Death A La Mode

by Tawdra Kandle

  “Sounds completely boring to me.” I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly. “And if you want to stay and help Nichelle as a taster, you’re welcome. Just don’t expect to get a word in edgewise.”

  Lucas grimaced. “True. I’ve never met a woman who could talk like her. I don’t know how you ever have a conversation with her.”

  “She’s my friend.” I shrugged. “Oh, and speaking of friends, Leesa texted this morning and said something about trying to come down here for a visit over Christmas.”

  “Really? I’ll get to meet the elusive BFF? I thought she was perpetually chained to her desk at the law firm in New York.”

  “Not since she and Harold got together. Now she’s actually living her life. She even went to Comic Con with him.”

  “Wow. She’s a wild woman.”

  “She really is. Oh, here comes Nichelle now.”

  It was a measure of her familiarity that my friend no longer knocked at the front door. Instead, she pushed opened the kitchen door and marched inside, nearly covered with bags and a baby.

  She stopped in front of Lucas where he stood leaning against the counter and thrust a small white cooler against his chest. “Here. This is yours.”

  Lucas caught the Styrofoam box in both hands. “Uh, okay. Thanks.”

  “Hold on, let me get the paperwork.” Nichelle started to dig into the stuffed baby bag on her shoulder and then turned toward me. “Take him, will you? He’s a ton.”

  I scooped Jack off her hip. “Of course I will. Come here to Auntie Jacks. Look at this sweet boy. You’re getting so big!”

  Nichelle snorted. “You’re telling me. I swear, every time I pick him up, he’s gained five pounds.” She found the paper, crumpled in the side pocket of the diaper bag, and smoothed it out on my counter. “You know the drill. Sign and initial.”

  Lucas took the pen she offered and did just that. Nichelle smiled at me. “I smell pie. Is that your first version?”

  “Sorry, Nichelle, you’re too late. I finished the last piece this morning.” Lucas handed her the pen and papers. “Guess you’ll have to wait for round two.”

  I cleared my throat, raising my eyebrows at him. “Don’t you want to take your delivery over to your house and put it away?” We didn’t know a whole lot about how Lucas had been turned into a half-vamp or how he differed in his needs and limitations from full vampires, but one thing had always been clear: he needed his daily dose of blood or things got dicey; he’d be distracted, fuzzy-brained and slightly short-tempered.

  “Yeah, I should.” Holding the cooler by its handle, he leaned over to drop a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Jackie.” Sketching a salute as he headed out the kitchen door, he added, “Nichelle. Always a pleasure.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She waited until the door closed behind him and then she turned to me. “Okay, where is it? I know you saved me a piece back.”

  Laughing, I shifted the baby to my other arm and opened up the microwave to take out a single piece of pie. “Are you sure you’re not psychic? How did you know?”

  “Because you’re a good friend, and no matter how cute that man of yours is, you’d never give him my pie.” She opened the silverware drawer and retrieved a fork. “You okay with the rug rat while I stuff my face?”

  “Sure.” I pulled out a chair and sat down, situating little Jack on my lap. “So tell me, baby boy, what’s been going on in your life? We got some new teeths? Any new words?”

  He grinned big at me and patted my cheek. “Mama!”

  A stab of hurt dug into my chest, even as Nichelle sighed. “It’s his new thing. Anyone with boobs is Mama. Keeps me humble, you know?” Leaning back in her chair, she took another bite of pie and closed her eyes. “This is seriously good, Jackie. Crust is light, filling has good, rich flavor.”

  “But . . .?” I pressed a kiss to the top of baby Jack’s sweet head, and he snuggled against me.

  “It’s delicious, but nothing special. Nothing to make it stand out.”

  “That’s exactly what I told Lucas.” I tapped the edge of the table, thinking. “So what do I need to change to make it spectacular? What should I add?”

  “It’s got to be something unexpected. Like, you don’t want to add chocolate. People do that all the time. Booooring.” Nichelle faked a yawn.

  “Okay, so no chocolate. What else could I use?”

