Beignets, Brides and Bodies

by J. R. Ripley

  Brad nodded. ‘I understand.’ His voice sounded husky.

  We kissed briefly once again then I watched him head to his car. As he pulled away I noticed a man on the sidewalk across the street watching me. He held an Irish setter at the end of a leash. At first I thought it was some pervert stopping to get a look at two people kissing in public. Then I realized I recognized this particular pervert.

  I stormed down the walkway to the street and planted my hands on my hips. ‘So now you’re spying on me, Detective?’ I hollered. It might have been midnight but I didn’t care who heard me.

  I saw the glint of smiling teeth under the glow of the streetlamp. ‘Merely walking my dog, Ms Miller.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I quipped. I shook my head to show my contempt. ‘You happened to be walking your dog on a Tuesday night at midnight right in front of my apartment.’ I snorted. ‘Like I’m going to believe that.’

  Highsmith tugged at the dog’s leash. The dog was busy inspecting a mailbox post. ‘I just got home. I live a block over.’ He pointed with his free hand.

  It was a good thing it was dark so he couldn’t see the brilliant red my face had become. ‘Yeah, well, then.’ I toed the ground and bit my lip. ‘Carry on. Goodnight, Detective.’

  Highsmith looked at me a moment longer. ‘Goodnight, Ms Miller.’

  I watched him and the dog turn the corner. I had a Table Rock cop for a neighbor. Worse, I had Detective Highsmith for a neighbor. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’s the best detective on the force. He ought to be. He is the only detective on the force.

  He’s also quite a handsome detective. When I’d first laid eyes on him I thought there might be a certain chemistry between us. I didn’t know whether that chemistry would produce beautiful fireworks or deadly explosions, but still, chemistry. Then I’d learned that he was seeing one Veronica Vargas, town prosecuting attorney, daughter of town mayor and Princess of Prissytown.

  And now he’d seen me making out on my front porch with Brad Smith.

  THIRTEEN

  Andy had made good on his word to return my Schwinn, so Wednesday morning I took off early by bike for the café. I’d desperately wanted to be out before either Johnny or my mother woke up. The scream Brad and I had heard the night before had not been Mom. It had been Johnny. Mom didn’t realize Johnny was in the bathroom. Johnny didn’t realize my mother was going to throw the door open with him sitting there on the toilet. With his trousers at half-mast.

  I still couldn’t get the awful image out of my head. And I’d had two cups of strong coffee and several beignets heaped with powdered sugar. I’d have thought that would have sizzled at least a layer or two of short-term memory brain cells.

  What good were vices if they didn’t help you forget stuff?

  Laura Duval was my first customer of the day. Laura is a very attractive ash blonde with soft features and inquisitive blue eyes. She sported a classic A-line bob and wore a dusky blue peasant dress with elbow-length sleeves and a cinched waist. ‘All alone today?’ she asked.

  I smiled. ‘For the first couple of hours. I told Aubrey to come in at eight.’ That’s when business really picks up. I offered a senior discount before ten a.m. on Wednesdays. I also offered free coffee with every beignet order to extraterrestrials. But, so far, I’d had no takers.

  ‘Coffee?’ I was a frequent visitor to Laura’s Lightly Used, the vintage shop she ran. It’s where I’d bought my Schwinn among other things, including several items for the café – like a certain rolling pin that I’d rather not think about.

  Laura nodded. ‘And beignets. Can’t have one without the other, right?’

  ‘Hey, cornflakes aren’t the only breakfast of champions.’ I liked Laura and was sure that over time we’d become fast friends. I stripped off a row of dough and dropped her order in the deep fryer, enjoying the sound of the sizzle almost as much as the smell of the deep frying dough.

  ‘I heard about Lisa Willoughby,’ Laura said, her voice low despite the fact we were alone. ‘I also heard you found her.’

  ‘Sort of,’ I said, pulling her beignets from the fryer and dropping them onto the draining tray, where I dusted them with powdered sugar. I plated the beignets and handed them across to Laura.

  She took her beignets and coffee to the nearest table and sat down. I joined her with a cup of coffee of my own. It was my third in an hour, but who was counting? ‘Did you know her?’

  Laura nodded and fingered a beignet. ‘We went to school together.’

