Pudding Up With Murder Page 8

  I snorted my indignation and checked my egg white mixture for stiffness. It made nice peaks; I started adding in some sugar. “He is back, thank you.”

  “That’s good. Are you happy?” She was cutting some softened butter into her flour mixture.

  I turned away to preheat one of the ovens, then turned back. “Of course.” I noticed that Will and Gabby had stopped their quiet arguing to look at me. Both had met Jay Parker just once, when he picked me up at Haven on a cold day in January because my car wouldn’t start. They had been a bit starstruck ever since; Parker had come straight from work and still looked coplike and official, and Will had spied the gun under my boyfriend’s suit jacket when the latter had hugged me.

  “He’s so hot,” Gabby said. “I would go out with that guy in a second. You’re lucky, Lilah. You don’t find guys like him very often.”

  I saw a flash of annoyance on Will’s face. He added some vanilla extract to his frosting with a moody flick of the bottle. “You do if you look in the right places,” he said.

  “Oh, and I suppose you know of an island of noble men somewhere,” Gabby said, without any particular regard for logic. Her dark eyes flashed at Will.

  He smirked at this, then looked at me. “So what’s his title now? Did he get, like, promoted at this training thing?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ll have to ask him. He’s not very forthcoming about cop stuff. He likes to keep work at work.”

  “I can relate to that,” said Will with feeling. For some reason this seemed to hurt Gabby’s feelings. She turned away from Will with a swoosh of her long brown ponytail and gave elaborate attention to the slicing of an apple.

  Esther smiled down at her dough. “You’ll have to ask Jay to stop by sometime to say hello. Jim and I haven’t seen him in quite a while.”

  As if hearing his name, Esther’s husband, Jim, walked in, looking serene as ever and holding a tray of fruit that he needed to peel and slice for Esther’s pastries. “Hey, everyone,” he said. “Happy spring.”

  “Hey, Jim.” I turned back to Esther. “Jay is investigating another murder. And once again, I happened to be around when it occurred.”

  The whole room went silent, and four pairs of eyes focused on me with the special intensity that people reserve for crime. Esther’s hands went still. “How is that even possible?”

  I sighed and explained it to them. Ellie’s invitation, meeting Cantwell with Mick, thinking Cantwell was odd, noting that he was drinking something. “I—Ellie had made a rice pudding casserole, and Cantwell fell right into it, unconscious.”

  “Oh my,” Esther said. “That must have been dreadful. Are you all right, Lilah?”

  “Yes. Cantwell has five children, and they’re all pretty miserable. Although I assume they will all be much wealthier soon. He was rumored to be quite well-off.”

  Will pushed his blender aside. “Why do I know that name? It sounds familiar. Do you mean someone killed this old dude for his money?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know; that’s for Jay to find out. I’m still having trouble getting past the idea that someone killed him.”

  He pulled out some muffin tin liners and began to tuck them into a pan. “But it’s so cool that your man is always on the job, finding these killers. That’s got to be a turn-on.” He said it with enthusiasm, as though he was talking about some adventure movie he’d seen.

  My face grew hot as I folded the yolks in with my stiffened egg whites. “Anyway, Jay’s going to be busy, as always.” I kept my eyes on my work.

  Esther’s voice was comforting and maternal when she said, “He’ll find time for you, Lilah. You two have such an elaborate history, don’t you? I can tell how devoted he is.”

  Will snapped his fingers. “I know! I went to high school with a kid named Cantwell. Cash Cantwell.”

  Now I was looking at Will. “That’s his youngest son.”

  He sighed with what seemed to be real sympathy. “Oh wow. Cash was a good kid. Always smiling and friendly to everyone.”

  “Yes, I got that impression of him, too. He seems irrepressible.”

  “Big word,” Will said.

  Gabby had been trying to give Will the silent treatment, but now she leaned in. “Did you hang out with him in high school?”

  Will shrugged. “Not really. We had a couple classes together, so we would—just kind of tell jokes and stuff. I should have kept in touch with him, actually. He always made me laugh. I think he wrote something funny in my yearbook.”

