Sparky approached the kitten and tapped him with one black paw. The kitten hissed and bolted past me through the doggy door and into the houseboat, Sparky fast on his heels. Like a train out of control, the two cats leaped onto the kitchen counters, knocking over coffee mugs and bottles of herbs and spices as they ran. Then the kitten disappeared into my room with the bigger cat in hot pursuit. We heard crashing and howling.
“Good thing Cheryl isn’t here to see our cat-acclimation technique,” I said with a laugh, and hurried in after them. The kitten had disappeared into a narrow space underneath my chest of drawers, and Sparky, not quite slim enough to follow, lay on the floor next to the furniture and swatted at him.
“Okay, pal,” I said to the black cat, “Time for you to clear out. You’re traumatizing the new recruit.” I picked Sparky up, dropped him out in the hallway, and closed the door. Then I turned to inspect the source of the crashes. The cats had knocked over the family photographs I had displayed on the bureau, along with the blue pottery bowl I used to store my rings when I was cooking. It had shattered into a dozen pieces. I got down on hands and knees to gather them up. No point in getting mad—he had panicked, and for good reason. I heard a small rattling noise, and then one orange-and-white paw batted a blue bead out from underneath the chest. It looked exactly like a piece of the necklace I’d found on the sidewalk outside Claudette Parker’s home, the same necklace I’d brought home and photographed for Tony the jeweler. I searched my room for the rest of the beads but came up empty-handed. So much had gone on in the past few days that I hadn’t realized the beads were missing. Could they have been stolen by the intruder the other night?
This reminded me that I’d forgotten to follow up with Tony. I took a picture of the single bead and texted it to him, followed by, Did you ever find any information about the owner of this?
He answered right back. Checked my records. Did not work on this necklace. But this is part of a mala or prayer necklace, I can confirm that. Because of its size, this bead is possibly the sumero or head bead where the meditation or chanting cycle begins.
Then, feeling guilty about all the secrets being kept about the murder and uneasy on top of that, I forwarded this information to Steve and Nathan. From my jeweler friend Tony. And FYI, please don’t jump to the conclusion that I went looking for clues about the murder. This is a stray bead from the necklace that must have been stolen in the break-in—I found it on the sidewalk outside Claudette’s home. Then the new kitten discovered this under my chest of drawers.
Oops, this was the first Nathan would have heard about a new cat in our family.
I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of iced tea, then collapsed on the bed to rest for a few minutes, clucking reassuring nothings to the kitten in hiding. I felt unsettled by the discovery of the bead and the realization that the necklace had gone missing the night of the murder. And to be honest, exhausted.
It was hard to imagine revving myself up to help my mother with her New Year’s Eve wedding party later this afternoon, but she had done me a huge favor by absorbing Nathan’s mom the past few days. This was the least I could do to repay her. From her description, they needed someone to put finishing touches on platters of food and deliver them from the van to her and Sam. They would do the hard work of interacting with the guests at the party. At least Helen and I would be spared the task of making pleasant chitchat with drunken party guests in addition to the actual physical labor.
A little paw reached out and tapped a piece of the blue bowl that I’d overlooked. T-Bone followed the pottery out from under the bureau and sashayed over to me, his orange stripes dulled by dust.
“We may have to call you our living Swiffer,” I said, leaning over to scoop him up and rub his neck and chin. He settled in next to me, purring a rough kitten purr. Was there any sound more soothing? My mind flitted back to the murder. The necklace could have belonged to Claudette and she might have dropped it at some point near her home. In that case, finding the bead meant nothing.
On the other hand, if the necklace belonged to the killer—a big if—they were either someone religious or, more discouraging, someone who simply liked those colors. Would it make sense that this person had strangled poor Claudette and then dropped the necklace in her haste to get away? I couldn’t help thinking of Bee Thistle. Both times I’d seen her this week, she’d been wearing beads. And she had strong arms from doing such physical work in the kitchen. Not every woman would be strong enough to kill someone with her hands, but she might be. And she’d certainly been nervous about something.
