Pasta Mortem

by Ellery Adams

  “I take it Alma isn’t seeing Luigi?” James asked, thinking of how the two had gotten along in the past.

  Lindy shook her head. “No, he’s busy with the pizza parlor. He told Luis he might even open another location, maybe over in Elkton.”

  James said, “What do you think Luis will do about his mom?”

  Lindy flipped her hair back. “That is up to him. I must make my position in the house clear.” Lindy’s eyes filled with tears. “Alma doesn’t like me, she never has. She wanted Luis to marry a girl in Mexico. The daughter of one of her friends.”

  “I remember,” James said. “But Luis wisely chose you, Lindy.”

  Lindy seemed to deflate. “I don’t want to hate her. She just makes it so hard for me to get along with her. Nothing I do is good enough.”

  “Did you tell Luis how you felt?” Gillian asked. “Communication is so important in a relationship.”

  “I did.”

  “Maybe Alma doesn’t realize how she’s behaving. Luis is her only son, living in another country,” Gillian said. “She probably misses him when she’s down in Mexico, but that’s no excuse for treating you badly, Lindy.”

  “Speaking of ill treatment, who is that woman in pink with the gray curls over by the food line?” Lindy asked. “Why is she turning people away?”

  Bennett stood. “I’ll go find out. I’m hungry. She better not keep me from my food.”

  James looked toward the TV cast. “I hope I’ll have a chance to talk to them.”

  “They’re bound to take a break,” Gillian said. “I picked this table deliberately. See the Reserved sign on the table next to us? That’s for the actors. And I’m counting on Lucy joining us so that you can tell all of us what you’ve learned about Ray Edwards’s murder.”

  Bennett returned and sat down. “Looks like all we’ll be getting is scraps.”

  “Scraps?” James said.

  “Yep. Tonight, the Friends of the Hearth and Home people get first dibs on the food. You have to show a membership card to get in the buffet line. After the members, that witch in pink said she’d sell tickets to the rest of us at ten dollars a head.”

  James thought that was a lot of money since a slice of one of Milla’s cakes couldn’t be guaranteed.

  “I’m sure they have plenty of food for all of us,” Gillian said. “While we’re waiting, let me tell you about an idea I had about the Honeybee Heaven Farms Corporation. Murphy and Edwards were partners, right?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “But there has to be someone else who owns shares. A third person.”

  “Why do you say that?” James asked.

  “Because a corporation like that is structured so that a third party owns a small amount of the company. This is so they have voting rights when the two principals of the company disagree on any financial matter. That way, there can’t be a deadlock.”

  “Who is the third partner?” Lindy asked.

  “Like I told you on the phone, James, I didn’t have any business at the Yuppie Puppy because of the cold weather. So I went down to the courthouse and looked at the public records. It’s Joel Foster.”

  “Joel Foster is the editor of Southern Style magazine,” James said. “His being partner in Honeybee Heaven Farms, no matter how small his share, would explain how Murphy was able to convince him to name Quincy’s Gap a best small town to live in.”

  “And use our photos,” Bennett added.

  “Exactly what I thought,” Gillian said.

  “He’s down there at the autograph table,” Lindy said. “We need to ask him some questions.”

  James quickly filled them in on his conversation with Murphy, how she didn’t remember what happened the night before, how she’d locked the door to the suite and no one could get in, her suspicions about Valerie Norris, everything.

  “I can’t see Valerie Norris committing such a violent murder,” Gillian said. “And Murphy’s reasoning doesn’t make sense. Jealousy over who was higher on a bestseller list?”

  “Murphy says it’s about money. I agree, though. It seems a stretch.”

  “But if Valerie Norris was the only one who could pick the lock . . .” Lindy said.

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” James said. “I did a quick search on YouTube before I left the library. There were lots of videos showing how to pick a lock.”

  “Teachin’ people how to be criminals,” Bennett said and shook his head.

  James then explained that Murphy wasn’t the only person he’d questioned. He filled his friends in on his visit to the Lydells and also to Arthur Pritchard IV.

