“Why not?” she asked, laughing a little. “What else would I do?”
* * *
Once home, I walked the dog and fell immediately into a deep sleep.
Nathan woke me up two hours later getting into bed.
“The world’s gone crazy out there,” he said. “We had to break up a situation at the Garden of Eden—the clothing-optional floor of the Bull and Whistle,” he added with a weary sigh. “One crazy drunk stole the clothes belonging to another and ran off across Duval Street lickety-split. Wearing only a T-shirt and waving the other guy’s shorts in his hand like a flag. I’ll be so glad when the New Year arrives and things slack off a little.”
I nudged Evinrude to the side and snuggled next to my husband’s chest.
“How’s it going with my mother? She seems to like you,” he asked tentatively.
“I learned some interesting facts about her today. On a random Google search.”
“A random Google search?” His eyebrows furrowed in the sliver of street light that trickled in through the slats of the blinds that the cats had bent during one of their races through the houseboat.
“I wanted to get to know her a little better. You don’t talk about your family much, so I had to use the tools at hand.” I sighed. “The Internet doesn’t help me understand what’s going on in her mind, though. It’s like she runs hot and cold. One minute she’s telling me how much she appreciates the fact that I saved your life. The next minute, she’s describing your first wedding in great detail.”
A look of horror crossed his face. “Tell me she’s not talking about my first wedding.”
“Oh yes, I know all about the eleven attendants and the monkey suit.” I snickered but then got serious. “She obviously loved your first wife. I don’t know if I can ever live up to her image of what a daughter-in-law is supposed to be.”
“There’s a lot you don’t understand,” he said quietly. “It’s a long story.”
“I’m waiting. We have all night.”
He pulled away from me, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the ceiling. “You know that I have a sister. And that we aren’t close because she lives in Scotland.”
I remembered him explaining this to me when I asked him about inviting his family to the wedding. I’d thought we ought to invite her anyway, but he’d demurred.
“There’s a little more to it. She was kidnapped.”
I waited in silence, feeling horrified, but not wanting to say or do anything that might discourage him from talking.
“You probably remember seeing those lost kids on milk cartons?” he asked grimly.
My eyes went wide with horror.
His next words came out in a rush. “Yup. One of those was our Vera. Obviously my parents never got over it, and neither did their marriage. You can understand, then, why my mother freaked when Trudy was attacked. And why she doesn’t want to get close enough to you to care enough to ever get that worried again.”
“I am so sorry, Nathan. Your sister. That’s tragic.”
“We’re over it,” he said, convincing no one. “We did get her back eventually, but we never got her back emotionally, if you understand what I’m saying.”
I didn’t really understand. Even Evinrude, my gray tiger, blinked at him askance.
“I’m not sure I do; do you mind saying more? I can tell it’s a painful subject for your whole family.” Grand understatement, but he obviously wasn’t in the mood for a joke.
“Vera—my sister—didn’t die, so don’t think the worst,” he told me. “But she was never the same carefree girl. She didn’t feel safe in our town, and she got the idea of going to school abroad. My parents agreed because she was so freaked out. And frankly, so were they. I’ve not seen much of her since. It put a lot of stress on our family, and my parents’ marriage finally shattered.”
He heaved a big sigh, and I squeezed his arm for comfort. And waited.
“They never caught the guy who took her, and my mother blamed my father. If a high-ranking police detective can’t track the man who ruined his daughter’s life, what’s the point of putting himself and his family in danger day after day after day? What’s the point of anything?” He sounded both angry and sad. “Mother went back to graduate school, and she’s been working on solving impossible cases ever since. It’s personal for her.”
I was beginning to see so clearly why her fears for Nathan’s safety had mushroomed. And also why he acted weird when I did something that he felt put me in danger. “Where is your sister now?”
“She’s living in Scotland. She talked my parents into letting her go to St. Andrew’s for college. While she was there, she met and married a Scottish man, and I doubt she’ll ever come back.”
“How did I not know more about this? We should have put her on the guest list for our wedding.”
“She wouldn’t have come,” he said firmly. “She’s only been back to the U.S. once since she left. And that was so hard for her. Why pressure her and set you up for disappointment in the likely event that she refused?”
This was messed up—I wished he’d felt he could share all this with me before I forced it out of him. I’d married a complicated man.
“I’d like to meet her one day,” I said. “She’s your sister. Think of all the things she knows about you that I might entice her to share.” I started to snicker, and he finally smiled.
“We’ll see.”
I felt his breathing even out, meaning he’d dropped off to sleep, leaving me with a world of questions. For instance: on what occasion had his sister come back to the country? I had a sinking feeling it was for his first wedding—she would have been one of the eleven bridesmaids in pink ruffles. I knew I should not take any of this personally, as Miss Gloria would be quick to remind me. And I understood that it took a while to get to know someone in a deeper way. As you grew to trust each other, you let the other person in on the secrets that might not have felt safe with a new acquaintance. But I might spend a lifetime with this guy and still not understand half of what was in his history and his head. From now on, I swore, I would ask more questions. Even if he clammed up. Especially if he clammed up.
