Pudding Up With Murder Read online

  “Was it your brother’s idea to complain about Detective Grimaldi?” I asked.

  Prudence looked surprised. “Oh, you heard about that?” She sighed. “None of us was too thrilled with her at the time, but I mean, we had just seen my dad taken away in an ambulance. And here was this cop . . . and then we found out she was right to be suspicious, and that someone had actually poisoned Dad. Did you know that?”

  I nodded. Her eyes grew wet again. “It’s just unbelievable, really. And yes, Scott is the one who made trouble, although now Owen and I wish we had intervened. At least Owen is speaking to me again. After what Damen did, I was afraid he wouldn’t.”

  “Every family has its dysfunction,” Britt said, and I realized I knew nothing about her family, or Terry’s. They were just Britt and Terry to me.

  “I suppose,” Prue murmured. Then she looked at me. Her eyes were dark, like her hair; she was quite arresting, even with a tear-smudged face. “How do you know that cop, anyway?”

  “She’s actually the partner of the guy I’m dating. He used to be your next-door neighbor—Jay Parker.”

  Prudence smiled, and her face lit up. “Jay? Oh my gosh, we practically grew up together. What a nice bunch of guys all those Parker kids were. Although they were so destructive. Always breaking things—windows, furniture, cars. I don’t know how their mom put up with it. Those three were just constantly wrestling and punching one another, but usually good-naturedly. Emma was always so prim about it. She said they were like a bunch of zoo animals.”

  “Didn’t your sister date one of them?” I asked. Prudence and Britt raised their eyebrows at me, and I shrugged. “I thought I heard Jay say something about it.”

  “Oh yeah, she dated Tom Parker for her whole senior year. She was really in love, actually. Wow, that seems like so long ago.”

  “She seems to have found the perfect husband,” I said.

  “Yeah—too perfect for her, in a way.”

  “What do you mean?” Britt asked.

  “Just that Em takes him for granted. He’s this total package of a guy: handsome, smart, funny. A great provider. A genius, basically. Great with the kids. And yet Em always manages to gripe about him to me. I’m always afraid he’s going to get tired of her nagging and marry some young coed.”

  Britt shrugged her slim shoulders. “Emma is a great catch, too. She’s just less passionate than you are, Prue. You’re the artist, and Em’s the organizer. She likes things to be just so.”

  And yet Parker had told me that Emma had been quite passionate about Tom, back when they were both teenagers. “She has lovely children,” I said. “I had the pleasure of talking to them yesterday. They were petting my dog.”

  “You brought your dog, huh? I’ll bet Dad wanted that.” Prue looked close to tears again.

  “Yes. He did request it. He got a kick out of meeting Mick—that’s my Lab.”

  “Good. Good. I’m glad he had a nice last day, and that he didn’t see much of the drama that was going on in the backyard.”

  Britt broke a cracker in half and looked at it. “What drama, aside from Damen punching Owen?”

  Prue sniffed at that. “Do you know Damen has been texting me all day? Making his stupid apologies?”

  “He’s not a bad guy, all things considered,” Britt said. “He was really supportive at your gallery opening. So attentive and loving, and always willing to hold your purse when you were talking with buyers.”

  Prue’s face softened slightly. “Most of the time he’s great. Maybe the best guy I ever dated. But he has this temper that comes out at weird times, and then he ends up punching my brother at a family birthday party—what’s that all about?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Britt asked. She looked calm and detached, but I could sense that she was actually quite curious.

  “He said it was nothing—just a momentary burst of anger.”

  I held up a finger. “Peach happened to mention something to me yesterday, just in passing.”

  Both women, once again, looked surprised. “My little Peachie? Oh, the ears on that kid,” Prudence said, smiling. Then her smile wavered. “What did she say?”

  “That the man in leather had called your brother Owen a liar and your brother Scott a shyster. Although Peach said feister.”

