Hot Dish Heaven: A Murder Mystery With Recipes

by Jeanne Cooney

  I turned on my side and leaned up on my elbow. I spotted Margie at the far end of the garage, tending to Henrietta and Hester. Deputy Ryden and a guy I didn’t recognize were huddled outside, in the dark, visiting with the Johnson twins and Harriet.

  “I need to talk to someone,” I said, my voice froggy.

  “Shush. You passed out and hit your head on the snow blower.” Barbie nodded at the monster machine. “You were unconscious for a while. You’ve been in and out some too. So just rest until the doctor gets here.”

  “But I need to tell someone …”

  “Hey, Randy,” she hollered.

  The sound reverberated in my ears. “No, not him. I can’t trust him.”

  “What?” She pursed her lips, her expression suggesting I was daffy. And I probably was. I’d been attacked by a giant snow blower. And I’d been duped by a town full of dangerous nuts.

  “Well, if it isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” Deputy Ryden said as he ambled over.

  And to both of us, he added, “The doctor’s on his way.”

  “She definitely needs one,” Barbie replied. “She’s not making any sense.”

  Randy glanced at the back of the garage. “Why don’t you give Margie a hand? I’ll take over here.”

  “Are you sure?” Barbie looked at me, her face lined with worry.

  What was that about? Was she afraid I’d say something to the deputy? Hardly. He was as mixed up in all of this as she was.

  Barbie hesitated and only moved on after the deputy again urged her to go. He then took her spot on the floor.

  “You gave us quite a scare.” He crossed his legs and gently patted my arm, his eyes filled with what appeared to be real concern. But that couldn’t be. He was one of them.

  I raised my hand to my head, determined to sit up and then get to my feet. “I’m fine. I don’t need any medical attention.” My fingers brushed against a golf-ball-sized bump, and I winced.

  Randy chuckled. “Well, maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Why not let the doctor decide?”

  I squinted. For a moment, there were two of him. “No doctor. But I do want to talk to someone. I want to tell them what—”

  “There’s plenty of time for that later.” He took my hand. And even though I didn’t want to like it, I did. It was big and warm and comforting. And I desperately wanted to be comforted. I was alone and confused and awfully sore. “Besides,” he added. “Hester and Henrietta are sharing quite a bit with us. And Harriet’s been a wealth of information in her own right. Although with her, we have to parse fantasy from reality.”

  What did he mean by that?

  “Yeah, between all of them, we’ve developed a pretty clear picture of what happened.”

  What? Was he suggesting I had something to do with this mess?

  I pulled my hand free of his. “I didn’t hurt Henrietta. It was … her.” I nodded at Harriet.

  “We know. We know.” Again he wrapped his fingers around my hand, caressing the back of it with his calloused thumb.

  I leaned a little higher on my elbow. “You know?”

  He nodded, his eyes expressing kindness and perhaps a bit of sympathy.

  “You know she killed Samantha?”

  “We do now. We’ve heard the whole sordid story. We even have the dandelion digger.” He bobbed his head toward the Buick. The dandelion digger was in a plastic bag on the roof. “I’m just sorry you got mixed up in it.”

  I felt my shoulders relax as I processed what he said and what it meant. Given my cloudy thinking, it was slow going. But after I finally finished, I couldn’t help but smile. Deputy Rydan, it turned out, was a good guy. An honest-to-goodness good guy.

  Still, I hesitated, not at all sure how my next statement would be met. Even so, I felt compelled to go with it. “So … um … did they tell you … about … Rosa?”

  The deputy barely moved his head in response. And I immediately regretted asking the question. Then I wondered why I had. I didn’t care for any of the possible explanations, jealously being the worst and most likely, with insecurity running a close second.

  “She’s being questioned in the café.” His eyes looked terribly sad.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I truly was. Sorry for what he was going through. And sorry for being the jerk who had thrown it in his face.

  He shrugged. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Yes, I do. Believe me.”

  He raised his hand and repeated more emphatically, “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t cause any of this.”

