Dial M for Mousse

by Laura Bradford

  “I’ll take it from here, Harold, thanks.” She repeated her initial wave and then hurried up the walkway and onto the porch, worry driving her steps to the (locked?) front door.

  Once inside, she stopped at Mr. Nelson’s door and knocked. Hard. “Mr. Nelson? Are you in there? I’m so sorry about last night. I really am. I—I guess I was so thrown by Caroline’s behavior during dinner that I forgot about everything else. I’m sorry.”

  When he didn’t answer, she pressed her ear to the door and knocked again. “Mr. Nelson?”

  She counted to twenty and knocked again. “Mr. Nelson? Are you home?”

  A glance at the ground confirmed she wasn’t the only one worried. “Okay, Lovey, we’re going in.” Slipping her hand into her purse, she felt around for the extra set of keys Mr. Nelson had given her two years earlier. To date, they’d been used only to carry out the final moments of the surprise seventy-fifth birthday party she’d thrown him the previous fall.

  She willed herself to focus on the joy in his face as he’d strolled into his apartment that day rather than the worry propelling her hand at that very moment. “C’mon, darn it . . . Find. The. Key.”

  A vibration beneath her fingertips temporarily sidelined her search and she pulled out her phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Winnie, it’s Greg.”

  “Greg, I can’t really talk right now, I’m worried about Mr. Nelson and I’m trying to find the spare set of keys to his—”

  “He’s okay, Winnie.”

  She sagged against the doorframe. “Oh, thank God. I—I . . .” She stopped, swallowed, and started again as worry shifted back to guilt. “I think I may have hurt his feelings.”

  “You did.”

  Her cheeks flamed hot at the public confirmation. “He told you?”

  “About the magic show you didn’t come to? Yeah. He told me.”

  Holding her back to the wall, she slowly lowered herself down to the floor. “I didn’t mean to blow it off, Greg. I—I just forgot. And I feel awful—worse than awful, actually.”

  “He’ll get over it, Winnie,” Greg said. “Are you okay?”

  “You mean besides this intense guilt that’s making me feel sick to my stomach? Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “So you really just forgot his show? Nothing was wrong?”

  There’s plenty wrong, she wanted to say. Not the least of which was a crumbling relationship with a man she treasured. But considering Greg’s feelings for her, she kept mum. “I really just forgot.”

  “Okay, good. Not good that you forgot, but good that you’re okay.”

  “I know what you mean.” She covered the phone long enough to fill Lovey in, and then got back to Greg. “So where is he? I owe him an apology.”

  “I drove him over to the retreat center again during my relief.”

  “Why?”

  “He wanted another magic lesson.”

  “Another magic lesson?” she echoed.

  “That’s right.” Greg’s voice faded out and then back in as he added, “I’m supposed to pick him up in about twenty minutes.”

  Bracing her feet against the ground, Winnie rocketed upward against the wall. “No. Sit tight. I’ll drive out and get him.”

  Chapter 25

  Winnie inched the Dessert Squad around the occasional rut in the thinly graveled road, ticking off each cabin through the windshield.

  “Ned, the comedian . . . Colin, the poet . . . Abby, the puppeteer—or, wait, is that Todd, the magician?” She jerked the car to the right and came to a stop, her gaze traveling across the front seat, over Lovey’s head, and out the passenger-side window to the line of identical rustic cabins that had necessitated one turnaround already. “I just cannot remember which cabin goes with which person . . .”

  Sliding the gearshift forward, she scanned her way down the line in an attempt to pick out some sort of clue as to where she’d find Mr. Nelson. It wasn’t the first one—that belonged to the comedian, her first-ever delivery to the retreat center. It wasn’t the second one—that she knew, too, as a result of the post-murder sleuthing session that had landed her and Lovey in Colin Norton’s cabin. It was just the other three she couldn’t quite—

  Wait. She and Renee had spotted George coming out of the last cabin and heading toward the main building via a rear walkway that first day . . .

  “Okay, so Todd has to be in either number three or number four.” Winnie shut off the engine and pointed at Lovey. “There’s no rescue to be made. This is just about picking up Mr. Nelson and bringing him back home. So wait here, okay?”

  She opened her door, stepped onto the road, and jumped back as Lovey, once again, defied orders by darting out and around the car. “Ugh! Really? Now?”

  Shoving the door closed, she made her way around the hood of the car and onto the sidewalk that bordered the cabin side of the road. Lovey stopped, waited for her to catch up, and then headed in the direction of the third cabin.

  Winnie hung back and split her attention between Lovey’s guess and the cabin to her right, searching for any sign of Mr. Nelson. When she came up empty, she shrugged and followed the cat.

  A low whistle drew her attention to the last cabin and the familiar face peering out at her from the partially open front door. She lifted her hand in a wave but pulled it back down to her side as he motioned her over.

  Curious, she crossed the two makeshift yards between them with Lovey in tow. When she reached the mime’s front stoop, he stepped back to allow her room to enter. “Hey, George, what’s up?”

  “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine,” she said. “I’m just here to pick up my friend. He’s taking a magic lesson from Todd Ritter.”

