Val couldn’t think of any women Granddad knew well who fit that description. But someone at the Titanic dinner did—the poultry queen-in-waiting, Louisa Brown.
Once inside the house, Val called Granddad’s cell phone and heard it ring in the sitting room. Now she knew why he hadn’t responded to her earlier voice mail.
She made tent place cards with the names of Otto’s guests written on both sides and positioned the cards to duplicate the seating arrangement on the yacht. The setup might help her, Bethany, and Granddad to remember what had gone on. It would also help the chief and Gunnar visualize the dinner. Then she set the table for tonight’s dinner.
The front door squeaked open. “Granddad?” she called out.
“Be right with you,” he said from the hall.
She went into the kitchen and surveyed the Titanic dinner leftovers in the fridge. Plenty of food for five. Otto’s guests had consumed barely half of the roast beef. Understandable. By the time they got around to eating it, they’d gone through four courses, a squall, and a man overboard. This evening she’d roast potatoes to serve with the beef, along with the asparagus vinaigrette, a course that never made it to the table Saturday night. The Waldorf pudding, untouched on Saturday night, would suffice for dessert this evening. Tonight’s dinner wouldn’t be the sumptuous meal Otto had planned, but at least she and Granddad would be sitting at the table, instead of plating and delivering multiple courses.
When he joined her in the kitchen, she noticed he was walking stiffly. “I was starting to wonder where you were. What have you been doing?”
“Sitting too long in the car.” He opened the fridge. “I need a beer.”
“Were you stuck in traffic?”
“Nope.” He took a beer from the fridge, opened it, and guzzled some.
She waited for him to say more about sitting in the car, and when he didn’t, she broached a different subject. “Why did Louisa Brown come here today?”
He gave her a sharp look. “How do you know she did?”
Because you would have denied it if she hadn’t. “Harvey described the woman who visited you.”
Granddad rolled his eyes. “Since he retired, nobody on this street has any privacy.”
Val turned on the oven and took out the potato peeler. “What did Louisa want?”
“My advice. She asked me which clubs and volunteer groups to join so she could become part of the community. She also said the house smelled delicious. I’d just finished baking those little muffins that taste like pecan pie.”
“Why did you bake today, Granddad?” He usually cooked only when the Monday deadline for his recipe column approached.
“I wanted to give my condolences to Cheyenne, so I made the muffins to take to her. I offered some to Louisa. She didn’t stay put while I was in the kitchen getting them. When I went back to the sitting room, I saw her come out of the study. She said she was admiring the Victorian-era woodwork.”
Val stopped peeling a potato. “She was snooping. Was there anything private on the computer screen or the desk?”
“The password screen was up, and the desk was covered with the recipes and notes for the column I submitted yesterday.”
So Louisa had seen nothing of any importance. “Did she gobble up the muffins the way she did s’mores on the yacht?”
“I only gave her three. She nibbled them while we talked about life in Bayport.” He took a bag of pretzels from the pantry. “She said she’d heard I was thick with the police chief.”
“Huh. I’ll bet she wanted to know about the investigation into Otto’s death.” When he nodded, Val recounted her conversation with Louisa at the café. “When I rejected her theory that Otto killed himself, she asked how the police were handling the case, as if she expected me to have inside knowledge. What did you say to her?”
“I asked what exactly she wanted to know about the investigation. After hemming and hawing, she came out with her question—Do the police think Otto committed suicide?” Granddad imitated Louisa’s high-pitched voice. “I told her they hadn’t ruled out murder. She was a little jumpy when she first came in, and that news made her jumpier. I offered her a drink. Wine, brandy, or liqueur. Didn’t think she was the beer type.”
Val pretended to be shocked. “Granddad! You entertained a younger woman and plied her with liquor?”
He grinned. “I plied her with liqueur. She asked if the local police knew what they were doing. She hoped they were looking closely at Otto’s wife, his ex-wife, and her son, because people are usually murdered by family members. She hinted she’d like a refill on the liqueur. I wasn’t gonna give her another drink before she got behind the wheel, so I told her I had an appointment.”
