Murder at the Luau

by Sandi Scott

  Ashley laughed. “Must have been out-of-towners. I haven’t even had one local put me on tech-support speed dial after telling them I used to work with computers. I think most of them are too stubborn to ask for help.”

  He leaned into the light enough for Ashley to reacquaint herself with his blue eyes.

  “Yeah, they were Houstoners. Three CEOs, a neurosurgeon and a law firm partner at my table, and yet picking a photo filter is apparently too high-stakes of a call to make themselves.” He motioned toward a far table. “There is one local here who’s guilty of calling me for free tech-support. My college buddy—he owns a construction company here—Eddie Vay. I think you know him, actually.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ashley replied, faking a smile rather than saying more.

  She’d never cared for Eddie, who had cut off one of her pigtails when she was in second grade. As an adult, he’d run most of the area’s smaller construction companies, like her father’s, out of business, undercutting them on price in ways that no one could understand. Ashley hadn’t talked to Eddie in years; now that she was back in Seagrass, she was in no hurry to do so.

  She heard the back door down the hall close softly. A petite woman peeked around the corner.

  “Is she almost done?”

  It was Colleen Abramson, the secretary of Bobby McCay who was not only the father of Hope, the speaker, but also one of the largest real estate holders in the county. Known for her cheery disposition and tight spiral curls, Colleen was now almost unrecognizable with a messy ponytail and agitation crowding her face.

  They all stared at the podium where Hope, with her knack for public speaking, was gracefully enunciating every syllable without losing her smile.

  “But as we move forward, Seagrass can stand with pride, embracing the future without losing the past. That’s why I will make sure that any developers who do business here in Seagrass adhere to the same values that we, the people of Seagrass, have and hold dear. I have a four-part plan I’d like to share with you.”

  Ashley finally answered Colleen’s question. “Sounds like she still has most of the speech left. Is everything okay?”

  “Oh.” Startled, Colleen shook her head as if she’d forgotten where they were. “No, yeah, it’s fine.” She turned to leave but then stopped, seeming to be deep in thought. Turning back, she smiled apologetically at Ashley.

  “Say, would it be too much to ask for the desserts to be served straight after Hope’s done up there? I only ask as Bobby is getting a little tired. Even though he loves his little girl and he wanted to stay for her speech, I can tell that he’s ready to turn in. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. We’re all ready to rock and roll, honey.”

  Colleen smiled. “Thanks.” Then she dashed off in a hurry to wait by the bathroom door, reading and typing on her phone with agitation.

  “Looks like someone needs a cream puff.” Ryan quipped.

  Ashley grabbed the sleeve of a passing waiter.

  “Let’s get the desserts delivered to the McKay table first—straight after the speech, okay? Then you can go on with the rest.”

  He nodded and darted off to the kitchen without a word.

  Ashley shifted her feet, causing her “no-slip” kitchen shoes to grip the wooden floor in a way that somehow tangled her legs, making her fall all over herself. Ryan chuckled and helped her up. For an ITguy, his hands were surprisingly rough with calluses on his palms from weightlifting.

  “Still tripping over nothing, I see,” Ryan teased.

  Feeling the blush start, she acted like there was something she had to do in the kitchen and headed straight to the bathroom. A lifetime of tripping over herself in public had taught her that the privacy of a stall was the best place to recover from the embarrassment.

  Way to be smooth, Ash, she thought as she checked herself in the mirror first, glad that her crimson cheeks were the worst of it. Despite spending the last few hours rushing around a hot kitchen, she’d managed to look somewhat presentable for her venture out into the “guest” side of the banquet. She’d pulled her chocolate-brown bob into a ponytail for work, and by the end of the night it was always exactly where she’d left it. She used to hate having hair too stubbornly straight to hold a curl, but its willfulness came in handy in her line of work.

  She had only been in the stall a minute before the bathroom door was wrenched open, and she heard hushed, panicked voices. Once the door closed, the yelling started.

