Ellen McKenzie 04-Murder Half-Baked (18 page)

“W
hy are we going in the front door?”

“Because this is hot.”

Dan jabbed at Aunt Mary’s doorbell while trying to juggle the gingerbread. I’d found the recipe. I actually had all of the ingredients, including the cup of hot coffee that went in last, and
—
crossing my fingers I wouldn’t mess it up too badly
—
had gone to work. It looked and smelled wonderful. I’d wrapped the baking dish in a couple of dishtowels to keep it warm on the short trip over here. Evidently it was keeping Dan’s hands warm also. Perhaps a little too warm, judging from the way he passed the dish back and forth between them.

“Why did you come in the front door?” Aunt Mary stood in the doorway, effectively blocking our entry.

“Because my hands are burning off. Move. Please.”

She did. Dan hurried past her, on his way to the kitchen, to gain relief from the hot dish and most likely to get a beer.

She sniffed the air as Dan rushed by her. “Gingerbread?”

I nodded.

“My old recipe?”

I nodded again.
She smiled. “It would have been faster to go in the back door. It’s never locked.”

“I know. But it’s some kind of guy thing.” I slipped out of my coat and headed for the front hall closet.

“Like not asking for directions?”

“I think so.” I turned toward her and shrugged.

“Men.” She turned and followed Dan toward her old, warm, inviting kitchen. Generations of wonderful meals had come out of that room. I hoped that tonight, with a new generation cook, would be no exception.

Dan was leaning against the counter, top already off his beer bottle, talking to Neil, whose beer was half gone. Susannah was standing at the stove, hair damp around her forehead, looking lost. The gingerbread was on the kitchen table, still wrapped in the dishtowels.

“Is that pot roast I smell?” I headed for Aunt Mary’s bottom cupboard, pulled out a cooling rack, unwrapped the gingerbread, and pushed it to the back of the counter, hopefully out of harm’s way. “It smells wonderful.”

“So does that.” Neil walked over and
inhaled
deep
ly
. “I love gingerbread. This one is darker than my mom’s. Hers is sort of light brown.”

“It’s the coffee.” Aunt Mary was a little distracted. I could tell she was having a hard time not taking the potholder out of Susannah’s hand as she took the lid off of a large pot.

“How can you tell if these things are ready to mash?”

Aunt Mary shot me a glance that said, plainly, have you taught this child nothing? She got out a long
-
handled fork, handed it to Susannah who took it gingerly and proceeded to stab something in the pot. “It went in. Does that mean they’re done?”

It seemed a good time to leave. “Dan, how would you like to pour me a glass of wine?”
He looked at me, then back at Susannah, and smiled. He set his beer down and reached for the unopened red wine bottle s
i
tting on the drain
board.

“That’s for dinner. There’s an open bottle of white in the fridge.” Aunt Mary carefully inserted a fork into the potatoes and then handed it back to Susannah. “Feel that? They’re not done. Almost, but not quite. Check the green beans.”

Poor Susannah. She looked helpless. I could almost hear her, “Check them for what?” If I didn’t get out of there, I’d either burst out laughing or do what Aunt Mary so obviously wanted to do, push her away from the stove and do it all myself. Aunt Mary had more self-control. “I’ll be in the living room.” I fled.

Dan followed me. “Here.” He handed me a full glass with a questioning look.

I ignored the look but took the glass. “At least she’s trying.”

“Susannah’s doing real good.” Neil was right behind us. He eased his long body down on Aunt Mary’s overstuffed chair. Dan and I lowered ourselves onto the sofa. “She’s going to be a great cook, don’t you think?”

I thought it was one of the best examples of wishful thinking I’d ever heard, but it didn’t seem the time for a reality check.
“She couldn’t have a better teacher.”

Dan examined his beer thoughtfully. Before he could comment on Susannah’s kitchen skills, I decided to change the subject. “Have you heard the news about Marilee? She had a boy.”

“I heard,” Dan said. “So did Grady. We had to turn him loose this afternoon, but not before I made damn sure he knew about the restraining order. If he goes near that hospital, he’ll land right back in jail.”

“Who’s Marilee?
” asked Neil. “
Oh. Grady Wilcox’s wife?”

“Do you know Grady Wilcox?” I put my glass down on the coffee table and stared at Neil. They were about the same age, all of them. Neil and Grady could very well have gone to high school together. If Susannah had grown up here, she might have been one of Marilee’s classmates. No, Susannah would have been a year or so ahead, but in a school the size of ours, they probably would have known each other. How differently they had all turned out. Neil going to veterinary school, Susannah
to
Cal Poly, Grady spending most of his time in jail or trying to avoid going back there, and Marilee
—
the youngest of them
all—
now a mother.

