Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  Shuddering from the bitter taste and the situation I found myself in, I reviewed my plan, visualizing it several times over. And when it worked well in my head, I went with it before I could find its flaws or chicken out for some other reason.

  I mimicked everything as I saw it played out in my mind’s eye. I jerked the driver’s door open, jumped in behind the wheel and, in one fluid motion, bounced around, locking all four doors. I then laid on the horn.

  I used my free hand to check for a garage-door opener. My objective was simple. I’d back the car out and drive myself to safety. Just one problem. No opener. Not on the visor. Or in the glove box. But that didn’t really matter because there weren’t any keys in the ignition either. I slouched against the back of the seat, not at all surprised. It had been that kind of day.

  As I shook my head in resignation, my eyes fell on Harriet. She was propped against the wall, framed in pink insulation. The car door must have struck her when I yanked it open. I guess I missed it. I was too busy saving myself. But now I wondered if she was hurt. And for a split second, I thought about helping her. However, as she righted herself and charged at me, screaming like a banshee, I dismissed that idea.

  I honked some more.

  Where was everyone? Why didn’t they hear me? Were they all back in the bar? Was the band drowning out my SOS?

  Another possibility nudged me like a tap on the shoulder. Oh, my God, were they purposely ignoring me? Was I no different from Samantha Berg? Just another outsider making waves? Just someone else who needed to go away?

  As Harriet struck the driver’s window with the dandelion digger, I dismissed those questions, choosing instead to concentrate on my honking rhythm. Two long blasts followed by a series of short beeps. Did a minute go by? An hour? I wasn’t sure. Harriet pounded on the glass, and I honked my desperate tune. Another minute? Another hour?

  Then there was something. Something else. Something other than the honking. I eased off the horn. It was more of a rumbling. Harriet stepped away from the car. Still more rumbling. But this time it wasn’t from inside of me. It wasn’t fear. Although fear was undoubtedly present. No, this was a mechanical rumbling. The rumbling of … the garage door. Yes, the garage door. It was rising. The garage door was rising.

  I glanced in the rear-view mirror, eager for deliverance and a peek at my savior. Briefly, I imagined it to be Deputy Ryden. In my mind, he rescued me, carried me off for our date, and we lived happily ever after.

  In reality, though, the image of Deputy Ryden morphed into one I couldn’t recognize at first. I blinked and checked the mirror again. The picture was getting clearer. Or was it?

  I swiveled to see for myself, unable to accept the reflection in the mirror. But there was no mistake. It wasn’t an illusion. My actual rescuers were there. And they were none other than Henrietta and Hester. The air in my lungs escaped by way of a long-suffering sigh.

  Of course they weren’t my saviors of choice. But what choice did I have? And I suppose it made sense. They were in the house. They heard the honking before anyone else. And they came to investigate. Now they only had to talk some sense into their sister. But could they? Would they? Or would they … help her?

  Remember, Emme, blood is thicker than water.

  I ordered the little voice in my head to shut the hell up.

  Then I checked the glove box again. Still no garage-door opener. Still no weapon. So I bent over and searched beneath the seat. I only needed a screw driver. Or a hammer. Just a little something to even the score if necessary. But I found nothing except a useless plastic window scraper. I threw it back on the floor. I guess I was on my own, with nothing but a mind full of smart-ass comments and a lifetime’s worth of emotional baggage.

  “Now, tell me,” Henrietta barked, “what in the Sam Hill is goin’ on out here? Ya interrupted our snack. Me and Hester here were havin’ ourselves some Corn Flake Hot Dish.”

  Part Four - Heat and Serve

  Chapter 35

  The two old ladies separated, Henrietta slowly looping around my side of the car, where Harriet was standing, and Hester circling from the opposite direction.

  “Harriet,” Henrietta asked, “what’s goin’ on here? What’s all the hoopla?”

  Harriet stood firm. “I gotta kill her again. It didn’t take last time.”

