Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery) (17 page)

“You’re known by the company you keep. And most murders involve drugs.”

Implying that Jennifer was involved in both drugs and murder? Therefore, she would be a bad wife for a politician, whereas Whitney would feel at home in the political arena, able to use innuendo like a weapon.

Were words the only weapons she’d used against Jennifer? Val would love to know where Whitney had been Friday night and last night. “I hope you’ve had a chance to enjoy some festival activities while you’re visiting the Grandsires. When did you arrive?”

“Late Friday. Penelope showed me around the town and the festival yesterday.”

Late Friday
wasn’t precise enough to tell Val if Whitney had been in Bayport early enough to see Payton with Jennifer and then to mistake Fawn for Jennifer. “Did you happen to go to the corn maze last night? I saw someone there who looked a little like you.”

“No, I was at the Grandsires’ bash last night. Payton had to leave because Jennifer had a panic attack in the maze. She’s a bit of a drama queen.”

Compared to the cool Whitney, almost anyone would look like a drama queen. “Was Penelope upset that he left the party early?”

“It wasn’t all that early. It must have been nearly ten when he went off. The party was winding down by then.”

Penelope Grandsire and her son would have been missed if they’d slipped away from the party earlier. Whitney could have left without attracting notice, but this detached woman with a superiority complex didn’t strike Val as someone who would lift a finger to harass a rival. On the other hand, unemotional people like her had been known to commit cold-blooded murder. And maybe Payton was the first thing Whitney had wanted in her life that money couldn’t buy.

Whitney checked the small screen on her bike. “One minute left in my workout. Payton is level-headed. He must realize that Jennifer will hold him back. Once this weekend’s over, he’ll ease out of that relationship.”

She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself.

* * *

Val arrived home at six fifteen. Her grandfather was in his favorite chair, a big grin on his face as he watched himself on the television.

He hit the pause button on his remote. “Hurry. You’re missing my interview.”

“I saw it live. You did a great job of putting the chef in his place.”

“They showed that interview earlier. This is the one after I got the people’s choice award.”

Val sank into the worn tweed sofa and put two throw pillows behind her. “I’m ready. Roll ’em.”

The same reporter who’d interviewed Granddad at his booth spoke into the microphone. “I’ve heard people rave about your winning dessert. Are you going to share the recipe for your chocolate fondue in an upcoming Codger Cook column?”

“I’m not planning on sharing my secret fondue recipe . . . at least not yet. It may go into the cookbook I’m putting together.”

Val stifled a groan. He’d mentioned this phantom publication previously, but this was the first time he’d put it out on the airwaves. “Your cookbook?”

“Shh.”

The reporter smiled. “When can we expect the cookbook to come out?”

“I don’t have a firm date yet.”

“Or even page one finished,” Val muttered.

The reporter took over the microphone. “I’m looking forward to the cookbook, so keep us posted. Now, on a less happy note, we understand that the young tourist who was strangled Friday night was staying at your house. Can you confirm that?”

“That’s a question for the Bayport Police Department. Like everyone else in this town, I offer my condolences to the victim’s family. We all hope the person responsible for this terrible crime is caught and brought to justice swiftly.”

“Absolutely. Congratulations again, Codger Cook, on your winning dessert. This is Kayla King reporting from the Bayport Tricentennial Festival.”

A middle-aged anchorman came on the screen. “Thank you, Kayla. We’ll bring you up to date on that murder investigation later in the program, but first, the weather.”

Granddad pressed the mute button on the TV remote.

“You’re getting to be a real media personality, Granddad. I can’t wait to try your winning fondue. Do you have any left over?” When he shook his head, she continued, “Then you’ll have to make it again.”

“I can’t. When I made the fondue on Friday, I followed a recipe and used up just about all the brandy. I thought we had another bottle of it, but we didn’t. There was plenty of similar stuff in the bar cabinet, so I grabbed a few bottles. People knew your grandmother liked liqueurs and brought them as gifts. I added a little of this and that until it tasted good.”

“A little of this and that? Did you write down what you added?”

“I was in too big a hurry. I left the bottles out, so I’d know which ones I used. Then when I wasn’t looking, your mother put them back in the cabinet.”

Val didn’t see that as an excuse not to make the fondue again. “The ones you used must be in the front.”

