Leave It to Cleaver (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery Book 6)

by Victoria Hamilton

  The first half hour was a tumult of noise, chatter, congratulations, hugs, kisses, and laughter, all accompanied by Hoppy’s enthusiastic participation. It wasn’t so bad, Jaymie decided, feeling her cheeks burn and a frantic giddiness well up in her, as long as she kept moving and talking and smiling. She desperately tried to keep her expression from becoming manic when her shyness overwhelmed her. Heidi and Bernie had done most of the planning, but Heidi confided that Dee, but more especially Valetta, had insisted on doing a lot, too, as well as footing some of the bill. Valetta had been there all morning helping decorate and had insisted on contributing vintage touches here and there from her own collection.

  The theme was a Very Vintage Wedding Shower, so there was a retro feel everywhere, from the crepe wedding bells that hung in the middle of the big parlor to the pretty vintage parasols hanging upside down from the ceiling. There were fifties and sixties knickknacks tucked in spots, and vintage china serving pieces being used for the food table. Everything was lovely and Jaymie appreciated the efforts of their friends.

  There were lots of chairs in the long parlor/sitting room, with the pocket doors thrown open for extra space. It was a diverse group of thirty or forty, with everyone from eight-year-old Jocie, who was giddy with excitement, laughing and running with her two cousins and Hoppy, to ninety-plus-year-old Mrs. Stubbs, who was catered to by Dee and talked to by everyone. Even Mrs. Klausner was there, sitting alone and knitting while eyeing the children. Mrs. Bellwood, Imogene Frump, and Mabel Bloombury were in attendance. Nan Goodenough circulated, introducing herself and talking to everyone. Cynthia Turbridge and Jewel Dandridge drifted from group to group. Jakob’s mother, Mrs. Müller, was looked after by Sonya, Jakob’s sister-in-law, and indulgently watched the children run around and play as Valetta sat and chatted with her for a while. Kevin Brevard’s sister, Georgina, trailed after Becca, who introduced her to everyone as they chatted about the new antique store. Locals, especially Cynthia and Jewel, tried to make Georgina, a petite blonde Englishwoman, feel comfortable.

  There were, Jaymie was grateful to find, no games planned. She heartily loathed wedding shower games, though she knew some folks enjoyed them. At one point Bernie wheeled in a cart with a television on it and Jaymie thought, Oh, no . . . embarrassing video footage. There was some of her singing karaoke at Bernie’s last Thanksgiving—she was belting out “Girl’s Just Want to Have Fun”—that she didn’t want anyone to see since she had had too much wine.

  But instead, there were video messages for Jaymie and Becca from their mother, in Florida, and their grandmother, in London, Ontario. Then, thanks to Bernice’s technical genius and tech help from both London (the recreation director of the retirement home) and Florida (from Jaymie and Becca’s dad, Alan), there was a live feed of both women, split screen, so they could take part in the shower from a distance. Tears flowing freely, Jaymie hugged her police officer friend and babbled an emotional thanks, then sat by the video with her mother and grandmother, telling them all about what was going on.

  After another half hour the video was shut down and food was served buffet-style in the dining room. First to be served were those who were fetching for the older folks, then everyone else. Jaymie hung back, and as she waited she noticed Petty Welch, beautifully dressed in a vintage-looking sheath dress, hesitantly coming through the door from the front hall. She saw Jaymie and smiled, but didn’t wave—her hands were full, since she carried a box with an elaborate deluxe ribbon on it—and rushed over to Jaymie.

  “You came after all! I had given up on you,” Jaymie said, getting up and giving her a brief, one-armed hug.

  “I wasn’t sure . . . I mean, I don’t know anyone—”

  “I can remedy that, trust me.”

  “This is for you,” Petty said, thrusting the box at her. “I know there weren’t supposed to be gifts, but this is out of my stock of vintage stuff. I thought you’d enjoy it more than I.”

  Jaymie sat down—Petty took the chair beside her—and tore the pretty paper off to find a vintage box with a full new-in-box set of Fire King snack plates and cups in the Primrose pattern.