Although I shouldn’t assume the necklace belonged to any woman. Because really, in Key West, there were no rules. Even on an ordinary day, men wore tutus, for heaven’s sake—adding a necklace to the look would be nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
She tried to imagine Mr. Ross, sitting at their kitchen table while her mother hacked at the overcooked meat and picked away at him with her questions.
—Ann Cleeves, Raven Black
It took me half an hour to drive from the dock to the wedding venue—a distance I usually managed in ten minutes. Truman Avenue aka Route 1 was jammed with honking cars and tourists on bicycles and scooters weaving carelessly through the traffic as the New Year’s Eve party headed for its crescendo. I was glad that Miss Gloria had decided to stay home to supervise the cats. It was going to be a harrowing, exhausting night.
Eventually I worked my way the two blocks over on Whitehead to Olivia Street, which ran one way alongside the red-brick wall surrounding the home formerly inhabited by Hemingway and his family. I parked a block north of my mother’s van and walked back to the side gate where workers and caterers entered the grounds near the small cat cemetery. By now, the kittens and older cats that were nervous in crowds would have been shut away in the screened-in cat houses built for that purpose. Sometimes party guests got a little too enthusiastic about greeting the cats, or even got the urge to set them free from what they imagined was a prison sentence behind the brick walls.
Sam, Helen, and my mother were in the back of the van, organizing trays of food, wearing aprons covered with white sequins that sparkled in the overhead light.
“Nice outfit,” I said to Sam. “Besides looking sharp, it might repel spills, right?”
He shrugged and grinned. “The bride insisted. She read in some silly magazine that the more bling the better for a New Year’s Eve wedding. We’re doing our very best to manage a wedding that’s out of control.”
My mother rubbed her eyes with her fists. “Now they want the party to run up to almost midnight; then they’ll get married, and then the whole party tears off to celebrate Sushi dropping in the red shoe at midnight.”
“Is serving fish in shoes traditional in this town for New Year’s Eve?” Helen asked, her expression perplexed.
“Sushi’s one of the drag queens who performs at 801 Bourbon Street,” I reminded my mother-in-law. “At midnight, they lower her down from the second floor in an outsized red-sequined slipper. It’s the Key West version of the ball drop in Times Square.”
My mother nodded. “And afterward, they come back and we’re to serve a second meal.”
“Who in the world is going to officiate a wedding at midnight?” I couldn’t imagine a normal pastor agreeing to that schedule.
“Someone on the groom’s side of the family got one of those temporary certificates,” my mother said. She sucked in a big breath of air. “If you don’t mind, I’ll start you on the food for the after party. Thank goodness you mentioned Christopher at the library. Our usual bartender is one of the no-shows and Christopher agreed to bartend for the entire night—the bridal couple insisted on having an open bar for six hours, plus a champagne tower.” She clutched her head between her hands. “Paul Redford is here to help too. And Bee from Blue Heaven.”
“You hired two possible murder suspects to cater a wedding?” I asked, sort of joking. But not really. I was beginning to feel nervous about spen
ding time with either of them. Especially now when I needed to be focused on the work, not watching our backs.
“Paul was working at our shared industrial kitchen all week—he’s a real professional. I have a feeling he was tweaking his own recipes and didn’t want to unveil anything until they were perfect,” my mother explained.
She tried to smile, but her lower lip was wobbling like she might weep instead. “I posted a note to the Facebook locals page saying I’d pay double for tonight. And that was who answered—Paul and Bee. They’re both professionals,” she repeated. “One of them is out of a job and the other needs the extra money, and they both have lots of experience. I’ve got Bee on desserts and Paul on hors d’oeuvres, so they shouldn’t get in each other’s way.”
“Sounds like a good arrangement,” I said, beginning to worry about how rattled she sounded.