  Henrietta glanced at me. She must have noticed that I’d rolled down the window about an inch and could hear everything being said. “Now, Harriet, quiet down,” she warned. “Ya don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Oh, yah, I do. I thought I killed her that night she came to the house. Remember? It was the night ya cooked that Broccoli and Stuffing Casserole, and I told ya not to make it ever again ’cause it caused me to bloat somethin’ awful.”

  “Harriet, you shush now.”

  Despite my curiosity about what Harriet had just said regarding killing someone, a part of me actually wanted her to listen to her older sister and stop talking. I had no desire to hear about her bloating. None whatsoever. But I guess it didn’t matter either way, because I don’t think she even heard Henrietta. Rather, she appeared to have slipped into another world.

  “Yah,” she said, “Elsa thought she was really somethin’. Tellin’ me to stop peepin’ out the window. Stop watchin’ her. Warnin’ me to mind my own business. But Carl was my business.”

  Henrietta glimpsed at me, nervous tension clearly humming through her. “Harriet, shut your mouth. Don’t say any more. If ya do, ya could end up in trouble.”

  Harriet was oblivious to us. She spoke in a soft monotone, the dandelion digger poised in front of her, ready to strike. “She laughed at me, ya know. After all she done, cavortin’ with Carl right next door, day after day, all those years, that tramp had the nerve to laugh at me.” She cackled like a witch. “Called me crazy and such. Well, I showed her crazy.” She cackled again. “Yah, I showed her crazy right in the heart. With this.” She shook the dandelion digger.

  And I slumped against the seat. There it was. The missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle—the puzzle that had gone unfinished for years. With the final jagged piece now snapped into place, I could see the picture in its entirety. And what a picture it was. Not only had Harriet mistaken me for Elsa, she’d mistaken Samantha Berg for her too.

  “Shut up, Harriet!” Henrietta shouted. “Shut up right this minute!”

  Something flickered in the depths of Harriet’s eyes. She might have been shocked by Henrietta’s words, but more likely, she sensed that Hester had edged up behind her.

  The smallest sister heaved her shoulders and stretched her arms high into the air in an effort to snatch the dandelion digger away. But Harriet wasn’t about to give it up. With a dog-like growl, she elbowed little Hester in the mid-section, sending her across the floor and to her knees. And after that, she pivoted, licking her moustache and slashing the dandelion digger like it was the sword of an old pirate—a pirate insane from being too long at sea.

  Henrietta was waiting, and she too fought to wrench the dandelion digger away. Harriet still refused to surrender it. She yanked on the rusty tool and pulled it away, slicing Henrietta in the shoulder in the process. The mother hen let out a blood-curdling scream and crumbled to the floor.

  I shoved the car door open just as Harriet lifted the dandelion digger again, its sharp end stained with her sister’s blood. Scared as I was, I bent to check on Henrietta. She was sobbing, her brittle hands pressed against her wound. The cut looked messy but not life threatening. Then again, what did I know?

  Emboldened by the anger that grew from looking into Henrietta’s terrified eyes, I yelled at Harriet. “See what you’ve done! Now give me that thing!”

  I was almost as furious with myself as I was with Harriet. I should have moved faster. I shouldn’t have allowed Henrietta and Hester to get hurt. But I was tired. And it had happened so fast. And none of it had seemed real. Yet, it was real. And now Harriet stood nearby, the dandelion digger at the ready.

>   “Harriet, you’ve hurt your sisters! You better give me that thing before you cause any more harm.”

  The old lady backhanded drool from her lips. “I didn’t hurt ’em. I’d never hurt ’em. I’m good to ’em, and they’re good to me. The last time I killed ya they even helped me do away with your body.”

  “What?” She continued to surprise me.

  “Please, Harriet,” Henrietta whimpered, “don’t say anything else.”

  Harriet didn’t bother to look at either of us. She just stared ahead, her eyes vacant. “When they came into the entry and saw ya dead on the floor, they wrapped ya in that big rug of ours. The one that used to be under the dinner table. Then we drug ya in here and put ya in the trunk of the car. You were way fatter then.” She flashed a demented grin. “We could barely lift ya.”