  “I thought you and your new stepdaughter would enjoy them for tea,” Petty said, her eyes watering. She sniffed. “I’m so grateful you sought me out and it’s wonderful to have someone to talk to about Rhonda!”

  Jaymie set the box down and impulsively jumped up, leaning over the other woman and giving her a bigger hug. “How is your sister-in-law? Is she okay?”

  Petty nodded. “She has her Bible and her pastor, who has been very good to her. He’s helping her through it. It’s the one time I envy people who have religion; it must be a comfort.”

  Jaymie stood, grabbed the other woman’s hand and said, “Well, you are now going to meet everyone I know, all in one fell swoop.” She introduced her to Valetta—their common love of vintage pastel kitchenware and kitsch making them instant soul mates—who took her under her wing. Petty was never alone for more than a second.

  At long last the event was quieting down, with most guests eating and chatting. There were occasional bursts of feminine laughter, and the clop-clop of heels on wooden floors, along with the sound of cutlery scraping on china. Hoppy was curled up under Jaymie’s chair. Dee, who enjoyed vintage everything and actually sold it online, also had taken Petty under her wing and was making sure the woman felt comfortable with them all. Jaymie finally entered the dining room for a plate of goodies, hoping her stomach had settled down from her nervousness earlier. Tami Majewski was refilling a platter of macarons glacés in lovely pastels, and Jaymie stopped to admire them as Jocie joined her. She hugged the child to her knees. “Jocie, have you met Ms. Majewski before?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then say hello; Tami, this is Jakob’s little girl, Jocie.”

  Jocie looked up at the woman and smiled. “Hello, Ms. . . .” She stumbled over the last name but did pretty well.

  “She’s your daddy’s partner, Mr. Gus’s, sister; did you know that?”

  She shook her head.

  “How are you, Tami?” Jaymie asked, beginning to fill her pretty china plate with some chicken salad sandwiches and thick-sliced homemade yum yum pickles. She looked up.

  The woman shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. Busy. Busy is good.”

  “Remember you said you had your old diary from 1984? Could you dig it out for me? I’m trying to get a mental picture of that . . .” She looked down at Jocie, who was reaching for a pink macaron. “That time.”

  “Come into the bakery on Monday. I have some more cake ideas to fill you in on. I’ll have it with me.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Hey, I also have some chocolate cake for you to try,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Just for you. Take it home, try it later—I want your full attention on it—and let me know if you like it. I know how you feel about chocolate.” She retrieved a plastic container with some cake.

  Jaymie smiled and returned to the parlor to eat, tucking the cake container in a bag under her chair (next to Hoppy) with the snack set Petty had given her. People drifted by, sat and chatted a moment, then moved on. Some were leaving, stopping to talk to both her and Becca before going. Both sisters had specified no gifts; they had all they could ever need. But people still brought cards, and some hard-liners did bring gifts, which were piled on a table in the entry hall.

  Finally Dee Stubbs plunked down beside her and slipped her shoes off surreptitiously. “Lord, you’d think an ER nurse would have better feet. Or maybe it’s the years of work that have ruined my feet.”

  “I have to thank you all for taking care of Petty; she doesn’t have many friends. She moved back here when she retired after living for years in Detroit.”

  “You know me; never let anyone be lonely. Valetta is taking her to an auction while you’re on your honeymoon and I’ve already got her signed up for line dancing and crochet club at the Wolverhampton community center. She’ll be so busy she’ll forget she’
s retired.” Dee glanced over at Jaymie. “How you doing, kiddo? Becca’s in her element, of course, belle of the ball, but I know how all this stuff traumatizes you.”

  Jaymie smiled and set her empty plate aside. “I have endured, and—don’t tell anyone—actually enjoyed. You all did such a perfect job: no mortifying pictures or videos, nothing left undone.”

  “Have to say, it was mostly Heidi and Valetta. Those two work together pretty darn well.”

  “Agreed. But I know you all pitched in and we appreciate it. It’s what Queensvillians do, I guess.” She paused, her thoughts never far from the puzzle she was untangling. “Dee, with all this stuff about Rhonda Welch and Delores Paget, I’ve been delving into small-town life from the 1980s.”