“And since the silly bride insisted on key lime pies for the after party, they are the ideal help because they were able to bring pies with them,” said my mother. “I would have suggested your key lime cupcakes if they hadn’t come up with this additional demand yesterday. Instead I hired David Sloan to make up individual servings of key lime parfait to go with the pies. He’ll help with the serving at the second party—he’s very good at handling drunk people,” she added. “Or so he said.”
I felt instantly relieved that she hadn’t asked me to help. I’d baked several hundred key lime cupcakes for Connie and Ray’s wedding a few years back—that quantity was a big production. I couldn’t imagine taking that on this weekend. For someone I’d never laid eyes on and who sounded like the worst kind of diva. But now, unfortunately, my mother had added a third murder suspect to her employee roster: David Sloan.
Mom lowered her voice to a whisper and pulled me a step away from the others. “I think your mother-in-law is beat. I don’t believe you’ll have to worry about another visit soon. We’ve completely worn her out.”
I grinned. It had been chaotic—we were all beat. “Tell me about the menus.”
“Sam is going to grill tenderloins—that’s where most of the cats are congregating,” said my mother, pointing across the cemetery to the spot where Sam had set up his grill. A circle of polydactyls clustered at his feet. “And this afternoon I made huge vats of mashed potatoes loaded with butter and sour cream, and those are in the warmer. If that doesn’t stop their hearts, nothing will. And we made a beautiful tropical salad with mangos and walnuts. And we bought the most glorious wedding cake from Key West Cakes. It looks like a fairy-tale castle with make-believe sand and turrets—simply stunning.”
“Sounds like you’ve got everything under control,” I said.
“Not the after party,” said my mother. “That’s where I really need you ladies to pitch in.” She showed us a huge pile of croissants that filled the van with their buttery scent. “I’ve made up chicken salad with pecans and dried cherries from the bride’s great-uncle in Michigan. So I’ll have you stuff the croissants and arrange them on platters, and then make up the fruit salad.
“But first, if you could, I’d love for you and Helen to finish up the croissant corsages.” She pointed to a separate pile of baked goods.
I wasn’t sure I’d heard that correctly. “Croissant corsages?”
“You heard me—this is what they want to give the guests when they return for part two of the party. An edible wedding favor.”
She showed me the sample corsage that the bride and wedding planner had given her. On the bottom was a small arrangement of tropical flowers and ferns to which a real croissant had been attached. “The guys at Gourmet Nibbles and Baskets have provided the flower part, so your job will be to work the craft wire through the pastries so they’re attached to the corsages. Glue them down if necessary,” she added forcefully, handing me a craft gun. “Eating a little glue won’t kill anyone after midnight. They’ll be too intoxicated to notice or care.”
“This is a first,” I said.
Helen’s mouth had fallen open as my mother described our assignment.
“You didn’t have these at your wedding to Nathan?” she asked.
My mother and I looked at each other and burst into hysterical laughter. “Can you imagine if I’d come down the aisle wearing one of these? First of all, you’d attract all kinds of insects in the dark, not to mention birds. Second of all, Nathan would have hated it. And third, it strikes me as overwrought to the point of grotesque.”
My mother shook her head. “Young people getting married don’t understand that it’s not the frills and the most unusual sideshow that makes the wedding great—it’s choosing the right life partner and having the people you love most around you to help you celebrate and launch your married lives.” She held up the white aprons studded with sequins that we were to wear when doing anything public. “When you’ve finished the corsages, put these on and come have a look around. The grounds look magical, even if this whole production must have cost them a bloody fortune.”
Two hours later, when dark had fallen, Helen and I had finished the sandwiches and made one hundred croissant corsages, some of them more polished than others. It was not that easy to sew baked goods to flowers. We’d ended up using the glue gun liberally.
“Let’s take a spin around the grounds,” I said. “And I need to text our notes about Claudette’s sister to Nathan, along with anything else we can think of.”
“Happy to help,” Helen said, tying the sequined apron she’d been issued around her waist. “I’m feeling a little claustrophobic in this space.”
We left the van and circled around the cream-colored house with its lemon-drop shutters and covered porches. As my mother had described, the property had been turned into a fairyland of light and glitter, including a huge disco ball that pulsed over the dance floor.
