“Hang on a minute,” I said, raising my hand. “The personal chef business seems like a great idea, Cass. It’s something you could easily do on your own. Why do you want to buy into the tearoom and the catering, as well?”
“Because, starting from scratch, it will take at least a year to build the personal chef business to the point where it’s a break-even proposition,” she replied. “But you already have a client list for your catering—which would also be a strong target market for personal culinary services.” She tilted her head, frowning slightly. “But also because I like to cook for people—cook creatively, I mean.” She grinned and spread her hands. “And then there’s you.”
Ruby glanced at me. “Us?”
Cassandra nodded. “Well, sure. That’s a big part of it, maybe the most important thing. I admire you, both of you. You’re smart and you’re focused. You’re working for yourselves, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. You’re living your dream. And you always seem to have so much fun together—for you, work is more like play.”
“Well, it might look like that,” I pointed out, being realistic. “But it doesn’t always feel like play. Mostly, it feels like work—good work, but work just the same. And it doesn’t pay as much as . . . well, lawyering, for instance. Or managing an institutional food service.”
“Oh, I know,” she said. “But it does look like fun, at least from the outside. And money . . . well, let’s just say that it isn’t a big issue with me right now.” Her voice took on a wistful note. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I know I would enjoy working with you. If three wouldn’t be a crowd, that is.”
Ruby smiled at her. “I don’t think that’s an issue,” she said. “In some ways, having a third person—a third committed person, I mean—would be a big help. But she would have to be the right person.”
“Forgive me for saying so,” Cassandra said, “but I think I’m the right person.” She hesitated. “Maybe I sound like a pushy broad—that’s what my husband used to say, anyway. But I believe in being up-front about what I want.”
I studied her. I’m cautious by nature, and I wasn’t sure about taking Cassandra on as a partner. That’s a pretty big step—every bit as big a step as getting married. And in some ways, it’s easier to get a divorce than it is to get out of a partnership that isn’t working.
“I don’t know how Ruby feels about it,” I said guardedly, “but I think I’d want us to work together for a while before we jumped into something as major as a partnership. Maybe we could come up with some sort of trial arrangement that would give us a chance to see what kind of a team we’d make. That way, we can keep all our options open.”
Ruby leaned forward. “Would you be available for cooking in the tearoom when Janet’s not here, Cass? We could work it out so that you’d have some days free to develop the personal chef business.”
“Of course,” Cassandra said promptly. She reached for her briefcase, opened it, and took out two manila folders. “I’ve put together some materials for you to review. My résumé is here, and a business proposal detailing my ideas for the Thymely Gourmet and for participating as a partner. You’ll also find my investment proposal in the package. But if you’re more comfortable taking me on as an employee or a contract person, I’m certainly willing to discuss that option.”
“Spoken like a true negotiator,” I said with a laugh. I had to admire her style. Be clear about what you want, but be willing to dicker over the details.
Cassandra pushed back her chair. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of questions. I do, too, actually. Maybe you could read what I’ve given you, and we can get together again.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Ruby said. She seemed more cheerful, as if Cassandra’s enthusiasm had lifted her spirits. I felt better, too, knowing that we had an alternative to Janet. We agreed to another meeting, and Cassandra said good-bye and went on her way.
“My goodness,” I said, feeling a little stunned. “Talk about perfect timing. If Janet’s knees give out completely, Cassandra might just be the answer.” I frowned. “But I don’t know about a partnership. That seems like a big step, especially when we don’t know her very well.”
“How about if we sit down together and read her stuff and talk it over,” Ruby suggested.
“How about tonight, then? McQuaid’s teaching, and he won’t be home until late. You could have supper with Brian and me.” I grinned. “Lacking a personal chef, we’re having pizza.”
“How about if I come over after supper?” Ruby asked. “I’ve got some errands to do. I meant to take care of them this afternoon, but I figured that shopping should come first.”
“There’s no arguing with that,” I said.