  Britt giggled, but Prue’s eyes grew wide. “Oh my God,” she said. “That bastard! I don’t believe Damen. I said something to him in confidence, and now he’s started a family fight over it!”

  Neither Britt nor I said anything, since this seemed like a private matter, but Prudence clearly wanted to unload some stress. “I was talking with Damen the other night when we were—you know, in bed together, and sort of daydreaming about the future.”

  I did not know, but Britt nodded.

  “And we were saying we’d open a gallery somewhere, maybe in Colorado, because we’ve both lived there and we really like it. I said I didn’t know where we’d get the kind of capital we need, even though my paintings have given me a little nest egg. Damen said why not ask Dad for a loan. I told him we kids try not to talk money with Dad; it’s tacky, and we all agreed at one point that we could all wait for whatever legacies might be coming our way. We’re comfortable with our own careers—financially.”

  “Of course you are,” said Britt, pushing a plate of brownies toward Prue. The brownies looked store-bought, and I frowned at them.

  “So Damen said, ‘What about the slush fund?’ That’s a fund that Dad created once, when we were kids, and he said if one of us had a need or an emergency, we could apply to him for some money out of the slush fund, but that we had to earn it back with chores and kind acts and stuff. It was more of a teaching tool, really. But the fund really existed. Owen used it to get a cheap used car—that thing was a clunker, but he loved it. Emma tapped into it to take dance lessons at this exclusive studio, and Scotty used it to buy a couple really nice suits that he could interview in. And I got my first truly good art supplies out of that fund.”

  “So why not ask for money as an adult?” Britt asked.

  “Because at one point Scott convinced my dad that he should put that money into some sort of untouchable account that would draw interest. But—I guess I was just being snarky—I told Damen that I thought Scott did it just so that none of us could petition for Dad’s money. Even though that was the whole point of the slush fund. It was the money we could touch.”

  “Do you still think that was Scott’s motive?” Britt asked.

  “Sort of,” Prue said, and she sighed. “Scotty was always kind of a greedy little boy. I don’t know what drove him. Maybe he felt neglected by Dad. We all did, once in a while, although Dad would find weird ways to make it up to us. He wasn’t your average guy, but we loved him.” Her eyes grew wet again, and she dabbed at them with a napkin. Then she took one of Britt’s brownies.

  “So why does that make Owen a liar?” I asked. I had no right to question Prudence, but in her current state she didn’t seem to notice who asked the questions.

  “Initially Owen told us the slush fund was still available. We were kind of feeling him out one time, to see if that money was still there for us kids. And he and Scott know the most about Dad’s finances, because they were always giving him investment advice. Which Em and I thought was a way to just have more control and access. As you can see, we’re not the most loving siblings. Except when we are. It’s all so confusing.”

  “Of course,” Britt soothed.

  “But then it turned out Owen was lying and just covering for Scott, because he knew that Scott had advised that the slush fund be moved out of our reach. They’re both pains in the ass, but Owen is generally easier to take, which is why he had become Scott’s ambassador to the other siblings. He’s always smoothing the way for that red-haired shit.” She sent me an apologetic look. “Sorry. I guess this isn’t the time to be bashing my siblings.�
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  I said, “I have a sibling. We bash each other sometimes.” Then, because I was curious: “Did you all live in the house together, growing up?”

  “No, not always. When my mom and dad divorced, Em and I went with my mom, and we usually lived with her during the week. But we’d be with Dad and the new family on weekends, and sometimes for vacations. So there were times that we were all together for weeks. Looking back, it just feels like we spent our whole childhoods together. Of course Em and I were the oldest, so the boys were sort of like our little protégés. They were sweet when they were little. We still think of Cash as our little boy.”

  I thought of little Henry, my pseudo-nephew. He would probably always feel six years old to me, at least in terms of my affection. “You seem like a great sister,” I said.

  “Thanks.” Prue looked down at her hands. They were graceful, with long, slender fingers. “So you had already heard about the whole foul play thing and my dad?”