“I’d have given her a refill and offered to drive her home. You might have found out why she was so nervous.”
“I did. She was almost out the door when she spit it out. She said, Please tell me if you find out my husband’s a suspect.”
“What!” Val nearly sliced off a layer of skin with the potato peeler. “Why would she say that?”
“She claimed she wanted to know if she needed to get him a good lawyer. She left, still a nervous wreck.”
“Weird.” Val thought about her brief chats with the Browns in the café today. “This morning Damian came into the café, relaxed, not like a man worried he’d be a murder suspect. And when she came in a couple of hours later, she wasn’t nervous. Maybe she found out something since then that made her believe her husband could—or should—be a suspect.”
“I can guess what she found out.” Granddad smiled smugly and took a long drink of his beer. “After she left, I drove to Cheyenne’s house with my muffins and spotted Louisa’s husband on the doorstep. Cheyenne let him in. I parked at the end of the street and waited for him to leave so I could talk to the widow alone. Then a shiny black Mercedes crept past the house. Same car Louisa drove when she came here. I didn’t know if she was gonna park and join him in giving condolences or if she was spying on him. I hunched down in the seat and put on my sunglasses and baseball cap. Louisa never got out of the car. She stayed for twenty minutes. Then she drove away without even glancing at me.”
“She was spying.” Val cut a potato in small cubes. “She snooped here. She spied there.” Did Louisa always behave like that, or was today special?
“It wasn’t like she followed him there. She didn’t show up until a good ten minutes after he did.”
“That means she had a reason to think he might be with Cheyenne.” Val remembered Otto’s wife and Louisa’s husband sitting together for much of the cocktail hour. The part of their conversation she’d overheard hadn’t sounded like flirting, but she hadn’t listened long. As the hostess, Cheyenne should have been circulating among the guests instead of entertaining only Damian. Their concentration on each other might have aroused his wife’s suspicions. “Louisa may assume Damian and Cheyenne are having an affair, but she could be wrong.”
“Nah. I took the muffins and knocked on Cheyenne’s door. She didn’t answer, so I walked around the house and looked in the windows.”
Val put her hands on her hips. “Suppose someone in the neighborhood saw you peeking in windows?”
He shrugged. “An old guy with muffins can get away with a lot. Cheyenne and Damian weren’t in the living room or the dining room. The blinds were shut where I figured the kitchen was. So what’s left? The upstairs bedrooms.”
Val could have argued that an upstairs room is often used as a study, but Granddad would call her naive to imagine Cheyenne and Damian huddled over a computer. Would Cheyenne have entertained Damian in the kitchen? Unlikely. She hadn’t invited Val to come along with her to the kitchen. “Okay, those two might be having an affair. It doesn’t follow that he killed her husband. The Browns and the Warbecks met two weeks ago. Hard to believe Damian would fall so hard and fast for Cheyenne that he’d murder for her.”
“The couples just met. Maybe Damian and Cheyenne knew each other longer and plo
tted the whole thing. Her marriage to a rich man. The dinner party on the yacht. The murder.” Granddad ticked off each element of the plot on his fingers.
Val tried to superimpose his scenario on her memory of the cocktail hour on the deck. It didn’t fit. “If they conspired against Otto, they would have concealed their attraction to each other on the yacht. Instead, they enjoyed each other’s company. And now, three days after the murder, they’re having a tryst, according to you. Murder conspirators would have stayed away from each other so they don’t arouse the kind of suspicions you and Louisa have about them.”
“Hmm.” Granddad filled a small bowl with pretzels. “The way I see it, Cheyenne lured him to the house because she’s setting him up to take the fall. She seduced him into killing her husband, and now that she’s a rich widow, she doesn’t need him anymore. She’ll claim Damian acted on his own.”
“You stole that plot from a film noir.” His video collection included a lot of movies from the 1940s and 1950s. The phone in the front hall rang. “Do you want me to answer it, or should we let it ring?”