ON the way home, I stopped at Gino’s Italian Pizza Kitchen and got a pizza large enough to feed Brian and me, and then went to Jake’s house to pick up Brian. The sky was gloomy, and the line of low, dark clouds in the northwest seemed to promise another storm.
“Hey, pizza!” Brian said happily, as he jumped into the car. He’d eat it every night of the week, of course, if we’d let him. But he had other things on his mind.
“Did I tell you about the Halloween dance Friday night?” he went on. “Jake and I need a ride, and her folks are going to a party. I said you’d be glad to take us.” He gave me an earnest look. “You will, won’t you?”
“I’m sure we can manage,” I said, which to my mind committed McQuaid equally. “Especially if you’ll guarantee to mow the grass on Saturday morning.” More Mom-speak.
I didn’t mention the lizard until after we got home. Then I went to the freezer, took it out, and put the frozen corpse on the table. “I found this little guy in my bathroom Friday night,” I said. “He was dead.”
Howard Cosell padded into the kitchen to ask about the progress of his dinner. He saw the lizard on the table, and his melancholy expression became even more melancholy than usual.
Brian picked up the lizard and looked at him sadly. “Aw,” he said. “Too bad. Leopold was a good lizard.”
“He might not have died if he’d stayed where he belonged, in his terrarium,” I remarked, as I got out the dog food and put it in a bowl.
Brian considered this. “Well, I don’t know. Leopold was a pretty old lizard. I’ve had him since . . .” He thought. “Since sixth grade. And he could have been a couple of years old when I got him. He probably died of old age.”
“How do you know it’s Leopold?” I asked. I put Howard’s dinner on the floor and got out the cling wrap that we usually use as a shroud on such occasions. Brian and I have buried more frogs and snakes and lizards than I care to count.
“From his foot,” he said, holding Leopold up. “See? One of his toes is gone. Leonard and Lewis have all their toes, and Lewis has an extra one. So this has got to be Leopold.” He sighed as he wrapped Leopold in his shroud. “Guess we better have a funeral after supper, huh?”
Howard was sitting on his haunches, ignoring his dog food and casting meaningful looks in the direction of the pizza. “Absolutely not, Howard,” I said sternly. “Don’t forget those four pounds.”
Howard heaved a resigned sigh, arranged his long ears on either side of his dish, and inhaled his dog food.
With Leopold’s funeral arrangements under control, Brian and I ate our pizza and talked. He’d been away for the weekend, and I wanted to hear about his camping trip. He told me about his various adventures; he’d seen the tracks of a mountain lion, had gone swimming in the Frio River, and had slept out under the stars and listened to the coyotes singing to the full moon. The sorts of things that a Texas boy ought to be doing.
When he was finished, I told him, as matter-of-factly as I could, about Alana Montoya’s conclusion that his caveman had been the victim of a shooting. I wanted him to hear it from me, rather than pick it up from someone else. I didn’t, however, tell him that the skeleton might have been identified. That was still speculative and couldn’t be confirmed until Max Baumeister c
ame up with those X rays.
“He was shot!” Brian’s eyes got big, and he puffed out his cheeks. “Wow! Gosh, Mom, I never expected that!”
“I know,” I said mildly. “It’s kind of a surprise.”
Brian thought about this for a minute. “Next time we’re up at the cave, I’ll ask Doctor Montoya if I can go to her office and see the bullet hole in the skull.”
“Sure,” I said, helping myself to another piece of pizza. It wasn’t likely that Alana would be going back to the cave. She would either submit her resignation or be fired, and somebody else would take over the dig. But I’d leave it to McQuaid to tell Brian about Alana’s situation at the university. After all, he was the one who had confirmed the résumé fraud. I thought fleetingly of Alana and hoped that she would be all right. Going back to Mexico was probably a good idea. She might even be able to find work there, under circumstances where knowledge and experience counted for more than credentials.
Brian wore a troubled look. “Do you know,” he said after a minute, “whether the bullet was still in the . . . the skull?”
