Death by Crockpot

by Linda West

  I thought to mention that if she was pregnant then she shouldn’t be smoking, but three days after the death of her fiancé didn’t seem the proper time to preach.

  “Why don’t we share one?” I said. “I’m trying to quit.” She laughed a sweet sound that reminded me of how young she was. I hadn’t ever seen her smile, and she almost looked sweet with her innocent gap-toothed grin.

  “Good idea.” She lit it and blew out a long line of smoke. Her muscles relaxed as she inhaled again.

  I tried to act casual as I asked, “So what did you mean worse…what’s worse?”

  Mia handed me the cigarette like we were old pals.

  “Guys, silly. Guys can be jerks. That old man was nice to me. Jackson treated me like a real lady. I’m not used to that.”

  I kinda believed her. He’d been nice to Carol too – albeit cheating on her the whole time. So Mia had a soft spot for Jackson. It was clear she didn’t hate him, but did she love him more than his money? I took a drag of the cigarette and handed it back to her.

  “Anyway, the whole murder is horrible really,” I said. “But at the very least you’re going to be well taken care of. Jackson was a very successful man. Of course nothing can replace love, but money can help.”

  Mia laughed again. “You’re funny, Kat. I like you.”

  Why did I feel like the younger one in this conversation? I hurried on.

  “I mean, I kind of understand. I lost someone I loved too. Not the same as you, but it hurts…Okay, what are you laughing at?”

  Mia was grinning at me like I was a simpleton.

  “You and all your love talk. You really believe that fairytale crap, don’t you? Let me tell you something, Kat. Love is for the weak. I hate men. They use you up and treat you like trash. “

  I nodded. That had been my recent experience with Lance for sure, but I didn’t have the loathing she seemed to feel for men in general.

  She stubbed out the cigarette angrily against the ground, smooshing it into a pulp until it was unrecognizable. Then she reached in her pocket and I flinched. All this murder stuff was making me jumpy.

  Mia withdrew her hand from her pocket and handed me her pack of cigarettes.

  “Here. I’m the one that has to quit.”

  She smiled and patted her tummy. “I’m gonna have a baby. And I’m going to be a great mom, you just watch. I might have messed up a lot of my life, but now I’m going to start fresh. Healthy.”

  She laughed again sweetly and rubbed her tummy. Then she shifted into the car seat.

  Mixed feelings tangled in my chest about Mia. She seemed to love her child but hate men but maybe not Jackson….? I definitely needed to get more answers from her and see what else I could learn that might help Carol.

  “Hey, Mia…”I stopped her just as she was about to shut the car door. I acted all chummy. “We’re having our first book club meeting at the Landers’ Bakery tomorrow night – you should stop by. It’s fun.”

  Mia thought about it. “Maybe. Thanks. I gotta go, Kat.”

  As she reached to pull the door handle shut on me, I noticed her pale skinny arm had a big purple whelp of a bruise on the side of it.

  I opened my mouth and it clicked audibly shut when I saw her arm poking free from her jacket.

  Bruise?

  Like a bruise from an incoming beer bottle cap? Could that be from my beer bottle cap slinging?

  Mia saw me looking at the black and blue mark and pulled her coat down over her arm quickly.

  She rolled up the window and twisted the key in the ignition.

  Chapter 30

  I opened my mouth and it clicked audibly shut when I saw her arm poking free from her jacket.

  Bruise?

  Like a bruise from an incoming beer bottle cap? Could that be from my beer bottle cap slinging? She saw me looking at the black and blue mark, and pulled her coat down over her arm quickly.

  I forced my eyes away and blurted out. “It starts at nine o’clock after the Landers’ Bakery closes. We’ll be having it at the café when it opens…”

  She looked me dead in the eye looking for any sign from me. “I’ll think about it. If you wouldn’t mind moving?”

  I scooted out from between her and the door. She slammed the door shut and pulled away in a hurry. So much for any headway I thought I’d made with girl talk. I was frustrated as I watched her drive away. I took note that she was in a white Mercedes. That seemed like a sleuth thing to do.

