Ditched 4 Murder

by J. C. Eaton

  “Spit in the bouillabaisse, huh? Could they tell the difference?”

  “Come on. This is serious. Somewhere along the line, Tony got the training or maybe just pretended he did and took on the persona of ‘Antoine.’ But that still didn’t explain why he and Roland were fighting that morning in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I think you’re about to get your answer. Listen!”

  Jake and Tony, aka Antoine, were still embroiled in their verbal conflict, to put it nicely.

  Pastry birds or not, Tony didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. His voice sounded desperate. “I’ll pay you, all right. I’ll pay you. Swear on my life. Damn it! It was bad enough being blackmailed by that SOB Roland. You’ll get your money, okay?”

  “I ain’t blackmailing you, Tony. I want to be paid for the job I did. And that includes sticking the bike in Louis’s garage. I thought that was a clever touch. You must’ve had it in for him, too.”

  “I knew he was buddy-buddy with Roland, and I couldn’t stomach it. ’Course he wasn’t the one stickin’ it to me. Roland was. He found out I never went to culinary school. That I was pretending to be Antoine Marcel when I’m really Tony Marciano. That stinkin’ chef started to blackmail me. What could I do? We met at all sorts of out-of-the-way places so I could pay him. You think I’d drive to this damn ditch to take in the scenery? Anyway, this time I got sick of shelling out my money, so I refused to pay up. Roland went ballistic. That’s when I took the keys from his bike and threw them in the ditch. It wasn’t my fault we decided to meet by that pull-off area near the stinking ditch. How the hell did I know a snake was in there?”

  Nate leaned into my ear. “Are you getting this, Phee?”

  “Loud and clear. Antoine. Really Tony. Blackmail. Wow. And here I figured if anyone was going to do Roland in, it would have been Julien for stealing the aviary bird idea and getting the credit. So now what do we do?”

  “We’re not going to do anything. The sheriff’s office is. Come on, let’s get back to the wedding and I’ll make the call before we sit down.”

  “Tell the deputy not to make a scene.”

  Jake and Tony seemed too intent with their own business to even notice we had been listening. I was back in my seat at the conclusion of the seventh, and apparently the longest, blessing. Nate arrived a few minutes later. He’d stopped to make that call to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office and told me, “They’ll get here as soon as they can.” The woman sitting next to me scowled. It was the kind of look people gave you at the movie theater when you decided to get up during the previews. I figured she was annoyed I had slipped out for a bit while she was stuck absorbing the endless blessing. Kirk and Judy were squirming in their seats as if they had been made to sit through War and Peace. All six hours of it. Shirley, Lucinda, Cecilia, Myrna, Louise, and my mother were also twisting and wriggling. At one point, Myrna looked back with a pained expression.

  “Let’s hope this Tony character fesses up,” Nate said as the crowd stood to cheer the happy couple. “It’s going to be his word against ours. It’s not as if any of this was on camera.”

  “Some of it will be if the sheriff’s deputies burst into the reception. You don’t think they’ll make a scene, do you? That’s the last thing any of us needs.”

  “I doubt anyone will even notice. Shh. The guru is pronouncing them man and wife. You can breathe again.”

  My aunt’s fingers were caressing Louis’s head as he tried to kiss her without dislodging the fascinator.

  “Hallelujah.” I gave Nate’s arm a quick squeeze. “If you hadn’t arrived with Louis in tow, I would’ve hated to think of the aftermath.”

  “Believe me. I didn’t want to imagine it either.”

  Just then, Sylena slithered out from behind the canopy, dressed completely in black and holding her camera. The crowd assumed she was a sniper. Everyone seemed to scream at once.

  “GET DOWN! SHE’S GOT A GUN.”

  “THE KILLER’S COME BACK TO FINISH THE JOB!”

  “HELP! SOMEONE CALL NINE-ONE-ONE!”

  Sylena looked around, terrified. She was expecting to see a killer until she realized the wedding guests were talking about her. “I’M THE PHOTOGRAPHER! THE PHOTOGRAPHER! LOOK! I’M HOLDING A CAMERA!”

