Pudding Up With Murder Page 20

  “Hmm? Yes. Earlier that day we were chatting about—”

  “Don’t you realize that this gives someone a motive to shoot at you? Which someone actually did that same night?”

  “A motive? What do you mean? Cash doesn’t mind me talking to him that way. He knows that I’m his protective older sister.”

  I shook my head. “Not Cash, Prue. Not Cash, but his newfound sibling. The one he feels so protective of that he didn’t mention her to anyone else. You told us your father didn’t want to see her. She has a motive for murder, both of Cantwell and you. Cantwell because he didn’t like her and apparently wanted to keep her out of the family. And you because you wanted to stop Cash from giving her money. With you out of the picture, she might have more pull with Cash.”

  Prue’s face paled. “You think—you’re saying it could be this Amber? I can’t believe I didn’t—I thought she had just said something rude to Dad, the way kids do to adults sometimes. I didn’t even picture that kid as being— Oh wow. So my potential sibling is—”

  “Amber Warfield. The sister you didn’t know you had,” I said. “And the one who might think you tried to cheat her out of an inheritance.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When I got back home I called Jay Parker, who was not in the office. I waited for his message tone, then said, “Jay, I just spoke with Prudence Cantwell. She said Cash admitted to her that Amber was their sister and that he intended to give Amber half his inheritance. This gives Amber the best motive of all, so I hope you still have her in custody. Okay—bye.”

  I hung up, feeling at loose ends. Mick was looking at me with his “I’m bored” expression, so I popped a leash on him and we headed down the driveway. It was getting close to two o’clock, and I realized that despite my lunch I was still hungry. “Do you feel like a snack, Mick? Maybe we can stop in at the bakery?” We started our walk and I concentrated on Mick’s happy tail. My head was swimming with thoughts that made it hard to concentrate on just one thing.

  When Mick and I turned on Dickens Street, I was thinking of Britt’s amazing new ring, and the fact that she and Terry were going to get married. I smiled at this idea, but then my brain switched back to Prudence Cantwell and her shock at hearing about Amber. She had excused herself almost immediately, saying she needed to talk with her brother.

  What was it about the Cantwells, anyway? They were a regular family, in one respect, but in other ways they seemed so . . . odd. Even beautiful Prudence seemed different from the average person, but I couldn’t entirely put my finger on why.

  Crowding into my thoughts was my song of the day, the Carpenters’ “Top of the World,” which I had heard that morning at Haven. Esther liked to make playlists for her iPod and then use them as background music while we worked. Now Karen Carpenter’s beautiful contralto was in my head, reminding me of the way that love can lift a person to a high and wonderful place.

  Mick and I had reached the end of the block, so we crossed the street and started heading back in the other direction. I paused at the window of the local Laundromat, where people hung community notices and flyers. I liked to see the news of upcoming concerts and book signings, along with advertisements for babysitting and items for sale. I glanced to my left, where a laughing, chattering group of people was entering Cardelini’s, Angelo’s restaurant. He did a good lunchtime business. I felt a quick little twinge of regret at the thought that I would no longer do his show, which had been enjoyable. And, I realized, I was going to miss Angelo himself, who had proved to be much more fun as a friend than he had been as a lover.

  The group moved in, and someone else came out, pulling on a jacket. It took me a moment to realize that it was Jay Parker. He didn’t have the look of a detective on a mission; instead he had the satisfied expression of someone who had just eaten at Cardelini’s.

  Mick and I were on top of him in seconds. “Jay.”

  He turned, saw us, and smiled, but not before something flickered in his eyes. He had a secret. “Hey, babe.” He pulled me against him and kissed me. “Hey, Mick.”

  “What’s going on? You told me you weren’t free for lunch today.”

  “I wasn’t. I already had an appointment. Here.”

  Jealousy flared up in me, inappropriate and inevitable. “Oh? And who is it that dined with you here at Cardelini’s?”