  I remained silent. I didn’t want to interrupt. I wanted her to keep talking. To tell me everything. That’s right. Once again my curiosity overtook my fear and probably my common sense. Again, what can I say?

  “You ’member?” Harriet’s accent was thicker, her words more ragged. She was getting tired. “We buried ya in that field, under da snow. And we hid the digger in Rosa’s garden.” Her grin drooped into a frown. “But those kids found it today. And ya wouldn’t stay buried.” She swayed from side to side, her rant taking its toll.

  I carefully moved toward her, planning to grab the digger before she could react. But she saw what I was up to and tightened her grip, her knobby knuckles turning white. “Now I gotta kill ya all over again. Not only for what ya did to me and Carl, but for Rosa too.”

  “Rosa?” Another surprise. “What about Rosa?”

  “Well, we didn’t know that field was goin’ to get built on. Canola? Why would a canola plant get built here? When we found out, we had to ask Rosa. She’d know what to do.”

  She gulped air. “We ended up movin’ ya to da snow bank. Behind da beet plant. Along da river.” She went in search of another breath, but this one was much harder to find. “Bad floodin’ was ’spected. Rosa reckoned ya’d float into Canada, bein’ the Red flows north. But ya didn’t. Ya came back here. Now I gotta—”

  “Rosa helped you?”

  Harriet wobbled, her eyes blinking uncontrollably. “She didn’t wanna. She had no choice. It’s tormented her somethin’ awful. And it’s your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  She waved the digger in the air like a magic wand that would help me understand the world according to Harriet. “If ya would of stayed away from Carl, none of this … But, no …” Her head rocked.

  Another minute or two and she’d be unable to put up much of a fight. “Harriet, I still don’t understand. I thought you hated Carl for what he did.”

  “Hated him?” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I loved him. I’ve loved him my whole life. Henrietta and Hester just wanted him to pay for what he done, gettin’ Elsa pregnant and all. And I agreed he should get taught a lesson. But I never hated him.”

  A tear trailed down her cheek. I watched for my opportunity. She lifted her free hand to wipe it away. And that’s when I jumped her.

  I clasped both my hands around the dandelion digger and shook it with everything I had. But she wouldn’t let go. She held on tight, staying with me, toe to toe, the two of us circling in a strange and furious dance. Around and around we went, her stale breath hot on my face, her arms hugging my shoulders. I led her. Then she led me.

  When I backed her against the car. I thought I had her. But using the bumper for leverage, she propelled herself forward, thrashing with all her might, striving to shove the digger into my chest.

  I’m sure my eyes relayed terror. But hers expressed nothing. And even though I was battling for my life, one tract of my mind veered off to something one of my professors had often said: “Don’t be fooled. Eyes aren’t the windows to the soul everyone thinks they are.”

  Staring into hers, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe my professor had never been up close and personal with a mad woman. As I imagined Harriet’s soul to be, her eyes were dark and barren. And they scared the hell out of me.

  I pushed against her. But the dandelion digger inched closer to my chest. My grip was slipping. Blood was pulsing through my ears. And fear and Harriet were kicking me in the gut.

  Was this the end? Was I going to be done in by an eighty-something granny-type with a crazy disposition and a rusty dandelion digger?

  I was about to feel sorry for myself for all the things I’d never get to do—drive in a demolition derby or visit Ireland or eat all the pie I wanted or have a baby or even a pet—when one of the little voices from inside my head spoke up.

  Hey, Emme, get a grip! Take care of business, or you’ll be known as the woman who got taken down by a geriatric nut job. And if that happens, if you aren’t dead already, you’ll wish you were.

  I didn’t think that was true. Nor did I want to follow the advice of my little voices. I still was ticked off at them for not helping me when I was trapped in the garden shed. But this didn’t seem like the best time to be holding a grudge. So I drew in a long breath and, on the exhale, shoved against Harriet as hard as I could.

