“Why don’t you drive?” I say to Wavonne. “I want to look through the mail I grabbed from Raynell’s office.”
We hop in the van, and on the way to Sweet Tea I start sorting through the stack of envelopes.
“What do you think you’re gonna find in there?” Wavonne asks.
“Who knows? Maybe a phone bill that notes some incriminating conversations or something like that.”
“Like late-night phone calls between Raynell and Gregory?” Wavonne takes her eyes off the road for a moment and looks at me. “Are you tryin’ to find a motive for Raynell’s murder or just tryin’ to figure out if Raynell had a thing goin’ with your new man?”
“Gregory is hardly my new man.”
I continue to riffle through Raynell’s papers—there’s an electric bill, a Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, some credit card promotions, another Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, some political advertisement, another Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, some grocery store circulars . . . junk mail, junk mail, junk mail. There doesn’t appear to be anything in the pile that’s going to yield any clues until I come across a plain white envelope. It’s not sealed, so I open it easily and pull out a handwritten note.
“Get this.” I start reading aloud. “ ‘Hey, good-lookin’. Anxiously awaiting our next encounter when I get to wrap my arms around you and kiss your sweet lips.’ It’s signed M.”
“Ooh . . . Raynell’s husband’s name don’t begin with no M,” Wavonne says. “That bougie ho was gettin’ some bump and grind on the side.”
“Sure seems like it.”
“It’s not signed G. So at least you know it ain’t Gregory.”
“I guess.”
As we pull into the parking lot in front of Sweet Tea, I take a closer look at the note and read it again. “Something about it is familiar to me,” I say to Wavonne as I continue to study it.
“The note? What?”
“I’m not sure . . . it’s like I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?”
I look at the ceiling and think for a moment. “You know, I’m not sure.” I fold up the paper and put it back in the envelope. “But I intend to find out.”
RECIPE FROM HALIA’S KITCHEN
Halia’s Double-Crust Chicken Potpie
Crust Ingredients
1½ sticks salted butter (¾ cup)
⅓ stick butter flavored vegetable shortening (⅓ cup)
½ cup water
3 cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons sugar
Pinch of baking powder
Filling Ingredients
¾ cup sliced carrots
1 cup diced red potatoes (skin on)
⅓ cup butter
1 garlic clove, minced
⅓ cup finely chopped scallions
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoons pepper
teaspoon ground Cayenne/red pepper
⅓ cup flour
1¾ cups chicken stock
⅔ cup whole milk
3 cups torn, cooked chicken
¾ cup frozen peas
• Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.
• Place butter, shortening, and water in freezer for 20 minutes prior to use.
• Cut cold butter and shortening into 1/4-inch slices.
• In food processor, pulse together flour, salt, sugar, and baking powder. Add butter and shortening. Pulse until mixture clumps into size of small peas. While continuing to pulse, slowly add water until dough begins to form a ball. Remove dough from food processor and form into two balls. Insert balls in separate plastic bags, seal, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
• On floured work surface, roll out one ball of dough into a circle (1/8-inch thickness/11 inches in diameter). If dough sticks to surface, work a small amount of flour (a tablespoon at time) into dough and re-roll.
• Lightly flour top side of crust prior to delicately folding it in half to transfer to 9-inch pie pan. Gently unfold in pan, pressing against edges. Trim excess crust and flatten evenly on rim of pie plate. Hold a fork at a slight angle and lightly press the tines into pastry to create a “fork edge” around the rim of the crust.
• Poke holes in bottom of crust with fork, line with parchment paper, and fill with pie weights. Bake for 20 minutes. Remove parchment paper and weights and bake for another five minutes or until golden brown. Remove crust from oven and cool.
• Boil carrots and potatoes in large saucepan for 8 to 10 minutes, until crisp tender. Drain.
