Wayne just blushed and mumbled, but I could tell he was under Aunt Dorothy’s spell, too.
Finally, we piled my aunt’s luggage in a cart. It looked like it was enough to last a month. I was beginning to panic when I noticed a tall, broad man with long hands and the most beautiful cheekbones standing near us. Damn. It had happened again! I pulled my eyes away. Was it the institution of marriage that was causing these weird hormonal surges? Or did marriage itself give my eyes the permission to roam? Or was it the threat of a formal marriage that was driving me to—
“So, Wayne,” Dorothy interrupted my rampaging thoughts. “Katie’s mother tells me you own a restaurant that’s also an art gallery. What a happy combination.”
I expected Wayne to mumble that the combination hadn’t been his idea, but for once he didn’t.
“La Fête à L’Oie,” he replied with quiet pride. “Food to delight the eye and palate, and art to delight the eye and mind.” Yes, Wayne was under my aunt’s spell, all right.
“Oh, I can hardly wait to find out more. Who are some of your artists?”
And so it went until we’d rolled into the parking lot and stowed away Aunt Dorothy’s luggage.
On the way back to Marin, we talked about Jest Gifts, wedding plans, Wayne’s writing, our cat, our house. The only thing we didn’t talk about was murder. Once we were back in town, we checked Aunt Dorothy into the local hotel on the corner; I didn’t think she’d be comfortable sleeping on a futon in our living room. Dorothy’s hotel room was decorated in a combination of pinky-beige and dark green with a flowered bedspread and matching draperies. I helped her with her luggage—on a much nicer cart than the airport had provided—while Wayne signed her in. I had a feeling he was putting her bill on his credit card, too. And then we brought her to our house for one of Wayne’s home-cooked dinners.
“And you cook, too,” Aunt Dorothy cooed at Wayne as she followed the two of us into our entry way. She looked over the living room: overflowing bookshelves, houseplants, hanging chairs, pinballs, and all.
I held my breath, waiting for her reaction, realizing suddenly how much it mattered to me.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. Then she clasped her hands together. “I couldn’t have imagined a better place for you to live, Katie. This is really fun.”
I let out my breath and hugged my aunt again. Even if she was making it up, my Aunt Dorothy had her heart in the right place. If only I could get her mind off of weddings.
Aunt Dorothy insisted on following Wayne into the kitchen as he began his dinner preparations. Meanwhile, I checked my answering machine. The light was blinking, and the tape was full.
“How fun to watch a real chef in action,” Aunt Dorothy’s voice said from the kitchen.
I hit the playback button and listened to tinny messages, Wayne’s and Dorothy’s voices mingling in the background, deep versus high, rough versus tinkling.
“Oh my, I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted Vietnamese cooking before…”
“Fresh herbs are the secret…”
“This is Helen Herrick,” the first message announced. “I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry for any distress that Isaac may have caused you by telling the police what Wayne said in group.” I turned down the sound, realizing that if I could hear Wayne and Aunt Dorothy, they could probably hear my answering machine. “He shouldn’t have done such a stupid thing, but common sense isn’t his greatest virtue.” There was a pause, and then she continued. “You don’t have to call back. I just wanted you to know he realizes his error.”
“Is that tofu?” I heard from the kitchen.
“Carl Russo here,” the next message greeted me. “Yeah, well, I just wanted to say thanks, man. Kid screwed up. He didn’t mean to, but whaddaya gonna do, huh? Anyway, thanks for cleaning up. And…I’ll see ya.”
“I marinated it in a mixture of…”
“This is Laura Summers,” the machine recited. “I had a call from Joe Calderon. He mentioned that you two visited. I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate your concern, and that I’m worried for you. Please don’t put yourselves in danger. Captain Wooster may be rude, but I assume he’s competent. My love to you both.”
“Oh noodles, now those I understand,” Aunt Dorothy said and laughed.
“Hey Wayne, Van here.” The next voice came out of the machine. “These police, d’ya think they can search your house for no reason? I’ve just been thinking. I mean, are we all suspects? Does that give them the right to come into our houses? I’m trying to think ahead here. You know, personal habits and all—” I hit fast forward. I felt like calling Van back and telling him to flush his stash of drugs down the toilet, but it wasn’t my business.
