Pasta Mortem

by Ellery Adams

Lucy shrugged. “Sure, but I’m telling you, Murphy killed Edwards.”

  “Can’t you try to have an open mind, please, Lucy?”

  Lucy leaned in to him and enunciated each word. “Not while Murphy was the only one inside a locked room with the murder victim.” With a last glance, Lucy turned and walked back to the actors’ table.

  • • •

  When James arrived at the library, the Fitzgerald twins were busy helping patrons. James smiled when he saw the library had a healthy number of people browsing the stacks and others at the checkout counter with books in hand. With the threat of being snowed in, people were stocking up on reading material. He should help out, but first he had to look something up on the computer.

  James went back to his office, took off his outerwear, and booted up his computer. When he Googled “Kitty Walters,” hundreds of thousands of results popped up. He scrolled through the first three pages, then gave up. None of them were the Kitty Walters he sought.

  He tried “Kitty Walters Realtor” and was equally daunted by the number of search results. James huffed out a breath and sat with his arms crossed. His mind drifted to the vending machine and the snack-size bags of cheese puffs there. He restrained himself with an effort.

  Then his fingers flew over the keyboard as he typed in “Kitty Walters actress.” The first result took him to a sparse Wikipedia page that listed acting credits, including “waitress,” “girlfriend,” “girl in video store.” All of Kitty’s acting jobs were bit parts in well-known TV shows. Which meant, James thought, that she lived in Los Angeles during the time Hearth and Home was filmed. Was it possible that Kitty knew some of the cast members from that time?

  Then James scrolled back to the top of Kitty’s Wikipedia page. The very first sentence struck him. Kitty Walters, born Kathleen Alison Richardson in Washington, DC, to lawyer Rowan Richardson and socialite Faye Carlisle Richardson.

  After reading about the expensive girls’ school Kitty/Kathleen had attended, followed by a term at George Mason University, James grew impatient. He clicked the link to Rowan Richardson’s Wikipedia page. Near the bottom of the page, after an extensive account of Richardson’s education, rise to prominent attorney specializing in corporate law, and list of cases he’d been involved with, James read, “Among Richardson’s many real estate holdings was Fairbridge in Cardinal’s Rest, Virginia, which the family used as a summer house. Built in 1888, the Victorian house served as the exterior for the television show Hearth and Home. It is now a bed and breakfast known as the Red Bird.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  James sat with Jane, Eliot, Milla, and his father at the nine thirty church service Sunday morning. Eliot wiggled between James and Jane. Jane spoke to him in a soft voice.

  Last night, when James had brought home his cheese straws peace offering, Jane had smiled. “James Henry, you are the sweetest man.”

  James had grinned ruefully. “That’s probably accurate since I consumed a slice of pecan pie at the reunion events and then, when I was at the Sweet Tooth, Megan offered me a couple of ‘sample’ chocolate chip cookies to eat while I waited. I’m full of sugar.”

  Jane had chuckled. “How’s the investigation coming along?”

  They’d talked about the case after Eliot went to bed. Jane had suggested that James speak with Mrs. Lydell after the church service to see what she remembered about the Richardsons, since she used to clean for them.

  Now, people filed out to where tables were set up with coffee and glazed doughnuts. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, but James clearly heard his father say to Milla, “I’ll have a doughnut if I want. I’m tired of this diet you have me on.”

  “Dear, part of your stroke prevention plan is a healthy diet. Sugar is limited—”

  “One dang doughnut ain’t gonna kill me,” Jackson interrupted and stomped over to stand in the line of people waiting for the treat.

  James spotted Mr. and Mrs. Lydell about to walk out the double doors. “Jane, I see the Lydells.”

  “Go ahead. I know you need to speak with Mrs. Lydell. I’ll take Eliot to the little boys’ room and we’ll meet you back here.”

  “Mom,” Eliot protested, “I don’t have to go. I want a doughnut.”

  James heard Jane tell him how it might spoil the dinner Milla had planned before the two headed off toward the restrooms.

  “Mrs. Lydell!” James called as he made his way through the thick crowd.