  He paused, and I could see that he really didn’t want to tell me.

  “Jay? I think we recently agreed that we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other.” We had made this pact at Christmas, when we decided to commit to each other.

  “Lilah.” He blew out some air and looked around in his Jay Parker “I’m thinking” way. “Yes. We promised that. But I am worried that you’ll overreact.”

  “That I’ll overreact?” I yelled, proving his point.

  “I was invited here for lunch. I had a nice meal, and now I have to go back to work.”

  “Great. You left out the part about who invited you.”

  As if in response to this question, the door of Cardelini’s opened, jingling its little entry bell, and Angelo himself appeared with a green doggie bag. “Jay, I’m glad I caught you. This was left at our table, and I know you will want the leftovers. Chicken parmesan tastes even better with the warming.”

  He finally bothered to take note of Jay’s companion, and his face creased into a smile. “Lilah! So here we all are, eh?”

  I ignored him and turned back to Jay. “You had lunch with Angelo?”

  Parker looked ready to run away from us, back to his orderly cop life. “Angelo invited me, yes.”

  Angelo was still smiling, and I glared at him. “Why are you contacting Jay behind my back?”

  Unlike Jay, Angelo thrived in situations of confrontation—and we had experienced plenty. He seemed to find it exciting. He nodded now. “Yes, it was behind your back. I got his number from your cell phone and texted him, asking him to meet me.”

  My mouth dropped open.

  Angelo held up a hand. “Why, you will ask? Because you left the show. You are very good on the show, Lilah, and I thought perhaps you left to prove something to your Jay, so I invited him for a meal. So we talk, man-to-man.” He hit his chest, no less primal than a gorilla. “Do not be upset about it.”

  My mouth snapped shut, and I intensified my glare. “My boyfriend has a secret lunch with my former boyfriend to talk about me, and I shouldn’t get upset?”

  “No, you should not, because your boyfriend is a good man. He told me he didn’t want to come because he didn’t like me, eh? But he comes anyway, for your sake, to try to be my friend. And we have a nice lunch. So. This is why you should be happy. Both of us agree—we wish your happiness, and that is why you should come back, do the show, have a nice life with Jay.”

  Parker nodded. “I didn’t want you to quit the show, Lilah. I just—I felt jealous. I told you that. I would never stand between you and your career.”

  Angelo ran a hand through his curls. His red shirt was half unbuttoned; he looked like a male stripper wearing a white apron at his waist. “And I have told Jay an assurance. Assured him. That I will not be romantic toward you. I was a fool to lose you, because you are a good woman, and that is what I now advise my friend Jay. Not to let you go.”

  Parker’s blue eyes held a little spark of humor now. “And I don’t intend to, even though you look ready to push both of us off a cliff.”

  I shook my head. “This stupid little meeting wouldn’t have been necessary if you had just decided to trust me, Jay.”

  His expression hardened. “Or if you had chosen to mention that you quit your job because of me.”

  “I quit my job because I was willing to do anything to save our relationship.”

  “And that is why I met with Angelo.”

  Angelo did not find this insulting. He nodded in agreement and clapped a hand on Jay’s shoulder. �
�Jay is my friend now, and I am loyal to my friends. He is going to eat here often because he enjoyed my food, yes?”

  Parker’s face grew slightly lustful as he remembered his lunch. “I did.”

  “And I have given him my word that you and I, we are only professional colleagues. I have even told him about the conference in Las Vegas, and invited him to go as well. It would be good for you, so.”

  “Well, that’s nice that you two have just worked out every little detail of my life. Because if there’s anything I like better than being manipulated by one man, it’s being managed by two!”

  Angelo nodded his agreement, as though I had just said something positive, and Parker narrowed his eyes. “I have to get back to work. I really didn’t have time for this, but thank you again, Angelo. I enjoyed the food.” He turned and started walking away, then stalked back and took the doggie bag from Angelo before marching away again, clearly indignant.