  ‘I didn’t realize.’

  ‘I lived in Santa Fe once.’ Laura blew across the top of her cup and took a tentative first sip. I watched the steam rise like a wraith, or like the ghost of Lisa Willoughby materializing between us. Was she looking for her killer? Was she looking for some sort of spiritual release?

  Had I been listening to Mom’s hoodoo-voodoo mumbo-jumbo too long? If this was what I was like now what would I be like after living with her in my cramped apartment for a week?

  Laura set down her cup. The steamy ghost disappeared. ‘She wasn’t perfect but neither did she deserve to die.’

  ‘Is there anyone who might have thought otherwise?’

  Laura canted her head to one side and smiled wanly. ‘Old boyfriends she’d dumped and girlfriends whose boyfriends and husbands she’d stolen.’

  ‘So it was like that?’

  Laura nodded. ‘She lived in the condo below mine. Let’s just say there were plenty of comings and goings.’

  ‘She owned a condo?’ I’d seen Laura’s place. It wasn’t posh but it was decent. I couldn’t afford a car, let alone a condo in that building. ‘How could she afford to buy a condo? Was she renting?’

  Laura shrugged. ‘Maybe she was renting but if she was it was without the condo board’s consent. They’re pretty strict.’

  I puzzled over this for a moment. ‘Did she have a roommate?’

  ‘No. I’m sure she didn’t. I think I would have noticed if there’d been anyone else staying there on a regular basis.’ Laura smirked. ‘Not that I didn’t see a man or two going in or out of the place.’

  ‘Maybe cake decorators earn more than I thought.’ More customers started filtering through the door. I rose. ‘Be right with you!’ I smiled at my new customers, a well-dressed man and woman.

  ‘I heard the rumors about Clive Rothschild.’ Laura swirled the dregs of her coffee around the cup.

  I waved my hand. ‘It’s his partner, Johnny, I’m more worried about.’

  Laura’s brow rose. ‘You think he had something to do with Lisa’s death?’

  ‘No, not really. But the way he’s acting lately I’m not surprised the police are interested in talking to him, too.’

  Laura also stood. ‘Guess I’d better get to the shop.’ She dropped her tray at the counter. ‘If somebody did help Lisa down those stairs I’d look real hard at the people she worked with.’ She crumpled her napkin and dropped it in the trash. ‘And slept with.’

  Good point. Maybe I’d share it with Detective Highsmith.

  Laura tapped her cheek. ‘You know, there was one guy. I don’t know his name. But he wore a Markie’s Masterpieces shirt. I caught him banging on Lisa’s door, yelling, creating quite a racket.’

  ‘But you have no idea who he was?’

  ‘None. He had short brown hair and bushy eyebrows.’ Laura smiled. ‘I remember that.’

  ‘That sounds like Ben Baker,’ I said. ‘He’s got strong hands, too.’ I flexed my fingers. ‘Strong enough to give a person a solid push … or crush a windpipe.’

  As Laura scooted out the door, the two strangers at the counter shot each other worried looks. ‘How’s everybody today?’ I asked with a pasted-on smile. Our conversation might have been a tad graphic and uncomfortable for them and I wanted to make it all better. Kiss the boo-boo time. I made myself irresistible as I leaned my hands on the counter and said, ‘Here for the senior discount?’

  The woman gasped and shot a desperate – and offended – l
ook at the man I took to be her husband. ‘I’m not sure I want anything now,’ she growled, ‘under the circumstances.’

  I felt my face redden. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said. ‘I certainly didn’t mean to offend you in any way.’ But she looked so old. Did she want me to think she wasn’t on the downslope of sixty-two? I cleared my throat and looked imploringly at her husband, too. ‘You look really young!’

  The man half-smiled and gave me a shrug as his wife pulled him out the door. As I sadly watched a cash sale exit stage left, I had to give her credit: she may be old but she hadn’t lost any muscle. Or speed.

  ‘Please come again!’ I really couldn’t afford to lose any customers. ‘My treat!’ I yelled in desperation as they bustled away.

  ‘Wow, what was that all about?’

  I swung to my right. A man about my age wearing pleated khaki slacks and a yellow polo shirt was resting his elbow on the register. He’d come in just as the couple was going out. ‘Sorry, can I help you?’