  Her body slammed against the car, and she let out a strange noise. A woosh of some kind. She might have gotten the wind knocked out of her. I didn’t stop to check. Instead, I bent her backwards over the hood, pinning her there, my faced pressed against her cheek, my tears and sweat mixing with hers.

  I had no idea where my strength was coming from. I didn’t feel like myself. I was certain I was hovering above the action, while someone who only looked like me fought it out with the hairy old lady. But it was me. Me and my repressed anger. Anger from years of pain and heartache. Anger over this truly sucky day.

  I wacked Harriet’s gnarly hand against the hood over and over again, until she cried out in pain. She unclenched her fist, and I seized the dandelion digger. It was the weapon she’d used to kill Samantha Berg, and I wasn’t about to leave it behind while I ran for help.

  With the digger secure, I checked on Henrietta. She remained in a ball on the floor, mewling like a battered cat. For her part, Hester was crouched in the far corner, doing some whimpering of her own. And Harriet? Well, she was still slouched over the hood of the car, rubbing her shoulder and sobbing.

  The scene was surreal, and for a moment, I stood there, dazed. How did this happen? I only came to Kennedy for hot dish and Jell-O recipes. Nothing more. Definitely not this.

  Henrietta pulled me back into the moment with a noise that was part gurgle, part sob. I stared at her, studying the emotions fighting over her face: fear, mistrust, but mostly desperate need.

  You have to go, I told myself. You have to get help.

  I didn’t think Harriet would take off, but I wasn’t positive. I didn’t think she’d further harm her sisters, although I wasn’t certain about that either. The only thing I knew for sure was that Henrietta and Hester needed medical attention. And since I’d left my phone in the bedroom above the café, not imagining I’d have any use for it, I had no choice but to run for help.

  As I turned, wondering where I should go and who I could trust, my legs wobbled beneath me. I inhaled and urged my legs to try again. Another step. More wobbling.

  I glanced at my destination—the driveway and, beyond that, the alley. If I took my time, I could do it. I could reach the bar. I could get help. I could …

  I blinked several times, unwilling to believe what I saw. It was Buddy and Buford. They were standing at the entrance to the garage. And no mistake about it, this time they saw me. And this time they headed right for me.

  I struggled to speak, but my words got strangled in my throat. I fought to set them free, yet I only managed strange and desperate noises.

  “Emerald,” Buddy said, palms up, “what’s going on here?”

  I backed against the snow blower. “I don’t know.” I forced the words out on a breath filled with fear. “Just stay away!”

  Ignoring me, they edged aro
und the car. Closer and closer. Until they spotted Henrietta.

  “Holy shit!” Buford shouted. “Did you stab her?”

  His face was ripe with confusion. Or was it anger or rage? I couldn’t tell. And his question didn’t register. It made no sense. Stab her? How could I stab her?

  The dandelion digger. I saw it then. It was in my hand. And my hand was poised above my head. “Oh, no …” I lowered my arm as new tears stung my eyes. “No, she … um … tried …” My entire body trembled. “She tried …”

  I blinked back the tears. I couldn’t cry. I had to watch them. I couldn’t trust the twins. I had to track their every move. At any moment, they could jump me. Two against one. Then what would I do?

  I gripped the dandelion digger tighter. I blinked some more. Yes, I saw them. There they were. On the other side of my tears. But no. They weren’t alone. Now Barbie was with them. Right next to them. And someone else too.

  “This can’t be real,” I mumbled. It had to be a dream. Why else would Deputy Ryden be here?

  I wanted to ask him. I had to find out. But before I could, my world went black.

  Chapter 36

  I don’t remember what happened next. I guess I fainted.

  When I came to, I smelled fried rice. And when I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on the garage floor, a jacket draped over me. Barbie was seated on the cement beside me.

  “Don’t move,” she said. “You’ve got quite a bump on your noggin.”

  My head hurt, but I lifted it anyway. I wanted to shake the cobwebs from my brain. Of course that only made my head hurt worse. But I didn’t lie down again. I couldn’t. I had to make sense out of what had happened.