Dinner was usually served at five thirty, six at the latest. Liz had only a short time to figure out what to make. The first thing she did was check the lobster. She removed one tail from its shell. The top was burnt, but when she turned it over the bottom was barely cooked. Pierre must have had the broiler on. Liz strode to the oven and sure enough, the Broil light was on.
There was only one thing to do; she had to cut off the charred tops, then cut the lobster tails into small chunks and make some kind of seafood risotto, cream sauce, or a chowder. She walked to the commercial refrigerator and opened the door. It seemed Pierre had already been inside. Carrot tops were missing their carrots, and unwashed leeks lay atop an unwrapped wheel of sheep’s milk cheese with truffles that went for fifty dollars a pound. “Oh, Pierre, what a mess.”
Barnacle Bob cooed from the pantry, “Oh, Pierre. Oh, Pierre. What a mess. Nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven.”
“BB, you’re incorrigible.”
Liz spent the next half hour cleaning the kitchen and refrigerator, while Barnacle Bob took a walk on the dark side, spouting every dirty word he’d ever heard.
Aunt Amelia stepped back into the kitchen. “I didn’t hear BB use a curse word, did I?”
“No,” Liz said. “He used all of them!”
“Pretty boy. Pretty boy,” Barnacle Bob chanted.
Brownnoser, Liz thought.
Iris came into the room from the direction of the service elevator. She wore her usual scowl and didn’t even glance in Liz’s direction. She said to Aunt Amelia, “How many for dinner?”
Aunt Amelia said, “Let’s see. There’s me, Betty, Pierre, Captain Netherton, Liz, Fenton, Ryan, and David Worth.”
At the name “David Worth,” Liz saw the housekeeper’s jaw clench.
“And if you don’t mind, dear,” Aunt Amelia said, not noticing Iris’s darkening mood, “I’d like you to serve. Pierre seems under the weather.”
Iris opened her mouth to protest, but apparently thought twice and closed it. Liz was glad. She wouldn’t allow Aunt Amelia to be bullied. Finally, the housekeeper walked into the dining room like she was marching to orders.
Aunt Amelia came close to Liz and whispered in her ear, “What are we going to serve, darling? Should I run down to the Crab Shack and pick something up?”
“Not in this weather, Auntie. I’ll come up with something, but don’t expect too much. You’re not trying to impress David Worth, are you?”
“No. We don’t need anything fancy. He told me he was Florida-born, grew up in Orlando, of modest means. I spoke to him earlier, and he volunteered the information that when he met Regina Harrington he’d made a lot of money after selling his computer graphics company. Then the poor guy actually fell asleep in the middle of our conversation. He must be on heavy pain medication or tranquilizers. I realized then where I’d seen him before. It was at the grand opening weekend of the emporium shops. Oh, you should have seen it, Lizzy. It was one of the happiest times of my life.”
“I’m sorry I missed it, Auntie. But I did catch it on the video Kate texted me when I was in New York. The closing on my loft took much longer than expected, or I would have been here in a heartbeat. You looked absolutely gorgeous, and the shops were packed.”
“David was there. I know it. I told you, I don’t forget a face. I remember spotting Shelley Winters at Schwab’s on Sunset Boulevard even though she wore sunglasses and a head scarf. I’d just come from playing in a skit for the TV series, Bob Hope Presents the Chrysler Theatre, where Shelley had made a guest appearance. It was something about her chin…”
“Did you happen to notice Regina at the grand opening?”
“No. I’m sure someone would have pointed her out if she’d been there.”
“Didn’t you just tell me David said he’d never been to the Indialantic before?”
“He did. Although that was in front of his wife.”
“Maybe he didn’t want Regina knowing he shopped in such a ‘lowbrow establishment’. I saw him the morning of the Spring Fling, buying something for Regina in Gold Coast.”
“Nothing about the emporium is ‘lowbrow,’ Elizabeth Holt.”
“I know that and you know that. But you must admit, we aren’t Worth Avenue. How’s he taking his wife’s murder?”
“He seems numb—and sad,” Aunt Amelia said. “Just plain sad.”