  I felt like Mia had more pieces of the puzzle that would lead us to the real killer but I had blown my cover. If she was the one who chased me, then she knew I hurled that beer cap and it hit somewhere. Enough to elicit a scream, and a bruise. She wasn’t happy I saw it for sure. But she was also too small. The person who had chased me was larger. But then where did she get that bruise? Could it have been her that chased me that night, perhaps in a big coat to disguise her size?

  My conversation with Mia opened up more questions than it answered. She still had the most to gain from Jackson’s death, and she seemed to hate men in general.

  I wondered if I had just invited Jackson’s true murderer to our first book club meeting tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 31

  I slipped on a nice black dress and hose. I applied makeup and patted my bangs into submission, which meant dead flat straight covering as much of my forehead as possible. Fie Fuzzbottom for reminding me of the bane of my genetics: Dad’s forehead, and his penchant for a good ale. Would it be too much to ask for the same French cheekbones my mother had? Not that I was complaining. People called me cute.

  We girls were going out on the town tonight to eat some good food, and do some sleuthing. I had gotten the list of competitors from the chili cook off, and had gone down the list. The teams and their corresponding restaurants were listed. They unfortunately didn’t list the outfits.

  I knew from being a writer/waitress my whole life that most of the teams that had white and black combos were the upscale restaurants. After some research and asking around, we found Six Pines boasted five really high-end restaurants where that required their wait staff to dress in the formal black and whites.

  Ethel and Summer and I were going to check out each of the restaurants and see if Summer could recognize the man that had given her the note from Jackson.

  Ethel picked us both up in the van, again doing the “secret” three beeps. I knew it was going to be one heck of a night when I noticed that Ethel had brought her cane/bat with her. It lay between the two-bucket front seats between the coffee holder and the new café menus.

  “Doesn’t Earl’s grandson want his bat back?”

  Ethel passed it off.

  “Can’t use that thing until the snow is gone anyway. I’m just borrowing it. He even showed me some of his jiu-jitsu moves with it.”

  Summer raised an eyebrow at the bat. Ethel had also borrowed the same said grandson’s drone Christmas gift to spy on her neighbor, Mrs. Beaverton, during the great recipe theft.

  As if reading their minds Ethel said. “I owe that kid a heck of a birthday present.”

  Summer smiled.

  We pulled up to the first restaurant, The Great Gatsby. It sported a 1920s theme with old antiques and a cozy dark leather feel inside. Best of all, the wait staff was all dressed in white and black. We looked at each other and shot the thumbs up.

  A hostess led us to a lovely table in the middle of the room, to our advantage. Every few minutes, Summer would get up, feigning that she had to go the bathroom because she was five months pregnant now. She would then wander over to different rooms looking for the waiter that may have given her the note.

  We planned to order one dish from each restaurant so we weren’t loitering. Plus, why not check out the competition’s food? At the Great Gatsby, we ordered potato skins filled with bacon and cheddar and sour cream. Summer was having a craving, and I was happy to have an excuse to eat fattening food.

  Despite the tasty, though slightly too oily, appetizer, the
ambiance had our heads bent to gaze at antique posters and model ships. Unfortunately, Summer didn't recognize anybody that she remembered.

  “Check please,” I said to our waiter.

  We hopped in the van and headed to the Chilling Station, the next on our list. It catered to upscale hipsters and beer lovers boasting over fifty different kinds of brews. I was excited about this place. The upside of not being able to drive is being able to have a drink with your meal. We planned to order salads here, and I had my eye on a dark IPA. The place was super busy with people lined up at the open bar area. It was modern with clean lines and lots of glass and chrome like someone with OCD had decorated it. We ordered a Mendocino Farms Salad that was called the Ophra Salad. For the pleasure of having Ophra’s Favorite Salad, they wanted $18. Highway robbery! I read the ingredients as Summer strolled around the restaurant and bar looking for our guy.