• In large sauce pan, heat butter over medium-high heat. Add garlic and scallions. Stir constantly until garlic and scallions are fragrant (about 1 minute). Add salt, pepper, and red pepper. Slowly add flour. Continue to stir until sauce bubbles. Add chicken stock and milk, continuing to stir until sauce thickens. Stir in chicken, peas, carrots, and potatoes. Pour mixture into cooked pie crust.
• Roll out remaining dough and place over filling. Trim edges and create a “fork edge” around rim of top crust. Cut four slits/vents into top crust. Bake for 35 minutes or until top crust is golden brown.
Eight Servings
CHAPTER 25
This morning’s antics took up so much time that by the time Wavonne and I finally get to Sweet Tea the brunch rush is long over. We have only a few customers when we walk through the front door.
I see Jack Spruce, a local police officer and Sweet Tea regular, having a late lunch at a table in the corner. He has one of our summer specials on his plate—fresh corn on the cob. I buy it by the truckload from June through August. We steam it and let customers decide if they want one, some, or all of the following on it: salt, pepper, Old Bay seasoning, butter, lemon, shredded cheese, and/or spicy mayonnaise. It’s hugely popular with the customers despite the price, which I set at a premium—not because the corn is expensive, but because shucking hundreds of corn cobs a day cost me a mint in labor expenses.
Wavonne and I smile and wave hello to Jack on our way to the kitchen.
“Aren’t you gonna go chat with your boyfriend?” Wavonne jokes. She’s convinced Jack has a crush on me, and, I’ll admit, she’s probably right. I’m sure he really does love the food here, and we offer free soda and coffee to all the local police officers if they feel like stopping in when they’re making their rounds. But Jack comes in the most of any of them and has asked me out a time or two. I’ve always declined as politely as I can. I do like him as a person. He’s very nice, but I guess we all know “very nice” is the kiss of death when you’re talking about someone with a romantic attraction to you. He’s about my age with a dark brown complexion, closely cropped black hair, and a bit more of a belly than a police officer should probably be carrying—if he ever had to chase down a reasonably fit criminal, I’m afraid I’d have to bet on the criminal. But his being overweight isn’t a problem for me. It’s not like I’m not carrying around my share of extra pounds as well. There’s just something a little too nice . . . or simple . . . or easy . . . or something about him. Much as I’d like to be attracted to him, I’m just not. I hate to admit it, but I need a man with a bit more of an edge.
“I’m so sorry you had to come in and deal with the Sunday-morning crowd after I left you here alone last night,” I say to Laura after stepping inside the kitchen.
“No worries. We were busy and short a server with Wavonne being out, but we muddled through.”
“Thank you, Laura. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I’ll be here until closing.”
Laura gladly agrees to leave Sweet Tea to me, and Wavonne and I go to the break room to drop off our purses. When we return to the dining room I see Tacy at a booth along the wall rolling silverware into linen napkins for the dinner service. Tacy’s official title is prep cook, but he’s sort of a jack-of-all-trades and just helps out with whatever requires some attention.
“Why don’t you help Tacy with the silverware while it’s slow?” I say to Wavonne.
Wavonne groans.
“What’s
with the groaning? Good Lord. I’m not asking you to mine coal in West Virginia. Come on. I’ll help, too.”
“What up, Tace-Man,” Wavonne says when we reach the table.
“Nothing much. Trying to get the silverware done, so I can finish up the prep work in the kitchen for tonight’s special.”
“What’s the special this evenin’?”
“Shrimp and grits.”
“Ooooo, I’m gonna have me some of that,” Wavonne says.
“It looked like we’re almost ready with the special when I was in the kitchen with Laura a few minutes ago,” I say to Tacy.
“There’s still some chopping to do . . . parsley, scallions—”
“Bacon?” Wavonne asks. “I didn’t hear you say nothin’ about no bacon.”
“The bacon has been chopped, Ms. Hix.”
“Good. That’s what makes it so delish.”