  “Pumpkin? I mean, that’s seasonal.” Nichelle stood up and helped herself to a glass of water.

  I considered. “I’ve heard of pumpkin-pecan pie before. I don’t think I’ve ever done one, though. I could try a layer of pumpkin and then the pecan on top. Or vice versa.”

  “Give it a shot. I’m happy to play taster.” She sipped her water. “So how was your trip up north with lover boy? Did you two have a fun getaway?”

  “Eh.” I avoided her eyes. “It was fine. He was involved with his, uh, work quite a bit.”

  “Mmmhmmm.” Nichelle’s eyes narrowed. “And the blonde was there? She give you problems?”

  “Cathryn? No. She was fine.” Except when she involved me in a ritual that let a spirit possess me. “It was all fine.”

  “Do you realize you’ve just said ‘fine’ three times, talking about this trip? Which means it was totally not fine. So tell me what really happened.”

  I turned Jack to stand on my lap, bouncing him a little, just to give me a minute to think. Nichelle and I never talked about Lucas and the deliveries she made to him. She knew he got a cooler full of blood every three days, but in the months we’d known each other, she hadn’t ever asked me why. If she had an inkling about what he was, she didn’t give me any indication. I was aware that her business specialized in making discreet deliveries of unusual products to people who valued that service and paid for it accordingly. And although she didn’t treat Lucas differently, I’d noticed that she never asked him to hold Jack. The two of them, Lucas and Nichelle, seemed to have a relationship of mutual tolerance, probably out of deference to me.

  Still, since I’d never confided in her about my boyfriend’s odd abilities and needs, I didn’t feel comfortable telling her the whole story about our time at Carruthers. She might think I was crazy, and since she was really my own friend in town under the age of seventy, I didn’t want to risk losing her.

  “We just had a little disagreement. It’s nothing big, and we’ll be fine—I mean, we’re good. You know how these things go. You’ve been married forever.”

  “True. Well, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I don’t mean just about pie. If there’s shit going down—ooops, I got to watch my mouth in front of the little sponge there. Just my luck he’ll decide that’ll be his second word. Anyway, if there’s stuff you’re thinking I might not understand, trust me. I’ve heard it all. And I know how to keep my mouth shut.” She fluttered her hands at me. “Now gimme my kid, and you get busy on the baking. I can hang out until that pumpkin-pecan one is done if you hustle a little.”

  Nichelle made the ultimate sacrifice and stayed until my pumpkin-pecan pie was cool enough to taste. Jack, good kid that he was, sacked out on my bed and took a nice, long nap while his mom and I brainstormed pie ideas.

  We decided that the pumpkin-pecan version was decent, a little different, but still not spectacular enough to win the contest. Between us, we came up with a list of options for me to try.

  After they left, I tackled the kitchen clean-up, chatting with Mary from the diner as I cleaned. She gave me the daily report and offered me more pie-encouragement.

  “Everyone at Leone’s is behind you. No one likes Bitsy, and we all want to see you win. Show that little witch what’s what.”

  “Thanks for the support, Mary.” I turned as I heard the door open. “Hey, listen, I need to go. Lucas just got here, and I’m sure he wants to take me some place really romantic for dinner.”

  Mary laughed. “Go have fun, hon. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Lucas dropped into a chair. “Did we have a da
te I forgot?”

  “Nah, I just needed to get off the phone with Mary. And I thought I’d give you a hard time.” I folded the dishtowel and hung it over my oven door handle. “What do you feel like for dinner?” We’d fallen into a fairly easy routine over the last months; though we were both more comfortable maintaining our own houses, we usually ate at least breakfast and dinner together. I did most of the cooking, of course, but every now and then, Lucas brought in take-out or made me soup. Sometimes we ate at the diner, though we tried to avoid going there too much, since it usually turned into a working meal for me, as the wait staff all wanted to chat. About once a month, we went out some place fancy, as Lucas called it, trying out local restaurants.

  “Oh, I don’t care. Something easy, since it looks like you’ve been cooking all day.” He leaned forward. “Uh, Jackie, I met Crissy Darwin this afternoon.”