  A few people yelled, “Don’t shoot,” and Sylena froze.

  Too bad she didn’t take a candid shot of them. It was only when she put her camera on the ground and held up her hands people seemed to realize they weren’t about to be massacred. At that point, I motioned for the crowd to start moving to the pavilion for the reception. They didn’t need to be reminded again. They charged, trounced, and trampled their way to the bhurj tent.

  Ina and Louis stayed behind to get their photos taken in front of the ancient ruins. My mother was up ahead, along with the book club ladies. I had gotten so caught up in the Tony-Antoine mess I’d forgotten how angry I was at my boss for not telling me what he had found out about Louis’s third marriage.

  Before Nate could take a step, I stopped him. “By the way, don’t think you’re going to get off this easy about the other stuff. You know what I mean. You could have, at the very least, let me know what was going on with Louis and that . . . that . . . third wife. I was a wreck all week. An absolute wreck.”

  “Sorry, kiddo. I didn’t know myself until the last minute. And let me tell you, it wasn’t a picnic getting Delia Olansky-Melinsky back here.”

  We were approaching the tent, but the crowd wasn’t going inside. The giant zodiac chart was propped up by the entrance. Visions of pastry birds dripping with hollandaise sauce immediately sprang to mind. Was Julien having one of his infamous meltdowns? Or was it Sebastian this time? I had no patience for temperamental chefs. It was bad enough I had to witness a killer’s confession a few minutes ago. I tore through the crowd to see what was going on.

  “My God, Nate!” I shouted. “Give me a hand. No one can figure out where to sit according to the zodiac chart.”

  If the Sylena episode wasn’t bad enough, this one was worse. All I could hear was people complaining.

  “How the hell do I know if I’m a Scorpio or a Sagittarius? I was born in November. You figure it out!”

  “You’re a Libra, Evan. A Libra.”

  “They’ve got people seated by their signs! Not couples! Not families! Signs!”

  Kirk was a few feet behind us and was about to lose his temper. He shoved the zodiac chart to the ground and announced, “Sit wherever you like!”

  My mother and the book club ladies were right behind him. Like a four-star general about to launch a campaign, my mother began directing people to the tables. Shirley Johnson was an elbow’s distance away, and I could hear everything the two women said to each other.

  “I never thought it would be this chaotic, Harriet, did you?”

  “Heavens no, Shirley. I thought it would be much worse.”

  Chapter 30

  Aviary Atop the Tree engulfed the entire back wall of the pavilion/tent, and its chocolate branches of delectable pastry birds stretched into the two adjoining walls as well. It was the most magnificent sight I had ever seen.

  Saveur de Evangeline did an equally impressive presentation with the center buffet, featuring ornate silver serving pans with floral garnishes surrounding each one. Mouthwatering aromas were everywhere. I was certain that once my aunt saw how incredible the interior of her wedding pavilion looked, she’d forget it was a crimson red bhurj. The musicians had moved inside the tent and began to play traditional classical music as Mr. and Mrs. Louis Melinsky entered the room and took their seats at a special dais reserved for the bride and groom.

  My mother and I were at one table along with Kirk, Judy, and Nate. The book club ladies, Shirley, Lucinda, Louise, Cecilia, and Myrna, were at the table right next to us. I spotted Sylena sneaking in and out of corners as she snapped enough candid shots for a full-length movie. Considering the debacle I had been through in the parking lot, not to mention the one with Sylena, this wa
s the first minute I actually got to relax. The fusion teas were being served and I was beguiled into a false sense of security.

  As I began to sip on my blueberry-infused tea, the madness around me seemed to settle down. I leaned back and smiled. That was the instant I heard the crash. It came from behind the tent, near the restaurant trucks.

  I turned to Nate. “Think everything is okay out there?”

  “Yeah. Someone probably dropped one of those serving pans. Anyway, I’ll go check. Relax and enjoy the spread. I haven’t seen a breakfast like this in my life.”

  I was about to say something when one of the waitstaff approached our table with a large platter of canapés.

  Judy was about to reach for one of them when she changed her mind. “I have no idea what any of this is. They look like sea creatures.”

