Murder on the Menu

by Jerri George

  Her uncle’s hand, riddled with tape and needle puncture marks rested peacefully by his side. She caressed his pale skin. It felt like him, and aside from the antiseptic, it smelled like him. She kissed the inside of his palm tenderly and collapsed into a chair beside him. She’d stay as long as he needed her.

  “Come on, Uncle, you can beat this, I know you can. We can go off somewhere and stay at some wickedly cool resort, dine at some beachside restaurant. You’d love that–we both would.”

  Before her parents died, Candace and her uncle had limited face time but what they did have was special. They visited each other on birthdays and school holidays or times like when he wrangled Super Bowl box seats or concert tickets for the entire family. They often flew to his hotel destination du jour for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Destination food became a shared interest.

  “Remember when we would all go on Thanksgiving weekend jaunts and pig out?” she said, hoping he would respond with a hearty laugh and tease her about it. Uncle Dan often transported the family to locations with five-star menus. True Mayflower descendants, they enjoyed the circumstance of the Thanksgiving holiday wherever they were. They feasted on house specialty items, not simply turkey, but goose and pheasant and endless sides and desserts that Candace, known for dissecting dishes to identify the ingredients before she was even old enough to pronounce them, couldn’t wait to make.

  In fact, just two months before the awful crash, they had spent Thanksgiving at The Grove Park Inn near the Biltmore estate in North Carolina. Candace was rendered speechless by the opulent quarters in the historic wing of the building with its own private elevator, whose walls and doors were constructed of chain link that exposed the inner workings. She was fascinated by the circa 1900 furnishings, paintings and other décor spread throughout the hallways and guest rooms and the period dining room. Built by Henry Ford and Alexander Graham Bell, it provided Candace with a history lesson books could not begin to tell. This seemed to please Uncle immensely, and to her amazement at the end of that particular trip, most of which were spent in a serotonin and glucose hangover from overeating turkey and sweets, Uncle Dan remembered to mail her the inn’s own recipe cookbook.

  He might never know that one weekend ignited her desire to become a chef. Candace swept tears away from her eyes pretending to reposition her bangs behind her ears.

  Caught up in her thoughts, she failed to acknowledge the whoosh of air from the corridor as the heavy glass door to the room slid open and closed. The blood pressure machine and respirator pump functioned simultaneously in concert with his artificial breaths. A shadow crept over her right shoulder.

  Add a descriptor of Dawn. It doesn’t have to be long, but the reader needs to picture her here. I know you talk about her earlier, but we need reminding.

  “Dawn! You scared the crap out of me. How did you get down here so fast?” Candace was full of questions, but she wasn’t very coherent. “I called. Where were you?”

  “I just couldn't stand the thought of you being here all alone, especially without Anton coming down. He called me, and we were both worried.”

  “But I’m not really alone.” She nodded toward her uncle, desperate to include him.

  “That’s true. I was hoping to catch you and find out more about Dan’s condition. You were so vague over the phone.”

  “I didn’t mean to be vague. I just didn’t know anything…still don’t.” Candace brushed by her friend and moved toward the other side of the bed. “I’m only alone now because Jesse isn’t here yet, but it’s good that you came.”

  “What’s the prognosis?” Dawn spoke of Uncle Dan as if he were some sort of object not flesh and blood.

  “His prognosis is fair.” Candace stiffened. “But I believe he’ll be fine. He just has to be, Dawn.”

  “What do you suppose happened?”

  She took Uncle’s hand in hers. “I don’t know, and I’m too tired to go through it all again. Once Jesse gets here, I’m heading back to the ranch to get some clothes. They tell me the next 48 hours are critical.”

  “Do you want me to come with?” Dawn offered.

  “No, I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t think you want to be running around the hospital in day old clothes tomorrow.” It wasn’t like Dawn to dress so casually for an evening out, almost disheveled. “I thought you and the congressman had a date tonight? You certainly don’t look it.”