  The farmer and his wife turned at the sound of his voice. Mrs. Lydell smiled at him. “Hello, James.”

  Mr. Lydell said, “Henry, any news about my land? Is Murphy Alistair going to sell it back to me? We heard you and your friends have been investigating Edwards’s death.”

  “Let’s go somewhere private,” James said. He led the older couple to a small meeting room and closed the door after them. “Mr. Lydell, I don’t have any definite word on what Murphy will do. I’d hate to get your hopes up, but it’s my belief that she wants to do the right thing. The problem is that there’s another person involved. In fact, that’s who I wanted to ask you about.”

  “Who is it?” Mr. Lydell asked.

  James turned to Mrs. Lydell. “Actually, I had hoped you might know her. Kathleen Richardson. She’s the daughter of the Richardsons who owned the Red Bird when it was still called Fairbridge.”

  Mrs. Lydell nodded, her soft brown eyes looking off into the distance. “Of course I remember them. I first started cleaning the house when the Richardsons owned it. Rich folks. They just summered at Fairbridge. The rest of the time Fairbridge was shut up. Buford and I drove out there once a week to make sure the place was okay; rake the leaves, plant flowers, that sort of thing. Mrs. Richardson would let me know when the family planned to arrive. I’d go over there ahead of time and give everything a good scrub, then stock the pantry with whatever groceries she wanted.”

  “Didn’t get paid much for our work,” Buford Lydell put in. “But when you’re a farmer, every bit helps, especially during the winter.”

  James nodded. “Was this before or after the time the TV show was filmed there?”

  “Oh, afterward,” Mrs. Lydell said. “I never met Kathy Richardson, but I heard stories.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I know you don’t want to gossip, but any information you could share might help with the investigation and possibly getting your land back,” James said.

  Buford Lydell tugged on his short white beard. “Tell the man, Estella.”

  “I don’t know much, James. When I cleaned the house, I didn’t see the Richardson children often. There were four of them, three boys and the girl, Kathy. Like I said, she was gone before I started working there. But I heard that she had a wild streak and tended to get on the bad side of her father. He was protective since she was his only daughter. Story goes that when Kathy was nineteen and in, let’s see, it would have been the first semester of her second year at George Mason, she got involved with a young man who her parents disapproved of.”

  Buford Lydell said, “Young guy thought he was a poet. Worked in a restaurant near campus. Mr. Richardson wasn’t having it. He had plans for his daughter to marry up, you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” James said.

  “Kathy refused to stop seeing the young man,” Mrs. Lydell claimed. “As punishment, her father pulled her out of school in the middle of October. He sent her out to Fairbridge with an old nanny to look after her. Kathy was told that she had two weeks to decide to give up the poet or her father would stop paying her tuition at George Mason.”

  “There was talk that he threatened to disinherit her too,” Mr. Lydell said.

  “I never heard that,” Mrs. Lydell said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”

  “What happened?” James asked.

  “Kathy stayed out at Fairbridge for almost the whole two weeks, then she ran off to Los Angeles!” Mrs. Lydell said. “Imagine. A nineteen-year-old taking off across the country like that. ’Course, no one found out for weeks a
fterward that’s where she’d gone. She was an adult in the eyes of the police, so they wouldn’t look for her. The Richardsons only learned where Kathy was when she sent them a postcard telling them not to come after her, that she had decided to become an actress.”

  “Mr. Richardson thought she’d run off with the poet, but he was still in DC and claimed to have his heart broken,” Mr. Lydell said. “You can bet money Mr. Richardson kept an eye on the boy to make sure he was telling the truth.”

  Mrs. Lydell nodded. “And he was. Kathy started acting, but as far as I know, she never came back to Virginia. Changed her name, I think.”

  “Kitty Walters,” James said.

  “That’s right. One of her brothers called her Kitty,” Mrs. Lydell agreed. “As for the ‘Walters,’ it must have been a show business name. We never heard of Kathy ever getting married. And that’s all we know. The Richardsons sold Fairbridge to the Andersons, who turned it into the Red Bird. I never saw the family again. I cleaned for Mrs. Anderson the first year they owned the house until my arthritis got so bad I couldn’t do it anymore. Mrs. Anderson does the cleaning herself now, so I haven’t been out there in, oh, Lord, I guess it’s been eight years.”