  “Look at this, Ethel. $18 for this salad and all it has in it is lettuce! Not even a darn shrimp or artichoke heart. How in the world can they charge this?” I just had to know. When the waiter came over, I asked him. “Why is this so expensive – are we paying for Ophra’s retirement? There’s nothing in this but lettuce.”

  The waiter nodded haughtily. “Yes ma’am, but it’s Mendocino Farms lettuce.”

  First of all, you can take that ma’am thing and stuff it in your uptight pocket. Humph. No one should ever refer to any woman as ma’am unless she’s over ninety.

  “What’s so special about Mendocino Farms?”

  “Oh ma’am, they sing over all their plants. From the moment they go to seed until the moment they are shipped – daily I might add – the lettuce is sung over like little babes.”

  I looked at Ethel. This was crazy, but now I needed some of that music-raised green salad.

  “We’ll take one,” I said. “And another beer.”

  Ethel gave me the look.

  “What? You’re driving and I’m still nursing a broken heart.”

  Ethel’s lip twitched into a tender smile. “Have you heard from him?”

  My mouth made a tight line. “Yep. I don’t answer his call. I’m over it.” I raised my hand. “Hey, waiter, do you think I can get another beer here?”

  Ethel stirred honey into her chamomile tea judgmentally. “I can see you’re over it.”

  Summer returned to the table just as the salad was being served.

  “Ooooh!” she exclaimed. “Mendocino Farms!”

  She turned to the waiter and they both sang a note in unison “Ahhhhhhh!” He smiled at her and said, “Let me know if I can help you.”

  “What was that all about?” I said when he’d left.

  “Heart note. The ‘ahhhh’ vowel – connects you right here.” She touched my chest bone gently.

  “Try it, Kat.”

  I shook my head. No love vowels for me. I did want another beer.

  Summer hadn’t recognized anyone at the Chilling Station, so we moved on to the third on our list.

  The next restaurant was on the very outskirts of Six Pines getting closer toward the border of Whispering Willows Village. That's where we intended to have our third spying expedition as well as our main course.

  The Whispering Pines Supper House was beautiful; it reminded me of the lodge up at Eagles’ Peak, only it was a little more elegant with white lace curtains, fancy tables, and an even fancier price tag. Summer smiled. It was by far the most prestigious of all the restaurants on our list, and the price reflected that.

  “Don't worry, this one's on me, guys,” said Summer. Thank goodness for her supermodel cache of cash.

  The piece of fish I ordered alone was $58. $58 for a piece of mahi-mahi in a green tea reduction served with a beurre blanc citrus sauce and a side of wintergreens.

  Maybe acceptable in France, but certainly not acceptable just west of Six Pines. I was kind of relieved that Summer offered to pick up the check. Until the café opened up, I really didn't have a steady income. The bakery was part time. At the café, I would throw in my own flare. By flare I meant liquor of course.

  The wait staff again was a sea of black and white. After we ordered, Summer got up to waltz through her scouting routine again. This time I studied her as she went; the bathroom wasn’t far from our table.

  She plopped down dejectedly on a bench outside the bathroom. But now she really did need to use it. “Is this the only powder room?” Summer asked sweetly to the waiter who was ringing up a check on the computer nearby.

  The waiter smiled and turned to her. He was a tall young man with auburn hair and light eyes with extremely long eyelashes. Summer tried to place him.

  “Summer Landers!” He beamed in recognition. “I just met you the other day at the cook-off! Remember I asked for your autograph?”

  Summer looked and him and gulped. I knew from the look on her face it had to be the guy.

  We really hadn't decided whether this guy was part of the murder plot, or even possibly the murderer himself. Summer tucked hair behind her ear gracefully under pressure. “Oh, yeah. I remember. That was a great time at the cook-off.”

  He continued smiling like he was just enamored with her and had nothing to hide.

  “My name’s Brice.” He stuck out his hand and pumped hers. “Brice Stevens. So nice to meet you. I knew you guys were going to win the cook-off; it was ridiculous how many people were at your table. “

  Summer ran her hand along the smooth fabric of her dress. Atta girl, I thought. She was attempting to dazzle him for information.

