“No,” I said sharply, almost a bark. “Absolutely not. Please don’t do that. Nathan would kill me.” All three stared at me as the waitress delivered our drinks.
“That doesn’t mean you can’t tell us what you might have heard,” said Helen to Amber. She squeezed a lemon wedge into her tea and stirred the drink with a tall spoon.
Amber swiveled around to look at me. “You were at the library event, weren’t you? What a mess. I assume the police will be talking at length to David Sloan. He seemed to have had it in for Miss Parker, don’t you think?”
“Well, she didn’t follow the rules,” I said. “She obviously didn’t believe they applied to her.”
“Even so, her pastry was exquisite—so gorgeous, and it tasted divine as well. Why be such a beast about the details? Sloan was getting extra attention because she was there, so wouldn’t that be to his advantage?” She sipped her Diet Coke. “It doesn’t add up to me. There must’ve been some other conflict between them; that’s all I can think of. You might be able to get Paul Redford, her assistant, to talk about it if you bought him a couple of beers.”
“How in the world would we set that up?” I asked. “We can’t very well plow into his bakery brandishing a six-pack.”
“Easy enough,” Amber said, flashing a big smile. “Drop by the Green Parrot most evenings and he’ll be right there at the bar, unwinding from the day.”
“Anyone else that you think we—or the police—should talk to?” Helen asked. “Hayley promised our Nathan that we’d pass on anything we heard. We’ve just come from our pie lesson at the Key Lime Pie Company, but we couldn’t imagine that our teacher would be involved.”
“Oh, Sigrid,” Amber said. “She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She loves her job, and they pay her well, and she has a son, so she needs the work. She wouldn’t do anything to endanger her position. I’m sure the cops are already talking with David Sloan, though you wouldn’t think a pie in the face would be a good motive for murder. A guy like that has to be able to take a joke. But on the other hand, why was Claudette that angry with him? Makes you think there’s more to that story.”
She took a bite of the salad the waitress delivered and declared it fantastic. She took a photo and sent it off to her Facebook feed.
“Oh, one more idea—the pastry chef at Blue Heaven. Her name is Barbara Thistle, but she goes by Bee. She’s probably been in town the longest of any of the local chefs, and so perhaps she had the most to lose with a new fierce competitor. Imagine, you’ve been famous for your pie with the towering meringue all these years, and suddenly all these other bakers sweep into town and want to knock you off your mountaintop. I think you could feel resentful,” she said, looking thoughtful.
Which honestly I found curious, because it wasn’t as if Amber herself had been born and raised here and had generations of conch relations in her history. And yet she had a business that was built on providing insider Key West information. That was the way of the world down here: It was as if each new person who fell in love with the island felt as though they had discovered the whole thing. And knew it more intimately than the rest of the infiltrators. And deserved to revel in its pleasures more, too. Had she experienced the kind of resentment she was hypothesizing as a murder motive?
We spent the remainder of our lunchtime discussing Amber’s business and the articles I was supposed to be writing and the frantically busy state of our island. Amber scraped the last bit of lunch off her plate, ate it, and set her fork on her plate. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have to rush off,” she said. “Especially since no one’s having dessert.” She winked, put some money on the table, and headed toward the exit.
“That girl has a lot of energy,” Miss Gloria said, watching her take the stairs two at a time.
“I’ll say,” said Helen, as we gathered our belongings and went to pay at the desk. “We should be careful about assuming the death was all about pie—pastry, if you will.”
“But what else would it be about?” asked Miss Gloria.
I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her what my mother-in-law had explained to me this morning about the law enforcement databases and Nathan being in danger. That was her news if she chose to share it. So I waited.
“I’m thinking about old grudges,” Helen said as we started down the stairs to the street.
Miss Gloria nodded slowly. “People do hold on to old slights sometimes, and it can poison them. Somebody feels betrayed and life goes downhill a bit, and they start to blame the other person. It can turn into a death spiral. They could pull themselves out of it, but they’re not seeing the way.” She scratched her head. “I think you’re thinking we shouldn’t be afraid to go deeper. We shouldn’t skate on the surface of this pie contest.”