  Maybe not. But I felt bad for him just the same. And, believe it or not, for Rosa too. I guess that while I didn’t want her involved with the deputy, I didn’t really want her mixed up in muder either. So maybe there was hope for me after all. “She was only trying to help her great aunts, you know.”

  I took in a quick breath. While those words had apparently been spoken by me, they felt foreign just the same. Remember, I was Ms. Law and Order. My motto: “You Do the Crime, You Do the Time.” I’d never before considered things like “mitigating circumstances.” Yet, I went on to say, “She didn’t set out to do anything terrible, you know.”

  The deputy squirmed. “Yeah, well, I guess we’ll have to sort all that out.”

  Yes, we will, I confirmed to myself. And while we were at it, I’d also find out what role Barbie played in all of this. And Margie too. As for Harriet …

  She was sitting on a stool just outside the garage. There was an older man with her, the guy who’d been talking with Randy when I came to. I suspected he was a cop. Even dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt, he looked the part. He also looked to be questioning Harriet, who appeared more than happy to provide him with answers.

  “What will happen to Harriet?” I asked the question of myself, but absently spoke out loud.

  The deputy answered, “I’m not sure.”

  “She’s sick you know.”

  Harriet started to cry. I couldn’t hear her, but I saw her dab her eyes with a tissue, as several others, all wadded up, blew around on the ground.

  “She didn’t know what she was doing.” Again I was caught off guard by the turn my thoughts had taken. “The entire time she was here in the garage her eyes were blank.”

  The deputy heaved a sigh and shifted his legs. “Emerald, she tried to kill you.”

  My gaze held steady on the old lady. She looked vulnerable again, as she did earlier in the day, not at all like when she was trying to … I shooed those images away.

  “No, that’s not right, Randy. She didn’t try to kill me. She wanted to kill Elsa Erickson.”

  The deputy dropped my hand and ran his own through his hair, unmistakably exasperated. “Elsa Erickson’s been dead for decades.”

  “So?”

  “So what exactly are you suggesting, Emerald?” He stared at me, his expression a blend of intense emotions. “What are you suggesting?” He repeated. “Because Harriet gets mixed up sometimes, we should send her to bed without any supper and leave it at that?”

  “Not necessarily, but …” I let my voice trail off because I wasn’t sure what I meant. This was unchartered territory for me. And while I wanted to believe I was growing up and becoming more compassionate, I couldn’t help but wonder if my benevolence was, in large part, simply the result of getting konked on the head. And tomorrow I’d wake up just as ego-centric as I’d been earlier in the day.

  The deputy cupped my chin with his hand and turned my head so my face was only inches from his own. “Harriet’s a murderer.” His voice had turned firm and certain. “And those other two are accomplishes.” He nodded toward Henrietta and little Hester. “Not to mention that one in …” He lowered his hand, unable to say any more. Maybe he wasn’t so sure of himself after all.

  “Anyhow”—He started over after clearing his throat—“I’m glad we got here when we did.”

  I thought about that for a second or two. “How did you know to come?”

 
He leaned his head to the side. “Barbie called me.”

  “What?” That didn’t sound right.

  “Barbie called,” he repeated. “She heard some commotion over here and sent Buddy and Buford to investigate but thought I’d better stop by too.”

  I shifted my elbow. “Barbie?” It still didn’t make sense.

  “Yeah, she’s been really concerned about you, watching over you while you were unconscious and everything.”

  “You mean she wasn’t involved with Buford and Buddy?”

  “What?” He wrinkled his brow in apparent concern. “You’d better shush, now. And lie still.”

  I tried to sit up, but my head was a brick. “No, I need to know. I deserve to know what happened.” I sounded much gruffer than I intended.

  Randy took hold of my shoulders and, in a resigned tone, said, “Okay. Okay. Don’t get all riled up. Lie down, and I’ll tell you.”

  I smiled. “Good.”

  Before I put my head down, I glanced behind me to see what was serving as my pillow. “Is that your jacket?”

  “Yeah, and it’s still dirty. Sorry.”

  I sniffed the air. “I thought you said someone spilled glorified rice on it?”