  “You have to delete it! Forget you ever saw it. That email has nothing to do with you and me!” a man’s voice said.

  “I beg to differ,” a female voice replied between sniffles. Through the crack, Ashley recognized the woman as Colleen, but she couldn’t see the man.

  “It has a lot to do with us and our future here in Seagrass. Plus, he’s my boss—when it gets out, people will be shocked. What if they think I...”

  Ashley sat, frozen to the seat. She wondered how long her legs, which she had lifted to keep her feet above the gap between the floor and the stall door, could stand it.

  “Well, you don’t have to be the one to tell.”

  “I’m not asking, Colleen; I’m warning you. This email is none of your business, and you’d best leave it alone.”

  Ashley heard his fast footsteps and then the heavy bathroom door closing. She peeked back through the crack to see Colleen folded over the counter, crying angrily into her hands. Ashley was torn between comforting her and not wanting her to feel embarrassed that she’d been overheard, but her legs were shaking and she couldn’t hold them up much longer. Just as she resolved to come out of the stall, Colleen washed her face quickly and left the bathroom.

  Someone really does need a cream puff, Ashley thought. She looked in the bathroom mirror while shaking the lactic acid out of her leg muscles. Who was Colleen talking to and what on earth could be in that email? Ashley knew Colleen’s boss was Bobby McCay, but she couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of secret he had that could be so shocking,nor could Ashley figure out who the man trying to protect Bobby was. It was a mystery, but Ashley saw no reason to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. When she made her way out of the bathroom and down the hallway nearly colliding with Colleen, who was still staring at her phone and pacing, Ashley bit her tongue, smiled and pretended that she hadn’t heard a thing.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so busy, I don’t know if I’m coming or going.” Colleen didn’t seem to suspect Ashley had overheard the argument. “I talked with the waiters,” she continued. “They’re ready to serve the desserts right after Hope is done.”

  “That’s great,” Colleen said with a weak smile. “Thank you.”

  Ashley smiled back. “Well, I hope everyone liked our food.”

  Colleen nodded but kept glancing at her phone. “Of course they did. You’re a great chef.”

  “Are you okay?” Ashley dared to ask.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing. You just seem upset or something.”

  The women locked eyes with each other for a moment before Colleen revealed a more convincing grin.

  “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. It’s just been a long day, and Bobby can be very demanding. Actually—speaking of Bobby—I must go.”

  Ashley watched Colleen take off, only to stop and linger by the banquet hall door. Moments later, the lights brightened, signaling the end of the speech. Heads immediately turned to the dessert table, like sharks smelling blood. A crowd formed around the croquembouche, some taking pictures of Ashley’s masterpiece.

  She didn’t mind the food photography phenomenon. Patty always said that cuisine’s fleeting nature was what made it such a beautiful art; after painstakingly placing carnation petals and clover blossoms between the spun caramel, Ashley liked knowing that her work would be immortalized before disappearing down those rich gullets forever.

  Chapter 2

  The next day, Ashley pulled in to the back entrance of the Gulf Coast Women’s Club, mentally replaying the highligh
ts of their biggest cateringjob yet. Her only regret was that she had not seen Ryan again after she tripped over herself and hid in the bathroom; she found herself wishing she could have told him about some of the hilarious kitchen bloopers of the night. The dessert spread had been such a hit that she’d been too distracted with all the compliments to clean up properly, accidentally leaving behind a few baking trays.

  She made her way into the kitchen and grabbed the trays. The kitchen door swung open, startling her. All the pans fell out of her grasp and clattered on the floor.

  “Ashley? What’re you doing here?”

  It was Sheriff Mueller, staring at her with a look of apprehension. Seagrass had always been such a peaceful town, so the odd time something did happen, it could be seen on Old Man Mueller’s face. Also, the fact that he wasn’t at the diner drinking coffee and brushing breakfast crumbs from his grey stubble, like every other morning, meant that something really bad had happened.