  “You mean the old guy with the hearing aids?”

  Resisting the urge to fist her hands, she took a deep, cleansing breath. “Mr. Nelson is seventy-five and happens to need a little assistance with his hearing. He’s also tall and lanky. But all that really matters is the fact that he has a heart of gold, don’t you think?”

  A featherlike swish against her leg stole her attention from the mime and redirected it to the patch of linoleum between their feet. “You want a cat?” she asked, pointing at the tabby. “Because you can have this one if you do.”

  George bent down, scratched Lovey between the ears, and then led Winnie down the short hall and into the cabin’s galley kitchen. “I was hoping maybe we could talk.”

  “Talk?” She looked past him to the digital microwave clock and noted Mr. Nelson’s impending pickup time. “I only have a minute or two, but sure, go ahead. What’s up?”

  He raked a hand through his hair, releasing a sigh as he did. “I thought about what you said this morning and I think you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “That staying quiet isn’t always the best option.”

  She felt her breath hitch. “Meaning?”

  “I can’t be a hundred percent sure on this because I only caught bits and pieces, but I think I know what Sally had on Todd.” George dropped his hand to his face and the stubble that covered his lower jaw and chin. “If I’m right, and word got out, he’d be ruined.”

  Afraid to move, afraid to react too much, she merely grunted a response to let him know she was listening.

  “Now, mind you, this guy is billed as a gifted magician. A lot is made of the fact he can make things appear and disappear in front of an audience of nonblinkers. Me? I don’t think he’s worthy of the press he gets, but there you go. Anyway, this reputation he has is why his shows sell out everywhere he goes. That, and the fact he’s real big into the wow factor. Heck, he even brings a helicopter onstage and makes it”—he used his fingers to simulate air quotes—“disappear. But stuff like that costs money—money he didn’t have when he was starting out.”


  “Okay . . .”

  “So, from the bits and pieces I picked up during his blackmailing session with Ms. Dearfield, I’m pretty sure he made his start-up money selling drugs. A side job he may very well still have to this day.”

  She drew back. “And my friend is with this guy now?”

  George splayed his hands and shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. He seemed fine when I saw him a little while ago.”

  “You’re probably right.” It was a lot to process, but still, she craved more. “And Todd has been able to keep this whole drug-selling thing under wraps this whole time?”

  “Well, from everyone except Ms. Dearfield, apparently.”

  “Who could put him in jail with that information,” Winnie mused as much for herself as for George. “Wow. No wonder he was willing to meet her demands.”

  She wandered into the adjacent parlor that, like the kitchenette, was virtually identical to the one in Colin Norton’s cabin. Only instead of fan mail strewn across the simple desk, George’s was empty save for a single paperback novel. When she reached the nondescript love seat, she lowered herself onto its narrow cushion and glanced back at George. “Can I ask you a question about that day?”

  Hesitation tugged at his features before disappearing behind a determined swipe of his hand. “I never intended for her to kill herself, Winnie. I was just angry. I’d worked my tail off to prove to my old man I could graduate with straight A’s and she—I messed it up.”

  “I was referring to the day Sally died.”

  “Oh.” He remained in the kitchen but took a seat at the table and summoned Lovey to his side with a snap of his hands. “What do you want to know?”

  “Did you see anyone around the teapot besides Sally? Someone who could have slipped the cyanide into that tea?”

  “I was late to that little gathering so I couldn’t say one way or the other.” George ran his hand down Lovey’s spine and then hiked his right ankle atop his left knee. “What I can tell you is that when I got there, everyone was drinking something. Yet, not more than a few minutes later, she was the only one who was dead.”

  Winnie sat with that tidbit as another piece of the puzzle dropped into place. “So the cyanide was added specifically to her cup . . .”

  “Makes sense to me.” George dropped his foot back down to the floor and stood. “I guess I better let you go so you can pick up your friend at Todd’s place.”

  A glance at her watch had her on her feet and headed for the door. “Which cabin is his again?”

  “Next door. Number four.”

  “Number four—got it.” She snapped her fingers the way George had and waited for Lovey to follow. Lovey, of course, took her sweet time, stopping to sniff the carpet, the linoleum, the chairs, and the baseboards before heading out into the late-afternoon sunlight. Winnie watched her scamper down the walkway and then turned back to George. “Actually, one more question, if I may. When Renee and I got to the main building that day, we heard voices. Like normal talking. It wasn’t until we stepped into the doorway that someone gasped.”

  “We weren’t expecting to see you.”

  She drew back. “So that gasp really was for our benefit?”

  He nodded.

  “Then you already knew Sally was dead . . .”

  “We did.”

  “Why didn’t anyone scream when it happened?” She heard the confusion in her voice and knew it had to be mirrored on her face, as well. “Why didn’t you or anyone else pull out their phone and dial 911?”

  George leaned into the doorframe and shrugged. “I can’t answer that for anyone other than myself.”

  “And your reason?”

  “Shock, fear, relief, opportunity . . . Take your pick. They all applied.”

  She stared at him as she tried to make sense of his words. “Opportunity?”

  “Sally’s death put me back in the driver’s seat.”

