voice.

Larry paled, turned, and ran down the hall, taking the front stairs two at a time.

Sabrina reached the hallway first and flung open the front door. The porch was filled with a huge roll of carpet, pieces of broken ceramic flowerpot, and a very bald, very angry man.

“I tripped on that,” he said, pointing to the pieces. “Could have killed myself. Could have wrecked the carpet. You shouldn’t leave stuff like that around.”