“Goodness, are you sure you don’t want any help?” Aunt Dorothy inquired from the kitchen.
“Sit, sit,” Wayne replied.
I thought about calling Laura Summers back. I wanted to know about Steve’s friends, but I couldn’t talk in front of Aunt Dorothy. Maybe I could hide in the bedroom and talk on the extension.
“Oh, this smells lovely. No wonder you own a restaurant,” my aunt’s words came my way on the herb-scented air.
Aunt Dorothy was right. Wayne’s cooking did smell lovely. And I knew it would eventually taste lovely, too. I decided Laura Summers could wait and joined my aunt and husband in the kitchen.
Wayne was bent over the stove, stirring some kind of broth with his right hand and checking the lid of another pot with his left. I knew he’d already made salad and dessert ahead of time. It was just as well that I’d left some of my lunch uneaten. I’d need room for dinner.
I sat down at the kitchen table across from Aunt Dorothy. Someone had already set the table for three, and I had a feeling it was the sprite I was looking at. I smiled and leaned back in my chair, feeling relaxed for the first time all day.
“Have you decided on your color scheme yet, dear?” Aunt Dorothy asked.
“For what?” I replied.
She laughed her trademark fairy-godmother laugh.
“Your wedding, dear. Your wedding.”
The meal was great: Vegetarian Vietnamese pho (noodles and tofu and seitan and a perfect blend of spices and herbs in broth), yam salad, saffron rice with raisins, and orange cake and carob sorbet for dessert.
Wayne and Aunt Dorothy got along famously as we all ate. They talked easily, even exchanging cooking tips. Of course, they were united by a common goal—a formal wedding.
After I’d eaten my final zipper-busting bite of cake and sorbet, I remembered the mail I’d never picked up.
While Wayne and Dorothy discussed the relative spiciness of Tex-Mex and Vietnamese cooking, I made my way out the door and down the driveway to the mailbox.
I grabbed a stack of bills, ads, and catalogs and began thumbing through them as I walked back up the driveway. Then I came to an envelope without an address on it. I stopped in my tracks and opened it. stop now, it said in huge felt-tip pen letters. Only the words weren’t right; The “p” in “stop” was turned backward. I immediately thought of Isaac. Was this some kind of dyslexic joke? It didn’t look like a joke. Something about the crude letters made me shiver.
I rushed the rest of the way into the house to show the letter to Wayne, but then I remembered Aunt Dorothy. I put the letter face-down on my desk and helped Wayne with the dinner dishes.
Afterward, we all sat in the living room, Aunt Dorothy enjoying the swinging chair for one while Wayne and I sat in the double chair across from her.
“The first thing you have to do, Katie,” she told me, “is make a list.”
I didn’t have to ask her what she was talking about his time.
“A list,” I repeated bleakly.
“There are so many decisions: colors, the members of the bridal party, gown, caterers, flowers—”
The phone rang and I sprang out of the hanging chair I’d shared with Wayne, leaving it haphazardly jerking in place with Wayne at the tiller, calming it. My rescuer was none o
ther than Jade, my warehouse woman from Jest Gifts.
“Kate,” she greeted me without preamble. “You shoulda never hired that guy to do your computer mouses. He’s a total flake, almost as bad as the first guy.”
“What did he do?” I asked, not even dreading the answer. Jade had saved me from wedding planning; she could complain all she wanted. And she did—about unsatisfactory manufacturing, inadequate delivery, stupid hired help, and the idiocy of the world in general. I heard her out until the doorbell rang. Then I said goodbye and hung up.
Wayne got to the door before I did, but I could see who had come to visit. Garrett Peterson and Jerry Urban were standing in the entryway.
“We have to talk,” Garrett declared as he stepped forward. And then he saw Aunt Dorothy.
His dark skin seemed to darken even more, and stretch tighter over his wide cheekbones. Garrett was a handsome man, there was no doubt about it. I swore at myself. Now I was noticing a man from Wayne’s group, and a gay one at that.
Garrett exchanged a look with Wayne and one with Jerry Urban. Aunt Dorothy was a civilian.