“Grady’s not much good.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“He was a troublemaker all through high school, and I don’t think he’s changed. I heard he kicked his wife out when she got pregnant. Hard to party with a kid screaming in the other room. And that’s all he’s ever wanted to do
—
party and drink himself into oblivion and get high. I don’t remember the girl he married. I guess she was behind us a couple of years.”

“Probably. Poor Anne.”

Neil looked blank. “Who’s Anne?”

“Anne Kennedy.” That didn’t seem to clear things up.

“She runs Grace House.” Nothing.

“Never mind. Anyway, she stayed up all night with her. I don’t know if it was because Marilee’s family wasn’t around or
because
she
wanted to
mak
e
sure Grady didn’t
stage
an encore performance at the hospital.”

“We made sure of that.” Dan drained his beer.

“Do you want another?” Neil started up out of his chair.

“Thanks, no.” Dan looked at me and grinned. “I’ll wait and have a glass of that red wine with dinner. Ellen says red wine’s good for my arteries.”

Neil didn’t look as if he was buying that one but was too polite to say so.

“Speaking of Anne, did you get a chance to show her any houses?” Dan tightened his arm around me and gave me a little squeeze.

“I did better than that. We’re going to make an offer on one.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me which one.”

“It’s that big old blue house on Filbert. It’s really perfect. Now all I have to do is get the attorney to approve the offer and get it accepted. Next, I have to
convince
the city to give us a conditional use permit, and, of course, the house has to pass all the inspections. Because of
what it will be
use
d for
, it’s going to have to
meet a higher standard
than just a normal everyday sale. Oh, and
I need
the Grace House attorney to explain to me how we’re going to finance it.”

“Is that all?” He laughed. “You can do it. I have faith. Who’s the attorney?”

“Somebody named Butler.”

“Sam Butler?”

I nodded.

“He’s a good man. And a good attorney.”

Since Dan was in a position to know every attorney in town and pass firsthand judgment on them, his vote of confidence in Mr. Butler relieved a little of my anxiety. A little.

“Dinner.”

A
s we all trouped into the dining room
,
Susannah stood in the doorway to the living room looking hot, sweaty, proud, and a little anxious.

Dishes were passed and conversation came to a halt while gravy was poured, meat cut, and potatoes consumed.

“Wonderful,” Neil pronounced

Susannah beamed and everyone relaxed.

“Have you talked to Sam Butler?” Aunt Mary discreetly pushed a lump in her mashed potatoes aside and looked up at me.

“Yes, this afternoon. I faxed him the offer and have an appointment with him in the morning. If he approves and we can get all of the financing straightened out, I’ll
have
it signed and then present it tomorrow, if possible. As president of the board, you may be the one
who
has to sign, so don’t go anywhere without telling me. The listing agent is being really co-operative about all this, says the owner loves the idea that it will be the next Grace House. I think we’ll get it.”

“That will make Anne happy. She really wants that house.” Aunt Mary frowned. I held my breath. Had she just thought of another problem? No. Just another lump. She hid it in the gravy and looked up. “She had quite a day. And night.”

“Did something else happen besides the baby?” Dan tried to mash down a lump in his potatoes with his fork. It refused to give. He pushed it to one side, glanced at Susannah, then carefully tested the rest before taking a bite.

“You mean besides Leona trying to crash the labor room? The only person I can think of who had that many people wanting to witness a birth was Queen Victoria.”

“Your history’s a little shaky.” Aunt Mary washed down some pot roast with a sip of wine and put down her fork. “It was common practice for a queen to have onlookers. That way all of the court could certify that the baby was born alive and that the child presented to the world as the next in line for the throne was
the real deal
.” She looked as if she was about to continue her history lecture but I got there first.

“I wonder if the current Queen Elizabeth
put up with
a roomful when she had Prince Charles.”

“How disgusting,” Susannah said. Her fork was on her plate as well and she was eyeing her green beans with suspicion. They did look a little brown on the bottom.

Dan and Neil both looked uncomfortable at this very domestic turn in the conversation. I took pity on them and returned it to something they could handle. A fight. “There was some kind of spat at the bakery between Sal and Gina. Aunt Mary knows all about it.”

All heads turned toward her. She had just taken a sip of wine and wasn’t quite prepared so she swallowed too quickly. After a cough or two, she blotted her mouth with a napkin. “There’s not much to tell. Nothing unusual happened. Gina was late getting in, she took Leona home and made sure she was going to stay there, and then she and Sal got into it over how to get more customers. I guess Rose said something and Sal started to yell. Gina tried to defend Rose and Sal started yelling at her. Tried to fire her but
finally
backed down.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “Sal’s always yelling at someone about something. I don’t know how Rose has stood it all these years.”
After another sip of wine her expression changed. “Although Rose has been giving him reason lately. She seems
…
vague.”