  “Oh, it’s a long story, but suffice it to say, I got stood up and decided to catch a movie last minute. Are you sure Jesse is coming? Maybe she went to the ranch?”

  As if on cue, Candace’s cell buzzed. She spoke quickly but affectionately and hung up. “That was Jesse. She’s at the ranch waiting for me. You were right.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll sit with him a little while then head out.”

  Candace started to object but thought better of it. Someone he knew should be there. What if the nurses weren’t watching him closely enough? She gave Dawn a hug, kissed her uncle goodbye, and whispered in his ear, “We’ll always have Thanksgiving, Uncle.”

  Checking with the nurse’s station on the way out, they assured her he would be constantly monitored in her absence. She left her cell phone number in case they needed to reach her.

  Chapter 7

  It was almost four in the morning, that special time between midnight and the waking when birds, wildlife and most of the world was asleep. Candace loved this time of night. She walked across the parking lot. Her foot falls were silenced by packed gravel. Drawing in a long, deep breath, the first she had taken since her uncle called during the reception, Candace stared at the moon, longing for a star to shoot past so she could make a wish.

  “Thank God I didn’t wear mascara last night, or I’d look like a raccoon.” Candace sighed, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the car window. Still in her chef’s coat and work pants with her hair pulled into a dressy up-sweep, she looked dreadful. She hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours. Pulling the clips and pins from her hair, she sank into the driver’s seat and turned the key, which awakened a confetti sprinkling of dashboard lights and chiming signals, assaulting her already overworked senses. She revved the engine. The drive to the ranch would be a long one. It was too late or too early to call anybody, but she really wanted to let Anton know what was going on.

  Stopping for a drive-thru meal halfway and getting gas would provide the pit stops necessary to prevent her from falling asleep on the road or becoming dehydrated. Candace smiled. In a recent television episode of NCIS, Mark Harmon’s character, Special Agent Gibbs, had told his underling Ziva to keep hydrating (forcing her to drink bottle after bottle of water) so she’d need to go to the restroom later to “dehydrate” and run interference for him. Boy, could I use an Agent Gibbs and his team right now to help me figure out what happened to Uncle. I’ll find out more about what the doctors are saying in the morning. In only a couple hours, I guess.

  The state highway was desolate but oddly familiar, like an old friend. Not thinking twice about the route, the trip seemed like any other except for the feeling of dread which hung over her like a shroud. Almost losing her last surviving blood relative did not sit well with her.

  She called Anton.

  “Yes?” he answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, I found Jesse.” Her voice was strained.

  “Yeah me too. She’s at the ranch. None of your calls reached her because she was at her son’s place outside El Paso last night. What’s the news?”

  “Uncle's out of surgery, and he’s stable. They drilled a hole to relieve the pressure in his skull. They’re concerned about brain swelling, but he’s stabilized now. The next 48 hours are critical.”

  There was a pause in the conversation.

  “Damn it, Anton! Why wasn't someone there with him? If anything happens to him, I’ll just...” Her voice broke off in a gulp. She’d been brave until now.

  “You had no way of knowing something would happen. No one did. It was an accident.” He s
ighed.

  “Well, that's what the police are calling it, but...” Did everyone she loved have to die in an accident?

  “I know it's been a long, hard day, but do you think it was not an accident? Did he not fall and hit his head?” he said a bit confused.

  She could almost hear Anton wishing she were stabilized too.

  “They don't really know. I told you. He was lying on the floor bleeding from his head. The door to the house was wide open.” She stopped describing the scene as she could see it too clearly, sending a chill through her body. “Do you realize if I hadn't come down tonight, coyotes might have gotten him?”

  Another gap fell in the conversation as they both grasped the possible outcome.

  “But you did,” he reassured her. “Where were the dogs?”

  “The…I don’t know. Oh my gosh, I don’t remember seeing them. That’s really strange.”

