Into the Frying Pan

by Sarah Osborne

  “We all get scared, Lucie. Sometimes being scared keeps us out of danger.” I thought about Ellie. She always believed she was invincible—until she wasn’t.

  I watched the tears trickle down Lucie’s cheeks. “I miss Mommy.”

  “I know you do, baby.” I held her while she cried, and when she was done I got her a glass of milk and a tea cake from an earlier batch.

  “You think about Saturday. If you want to go, we’ll go, but if not we’ll do something else.”

  “Jason wants to go, so I’ll go. I’ll wear my dress and I’ll be very brave.”

  “You know it’s just pretend, and it’s supposed to be fun.”

  “That’s what Lurleen says. I want to go, Aunt Di.”

  I took her back to bed and tucked her in. When I was sure she was asleep I went back into the kitchen and finished baking the tea cakes. Maybe the Saturday reenactment was a very bad idea. If I really thought Carl might have been murdered, how could I possibly take the children to what could be a dangerous battlefield?

  The answer was I couldn’t. I would need to come up with Plan B.

  Chapter Eight

  Tuesday was a blur. I woke up early to bake some filled cookies before I went to work. Lurleen offered to help, but some things, like baking, went better without her help. Besides the kids needed attention, and I needed a plan for what I would do with them on Saturday.

  “They can’t come to the reenactment?” Lurleen asked. “Jason will be so disappointed.”

  “Lurleen, if this was murder and not an accident, I can’t possibly take them. Who knows what might happen? I need to find something that will be fun and keep them safe. Maybe dressing up for the party tomorrow night will be enough.”

  I went to the clinic, and the day passed quickly with many wellness checks and minor problems. I got home before six and demanded everyone go out to dinner for the second night in a row, so I could get some baking done. This time I said it had to be someplace healthy. Mason insisted on staying with me.

  “Mom taught me a little about cooking,” he said. “I’m good at chopping.”

  “Eddie called me to say she’d bring fried corn and turnip greens,” I said. “I’m not a fan of turnip greens, but I know if your mom makes them they’ll be delicious.”

  “They will be. If you plan on staying in the South, you’ll need to get over that particular aversion.”

  I tied an apron around him and set him up to prepare the soup. We tripled everything. I’d soaked the beans overnight, so they were ready to go.

  I put together the ingredients for the Ozark Pudding—apples and walnuts—while Mason dumped ingredients for the soup into the biggest pot I had. I told him about Lucie’s nightmare and wondered where my head was. “Of course I can’t let them go. Hopefully, nothing will happen, but the day will still be full of guns and cannons and people pretending to fall over dead.”

  “I agree with you, Ditie. I told the Sheriff I’d be there, so I’m committed, but you could do something else. You know what? After the day is over, we’ll do our own reenactment in your backyard or maybe my mom’s. She has a bigger backyard with lots of trees to hide behind. That should satisfy Jason and keep Lucie from being traumatized.”

  “You’re a genius.”

  “Does that mean you’ll marry me?”

  “Someday.”

  The kids and Lurleen arrived home while the soup was still simmering. I got them to bed and had time to read each of them a story.

  I’d forgotten Phil was going to come by with his guest list. Actually, I thought he might just email it to me in the end, but when I heard the doorbell ring and Hermione go berserk, I knew it had to be him.

  Phil and Mason greeted each other like gladiators on the field of battle. They didn’t exactly circle each other but they were definitely on guard.

  Phil handed me the list. Ryan and Harper. Carl’s wife Kathy. Sally, Frank and Andy. There were six more folks on the list who were complete strangers to me.

  “You vouch for all these people?” I asked.

  Phil shrugged. “You mean do I think one of them will try to kill me at your party? I don’t think so, Ditie. If they want to see me dead, they’ll make it look like an accident on the battlefield. Like what they did to Carl.”

  “You’re convinced it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I don’t know. I may not have told you this before, but that was an original Napoleon. Most of the cannons are reproductions with steel reinforced barrels. Only an original would have a barrel that could wear away and explode.”

  “Would you have seen the barrel was thinning during your inspection?” Mason asked.

  Phil hesitated. “Probably not.”

  “You’re saying it could have been done deliberately, and you might not have spotted it,” I said.

  “Yes,” Phil said. “A person could have filed away a good portion of the bronze, and it might not have been obvious.” He looked at me. “If it was done intentionally, then I was the target, not Carl.”

  “Maybe you should figure out who you’ve ticked off recently,” I said. “Of course, whoever did this would have to know what he or she was doing.”

  “Yes, and that points to someone who knows about arms and ammunition—a Civil War mainstreamer,” Phil said.

  “Mainstreamer?” I asked.

  “Someone like me who knows the details of how things are supposed to work at one of these reenactments.”

  “Then that narrows the field again,” I said.

  “If you’re telling us the truth,” Mason added.

  “Look, Detective Garrett, I’m sure you’re good at your job. I’m good at mine too as a physician and researcher. I wouldn’t put all my years of hard work on the line to kill someone I disliked. I’d never do that.”

  We let the matter drop. We sat in the living room and went over the menu.