“They would have been if your mother didn’t rearrange the bottles and put them in alphabetical order.”

Val laughed. “You made the most delicious fondue the world has ever tasted, and you can’t duplicate it? Didn’t you just announce on TV that the recipe would be in a cookbook you’re writing? If you can’t even list the ingredients for one recipe, how are you going to write a cookbook?”

He grinned. “
We’re g
oing to put out a cookbook. Both our names will be on it.”

“Uh-uh. I’m planning a cookbook of my own, with just one name on the spine.” She held up her index finger. “And it’s not yours.”

“Did you ever win a cooking contest? No. Do you write a food column for a newspaper? No. You’re an unknown, just another woman writing another cookbook. I’m a brand.” He beat on his chest. “You can’t do it without me. I can’t do it without you. The book won’t be a hit unless we work together.”

She hated to admit he was right. The brand had more to do with the success of cookbooks than the recipes. But she couldn’t give up without a fight. “By work together, you mean I cook and write the recipes for the book, and you sign your name to it? Oh, that sounds fair.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll test some of your recipes. And you can use my title—
The Codger’s Cookbook
.”

“
The Conniver’s Cookbook
would be more accurate.” She glanced at the TV. “The weather report is over. Turn on the sound.”

The news anchor reported on a traffic accident that tied up Route 50 for several hours, with the footage showing bumper-to-bumper traffic.

The camera then focused on his female co-anchor. “Breaking news on the investigation into Friday night’s strangling death of a young woman. Chief Earl Yardley of the Bayport Police Department has told us the police expect to interview a person of interest in the case. No details about when or where that interview will occur. We now turn to other area news.”

Granddad muted the TV. “That’s not big news. You know, it’s a shame that Earl is tied up with this murder. We could have had him over to dinner while your mother was here. They haven’t seen each other in a long time.”

Val stopped slouching on the sofa. “I didn’t realize Mom and the chief knew each other well.”
Until yesterday.

“They were sweethearts in high school. Your grandmother and I hoped they would get married.”

Hmm. Gunnar might have been right about the mom-chief hug.
“Why didn’t they get married?”

“Your mother met your father and never looked back.” Granddad took off his bifocals. “With him in the navy, we knew she wouldn’t be living near us if she married him. That’s why we were rooting for Earl.”

“She didn’t listen to you, I guess.” So why should Mom expect Val to listen to her?

“We never pushed it with her. The more parents push, the more their children dig in. People have to marry who they want. It was her decision, and it turned out right.”

“How did the chief take it?”

“He got over it. Your mother and Earl were friends before they were sweethearts, and afterwards. He’d come over and spend time here when she was visiting us with you and your brother.”

“I remember. He used to bring me candy.” Former sweethearts would hug in a different way than old friends, but that didn’t mean they were current lovers. Val should have asked Granddad sooner about her mother and the chief, instead of letting Gunnar’s interpretation of a hug bother her. Something else Granddad had just said surprised her. “It’s hard to believe you didn’t tell Mom about your preference in boyfriends. You’re certainly vocal with me about your opposition to Gunnar.”

“There’s a big difference. Your mother had good taste in men, and you don’t. Anyway, Gunnar’s growing on me, though I’d rather you take up with that blond sheriff’s deputy. What’s his name again?”

“Roy Chesterfeld. I saw him today. He may be taking up with Bethany.”

“Guess you missed your chance.” Granddad wiped the lenses of his glasses on his sports shirt. “I figured, with your mother here, you’d ask Gunnar over this weekend. Everything okay between the two of you?”

Val shook her head. “Tony hugged me good-bye. Gunnar saw it and misinterpreted. I lost my temper.” She didn’t want to go into the details. “Where’s Mom?”

“I sent her to the supermarket to pick up a nice piece of beef. I’ve been going without red meat a long time because of you and your healthy recipes. I deserve to celebrate today, and she agreed.”

Oh, she agreed, did she?
It was her idea to put Granddad on a healthy diet. Now she was swooping in to save him from the diet she’d mandated.

Val stood up. “I’m going up to my room—no, I’m not. It’s still Mom’s room for another day. I’ll go sit on the porch.” She wanted privacy when she called Gunnar.

Granddad leaned back in his chair. “And I’m going to stay right here and rest my eyes.”