  “I’m getting my pans. What’s wrong?”

  His eyebrows scrunched together, wrinkling his forehead even more.

  “You were here for the event last night, and you cooked the food?”

  She nodded. “The desserts.”

  “Why don’t you come out here with me?”

  His tone was serious, but Ashley had always found a southern drawl comforting. She felt that if you had to get bad news, at least it sounded better blanketed with an accent.

  A crowd of Seagrass’s small police force was gathered in front of the side hallway, which was blocked off with caution tape.

  “We’re waitin’ for the state police to get here for forensics,” Mueller offered, taking a notebook from his pocket. “Would you mind answering a few questions?”

  “Uh, what’s this about?” She crossed her arms, wishing that she hadn’t thrown on sweatpants and a Texans jersey.

  He sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  “Colleen Abramson fell ill at the dinner last night. Someone found her in the bathroom this morning—deceased.”

  Her mind raced with questions. “Colleen? Dead? I just saw her. Talked with her. I stood right in front of her. How could she suddenly be dead?”

  “We don’t know much yet. Bobby says she grew ill near the end of the night and left to go to the bathroom. There was a miscommunication, and everyone at her table assumed that someone else had seen her home.”

  “They just left her there?” Ashley’s hand rose to her forehead, “and no one found her till morning?”

  “I know. Bobby feels terrible,” the sheriff said, “but by all accounts, it seems it was an honest mistake.”

  She felt guilty about her harsh tone, knowing that Mr. McCay would be a million times harder on himself. Her eyes were welling with tears.

  “I know this is hard, but there’s some things I need to ask you.” Mueller hesitated. “Please understand, I’ve gotta ask these questions. It’s my job.”

  Ashley wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Okay.”

  “Now, by all accounts, Colleen was a healthy young lady, but who knows, it coulda been a heart attack or something.” He placed his hand on her shoulder again. “Still, I gotta ask. You made the dessert, right?”

  “What?” Ashley was confused by the question. What did she have to do with any of this?

  Mueller grimaced. “They said all Colleen had to eat was dessert. And then—well, she got sick. I need to know what ingredients were in the cream puffs, and you need to confirm that you used proper food safety protocol to make them.”

  “What kind of question is that?” She could feel the heat rising up her chest into her neck. “Of course I did. I am trained by a world-renowned chef, you know. She’s the best in the business.”

  She knew that it wasn’t Mueller’s fault, yet she couldn’t help raising her voice. It didn’t matter how good the food was; any murmurs of a sick guest could cripple a catering business, not to mention a baker’s reputation. She took a deep breath.

  “What I mean—what I mean is that my food safety standards are among the highest you’ll find.”

  “Even so,” said Mueller, “I just need to get this information in order to rule it out.”

  Ashley rattled off the recipe from memory. “Flour, eggs, butter, sugar—” You couldn’t get any more basic than the standard pastry and cream filling recipe. The decorative flowers came from an organic grower, free of all pesticides and herbicides, and double washed with her own hands. It couldn’t be her fault, could it?

  “Did anyone else get sick? If it was only Colleen, it must have been something she’d had before.”

  “Darlin’, I know, but we’ve got to rule out something contaminating the portion Colleen ate,” Mueller said.

  “Poisoning. You’re talking about straight-up poisoning someone,” Ashley said. “I don’t make those kinds of mistakes, especially not with a partner like Patty, who’s always gone above and beyond food safety standards.”

  Mueller put his hands up defensively. “I’m not sayin’ you did. All I know is that the Texas heat can be fierce, and it’s not always easy to keep things at a cool temperature. If it was pois—uh, food-related—I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. I’ll call you if I find out anything else.” He started to leave the room, then stopped.

  “Now, I’m not going to release any information until we know something for sure, but you know how the people in this small town talk, and I can’t help the fact that people saw Colleen eat your food and know that she got sick afterwards.” He looked at her sympathetically. “I’ll call you if we find out anything else.”