“It wasn’t,” I said. “Doctor Montoya identified the exit fracture. Which means,” I added, “that if the man was shot where you found him, the slug and the cartridge case ought to be there somewhere. Sheriff Blackwell said he’d try to get out to the cave to look for it.”
I expected Brian to clamor to go with the sheriff, but he said nothing, just ate the last of his pizza reflectively, his eyes on the enshrouded lizard that occupied a place of honor beside the pizza.
We held the funeral after dinner. Howard offered to be the pallbearer and carry Leopold in his mouth, but Brian and I agreed that this was not a good idea. We buried Leopold beneath a rosemary bush. Brian always likes to say a few words of farewell over the departed. Myself, I don’t mourn much, since my relationship with these creatures is usually an adversarial one. But I respect Brian’s feelings, so I bowed my head while he said softly, “Good-bye, Leopold. You were a good lizard. I’m glad you lived long enough to get old. I hope you enjoyed your life.”
We had just finished putting a very large rock over Leopold to keep Howard from paying his last respects, when Brian said, “I’ve got something to give you, Mom.” He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and put it into my hand. An empty brass cartridge casing.
“What’s this?” I asked, turning it over in my fingers.
“It’s a bullet.”
“Let me rephrase the question,” I said. “Where did you get this cartridge casing? And why are you giving it to me?”
In the distance, thunder rumbled. The line of low clouds in the north had risen, mushrooming into a gray-blue mass. The promised storm would be here before long.
“Well . . .” Brian looked sheepish. “I found it in the cave. Not far from where I found the skeleton.”
“Oh, my gosh, Brian,” I said. “The cave is a crime scene. Why didn’t you give the casing to the sheriff?”
“It wasn’t a crime scene when I found the bones,” Brian said defensively. “And I didn’t know that the guy had been shot until you told me just now.” He looked down and scuffed the ground with the toe of his sneaker. “At first I thought he died when the rock fell on him. Then I thought that somebody bashed him in the head. I never figured that the bullet was . . .” He glanced at me unhappily. “I hope Dad and the sheriff aren’t going to be too mad at me.” He bit his lip. Being the son of an ex-cop, he knows what his father is likely to say about something like this.
I composed my face in a stern look and put on my lawyer’s voice. “Removing evidence from a crime scene . . .”
“But I didn’t mean to,” he said desperately. “Really, I didn’t!”
I saw the look on his face and relented. “I think it’ll be okay,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. “The shooting happened a long time ago, and this is a cold case. The fact that you’ve had the casing probably won’t make any difference in the way the investigation is handled.”
There was a flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. Brian gave me a grateful look, cast a good-bye glance at Leopold’s grave, and we went into the house.
I sent Brian upstairs to do his homework under the watchful eye of Howard Cosell and went into the kitchen, where I turned the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea. Ruby had promised to stop by after supper, and she’d be here any minute.
While I was waiting, I examined the casing. Turning it up and looking at the base, I could make out the letters USCC and a number, 18. Greek to me, but Blackie would be able to decipher it. I put the casing into a plastic bag with a zipper top and stuck it in my purse. I’d drop it off at the sheriff’s office on my way to the shop in the morning.
Ruby arrived about ten minutes later, just as darkness fell and the rain began to come down hard. “Whew,” she said, shaking herself like a damp puppy. “It’s wet out there!”
“Looks like you’re dressed for it,” I said, as Ruby peeled out of her raincoat. She was wearing the blue batik top, blue-and-green print pants, green sandals, and the blue beads she’d gotten at the mall that afternoon, plus her mermaid earrings. “The underwater look.”
Ruby made a graceful pirouette. “Lovely, isn’t it? And such a bargain!”
Bargains are always good for Ruby’s morale. “You look like a mermaid,” I said, “or a strand of kelp. Want some tea? The kettle’s hot.”