Val opened the front door and saw Jennifer and Sarina coming along the sidewalk. Jennifer toted two shopping bags from Main Street stores. Sarina started up the path to the porch as Val sat down in a wicker chair.

Jennifer held up the large bags. “I’ll put these in my trunk.” She kept walking toward her hatchback parked in front of the next-door neighbor’s house.

Sarina went inside the house.

Jennifer dropped her bags on the ground and pointed at her fender. “What’s
that?
”

Val sprinted across the lawn toward the hatchback. What had Jennifer seen behind her car? Maybe another coiled rope. “What are you looking at?”

“My tailpipe. There’s something orange in it.” Jennifer crouched, reached into the pipe, and pulled out a round fuzzy object. “Oh. A stuffed bird.” She stood up and brushed soot from the yellow-orange breast and the black wings.

Val recognized the bird. “It’s a Baltimore oriole.” The Maryland state bird made a good souvenir, but not for a tailpipe.

“It’s cute. Why would anybody put it in there?”

To stop up the exhaust pipe?
During a heavy snowstorm a few years ago, Val had heard warnings to clear snow away from the tailpipe or risk carbon monoxide seeping into the car. Hard to believe that a stuffed toy, a few inches in diameter, could cause the exhaust system to malfunction. But maybe it wasn’t the only thing in the tail pipe.

Val glanced at Jennifer’s keys. “May I use that flashlight on your key ring?”

Jennifer handed her the key ring.

Val leaned down, shined the LED light into the tailpipe and peered into the pipe. Five inches in, Val saw something black with a bit of red. The object conformed to the shape of the pipe, like the little oriole.
Another stuffed bird?

She stood up and brushed away a pebble that stuck to her bare knee. Kneeling on asphalt was no fun. “There’s something else in there.”

“Let me look.” Jennifer took back the flashlight and bent down. Wearing light yellow capris, she didn’t go as far as putting her knee on the ground. “It’s black. I can’t tell what it is.”

“I may be able to snag it.” To pull it out, Val would need something long and narrow. “I’ll go get a tool.”

She ran to the house and returned a minute later with a fondue fork.

Sarina joined her and Jennifer at the curb. “What’s happening?”

Jennifer held out her palm, cradling the Baltimore oriole. “This stuffed toy was in my tailpipe. It looks like something else is stuck in there too. Val’s going to fish it out.”

“Why bother?” Sarina said. “Just go to a garage and let a mechanic remove it.”

Jennifer frowned. “It might be dangerous to drive with something in the tailpipe. What do you think, Val?”

“I think I can get it out.” The trick would be to avoid pushing the object any further into the pipe. If Val didn’t succeed, Jennifer could call a garage and ask what to do.

Down on her knees again, Val guided the fork along the inner right side of the pipe until it was alongside the obstruction. She used the tines to maneuver the black object closer. Little by little, she worked it toward the end of the pipe until she could reach it with her fingers.

She pulled out a stuffed red-winged blackbird, about the same size as the Baltimore oriole Jennifer was holding. Did the tailpipe have more little birds in it? If it did, they’d be too far inside for Val to reach them with a fondue fork.

Sarina pointed at the blackbird. “That could be dangerous if it jammed up the pipe.”

Val had initially taken the chase in the maze and the rope left there as serious threats to Jennifer. The birds in the pipe looked more like a prank, a playful reminder of Hitchcock, but frightening after the other threats. “The Baltimore oriole was visible. Whoever put it in there wanted Jennifer to see it. If she’d driven away without noticing it, it probably would have fallen out after a few road bumps.”

Sarina folded her arms. “What about the other bird? It was farther in the pipe.”

Jennifer turned toward a black sedan that was slowing down. “Here comes Noah. Let’s ask him if I should worry about this.”

Noah dismissed Sarina’s concerns. “It’s not a hazard. The exhaust would blow out anything that light. If something was really wedged in there, the engine would overheat after a while and the car would stop.”

“You know that,” Sarina said, “but how many other people do? It’s a threat if someone intended to hurt you, Jennifer, whether or not the attempt could have succeeded.”