Liz glanced at her watch. “I’d better decide what to make for dinner. Something that involves lots of lobster meat, obviously.”
Aunt Amelia laughed. “Reminds me of an episode of The Patty Duke Show, when Patty wanted to impress a boy. She was a terrible cook, so Cathy said she’d do it, but then Cathy got called away. My part was cut, but it was so much fun to watch the twins work; I mean, to watch Miss Duke work. I have faith in you, my dear—you’re more of a Cathy than a Patty when it comes to your cooking ability. But like Patty, were you planning on impressing a certain boy with your gastronomic delights? A certain boy with the first initial ‘R’?”
“He’s not a boy.” He’s definitely a man, Liz thought. “I wish I had as much faith in myself as you do about preparing this meal. I feel so bad about Pierre. I thought he was doing so much better these last few days. He even seemed to take what happened to the Worths in stride.”
Aunt Amelia was an eternal optimist. “He will be as right as rain after his nap.”
“Are we able to go into the Oceana Suite yet? I think it needs a makeover. And the sooner the better.”
“Great idea. I’ll put you and Kate in charge, and I don’t plan on going inside until you’re finished. I’d better go supervise Iris. She doesn’t seem herself.”
Liz begged to differ. “I see a patrol car is still parked outside.”
“I promised your father I’d let him handle anything having to do with the police. I’m sure that lovely Agent Pearson will keep him updated.”
Lovely? Liz felt something uncomfortable twist in her gut at the thought of Agent Charlotte Pearson and her father together. Was it jealousy? It had been twenty-three years since her mother’s death; she didn’t expect her father to stay alone forever. But there was something about Agent Pearson that bothered her. She was all business. Liz didn’t see any warmth or compassion, but maybe that was because of their last encounter and the fact that the detective had to wear two hats: charming companion to her father at night and by-the-book homicide detective during the day.
After Aunt Amelia left the kitchen, Liz went to check the pantry and the fridge to see whether she had the proper ingredients to make a cohesive one-dish dinner. She’d given up hope that this would be the meal to impress Ryan, and so she looked forward to his invitation for their cook-off—the “best-laid plans” and all that.
First, she opened the fridge and found fresh corn on the cob; eggs; enough heavy cream to bathe in, because it was Pierre’s favorite old-school French addition, butter; thick-slab bacon; and a large container of Pierre’s homemade fish stock. In the pantry she located flour, shallots, fingerling potatoes, fresh garlic, paprika, dry sherry, salt and pepper, and dried thyme. She’d have preferred fresh, but the weather didn’t call for her risking her life for fresh herbs.
Barnacle Bob, who had been snoozing, snapped to attention. “Ki-wi, ki-wi, ki-wi. Where in tarnation is my damn ki-wi!”
Iris was shirking her duties if BB had been three days without his favorite kiwi.
“Calm down, BB. I’ll go ask Iris if she has any kiwi.”
“Battle-ax Iris. Battle-ax Iris.”
“Don’t let Aunt Amelia hear you say that.”
He turned around in his cage and did his version of dropping his pants by bending forward and raising his tail feathers.
“You’re a dirty bird, Barnacle Bob.”
As she walked out of the pantry with her tray of supplies, she noticed the parrot didn’t repeat h
er words.
She set the tray down on the center island of the kitchen and went into the dining room to ask Iris if she’d fed Barnacle Bob. Iris wasn’t there and the tables were only partially set.
Where was she always disappearing to?
Chapter 29
At six thirty, everyone in the dining room had a meal set in front of them. After Iris had served the dinner, Aunt Amelia had sent the housekeeper into the kitchen to clean up. Liz stood in the open doorway between the kitchen and dining room, surveying the tables, searching for reactions to the food. Pierre’s dishes were usually flawless. Liz knew her meal wasn’t flawless; she just hoped it was passable. She caught Ryan’s eye. He lifted his wineglass in the air as a symbol of appreciation, then continued to work on what Liz had deemed Lobster Bisque Potpie.