  “Looks awesome.” Phil turned to Mason. “I hope you know how lucky you are to have Ditie in your life. I didn’t.”

  Mason said nothing.

  “Where’s Danny?” I asked to break the obvious tension. “I thought he was your bodyguard.”

  “He’s in the car, keeping an eye on the neighborhood.” He smiled at me. “You’re the best.”

  He left after giving me a peck on the cheek.

  “That guy really bugs me,” Mason said. “He’d love to get you back.”

  I shook my head. “He might love to get my cooking back, and he’d probably like me to confess my undying devotion for him, but he doesn’t want me. He never really did.”

  The rest of the evening was all about getting food ready for the party the next day. The batches of Ozark Pudding looked perfect if I did say so myself. I’d make the biscuits last thing Wednesday afternoon.

  * * * *

  Wednesday at work was normally reserved for paper work and walk-ins. We were busy, but I still managed to leave by one. When I got home, I saw that Lurleen had turned my house into a stunning pre-Civil War mansion with pictures of antebellum houses on every unused wall and Magnolia garlands wrapped along my staircase. The kids were in their outfits waiting for the party to start. Lurleen kept them occupied while I finished making the biscuits.

  Phil and Danny were the first to arrive, in uniform, shortly before five.

  “This isn’t my actual uniform,” Phil said. “I couldn’t risk getting it dirty before Saturday. This is my back-up.”

  That would be Phil, planning for every possibility. Danny looked stunning in his borrowed Civil War outfit as an infantry man. He wore a slouch hat over his buzz cut and carried a haversack. I thought Lurleen might swoon when she saw him.

  She sashayed down the stairs a moment later wearing a satin ball gown that Scarlett O’Hara would have been proud to call her own. The bright green fabric set off her eyes and her auburn hair. She twirled for Danny
to approve. He did.

  Eddie arrived a little before five carrying great pans of turnip greens and roasted corn. The pans were nearly as big as she was. Danny took them and then went to her car to get the rest of her supplies. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and thanked her.

  “I came late, so the food would still be warm,” Eddie said. She glanced over at Phil. “Mason didn’t tell me it was a costume party.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t, and it’s a come-any-way-you-want gathering,” I said. “I assume he told you what was going on.”

  “You mean about that unfortunate classmate and the exploding cannon?”

  I nodded. Our conversation ended there as Lucie and Jason ran into the room from outside. Lurleen stood behind them.

  “Grandma Eddie, you’re here!” Lucie said, and Jason announced her arrival with his one-note bugle.

  “I am.” She gave each one of them a hug. “Don’t you two look wonderful! And you, Lurleen, look stunning!”

  Lurleen smiled appreciatively. “I have something for both of you.” She swished her way upstairs and returned with two plaid aprons for us to wear.

  “Pinner aprons,” she said as she pinned them to our outfits. “Now you’re of the right era.”

  Eddie, with her short white hair and small body, looked perfect, and she said the same about me.

  Mason came at five thirty. He nodded approvingly at my outfit and his mom’s. “You two look authentic.”

  He took the kids in hand and had them show him all the decorations. “You are my wards for the evening,” he said.

  “Wards?” Lucie asked.

  “That means I need to know where you are and you need to do the same for me.”

  I saw Lucie open a notebook she was carrying and carefully write in it. Mason looked over her shoulder as she wrote.

  That was the last I saw of them for most of the night.

  Guests were prompt. Phil stood at my side to introduce them if they weren’t old classmates. The day was so humid, everyone stayed inside for the first hour.

  Ryan and Harper arrived a little before six. Harper gushed over my house and the food.

  It was a perfect house for entertaining a small crowd—good flow as an architect friend told me for a bungalow built in the 1920s.

  “Mabel, you are such a wonder,” Harper said, “so into food and entertaining.”

  She wore a lovely blue outfit with a hoop skirt that highlighted her narrow waist and light blond hair. She batted her fan and gave me and Phil a hug before moving on. Phil followed her to the breakfast room where we’d set up the bar.

  Hermione bounded in from outside with Jason at her heels. A moment later, I heard Harper scream. “Get that dog away from me!”

  When I got to the room, Harper was crouched on the other side of the table, holding an unopened bottle of wine as a weapon. “Your dog tried to attack me!” she said.

  Phil shook his head. He’d put Hermione in a down position, and Hermione didn’t move. “She didn’t do a thing,” he said. “Look, she’s good as gold.”

  I asked Jason to take Hermione to his room and leave her there, door closed.

  Mason was nearby. “What did Hermione do?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I don’t think Harper likes dogs.”

  Sally Cutter arrived dressed in a Federal uniform. She looked a lot calmer than the last time I’d seen her. Her short dark hair accented her eyes and her outfit showed off her trim figure.

  “How did Phil let you get away with that?” I asked.

  “He needed a few more of the enemy,” she laughed, “to make it a fair fight. I don’t really care which side I’m on.” She pulled me aside. “I hope you didn’t take seriously what I said right after the accident. I was in a state of shock. Carl was the person who always stood by me. I can’t imagine how it will be without him.”