Noah pointed at the stuffed birds. “Those are a threat for another reason. Why would anyone buy toy birds to put in a tailpipe, when rags would do just as well? Because birds are intimidating, after everything else that happened this weekend. A rope, a pursuit in a cornfield, and birds—they’re all threats in Hitchcock movies.”

Jennifer gasped. “Now you’re scaring me. I’m going to call Payton and tell him what happened. He’ll know what I should do.” She opened her trunk and shoved her shopping bags in. She looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. We’d better get dressed for dinner. We have to leave in half an hour.”

“It’s not going take me half an hour,” Sarina said. “I’ll be on the window seat upstairs waiting for the two of you.”

After the wedding group went inside, Val rocked on the front porch glider. When had the birds gone into Jennifer’s tailpipe? Probably last night in the dark when there was little risk of being seen. Who had put them there and why? Noah, the Hitchcock fan, made the likeliest tailpipe stuffer. By talking up the Hitchcock connection, he’d frightened Jennifer about something that wasn’t in itself dangerous. Perhaps he’d hoped she would find the birds earlier today and leave town. Then he could protect her while her fiancé stayed behind partying. Noah might also have chased her in the maze with the same goal in mind—to get her away from Payton and give himself an opportunity to prove his devotion. Good luck with that. Val rated Noah’s chances against Payton as only slightly better than Tony’s chances against Gunnar—nearly zero.

Val turned her thoughts from the wedding group’s triangle to the one involving her. She’d chalked up Gunnar’s reaction to her hug with Tony as jealousy and a faulty reading of body language, but maybe it wasn’t so faulty after all. Gunnar had seen them hug the same way Mom and the chief had hugged. Two people powerfully attracted to each other in the past still felt that attraction, but wouldn’t act on it. Gunnar had picked up on the attraction correctly, but had no way to know the full history, what had gone on immediately before the hug and long before it.

Val took her cell phone from her pocket and called him. Maybe he didn’t go on duty as a zombie until sundown. She reached his voice mail.

“Hi, Gunnar. I was hoping we could talk before you turned into a zombie. If you’re already out scaring people, let’s talk tomorrow. Call me when you get a chance.”

She turned her phone to vibrate and went inside. In the hall she heard voices coming from the upstairs alcove.

Sarina’s words drifted down. “After that bird business, you have to go to the police.”

“I’m not doing that now,” Jennifer said. “We’re all having a relaxing dinner at the inn. Then I’m going home with Payton.”

“You
are?
”

Val was as surprised as Sarina sounded.

“Yes, I’m finally allowed to see the place,” Jennifer said. “When I told Payton about the birds stuffed in the tailpipe, he said someone is trying to hurt me and knows where I’m staying and what kind of car I drive. He didn’t want me here even one more night.”

“His mother is okay with your staying there now, though she wasn’t two days ago? What changed?”

“One of their guests left today, so she couldn’t say they don’t have room for me.”

“That’s great.” Sarina’s tone sounded more like sarcasm than enthusiasm. “What happens tomorrow?”

“Payton said he’d take my car to a mechanic to make sure it’s safe before I drive it back to Washington. I’m so excited about seeing the house. I’ve got to go pack.”

“Wait a minute, Jennifer. When are you going to tell the police that someone’s stalking you?”

Val felt a jolt of excitement. If someone was stalking Jennifer, why hadn’t she told the police already?

“I don’t have a stalker.” Jennifer sounded indignant.

“Telephone harassment qualifies as stalking. That includes text messages, like the one you got yesterday.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have to pack for tonight.”

A door slammed. Was Sarina wrong or was Jennifer in denial? She’d be crazy not to tell the police about a harassing message, especially after someone who resembled her was strangled. Val had known another woman who’d kept her suspicions of being stalked secret and failed to report vandalism to the police. And that woman had been murdered.

Val heard footsteps on the stairs and zipped into the hall bathroom. The creaking stairs allowed her to track the progress of the person coming down. She timed her exit from the room so that she’d “run into” whoever was descending to the main floor. It was Sarina.

“Hey, Sarina. Can I get you a drink? Coffee or tea?”
Or better yet, something that would loosen the tongue.
“How about a glass of wine?”

Sarina stood undecided on the bottom step, looking at Val intently as if contemplating painting her portrait. “Yes. A glass of wine sounds good. White or red, I don’t care. Why don’t you join me on the front porch?”