  Mr. Lydell had been there, threatening Ray Edwards, but James didn’t think it prudent to mention that.

  James thanked the couple and assured them that he’d let them know of any news regarding the peach farm.

  • • •

  On the way over to Jackson and Milla’s for Sunday dinner, James told Jane what the Lydells had said while Eliot looked out the window with a pair of kids’ binoculars Milla had given him for Christmas.

  “Hard to believe that a nineteen-year-old girl, probably sheltered, would take off to the opposite end of the country all alone,” Jane mused. “I’ll bet she had someone with her, or someone waiting for her.”

  “Anything’s possible,” James said.

  When they got to Jackson and Milla’s, Eliot ran ahead to the door. Finding it locked, he turned to his parents. “Hurry up. I want to go inside.”

  Puzzled, James knocked on the door, which Jackson usually left off the latch.

  Milla answered, wiping her eyes on her apron. She’d clearly been crying. “Don’t mind me. I’ll have dinner on the table shortly.”

  James and Jane exchanged looks as they took off their coats and helped Eliot out of his.

  Jackson sat scowling at the kitchen table. “Is it too much to ask that a man have a decent Sunday dinner?”

  Milla walked to the stove. In a quiet voice she said, “James, we’re having bucatini with pesto sauce and sweet potatoes. It’s vegetarian for Eliot. I also have filet of flounder in the oven.”

  “Sounds delicious,” James said.

  Jackson pounded his fist on the table. “It’s not delicious! It’s some jumped-up spaghetti with potatoes. That’s no Sunday dinner. Sunday dinner is roast beef. I’m tired of you feeding me this pap, Milla!”

  Jane led a wide-eyed Eliot through to the den.

  James looked at his father and said, “Pop, how can you talk to Milla that way? I’m sure she’s worked hard on this meal.”

  “Oh, yeah. She works hard on everything: telling me how long I can sleep, how long I can sit at my easel before I have to get up and walk around whether I want to or not, how many vitamin pills I have to swallow every morning. I can only have a tiny glass of Cutty Sark every other day. That’s no way to live!”

  Milla turned from the stove, spoon in hand. “That’s the only way to live, Jackson. You had a stroke and now you have to change a few things if you want to prevent another one.”

  “You won’t even let me salt my food,” Jackson grumbled.

  “Pop, it must be hard, but what Milla is saying makes sense. It sounds like you just need to have a little self-discipline.”

  Jackson scoffed. “Look who’s talking about self-discipline. The man who can’t stay on a diet for more than a few weeks. Always complaining about being overweight, but still packing in the food.”

  James felt as if his father had slapped him. To his horror, he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes. He took a deep breath even though he felt his chin tremble.

  Milla rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug. “Don’t listen to him, James. You’re trying and that’s what matters.”

  Jackson scraped his chair back. “I’m going out to my shed. And I don’t want to be bothered!”

  So saying, he took his jacket off the coat rack and slammed the door on his way out.

  Jane came into the room. “What happened? Where’s Jackson?”

  Milla moved back to the stove.

  Forcing himself to present a composure he didn’t feel so that Jane wouldn’t be upset, James said, “He’s gone to paint. He didn’t feel like eating.”

  Although the meal was excellent, as was all of Milla’s cooking, James found himself taking small portions. He felt ashamed every time he put a bite of food into his mouth. His father was right; he hadn’t been self-disciplined enough. Well, that would change. He’d have the support of the other supper club members, his friends. Jane would support him too. He knew that he’d slip sometimes, but promised himself he’d get up every time he fell.

  In the Bronco on the way home, Eliot fell asleep in the backseat. Jane yawned. “I think I’ll sleep the rest of the afternoon away, James,” she said. “I’m awfully tired.”