Granddad was already halfway across the kitchen. “I’ll answer it. I gotta keep moving to shake out the stiffness.”
She spread out the potato cubes in a roasting pan. Could he be right about Cheyenne orchestrating the Titanic dinner? Val had taken it for granted that Otto had masterminded the evening because he’d come across as controlling. But maybe his wife managed him in a subtle way, pulling his strings behind the scenes so he’d dance to her tune. After all, she’d prevailed on him to serve s’mores at a formal dinner. True, Otto had balked at the idea at first and only agreed after Val seconded it. But his wife might have wheedled him into it even without Val’s support.
Had Cheyenne also cajoled him into inviting the Browns? This morning she’d mentioned another couple she’d suggested Otto invite and her surprise that the Browns had come instead. She could say anything now, because Otto wasn’t around to contradict her.
Granddad returned to the kitchen. “That was someone calling about you catering a dinner party. I wrote down the name and number. Figured you were too busy with this dinner to talk now.”
“Thanks.” Val took a pretzel. “When I visited Cheyenne today, her grief over Otto looked real. I don’t see her as a femme fatale or Damian as a patsy, but maybe he acted on his own. He hoped to marry a rich young widow to replace his older wife, who holds the purse strings and a prenup.”
Granddad took the pretzel bowl and his beer to the breakfast table and sat down. “What’s in the prenup? Divorce me and you get nothing?”
Val recalled what Chatty had heard about the Browns’ prenup. “Yes, and it goes beyond that. Damian gets nothing even if Louisa wants a divorce and he doesn’t.”
“I’ll bet he inherits if she dies.” Granddad snapped his fingers. “It’s obvious who the next murder victim will be.”
Chapter 15
“The next murder victim?” Val repeated Granddad’s words. “You mean Louisa?”
“Uh-huh. I should have said it’s obvious to her she’ll be the next victim. Here’s what I think is going through her mind. She assumes Damian’s having an affair with Cheyenne. She suspects he killed Otto to marry the rich widow. Louisa’s afraid he’ll want her money too and bump her off. That explains her nervousness today.”
Val put the potatoes in the oven. “If she feared for her life, she’d go to the police. She’s not stupid.”
“She doesn’t know for sure that her husband killed Otto. She wants to find out if the police have evidence of that. But if he didn’t do it, she doesn’t want to give the police a reason to suspect him. That’s why she asked me to find out if there’s any evidence against him.”
“I assume you’ll tell the police what she said. You may get the chance tonight. I invited Chief Yardley to join us for dinner. What did you do after you peeked in Cheyenne’s windows?”
“Went back to the car and waited for Damian to leave. He didn’t come out, at least while I was there. I drove away when my legs stiffened up.” The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it. It might be the chief.”
“Or Bethany. Don’t tell her your suspicions about Cheyenne. The two of them have bonded.”
Val took the asparagus she’d made for the Titanic dinner from the refrigerator and ate a stalk. Still good. It would taste better at room temperature. She arranged the stalks on a platter.
Granddad returned with Bethany. She sauntered into the kitchen wearing a red cardigan, a pink-and-yellow dress, black leggings, and purple athletic shoes—a far cry from the black outfit she’d worn at the last Titanic dinner.
She plunked a baguette on the counter. “I grabbed this right before the bakery closed.”
“Thank you. We can have it with the pâté before dinner and the cheese after dinner.”
Granddad picked up the corkscrew. “How about some wine, Bethany? Red or white?”
“White, please.” Bethany turned to Val. “I called Cheyenne to find out how she was doing. She told me you visited her today. How did she seem to you?”
“She’s keeping busy gathering photos for Otto’s memorial service and defending him against rumors of suicide.”
“That’s better than being immobilized by his death,” Bethany said.
“She looked sad, but she didn’t talk about their life together or what she loved about him.” Val wondered what besides money had attracted Cheyenne to him. “Did she open up to you when you were with her on Sunday?”
