Quiche of Death

by Mary Lee Ashford

  The menu was a tasty cream of asparagus soup, tossed green salads, and a crudités platter with three different dips. My favorite was a spicy hummus dip, but the ranch and fresh dill dips were good as well. I’d have to see if Hilda would be willing to share the hummus dip. I wanted these recipes for sure.

  Jonathan engaged Dixie in a discussion about St. Ignatius and the community. He was restoring a farmhouse not far from our town and she knew the family that had lived there.

  Lucinda had printed out some basic information for me on genealogy because, true to her word, Gwen had mentioned my interest in researching my father’s roots.

  As soon as everyone was served, Gwen joined us at the table.

  She settled into her chair and picked up a carrot from the platter. “Before we get too involved in chatting or get done and take off in different directions again, I wanted to tell you two that we discussed whether to continue the family cookbook project. And the answer is, yes. We want to go forward.”

  “We are pleased.” I looked at the group around the table. “We certainly would have understood if you had wanted to postpone, but we are happy to continue.”

  “I second that.” Dixie spoke up. “We’re so sorry for your loss and understand this is a difficult time. We’ll do our best to collect what we need without disrupting your time together.”

  “We appreciate your offer to delay, but this is really the best time to catch everyone together.” Lucinda looked up from her soup.

  With that good news, we could spend the afternoon sorting through the recipes we needed and reviewing the list with the family members to make sure they were okay with what we had planned. If we could get the list approved before we left, we’d be well on our way to assembling the recipes and moving on to the next steps.

  Lunch was finished and cleared quickly, leaving us the use of the dining room table for our work.

  Dixie had already done a great job of sorting the recipes and so we spent some time culling through them and discussing the mix of dishes. Even though a family cookbook leaves a little more leeway, you still want a good variety.

  By the time we’d been at it for an hour, I was stiff from sitting too long and also parched.

  “Shall I go see if I can find us some water or tea?” I rose and stretched out my arms.

  “That would be great.” Dixie laid aside her notebook. “I think we’ve got enough to work with, but maybe we should take some extras to swap out if we need to. I do wish we had more of a feel for whether any of these are special to the family.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I headed for the kitchen.

  Hilda was stirring a pot of sauce on the big commercial stove.

  “That smells good.” I inhaled. “Something yummy planned for dinner?”

  “A pasta buffet,” she replied. “Three different pastas, three different sauces.”

  I was beginning to understand that running a bed-and-breakfast wasn’t just about the having a big beautiful house and serving great food. It was also about planning interesting menus and giving your guests options. Gwen certainly had the creative knack and Hilda seemed to be the perfect partner to making it happen.

  “I’m sorry to bother you.” I stepped to the side so I wouldn’t be in her way. “Dixie and I were wondering if we could get a couple of glasses of water.”

  “Deserted you, have they?” She gave the sauce another good stir and then turned down the heat.

  “Well…” I paused, not wanting to criticize our hosts. “It’s okay. We just thought they’d be spending more time hanging out with each other and talking.”

  Hilda shrugged. “Just because you have the same last name, doesn’t mean you have anything in common.”

  Wisdom that was probably all too true. I thought of my own family. Sometimes I wondered if I had anything at all in common with my mother and her sisters. My father’s side? I had no idea.

  “What’s your last name, Hilda?” I didn’t know that I’d heard anyone say.

  “Gentry,” she said as she turned back to the stovetop.

  “As in Shorty?” I asked. What were the odds?

  “The very same.” She didn’t look at all surprised. “He’s my brother. I gather you met him.”

  “We did.” I looked at Hilda with new eyes, not finding any traits they shared. Physical traits, at least. “But, you’re…”

  “Not short?” She raised a brow.

  “Not as short as your brother, anyway.”

  “Adopted.” She went back to stirring the sauce.

  “My father was adopted.” I leaned against the counter. “I don’t really know anything about his birth parents.”

  “Families aren’t always about birth. Sometimes you’re born to them, sometimes you create them.” Philosopher Hilda was back.

  “There’s iced tea and lemonade in the big refrigerator.” She pointed with her spoon. “Glasses are in the cupboard next to the sink.”

  I got down two glasses and poured an iced tea for me and a lemonade for Dixie.

  Carrying them back to the dining room table, I thought about what Hilda had said.

  I’d had such an interest in finding out about my father’s birth parents, I hadn’t really examined why.

  The afternoon flew by and soon it was time to clean up for dinner. Dixie and I packed up our things and headed upstairs. I was really looking forward to the pasta buffet after smelling the sauces simmering in the kitchen.

  We both changed into something a little nicer for dinner—Dixie a lime green shift that had a darker green shrug. And me, a deep burgundy sundress I’d recently bought on an infrequent shopping trip. I was wishing for a sweater to throw over it, as my arms were pasty white. Too much time indoors this summer.

  * * * *

  The pasta buffet was the perfect arrangement as everyone arrived in the dining room at different times. I wondered, not for the first time, if the family realized how much work Gwen had put in to make this a nice gathering. It wasn’t just closing the bed-and-breakfast for the time they were here—it was also supplying meals and other amenities for the whole family.