  “Parker told me, but only because he was explaining why he had to replace Maria.”

  She didn’t seem to care that I had been told the news. “It’s going to be in the paper anyway; the whole sordid story will be revealed for public consumption. So you actually saw my dad drink his—deadly brew. Right?”

  Her eyes were dry now, but sad, and she seemed to dread my answer and long for it at the same time.

  I hesitated. “Yes. Just a sip or two. He didn’t seem that conscious of it—more like an automatic gesture. I can’t imagine . . . I mean, I’ve actually met people who have done terrible things, but it’s still hard to picture it. That someone would take the time to hide a nut in that drink. To grind it up with murderous intentions.”

  Prudence shook her head. “It was good camouflage. We were all having those drinks. They were pretty good. Owen always likes to experiment, because he fancies himself some kind of trendy bartender, and those mojitos were popular. We kids talked later, and no one saw anyone take one in to Dad. But of course in retrospect, you realize you might have just been looking at the wrong thing. Like maybe while we focused on party things in the yard, someone was slipping right past our noses and moving right up the stairs to my dad.” She gave a watery sigh.

  “I’m really sorry for what happened. And I know Ellie is, too. She considered your dad a good friend.”

  Prue offered a little smile. “It’s funny, because my dad has been married so many times, but I sometimes thought he had a crush on Ellie Parker. She’s such a great lady, and pretty. Just classy, I guess is the word.”

  “I agree.”

  Now Prue got up, reluctantly, and lifted her purse. “Okay, I really have to go. Britt, thanks so much for listening. I know you have people coming, and yet you offered me your time. You’re the best.” She embraced Britt and gave her a kiss on the cheek. With their dark hair and stylish clothing, they both looked as if they had met at some expensive gallery instead of in Britt’s home.

  Prudence Cantwell turned to me. “Lilah, it was nice meeting you for real this time. Thanks for the nice things you said.”

  “Of course.”

  As Britt walked Prudence to the door, I heard Britt say, “And I’ll drop by to see that latest painting. I want to hang it in my main room.”

  They said some more good-byes, and then the door closed. A moment later Britt walked in with my casserole. “Lord, this smells good. You are the best, Lilah.”

  “Thanks.”

  Britt gave me a casual half hug and then tucked the dish on the back of her counter. “I’ll put things out in an hour or so.”

  “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

  “Not so fast. I saw that lovely reunion with Jay yesterday. Is it good to have him back?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You know, Terry and I really don’t know him all that well. We need you to bring him over so we can ply him with questions. Clearly he makes you happy.”

  I picked up one of her store-bought brownies and sniffed it. “I could make these for you, Britt,” I said disapprovingly.

  She feigned a guilty expression, and I laughed. “You know, you’re the second person today who’s said she wants to get together with Parker and me. My friend Jenny just called to tell me she’s engaged, and she wants us to have dinner, the two couples.”

  Something flashed across Britt’s face, and she turned away, pretending to fuss with things on the counter. “Oh, isn’t that nice. Have I ever met your friend Jenny?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll drag her to your next party. Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Life is beautiful.”

  I stood up and went to her, physically turning her back to face me. “Are things okay with you and Terry?”

  “Of course. I love Terry.”

  Something was wrong, but it was also clear she didn’t want to talk about it. I patted one of her manicured hands. “I’m just down the driveway if you ever need an ear.”

  “Thanks, Lilah. Sometime soon I’ll take you up on that.”

  “Okay. I’m going to leave before Mick starts feeling neglected. Can I possibly snip a few of your gorgeous cherry blossoms to put in vases?”

  “Of course! Aren’t they amazing? I can smell them from my open bedroom window at night. Aromatherapy for my dreams. Let me get some clippers and I’ll come with you.”

  We went outside together, and Britt snipped huge sheaves of flowers for me in her generous Britt way. She loved to share with people; I wondered if that was what made Terry notice her at the very start. I had no idea how they first met. I would ask Britt soon, I thought, as I waved and marched toward my own house.