David Worth and Ryan shared a table. Liz would have loved to join them, but she chose to sit with her father, letting Ryan have the chance to learn what he could from David. David seemed in pretty good shape for what he’d gone through—a little pale, but he was talking animatedly to Ryan, even gesturing with his hands. How could he not feel strange, sitting directly below where he’d just been stabbed and where his wife had been choked to death? Before dinner, Liz had handed Betty the copies of the canceled rent checks from the emporium. Liz hoped they found a match between the note and the handwriting, so that at least one mystery could be solved.
Aunt Amelia, Betty, Pierre, and Captain Netherton sat together at a different table. The storm outside was still raging, and the sky was as dark as midnight. There were lit tapers on all three tables, giving the grand old room a shadowy vibe. Liz was thankful for Captain Netherton. He was spinning one of his tall tales about a Coast Guard rescue he’d been a part of during one of Florida’s worst hurricanes.
Everyone seemed happy. “Well? How is it?” she asked her father.
Earlier, he’d walked into the kitchen when Liz was in warrior-chef mode. She’d explained about the incident with Pierre and the lobsters. They’d both agreed that Pierre needed to see a doctor, no matter how “right as rain” Aunt Amelia thought he was.
Her father touched a napkin to his bottom lip and said, “It’s delicious, hearty, filling, yet at the same time delicate. And the lobster is perfect.”
“Well, thank you, kind sir. How did your day go?”
“Better than expected. A good day in court.”
“That’s great. When you have a few minutes, I have a lot to talk to you about, mostly things relating to Regina Harrington-Worth’s death.”
“Elizabeth, I hope you’re being careful?”
“Of course. I have Betty, Kate, and Ryan all watching my back.”
Liz heard her father’s cell phone buzz. He held up his finger and said, “Hold that thought,” then answered the call.
Liz got up, walked to the sideboard, picked up a pitcher of lemon-flavored water and took it over to David and Ryan’s table. “Water, gentlemen?”
“I would love some,” David said. “It’s time for my next pill.” He put his hand in his left pocket, then his right, and came up empty. He said, “Damn. I must have left my medication upstairs. I’ll be right back.” He put both hands on the table to push himself up, grimacing in pain.
Ryan said, “Mr. Worth.”
“David.”
“David, please sit down. I’ll run up and get them. It’s no problem.”
“Thank you. Here’s my room key. But don’t you want to finish your dinner while it’s hot?” He looked at Ryan’s plate and laughed. “Looks like that isn’t a problem. Did you inhale it?”
Ryan stood. “Just about. One of the best meals I’ve ever had.”
“It is pretty tasty,” David agreed, then he took a long swig of his wine.
After Ryan left, Liz asked David, “Can I get you anything else?”
“I’ll be fine as soon as the meds hit.” He looked up at Liz’s face, his gaze lingering on her scar before he looked away.
Maybe he was thinking about his own wound? “Okay, well, let me or Iris know if you need anything else.” She started to walk away, then turned back. “Mr. Worth, you don’t know where Venus’s collar is, do you?”
“No. I’m sorry. I haven’t seen it. Did you ask Amelia? She still has Venus with her. I can’t bear to look at the cat. She was Regina’s child—she never had any of her own.”
Liz touched his hand. “I am so sorry for your loss. Don’t worry about Venus. Aunt Amelia is the Dr. Doolittle of the Indialantic. She will take care of Mrs. Worth’s pet like Venus was her own.”
“Thank you. You’ve all been so kind. I only plan on staying for a few more days, just until they release Regina’s”—he took another gulp of wine. Liz had left a full bottle on the table and it was empty—“body for the memorial.”
“Well, if we can help with any arrangements, please let us know.”
“I will,” he said. He looked out at the dark window leading to the courtyard and Liz walked away. She thought about opening another bottle of wine, but she knew firsthand he shouldn’t mix pain medication with alcohol.
Liz went and sat with her father. She hadn’t touched her food, but she’d done so much taste-testing she thought if she had just one more bite she might lose it—literally. Who would have thought anyone could get tired of lobster?
“Was the phone call about your new case?” she asked her father.
“No, it was Charlotte—Agent Pearson. She’s a few minutes away and wants to talk to Mr. Worth about something. I told her to come into the dining room. She hasn’t eaten. Can we offer her one of your marvelous lobster potpies?”