  If they found out anything else. Mueller was nice enough, but Ashley’d seen enough sealed police records back when she dabbled in hacking as a teen to know that they didn’t have the resources to handle anything more complicated than the odd speeding ticket or disorderly tourist. At least the state police were coming, but they had a habit of not taking small-town matters too seriously.

  She went through the kitchen to the staff bathroom, once again seeking its soothing powers. How was she going to explain all this to Patty, after she’d risked so much to relocate and take a chance on Ashley?

  Staring at her blotchy face in the mirror sparked her memory of the previous night and the argument. Once she’d arrived home from the benefit and collapsed on her bed, the question of the identity of the man arguing with Colleen had nagged at her. It didn’t seem important enough to give a lot of thought then but now? It could be a matter of life or death.

  She continued to ponder as she went into the stall for a minute, then, saw a glint of something in the toilet, like someone had failed to flush it down—a smart-phone. Recognizing the Texas flag symbol on the case, she realized that she’d seen this phone before. It was the same one Colleen had been fidgeting with last night, except now the case and screen were smashed to smithereens.

  If Colleen had died in the guests’ bathroom, what was her phone doing in the staff bathroom? And why had it also died such a violent death?

  Ashley retrieved meat tongs and a baking pan from the kitchen so she could pull the phone out and lay it on the pan, making a mental note to retire them from cooking duty. She wondered if she should tell Mueller about it and the argument, even though she couldn’t figure out who was yelling at Colleen.

  Would trace evidence be lost from the phone after it was submerged? Would the police even bother with that, being the underequipped department that they were? More likely, they’d be satisfied with the conclusion that the dessert made Colleen sick, leaving Ashley looking guilty by association.

  This phone, this beautiful broken phone, gave her hope that maybe there was a way out of this mess.

  Handing it over without first saving the data herself, though, made her nervous. There had been a famously fumbled case a few years earlier- when the state crime lab accidentally lost data by overwriting it with their own files. At the very least, she could make a copy, as she couldn’t imagine the state police would do a better job reco
vering the phone data than she could. She hid the phone between two pans, thinking that no matter how hard she tried, she could never escape the seduction of some exciting detective work after all.

  When she got back to the car she realized that she’d left Dizzy, her faithful, loving, addle-headed dog, in the back seat. When she’d saved her from the pound, they’d told her that she was a “Bitsa. Bitsa this and bitsa that.” She mostly looked like a Labrador crossed with a hound dog. Ashley had only intended to go inside briefly to get her trays, but Dizzy was still in her harness, sitting up, pricking her ears while licking her lips and staring at her intently.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Diz.”

  She put the trays on the seat next to the dog and gave her a scratch behind the ears before getting in and taking off for Fresh Start Kitchens, a shared commercial kitchen where she, Patty and other food entrepreneurs in the community rented space to do their food prep. Ashley dreamed of having her own store one day where she could sell her sweets, but for now, her baby Seagrass Sweets only did catering. It was the best option for her financially; she didn’t have to take on a lot of risk with a store lease, but she could still bring in money and set aside some of her profit each month. Plus, she loved having space to share with Patty and others in the same business.

  Her head was reeling from the news about Colleen and the possible poisoning. As she drove along the riverside on her way back to the kitchen, she felt two canine eyes tracking her thoughts.

  Sure enough, when she looked into the rear-view mirror, she saw Dizzy in the back seat, staring at her like a mother waiting for her child to confess. Ashley was taken aback with this new expression on her usually playful mug. She was quite the calm sage, in contrast to Ashley, who was doing her best to keep her frayed nerves in check.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Dizzy held her gaze for a moment before being distracted by a large truck rolling by. Her eyes soon drifted back to her mistress, who was studying her through the mirror. Ashley started to talk aloud, trying to assuage her own guilt and stop Dizzy from shaming her with that withering stare.