  “Pritchard threatened your job,” Bennett said. “Not cool, not cool at all. Hey, look, that woman is selling tickets for dinner. I’m starving.”

  Everyone got up and made their way over to the line.

  Lindy put a hand on James’s arm. “I don’t know if this is important, but Edwina Lydell used to clean at the Red Bird for extra money before her arthritis got bad.”

  James had a sudden flash of Mrs. Lydell saying, So we weren’t the only ones who hated him, when told of Edwards’s murder. “It could be significant, Lindy. Good thinking.”

  Chapter Twelve

  There was plenty of food available for the supper club members to fill their plates: sliced Virginia ham; pulled pork barbeque; collards; baked beans; green beans made with fatback; quinoa; butternut squash; a deep pot of Brunswick stew; Dolly’s biscuits; and the show’s trademark banana bread. However, James couldn’t hide his disappointment when he saw that all of Milla’s cakes were gone, as was the lady herself. Instead, his dessert was cherry Jell-O.

  He and his friends sat at their table tucking into their supper and drinking iced tea. As James bit into one of Dolly’s biscuits, made only with real butter, he felt guilty. “This is another meal I’m eating that’s not exactly on the Mediterranean diet. My track record since we agreed to start the diet is dismal.”

  “My man,” Bennett said, buttering a chunk of corn bread, “I look at it this way. We are supposed to have an extra layer of fat in cold weather. This”—he pointed to his middle—“is my winter layer of fat.”

  “I made a tuna garden pasta salad last night and took some for lunch,” Lindy said. “I can pass the recipe on if anyone wants it.”

  “Sounds delicious, Lindy. You don’t have to deprive yourself of food, Bennett,” Gillian said. “The Mediterranean diet is a way of eating healthy, remember. Watch your portions and make sure you’re not overeating.”

  Bennett leaned toward James. “I’ll watch them as they go into my mouth. This corn bread must have been made with creamed corn in it. My mom makes it like that. The best kind there is.”

  James was about to agree when the noise in the hall lessened, then almost immediately the hum of chatter increased. A voice at his side said, “Hello, everyone.”

  About to bring a forkful of barbeque to his mouth, James paused and looked up. “Murphy. Why don’t you get a plate of food and join us.”

  Murphy, dressed in black jeans and a tunic-length charcoal gray sweater, looked from James to Gillian to Bennett to Lindy. James thought she was searching for animosity, but she didn’t find it among his friends.

  “Thanks. I’m not hungry, but I’ll sit for minute.” She glanced around. “Heck, from the looks on some of these people’s faces, I might be the meal.”

  Bennett speared a slice of ham. “They already grilled you down at the courthouse, didn’t they?”

  “Bennett!” Gillian remonstrated. “Murphy, don’t pay attention to those folks. James has shared what you told him about the night Ray Edwards . . . passed away. We’re all going to help you find the person who caused his death.”

  James noticed that the actors were making their way toward the reserved table next to them. Joy Carmichael fussed over them. On her pink tracksuit, she wore the large red button in the shape of a heart that read “Home and Hearth Always in Our Hearts.” James heard her say, “Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll
be right back with your dinner,” before she bustled to the kitchen.

  “I appreciate it, Gillian, but didn’t James tell you I already know who murdered Ray?” Murphy asked.

  Lindy said, “Valerie Norris, the actress who writes the books?”

  Murphy nodded. She turned her head to look at Valerie and glared. The actress and author pointedly ignored Murphy. Instead, in a carrying voice, she said, “There aren’t enough of my fans here tonight. I don’t know if these events are worth my time.”

  Doug Moore said, “It’s all the fault of that weather forecaster and his snow predictions. My friend Mr. Sunshine is going to burn him to a crisp.”

  No one laughed at Doug’s lame joke.

  Brandon smoothed back his already perfectly styled dark hair and drawled, “Valerie, darling, don’t you have enough money? You’ve been writing those books for over twenty years.”

  For the first time, Valerie turned Murphy’s way, although she spoke to Brandon. “You couldn’t be expected to know, Brandon, but one can never have enough money.” She snapped her napkin in place on her lap and gave Murphy a cold smile.