Wavonne is at least partially right. We fry up the bacon first and then use the bacon fat to sauté the shrimp with some cream, lemon juice, fresh corn, parsley, scallions, garlic, just a touch of dry sherry, and, of course, chopped bacon. We serve the shrimp and sauce over two homemade triangle-shaped grit cakes. All the ingredients play a role in making the special so popular, but, like Wavonne said, the bacon, which I get from a local pig farmer just south of Frederick, is key—it gives the dish a different kind of richness than we would get from butter or olive oil.
“Tacy, why don’t you go on back to the kitchen and finish your prep work, and Wavonne and I will take care of the flatware.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Watkins.”
“Why’d you send him away? Now we’re gonna have to do all this ourselves.” Wavonne gestures toward the basket of forks and knives on the table.
“It’s not that much. And he’s got work to do in the kitchen if we’re going to have the shrimp and grits ready to go by dinner.”
Wavonne grabs two forks and a knife and starts to wrap them in a napkin before shifting the conversation back to Raynell. “So, what do you think Kimberly was doin’ at Raynell’s house?”
“I wish I knew, but she must have been up to no good. Assuming Raynell was, in fact, murdered, the only reason I can come up with is that Kimberly killed her, and must have come back to try and cover her tracks.”
“Too late for that considerin’ the popo have already been there and canvassed the place.”
“True, but she may not have known that Raynell’s body had already been discovered until she got there. She could have thought she still had some time to go back and alter the crime scene. Suppose she killed Raynell in a heated moment and fled last night. Once she regained her senses this morning, she might have decided to come back and try to get rid of her fingerprints in the house . . . or maybe she was going to try and hide Raynell’s body to buy some time. Who knows. Whatever the reason, the police should really know she was snooping around.”
“You ain’t thinkin’ of tellin’ them?”
“No. Of course not. We can’t tell the police about Kimberly breaking into Raynell’s house without telling them about us breaking into Raynell’s house. Maybe I’ll just give Kimberly a call, and see what I can find out. I’ll be right back.”
I get up from the table and make a run to the break room to retrieve my purse.
“What do you need your purse for?” Wavonne asks when I return to the table and sit back down.
“Kimberly gave me her contact info last night. It should be in here somewhere.”
My purse tends to be packed with stuff, and I really have to dig to find Kimberly’s business card. While I’m looking around in my bag past makeup and tissues and ChapStick and notepads, I come across the church bulletin from Rebirth. I thoughtlessly stuffed it in my bag after I attended the service there last weekend. Putting my hand on it sparks a memory.
“You know what?” I pull the bulletin from my purse. “I think I remember where I’ve seen the handwriting on the note we found in Raynell’s office.”
“Where?”
I unfold the bulletin and hold it up for Wavonne to see. “ ‘The Word,’ by Pastor Michael Marshall,” I say, as I once again search through my black hole of a purse to find the note I took from Raynell’s desk.
“Look.” I lay the letter on the table next to the church bulletin featuring Michael’s handwritten weekly column. “The handwriting is an exact match.”
Wavonne walks over, sits next to me, and looks at the two papers. “Ba-bam!” she says. “That ho-bag was doin’ the nasty with Michael. A minister!”
“Not to mention her best friend’s husband.”
“Damn, that Raynell was gettin’ busy all over PG County.”
“No kidding. If she was having an affair with Michael, that opens up a whole series of motives for killing her. The affair could have gone south, and Michael wanted her dead. Alvetta may have found out that her supposed best friend was sleeping with her husband and lost it. Or Terrence could have found out and flipped out as well. The possibilities are endless.”
“Yeah, but, unlike Kimberly, none of them were slinkin’ around Raynell’s house today.”
“Good point.”
Wavonne’s words remind me of why I was digging through my bag in the first place, and I continue my search for Kimberly’s business card. Just as I’m pulling it out of my purse, Jack appears at the table.