As we walked, admiring the stunning flower arrangements and the twinkling lights everywhere, I dictated notes into my phone for Nathan. I’d decided to spill everything out and let him decide if any of it was new or important. Starting with the tragedy of Claudette’s sister as revealed by Jai, Helen and I reviewed the conversations we’d had and stops that we’d made over the last few days.
“Cheryl,” I dictated, “told us that Paul Redford had in fact visited Claudette’s house on the night of the murder, which you already know by now. We wonder if someone else was there too at the same time, who may or may not be the murderer.” I reminded him about how the kitten T-Bone had retrieved a bead from under my bureau, and how Tony the jeweler had identified it as a mala bead. We stopped in front of the dessert table to admire the arrangement of pies and parfaits.
“It’s … it’s extravagantly stunning,” Helen told David Sloan, who was dressed in a starched white chef’s coat, not a spot of food on it.
“The mala beads are used while chanting or praying, sort of like a rosary,” I added to my dictated notes. I turned to David. “Thanks for helping my mother out. I know you’ve had a crazy week too.” He nodded. “We never did hear who won the pie contest. My bosses are going to kill me because I got distracted by the police brouhaha and didn’t stay for the end.”
“The Key Lime Pie Company’s double-creamy pie won the pie drop—I think it must weigh a little more because of the extra whipping cream,” he said. “And Paul Redford’s pie was the dark-horse winner in the overall tasting. Though I don’t suppose he’ll be selling a lot of them from his jail cell.” A wicked smile spread over his face.
I didn’t bother to correct his assumption about Paul as murderer. The truth would be in the paper and online soon enough. And of course, if Sloan himself was the killer, he would certainly know that Paul’s arrest was a red herring. And he would feel enormous relief—hence the grin.
We paused to admire the champagne fountain, the golden sparkly liquid pouring over an ice sculpture that had been carved to look like a fairy princess’s castle to match the theme set by the wedding cake.
“Are you beginning to get the idea that no one ever said no to this girl
?” Nathan’s mother asked.
Christopher, the bartender who was standing nearby, began to laugh. He wore a crisp white shirt and a black bow tie. “Have you met her?” he asked. “You hit the absolute dead-center bull’s-eye with that theory.”
I introduced myself again to him—he remembered—and also introduced him to Nathan’s mother.
“Helen came here to relax for a couple of days, but it’s not worked out that well, with the murder and all,” I said.
“Haven’t they arrested someone?” he asked, his forehead furrowed into worry lines.
“Apparently they let him go,” I said. Not wanting to get into the details of what we knew and didn’t know, I turned my attention back to the phone.
“Which kind of work do you prefer,” Helen asked Christopher, “your work at the library or bartending at special events?”
“It’s actually a perfect combination,” he said. “And between the two jobs, I can make a go of this island.” They continued to chat about the cost of living in Key West.
“In case you hadn’t heard, Paul Redford was the big winner at this afternoon’s contest, for what that’s worth,” I said into my phone. “Will you take a look at this before I send the notes off to Nathan?” I asked my mother-in-law once Christopher had returned to making drinks for party guests. “A pie contest hardly makes sense as a motive.”
My mother-in-law took the phone from me to look over the notes I’d made. She shook her head. “I’m not seeing other patterns that really jump out. You keep talking about how this town struggles with newcomers versus old-timers. Do you see any trends like that here?”
“Conches, that’s what the natives are called.”
“Will I ever get that designation?” asked Christopher, after he’d served two girls dressed in skintight sparkly sheaths. “Looking good, ladies,” he told them.
“Probably not. You have to have been born here to be a conch,” I said.
The wedding guests were beginning to stream onto the lawn through the front gate. And then the bridesmaids swept in, wearing diaphanous gowns fluttering with gold and silver strips and bejeweled tiaras on their heads and giggling loudly. They made a beeline for Christopher’s bar.
The Key Lime Crime Page 20