  “Oh, horrors. Hope you haven’t seen pictures of my big hair. I did love a perm, and lots of hairspray.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen pictures.” She fished the curling mildewed birthday photo out of her purse. “This one in particular.”

  Dee took it and stared at it, a smile on her face. “Look at my Johnny! How cute is he?”

  “You don’t look like you had eyes for anyone but him.”

  “Not fair! I can name everyone in the picture. There is Val, and me and Johnny, and Becca and Brock and Delores—poor Delores!—and Tami Majewski and . . . jeez, I guess there is another girl in the corner and I don’t know who it is. So I lied about knowing who everyone was.”

  “Why was Tami there?”

  She shrugged. “Just got invited, I guess. Look at the smirk on Brock’s face. He moved in on Delores that night, I remember that.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Brock was like that; he was a hound dog, but not a particularly successful hound dog.” Her round, lightly lined face melted into a sad expression. “I’ve been shocked at the bodies found. Rhonda Welch and Delores Paget, both dead the same day; who knew?”

  “It probably seemed like a school day like any other. But it was the day after Halloween, there was a football game that day and it was a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Would you or any of the others have stayed for the game? I know Valetta didn’t, but did you?” Valetta’s diary had hinted Dee had, but would their friend remember?

  “I guess I would have because Johnny was the school mascot. He was the Wolverhampton Howling Wolf . . . so cute! He wore this papier-mâché wolf’s head and a gray track suit to every game. I was always there to cheer him on.”

  Jaymie glanced around and leaned slightly forward, whispering, “I don’t want this to get around, but do you know if there is any way of finding out if Gus Majewski played in that game that day?”

  Dee looked puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, I see. Yes, I can understand how that might make a difference. And why you can’t ask him. Is there any way to ask his sister?”

  Jaymie shook her head. “I don’t want to tip her off and I don’t want to upset her, if there’s nothing to it. She is going to give me her diary from that year, though, and I may find out from that.”

  “I’ll see if Johnny remembers. But one game, over thirty years ago . . .” She shook her head. “A lot has happened since then.”

  “I know. I wonder if newspapers reported on high school games back then?” Jaymie felt a thump of excitement. “Or was there a school newspaper? They’d be sure to report on a football game and the star player’s presence or lack thereof!”

  “Good thought! I think there was a school paper but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I wasn’t much into school spirit. That was Johnny’s thing. I’ll ask him, and ask Becca, too. She’s the one with the great memory.”

  “And Valetta. But here and now is not the place and time,” Jaymie said with a smile. “I think I’d better circulate some more.”

  At long last the shower was done and Jaymie, despite rigorous objections from her friends, pitched in to return the historic house to its semblance of normalcy. The house was important to her and she felt a great deal of responsibility for its success as a historical living museum, as it was partly due to her finding of a historic letter that the historic society had been able to buy, renovate, and furnish the place. It had been closed today for the shower, but would open back up on Sunday for tours.

  Afterward, Dee invited everyone back to her place—Johnny was going to pick up Chinese food from a place in Wolverhampton—and the fellows (Kevin, Jakob, and Johnny) joined them. Heidi was strangely silent about Joel’s whereabouts. It was lovely seeing Jakob, and they had a few minutes alone before he finally took his sleepy little girl home.

  Returning home after such a long, fretful, enervating day, Jaymie could not go to sleep. Hoppy was the same, overexcited by a long day among people. Becca and Kevin had retired immediately and Jaymie could hear Kevin’s snores rattle the windows. But even a book wouldn’t calm her. She wandered the house, ate the chocolate cake Tami had given her, read some more, watched TV. Let Hoppy out to piddle again . . . and still no sleep. She felt nauseated—probably the Chinese food, which often gave her tummy troubles—and nervous.

  Looking back made her sad—the deaths of the two teens were weighing on her—and looking forward scared her. Could she truly be a mother to Jocie? She loved the little girl fiercely, and participating in the school problem had boosted her confidence, but having a child was a huge responsibility. Jocie was special and deserved only the best.