  “It’s the last afternoon of the reunion. I’d like to go down there even though I’m sick of that hall, to tell the truth. Bennett texted me that he and Gillian will be there. Lucy is still working the event. I hope Lindy will come. Do you need me to bring anything home for dinner later tonight?”

  “Just yourself. I’ll put a pot of vegetable soup on before my nap. Now tell me what your father said that upset you.”

  James squirmed in his seat at Jane’s shrewdness. She didn’t miss anything when it came to him, good or bad. “He basically said I didn’t have any self-discipline when it came to food. That I can’t stay on a diet.”

  “That’s not true, James. You’ve had success in the past. You will again. Besides, aren’t you only about twenty-five pounds overweight?”

  “More like thirty-five pounds.”

  “Okay, so how about setting a small goal. Say, fifteen pounds over the next six months. That would be good for your health. Your growing family needs you around for a long time.”

  Lose fifteen pounds over six months? Surely he could do that, James thought. “When you put it that way, I feel more motivated. Confident.”

  “Of course. Who wouldn’t be discouraged thinking about taking off thirty-five pounds in a short period of time? Not to mention that it’s not healthy to lose weight fast. You’d be more likely to put it right back on.”

  James felt that stinging behind his eyes again at Jane’s understanding. He didn’t dare try to speak.

  “Your father is set in his ways. He’s stubborn and probably mad at his own body for betraying him by having that stroke. Seems to me like he’s taking out his anger on those who love him. That’s no excuse, but it’s an explanation.”

  James swallowed. “I love you, Jane.”

  “And I love you, James Henry. No matter if your belly jiggles or if you have sculpted abs like Daniel Craig.”

  James darted a look his wife’s way. “James Bond? The guy who plays James Bond?”

  Jane started laughing.

  “You think he’s hot, huh?”

  Jane laughed harder.

  “Don’t ask me to take you to the next James Bond movie.”

  Jane gasped for breath. “I won’t. I’ll have more fun if I go with Denise from Lamaze class. Oh!”

  “What is it? Are you all right? Is it the baby?”

  Jane placed a hand on her stomach. “Only a twinge. Don’t worry. I had them at this stage when I was pregnant with Eliot. You shouldn’t have made me laugh so much,” she said playfully.

  James exhaled. “Okay. You scared me there for a second.”

&n
bsp; “We have a little over two and a half weeks to go. I’ll know when it’s time.”

  Even with her assurances, James stayed at home for the next hour to make sure Jane was okay. He let Snickers out. The dog made a lightning-quick pit stop and ran back into the warm house. James put Eliot down for a nap after reading from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. He helped chop carrots, potatoes, and onions while Jane diced celery and got out cans of diced tomatoes and packages of frozen corn, green beans, and peas.

  Once the soup was simmering and Jane was tucked up in bed with her cell phone in reach, Miss Pickles asleep at the end of the bed, James drove to Cardinal’s Rest. He glanced at his watch when he got there and noted that only an hour of the reunion remained.

  Hurrying into the hall, he saw the cast members up on stage. The round tables were gone. In their place, folding chairs had been set up fanning out from the stage. In the aisle, a microphone stood on a stand. A woman spoke into it. “This question is for Brandon. I want to know how you are still so handsome after all these years.” She giggled then made her way back to her seat. A ripple of giggles and chuckles sounded through the hall.

  Valerie Norris passed him the microphone. Brandon said, “Years? What years? It was only yesterday, wasn’t it?” He smiled in that way that women found so attractive.

  The audience laughed and clapped.

  James saw Gillian and Bennett in the back row. Lucy stood behind them. There was no sign of Lindy.

  James started walking toward his friends, when Joy Carmichael intercepted him. “Mr. Henry, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Ms. Carmichael. How are you?”

  “My volunteers all seem to be sitting in the audience instead of volunteering. I can’t understand their lack of dedication to our sweet Lewis family children. It was a delicate operation that I undertook, working closely to make sure this event fit into their busy lives and didn’t interrupt the dears. These volunteers should be grateful that they’re able to rub shoulders with such talent. Besides,” she continued, looking around furtively in case someone was listening, “there’s going to be a very, very special announcement made in a few minutes.”