Chapter Twenty-Four
No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary, a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present, the wisdom of cookbook writers.
—Laurie Colwin
My mother arrived at the church at the same time I did, with Helen in tow.
“Here’s your assistant,” she chirped.
From the strain in her voice, I suspected she was probably feeling as worn down as I was by the busyness of the week in combination with entertaining a full-time visitor. Although they’d insisted that hosting Helen was no trouble, having someone stay in the house, and worrying about whether she had what she needed for breakfast, or was annoyed at being left alone so many hours—it had to be a strain. They were not the kind of hosts who could slap a box of cereal and some instant coffee on the counter and call it hospitality.
I squinted to look at her more closely. Or had something else happened?
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” I called to my mother-in-law. “There are some unusual tropical flowers two houses up the street worth looking over,” I told Helen. She stared at me for a minute—she’d not said one word about interest in tropical vegetation. But then she looked at my mother’s face, nodded, and walked to the house I’d pointed out near the church and pretended to admire their lush garden.
I circled around the car to chat with Mom. “What’s up?”
She whispered, “I know you’re strung out, but is there any way you could help me late this afternoon serving at a party at the Hemingway Home? Of course you can bring Helen, but I didn’t want to commit her until I knew if you were available.” She was practically wringing her hands in desperation.
“Of course,” I said. “Just tell me when, and one or two or three of us will be there.”
/> “Oh, don’t worry Miss Gloria; she’s got to be exhausted,” said Mom.
“I’ll ask anyway, because she’d feel left out if we acted like she couldn’t handle it.”
“Of course,” said my mother. She grabbed my hand and planted a big kiss on the palm. “It’s not really fair to pull you into my catering world, but I had no idea that three of our temporary staff would bail out. Call in sick, I should say, aka the dreaded Keys flu, aka too much fun the night before. And no one really wants to work New Year’s Eve. I suspect it’s the same disease that’s running rampant through the police department.” She hopped back into the van, slammed the door, and called out the window as she drove away, “Thanks a million. I’ll text you later about when to show up.”
I led my mother-in-law into the church, where the small vestibule fed into the worship area upstairs, with the church office on the bottom floor to the left and the kitchen and community room at the back. For a small bare-bones place, an amazing amount of wonderful work got done here.
“Cooking With Love happens every Saturday, with one set of volunteers doing all the cooking. And then a second crew packs up individual lunches to take to our clients. We usually feed around a hundred and sixty people, mostly lower-income and housebound senior citizens,” I explained.
“I work with my friend Eric once a month, and he’s in charge of the menu.” I grinned. “So today we’re the grunts, which usually involves a ton of chopping. But I think he said he’s planned a chicken-and-stuffing casserole for today.”
“Chicken and stuffing for a hundred and sixty people?” Helen asked, looking overwhelmed. “Out of this kitchen?” She peered into the galley kitchen again, with its oversized eight-burner gas stove, industrial-sized refrigerator, and three sinks. Small, blistering hot, and low-tech.
“It’s kind of like magic,” I said. “Magic made by people and love. That sounds goofy, but I mean it.”
I introduced her to my friends, Eric and Bill, who were already at work. “Eric is a psychologist with a private practice, and Bill is a superstar guide at the Harry Truman Little White House. They love to cook and eat and drink lemon-drop martinis, and they have two adorable dogs and a darling house.”
“And that is probably more than you wanted to know about us,” said Bill with a laugh. He came over to shake her hand. “Welcome to chaos.”
“What shall we do first?” Helen asked. “I will warn you, my knife skills are probably not up to your standards.”
I looked at Eric and we both giggled.
“No knife skills needed for this recipe,” he said. “This is like no cooking you’ve done before.” He directed her to the industrial can opener that was attached to one of the countertops. Next to that were dozens of cans of soup, broth, and evaporated milk.
“Hayley and I will lay out the chicken and stuffing in the casseroles, if you don’t mind opening cans. Then we mix all those liquids together, pour it over top of the dry ingredients, and poke around to make sure everything is saturated. When we’re finished with that and have the pans in the oven, we’ll be making a little coleslaw. We will serve frozen strawberries for dessert. We try to keep things easy; otherwise the quantities would be overwhelming.”
From the size of my mother-in-law’s pupils, I suspected she was already feeling overwhelmed. But she began to gamely open can after can after can. I ripped open jumbo bags of dried stuffing and spread the contents over the shredded chicken that Eric had tackled. When everything was ready, we popped the pans into the ovens.
While we were waiting for the casseroles to cook, we prepared large bowls of shredded cabbage and carrots, mixing the vegetables with mayonnaise, cider vinegar, and celery seeds. I heard the buzzer of the front door, then male voices in the vestibule. Steve Torrence and Chief Sean Brandenburg came into the hall. Both were dressed in polyester blue uniforms, which didn’t happen that often for Steve because he spent more time at the station and attending community meetings these days than on patrol.