“We came to express our condolences over the death of a dear friend,” Garrett explained.
“Oh, my,” Aunt Dorothy murmured. “I’m terribly sorry. Was it a long illness?”
There was another quick exchange of heavy looks, and Garrett opened his mouth to speak again. But before he had a chance, a small, slender figure darted through the still-open door.
“So what’s the news on the stiff?” the figure asked.
“Felix,” I snapped. “Perhaps another time. We have guests.”
“No problemo,” he replied. “Maybe between all of us, presto-pronto, we can figure out who committed this friggin’ murder.”
“A murder?” Dorothy’s voice asked, and she didn’t sound chirpy anymore.
- Ten -
“Black,” I blurted out. Five sets of eyes stared my way. “Black, that’s what I’d like as the color scheme for the wedding.”
“Black?” Dorothy questioned, her head tilted so that one silver-white curlicue poked upward. It was working. She’d forgotten the murder for the moment.
“Holy socks, Kate,” Felix squawked. “Have you gone friggin’ gonzo? Back to the—”
“And the flowers,” I put in, speeding up my rap. “Black. I’ve heard of black pansies. And roses. There must be others…”
Garrett was staring at me intently. Was his expression that of a concerned psychiatrist?
“Kate!” Felix caterwauled. “What about the stiff? What about—”
“And a long, black bridal gown,” I interrupted him. “And Wayne can wear—”
“Katie, is there something you don’t want me to know?” Dorothy asked quietly.
My adrenaline pooled in my stomach. Aunt Dorothy was way too smart to fall for my distractions. Maybe I should have suggested a gray color scheme. Black was a definite tip-off.
“Katie?” Aunt Dorothy asked again.
“A friend of ours was murdered,” I finally admitted sullenly.
“And Kate saw the whole friggin’ thing,” Felix put in helpfully. “Presto-pronto, whiz-bang. Man, how she’s always got her feet nailed to a murder scene before it even comes down just blows me away. I mean, here I am, an honest-to-God reporter, stories up the wahzoo, and do I find the stiffs? Nooo—”
“You did once,” I reminded him. “Twice.”
Felix paled at the memory for a moment; maybe a little more than a moment. Good. But then his mouth began moving again.
“This poor geek who got offed was in Wayne’s friggin’ men’s group—”
“Felix,” I broke in. Dorothy didn’t need to hear all the gory details. “Why don’t you tell my Aunt Dorothy about Barbara? She’s great at wedding planning.”
“Barbara is great at wedding planning?” Felix asked, his soulful eyes squinting in confusion.
“No, my aunt.” I took a deep breath and put on my hostess smile. “Has everyone here met my aunt, Dorothy Koffenburger? This Is Garrett Peterson, Jerry Urban, and…”
I was having trouble even saying Felix’s name. My throat seemed to have closed up.
“Felix Byrne, glad to meet ya.” He saved me the trouble, advancing on Aunt Dorothy, hand extended.
Dorothy shook his hand and nodded at Garrett and Jerry, who were still at the door with Wayne.
“You wouldn’t believe the deep doo-doo Kate steps in,” Felix continued once the introductions were finished. He seemed to be addressing Aunt Dorothy. I could see Wayne stalking Felix out of the corner of my eye. “Here she is, The Typhoid Mary of—”
“That’s enough,” Wayne broke in.
Felix jumped in place. I was glad to see it. I just wished he’d hop out of our house and down the stairway.
“Whoa, Big Guy,” Felix squeaked, taking a couple of steps backward. “I just wanted to tell Kate’s aunt here how cool she is, ya know? I mean, how many females find the dead guy at a men’s group? That takes some chutzpah, and Kate’s got it—”
“What do you want here, Felix?” Wayne asked, his voice a quiet growl.
“Hey, we gotta toss this thing around, man,” Felix answered. “The local gestapo is definitely not logged on in Cortadura. Dimes to doughnuts, Kate’s gonna figure out the poop on the perp, if you know what I mean. And I just want to help.”
“Actually…” Garrett took a moment to clear his throat, looked at Wayne meaningfully, and then went on. “Jerry and I came to see you on a similar mission. We thought if we talked out what we knew about Steve’s murder, we might find something communally that we’d missed individually.”