  The driver’s seat. An odd choice of words but accurate, nonetheless. Without Sally in control of his secret, it was up to George when or if he owned up to his part in his teacher’s suicide.

  Chapter 26

  She waited until Mr. Nelson was settled in his seat, with Lovey atop his lap and his cane at his feet, before she finally spoke, her voice shaky even to her own ears.

  “Did . . . did you have fun?”

  Turning his chin toward the passenger-side window, he nodded.

  “Did you learn any new tricks?”

  He shrugged a second, shorter nod.

  Winnie maneuvered them around the handful of ruts leading to the main road, the guilt she’d managed to push aside during her sidebar conversation with George resurrecting the lump in her throat and the excessive warmth in her cheeks. “Mr. Nelson, I’m so sorry. I—I wish I had some sort of noble reason why I didn’t come to your magic show last night, but I’d have to lie to do so and I’m not built that way. Never have been.”

  She took advantage of oncoming traffic and her inability to turn right to reach across the seat and rest her hand on his knee in the hope he’d finally look her way. But he didn’t.

  “As you probably noticed while you were preparing your show, Jay and Caroline came over for dinner and to help me make the desserts for Ty’s just-because party.” When Mr. Nelson didn’t move, she returned her hand to the steering wheel and her eyes to the break in traffic she needed to turn onto the outer road. “And we were all going to come to your show, too.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  Wooden or not, the fact that she’d earned a response of any kind gave her the courage to continue. “And I was looking forward to it. Really.”

  Slowly, deliberately, he turned, his eyes wide with . . . disbelief?

  She tried to swallow but it wasn’t easy.

  “If you ain’t built to lie, Winnie Girl, you ain’t built to lie.”

  “Mr. Nelson, I was excited to see your show!”

  Hurt muscled its way past disbelief only to vanish momentarily behind pinched eyes. “I heard you and Renee talking after I left. Heard it through the same vents that keep you up with my snoring some nights. I know she was after you about taking on too much. And I know the only reason you agreed to come was ’cause you didn’t want to squash my feelings.”

  “Mr. Nelson, I . . .” Winnie let go of the argument she couldn’t win. Mr. Nelson wasn’t dumb. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings by turning you down last night. It wasn’t about not wanting to see your show at all. I like magic. And I suspect I’ll like it even more when it’s you who’s doing all that hocus-pocus.”

  “Real magicians don’t say hocus-pocus,” he groused.

  “Sorry. I didn’t know.” She lifted her face to the breeze caused by the forty-mile-per-hour speed limit and welcomed its tonic for her still-warm face. “Please, Mr. Nelson, you have to believe I wanted to see your show. I just should have asked you to wait until tonight or tomorrow night, instead. Biting off more than I can chew sometimes is a problem I need to work on. Always has been. But even as I say that, I know I could never say no to making desserts for Ty’s party . . . or going to dinner with you and Bridget . . . or an invitation to a magic show. I want to do it all. And I fully intended to do it all last night, but considering the evening’s players, I should have anticipated things going awry . . .”

  She hated that her voice broke, hated even more that the same lump of guilt that had made it difficult to talk off and on over the past several miles, had chosen just that moment to let through a strangled sob.

  Shifting his knees left, Mr. Nelson reached inside his pocket and pulled out a two-foot- . . . no, three-foot- . . . no, four-foot-long handkerchief in a rotating rainbow of colors. When he reached the end, he mumbled something about the wrong pocket, stuffed it all back inside, and handed her a standard handkerchief instead.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Nelson.” Winnie wi
ped her eyes quickly and then handed the handkerchief back to her friend. “I really just want to apologize for hurting you last night. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

  She felt him studying her as she turned left at the four-way stop and then right onto the next street. But he remained silent.

  “Please say you forgive me, Mr. Nelson,” she pleaded. “Please? I’m truly, truly sorry.”

  He waved her words away and then rested his hand atop Lovey. “Eh, don’t mind me, Winnie Girl. I’ve just been indulging in a bit of a pity party lately.”

  “Pity party? Why?”

  “I guess I’m finally waking up to my age, the way Bridget is always sayin’.”

  Slowly, she wound her way past a line of parked cars and then turned left at the next stop sign. “I don’t understand.”

  “Now, I hate to admit this out loud—and I’m gonna trust you won’t repeat this—but that old biddy is right.” He stopped, wiggled his tongue around his mouth as if he tasted something bitter, and then scratched Lovey beneath her chin. “A person really does become unnecessary when they get old.”

  She jerked the car to the right and stopped. “Unnecessary? Are you kidding me?”

  Lovey yawned, stretched, and stood, her golden eyes canvassing their surroundings. When Winnie didn’t move, the cat looked at Mr. Nelson.

  “What do I do with my days, Winnie Girl?” Mr. Nelson countered. “I plan my day around a television weather report!”

  “You think the weather girl is cute. What’s wrong with that?”

  He pursed his lips, nodded, and then brought it all to an abrupt stop. “I play chess by myself.”

  “Because no one wants to lose against you!”

  The answering puff of his spindly chest was short-lived. “You can’t even walk up the stairs to your apartment without me trying to waylay you with some nonsense.”