“Do I hear an echo?” I muttered, hopefully low enough so neither heard.
“So what do you think, jilted lover? Unattainable boyfriend? Embezzled business? Impossible loans come due?” asked Miss Gloria.
“We should listen for the subtext in what people are saying,” Helen said, as we walked back to the parking garage. “Not impose preconceived notions on their present words. That Bee person, she deserves a closer look. And certainly David Sloan.”
Nathan texted before I could respond to her.
Sorry to miss you this morning. Hope you are having a good day. Any problems at the pier call me instantly.
All is well, made pie and had lunch with Gloria and your mom, I texted back.
He texted right back again. You are a trooper for entertaining her. I feel like a heel.
You didn’t know she was coming, couldn’t be helped. She gets that it’s the busiest season of the year.
Going to be super late again tonight. Probably won’t be home for dinner until after the New Year. He pasted in a frowning emoji. I will creep in like a wraith and try not to wake you up.
A sexy wraith? Go ahead and wake me, I miss you.
I signed off with two hearts and tucked the phone into my jeans pocket. I could feel myself blushing. “That was Nathan. He says hi to everyone and sends his apologies about his absence.”
“I wouldn’t think that making key lime pie and lunching with ladies would be his thing anyway,” his mother said.
With her energy beginning to flag a bit, Miss Gloria allowed me to drive to Olivia Street. I parked a few blocks from the home of the murdered woman, and we strolled along the edge of the cemetery.
“There’s really not a lot of room for newcomers in this place,” Miss Gloria explained, gesturing at the nearest multiunit cement crypts. “Some of the family vaults bury people on top of people. Or you can buy a small slot in these condominium crypts. Oh, I could you tell you so many stories.”
“She’s a guide here; did Nathan tell you that?” I asked Helen. “She is very popular.”
“We’ve had some adventures here, too,” said Miss Gloria, “like the time we found a fresh body in an old crypt.”
Helen looked horrified.
“That was truly freaky,” Miss Gloria continued. “But it was your daughter-in-law who noticed the smell and a little bit of hair that had escaped through cracks in the cement. That was the time we saved Lorenzo.”
“Lorenzo?” Helen asked. “Another one of your Key West character friends?”
“Oh, you must meet him and get one of his tarot readings,” Miss Gloria said, even though I was madly trying to goggle my eyes and shake my head behind my mother-in-law’s back.
Lorenzo read cards every night for tourists on Mallory Square. He was perhaps the most unusual friend I’d ever had, and the most tuned in to the Universe around him, able to notice and read ebbs and flows of energy that most people ignored. He was warm and empathetic. My mother-in-law was tough and pragmatic and probably not a fan of psychics, like her son, my husband. I simply couldn’t imagine Helen and Lorenzo together.
When we reached the home of Claudette Parker’s neighbor, we paused on the sidewalk. I shivered, and had to assume the others were having f
lashbacks, as I was, about what we’d seen the other night.
“How did you ever notice that it was a body on the porch and not a blow-up doll?” asked Miss Gloria. “I never did understand that. Though my eyes are not as good as they once were. And I was buried deep in the bushes looking for the kitten.”
“Sometimes I get a feeling when things are off,” Helen said. “It’s hard to describe, but all my sensors were buzzing. Kind of like if you had a table full of silenced cell phones and they all started vibrating at the same time. That’s what it feels like in my brain sometimes.”
I paused, staring at her and feeling astonished. Maybe she and Lorenzo were not as far apart as I’d predicted.
At that moment, the neighbor Cheryl came out her screened door onto the porch, with its welcoming wooden rocking chairs. “Hi, ladies.”
Helen took the lead. “Good afternoon! Thanks for the invitation to tea. Hopefully you don’t mind that I brought the others? We were all here the other night and thought it could help to talk with you.”