  He ordered a plate of beignets and a cup of coffee. Aubrey came in as I was handing him his change. ‘Hope you’ll come again.’

  He smiled. He had big teeth and big brown eyes with just a hint of green around the edges. His hair was swept back. ‘Maybe. To tell you the truth, I was going to try that Karma Koffee place across the street.’ He pointed with his thumb.

  I cheered up. He’d chosen me over my erstwhile competition. I was winning.

  ‘But the line was so long I decided to come over here.’

  I cheered down. I was losing. ‘Well,’ I said, trying not to sound or look like a deflated day-old birthday balloon, ‘I hope you’ll stop in again.’

  He offered me an encouraging smile. ‘I’m only here to visit my sister. I have some sad news for her actually. I thought I’d tell her in person.’

  Aubrey grabbed an apron and joined me. I asked her to run a quick inventory in back. Tomorrow was order day. ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’ I wiped the counter with my towel. ‘Anybody I know?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Lisa.’

  I blanched. ‘Lisa?’ I gulped.

  He nodded. ‘Yep. Lisa Willoughby.’

  ‘Lisa Willoughby,’ I said, my tongue thick, my blood draining to my toes. Whatever sad news it was he had to share with his sister, Lisa, couldn’t be any sadder than Lisa’s own news.

  ‘That’s right. I’m Houston.’ His eyes looked troubled. ‘Are you OK? Is something wrong?’

  I twisted the rag in my hand. ‘How long have you been in Table Rock?’

  He cocked his head. ‘Just got here. Drove in from Santa Fe. Got up early to beat the holiday traffic and it still took me five or six hours. I’m starving and in need of coffee.’ He looked pointedly at the French coffee press.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ I poured him a cup of coffee and set it on the counter. ‘I’ve been told my coffee is strong enough to bench press two-fifty.’

  He took a sip and sighed. ‘Exactly what I needed.’

  ‘So,’ I said again, ‘just got here, huh?’

  ‘Yep.’ He took a larger gulp. ‘Why?’

  What was I supposed to say? Houston, we have a problem?

  What was I supposed to do? Tell him his sister was dead?

  Aubrey came around the corner. ‘Hey, Maggie, I finished the inventory. I forgot to mention, I saw the paper this morning. You must be truly, truly relieved.’

  ‘What?’ I turned to face my young assistant. I was still feeling stunned and totally, totally awkward. ‘Why?’

  She chuckled. ‘Because the police let Clive go, silly. Out on bail, anyway.’ She checked the coins in the till. ‘I don’t think they really suspected that Clive pushed Lisa Willoughby down the stairs and murdered her.’ She chuckled some more. ‘I know I don’t!’

  Thud.

  Houston, we have a problem.

  FOURTEEN

  I scraped Lisa’s brother, Houston, off the floor and checked his head for goose eggs. It didn’t appear that he had hurt himself too badly. Not even hummingbird egg-sized knot.

  The shock of hearing about his sister’s death was probably far worse than the blow he’d sustained when he’d fainted dead on the floor. I gave him a glass of water and directions to both the Mesa Verde Medical Center, should he want to get himself checked out, and the address of the Table Rock Police Department should he want to learn the details of his sister’s demise.

  ‘Sorry,’ muttered Aubrey, laying a hand on my shoulder as we watched Houston Willoughby slink out the door, shoulders drooping, a man defeated.

  ‘Not your fault.’

  At around ten a.m., Mrs Higgins showed up at the café flaunting a form-fitting red dress, accessorized with a red silk scarf and black heels that slammed against the wood floor as she marched to the counter. What was it with women around here staying in shape well into their fifties? Was peer pressure going to force me to keep up? I hoped not. I was looking forward to letting go.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Higgins,’ said Aubrey. ‘Can I help you?’ Samantha Higgins’ blonde locks were in a loose ponytail that bobbed up in back like a gold-colored waterfall.

  Mrs Higgins looked at the menu. ‘I don’t think so, Aubrey.’ She studied Aubrey for a moment. ‘I heard you’d left Karma Koffee but I simply did not believe it.’