  There didn’t seem to be much interest in pitching in and helping. J.J. and Jezzie were wrapped up in business things, Lucinda was buried in her research, and everyone seemed to have something to do.

  “This is a great idea,” I said to Jonathan, who was seated beside me.

  “Gwen’s idea.” He lifted a forkful of penne pasta to his mouth.

  “It was nice of you two to open the house to the family and we really appreciate you including us in this weekend.” I twisted fettucine around my fork.

  “And what a weekend it’s turned out to be.” He raised a dark brow.

  “Yes.” I took a bite. “That’s for sure.”

  “Are you doing okay?” he asked. “Finding Colette like that must have been a big shock.”

  “It was.” And one I didn’t really want to dwell on. “I’m doing okay.”

  “I’m sorry we’ve just sort of left you and your partner to figure things out on your own.”

  “It’s not a problem. We’ve sorted through a lot of recipes today.”

  “Well, good.” He took a sip of wine. “Still, we should have been a little more attentive.”

  “You were a stockbroker before moving back to Iowa, right?” I remembered his background from my first meeting with Gwen.

  “That’s right.”

  “And now back here and working with your siblings on the business?” I knew he was more into restoring houses, but assumed he also had a role at Arbor Family Foods.

  “Oh, no.” He waved a hand toward the group. “I leave all that to J.J. and Jezzie. They’ve been at it so long, there’s no place in it for me.”

  Gwen and Dixie joined us and the talk turned to recipes. We hadn’t had any of the ones from tonight’s me
al in what we’d reviewed so far. Gwen promised to look and see if there was anything written down, or if these were perhaps ones that had been verbally handed down.

  Once everyone was fed, Gwen began gathering plates and cleaning up the buffet area. Jonathan got up to help.

  “Is there anything at all that we can help with?” I asked, getting up also.

  “No, we’ve got it.” He didn’t seem to mind the lack of pitching in from the rest of the family.

  Gwen swung by, her hands full of dishes. “There’s a gorgeous full moon tonight. You and Dixie should grab a glass of wine or beverage of your choice and sit out on the front porch for a bit.”

  “I’d feel so much better if you’d let us help with the dishes and cleanup.”

  “Very little to do.” She smiled. “We’ll stack these in the dishwasher, hit the button, and be done.”

  With the refusal to accept our offer of help, Dixie and I decided to take Gwen’s advice and enjoy a little time on the porch. There were several chairs scattered across the decking. The night air was nice, not too cool, and the moon was—as promised—full and bright. We each took a chair.

  “Wow, I wish I could paint,” I said. “Or like Max, take photographs.”

  Max was the photographer we worked with on our cookbook projects. And Max and I were… Well, I wasn’t exactly sure what we were. We were still figuring that out.

  “I’m not sure it can be captured.” Dixie leaned back and took in a deep breath.

  We sat like that for a while, enjoying the quiet. The sounds of the chatter from inside the house seemed distant. Eventually it got chilly and we decided it was time to turn in.

  “I’ll take our glasses to the kitchen.” I held out my hand for Dixie’s glass. “You go on up.”

  “Okay.” She handed it to me. “You’re going to wash them, aren’t you?”

  “Probably.” She knew me too well. I didn’t like the idea of leaving them for someone else and it would take very little time.

  * * * *

  When I got back to our shared bedroom, Dixie was propped up, leafing through a cooking magazine. Not my idea of bedtime reading. I was more of a mystery or thriller fan. Besides, if I started reading about food, I’d probably gain weight in my dreams.

  “What took you so long?” she asked. “Did you get lost?”

  I’d known she would ask and I didn’t want to, but I was going to have to fess up.

  “No, I wanted to get in a few more steps, and so I walked around the driveway a little bit. I’m still a little freaked out about going any farther, but it’s pretty light with the full moon and I figured I was safe enough there.”

  I pulled out my charger and plugged in my phone. Checking my fitness-tracker, I could see it needed charging too, so I plugged it in as well.

  “Your dedication is impressive.” She laid aside the magazine. “I wish I had that much willpower.”

  “My mother usually called it pigheadedness, which I don’t think she meant as a compliment, but I’m pretty sure I got it from her.” I grinned. “But here’s the interesting thing: You won’t believe what I saw while I was out walking.”

  “I probably won’t.”

  “I had started back to the house when I noticed I was only fifty steps away from my ten-thousand-step goal. I went back to the parking lot and circled around the cars and was almost there. Then I noticed someone in that same area where I saw the figure last night.”

  “And?” Dixie prompted. “Could you see who it was?”

  “I don’t know what possessed me, but I went toward where the person had been.”

  “You did what?” Dixie sat up, causing pillows to tumble to the floor.

  “I know.” I shook my head. “That was stupid. But anyway, when I got to the side of the house no one was there. I didn’t stick around, but I’m going to go back and look at that area in the daylight and see what’s there that someone would be lurking two nights in a row.”

  Gathering my things and heading to the bathroom to change, I stopped and turned back to Dixie. “Maybe there’s an innocent explanation.”