  He nodded.

  “But it smells like fried rice.”

  He shrugged. “Glorified rice. Fried rice. Whatever.”

  Concussion aside, that statement made absolutely no sense. Yet I let it slide. My brain was in no shape to take on very much, and I wanted to concentrate on what had occurred earlier. So I said, “Okay, just tell me about Buford and Buddy.”

  As I rested my head on the dirty jacket, the deputy covered me with another one—a clean one—wrapping it around my arms and tucking it under my chin. “Well, once upon a time …”

  “Very funny.” Yep, even injured, I was ready with the snappy comebacks. Or not.

  Randy cast his eyes downward. “Well, um … I guess it’s possible that Buddy and Buford had nothing to do with Samantha’s death.” He voice was low, practically inaudible.

  I couldn’t help but smile, although, in truth, I didn’t try very hard to stop myself. “So your instincts were wrong?”

  Randy teasingly glowered. “You’re supposed to be quiet.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I really wanted to give him a hard time, but my head was throbbing. I’d have to wait for another day.

  “Besides,” he proceeded to say, “if I’m not mistaken, you reported ‘bad vibes’ from Buddy too. What’s more, my instincts weren’t totally off. The twins were hiding something.”

  He once more squirmed on the cement. “You see, to get through the first anniversary of their mother’s death, they evidently barricaded themselves in a hotel room down in the Cities and drank themselves unconscious. And while they won’t admit it, I think there were some other chemicals involved too. You know, anything to numb the pain.”

  I turned my head to catch a glimpse of Buddy and Buford. They were standing outside, behind Harriet. And they weren’t moving a muscle. From the look of it, they were intimidated by the cop. Understandable since even in street clothes, the guy resembled an army drill sergeant.

  “Anyhow,” Deputy Ryden said, “from what we’ve learned, Father Daley found them or found out what they were doing and agreed to cover for them. Not because of Samantha. It had nothing to do with her. He just didn’t want the twins in trouble for under-age drinking. Or, more likely, illegal drugs.”

  “So that’s why no one saw them? That’s why they refused to take a lie-detector test?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And Father Daley told you all this?”

  “No, he won’t say a word. At least not yet. Priest confidentiality and all. But the boys confessed parts of the story.” He paused. “We may not be members of the clergy, but we have our ways.” He raised an eyebrow.

  “On top of that,” he continued, “I received some information late today, before coming back to the bar, that corroborated my suspicions about Buford and Buddy and their illegal drug use. I just can’t go into it right now.”

  “Fair enough. But it makes me sad.”

  “What do you mean?” He stopped for a beat. “Are you telling me you feel sorry for Buddy?” Another beat. “Hey, you didn’t fall for him after just a couple of dances, did you?”

  I attempted to laugh, but my chest ached too much. Most likely I had some bruised ribs to go with my bruised noggin. “No, nothing like that,” I uttered after a shallow breath. “But the information you received explains why you seemed more concerned about me tonight than earlier in the day.”

  “And?”

  “And here I thought you were showing more interest tonight because, at some point after our dinner together, you discovered you really liked me.” Yep, head injuries and all, yet I could still flirt. It was downright shameful.

  “I do like you.”

  My face grew warm. At least I had the decency to be embarrassed. “Well, um … ,” I stammered. “Tell me … um … tell me the whole story about Samantha Berg’s death.” When flustered, change the subject. Words to live by. “I want all the details.”

  Randy squirmed some more. He really shouldn’t have been sitting on the cold, hard, concrete floor, but I was glad he was. “We’ve only been here a while, so we don’t know everything. But it appears that when Vern went to Samantha’s house that last night, he ripped her a new one for destroying Ole and Lena’s family. With it being the one-year anniversary of Lena’s death, we didn’t find that too surprising.” He took my hand in his and played with my fingers. A simple gesture that felt pleasantly intimate.

  “Back then, Vern also told us that Samantha became furious with him. Again, not surprising. But now, tonight, we learned from the Anderson sisters that after Vern left Samantha’s house, Samantha noticed that Harriet had been watching them and decided to take her left-over rage out on her. So she headed next door.”