  Murphy, a glimmer in her eye, began to rise, but James reached out and put a restraining hand on hers. In a low voice he said, “I thought about what you said regarding lock picking. Last night, I searched YouTube and found hundreds of videos on how to pick a lock. I don’t think Valerie’s having written about a burglary is enough evidence to zero in on her as the murderer.”

  Gillian swallowed the last of her butternut squash, then said, “I have to agree with James, but that doesn’t mean that we’ve ruled Valerie out.”

  “She’s guilty. I feel it in my bones,” Murphy said.

  “Jealousy is a bone?” Bennett quipped.

  Lindy shot him her schoolteacher look.

  Gillian said, “By the way, Murphy, I know that Joel Foster is your partner in the Honeybee Heaven Farms Corporation.”

  Murphy raised her eyebrows. “How did you find out?”

  “The courthouse public records,” Gillian answered. “What do you and Joel plan to do with Buford Lydell’s peach farm?”

  “What’s that got to do with Ray’s murder?” Murphy asked.

  Gillian shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think there’s one thing we’ve all learned in our investigations and that’s to ask lots of questions.”

  “I haven’t decided.” Murphy turned to the table next to them. “Joel! Can you come over here for a minute?”

  Joel Foster scraped his chair back and made his way to Murphy’s side. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since . . . well . . . since Ray died. Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay!” Murphy said in a high-pitched voice. “I’ve lost the man I love and the police think I killed him.”

  “I don’t think you killed him,” Joel said. He smiled, showing off his dimples.

  Murphy introduced him around the table. He said, “I recognize all of you from the reception and, of course, the latest issue of Southern Style. I’m the editor, you know.”

  “We know all right,” Bennett said.

  “Never mind that right now,” Murphy interjected. “I’m thinking about selling Lydell’s peach farm back to him now that Ray is dead.”

  Joel frowned. “I don’t see why you should. There’s still plenty of potential for development. That’s not changed. We need to find a new investor.”

  James pulled his bowl of Jell-O closer, then said, “The majority of Quincy’s Gap is against expansion. Not only that, but Buford Lydell is heartsick over selling his land.”

  “Seller’s remorse, Mr. Henry. Murphy, do you really want to sell the land back to Lydell?”

  All eyes went to Murphy. James felt himself tense, hoping that Murphy would make the right decision.

  “I think it’s the best thing to do,” Murphy said. “The town wants to stay small.”

  James nodded encouragement at Murphy.

  “Edwards’s death is a tragedy that could be connected with the development plans,” Gillian put in. “All that negative energy can only be bad for investments.”

  “Joel!” Joy Cartwright called. “I have your steak. Medium well. You’d better eat it before it gets cold.”

  “Before you go, Joel,” James said. “We’re trying to find out who killed Edwards. Did you hear anything the night he was killed? Anyone coming up the stairs who shouldn’t be? Did you see anyone who wasn’t staying at the Red Bird?”

  Joel put his hands on his knees and appeared to think. “No, no, I can’t say that I heard or saw anything unusual.” He rose. “Murphy, let’s talk about the development later. Nice to meet everyone.” He walked back to the actors’ table.

  The supper club members watched him go. Lindy said, “He’s hiding something. I see that boyish guilt in my male students. Mark my words.”

  “Speaking of guilt,” James said and nodded toward Sullie. The deputy had followed Amber Ross to the actors’ table. He stood behind her chair in a protective stance. Every few minutes he leaned down to whisper something in her ear, which caused her to giggle. James could sense Lucy’s anger and frustration.

  He saw Lucy head for the food. Before she went, she looked pointedly at Murphy, then shot James a disapproving look. James thought that he needed to talk to Lucy, keep her in the loop of the investigation and comfort her over Sullie’s behavior. He figured Amber Ross was merely indulging in a flirtation while she was in town. Sullie was a fool if he thought otherwise.

  At the actors’ table, Valerie could be heard asking, “After we’ve completed our obligations in this frozen tundra, where is everyone wintering? Palm Beach?”

