“Reggie,” Estes was saying when the sounds of “Disco Duck” filled the air.
Consuela began snapping her fingers in time to the music while the redheaded woman sitting next to Jean La Croix started rummaging through her bag.
“Sorry about this,” she said. Finally she pulled out her cell. “Hello, Ronnie,” she said into it. “I’ll call you back later. I’m in a meeting. My publisher,” she explained as she clicked her cell off and dropped it back in her bag.
Right, Libby thought. Now she knew where she’d seen her before. Her picture was on the cover of a well-reviewed cookbook on how to throw a party for twenty people in a half hour or less. However, two cooking teachers who Libby knew and respected had pronounced it not worth the money it would cost to recycle it.
She brushed back a strand of her red hair and stood up. “I guess I’m next. For those of you who haven’t seen my book yet, I’m Brittany Saperstein, and I own Kugle to All.” At which point her cell rang again. She went through her bag till she found it. “Yes, Evelyn, I think you should go with the gold on the walls. Sorry,” she said again.
“Could you turn that thing off?” Estes told her as it rang a third time.
“Hello, Judy,” Brittany said into the cell. “I’ll have to call you back.” She dropped the phone back into her bag—a Fendi, Libby noticed. “There’s no need to yell,” she told Estes.
“I wasn’t yelling,” Estes told her.
“Well, then raising your voice,” Brittany countered.
“It’s difficult to conduct a meeting when that thing of yours keeps going off.”
“It’s not my fault if people need to speak to me,” Brittany said.
“Are you going to have it on, on the show?” Estes asked.
“Of course not,” Brittany said.
“Then turn it off now,” Estes thundered.
“Joe, Joe. It’s not good to be losing your temper like that,” Reginald Palmer said. “Not good at all. Especially for someone of your size.”
“Let’s leave my size out of it, shall we?”
“Fine,” Reginald said. “I just don’t want you to drop dead of a heart attack.”
“Thank you for your concern. Now can we get back to the matter at hand? We have a lot to cover before the show.”
“Which is why I want to know when we are going to get a chance to speak to Hortense.”
“You’re not,” Estes said.
“What do you mean?” Reginald demanded.
“Exactly what I said. She doesn’t want to talk to the contestants before. You’ll speak to her on the show. She never speaks to anyone before airtime.”
“What utter rot. She talked to me before.”
“That was then. Now she likes to meditate and prepare herself.”
“You mean have a couple of cocktails,” Libby could have sworn she heard Pearl Wilde mutter under her breath.
“But I have something to say to her,” Reginald insisted.
“You can tell me and I’ll tell her.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”
“I can get her assistant in here if you’d like. You can speak to him.”
“What nonsense. I need to speak to Hortense.”
Estes folded his arms across his chest.
“I’m afraid that that’s not going to happen,” he told Reginald.
Libby was slightly alarmed to see he was beginning to get red in the face.
“But what about my pans?” Jean La Croix demanded.
“What about them?” Estes asked.
“I want to talk to her about those.”
“I’ve already told you I will relay your request.”
Jean La Croix slapped the table with the palm of his hand. “That’s not good enough.”
Suddenly Libby became aware that she was hearing something other than Jean La Croix’s voice. She turned to listen. A noise seemed to be coming from the other room, the room next to Hortense’s office.
“What’s that?” Reginald said.
Estes didn’t say anything.
“That’s Hortense, isn’t it?” Reginald demanded. He began rising from his chair. “She’s in the test kitchen, isn’t she?”
“I already told you, you can’t go in there,” Estes said.
“The hell with that,” Reginald replied.
Libby watched as he pushed his chair back and strode across the floor. Libby reflected that for a man of his girth, Estes could move when he wanted to because suddenly he was blocking Reginald’s path.
“I meant what I said,” he told Reginald.
Reginald opened his mouth to speak but Libby never heard what he had to say, because the blast coming from the second kitchen drowned everything out.
Chapter 4
Even with the door to the room open and the venting fan on, Bernie could still smell the faint odor of gas lingering in the air.
“It’s off,” Eric Royal said to her. “I already checked.”
Bernie nodded absentmindedly. She’d figured as much. Otherwise they wouldn’t be in here now. They’d be outside in the fresh air waiting for the emergency crews to come. She was suddenly aware that Libby was standing right next to her and that her complexion was a definite shade of lime green.
Her sister pointed to Hortense’s body splayed out on the floor. Bernie studied Hortense for a moment. She was wearing a Santa Claus suit just like she said she would. Silk, Bernie judged, and tailored to within an inch of its life. It was very upscale.
“That could have been me,” Libby said.
Bernie turned and looked at her. Libby was wringing her hands.
“How do you figure that?”
“I almost opened the oven,” Libby explained. “I wanted to.”
“The operative word here is almost,” Bernie replied while Consuela made the sign of the cross.
“It wasn’t your time,” she said.
There was no arguing with that, Bernie thought as she turned back to take a good look at Hortense’s body.
“How can you do that?” Libby demanded.
“Look at her?”
“Yes.”