  He glanced at Harriet before proceeding with his story. I did the same. She was once again wiping away tears.

  “Anyhow, Samantha wasn’t aware of Harriet’s fragile state of mind. If she had been, she probably would have stayed home or gone to the bar, like she’d promised Jim.

  “She supposedly taunted Harriet, which sounds about right. Samantha loved to badger people. But most weren’t unstable. It drove Harriet over the edge.” He shook his head.

  “She apparently grabbed the dandelion digger from her gardening box, which also serves as a bench in the entry. We’re checking it out right now.” He nodded in the direction of the old ladies’ house. “She stabbed Samantha, thinking she was killing Elsa Erickson, the woman who stole her boyfriend some seven decades earlier.”

  The deputy raised his eyes to the elderly man standing over him. “Oh, Doc, I didn’t see you there.” He unwrapped his legs and rose to his feet. “This is Emerald Malloy.”

  “Hi, Emerald, I’m Doc Watson.”

  The old man bent down next to me. His face reminded me of driftwood, and he had more hair growing over his eyes and in his ears than on top of his head.

  He flashed a pen light in my eyes and felt around my head and neck. “Since you were out cold for a while, I’ll need to run some tests. And I’ll want you to stay with me at the hospital tonight.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Or what’s left of it.”

  I fidgeted. “I really don’t think I need—”

  “Exactly. I really don’t think I need you second-guessing me. I’m the doctor. You’re the patient.”

  “Doctor, I didn’t mean—”

  He interrupted again, “And you never know. You might like it. Some women actually enjoy spending the night with me.” He winked, and the deputy chuckled. “So let’s get you into my car. You’ve been waiting here too long as it is.”

  He looked to Randy. “She doesn’t appear to weigh much. Think you can carry her?”

  “No,” I lifted my arms in protest. “No one needs to carry me.”

  “Well,” the doctor said as he stood, kneading what
appeared to be a sore back, “I don’t have a gurney here, and you, young lady, aren’t going to walk. So …”

  Before I could object further, Randy threw aside the jacket that covered me and scooped me into his arms. “I promise I won’t drop you.” And without another word, he trailed the doctor out the garage and down the driveway.

  Not knowing what to do with my arms, I clasped them in front of me. But that left me feeling as if I might fall, so I ended up draping them loosely around the deputy’s neck. And only because my head hurt an awful lot, I rested it on his shoulder.

  He moved slowly across the alley, where small groups of gawkers gathered, watching and waiting for who knows what. And after a glimpse at them, I again burrowed my head between his neck and his shoulder.

  Reaching the car, the doctor opened the front passenger door, and Randy carefully slid me onto the seat. “I have to stay here a while,” he said, settling me in. “But later, after Doc gives you a clean bill of health, call me, and I’ll come get you. You’ll need a ride because your car’s at the café, and that’s where it’ll stay until Doc says you can drive.” He slipped a business card into my shirt pocket. “My personal cell number is on the back.” He winked, and my face grew warm. He was teasing me for shoving my business card into his pocket after kissing him earlier.

  “In the meantime,” he added, his forehead again falling into thoughtful lines, “just remember, you’re safe.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  He leaned closer. He smelled like fresh air and pine trees. “Your brain’s putting up a good fight right now, Emerald. But at some point, it’s going to give in, and you’ll fully realize what happened here tonight. That may frighten you. But that’s okay. Just let Doc know. He’ll help you through it.”

  “Randy, until you brought it up, I’d managed to avoid thinking about pretty much everything that occurred tonight.” I felt myself blush, yet added, “At least the bad stuff.”

  He smiled, his face within kissing distance of mine. “Yeah, well, you won’t be able to pick and choose for long,” he replied. “But Doc will talk to you more about that at the hospital.”

  He pulled back, then must have decided, what the hell, because he dipped forward and lightly brushed my lips with a kiss. I quivered, and he chuckled. “Now, I’m not bragging, Emerald, but those shivers have absolutely nothing to do with your concussion. My kisses have that effect on all the women.”