“Good morning, everyone,” Steve called out to the room of workers.
“Oh good, I can introduce you to our friend,” I told Nathan’s mother. “He often works with Nathan on special projects, and if that’s not enough to keep him busy, he serves as the pastor for this church and he does weddings, including Nathan’s and mine.”
The two men came over to us, wide grins on their faces.
“I couldn’t resist the opportunity to meet the woman who produced Nathan Bransford,” Steve said. He shook her hand and then gave her a kiss on the cheek and turned to introduce us to the chief. “Please meet Helen Bransford, and Hayley Snow, everyone’s favorite gadfly.” He pulled me into a hug.
I wriggled away and punched him in the arm. “If you came for lunch, you’re a little early,” I said to the chief. “We’ll be happy to save something for you, and send a box along for Nathan.” Although I very much doubted he’d be interested in hot chicken casserole during the heat of the day.
“Not eating today. Just wanted to stop and say hello,” said Steve. Then his face grew serious and he lowered his voice. “And let you know that Paul Redford was not charged or detained.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Did you discover he wasn’t the killer?”
“We didn’t have enough evidence to hold him,” said Steve. “The investigation is ongoing, and we’re pursuing many leads.”
“Meaning he has a very clever lawyer?” Nathan’s mother asked. The frown on her face deepened. “Is he still under investigation, or have you moved on to another suspect?”
Both of the men turned to look at her. “He is a person of interest. That’s as much as we can say,” said the chief in a genial voice. “I’m sure Nathan will keep you informed as he’s able.”
Steve added, “So please keep your eyes open, and even more importantly, stay out of trouble. That’s a direct quote from Nathan.”
“Always,” said Nathan’s mother, smiling warmly as she returned to stirring a gigantic jar of mayonnaise into the bowl of vegetables.
“What do you make of that?” I asked her, once the men had left our station.
“The police can’t hold someone overnight if they haven’t charged them. You probably know—or you should know—that you don’t have to answer any questions unless you’ve been charged with a crime.” She peered at my face, looking for confirmation that this advice was familiar. “Even then, you can clam up and demand a lawyer. I hope Nathan is telling you the basics in case you end up on the wrong side of the law.”
Did she know I’d been a suspect in a poisoning case a few years back? That in fact I’d actually had an excellent motive for the murder? And had Nathan told her about the way he and I met—across an interview table, not in a bar or on a tennis court or on Match.com or Tinder like normal people?
“He tells me what he thinks I need to know,” I said, to end the possibility of an awkward discussion. “Sounds like they’re saying Paul is off the hook and the real murderer is still out there.”
She nodded in agreement.
While Steve and the chief visited with the other cooks, the delivery volunteers began to trickle into the church basement. Soon the space was alive with their cheerful banter, and the two men circled the room shaking hands (the chief) and giving hugs (Steve) and chatting.
“For the final part of our job, we serve up the food into individual portions as they come through the line with the containers,” I explained to Helen. “These volunteers load them up into giant coolers and deliver them around town.”
As we dished out casserole and coleslaw, Eric asked, “What did the police want?”
I explained that Paul Redford had been released after questioning last night. “As usual, Nathan wanted them to warn us to butt out. To be fair, the murderer’s still out there and he wants us to be safe.” I tipped my head toward Helen and sighed. “But since we found the dead woman, we can’t help feeling like we’re in the middle of the case, like it or not.”
He shovele
d a big scoop of chicken casserole into the takeout container held in front of his station. “That reminds me, you remember Jai who works at Project Lighthouse?”
“Of course,” I said, feeling a little shiver of gratitude and relief at the sound of her name. As if I’d forget the woman who’d helped us locate my stepbrother when he’d gotten mixed up with a troubled crowd and gone missing in the spring-break-crazed streets of Key West.
Eric nodded. “You know I’m on the board for the Florida Keys Children’s Shelter. They had a planning breakfast yesterday, and Jai mentioned she was super-disappointed that their Santa didn’t show up for their post-Christmas, it’s-always-Christmas party for teens. It made me wonder …”
“Oh my gosh,” I said, as one of the most perplexing pieces of the murder dropped into place. “The missing Santa was Claudette, wasn’t it? That totally explains why she was dressed in a Santa outfit when we found her.”
“And it means the outfit was probably not related to the murder,” Helen added. “She must have been on her way to the party wearing that costume.”
Eric nodded again. “And it explains why she was a no-show. Jai told me that Claudette was especially interested in her project for traveling teens because her own sister disappeared years ago.”
I glanced over at Nathan’s mother, whose expression had frozen. After what Nathan had told me about his sister last night, I understood that Helen would want me to keep probing, and that if I didn’t, she’d jump in. “What exactly did Jai find out about the girl’s disappearance?” I asked.
Eric looked apologetic. “I’m not sure what happened. We didn’t really get into the details.” The line of volunteers in front of us began to move too fast for further conversation, and we spent the next fifteen minutes working at top speed.
The Key Lime Crime Page 18