  “Everyone enjoys the food,” Angelo said, his voice contented, as though we had all just shared a happy party together.

  “You are priceless,” I said. “And he has no right to be angry. I’m the one who gets to be angry!”

  Angelo chuckled. “Lilah, this I know about you. Anger is how you protect yourself from other feelings. Perhaps you should think about what those are.”

  I punched him in the arm. “Shut up, Angelo. Just shut up for once.”

  He was still smiling. The man was impenetrable. “So you will come back to the show, no?”

  “I—you—this—you—unbelievable, Angelo!”

  He shrugged. “We will talk later. Hello, Mick, my old friend.” He bent to scratch Mick on the head, then straightened and kissed my cheek. “Lilah mia, you have a good man there. Do not blame him. Blame me. I insisted that we meet.”

  “I do blame you, Angelo.”

  His laughter echoed down the street. “This is why you must stay on the show. You are sweet and funny. Please stay. I will check in with you later, when you are not glaring at me like some indignant and lovely bird.” He turned and went back into his restaurant.

  “Mick,” I said to my patient dog, “that was insulting on so many levels I don’t know where to begin.”

  Mick nodded, although not with as much enthusiasm as I would have wanted.

  When we resumed our walk, I realized that, in my anger, I had not thought to ask Parker if he’d gotten my message.

  • • •

  I RETURNED HOME and stewed for a while. Then I shook my head and began to make a list for the week’s cooking and deliveries. I was free today, but I had four casseroles to deliver in the next three days. I started jotting down ingredients that I needed and rooting through my cabinets and my fridge. I had all the ingredients for a lovely Greek casserole with feta and olives, so I began to prepare that, working quietly in the kitchen and allowing my anger to seep away as I became one with my task.

  When the phone rang I jumped, surprised out of my food reverie. I assumed it would be either Parker or Angelo, calling to apologize, or possibly to tell me why I was wrong, but it was just Wade Glenning, telling me my proofs were ready.

  “If you pick some out today, I can touch them up and have your prints and your CD ready by the weekend,” he said.

  I thought about this. I was not in the mood to give Parker anything, but I was also really eager to see the photos. In addition, this was the only afternoon that I really had free. “Sure,” I said. “That sounds good. Give me half an hour to finish something I’m working on, and then I would love to see them.”

  • • •

  WADE SHOWED UP on time, although without his little intern. “Where’s your friend? Stella, was it?”

  “Yeah,” he said, busy with his computer. “She had a class. But I don’t really need her for stuff like this—just for the photo sessions.”

  “Ah. Well, lay them on me.”

  He grinned. “One more second. Okay. Here we go.” He spun the computer around, and I studied the digital proof sheet.

  “Wow,” I said. “You really are good.” And he was; the pictures managed to bring out things about me that even I had never noticed before, like the largeness of my eyes and a particular white-gold tint to my hair. Then I grew suspicious. “Did you touch these up? I mean, did you change me?”

  “You didn’t need changing. Some people do, but you are photogenic.”

  I laughed. “And you are a good salesman. Hmm, let me see which ones I like best. In this one I’m glancing off to the side, which looks weird. And in this one I was clearly talking. I have a problem with that.”

  “I noticed,” said Wade Glenning with a wry expression.

  “But this one is nice. I just look happy, and sort of pretty.”

  “Don’t undersell yourself. You look great in all of them. And that is the last compliment I’m giving you today. I hate giving compliments as a general rule.”

  “Okay, okay. I appreciate the one I just got, then.” I returned to the proof sheet. I realized that I felt comfortable with Wade, in the same way that I did with Cam. I could understand why he and Cash Cantwell were friends. His low-key personality would be a good counterpoint to Cash’s outgoing, puppylike charm.

  “How many am I supposed to choose?”

  “A top five would be good. Then I’ll polish those up and get you some prints. But you can keep all of these proofs, as I said.”