Bethany took the wineglass Granddad handed her. “She told me she was married once before. She met the guy in college. They were crazy in love and rushed off to Vegas to get married. It lasted less than two years. She divorced him after he cheated on her. She didn’t say so, but I think Otto appealed to her because he was completely different from the first hubby.”
A familiar story to Val. She’d found Gunnar attractive initially because he was so unlike her longtime fiancé, the handsome, sweet-talking Tony. Fortunately, she’d found out before the wedding that Tony was cheating on her. “From what she told me, she’s thinking about who might have killed Otto.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Granddad downed his beer. “Who is she fingering?”
“Before I tell you her theory, I have a question. Did either of you notice how Homer and Trey acted when they saw each other on the yacht? Like they’d just met, or like they already knew each other?”
Granddad shook his head. “Didn’t pay attention. Too busy serving drinks.”
Bethany sipped her wine. “I was watching. Trey looked startled. Homer said something stilted, like Pleased to make your acquaintance. Then he introduced himself and held out his hand. For a moment Trey just stared at him, and then he pumped Homer’s hand.” She demonstrated a vigorous handshake. “Why are you asking?”
“According to Cheyenne, Otto suspected Trey of stealing Titanic memorabilia and Homer of fencing it.” Val summarized what she’d seen at Homer’s antique shop, including Emma Jean’s glass of gin.
Bethany looked shocked. “So my role as an alcoholic was based on her? I’m so glad she didn’t come to the dinner, but even without her there, Homer must have been furious. He had a reason to kill Otto.”
“But not a reason to put a gun in his tux. He didn’t know when he came aboard that Otto was going to pick on Emma Jean.”
Val’s phone chimed. Chief Yardley was on the line, saying he was leaving his office and would join them shortly. She relayed his message to Granddad and Bethany.
Granddad tossed his empty beer bottle in the recycle bin. “I’ll go wait for him on the front porch.”
Val nodded her approval, certain that before they came inside, the chief would hear about Louisa’s visit here and her husband’s visit to Cheyenne’s house.
Val called Gunnar, who said he was on Route 50 near the turnoff for Bayport. He’d be at the house in fifteen minutes.
“Perfect. Dinner will be ready.”
* * *
Gra
nddad and the chief were still talking on the porch when Gunnar arrived. He strode into the kitchen and greeted Val and Bethany.
Val hugged him. “Thanks for coming.” He looked far more cheerful than when she’d last seen him. “You had a good day in Washington?”
He nodded. “I looked into some acting programs there. I liked what the conservatory had to offer.”
Val was taken aback. He hadn’t mentioned he planned to study acting in Washington. He must have intended to tell her last night, but she’d left him to pick up the food on the yacht before he’d gotten around to it. “How long is the program?”
He spread pâté on a slice of French bread. “Almost two thousand hours of training over sixteen months.”
Val gaped at him. More than a year. “That’s intensive.”
“Close to thirty hours a week. And that’s just the basic program. They have an advanced one too. I’ll see how the first one goes before I enroll in that.”
So he’d committed to the basic program? Thirty hours a week plus an eighty-mile commute plus his accounting work wouldn’t leave him much free time. Val tried to look enthusiastic. “That’s exciting, Gunnar. Does the program start in the fall?” That would give him months to change his mind.
“I still have to audition. If I get through it, I’ll start classes in May.”
Only a few weeks from now. So much for Val’s hope of seeing more of him now that tax season was over. “You’ll do great in the audition.”
“You can practice your acting tonight,” Bethany said.
Val poured him a glass of red wine and explained the plan for the evening.
“You want me to play two different men who are each assuming a role in a mystery game?” When she nodded, he continued, “I need more information. How do the men feel about the other people at the table? What motivates them and the characters they’re playing?”
Val groaned inwardly. He apparently wanted to prepare for tonight’s game as he would for the stage. “We can give you some info, but basically all you have to do is read the lines in these scripts.” She gave him two booklets—Damian’s and Trey’s.
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