“Okay.” Val figured Sarina wanted something from her besides a glass of wine. No problem, as long as Sarina gave something in return—preferably her reasons for believing Jennifer had a stalker.

Val tiptoed past her grandfather snoring in his easy chair, went into the kitchen, and found a cold white wine in the refrigerator. She crept back with two glasses and a bottle of tongue-loosener.

On the porch, she poured the wine and sat in a wicker chair that matched the one Sarina was in. They clinked glasses.

“Thank you.” Sarina took a large gulp and stared straight ahead.

Up to Val to get the conversation ball rolling. “How did you and Jennifer get to know each other?”

“In college. I started at James Madison University, took a year off, and then transferred to Virginia Commonwealth. Transfer students have a hard time getting into campus life. Jennifer took me under her wing and introduced me to people. We were roommates and, after graduation, we both ended up in the Washington area and shared an apartment for a few years.”

“But not any more?”

“She left to live with a man she was seeing, a congressional staffer. By the time she figured out he had a wife and kid back in Kansas, I’d moved into an efficiency. I had no room for her.” Sarina took another large swallow of wine. “This time, she exercised due diligence before committing to a man. Payton’s a straight arrow, honest and scrupulous to a fault.”

Amazing how Sarina made virtues sound like defects. Val poured her more wine. “So Jennifer has found the perfect man and she’s planning the perfect wedding.”

“Exactly. That’s why it made no sense to me that she included a klutz like Fawn in the wedding party. You saw how she dropped strawberries in the fondue and onto the tablecloth. She would have tripped on her way down the aisle.”

Given a choice between Fawn and Sarina as wedding attendants, Val would have chosen the klutz over the crab. Jennifer had put up with both of them. Could Sarina have been jealous of Jennifer’s friendship with Fawn?

Val gave herself a mental shake to go back on track. She still hadn’t learned anything about the harassing text message. “I’m sorry that Jennifer’s weekend has turned into such a disaster. Hard to believe anything else could go wrong for her.”

“Something else did. She’s being threatened.” Sarina swirled the wine around the glass. “I can’t convince her to take it seriously and go to the police. Could you try to talk some sense into her? If you can’t, maybe you can go behind her back and speak to your friend, the chief.”

Val didn’t mind doing that, but she would get more information from Sarina by stalling than by giving in. “How is she threatened? Noah said a clogged tailpipe wasn’t dangerous. A neighborhood kid probably hid his sister’s favorite toys in the tailpipe. My brother did things like that to me.”

“I’d worry less if Jennifer found teddy bears in the tailpipe. As Noah said, the birds are intimidating because of the Hitchcock thing.” Sarina tossed down more wine.

Val put on her skeptical face. “With intimidation, the threats usually progress, starting with something minor and ending with a bang. Here, it’s the other way around. The murder came first, and the latest threat, if you can call it that, involves harmless toys. I can understand why Jennifer doesn’t feel she has to go to the police.”
Okay, Sarina, that’s your cue.

Sarina stared into her glass. “There’s another reason she should go to the police. Yesterday morning we were sitting on the window seat upstairs, waiting for Noah. Jennifer got a text message. She turned white when she read it, started heaving, and rushed to the bathroom. She left the phone behind.”

Val felt confident that Sarina had looked at the phone. “What did the message say?”

“I remember it word for word. ‘On a day in May, you got your way. Is this the day when you will pay?’”

Not exactly a threat, but certainly unnerving. “I understand why you’re worried. Do you know who sent it?”

“I tried replying to the text, but it bounced. An unknown number, probably from a disposable phone. When Jennifer came back from the bathroom, she said breakfast didn’t agree with her. I suggested it was the text message that upset her. She wouldn’t talk about it except to say that it made no sense.” Sarina downed her wine. “I want her to go to the police so they can follow up on it.”

“Don’t count on them to do anything. I had a friend in New York who reported harassing messages to the police. They told her to contact the phone company.” Val raised her glass to her mouth, but only wet her lips with the wine. She would save wine drinking for when she didn’t need a clear head. “The police would act on a specific threat, like
I’m going to kill you tonight
. They might be interested in the text Jennifer received if it would help them track down Fawn’s murderer. Do you have any idea what the text meant?”

Sarina added more wine to her glass. “No.”