S'more Murders

by Maya Corrigan

  Two Bayport police officers met the yacht when it docked and whisked her away while the others remained on the boat.

  The chief cautioned the group in the saloon against talking to the media, in the interests of justice and out of consideration for Louisa’s family.

  Cheyenne looked profoundly unhappy. Her celebration of Otto’s life had exposed his dark side. She pulled herself together enough to remember the gifts he’d left behind for his guests—actually, bribes to induce them into coming to his dinner. She gave Trey a business envelope, Homer a thick manila envelope, and Stacy a thinner one.

  Homer tore into his envelope and announced that it contained the entire set of scripts from Otto’s mystery game. Not the Titanic collectible Otto had hinted he’d give him, but Homer looked pleased anyway. Trey took a check from his envelope, stared at it wide-eyed, and put it in his shirt pocket. Val guessed it was Otto’s donation to the Protect the Bay Fund. Stacy looked inside her envelope and smiled, her eyes tearing. Apparently, Otto had made good on his promise to return her great-grandmother’s letter.

  What a strange man. He’d manipulated people and destroyed lives with his last acts on earth, but Otto’s word had been his bond.

  Cheyenne handed Val a check. “This isn’t just for catering. You did what I asked. You helped prove that Otto didn’t commit suicide. That’s worth a lot to me.”

  Val was stunned by the amount. Once she gave Irene the money for preparing the food, there would be enough left to cover the termite repairs at Granddad’s house. Would Cheyenne ever collect on Otto’s life insurance policy? Technically, he hadn’t committed suicide, but the insurance company’s lawyers could argue that forcing someone to kill him was the equivalent of suicide.

  As Val cleaned up after the meal with Granddad and Bethany, the chief beckoned her to the aft deck.

  She joined him at the railing. “It was a brilliant idea to put a dummy on the swim platform. You must have expected a strong reaction from Cheyenne.”

  “I hoped for one. Otto’s illness, his gun purchase, and the anonymous letter he printed all pointed to suicide with an intent to frame Damian. His wife was the obvious person to remove any evidence of suicide.” He leaned against the railing. “Louisa’s role wasn’t as obvious. Did you figure out she shot Otto before she told us that?”

  “Not until tonight. When I fired the prop gun on the swim platform, ran back inside, and saw her coming out of the guest head, I realized she’d had the time and the opportunity to kill Otto, but only if she knew about the path through the engine room.” She caught the chief’s eye. “The report about the angle of the shot must have tipped you off about Louisa. Did you just get that news by phone tonight?”

  “I had the report earlier, but it wasn’t conclusive. A taller shooter could have knelt or held the gun low. Or Otto could have shot himself at that angle.” The chief looked up at the stars for a moment. “Louisa confessed before I got around to saying that.”

  “She was on the verge of confessing because of what came out earlier. Everyone contributed details they hadn’t previously realized were important.” Val ticked off the examples on her fingers. “Stacy mentioned the girls’ nicknames. That jogged Bethany’s memory about Louisa’s tongue slip about Andie. Then Homer realized the significance of the card he’d found with the names Andie and Louie on it, and Trey remembered the note Otto passed to Louisa.”

  The chief smiled. “Okay, you’ve made your point about crowd-sourcing. But I’m not adopting it as an investigation method, though it worked tonight.”

  “Do you think the state’s attorney will prosecute Louisa for killing Otto?”

  “Tough case to win. She convinced everyone in the saloon that she was coerced. Her defense attorney will put Otto on trial and make her look good next to him.” The chief’s voice rumbled with anger. “She was on the scene of three suspicious deaths. She shot two men. Still, she may walk around free.”

  Val felt a chill at the thought of Louisa at large. “It was odd how Louisa declared Damian didn’t push Otto’s sister off the balcony, when no one suggested he did. Maybe pushing Otto’s sister was on Louisa’s mind because she did it.”

  “Possible. I got a call tonight from the investigator on that case. He said some students on the balcony heard Otto’s sister yell, Get away, Louie. Then they heard a scream, and she was on the ground. The police couldn’t find a man named Louie or Louis who’d been at that party. They assumed that was Demon’s real name.”

  Val snapped her fingers. “Otto must have recognized the name Louie. After Louisa said Andie’s name by mistake, he realized Louie could have been her nickname. He then tweaked his suicide plan.”

  The chief leaned on the railing, looking out at the river. “People intent on suicide often can’t pull the trigger. Otto might have had that problem if he’d stuck with his original plan, killing himself while Damian was out of the saloon. He couldn’t have forced Damian to shoot him, but it was easy to overpower a little woman.”

  Val paced the deck, thinking about Damian’s death. “Louisa might have lied when she said her husband didn’t know she’d shot Otto. If Damian knew, he had a hold over her, and she had a reason to kill him besides her jealousy of Cheyenne. Is there any proof they struggled over that gun?”

  “We can poke holes in her story, but the evidence against it isn’t overwhelming. She’d claim she was distraught when she first gave her statement and now she’s so traumatized she can’t remember the details. A jury would feel sorry for her unless we can prove premeditation.”