  We were all quiet for a while as we focused on our tasks. I measured some sugar and cocoa, then poured it into a sieve. I shook the sieve with my left hand while I folded in the cocoa mixture with my right. When I finished, I cleaned the sieve, grabbed a baking tray, and lined it with baker’s parchment. I spread my chocolate mixture on it, then slid the whole thing carefully into the preheated oven, setting a timer for twelve minutes.

  Esther and Jim were watching me and pretending not to as their hands worked efficiently. Esther finished her pastry dough and put it into a second oven; there were four in the Haven kitchen. As I worked, I drifted into thoughts of my own, and my brain was not interested in contemplating the murder of Marcus Cantwell. I was thinking instead of Jay Parker and the pictures he had showed me on his phone. He had enjoyed looking at them, he told me, while he was in New York. An idea occurred to me, and I smiled as I sought bottles of cognac and espresso among the many bottles in Haven’s cabinet. I would be mixing them with chocolate in Esther’s new bain-marie.

  Jim was studying the bottles in my hand. “That cognac looks low, Lilah. When you’re finished, write it on the shopping list, okay?”

  “Sure.” I had remembered that the photographer at the Cantwell party had given me his card. I had felt rather sorry for him at the time, since what could have been a great networking opportunity had ended with him having to leave early. What if I hired him to take some pictures of me—romantic pictures—that I could give to Parker as a gift?

  I liked the idea. Jim, slicing pears into thin, delicate strips, smiled at me. “Your face just brightened, like the sun came out from behind a cloud.”

  “You guys need to stop watching me like I’m a television. Watch them.” I pointed at Will and Gabby, who were arguing again. Will leaned in toward her, his face close to hers while he told her how wrong she was about something. She pointed back at him, touching his arm with her other hand for emphasis. We had already endured a month of this, and still they seemed blind to their mutual attraction. Someday soon I was just going to tell them.

  I unwrapped bars of dark, bittersweet, and milk chocolate and began chopping them into rough pieces. I remembered something Parker had told me, just after Christmas, when I made him a special chocolate dessert to bring to work. “You’re like a sugar goddess,” he had joked as he stood beside me. “Or just a goddess,” he’d added, kissing my neck. Parker had become more elaborate with his romantic dialogue in the months since we’d met. Surely that was a good sign?

  By the time we left for our event four hours later, laden with delicious and sweet-smelling concoctions, I had already left a message for the photographer, Wade Glenning, asking him to call me back about an appointment. I trusted that he would be a good choice, since the Cantwells had hired him, but more importantly because Cash had vouched for him, and that was a tribute to the undeniable charisma of Cassius Cantwell.

  • • •

  ON MY WAY home from work I stopped at our local bookstore, the Book Tree. It was an amazing place with a handcrafted oak tree in the center of the store, with actual shelves built into its faux wood trunk. Myriad paper leaves glimmered under the ceiling lights on carefully constructed branches. I knew that Parker would be busy for long periods of time until he found his poisoner, so I figured some reading would be a good distraction.

  I was hovering between the mystery and the romance sect
ions, trying to decide what I was in the mood for, when I heard a familiar voice. I moved down the aisle until I reached the children’s section, a beautiful area underneath one of the branches of the tree, where the leaves dangled downward for children to touch with their curious fingers and the walls were painted with a whole forest of oaks, and little wooden benches were made to look like roots growing out of the ground. On one of these benches sat Cash Cantwell with Peach on his lap. Today Peach wore tiny blue jeans and a blue T-shirt with a picture of a kitten on it. Cash wore jeans and a T-shirt, as well, but his shirt said Led Zeppelin.

  “Hello,” I said.

  Peach waved, her face bright with the drama of our unexpected meeting. “I know you,” she called in her tiny voice.

  Cash pointed at me. “Hey. Lilah, right?”

  “Yes. How are you doing, Cash? I was so sorry to hear about your dad.”