  “Are you kidding?” Brandon said. “Palm Beach is the world’s biggest old folks’ home.”

  Murphy muttered, “Valerie’s baiting me. She knows I can’t leave town. She wants to cause a scene.”

  “Don’t let her,” Gillian advised. “It’s the last thing you need right now, Murphy.”

  At that moment, a woman in her late forties approached the table. She wore a tight blue dress with short puffed sleeves and had a white faux-fur coat draped over one arm. Her platinum blonde hair, worn straight and halfway down her back, was set off by a deep suntan. In a gravelly voice that could only come from years of smoking, she said, “You’re Murphy Alistair, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Murphy answered warily. “And you are?”

  “Kitty Walters. Your attorney got in touch with me about Ray.”

  Murphy stood and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Kitty. Won’t you join us? You must have driven from Louisville. Are you hungry?”

  “No, I’m good.” Kitty shook Murphy’s hand and sat down.

  Murphy made the introductions, but when she mentioned that Kitty was Ray Edwards’s sister, the blonde said, “Ray’s sister? Where did you get that idea?”

  Murphy’s face, which had been filled with concern, altered to one of suspicion. “You were listed as Ray’s emergency contact. My attorney and I assumed you were his sister.”

  Kitty raised her left hand, which showed a sizeable diamond solitaire on her ring finger. “I’m not his sister. I’m his fiancée.”

  Murphy jumped to her feet. “That’s not true. Ray asked me to marry him.”

  Kitty got up so fast her chair fell backward to the floor. People looked their way. “I doubt that. Ray and I have known each other for over a year. We live together and we’ve been engaged since last October.”

  Bennett leaned over and whispered to James, “Are they arguing over a dead guy?”

  James and Gillian shushed him.

  James saw Lucy, plate in hand, making her way toward their table at a brisk pace. She’d observed the scene playing out.

  Murphy’s eyes flashed pain. “I don’t believe you. Last October? That’s when I met Ray and we became business partners. He never mentioned a girlfriend, much less a fiancée.”

  “That’s because Ray was a smart businessman. He knew you’d be more likely to fork over your
cash if he pretended to be single.”

  Murphy stood with her fists at her sides. “How dare you! Ray loved me. And he showed it in every possible way, if you get my drift.”

  “That’s a lie!” Kitty howled. A tear ran down her cheek. She pulled a lace handkerchief out of her purse and wiped it away. “You may have tried to seduce him, but Ray wouldn’t cheat on his baby cakes!”

  “Baby cakes?” Murphy growled. “That’s what Ray called me when we were in bed.” She reached across the table and grabbed James’s bowl of Jell-O.

  James vaulted to his feet and grabbed Murphy’s arm before she could throw the wiggly concoction in Kitty’s face.

  Lucy reached them and put her plate on the table. “What’s going on here?”

  Kitty screamed, “It’s true! You killed Ray! Murderer! Now I know why you did it. You found out about me! You’re a jealous old hag!”

  Murphy burst out of James’s grasp. She lunged for Kitty and slapped her across the face, sending her blonde hair flying. Kitty drew in a sharp breath and put a hand to her cheek. Her fingers came away with speckles of blood. Murphy had not only left an angry red handprint but a small, slanted cut courtesy of the oversized blue topaz ring she wore.

  Lucy steamrolled her way around James. She grabbed both of Murphy’s wrists and handcuffed her. “Murphy Alistair, I’m arresting you for assault.”

  “I didn’t mean to s-slap her that hard,” Murphy stuttered.

  Joy Carmichael stood between James’s table and the actors’ table, her arms spread out wide like a mother hen protecting her chicks.

  James watched as Lucy led a protesting Murphy from the hall.

  People stood on chairs filming the incident on their cell phones.

  Kitty Walters, holding her hand to her cheek, stormed out the doors behind the autograph table.

  From the actors’ table, James could hear Valerie Norris say, “Murphy’s editor won’t want to hear about this.” Then she chortled with glee as she pulled out her cell phone and tapped in a number.