  Val flashed back to the scene in the kitchen after Damian was shot. Nearly hysterical, Louisa had explained what had happened and produced the anonymous letter. Then she left the kitchen to meet the ambulance. On her way to the front door, she stopped in the powder room and ditched her apron. An apron with big patch pockets.

  Val stopped pacing. “Is it possible for a gun to pick up fibers from material, say if I carry it in my pocket?” When he nodded, she continued, “Louisa was wearing a cobbler apron when she shot Damian. It was four in the afternoon. There was no sign of cooking she’d done or intended to do. Why the apron? Maybe she’d found the gun in Damian’s car earlier that day or even the day before. She lured him into the garage, pulled the gun from her pocket, and shot him.”

  “Why wouldn’t she just put the gun in her pants pocket?”

  “Because women’s pants usually don’t have pockets.” Val thought about the pants she owned. “That gun would be a tight fit in the back pocket of my jeans. You’d see the outline of it, and I couldn’t pull it out fast. An apron pocket doesn’t have those problems.”

  “Fibers from it on the gun would suggest premeditation. Let’s hope she didn’t burn that apron.”

  * * *

  The chief called Monday evening to tell Val that her hunch had been correct. The fiber evidence from the gun was enough to charge Louisa with her husband’s murder.

  Val put down the hall phone, relieved that a killer wouldn’t go free, but sorry for the families touched by Otto’s and Damian’s deaths. Before she could return to the sitting room to tell Granddad the news, the doorbell rang.

  Bethany stood on the porch. “I’ve just had dinner with Cheyenne at the Bugeye Tavern. She got a surprise package that might interest you.”

  “Come in.”

  They went into the sitting room. Bethany greeted Granddad and plopped down on the sofa near his lounge chair. “Cheyenne found a box on her doorstep today. It contained three Titanic-era souvenirs, stolen from Otto eight years ago.”

  Val curled up on the other end of the sofa. “Someone’s conscience woke up.” Trey must have felt guilt pangs after receiving Otto’s donation.

  She told Bethany and Granddad the news about Louisa’s apron.

  “The apron’s not the only sign that she planned to kill Damian,” Granddad said. “She came over here on Tuesday afternoon pretending she was worried that her husband was a murder suspect. Her real reason for coming was t
o plant the seed that he’d shot Otto. Then the police wouldn’t suspect her of shooting Otto and would accept her yarn about fighting Damian for the gun.”

  Bethany squirmed on the old sofa, possibly feeling a spring poking through the cushion. “Louisa was a victim too . . . of Otto. He planted the gun and sent the anonymous letter to ruin Damian’s life, but it destroyed hers too.”

  Granddad folded his arms. “You can’t excuse Louisa. Otto forced her to shoot him, but killing her husband was her own idea.”

  Val couldn’t argue with that. “No way Otto could have guessed that Louisa would react to the letter by shooting Damian, though I don’t think Otto would have been unhappy about it.”

  “I can’t figure out Louisa,” Bethany said. “She seemed to love her husband, so why did she want him dead?”

  “Jealousy.” Granddad took off his bifocals. “I saw her spying on Damian when he paid Cheyenne a long visit on Tuesday afternoon. Louisa thought her husband was having an affair and would throw her over for a younger woman.”

  “She was wrong about that, Mr. Myer. Cheyenne said Damian came on to her that day. She told him she wasn’t interested, and he dropped it. They drank tea in the kitchen and chatted.”

  The kitchen: the one room Granddad couldn’t peek into when he’d spied on Cheyenne and Damian.

  He waved away Bethany’s defense of Cheyenne. “Doesn’t matter what they did, but what Louisa believed.”

  Bethany frowned. “Why didn’t she tell the truth right away about what happened with Otto on the swim platform?”

  “No one would have believed it,” Val said. “Her story was plausible only after we found out that Otto intended to commit suicide and make it look like murder.”

  Bethany grimaced. “Otto and his Titanic dinner have left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  Granddad leaned back in his chair. “To get rid of it, eat something that tastes good. Not ice cubes.”

  “That diet is history. I didn’t lose weight on it.” She turned to Val. “Speaking of history, you should expand your catering menu to include themed historical dinners, like the Titanic one. Dinner with Queen Victoria, for example. The hosts and guests could cosplay as their favorite Victorians.”

  “Cosplay?” Granddad frowned in puzzlement. “What does that mean?”

  “Dressing like a character from a story. It’s very trendy. At a Victorian table, you might see Count Dracula, Sherlock Holmes, Alice in Wonderland, and Miss Havisham in her tattered wedding dress.”

  Granddad stroked his chin. “I don’t know about cosplay, but the themed dinner party has legs. Dinner on the Orient Express. Dinner at Washington’s Mount Vernon. Not many caterers offer that. What do you think, Val?”

  Better than the disaster dinners Chatty had suggested. Val would enjoy researching the meals served in various historical eras. “If you take the Codger’s Cookbook off my plate, Granddad, I’ll add themed dinners to my catering menu.”

  To her surprise, he agreed.

  “Let’s put the cookbook on the back burner,” he said. “Now’s the time to ride the wave of publicity from the Titanic dinner and take your business in a new direction. And I’ll help.”