  “Thank you!” said Summer. “We have some good cooks in our group. We were lucky.” Then she added coyly, “Hey, do you remember the note you gave me to give to my Aunt Carol?”

  Brice turned his head – one of his tables was signaling him to bring the check. He looked back at Summer.

  “Yeah, I remember. I have to go, sorry – it was great seeing you, Summer.”

  She reached out and grabbed his hand. “Wait, wait! Did Jackson give you that note to give to me?”

  The waiter pulled his eyes back to Summer. “Who is Jackson?”

  Summer blinked, and then tried to contain her surprise. “He’s a friend of my aunt’s.”

  “Oh, alright. But no, I was just waiting in line to get your autograph and then some girl gave it to me and said to give it to you for your aunt.”

  Summer hastened as Brice’s manager walked by with a stern look in their direction. “Can you tell me what she looked like?”

  Brice reddened and hurried on. “Uh, she had a nose ring and was about this big,” he held a flat hand out about a foot below himself, “dark hair, lots of eyeliner…”

  “Was she wearing a big diamond ring by any chance?” said Summer.

  The guy brightened. “Huge! Must have been three carats. Her boyfriend must be loaded. I really gotta go; my boss is eyeing me up.”

  Summer hurried back to the table after using the powder room.

  We knew exactly who the messenger was now.

  CHAPTER 32

  Summer sat down at the table with us, and shot us a thumbs up low-key. The dinner had been delivered so I was in the middle of my third bite, and it was delicious I have to tell you. Of course it could have used a little liquor.

  Summer recounted what she had learned from the waiter. “I found him! His name is Brice. But, he didn’t seem to know Jackson’s murder was tied in anyway to the note. He didn’t know any of us either - other then we won the blue ribbon, and we had the most people around our table. He just wanted my autograph.”

  Ethel leaned forward “Are you sure Summer?”

  She nodded. “I was looking him right in his eyes, and I can tell you he wasn't lying. I believed him.”

  We were hanging on every word.

  “He said some thin girl with a nose ring wearing black gave him the letter. He was standing in line to get my autograph, when she approached him, and asked him to pass the note to our table when he got up front. “Oh, and he confirmed she had a huge diamond ring on he
r wedding finger! You know what that means?”

  Ethel and I both said in unison.

  “Mia was the one who sent the note!”

  CHAPTER 33

  We dropped off Summer, and Ethel and I let ourselves into the bakery.

  We were still wide-awake with thoughts about what we had just learned. Ethel was stressed so she wanted sugar. I always wanted sugar.

  The bakery was closed. I absentmindedly grabbed a bottle cap out of my pocket and snapped it at the light switch. It flipped on a low light. Thankfully, Ethel was too busy to notice. She headed straight for the kitchen, and I locked the door behind us.

  I decided to start a fire while Ethel pulled together some ingredients in the refrigerator to make a batter for some chocolate mini soufflés. I broke up small branches to add to the fire. I had a feeling we were going to be there for a little while.

  So now we had to put Mia back on the top of our list of suspects for Jackson's murder. If she gave the letter to be delivered to Carol, she must've known she was planting it. Plus she had that bruise on her arm that could have been my bottle cap.

  Ethel looked up from whipping the batter. “How do we know if Mia even read the letter she passed to Brice?”

  I blew on the flame and the kindling sparked into a fire.

  “Well I guess it had the seal on it, but it seems kind of odd that his new fiancée would be giving his ex- fiancée a private correspondence from him so willingly.”

  Ethel stealthily poured the dark aromatic batter into small singular tin soufflé cups. I could smell the chocolate and I felt some stress leaving my body.

  “Ethel - what would Jessica do now?”

  Ethel considered it.

  “Let’s stick with the note. The note is missing because somebody took it. The police would've been able to prove that Carol was set up if they had the letter from Jackson. That's obviously what Mia didn't want them to know, and why she didn’t tell them. But who is she protecting? Or is she protecting herself?”