  Not only did they look like sea creatures, they were sea creatures. The waiter leaned in and whispered, “It’s pulpo in black sauce. You know . . . baby octopus.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it?” my mother exclaimed. “God forbid my sister would serve cheese and crackers. Oh no. What’s next? Baby mongoose?”

  “Shh . . . It’ll be fine, Mother. The buffet has normal stuff. I went through the menu with Sebastian.”

  Then, as if to prove my point, I looked around for the large balding chef with the protruding stomach and spotted him to the left of the serving line. He appeared to be double checking the pans before starting the food service. I took another sip of my tea and surveyed the crowd.

  The guests were all seated at their tables, presumably munching (or dissecting) the hors d’oeuvres. Sebastian was giving orders to the servers who stood at attention behind the buffet line. Rochelle and Julien stood in the rear of the tent guarding the pastry birds as if they were the queen’s jewels. To my surprise, Antoine (aka Tony) appeared. He had changed into a long-sleeved white shirt and dark trousers. A wide, white pastry chef hat sat on his head like a brioche.

  It was unbelievable. He acted as if nothing had happened out in the parking lot with Jake Felton. This wasn’t going to be good. I had visions of the sheriff’s deputies dragging him out of the reception amid a storm front of obscenities.

  Just then, Nate returned to our table and informed me the crash was indeed what he thought it was. Someone outside had dropped an empty tray and it hit one of the metal poles, making a loud noise. “You see. Nothing to worry about.”

  My mother was too busy yakking with Kirk and Judy to pay attention to anything else in the room. The book club ladies at the next table were deciding whether or not to try one of the appetizers.

  I heard Myrna loud and clear. “How do I know if it’s gluten free, Cecilia? It’s still moving. You can ask it yourself!”

  “Try one of the chewy ones, Myrna. They taste like pasta.”

  “If I wanted pasta, I’d eat pasta.”

  Another waiter was approaching our table with a different tray of canapés when I noticed Rochelle walking over to Sebastian. He made a motion with his hand for the serving staff to continue and then left the area with Rochelle. They both slipped out of the tent through a side opening.

  “Nate! Nate! Stop fussing with the food. You need to go back outside again. We both do.”

  I didn’t give him a chance to respond. I stood and said “indigestion” to everyone at the table and then proceeded to leave the pavilion via the front entrance.

  Nate was right behind me. “What’s going on? What’s the matter?”

  “It could be nothing, but Rochelle from La Petite Pâtisserie and Sebastian from Saveur de Evangeline are having a tête-à-tête.”

  “A what?”

  “A private conversation. Gee, and I thought you were so worldly. Never mind. Listen. I need to tell you something I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Then why are you telling me?”

  “Because it’s important. Because it might . . . Look, Roland offered Rochelle a job at Saveur de Evangeline. That was before he was found dead. She obviously didn’t want Julien to know because she wasn’t sure if the offer was still valid. Sebastian and the other chefs had to decide. Anyway, I swore I wouldn’t tell Julien, so I guess telling you isn’t all that bad.”

  My God. I haven’t had a conversation like this since I was passing notes in junior high.

  “Anyway, Nate, she’s probably checking to see if they’re going to hire her. She said Julien was a bear of a boss and she wanted out. Since they’re all suspects in the Sizemore murder, this is business, right? Not eavesdropping.”

  “It’s semantics, but what the hell. I’m listening. Shh. They haven’t seen us. They’re on the other side of the tent.”

  We took a few steps forward and caught part of the conversation.

  Rochelle’s voice was crisp, making it easy to hear what she was saying. “So like I said, I’ve decided to stay with La Petite Pâtisserie. Julien told me Theodore Sizemore reneged on his agreement with Roland and gave the loan to La Petite Pâtisserie. It’s a done deal as far as Sizemore’s estate is concerned. I’m going to be managing the new satellite patisserie at the Ritz-Carlton.”

  “It was a mistake for that fool to drop us like that. Same as the one you’ll make if you stay with Julien.”

  I poked Nate in the arm and whispered, “So Sebastian knew about this all along. He knew Sizemore cut them off.”

  Nate nodded and put his index finger to his lips.