  Mrs Higgins turned to me. ‘Ms Miller, may I have a word?’ She had a folder in her free hand. The other hand clung to the strap of her black purse. Maybe she was afraid we had purse snatchers lurking about behind the soda fountain.

  I crinkled my brow in surprise. ‘Of course.’ I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped out from behind the counter. Maybe she was going to place a huger order of beignets for the impending nuptials.

  She withdrew a stiff poster from her folder and held it by her fingertips. It was a poster for an event called Labor of Love coming up this weekend. I realized now that I’d seen a few of the posters splattered around town but hadn’t paid them much mind. ‘It’s the annual Labor of Love,’ Mrs Higgins began. ‘We have arts and crafts, face painting, live music, clowns and food vendors.’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  ‘You can place this in your window.’

  ‘Be glad to.’ So that was the labor of love she’d been talking about yesterday at the cake shop. I thought she’d been talking metaphorically about her daughter’s upcoming nuptials. I came back to earth as I realized Mrs Higgins was still talking.

  ‘… And I realized after you left yesterday that I had neglected to include you.’

  I nodded. I guess she had.

  ‘Fortunately there has been a cancellation. So.’ She set the poster on the counter, removed a small, stapled packet and handed it to me.

  I accepted. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘The paperwork for your registration, of course. You’ll have to take it to Cosmic Ray, of course, to make it official.’

  ‘Uh, of course,’ I said, suddenly mimicking her speech pattern. ‘Cosmic Ray?’ What was she trying to say? Somebody was going to shoot some cosmic ray at the thing and that was going to make it all official?

  Mrs Higgins rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, that’s not his real name. It’s really Ray Bentley. Everybody calls him Cosmic. Lord knows why a grown man would want to go by the name Cosmic Ray.’ She thrust the empty folder in her purse. ‘You’ll accept?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. I was going to say ‘of course’ but I’d had enough of that. I pinched my eyes together as I read the top sheet of paper. ‘What exactly am I accepting?’

  Her hands clutched the strap of her purse. ‘You’ll have a booth at the Labor of Love, of course.’

  Of course.

  She beamed. ‘All the money goes to charity.’

  I shrugged. I couldn’t say no to a good cause. ‘Count me in.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ She looked at her watch. Nice. Probably eighteen-carat gold. ‘You’ll have to hurry, though. Registration closes at noon tomorrow. We need to make sure we have a proper number of volunteer vendors and
booths to go around.’

  I nodded once more. I was beginning to feel like a bobble-head.

  ‘You’ll want to get that paperwork filled out and over to Cosmic Ray ASAP.’

  I waved the papers between us. ‘ASAP,’ I agreed, giving her an energetic thumbs up. ‘Where do I find this Cosmic Ray?’ I looked around the café. I was beginning to wonder if good old Mrs Higgins had flipped her wig. Maybe Cosmic Ray was nothing more than an imaginary alien acquaintance of the woman’s. Perhaps the pressure of this whole wedding thing had pushed her over the edge. I’d seen first-hand how upset she’d become at the mere hint that her daughter’s wedding cake wouldn’t get done in time.

  ‘He works at the Table Rock Visitor Center. You’ll find him there.’ Mrs Higgins rat-a-tatted toward the door. With heels like those I could chisel another Mount Rushmore. She pushed the door open then turned. ‘Oh, and don’t forget your checkbook!’

  ‘Checkbook?’ I knew I had one around here someplace. Oh, yeah. My cardboard box desk in back. I was using my checkbook as a coaster. It had a genuine forest-green vinyl cover. Perfect for holding a sweaty glass and preventing condensation from soaking into the cardboard.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Higgins explained, ‘the booth fee is four hundred dollars.’

  ‘Four hundred—’ I gulped.

  Mrs Higgins cut me off. ‘Don’t worry, Ms Miller, we’ll have a lovely ten-by-ten tent-topped booth for you all ready to go Saturday morning. With all the utilities you need.’

  ‘Dollars?’ I looked madly at the papers in my hand. Was there an escape clause?

  ‘Would you like gas or electric?’

  Well, electrocution might kill me quicker but I had a feeling the gas would be less painful.

  Mrs Higgins waved her hand to cut me off before I could even formulate a request. ‘Simply fill out the appropriate box on the form. A for electric, B for propane.’