“Yeah, man,” Felix agreed enthusiastically. “Brother Ingenio says there are no accidents. We’re all here for the same friggin’ reason—”
“Felix, my aunt—” I began.
“Yeah, Aunt Dorothy,” Felix said, turning his eyes on my aunt. “Whaddaya think of groupthink?”
“Well, I think it might be very interesting,” Aunt Dorothy piped up. “The more perceptions on a problem, the less problematic it may seem.” She paused to look demurely at her navy blue lap for a moment. “And perhaps I can help.”
What a concept. Were fairy godmothers good for more than wedding planning? Yes! Dorothy was a wise woman with more than eighty years of experience with people. If anyone’s perceptions would be useful, hers were the ones I’d bet on.
But I wasn’t so sure about the rest of our think tank. Garrett and Jerry were suspects. And Felix was…well, Felix. Still, a persistent alternative strategy was shuffling up to the front of my mind. We did have a variety of viewpoints represented: Felix was a know-it-all, Garrett a psychiatrist, Jerry an engineer, Dorothy a wise woman, Wayne a quiet thinker, and I—
Felix plopped himself down on the couch before I could finish my thought, which was probably good because my major qualification for the group mind experiment was my ability to step in doo-doo, as Felix had so inelegantly put it.
“Why don’t we all sit down?” Wayne invited, only a hint of exasperation flavoring his gruff voice. Still, I knew that invitation had to have been hard for him.
Garrett and Jerry took the hanging chair for two. Aunt Dorothy kept her seat in the hanging chair for one. Wayne and I looked at each other. If two pairs of eyes could sigh, ours did. Then we sat on either side of Felix, where he’d staked his spot in the center of the denim couch.
“If you’d be so kind as to tell me about the man who was murdered and the people you suspect, it might prove a useful place to start,” Aunt Dorothy suggested. I was lulled by her voice. She might have been a teacher explaining the assignment for a class, a simple assignment that had the potential to be successfully executed.
“Steve Summers,” Felix offered up gleefully. “He was this hot-as-hell journalist. Big time. One of those friggin’ I’m-so-ethical types—”
“Aren’t journalists supposed to be ethical?” I asked Felix sweetly.
It worked. He blushed.
“Ste
ve was what we might call a perfectionist,” Garrett put in.
“He set his standards high for himself and for others,” Jerry added. “He wasn’t exactly a get-down-and-boogie guy.”
“I see,” Dorothy said, and I had a feeling she did. “Was he married?”
“Sheesh, Lucy, you better believe he was married,” Felix answered. “To Laura Summers, hotshot assemblywoman for Marin County. She’s so hot, you could fry eggs on her, man.”
“She does a very good job representing her constituents,” Garrett translated. “Very well-respected.”
“Was Steve jealous of his wife?” Aunt Dorothy asked.
I looked up, startled. Had he been? I’d never thought about it.
“No,” Garrett answered slowly. “I’d guess that Steve was proud of his wife, actually. Intensely proud.”
I let myself relax, glad that Steve had been a hero in that regard. Not very many men can handle the Mister-husband-of role.
“Laura and Steve were in sync,” Wayne added.
“I don’t want to be indelicate,” Aunt Dorothy said. “But how was Steve Summers killed?”
I let Felix fill my aunt in on the gory details, which he did with glee. The rest of us tried not to flinch.
When Felix was finished, Dorothy nodded sagely. “And who do you suspect?” she asked. I guess that wasn’t as indelicate as her previous question.
“The members of the group,” Wayne mumbled miserably.
“And their significant others,” I added. I didn’t mention the potluck key. There were suspects present, not to mention Felix. “See, they were the ones who knew when Steve would be leaving that day.”
“Who are these people?” Aunt Dorothy asked, leaning forward.
“I’m a member of the Heartlink group,” Wayne admitted.
“And I knew when he’d be leaving,” I added, not to be outdone. “But we both alibi each other, Wayne’s car or not.”
“Yeah, right,” Felix chimed in. He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Married couples are such friggin’ reliable alibis. Don’t even have to do the payola thing with community property—”
A Sensitive Kind of Murder (A Kate Jasper Mystery) Page 11