“Lovely,” Ruby replied, and sat down at the kitchen table, arranging the blue drapery around her. She took Cassandra’s folder out of her bag and put it on the table. “Have you had a chance to look over Cass’s proposal yet?”
I shook my head, filling the large tea ball and dropping it into the teapot. Might as well make several cups while I was at it. “I was guest of honor at a lizard funeral. Leopold died.”
Ruby chuckled at that. She’s aware of Brian’s creature passions. “I haven’t read it, either,” she said. “We can do it together.”
Which we did, for, oh, maybe five minutes, while the rain pelted the windows. And then there was a sudden glare of blue-white lightning and a thunderous crash so close that it rattled the windows. The lights flickered like wind-blown candles, came back on, and then went out, decisively. The kitchen was plunged into darkness as rain hammered against the windows and wind howled in the trees. Somewhere nearby, there was a splintery crack, the sound of a tree breaking and going down. We don’t lose our power very often, but I had the feeling that it might be a while before the Pedernales Electric Coop got the lights back on.
From upstairs, Brian called reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Mom. I can still do my homework. I’ve got a flashlight.”
“Resourceful kid,” Ruby said.
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s on his good behavior right now.” I went to the cupboard, took out the matches, and lit two fat cinnamon candles. I took them to the table and sat down. “Well, what do you think about Cassandra’s idea, Ruby? Seems to me—”
But that was as far as I got. I was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone on the wall. Ruby pushed her chair back.
“While you get that,” she said, picking up one of the candles, “I’m going to visit the little girl’s room.”
Ack. “Don’t flush unless you have to,” I said. “With the electricity off, the pump won’t work. There’s only one flush left in each toilet, and we should probably save it for an emergency.”
“Gotcha,” Ruby said cheerfully.
The caller was Helen Berger. “I suppose you know that I couldn’t talk when you phoned this afternoon,” she said. “There were other people at the nurses’ station.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “Thanks for calling back.”
“You were . . . you were asking about Miss Obermann,” Helen said hesitantly.
“That’s right. I heard Florence died of a heart attack. I wondered whether you had any details.”
“A few.” Helen’s tone was guarded. “In the night, she began suffering severe abdomi
nal pain, nausea, and vomiting. I came on the floor at eight, just after she began to experience cardiac dysrhythmia and hypotension—low blood pressure. She went into cardiac shock and died at nine-thirty.”
“I . . . see,” I said, frowning. “Was this . . . was the attack something that might have been expected, given her heart condition?”
“Heart condition?”
“Her sister mentioned several times that Florence had a bad heart.”
“That’s odd.” Helen sounded puzzled. “Doctor Mackey—Miss Obermann’s personal physician didn’t note that in the chart, or point it out to any of the nursing staff. She and I went back over the medications together this morning, thinking that the attack might have been caused by an allergic reaction to one of the drugs. She didn’t say anything about a heart condition then, either.”
I had a sudden feeling of urgency. “Has an autopsy been ordered?”
A pause. “Yes.”
Yes. There was a world of meaning in that single word. If the attending physician had been certain that Florence Obermann had died of natural causes, she would have signed the death certificate, the local justice of the peace would have countersigned, and Florence Obermann’s body would have been released to her sister. The fact that an autopsy had been ordered—
“Helen,” I said, “what’s your feeling about this situation?”
Another pause. When Helen finally answered, her voice was uneasy. “I wish you wouldn’t ask me that, China. I’m sure you appreciate my professional position.” She cleared her throat. “The autopsy report will be ready in a few days. I doubt that my feelings will have any material affect on its outcome. I just wanted you to know because . . .”
The silence stretched out.
“You wanted me to know,” I said quietly, “because you didn’t feel comfortable keeping this knowledge to yourself.”
She sighed heavily. “I guess that’s it. You and Ruby sent flowers and visited. In fact, you were the only visitors that poor woman had—except for her sister, of course.” She hesitated, as if she were searching for the right words. “It’s the way . . . the way she died, China. There’s something—” She swallowed audibly. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about this some more, I guess.”
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