  “Candace, you know I’ll come down there if you want. I’m in Denver now.” His voice was thick with worry. She knew he would come right down. Hell, he’d scale mountains for her.

  “Oh no, you must be exhausted. Did you just finish up?” Her mind snapped back to business for a minute.

  “About one thirty. It was a good job. Good tips all around.”

  The amount of tips collected at the end of a night was a caterer’s report card, although not a completely accurate one since it often depended on how much liquor the bridal party consumed. It was still one of the ways she measured success.

  “Good. Well, don't come. It's late. Get some sleep, and I’ll call you in the morning. I mean, later.”

  “Okay, if you are really alright, Спокойной ночи.”

  “That’s an expression I don’t recognize. What does it mean?”

  “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “It means good night. I’m surprised I never told you.”

  “Oh, I like that. It’s pretty. Goodnight.”

  The car was painfully quiet again. Candace lowered the window and let the cool, dry air work its way through her loosened hair. She was lucky to have met Anton. She wondered if it was sheer luck or divine intervention that their paths had collided. He was born halfway around the world in Russia where his darling babushka raised him after his parents divorced and moved to other countries. They lived above her little coffee shop, where he helped her bake and cook and learn an honest trade.

  He was packed off to University in Paris where his father insisted he go, but shortly after that he applied to culinary school in the United States with the hope of tracking down his mother and following in his grandmother’s footsteps. He hadn’t the time or inclination to trust anyone until meeting Candace, and the two had cooked, eaten, and shared nearly every waking moment of the past three years together. Were they attracted to each other? At times, but one or both seemed to hesitate every time a situation arose. She had no clue why Anton held back, but Uncle Dan had cautioned her early on about a division of business and personal relationships, like church and state. However, her own parents had done it successfully. Only time would tell.

  When Candace reached the ranch again, it was nearly sunrise. Without the cover of darkness, the iron and wood entrance loomed before her. Veins of lavender and silver streaked the indigo sky that smothered the flat desert, barren with the exception of brush and the occasional Pinon tree or cactus. The lighter shades of sky helped reveal the gates in front of her, currently locked in an open position. The steel windmill and three-story barn with stables stood to the left.

  To the right the sprawling log home came into view. It was surrounded by a salmon-pink adobe wall adorned with blue floral ceramic tiles, which created a lovely old-world Spanish courtyard. During mid-day it would be ablaze with brightly colored flowers and towering cactuses encircling an eight-foot-tall triple tier water fountain. It was rare that the fountain was not splashing and bubbling much to the delight of small desert creatures, but right now it was silent like the man who lived there.

  A few prairie dogs scampered in front of her headlights. The black, late model Jeep belonging to Jesse was parked alongside the 3-door garage behind a squad car. The front door was sealed with yellow police tape. Candace found a deputy she hadn’t met earlier and Jesse talking in the kitchen over coffee.

  The officer greeted her. “Good morning, Ms. Kane.”

  “I guess, if you say so. Personally, I’ve had better.” She smiled wanly and leaned over to brush Jesse's cheek with a kiss. She thought the man looked way too comfortable in one of the high-back, hand-carved chairs. He stood up politely, noticing her hesitation, and shook Candace’s hand. She could tell he would have felt more at ease tipping his quasi-western sheriff’s hat which lay on the table, rim side up before him. She was familiar with these cowboy types and decided to confront him right away.

  “Why is the front door blocked off?” Candace quizzed him. He rose to his feet.

  “Well, ma’am the boss wanted to be thorough since you were so insistent someone might have purposefully hurt Mr. Kane. We took some fingerprints, and sent them out but would like to keep people away from the area, just in case,” he said nervously, picking up his hat, turning the rim in his hands.

  “Thank goodness,” she said, letting her breath out and sat down.