Bernie shrugged. “Because I can.”
Libby was the sensitive one in the family, not her. Although she had to say, Hortense was not a thing of beauty at the moment. But then, of course, no one would look good when they’re covered with cookie dough, red and green sprinkles, fruitcake, and shards of what to Bernie appeared to be Christmas ornaments peppering one’s chest. She looked at the glass pinecones on the table; then she looked back at Hortense. Definitely Christmas ornaments. The two browns were a match.
It wasn’t the explosion that had killed Hortense, Bernie reflected. Or at least not directly. No. The coup de grâce had been the piece of glass that was currently sticking out of Hortense’s throat. Obviously it had sliced through Hortense’s carotid artery. Death had been instantaneous. Or as close to it as you could get.
“I think we’d better call the police,” Bernie said, interrupting Eric Royal, Hortense’s personal assistant, who was in the middle of flinging his arms about and shrieking, “The blood, oh my God, the blood and around Christmastime too.”
“So this would be better if it happened in the summer?” Bernie asked.
Fortunately Eric hadn’t heard her, probably because Brittany was screaming so loudly, Bernie reflected. She sounds like a cat in heat, Bernie decided as she watched Jean La Croix lean over to get a closer look at Hortense.
He shook his head. “This, it is very upsetting,” he said. “Very upsetting. I must get my equilibrium back.”
Brittany stopped screeching and turned to La Croix.
How she’d heard him Bernie didn’t know.
“It’s always about the great La Croix, isn’t it?” Brittany charged.
La Croix straightened the lapels of his jacket. “Art supersedes everything.”
Consuela butted in. “Maybe that’s true,” she told him, “but you’re not an artist, you’re a cook.”
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“In my hands, food becomes art,” La Croix replied stiffly.
“That’s enough,” Bernie said as Consuela rolled her eyes.
She was about to say something else when Estes said, “Hortense said she felt something bad was coming. She said she felt as though a tragedy was stalking her. She was psychic, you know.”
“No, I didn’t,” Bernie replied. She’d heard Hortense called many things but psychic wasn’t one of them.
“She was. In fact, she was planning on going to a Hindu temple to ask the priests to say prayers so that they would remove the curse she felt had been placed on her and her show.”
Eric raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s true,” Estes insisted.
“If you say so.” Eric turned to Bernie and Libby. “She did say she was glad you were here in case anything happened.”
“That proves my point,” Estes said.
“She was being sarcastic,” Bernie told him.
Estes spread his arms out. “How can you say that, given the circumstances?”
“Fine,” Bernie replied. She wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Why don’t we let the police decide.”
“The police,” Estes echoed.
“That’s what I said,” Bernie replied. She watched Estes sneak a glimpse at his watch before gesturing toward the stove. The oven door was now a mass of tangled metal.
Estes sniffed. “Obviously the stove exploded.”
“Obviously it did,” Bernie agreed. That was undeniable. The question was why had it exploded? Come to think of it, what was Hortense doing in here anyway? “But even if it is an accident, you still have to call the police,” she told Estes.
Estes rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “First of all, I know that,” he told her. “I’m not a moron. And second of all, I resent your implication.”
“What implication?”
“The implication present in your statement, ‘even if it is an accident.’ How can it be anything else?”
“Easy,” Bernie replied as she squatted down next to Hortense. “Someone could have booby-trapped the oven.”
“Perhaps you’re saying that to puff yourself up.”
“Puff myself up?”
“Make yourself important.”
“I know what you mean,” Bernie snapped.
“Good,” Estes shot back.
This is going nowhere, Bernie thought as she gingerly reached into the breast pocket of Hortense’s Santa suit.
“What are you doing?” Libby squawked.
“Seeing if anything is there,” Bernie answered.
“Like what?”
“Like the list,” Bernie said without turning her head. The pocket was empty.
“The list of ingredients isn’t here,” she told her sister.
“So what?”
Bernie heard her left knee crack as she got up. She’d better get back to the gym.
“Remember Hortense said the list was in her pocket.”
“That was the pocket of her robe. Why assume she was carrying it on her now?”
“Of course she’d have it on her now. We’re going on the air soon.”
“She might have just been saying that,” Libby pointed out.
Bernie was about to answer but before she could, Estes jumped in.
“Let me get this right,” he said. “Are you saying Hortense was deliberately killed for the list of ingredients for the cook-off?”
“It’s a possibility,” Bernie said.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of,” Consuela scoffed.
“An insult to our abilities,” Jean La Croix huffed.
“And our morals,” Pearl added.
“I never saw this list you’re talking about,” Eric Royal added. “It’s in the safe.”
Bernie rubbed her knee. “Maybe she took it out.”
“I would have known if she had,” Eric Royal insisted.
“Well, all I know is that she told me she had it,” Bernie retorted. “Right, Consuela?”
“Right,” Consuela said sullenly.
“Eric, maybe you should go check.”
“I don’t know.”
Bernie watched Estes give Eric a nod.
“Go ahead,” he told him.