“Hey, Jack. How are you today?” I ask. “Working on a Sunday?”
“Hello, ladies,” he says to Wavonne and me. “Yes. I’m just finishing up lunch. Then I’ve got to get back out there and make my rounds. I thought I’d say hi and let you know that the fried pork chop I had for lunch was delicious as always. And that fresh corn on the cob hit the spot.”
“Glad to hear it. I only use really thin chops so they fry up nice and quick and don’t get too greasy.”
“Is that why they come out perfect every time?”
I smile. “I guess so.”
“Well, it was good to see you. I hope you have a good day.”
“It can’t get no worse,” Wavonne says.
“Oh?”
“Let’s just say it’s been a long day already.”
“Why?”
“One of Halia’s old classmates croaked, and we were the sad suckers who found her body.”
“Oh wow. I’m sorry to hear that,” Jack says. “Wait. Your classmate wasn’t that Rollins woman I heard some chatter about over the radio this morning, was she? The woman who was severely inebriated, slipped in the bathroom, and hit her head?”
“I’m afraid so. Although I’m not entirely sure she slipped. She had a lot of enemies, so her being pushed rather than slipping is not out of the realm of possibilities.”
“Hmm,” Jack says. “I know Detective Hutchins was at the scene. I’m sure he’ll check out all the angles.”
“I hope so.”
“Well, I’ve got to run. Again, I’m sorry about your classmate, and what you had to go through this morning.”
Jack’s about to be on his way when he notices Kimberly’s business card sitting on the table. “Who’s that?” he asks.
“Another one of my high school classmates, Kimberly Butler.”
“No kidding?” Jack picks up the card and looks at it closely. “I had an encounter with her late last night . . . early this morning really . . . about two a.m.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I came across her sound asleep in her car at the Herald Shopping Center.”
“The Herald Shopping Center? That’s over by Raynell’s neighborhood.”
“I tapped on the window to see if she was okay and tell her the shopping center does not allow overnight parking or sleeping in your car on the property. It took a few hard taps to rouse her. She didn’t look good. She said she wasn’t feeling well and needed to pull over for a bit.”
“Was she drunk?” Wavonne asks.
“No. She didn’t appear well, but I wouldn’t let her drive without a sobriety check. She passed a breathalyzer test and
insisted that she was okay to drive home.”
“That’s very interesting,” I say.
“How so?”
“Let’s just say high school cruelties are not easily forgotten, and Raynell committed many of them against Kimberly. Isn’t it a little suspicious that Kimberly was found asleep and out of sorts so close to Raynell’s house the same night she died?”
“Hmmm . . . maybe.”
“You’ll pass this information on to Detective Hutchins?” I ask.
“Sure, sure. I’ll tell him, but from what I heard coming across the radio today, all indications lead to an accidental fall that resulted in Ms. Rollins’s death.” Jack sets Kimberly’s card back down on the table. “I really do have to run. I hope your evening is better than your morning.”
“Thanks Jack.”
“This is startin’ to get interestin’,” Wavonne says as Jack steps away from the table.
“It is.” I grab my phone and start typing in Kimberly’s number. “It certainly is.”
CHAPTER 26
I try to sweep thoughts of Raynell from my brain as I walk into an Italian restaurant in Camp Springs. It’s the day after Wavonne and I found Raynell’s body, and I’m having a hard time letting go of her death and my feelings about whether it was an accident or the result of foul play.
I’m anxious to talk with Kimberly and find out what on earth she was doing prowling around at Raynell’s house, so I invited her to come to Sweet Tea for lunch today, but she had already made plans. She did, however, agree to swing by the restaurant tomorrow. Until then, I’m in sort of a holding pattern with the whole thing. Given the events of late, I’m not really in the mood to go on a date, but I agreed to meet Gregory tonight nonetheless—he’s in town for only a week or two, and some conversation with an old friend will do me good.
Murder with Macaroni and Cheese Page 14