  “I think I almost have them. Definitely number four and number seven. Also—yes, number ten. And then . . . fifteen. And I can’t decide between nineteen and twenty.”

  Wade turned the computer to look and said, “Twenty.”

  “Okay. Twenty it is. Did you get all those down?”

  He held up a little notebook. “Jotted them in here, but I’m also going to verify with you right now. Come around here to my side for a minute.”

  I leaned over his shoulder as he clicked through my choices. As I approved them one by one, he highlighted them. “Yes—oh, that one looks even nicer when you open up the screen like that. You’re so good at this, Wade! You should be famous or something.”

  He made a wry face and said, “I should be a lot of things.”

  “I guess that could be the mantra for us all,” I said. He nodded and made some notations on his computer. I stood up and stretched my arms. “Can I offer you anything to eat or drink? I’ve got some cake here that I brought home from Haven.”

  “I wouldn’t say no to a piece of cake.”

  “Great.” I went to my counter, comfortable in my role of food server, and dug out a chunk of Dobos torte that Esther had made as an experiment. She had not liked the results, but the rest of us thought it was delicious, and she had divvied it up among us.

  I cut a piece and fussed over the presentation, trying to choose the right color of plate. Behind me Wade was packing up his things. “Ouch,” he said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I just bonked my hand on the edge of the table. No big deal. Oh, shoot.” He stared at his pointer finger. “Do you have some ice, Lilah? I need to pack this before it swells up. Sometimes this happens when I hit it the wrong way. I busted a blood vessel.”

  “Oh, sure! Wow, that really is turning red. Hang on.” I ran to the freezer and dug into the ice bag, then found a plastic bag to seal it in. “Here you go. Press that right against there.”

  “Great, thanks.” He sat down and concentrated on his rapidly swelling finger, which had turned a weird shade of purple. It seemed familiar.

  I went back to the counter and chose a green plate for his torte. Then I recalled where I had seen the swollen finger before—Marcus Cantwell had suffered the same malady, and I had commented on it when the traitor Ellie left me alone in the room with him. What had I said to him? I was embarrassed to think of the way I had blathered on, nervous and babbling. I had told him it looked like Achenbach’s sy
ndrome, which my mother had inherited. Which I myself might be prone to one day, as might Cam.

  The knife in my hand clattered to the counter.

  “You okay?” Wade said.

  “Oh yeah. Just butterfingers.” I made a show of repairing the frosting on the cake so that Glenning wouldn’t see my shaking hands. Achenbach’s syndrome, as far as my mother and I had been able to determine, was relatively rare, and seemingly hereditary. Was it merely coincidence that Cantwell and Glenning had it?

  No, my brain told me. It wasn’t Amber who was Cantwell’s child—it was Wade. In an instant it all made sense. Cash and Amber had met with Cantwell, but what if they had asked him to consider accepting Wade as his son? And of course Wade had had access to Cantwell on the day of his death—he was the photographer! No one would have looked twice at Glenning, not even when he went into the house, because it would have seemed natural for him to go there. He was like the invisible man.

  I brought him his piece of cake and smiled. “Here you go. It’s delicious. Made by Esther, the owner of Haven.”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  “Is your hand okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.” Was it my imagination, or was he scrutinizing my face? “Are you okay?”

  “Oh yeah. I just made a little mess over here.” I went back to the counter and started rewrapping the torte. My phone lay nearby; I grabbed it, turned it on, then clicked messages and found Jay Parker’s face icon. I picked it up with the intention of writing a quick, terse message. I typed, Wade is with me and he killed Cantwell and clicked send, but a moment later Wade was looming over me.

  “What are you doing?” he said.

  I spun around. “Oh, nothing. Just sent a little love note to my boyfriend. Go enjoy your cake.”

  “Lilah, I’ve studied faces for a long time. You’re lying to me.”

  “What?” I said. It was perhaps the stupidest possible response, but in my sudden fear I didn’t even know what I was saying.