The animated conversation looked like it was going to continue a while. I contemplated wandering over to introduce myself, but the timing was bad. I reluctantly slipped behind the screen and surveyed the buffet table. Everything appeared in order, at least as far as it could until serving time.
Marc’s voice came through an overhead speaker, asking everyone to sit. Muffled discussion and the scraping of chairs followed. He made a brief acknowledgement to Isabel and her family, and a moment later, Kendall Montclair spoke into the microphone.
Tuning out his litany of the organization’s milestones for which he gave nominal credit to Ramón, I glanced at Ana who had changed into a black knit jersey dress, with a jewel-toned infinity scarf draped around her neck, and stood at the table arranging the silverware. We’d raced through the morning prep so intently that I’d had no time to attempt another conversation. Maybe later during clean up. I approached her and said, “I’m going for the salads. Be back in a jiffy.”
Expressionless, she set down the forks. “I’ll go. You stay and listen.” She grabbed an empty cart and headed toward the door. I pushed my puzzled thoughts about her detachment to the side and tuned in to Kendall’s eulogy.
He droned on about Rescaté and how much he and his dad had contributed to where the organization was today. Still, barely a word about the deceased. When he finally paused, I pictured him lifting his chin and running his eyes over the crowd. “I’m pleased to tell you that Rescaté’s board of directors unanimously voted yesterday to keep Ramón’s dream for Mexico alive. Beginning next month, we will invite corporate donors to sponsor some of Mexico’s neediest children.”
Spontaneous applause broke out.
“My family is proud to have a role in this endeavor. . .”
The man was as full of himself as he’d been in the past, and I’d had enough. I repositioned a bouquet of tulips on the table and looked up as Ana reappeared with the salads. With Kendall’s dull monologue as a backdrop, we arranged the large glass bowls on the table.
On the other side of the screen, Kendall’s eulogy ended, and Bob Cousins came to the mic. More boring Rescaté history. So little about Ramón as a person. Why didn’t Ana go up there and tell us all the things she’d loved about him? Maybe they’d lost the romantic love they’d shared, but at a time like this, did it matter? Maybe it didn’t, and Kitty was right about her being a suspect in a murder I wasn’t sure happened. I signaled I was going for the green beans. She gave a slight nod and continued tossing a salad.
When I returned, a string-quartet played a soft Beethoven piece. A welcome respite from the self-serving eulogies. Across from the buffet table, Ana rested against the wall, staring straight ahead. The amount of emotion the woman displayed could have been stuffed in a thimble with room to spare. Difficult for me to understand since I couldn’t harness my emotions anymore than a wild wind could be contained by anyone other than God.
I set the beans on the table and peeked around the screen. Candy sat four rows from the front, her jaw working her chewing gum. I doubted Beethoven was her music of choice, but she could have shown a little more decorum. I stifled a smile. What could one expect from a woman who wore skirts the size of dishtowels?
There I went again. I had to stop the judge act. Look for the positive. I zeroed in on Candy again and noticed her stylish navy dress. Appropriate for the day.
From her seat in the back row, Kitty caught my eye and held up a small notebook before turning her attention toward the musicians. Good heavens. Was she taking notes on the so-called suspects during the funeral service? I hoped no one noticed. Edging behind the divider, I tiptoed over to Ana and whispered, “Excuse me.”
Her eyes popped open. “I’m sorry. Did you need me?”
“We should get the casseroles. Marc’s about to speak and he’s the last one on the program.” I’d never admit it to her, but I wanted to be back in time to hear him.
We each took a cart and got the chicken dishes set on the table within a short time. As I lit the Sterno flame under the last of the four pans, Marc’s voice filled the air. I slipped over to Ana’s side. “Can you take care of the beverages?”
With hardly a nod she headed out the door. I was half-tempted to run after her and squeeze whatever she had stuffed inside right out of her. It wasn’t healthy being bottled up like that. But then I’d miss Marc’s speech.