  I frowned. “You did? How? Where did you meet her?” His driveway ran between our houses, so I usually noticed when he left home. As far as I’d seen, he’d been holed up all day. I’d figured he was drinking his blood and working on the edits on his book.

  “I got called out to a Reckoning.”

  It took a minute for that to filter into my brain, and when it did, my heart dropped. “No! Oh, Lucas, not Crissy. Tell me she’s not dead.”

  “She’s not.” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “But her manager is. I think she was murdered.”

  “Her manager?” I tried to remember if I knew anything about him. Or her. When I’d first met Crissy as a teenager, her mother and father had been with her, and I’d gotten the impression they were handling her career.

  “Yeah, a woman named Maddy Cane. I guess she’s only been working with her for a few months. Pretty sad.”

  “Wait a minute.” I sat down and braced my elbows on the table. “Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. How did you meet Crissy, if you were there for a Reckoning?” Moving the souls of the departed to the otherworldly realm for which they were destined was part of Lucas’s death broker gig. He was transported to the scene as soon as a person died and met with two advocates, representatives for what was in essence heaven and hell, though they never used those terms.

  He sighed. “Okay. I took my blood home and had a pouch of it. I’d just finished when I was transported. It was an office, but no one else was there. I saw the body, and we were handling the Reckoning when Crissy came in. She found the body.”

  “Oh, my God. How did you handle that? Are you a suspect now?”

  He shook his head. “No. The advocates told me that death brokers always have alibis—it’s part of the deal. Even if we’re discovered at the scene of the crime, there’s some kind of mojo that keeps us from being implicated. Which is pretty much the first good thing I’ve heard about this job.”

  “But Crissy saw you?”

  “Yes. She was broken up, as you’d expect. We called the police, and so I got stuck there for a while.”

  “How did you explain being there? And how do you know it was murder? Was she—shot?” I had a sudden flash of my friend Al, lying dead in his own blood on the floor of the diner, and I shuddered.

  Lucas stood up and drew me to my feet, holding me close. “No. At first I thought it was natural causes, but then I saw . . . evidence that maybe it wasn’t. And the police seemed to concur.”

  “What was the evidence?” I wasn’t normally a morbid person, but now my curiosity had been piqued.

  “Just take my word for it. I think she was poisoned.”

  “Poisoned?”

  “Mmmhmm. The rep from the ME’s office said the same thing. Of course, they won’t be able to confirm the TOD or the COD until the autopsy’s done.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So now you’re talking cop? What’s next, a T-shirt under a beige blazer, sleeves rolled to the elbows and Wayfarers day and night?”

  Lucas cocked his head. “I think I’m more the Columbo type than Crockett and Tubbs. Can’t you see me in a trench coat, turning around to say, ‘Oh, just one more thing . . .’?”

  “Whatever you say.” I shook my head, impatient. “Was Crissy all right? And do they know what happened?”

  “Crissy was shaken up, of course. I think at first she was in shock, and then she lost it. Oh, and if the police know what happened, who poisoned Maddy Cane, they didn’t say anything in front of me.”

  “So they really didn’t find it suspicious that you were there, just standing over the body?” I’d often wondered what would happen if Lucas were discovered at a death scene. The advocates were cloaked, as they were apparently beings who existed on a different plane, and if they were all called to a Reckoning where the dearly departed was surrounded by grieving family or hospital staff, the advocates could extend their cloaking to protect Lucas, too. But they rarely bothered to do it if they were alone.

  “No. The advocate for light told me they hadn’t expected Crissy to walk in, so he didn’t have time to hide me. And she couldn’t see them at all. But he did say that no matter what excuse I gave for being there, it would be accepted without question. He was right.”

  “What did you tell them?” Lucas had a good imagination, but I wasn’t sure how fast he’d be at making up a plausible excuse.

  “I said I’d known her briefly years ago, and since I’d recently moved down here, I wanted to say hello, so I’d just stopped in. Imagine my shock and dismay when I found her sprawled on the floor moments before Crissy walked in.”