  A sharp bark, followed by a growl, echoed from somewhere in the house. Theo had his hands full not only dealing with Colette’s death, but also her pooch, who did not seem to be his fan.

  Earlier, I’d almost offered to let Frenchie sleep in our room. I was sure Dixie wouldn’t mind. But I’d been hesitant to interfere, and I’d thought the pup might be some comfort to the guy.

  From the sounds of it, I might have been wrong about that.

  Chapter Five

  Sunday morning the sun shone through the gap in the drapes in the guest room, hitting me right across my eyes, the rays heating the side of my face. Hopefully that meant some warmth was in store for the day.

  I should have set my alarm and been outside and logging some steps earlier, but I have to admit I simply couldn’t make myself do it. The memory of finding Colette was too vivid.

  I could have walked in another direction. Or taken a few laps up and down the long driveway, but I was still a bit freaked out that someone, either accidentally or with intent, had shot an arrow that had killed her. I didn’t want to be the second victim of an ill-trained or untrained hunter.

  Dixie was already up and in the shower when I woke up. She dressed while I showered and then waited while I threw on some khakis and a sweater. I might need something lighter as the day wore on, but for now the soft knit was perfect for the brisk coolness of the morning. As we headed downstairs, the smells from the kitchen filled the house with warmth and goodness.

  Gwen was in the dining room, cup of coffee and her computer by her side. She looked up and smiled when we entered.

  “Multitasking. Trying to be with friends and family and catch up on some emails,” she noted. “You know how that goes.”

  “Boy, do I ever.” I was the one who kept up with the business correspondence at Sugar and Spice Cookbooks and though we didn’t get as much email as I was sure Arbor House did, it took daily handling. I had brought my laptop along for the weekend so I didn’t get behind.

  “We’re opting for a sort of a help-yourself buffet this morning.” Gwen pointed toward a sideboard that had been laid out with warming dishes. It definitely worked for their family get-together that the bed-and-breakfast was set up to accommodate feeding guests at different times. “Please help yourselves.”

  I didn’t have to be told twice. Dixie and I each picked up one of the beautiful china plates. Spode was my guess. It reminded me of a Buttercup Spode pattern my Aunt Celia had: Dishes we used only on special occasions in the Sugarbaker family. Carefully balancing the plate, I spooned on some scrambled eggs, added fresh fruit, and picked out a piece of tasty-looking multigrain toast.

  I was deciding on a scale of one to ten how rude it would be to take a slice of banana bread in addition to the toast when Lucinda entered the room. Okay, full confession—I’d already taken it. I was actually deciding how many more steps I’d need to clock to offset the banana bread.

  “Good morning.” Lucinda looked around the room, but no one other than Dixie and I looked up. Picking up one of the china plates, she joined us at the buffet.

  “How are you doing?” I asked, sliding the thick slice of banana bread on my plate.

  “Not too bad, considering,” she responded, looking over the spread. “Has Mother Arbor been down?”

  Dixie shook her head. “We’ve not seen her.”

  I was looking forward to checking out the elderly lady’s frame of mind. I had really hoped for some time with her to put some context around a few of the recipes. Given that she was frail and the family members were very protective, I was willing to do our chats in small doses if that would help.

  Dixie and I carried our food to the big table. A centerpiece of fresh flowers in vivid fall colors set off the gleaming oak.

&nb
sp; Lucinda filled her plate and joined us. And I have to say, she’d not been shy about multiple choices in the carb department.

  “Isn’t this breakfast lovely?” she asked, taking a bite.

  I hadn’t tasted any of mine yet, but if it tasted anything like it smelled, it was more than lovely.

  “Who does all your baking?” Dixie asked. “Whoever it is, they do a great job.”

  “The multitalented Gwen actually does some of it. Though I have no idea where she finds the time. But Hilda, who you met when she was helping out with serving the other night, does most of it.”

  “She has a real talent.” Dixie took a bite of the cinnamon-apple muffin she’d picked up.

  “Hilda begins with a basic muffin recipe we discovered in the family recipe box as a base and then you can make endless variations,” Gwen offered, looking up from her computer. “She has tried some interesting combinations.”

  We ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the tart apple and warm spice flavors.

  There was a thump on the stairs as Theo trudged down, clutching a pink dog carrier and looking like he hadn’t slept more than a couple of winks.

  “Good morning. Grab some breakfast.” Lucinda pointed toward the buffet.

  “I mostly need coffee.” Theo rubbed a hand across the stubble on his chin.

  As he did, I noticed a bright orange Band-Aid on his thumb that hadn’t been there before.

  “Did you get hurt?” I asked, afraid I already knew the source of the injury.

  “The little pooch and I aren’t doing so well together.” He held up the bandaged digit. “I thought things might go better if I fed her one of those fancy treats Colette had always given her. She got all excited and in trying to get it out of my hand, she nipped my finger.”

  “Has she been out this morning?” I asked.

  “No, not yet.” He set the carrier on the floor. As he did, there was a small woof from inside.

  “I’ll take her out for you,” I offered. I’d finished all of my food except that slice of banana bread I’d been saving for last.