  “I’m doing okay. I’m spending some time with my little friend Peach while Emma makes some arrangements. She’s good at that kind of thing, so taking Peach off her hands was the least I could do. The other two will get picked up by their dad when school is out.” He looked at his watch. “Which is right around now. But Peach had a half day, so Uncle Cash came to get her, and she said she wanted to get a new Miss Moxie.”

  “Uncle Cash said I can have one to keep, not just a li-berry version,” Peach said proudly.

  “That’s great. I think I might like to get a Miss Moxie book, too.”

  “You should,” Peach said. Her tiny face was suddenly quite dignified. “They’re very good books.”

  Cash grinned at her. He looked the same, except for some redness around his eyes, as though he hadn’t slept well. “Go pick out another one, if you want, but we have to go soon, Queen Peach.”

  Peach giggled and jumped down, running off to the forestland of books to make her final choice.

  Cash stood up, still holding the book they had been reading. On the front I saw a cartoon fox in a blue dress, holding a magnifying glass. The book was called Miss Moxie and the Missing Moose.

  “I hope this is a good distraction for you,” I said.

  “It is, actually. Peach is a day-brightener.” He looked thoughtful, and for once he wasn’t smiling. “I was reading over Julius Caesar last night, thinking back on why my dad wanted to name me Cassius at all. He told me once that Cassius betrayed Caesar, but he did it for a cause he believed in. And he was brave; he went out into a storm and bared his chest, daring the lightning to hit him. That was what my dad remembered about his character.”

  “It’s a great name. I guess our names are the first and last gifts our parents give us.”

  Cash studied my face. “That’s pretty profound. You know what I forgot? That Cassius died on his birthday. He took his own life, but he realized before he did it that it was the day he was born. My dad ended up dying on his birthday, too. Funny how life is.”

  I was speechless for a moment in the face of Cash’s grief. Then I said, “Cash, Jay is really upset about this. He’s not going to rest until he finds out who did this to your dad.”

  Cash nodded. “Jay is great. He called me this morning and said he’ll be stopping by soon. I guess he started the day at Scott’s house.” He grinned at me. “I think Scott is a suspect.”

  “Do you suspect him?”

  “Nah. He’s my brother. He’s kind of an asshole, but he wouldn’t kill our dad. He loved Dad, like we all did. But he was a jerk on that last day, so I’m kind of glad Jay is going to give him the business. He deserves that. Let him be interrogated for a change. He’s always interrogating people himself.”

  Peach returned, holding a little pile of books, and Cash tried not to laugh. “I said one, Peach.”

  “These is all connected,” Peach said, shrugging her tiny shoulders.

  Cash took the pile and flicked through them. “Are you sure you don’t have any of these at home?”

  She shook her head. “No. I only have ten.”

  “How many are there?” I asked, shocked.

  Cash gave me a shrewd look. “This writer, Emily Payne, has got to be rich. I think she’s on number sixty-five. You would think Miss Moxie would be a hundred years old, but she’s still the same age, solving a mystery about every five seconds.”

  Peach nodded, pleased.

  Her uncle Cash sighed. “I guess it’s never a waste of money if you’re spending it on books, right? Especially books for a smart little girl who’s going to be president.”

  Peach giggled. “I will be, but also a princess.”

  “You’ll be the first princess president,” said Cash, his face serious, and I fell a little bit in love with him.

  He kissed Peach on the top of her wheat-colored hair and then looked at his watch. “We’d better go. Emma will be getting home, and I want to find out all the funeral stuff.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Take care, Cash.”

  “You, too. I’m sure I’ll see you around, since you know the Parkers.”

  “Good-bye, Peach,” I said, shaking her little hand. “Enjoy the Miss Moxie books.”

  She nodded and waved, and she and Cash made their way to the checkout counter, which sat under the “shade” of a large branch of the tree.