“I never expected to be here eulogizing the man who believed in me when others didn’t.” Marc’s statement pulled me out of my thoughts. “I owe a great deal to Ramón. The past year working for him has been invaluable to me.” His voice cracked.
An ache pressed against my lungs, and I wanted to kick myself. I’d been so focused on our non-relationship and the rumors that Marc’s grief had blown right past me. As soon as I had an opportunity, I’d make it up to him. An empty apology didn’t seem enough. Would a sympathy card be appropriate?
Wings flapped above my head. I closed my eyes, afraid to look.
Chapter 20
A collective gasp came from the other side of the divider.
I darted around the screen.
Like a feathered dive-bomber, Pedro propelled his colorful body over the mourners’ heads, his squawk reverberating throughout the room. He looped a figure eight in the air, then arced upward and landed on top of a loudspeaker.
Bob Cousins jumped up and nearly fell over a blue-haired lady in front of him. Arms flailing, he righted himself, then stepped into the aisle. He approached the show bird like a tomcat stalking a sparrow and stuck out his arm. “Come on, boy.”
Pedro raised his beak and chattered. Bob grabbed for the bird’s leg, but Pedro was already airborne and coming my direction.
“Somebody get Karl.” Bob’s stage-whispered order was almost drowned out by the gasps.
Pedro whooshed over my head and landed on the top of the folding screen. I inched closer and extended my hand. “Come on, Pedro. Come to me.”
He cocked his head and stared at me as if to say, “Last time I came to you, I ended up back in the pokey.”
I glanced over my shoulder. The silent cry for help in Marc’s eyes made me wish I’d kept looking at the bird. Something had to be done, but what? Would he come for a lettuce leaf as readily as a cracker?
Pedro squawked and flapped his wings. I stepped closer, using a sing-song voice, but he took off, circled the air space, and came to a perfect landing on Marc’s head. He puffed out his green chest and blurted, “What’s for breakfast?”
Chuckles filled the room.
Marc’s clenched jaw muscle pulsed so hard I thought it would burst through his skin. Pedro chattered a string of unintelligible sounds, while beneath his claws Marc’s face turned the color of a tomato. “Someone get Karl Murray.”
“He’s on the way,” a man called out.
Bob Cousins guffawed. “Thorne, the bird definitely adds to your appearance.”
Someone let out a snort. In the back row, a woman was laughing so hard she couldn’t sit straight. Like a rolling tide, the wave of giggles and snickers picked up momentum.
Above the din, the bird called out, “Pedro is a good boy.” Had he been able, he would’ve flashed a grin and taken a bow. He was a show bird after all. If Marc had a tiny hoop in his back pocket, the parrot would have jumped through it.
Marc chuckled and tossed his notes over his shoulder. “Seems Pedro wants to be a part of his master’s memorial.”
Taking it in stride, Pedro preened himself.
I glanced at the door. Where was our bird handler?
As if reading my thoughts, a guilty-looking Karl appeared in the entrance, holding an empty cage. The room went quiet. Eyes focused straight ahead, he ambled toward Marc, his polished black boots clomping on the hardwood floor.
Pedro hopped into the cage without hesitation. Of course, the Ritz cracker Karl held out helped. He snapped the door shut then marched toward the exit as Pedro called out, “Ana loves you.”
“Let’s conclude the f
ormal portion of our service by moving through the French doors to the patio,” Marc indicated the doors to his right. “Everyone’s invited to return at 12:15 for a buffet that April Love, our chef, has prepared.”
All eyes followed Marc’s gesture made in my direction. Did I actually hear someone hum that song? At a memorial service? I pushed out a smile and gave a tiny wave. We needed to get those hors d'oeuvres out and circulating fast. I headed behind the screen.
Ana slammed a tray onto the table. Shrimp toast flew in every direction. “Even from the grave he taunts me.”
“Ana? Are you okay?” Dumb question. I gathered the toast squares from the tabletop, grateful most looked intact.
She reached for a piece on the floor and tossed it in a garbage can. “Ramón assured me he’d disposed of that awful parrot.”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t allow that thing in my house.”