  Sebastian and Rochelle had started to walk away and we strained to hear the rest of what they were saying.

  Luckily, Sebastian’s voice was still audible. “Roland took it hard. He was always way too emotional. Took it personally. Thought he should confront Sizemore that morning on the golf course. Get him to change his mind. I had no idea Roland would heave a rock at the man. I only found out about it later, when Roland got back into the car. I was waiting for him on a cross street.”

  “LIAR! You’re lying!”

  “Keep your voice down, Rochelle. The guests can hear us.”

  Nate and I stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement would give us away.

  Rochelle didn’t stop. “Roland didn’t throw that rock! He couldn’t have. You’re lying to save your butt. Roland was right-handed and was losing his ability to grip. Arthritic metacarpal joint. That’s what he told me when we met at a bagel place in Surprise. He wanted me to make up my mind about the job offer.”

  “Well, isn’t that too bad. Roland’s dead and who’s going to believe you?”

  Rochelle spun her head around and pointed. “She will! That lady standing over there! She heard everything!”

  I gave Nate a quick poke. “What lady?”

  Before he could say a word, I edged forward to see whom Rochelle was talking about. I all but choked. It was my mother. Coming from the other side of the tent. She gave me a wave, walked right past Sebastian and Rochelle, and started to hand me something.

  “Here. It’s a Tums. You said you have indigestion. Myrna has Zantac if you need something stronger.”

  Then, without so much as pausing to catch her breath, she continued, “By the way, Nate, I think that man over there is one of the murderers. Do something about it, but don’t make a scene.”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Plunkett, I’ll—”

  And then came the sirens. Plural. They were getting louder as the sheriff cars approached. It was bad enough they had to arrest one murderer; now we had a second one in the offing.

  “Geez, Nate,” I said. “You told me the sheriff’s office wasn’t going to make a scene. Why do they have the sirens blaring? We can’t take a chance on Antoine going berserk when his cover gets blown. Take a look down the hill. At the parking lot. They sent two cars and—Oh my God, Nate! What the hell is my mother up to? I can’t believe it. She’s chasing Sebastian!”

  Nate took a good look as I screamed at the top of my lungs. “MOM! STOP RUNNING! What are you doing?”

  “Stop talking!” she yelled back. “The fat man is getting away! Murderer! Murderer!” />
  Nate took off behind her like an Olympic sprinter. “Slow down, Harriet. You might have a stroke. I’ve got it! He’s not going anywhere.”

  Sebastian might not have been going anywhere, but the noise from the sirens, combined with the fact that Nate, my mother, and I had disappeared from the reception, gave the book club ladies a reason to step out of the wedding pavilion/tent to see what was going on.

  My mother took off her heels and charged down the footpath toward the parking lot. She was flailing her arms frantically, a shoe in each hand.

  “Harriet’s about to make a citizen’s arrest,” Shirley said. “YOU GO, GIRL! YOU GO, GIRL!”

  Cecilia, Myrna, Louise, and Lucinda started applauding when Shirley turned to me. “Who’s your mother arresting?”

  “She’s not arresting anyone. That’s why Nate called the sheriff’s office.”

  The ladies suddenly got quiet, until Lucinda said, “The food’s going to get cold. I’m returning to my seat.”

  With that, the book club ladies left my mother to her own devices as they proceeded back to the buffet table.

  Rochelle was standing a few feet from me, watching as Sebastian literally ran into one of the Maricopa County sheriff’s deputy cars. “I can’t believe I almost worked for that jerk. I’ll take pompous Julien over a killer any day of the week.”

  “Um . . . speaking of killers,” I said. “There’s something you should know about Antoine.”

  Chapter 31

  I left Nate and my mother to deal with the deputies as I stepped back into the wedding tent with Rochelle. The guests were working their way through the buffet line and many of them were already at their tables eating.

  Over at the dais, my aunt was feeding tidbits of food to Louis. If my daughter was here, she’d be in hysterics. I snapped a quick photo from my cell to share with her later, before turning my attention to Rochelle. “Please keep your voice down but . . . how much do you really know about Antoine?”