  I went to the wall and found the P section. Emily Payne’s Miss Moxie books dominated two shelves. I took out the first thin paperback, which was called, as Peach’s sister had told me, Miss Moxie Is Foxy; on a whim I also grabbed Miss Moxie Solves the Case, Miss Moxie the Spy, and Miss Moxie Says Sorry. The books were worth the price for the art alone; an illustrator named Claudia Stiles had created a lovely world for Miss Moxie, and even a quick flip through the pages showed gorgeous color and detailed characterizations that made Miss Moxie’s neighborhood look like a place a child might want to visit.

  Armed with this reading material, I went back to the mystery section and grabbed the latest Julia Spencer-Fleming, and then visited the romance section for a Nora Roberts. This would be plenty of distraction while Parker trod the mean streets of Pine Haven, seeking yet another murderer.

  My phone pinged with a text message; it was from Britt, who told me that she had a gallery showing on Saturday and Prudence Cantwell’s painting would be featured. Could Jay and I attend? I wrote back, telling her I would have to ask Jay. Then I stowed the phone back in my purse.

  The clerk at the checkout was a perky teenager with a wealth of red curls and a universe of freckles on her face. She was beautiful. “Oh, you clearly have a Miss Moxie fan in your family,” she said, scanning my books.

  “No, but a little friend of mine recommended them. You must have just rung her up a moment ago.”

  “Oh, Miss Peach? We know her; she comes in here for story time the first Saturday of every month. She’s a delight.”

  “She is. And she’s really sold me on these books. I thought I might read them to another little friend of mine.” In that instant I had a vision of Peach meeting Henry; I wondered if they would get along. Someday they would both be adults; they could potentially even marry each other. This thought made me smile, as did the image of a grown-up Peach wearing a tiara to her wedding, and Henry insisting on a Batman tux.

  This brought me to another thought. “Oh my gosh, I just remembered something—do you have any books about how to be a good maid of honor? Does that sort of thing exist?”

  The chestnut-haired girl stared at me for a moment, her finger on her lips, in thoughtful mode. “You know what? I’m pretty sure we do have stuff like that in the wedding section. Let me show you. Hank, would you cover the register?”

  Hank, a scruffy-looking thirtysomething with a gold miner’s beard, shuffled to the counter.

  “Just put that pile of books aside,” she said. “I already rang them up.”

  Then she led me to another corner of the store and a shelf full of books about perfect weddings, locati
on weddings, DIY weddings, wedding photography, wedding catering (that one looked interesting, but it was too expensive), and, amazingly, guides for the maid of honor or best man. There were three different planning books; I ended up choosing the one called Make Her Day: A Guide for the Maid of Honor. “This looks great. Thanks,” I said to the girl. “I really need to spend more time in bookstores. I could probably solve every life dilemma.”

  “You really could,” she agreed, leading me back toward the counter.

  When I finally took my bag full of books out of the Book Tree, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket. I jogged to my car, tossed my bag onto the passenger seat, and grabbed the phone, swiping it on. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Lilo,” said the ever-cheerful voice of my brother, Cameron.

  “Hey, Cam. What’s up?”

  “Serafina wants me to ask if you need us to keep you company while your boyfriend is out of town.”

  This was typical of my new sister-in-law’s thoughtfulness, and in fact she and Cam had taken me out twice while Jay was in New York. “Actually, Jay has returned, but it would be fun if you guys came to dinner anyway.”

  “He’s back, huh? And how are things going? He didn’t meet some woman in New York, did he?”

  “No, he did not. You can stop being suspicious of Jay now. We’ve worked things out and everything’s been great since Christmas.”

  “I know. Just checking. I’m always available to beat him up if he stops treating you right.”

  “Thanks, Cam. You know, Jay thinks very highly of you. He’s impressed by you as a brother. He never had a sister, but he says he would be just like you are, if he had one.”

  Cam sounded distracted now, and as usual he was eating something into the phone, although he knew it was a pet peeve of mine. “So what day do you want to get together? It has to be soon, because Fina and I are going to Rome over spring break.”

  “Oh, Rome,” I sighed. “That sounds so romantic.”