  Val suspected he’d help by cosplaying the chef.

  FIRST-CLASS DINING SALOON MENU

  R.M.S. Titanic, April 14, 1912

  Hors d’Oeuvres Variés

  Oysters

  Consommé Olga Cream of Barley

  Salmon, Mousseline Sauce, Cucumber

  Filet Mignons Lili

  Sauté of Chicken Lyonnaise

  Vegetable Marrow Farci

  Lamb, Mint Sauce

  Roast Duckling, Apple Sauce

  Sirloin of Beef, Château Potatoes

  Green Peas Creamed Carrots

  Boiled Rice

  Parmentier & Boiled New Potatoes

  Punch Romaine

  Roast Squab & Cress

  Cold Asparagus Vinaigrette

  Pâté de Foie Gras

  Celery

  Waldorf Pudding

  Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly

  Chocolate & Vanilla Éclairs

  French Ice Cream

  VAL’S TITANIC DINNER MENU

  on the Abyss

  Hors d’Oeuvres

  Consommé

  Salmon, Mousseline Sauce, Cucumbers

  Stuffed Zucchini

  Roast Beef, Château Potatoes

  Green Peas, Creamed Carrots

  Sorbet

  Cold Asparagus Vinaigrette

  Mushroom Pâté

  Celery

  Waldorf Pudding

  Cheese and Fruit

  Note: Val served sorbet as a palate cleanser in place of the similar Punch Romaine, which is a half-frozen mix of fruit juice and wine, eaten with a spoon.

  THE CODGER COOK’S RECIPES

  CHICKEN LYONNAISE

  The menu in the Titanic’s first-class dining room was inspired by French cuisine. While no recipe for the Sauté of Chicken Lyonnaise served on the Titanic’s last night has survived, this is a simple, quick, delicious version with few ingredients. The vinegar and onion sauce in this recipe is popular in Lyons, the gastronomical capital of France, renowned for its poultry.

  3 tablespoons olive oil (or 2 tablespoons oil and 1 tablespoon butter)

  1½ pounds chicken tenders

  3 large shallots, chopped small, or a medium onion, finely diced

  ½ cup red wine vinegar

  ½ cup crème fraîche or heavy cream

  salt and freshly ground pepper to taste (optional)

  Lightly salt and pepper the chicken pieces if desired.

  Heat the oil (or oil and butter) at medium high in a skillet large enough to hold the chicken in a single layer. If the chicken won’t fit in a single layer, use two pans, with the fat divided between them, or cook the chicken in two batches in the same pan.

  Sauté the chicken pieces for 3–4 minutes until brown. Turn the pieces over using tongs and sauté them on the other side for 3–4 minutes, until the internal temperature is 165 degrees Fahrenheit. Remove the chicken to a serving dish and loosely cover it with aluminum foil.

  Add the shallots or onions to the pan and sauté them until lightly browned. Stir the vinegar into the skillet little by little and boil the liquid down until it’s no longer watery.

  Stir in the crème fraîche or cream. Cook until the mixture is blended and has turned light brown, about 5 minutes.

  Return the chicken to the pan and heat the pieces in the sauce, rotating them to make sure all sides are in the sauce.

  Serves 4.

  CHTEAU POTATOES

  The name of this dish comes from its popularity among the French nobility. In the Titanic kitchen, a crescent-bladed paring knife called a turning knife would have been used to cut the potatoes into fancy eight-sided shapes. I’m guessing they taste about the same as potatoes with four sides.

  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

  6 medium to large potatoes

  3 tablespoons melted butter

  2 tablespoons olive oil

  ½ cup flour

  ½ teaspoon salt

  parsley sprigs (optional)

  Peel the potatoes and cut each of them into eight pieces. All the pieces should be about the same size. Spread them out to dry.

  Pour a mixture of melted butter and olive oil into a glass baking pan (13 x 9 x 2 inches).

  Mix the flour and salt together and sift over the cut potatoes until they are lightly coated. Turn the potatoes over and sift flour on the other side. Repeat until the potatoes are coated lightly on all sides.

  Put them in the pan, flat side down, in a single layer with some space between the potatoes.

  Roast the potatoes for half an hour and turn them to brown on the other side. Total time in the oven: 60 minutes. The potatoes should be soft and browned.

  Note: The smaller the size of the potato pieces, the shorter the roasting time.

  Serve them in the baking pan prettied up with parsley sprigs
.

  Serves 6.

  ROASTED ASPARAGUS VINAIGRETTE

  The asparagus vinaigrette on the Titanic probably would have been boiled, cooled, and served cold. The roasted asparagus in this recipe can be served warm, cold, or at room temperature.

  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

  1 pound fresh asparagus with tough ends snapped off

  3 tablespoons olive oil (two for roasting and one for the vinaigrette)

  ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

  1 tablespoon lemon juice or champagne vinegar

  kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

  Toss the asparagus in a large bowl or pan with 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Sprinkle with three pinches of the salt and a few grinds of pepper.

  Spread the stalks in a single layer on an aluminum-covered baking sheet. Roast until tender, approximately 10 minutes for ½-inch diameter stalks, and less time for thinner stalks.