  I unlocked my door with some difficulty and spent the next few moments filling vases, arranging flowers, and finding just the right spot for cherry blossom displays all over my little house. Mick looked up from his basket, mildly curious, but didn’t bother to get out.

  I pondered what Prudence Cantwell had said about her father, her siblings, Ellie Parker, her boyfriend. Today had been a day for talk of boyfriends, in fact: Jenny’s Ross, Prue’s Damen, Britt’s Terry, my Jay. Was it spring that made it seem that love was in the air?

  And, I realized in a sudden burst of knowledge, hadn’t it been talk of marriage that had made Britt suddenly seem so sad?

  CHAPTER SIX

  On Monday morning I got to work at Haven bright and early. I had come to love this little catering company, still called “one of the best in Chicagoland” by the critics who mattered. Esther and Jim Reynolds had hired me on at a difficult time in my life, and Haven had been true to its name for me. I got along well with my bosses and the various culinary students who came in and out doing apprenticeships. I had grown fond of the duo called Gabby and Nicole, both dark haired and wide-eyed and good at their jobs (and at gossiping when Jim and Esther weren’t around), but Nicole had gotten a job at Fair Lady, a new restaurant in the city, and now Gabby was paired with Will, a recruit from the Pine Haven Culinary Institute, and the two of them were endlessly entertaining, since they had started arguing on day one, and the sexual tension between them was clear to everyone but them.

  I walked through the door and past the big white counter to the working kitchen and its stainless steel countertops. Today we were prepping for an afternoon wedding shower. A Mrs. Remington was throwing the affair for her daughter, and she envisioned a grand dessert table, so we were planning to be elbow deep in sugary concoctions.

  Esther was on the phone; she waved to me and rolled her eyes. I began to get out ingredients for my first assignment: a chocolate cotillon. This many-layered chocolate cake was a French Christmas tradition, but Mrs. Remington had requested it specially for her party. I had assured Esther that I had made one before, although it had been a while.

  Gabby and Will were at another table, both of them looking weary and, in Will’s case, slightly hungover. I wasn’t old, but these two were at least
five years younger than I was, and their partying lifestyle made me feel ancient. Despite their bickering, they worked well together, and with impressive rapidity, which was why Esther and Jim were willing to put up with their drama. They were working on making a cupcake tray; Gabby was starting on apple cinnamon cakes with cream cheese, and Will was making Black Forest cupcakes with dark cream frosting and cherry shavings. While she stirred batter, she criticized him. “You could at least refrain from getting drunk the night before a big event,” she said.

  Will scratched his cheekbone with the back of one hand. He had tied back his longish blond hair so that nothing would get into his frosting, which he was making in a blender. “I wasn’t drunk—just having fun. You should try it sometime,” he said. “It might make you less uptight.”

  Gabby’s voice shot into another register. “I am not uptight,” she screeched. “I am professional, which is more than I can say for you!” She cracked an egg into her batter, and Will grinned at me.

  “Hi, Lilah,” he said. “How’s life?”

  “It’s fine,” I said, selecting some eggs from a carton. “I’m glad we’re getting an early start on this.”

  Esther finished her phone call and sighed. “Oh, that woman! She could not be more demanding. I feel like charging her extra.”

  I shrugged. “You should, if she’s making last-minute demands.”

  “No, she’s just anxious, so she keeps calling me to double-check food and deadlines and setup. That’s fine up to a point, but she’s actually taking me away from work that I’m doing for her!”

  I began to separate my eggs, holding the yolk in one side of the shell while I let the whites dribble out into my glass bowl. I saved the yolks in a separate container. When I had three whites I added a tablespoon of lemon juice and began beating them with some applied muscle.

  Esther started mixing dry ingredients for a pastry crust, and she sent me a wise look. “Did Jay get back? You look a bit less lovelorn today.”