“Of course not,” said Cheryl, holding the door open. “Go straight on through to the back. This way there will be enough laps for all the cats.”
And it did seem like a wave of cats met us at the door and followed us down the hallway, winding between our legs.
“Be careful,” I said to Miss Gloria. “This is how old people fall and break their hips.”
“They trip on cats?” asked Miss Gloria with a snicker. “Last week you told me it was throw rugs.”
I had to laugh along with her. “I hope I’m not turning into a nag.”
Cheryl brought us out to her back porch and settled us in wicker chairs overlooking her garden. In addition to tropical flowers, the yard contained a little pond with a waterfall, surrounded by beautiful palms. A big tortoiseshell cat sat on the edge, batting at any goldfish that swam too close. Cheryl went back inside and came out with a tray of iced tea and a plate of cookies, a combination of what looked like key lime bars and snickerdoodles. I did not look at my two companions, afraid we’d break into hysterical laughter.
I grabbed a snickerdoodle and nibbled, hoping that Miss Gloria might sacrifice herself and go for the key lime bar. I couldn’t count on my mother-in-law, that much was sure. “Oh, my. This is delicious. It has a different flavor in it that I’m not placing.”
Cheryl smiled broadly. Every cook and baker loves a compliment. “Chai spice. I worried a little that you would all be on post-Christmas diets and refuse cookies, but the upside of that is more cookies for me. This is the combination I always make to welcome new neighbors—the key lime for island flavor and the snickerdoodle for comfort. Don’t you think everyone feels a little lonely and uprooted when they move into a new place?”
“I know Hayley sure did,” said Miss Gloria. “But she’d been thrown out—” She caught my horrified look and stopped before blurting out the sordid story of my first Key West boyfriend in front of Helen.
“Of course, I had no idea Claudette was a pastry chef when she moved in and I trotted over with baked goods trying to be a good neighbor. She must have thought I’d lost my marbles—bringing coals to Newcastle.” Cheryl patted her lap, and a gray cat with a white tummy and paws jumped up and nudged her hand until she stroked him. With a key lime bar in one hand, Miss Gloria dropped down to the ground to play with the tortoiseshell.
“You know what, though, I bet she really appreciated the gesture,” I said, dangling my fingers in front of a third cat, this one an enormous gray tiger with a ragged ear and a missing eye. A warrior. He sat about a foot away, watching me and switching his tail. “Most chefs are so busy cooking for everyone else, and no one thinks to make something for them. You were being friendly.”
“Sadly, it seems as though I’ll have another new neighbor soon. Have you heard anything more about Claudette’s killer?” Cheryl asked. “No one knows much out at the shelter.”
“Nothing new,” said Helen. “And Key West seems like the kind of community where word travels fast.” She chatted a little more about how in Atlanta, no one told anyone anything, probably to put Cheryl at ease.
Cheryl laughed. “Everything you need to know about the insider’s Key West is on the Key West locals Facebook page. I’ve seen lots of theories, but not much in the way of facts.”
I made a mental note to scan that page when I finally got home. Although it was a time sink and I tried not to visit often, the page was a good place to get local recommendations and opinions. Unbridled opinions. And notices like what was up if the power went out, and how long we might be in the dark, and who was really evacuating from an impending storm. What we needed from Cheryl was insider information on Claudette the person. Something only a neighbor might know.
“Did you ever learn anything about Claudette’s background?” I asked. “Did she have a husband or a boyfriend?”
Cheryl shrugged. “She pretty much worked all the time, trying to get that shop off the ground in time for the high season, though a lot of good that did her.
“I didn’t get much of a personal insight into her because of all the late hours. She moved down here from New Jersey, where she worked in a very successful shop. But like so many of us, she got in mind the Key West dream, and she said she saved until she was able to swing it. I don’t think the competition fazed her in the least. She was so talented, she just didn’t even bother to look around her because she didn’t believe anyone could catch up.”
Driven, single-minded, talented, a loner. That’s what I was hearing so far.