  Jesse made some of the best espresso in the country, and today she’d need one. The towel used on Uncle Dan's head had been replaced with one with bold stripes, and the sink was as shiny as a new penny. Scrubbed clean with no sign of the blood Candace had washed off her hands. The huge table at the end of the kitchen where they sat was in front of another large bay window, a twin to the one in the living room. An impressive elk horn chandelier hung low over it with tiny light bulbs that could be set to electronically mimic flickering candlelight, as they did now. Guests could look out over the foyer garden through both windows, but from this vantage point, not far from that enormous fountain, stood a cast iron steed reared on his hind legs, mane flying.

  “What are the doctors saying?” Jesse spoke, reaching around the deputy to serve him.

  Candace briefly explained the ordeal and finished with leaving Dawn in the hospital with her uncle. “He's drugged and sleeping.”

  “Dios mio, that sweet man,” Jesse often spoke in what she called Spanglish, a mixture of both English and Spanish. After all these years it was still difficult for Jesse to express great joy or sadness without reverting to Spanish. The house phone rang out. Candace jumped up to answer it so Jesse could finish her conversation with the deputy. Following a brief chat with the head nurse, Candace quietly cradled the phone on its base and turned to look at Jesse. Her face flushed.

  “Forgive me, but that was the hospital asking whether we want to place a DNR in Uncle’s chart.” She took a deep breath. “That's a do not resuscitate order, Jesse. I don’t know what to do.”

  Candace held a hand on her stomach which was suddenly turning somersaults. The chicken sandwich and fries she had eaten weren’t faring well. Any decisions her uncle had made about his life and how he would want to be treated were never discussed between them. Uncle was never ill and seemed so energetic and full of life. He exercised regularly and rode his horses all the time. She had no reason to think that an order not to resuscitate him should be in place. Maybe it was naive of her never to have asked, she chastised herself, then said aloud, “Now what?”

  Jesse cried out wringing her hands. “Oh, Miss Candace, I know your uncle would no want to live if he could not do it fully.”

  “I know. But I need to find out what his wishes are. Where would he keep papers like that? In the safe?”

  “I think, yes, but I don’t know the combination to open it.” Jesse broke down unexpectedly. Her head dropped as light sobs escaped. “Oh, what will we do without him?”

  Roles played for years were suddenly switched. Candace needed to find a way to comfort the comforter. “Just pray, Jesse. Don’t worry, I’ll find the papers.” She patted the delicate but strong woman on the shoulder and heaved a sigh
.

  “Officer, before you leave can you tell me what you know at this point?” Candace turned her attention back to the deputy who peered under the chandelier, squinted against the light and looked anything but comfortable now.

  The officer began slowly. “Well, as I said, we’ve sent fingerprints to the lab and are interviewing anyone who may have seen someone enter the ranch from the highway. We’ll be broadcasting some information on the morning news, and we’ve already got something in the paper.”

  “Good, did you find any potential weapon except the poker?” Candace wondered if they might have found something she missed.

  “Ah, no ma’am. It is possible that your uncle fell and struck his head and someone else opened the door to help him.”

  “Or he could have opened the door for the dogs, and then...oh my gosh the dogs! That’s why it’s so quiet around here. Where are they, Jesse?”

  “I did not see them when I arrived. I, I thought you had someone take them away for safety,” she answered. “¡No! My babies.”

  The deputy flipped his notebook open to transcribe. “Your uncle’s dogs are usually in the house?”

  “Yes, yes. They are always with him. They’re Great Danes–Merlin and Lancelot. They must have gotten out or chased whoever it was that hurt him.” She ran to the patio calling for them and whistling their familiar command. Nothing but silence reverberated back. “Where could they have gone? It’s not like them to just take off. They’re too well trained.”

  “I’ll call to alert the sheriff,” the deputy informed them.

  “If you need it, I have a picture of my uncle with them in the den,” Candace responded.

  “I’ll get it for you,” Jesse spoke up and gathered herself.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t notice their disappearance. Anton asked me about the dogs a little earlier. I hope they aren’t hurt,” Candace thought aloud, twisting the ring on her right hand, a habit inherited from her mother. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to change into my boots and search the ranch.”