Eric was back five minutes later. From the look on his face, Bernie knew he wasn’t going to be delivering good news. And he didn’t.
“It’s not there,” Eric told Estes.
“It could be somewhere else,” Libby said.
“It could be,” Bernie conceded, but she didn’t think it would be.
Chapter 5
Suddenly everyone in the room started talking at once. Bernie felt like putting her hands over her ears to block out the noise.
“Quiet!” Estes yelled.
Everyone shut up. I need a drink, Bernie thought as she watched the sweat beading up on Estes’ forehead. It was hot in the room, but not that hot. Maybe the guy had high blood pressure.
“What do you mean the list isn’t there?” Estes asked Eric.
“I checked the safe and Hortense’s desk. I couldn’t find it,” Eric squeaked.
Estes sniffed. “Well go and look again.”
“Don’t,” Bernie said.
Estes stared at her.
“What do you mean don’t?” he demanded.
“You’re disturbing a possible crime scene. Don’t you watch Law and Order?”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. For your information, my cousin helps produce that show. Furthermore, just because you were involved in a couple of cases doesn’t make you an expert. Far from. You don’t know it’s a crime scene,” Estes told her. “There are lots of explanations for the list not being there.”
“You keep saying that,” Bernie told him. “I’d like to hear what they are.”
Brittany clapped her hands together.
“People, people, we need to focus here. What are we going to do with the list gone?”
“We don’t know it’s gone,” Estes replied.
“But if someone read it …” La Croix’s voice trailed off.
Everyone was quiet as they all contemplated the implications of that.
“We’ll make a new one,” Estes said.
“Who will?” Consuela gestured toward Hortense with her chin. “She’s dead.”
“And that’s the point,” Bernie said as she grabbed the conversational ball. “We have to call the police.”
Estes scowled. “Of course we will. We have to. But let’s think about the show.”
“I think we should think about Hortense.”
“I never said we shouldn’t. All I’m saying is that there are big bucks tied up in this show. I’m just trying to protect everyone’s investment.”
It always comes down to money, Bernie thought as Consuela said, “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
Estes made a face. “Save your sanctimonious act for someone else.”
Bernie could see Consuela bristling. “Sanctimonious act? How dare you?”
“Easy,” Estes said, but before he could say anything else, Pearl Wilde tapped him on the wrist. He turned to face her.
“Where do you keep the cleaning supplies?” she asked him.
“Just a minute,” Estes told her as he glanced around the room.
He looks relieved that he has something else to talk about, Bernie reflected as Estes’ eyes lit on Eric Royal.
“Eric, can you answer Pearl’s question?” he asked him.
Eric Royal gestured to the sink. “Under there.” Then he laid the back of his hand on his forehead. “I can’t believe this,” he said. “I told her not to bake those cookies. I told her there wasn’t time. But Hortense insisted. She was like that. I told her I’d go check on them. But she said no. She’s always having to do everything herself. And now she’s dead,” Eric Royal concluded.
Unlike Brittany Saperstein’s, all that Eric’s performance lacked, Bernie thought uncharitably, was some glycerin tears and a
swoon onto the floor. But it wasn’t fair to compare them, because Brittany wasn’t even trying. Bernie watched Brittany looking around the room. Her eyes went everywhere but to Hortense.
“Estes is right. We have to think about the show,” Brittany said.
“How can you think about that at a time like this?” Eric demanded.
“Oh, come on. Be honest. Everyone is,” Brittany said as the sounds of “Disco Duck” floated out of her handbag.
“Those things should be outlawed,” Estes growled.
Interesting, Bernie thought as Brittany opened her bag. Very interesting that Brittany had had the presence of mind in the middle of the pandemonium that the explosion had caused to bring her bag along with her. That spoke of a pretty cool character or preknowledge.
Estes made a grab for Brittany’s handbag.
“I’m going to throw that thing out.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Brittany told Estes as she pulled her bag away.
“Then shut that thing off!” Estes bellowed.
Bernie was alarmed to see a vein under Estes’ left eye getting bigger. She hoped he didn’t have a heart attack. Two dead people in five minutes would be a little much.
“Just a sec,” Brittany said as she fished around inside her pocketbook. Finally she found her cell. “Mommy can’t talk right now,” she said into it. “Mommy is busy dealing with a dead person. Well, I’m not sure this one will go to heaven. No, Josefina will take you to the party. Bye, bye, sweetums.” And she clicked off. She was just about to put it back in her bag when Estes grabbed it out of her hand.
“I’ll give it back to you after the show,” Estes told Brittany.
“If there is a show,” Bernie countered as Brittany grabbed her phone back from Estes.
She clutched it to her chest. “Of course there’s going to be a show,” Brittany said.
Bernie gestured toward Hortense’s prone body. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
“No, I’m not. Haven’t you heard that thing about the show must go on?”
“I’m not sure that saying applies to this situation,” Bernie said. She was just about to tell her why when, out of the corner of her eye, Bernie noticed that Pearl was making her way to the sink. She watched Pearl open the cabinet doors.
A Catered Christmas Page 4