  “I heard from other people how close you were. Were you ever more than friends?”

  “Gosh, Ditie, you’re so direct.” Sally looked at me from under her thick dark lashes. “We were more like brother and sister—always had each other’s back. The guy who’s floating around here and available is Phil. He’s told you about the divorce, I’m sure.”

  “Only a little.”

  “It leaves the field wide open,” she said.

  “I guess it does.”

  “You’re really not interested?” she asked.

  “I’m not. Are you?”

  Sally shrugged. “Phil and I have stayed in touch. He’s a great guy. I don’t think his wife ever realized that.”

  “A few days ago you thought he might be a murderer.”

  “I was hysterical. I didn’t know what I was saying. Phil couldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Sally had me totally confused. Before I could ask her any more, other guests arrived. Frank and Andy came together, greeted me briefly and headed to the bar. They came back with a beer in hand and a biscuit.

  “Nice house,” Frank said. “Couldn’t get something like this in New York for five million. Even around Ithaca, you’d spend a lot.”

  “You have a busy practice, Frank?” I asked.

  “I’m doing the concierge thing like Phil’s dad. I work mainly with university professors and their spouses. I can limit my number of patients and get very well paid for what I do. It’s a good system. The nurse practitioners handle most of my workload.”

  Frank seemed more concerned about the money he made than the patients he saw. Lurleen would have pointed out my unfair bias—that somehow I thought it was wrong to get wealthy as a doctor or to ignore the poor people who needed care.

  In any case, Andy Morrison was more my kind of doc. He’d always wanted to be a country doctor like his dad.

  “Hey, Ditie,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek. “You still look like you’re twenty-five.”

  “Thanks.” Andy looked like the boy next door with his red hair and freckles. “You, too.”

  “Naw, you’re just being nice. I eat too much and exercise too little.” He patted his belly. “I’ve got two kids, wanna see some pictures? They’re close in age to yours.” He pulled out his cell. “The little one is Erin, she’s six, and Elizabeth is ten.”

  There were no pictures of his wife. “How’s Jenna?” I asked.

  Andy’s face darkened. “Long story. I’ll tell you some other time.”

  “The kids are darling,” I said. “You’re still working with your dad?”

  “Yes, in the small town I grew up in.”

  “How did Phil recruit you for his reenactments?”

  “He didn’t have to. I’m a stitch counter, like him.”

  “A stitch counter?”

  “You know, the folks who have to get every last detail right.”

  Carl’s wife came late. I didn’t blame her. Frankly, I was surprised she came at all.

  She introduced herself to me. “I’m Kathy Thompson. I thought I’d like to be here with Carl’s friends, but now I’m not sure I can stay.” Kathy was a slender woman with light brown hair in a shoulder length cut. Her face looked strained as if she were barely keeping it together. Her accent had the same lyrical Southern notes that Andy’s had.

  “I understand. I appreciate your coming.”

  “Could we talk privately for a moment?” she asked.

  “Of course.” I took her upstairs to my bedroom and closed the door.

  “I have to tell someone. At first the police thought Carl’s death was an accident, a terrible, horrible accident. I knew Carl didn’t know one thing about the Civil War, and when he was going to a reenactment I couldn’t believe it. He said a friend had urged him to go.”

  “What friend?”

  “He didn’t tell me, said I wouldn’t know the person. His boss, Phil’s father, also suggested it would be good for business.”

&n
bsp; “Phil told me Carl was working with him.”

  “That’s right. Carl thought he’d be a partner soon, maybe take over the business.”

  She sighed and sank down on the bed.

  “When I thought it was an accident, that was one thing. I thought I needed to be around people who cared about him. But now the police think it might have been murder.”

  Kathy started sobbing.

  “Dr. Brown, if it was murder then someone downstairs in your house killed my husband. And if I had to guess who might have done it, I’d put my money on Phil Brockton.”

  I got her a glass of water from the sink in the bathroom and waited while she took a sip.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Phil hated Carl. He blamed him for the rift with his father, but Carl had nothing to do with that. Nothing. That happened long before Carl was involved with the practice.”

  I thought about what Phil had told me. I wondered what Carl had told his wife.

  “Did Carl tell you why Phil and his father were estranged?” I asked.

  “Dr. Brockton found out Phil had developed a cheating scam at the school. He virtually disowned him at that point.”

  I wondered who was telling me the truth. Did Carl spin Kathy a tale or was Phil lying to me?

  “Why did you come tonight?” I asked her.

  “I heard about you from Phil’s father—that you solved a murder at Sandler’s Sodas. I’m asking you to do that for me.”

  “I’m not a detective.”

  “All the better. You know these people. If my husband was murdered, I want his killer brought to justice.”

  “Why do you think it wasn’t an accident?” I asked.

  “Because Carl warned me.”

  “What?”

  “Before he died, he told me if anything happened to him I was to go to the police. He said someone was threatening him. He didn’t know who it was, but the police needed to know his death was not an accident.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Threatening him how?”

  “He wouldn’t tell me, but I think someone was trying to blackmail him.”