Liz looked down at her untouched dish. If she provided the detective with a homemade meal, maybe it would help to get her to open up about the investigation. She was still smarting from Agent Pearson’s question about Liz having a connection to Regina’s missing jewels. “This is the last one, but I’ll take it back into the kitchen and heat it up a bit.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“Don’t worry. I’ve tasted so much lobster in the last few hours, I’ll probably grow claws and a tail.”
“Did I ever tell you that you’re the best, dear daughter?”
“All the time,” she replied. “But keep those compliments coming, dear ol’ dad.”
Liz went into the kitchen. Iris was gone, but the kitchen was spotless. In the pantry, Barnacle Bob’s cage was missing. She hoped he wasn’t in the same room as Venus; the two follicly challenged pets might tangle. BB was an expert at opening his own cage, and Venus—well, Venus was a cat.
She covered the potpie with a damp paper towel, then put it in the microwave on 50 percent power. Liz was breaking the cardinal rule of serving fine cuisine—to never use a microwave. But at this point, she really didn’t have a choice. She would stick the potpie under the broiler for a few minutes after she took it out of the microwave. It wouldn’t be as tasty as if it was straight out of the oven, but it would be darn close.
A few minutes later, Liz peeked into the dining room. Agent Pearson had arrived, and she was sitting in Liz’s seat. Liz pushed the childish notion away that she’d been replaced by the stunning detective, and she pulled out the white-fluted pie dish from the oven.
She brought the lobster potpie and a hastily made salad into the dining room and placed them in front of Detective Pearson. Liz had served a more complex salad earlier, with freshly made goat cheese that Pops had gotten from a local farm, but as the saying went, “beggars can’t be choosy.” Looking at the elegant way the detective dressed, she doubted Agent Pearson would ever be considered a “beggar.”
“Be careful,” Liz instructed, “the serving dish is very hot.”
“It looks delicious. Your father was just raving about it.” Agent Pearson looked around at the other people in the room, and her rare smile turned upside down as she morphed back into a hard-to-rea
d homicide detective looking for a murder suspect.
“Would you like some rosé?” Liz asked.
Agent Pearson put a napkin to her perfect lips. “No, thank you. I’m on duty.”
“Water with lemon?”
“That would be great.”
Liz hoped she was earning brownie points by waiting on the detective. She had a vision of everyone sitting in her father’s office, discussing the murder, with Liz giving the police the one clue they needed to solve the case and catch the killer. She went to the sideboard and retrieved the pitcher of water, then came back to the table and poured some into the detective’s glass. “Anything else?”
Before Agent Pearson could answer, her father said, “Pull up a chair, Liz. You’ve been on your feet for hours.”
Agent Pearson didn’t second the invitation, but Liz walked over to Ryan and David’s table to steal a chair. Of course, there were closer tables with empty chairs, but she’d timed it perfectly. Just as she reached David Worth’s table, Ryan returned, holding a prescription bottle. Liz was thrilled at the thought he’d taken so long to retrieve it. That meant he must have been doing some snooping in David’s suite. Snoopy Pants to the rescue.
Ryan handed David the prescription bottle and said, “The bottle had fallen behind the nightstand. Took a while to find it.”
David didn’t seem to hear his words. He grabbed the bottle, poured several pills into his hand, then downed them with half a glass of wine.
Was he numbing his shoulder pain, or numbing the loss of his wife?
Liz took the chair back to her father’s table. As soon as she sat, the conversation between her father and Agent Pearson quelled. Betty’s table had also quieted, probably due to Betty shushing everybody so she could hear what Agent Pearson was saying to her father.
Agent Pearson must have liked the lobster, because it didn’t take her long to finish it. Fenton recounted a story about a recent case he’d won involving a surfboard that a great white shark had chomped on. The bite mark coincided with the largest jaw measurement for any shark ever recorded and was sold to Ripley’s Believe It or Not. The problem was, the owner of the surfboard was going through a divorce and his better half wanted a share of the proceeds from the sale. Her father had represented the wife and won the case. They all laughed when he described the surfboard in question, propped up on a table in the front of the courtroom.
Death by the Sea Page 17