  Worrying and fretting and being exhausted was making her feel even more ill and the rest of the night passed with symptoms that could only be described by saying they required hours spent in the bathroom with a book. By morning she was wonky, weary and feeling empty and dizzy. Becca, like the mother figure she had been for so long, made her have a hot bath, drink eggnog and go back to bed. She promised to let Denver out, Kevin would take Hoppy for a long walk, they’d feed them both, but Jaymie was to stay in bed. Becca would call Jakob and tell him she was under the weather.

  Twenty

  THE PROBLEM WITH BEING AN INTROVERT was that one needed to mingle from time to time. Add mingling to being the center of attention, a long, nervous day, too much rich food topped with more socializing and Chinese food, and you have a full day of sickness that only sleep and water could erase. Jakob had called a couple of times Sunday but she hadn’t felt like company or even like talking much.

  Monday dawned bright and cheery and it was May Day! May first. After many hours sleeping and a lot of water, Jaymie felt better. She and Jakob finally had a long chat very early Monday morning. Then, since Becca and Kevin were going back to London for a few days, Jaymie had breakfast with them and sent them off. It was a lovely spring day, with birds chirping and leaves showing brilliant new green, so she took her dog for a long, long walk, all the way to the river and along the boardwalk in both directions, then home. Hoppy was so tired all he did when they reentered the kitchen was lap some water and go curl up in the bed he sometimes shared with Denver, which was beside the stove, warmed by the pilot light. The cat was enjoying a day with no Becca by sleeping on the summer porch sofa, sprawled out in a patch of sunshine.

  But Jaymie was full of ambition. First, she needed to talk to Valetta. She walked over to the Emporium in time to catch her friend on tea break, at eleven. They sat on the steps in the sunshine and drank their tea. Valetta had commiserated with how ill Jaymie had been, and they chatted about Valetta’s diary.

  “Val, I have to ask you something,” Jaymie said, sliding a glance over at her friend.

  “Shoot.”

  “Brock called me the other day and wanted to come over and talk to me. The police chief called about the same time and dropped by. I think I saw Brock drive down my alley, but then keep going, like he was . . .” She hesitated. “Like he didn’t want to visit me while the police chief was there.”

  Valetta was silent for a long moment and sipped her tea. Her face was turned away, but Jaymie knew she was upset. “Val, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Jaymie, it’s okay. I’m feeling bad beca
use . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m so scared. Brock was a real jerk growing up. He still is, sometimes, though he’s a lot better than he was as a teenager.” She turned to look Jaymie in the eye. “But he has never, to my knowledge, raised a hand to a single person, man, woman or child. And he does the very best he can by his two kids. I don’t want to think he could have done anything.”

  She shook her head, took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “No, strike that; it’s not that I don’t want to think it, it’s that I truly, bone-deep, do not believe he did anything. But he’s acted so weird lately, ever since Delores’s body was found. What if I’m wrong? What if in a moment of . . .” She shook her head and slumped again.

  Jaymie threw her arms about her friend and hugged. “Honey, he has to talk to me. He was ready to; I want to know whatever it is he has to say.”

  “I feel like the worst sister on the face of the planet,” Valetta said, taking her glasses off and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She picked her mug up; today it was a plain one, with none of the funny pharmacist sayings she usually had.

  It was indicative of her sober and frightened mood, Jaymie supposed. “You know Brock better than anyone on the planet. If you say he didn’t do anything, I believe you.”

  Valetta looked over at Jaymie, tears rolling down her cheeks and her nose running. “Thank you. It’s a relief hearing you say that. Lately I’ve been doubting everything I remember about that day.”

  “But he did come home late that night with the car and he wouldn’t tell you where he’d been.”

  “You’ve read the diary.”

  Jaymie nodded. “Maybe he has something else to say about that day, maybe even something he’s ashamed of, but whatever it is, I need to hear it.” Maybe she was being presumptuous, but she had been emboldened by the chief’s trust in her. However . . . what if he told her something she wasn’t ready to hear? She took in a deep breath. She’d cross that bridge if she came to it.