“Ana, everyone thinks you gave Pedro to Ramón.”
She faced me, her dark eyes burning. “You think I’d buy Ramón a bird and teach him to say Ana loves you?”
“Why would he say you gave Pedro to him?”
“Because he was a terrible man. I’ll get the other appetizers.” She whacked the serving cart with her hand, and it careened toward the door. Catching the cart by its handle, she pushed it into the hall. One bird got more of a rise out of her than anyone else had all day. As much as I wanted to tell Kitty she wasn’t a suspect, how could I after that display?
Chapter 21
I stood behind the serving table as a pair of little boys swooped in and confiscated the last two pieces of cherry-upside-down cake. They dashed off, their polished oxfords skidding on the shiny wood floor.
Was it necessary to go for the remaining cake back in the kitchen? I surveyed the room. Some people had left, but many still lingered, most freed of their dirty dishes. No need for more dessert unless someone asked.
Seated next to the windows, their figures silhouetted against the bright sun, Kitty held court with a mustached man. As she waved her arms to make a point, he pulled a small notebook from a pocket and flipped it open. He couldn’t have jotted down more than a word because in a flash the spiral-bound pad was back where it came from.
“Great meal, April.”
I pivoted.
Marc stood a short distance away with Isabel and her husband. A woman sporting a short, spiky hairstyle stood next to them.
“This is Isabel and James Lynch, and Flavia Hernandez,” Marc said. “Isabel is Ramón’s sister, and Flavia is their cousin.”
I took in Isabel’s upturned nose, diamond stud earrings, and the cluster of rocks on her ring finger. Her husband stood silent next to her, cowboy hat clutched in his hand like a security blanket. Seeing him close up, with his leathered complexion, he appeared much older than she. Too many days on the range must do that to a guy.
I nodded at Flavia whose gold hoop earrings and simple black dress, stood in stark contrast to her cousin. While I offered my hand to Isabel, I tried to gauge if her height was close to that of the orange-capped person and hated myself for even thinking of it. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
She laid a cold hand against my palm. “Thank you.” Ana had met her match when it came to emotionless demeanor. Did Ramón do that to the women in his life?
“I see someone I need to speak to.” Marc brushed a hand over my shoulder. “Carry on for me?” He headed off across the room.
My gaze flicked from one expressionless face to the next before settling on Isabel. “I only met Ramón a short time before he died. He seemed like a lovely man.”
She gave a slight roll of the eyes. “My brother could be nice when he wanted—”
“April, I’m so sorry I missed that scrumptious-looking dessert.” Flavia stared at the empty cake platter as though she’d missed out on a six-course meal from Spiagga.
Isabel grabbed her husband’s arm. “James, I want you to meet the Ingleharts. I can’t believe they’re here.”
In an instant, Isabel was off, weaving between chairs with her husband in tow, not to mention my missed opportunity.
By now the crowd had thinned to a few clusters of people. Ana, with an untouched platter of food on her lap, sat next to Rosa. It didn’t appear that anyone was interested in a second helping of dessert. I turned to Flavia. “I still have some cherry-upside-down cake in the kitchen. Would you like to have some there?”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’d love to.”
By the time we reached the kitchen we were talking recipes like girlfriends and continued our chat while I cut two generous slices of cake. After pouring cups of coffee, I took a seat next to her.
Flavia forked a bite and popped it in her mouth while I did the same.
“April, this cake is absolutely divine.”
I let my own mouthful, which included a huge cherry, resonate on my tongue. If I didn’t mind saying so, with this dessert I’d scored big, as Karl liked to say about the bulls he rode. I sipped my coffee. “I want to offer my condolences. Losing a cousin can be as painful as losing a sibling. I’m sure Isabel appreciates your support.”