  “I just can’t believe it. Poor Crissy. She must be devastated. And just before she signed her contract with the music company in Nashville! I’m pretty sure Maddy was the one who negotiated that.”

  Lucas nodded. “I think she said something about it.” He rubbed small circles on my back. “I’m sorry about this. I realize you didn’t know her, but still. Another death, even remotely connected to you, when you’re still feeling unsettled . . . it’s got to be tough on you.”

  I shrugged but let my forehead drop to his chest. “I guess when you’re in love with a death broker, death becomes a way of life.”

  He lifted my chin and kissed me gently. “Thanks for being understanding. Now, since we’ve both had complicated afternoons, how about I take you over to that burger joint you love so much on the beach? We’ll eat and then walk in the waves. Watch the sunset.”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “The sun sets on the west coast.”

  “I didn’t say we’d watch it set over the ocean. Now go get your shoes and your purse. I’m hungry.”

  ONE OF THE first thing I’d learned after moving to Palm Dunes to take care of my Nana was that the saying, “News travels fast” apparently had its genesis in my adopted over-fifty-five community. Word-of-mouth was a literal thing, as some of the ladies walked from house to house, sharing the latest info. They disguised their gossip mission by calling it a doctor-ordered walk, but we all knew the truth.

  So I wasn’t really surprised at the fast and furious information exchange the day after Maddy Cane died. Crissy herself was a favorite, as her grandparents had lived in our neighborhood before old Hank had passed and his widow relocated to live with her sister in Fort Myers. All the ladies saw Crissy as a surrogate granddaughter. Most of the men, however, had fallen under her spell; Crissy had a way of charming the old codgers so that they nudged each other, wagging overgrown gray eyebrows whenever she was around.

  Mrs. Mac was at my kitchen table by eight o’clock. I was still in bed when I heard the door open and poked Lucas in the ribs.

  “Hey. We have company.”

  “Hmmm?” He didn’t open his eyes, but one arm snaked out to wrap around me and haul me close. He’d stayed over last night, even though I still wasn’t ready for intimacy. Having him next to me, a warm presence in my bed, helped me sleep a little better.

  “Mrs. Mac’s here. I just heard the door open. I need to go out there.”

  Lucas groaned. “Does she have breakfast? Donuts?” And when a soft whine came from the foot of the
bed, he added, “Or can she at least take out the fur ball?”

  I wriggled out of his hold and stood up. “I’d say doubtful on all fronts. I’ll throw on some clothes and go see what’s up with her. And I’ll let his majesty outside, too.”

  “Start up the coffee, too?” He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow.

  “Now you’re pushing it, mister.” I reached under the comforter to tickle his foot. “I thought you might actually get up and make yourself presentable.”

  He grunted. “Or you could just bring me coffee in here.”

  “That would be rude to Mrs. Mac. She’d think you don’t want to see her.”

  Lucas snorted and then twisted to look at me. “Hey, didn’t I lock the back door last night? How’d she get in?”

  “She has a key, and she’s not shy about using it.” I shrugged. “Sorry. I’ve tried to discourage it, but she always has an excuse I can’t argue with. Like what if I were trapped under a heavy piece of furniture? Or if I’d had a stroke and needed help?”

  “Yeah, but that was before. Before me. Before us.” He snagged my hand as I passed the bed, on my way to bathroom. “I think you’re covered now.”

  “True, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. So I’ll go out there and see what’s going on, and then you can come out and put in an appearance.” I bent to kiss his forehead. “Because you don’t want to hurt her feelings either.”

  Lucas made a noise that was a mix of a sigh and a moan, but he let go of my hand. I dug a pair of yoga pants out of my drawer and pulled them on under my big T-shirt. No bra, but hey, Mrs. Mac had let herself into my house before nine o’clock. She had to take what she got.

  “Good morning!” She sang out the words as I came into the kitchen. “I started coffee. And I brought sticky buns.”

  I nearly tripped over my own feet. “You brought breakfast? Really? Wait, am I dying? What do you know that I don’t?”