“That’s why I was surprised she took on the kitten,” Cheryl added. “I didn’t think a new kitten was a good match for someone working twenty hours a day. That’s why he ended up over at my house half the time.” She chirped at the one-eyed tiger. “Even though this guy hated him.”
“You will keep me in mind if the other applications fall through, right?” asked Miss Gloria, a sad look on her face.
“Of course. I’ll call you the minute I hear.”
“Have any relatives come down to take care of her home and her shop, clear out her stuff?” asked Helen.
“Not that I know of,” said Cheryl. “And I’ve been watching, because I brought those cookies over to her on a Gien plate and I sure would like that back.” She shook her head. “What was I thinking? After I’d already baked the cookies and figured out who she was, I guess I got caught up in her being a French chef and thought I’d better be fancy in my presentation.”
My baloney barometer spiked. Hadn’t she just finished telling us that she didn’t know Claudette was a baker?
“I wonder if she had a partner in the shop and whether it will keep operating?” Helen put it like a question.
Cheryl didn’t answer. Because she didn’t know or wouldn’t say?
“She poured a lot of money into setting the business up,” I said.
“For sure. Not a detail was missed.” Cheryl stroked the tuxedo cat, and he began to rumble with a satisfied purr. “All the equipment in the shop is top-of-the-line. And there wasn’t any faux–Jimmy Buffett–style wicker furniture in her store, either. I sat in one of those maroon leather club chairs to have a cup of tea. Nicer than anything I own, for sure,” she said.
“On the day that Claudette was found on her porch, what time did you get home?” Helen asked.
“I finished my shift at the shelter by five or so and came right here. I am lucky to have off-street parking on the other side of my home.” She pointed to the small space between her house and the neighbor on the other side, now filled with a beige sedan. “So I often don’t even notice what’s happening on that side.” Now she pointed to Claudette’s little house, which looked abandoned and bereft without any lights to cheer it up, the yard already starting to look spiky and overgrown. “It was dark by six, and maybe I remembered a light in her kitchen? But I couldn’t swear to it.”
“What about the Christmas display on her porch? Did that surprise you?” I asked.
“We talked
about it one time early in December when I saw her putting up the lights. She said she wasn’t a fan of Christmas—too many expectations for happy times with family that were never going to come true. Made me wonder what went wrong with her family. Was her father a drunk who ruined every holiday? Anyway, I wasn’t going to ask questions that personal.” She chose a key lime bar from the plate of goodies and nibbled around the edges. “This is one of Martha Stewart’s recipes, by the way.” She brandished the cookie, spraying crumbs on the cat in her lap. “She’s another one who definitely knows her desserts. Anyway, Claudette certainly had classy ideas about her shop, so I suppose this choice of decorations didn’t match with that.”
Which was exactly what I’d been thinking. The Santa thing was downright weird. Now I was super-curious about Claudette’s sad family. But Cheryl was beginning to look restless, probably tired of our questions. That didn’t stop my mother-in-law.
“So were the Christmas lights on that evening when you got home? Do you remember the real Santa lying on the porch?” she asked.
“Most of my neighbors have their lights on a timer, including her, so I would have to say the lights were on. I came out back to feed my fish.” She gestured at the pond. “And so I think I would’ve noticed if they weren’t.”
“You know that we spotted her body when we came by on the Conch Tour Train,” I said. “I’m kind of surprised that the train brought us down this street. Aren’t these tours usually banned from residential areas?”
She laughed. “It’s Christmas in Key West. All bets are off. The drivers go anywhere the best lights are displayed. They realize that if they give the tourists a better show, the tips flow.”
“I assume you would have mentioned this, but did you see anyone coming or going from Claudette’s home that evening?” Helen asked.
I noticed that Miss Gloria had abandoned the cat she was playing with near the pond and was crab-walking over to the crawlspace where she’d found T-Bone the night we’d discovered the body. Not another kitten, I hoped. But even more than that, I hoped she wasn’t starting to lose her marbles.
The Key Lime Crime Page 12