Flavia waved her fork. “Thanks, but if Isabel hadn’t already been in Chicago, I doubt she’d have come and neither would I.” She speared another bite and put it in her mouth. “Is it inappropriate to ask for the recipe? We have my niece’s christening coming up in a couple week—”
“Not a problem.” I pulled a notebook from my pocket and opened it to a blank page, then slid it across the table. “Jot down your phone number and e-mail. I’ll get the recipe to you later. I’m sure Isabel will be glad in retrospect that she came today.”
Flavia stirred cream into her coffee. “I doubt it. Ramón threatened more than once to reveal her past to James. It would have ruined her marriage. Ramón’s death has made my cousin a happy woman.” She continued to work on her cake as though it were her last meal.
This information didn’t sound good, but happy didn’t mean automatic murderer. “She and James seemed content a few minutes ago.”
“That’s because he doesn’t know the truth,” she said around a mouthful of cherry topping. “Isabel can’t risk his finding out. Too much money is at stake. Lots of money.”
“Was the secret that bad?”
“I’ve already said too much.” She scraped her fork across the plate, gathering up the last bits of syrup. “I can’t say anymore.”
“I shouldn’t have asked. Did you like Ramón?”
She jotted something on my notebook, then pushed it in my direction. “My email and cell number. I’m also on Facebook. We didn’t see much of each other. He was involved here, and I have my 12-year-old daughter to raise. It’s a wonder her father agreed to take her after school today. She wants to spend more time with him, but he always has an excuse.” She shook her head. “Constantly giving me a hard time. Why? You’d think he’d be glad to see his only daughter. Those boys of his always come first.”
I offered a sympathetic smile. “Men can be infuriating, can’t they?” I slid off the stool and retrieved my purse from a drawer, then dug out an old business card. I scratched a line through its front and scribbled my cell number on the back before handing it to her. “Excuse the messy card. I haven’t had time to have new ones made. Feel free to call if I don’t get the recipe to you in time.” A niggle of guilt pressed against my heart. What would it take send the recipe to the printer and give her the instructions now? But if I did, I’d lose my excuse to stay in contact. And it appeared she was my only connection to Isabel. As much as I hated the thought, if Marc were ever falsely accused, I needed to be ready.
She took the card and dropped it in her bag.
“So, Isabel was already in Chicago when Ramón passed. Even though they were at odds, I’m sure it must have been a comfort to have you with her when she got the news.”
Flavia gathered her dish and cup and took them to the sink. “Actually, she was at a hotel downtown. I, um, wasn’t with her that
morning.”
“Oh. Well, no doubt she’ll be relieved when Ramón is buried and she can move on.”
“She’s considering cremation.”
I willed my feet to move as I forced a smile and walked toward the door. “Well, I suppose that’s best. I’m so glad we met.”
Flavia followed and we stepped into the hall. “I’m glad too.”
We parted company when we reached the ballroom. By then only a few people remained, but not Kitty. I itched to call her, but I had no time. Ana was waiting to start the cleanup.
Ana wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and returned it to the rack next to the sink. “If there’s nothing more you need, I’ll head home.” Her indifferent tone reflected the demeanor she’d displayed all day except for the meltdown over the parrot, but I was so exhausted I couldn’t have cared less if she’d suddenly danced around the kitchen with castanets.
“Go ahead. I can’t thank you enough for all your help.”
She slung a store bag, which contained her soiled work clothes, over her shoulder and headed for the door.
“Ana?”
She turned on her stiletto heel, causing her skirt to lift and reveal a pair of legs to die for. “Yes?”
Seeing her deadpan face with only one moving part—her mouth—I felt like I was conversing with a ventriloquist dummy. “I know this week has been difficult, even if you and Ramón weren’t still involved. You have my deepest sympathies.”
“What happened to Ramón wasn’t anything I didn’t warn him about. I need to check the volunteer schedule then I’m out of here.” She disappeared into the hall with only her exotic fragrance left hanging in the air.
I wanted to shrug off her odd behavior to a personality quirk, but how could I with a remark like that? Warn him of what? Overeating, or that if he didn’t watch his back he was going to be killed?
Thyme for Love (Cooking Up Trouble Book 1) Page 11