Final Fondue (A Five-Ingredient Mystery)

by Maya Corrigan

  Val scanned the women at the tables near the window. “I can’t see all the faces clearly, but no one there has hair like Jennifer’s. Maybe she and Payton ate in the tavern’s back room.”

  Monique pointed at a man whose face was turned away from the window. “This guy was reaching into his pocket when I took this picture. He pulled out his phone and looked at it for a long time. I took pictures of him from a different angle and used my telephoto lens.” She brought up the next photo in the set.

  Val recognized the profile. “That’s Payton. But where’s Jennifer?”

  “You’ll see. These are the next few photos I snapped. I took the whole set within a minute.”

  Val studied the series. Payton put his phone into his pocket. A smiling Jennifer approached the table. He sat back, his arms crossed. She leaned toward him, now down in the mouth. The couple huddled over the table, apparently in a serious discussion.

  “I wish I could have heard their conversation,” Val said.

  “Judging by the next picture I took, Noah wished the same thing.” Monique enlarged a thumbnail shot of Noah gazing across the street. “The timestamps on the photos indicate that two minutes have passed since the server delivered the food, and Noah still hasn’t touched it.”

  “Maybe he wanted to see the effect of his text message.” Val could now understand why Noah had discouraged Fawn from joining him for dinner. He couldn’t have watched Jennifer and Payton so intently if Fawn had been there. “It’s possible Payton was reading a message from someone other than Noah.”

  “Anything’s possible, but how likely is it that Payton got a text from someone else at that exact moment? Noah stopped thumbing and put his phone down only seconds before Payton took out his phone and studied the display.”

  Val leaned toward the monitor to peer at the thumbnail images. “Did you take any other photos on Locust Lane?” When Monique enlarged the pictures, Val looked for anyone resembling Fawn, Sarina, Payton’s ex, or his mother. No luck. “Some people walking on the lane wore crab hats. Noah’s the only person wearing a crab hat at a restaurant. Eating with those claws hanging down wouldn’t be easy.”

  “It’s creepy to think about the best man stalking the bride and groom. Is he jealous?”

  “Probably. He was going out with Jennifer before Payton replaced him.” Val stared at the photo of Noah watching the engaged couple. If they’d looked out the window, they could have seen him, but not necessarily recognized him. “I just realized something that should have occurred to me earlier. All along, I’ve thought that the crab hat could have obscured the victim’s identity from the strangler. Now I know that a crab hat could also disguise a stalker . . . and even a murderer.”

  Chapter 20

  As Val drove from her cousin’s house to the Cool Down Café, she thought about the advantages of a crab hat as a disguise. With so many people wearing the souvenir hats on Friday night, the killer could have blended in with the crowd at the fireworks and trailed Fawn to Granddad’s house. If Fawn had glanced behind her, the combination of darkness and a face-obscuring hat might have kept her from recognizing someone she knew. No one along the route would pay close attention to one crab-hat wearer walking behind another one.

  After the murder, Granddad had asked the wedding group if they’d worn crab hats. What Val had learned since that night gave her a new perspective on the wedding group’s responses to that question.

  Sarina had said she hadn’t worn the hat, intending it as a gift. The next day she refused to don the souvenir hat even briefly for the wedding group photos Monique had taken. Maybe Sarina realized that a photo of her in a crab hat might jog the memory of someone who’d seen her wear one the night of the murder.

  Noah had also said he was saving the hat as a gift. Yet he’d worn the hat while eating dinner across the lane from Jennifer and Payton, just hours before the murder.

  According to Jennifer, she’d worn the crab hat, removed it for her dinner with Payton, and put it on again afterwards because it was easier to wear than carry. That story had sounded believable on Friday night, but now that Val knew Jennifer had gone back to the house with Payton, the last part of the story rang false. Jennifer could have simply left the crab hat at the house. Instead, she’d worn it to the fireworks. Because she’d gotten into the festival spirit? Or because the hat would make her hard to recognize?

  Other people might have wanted to disguise themselves that night. Payton’s ex-girlfriend, Whitney, could have worn a hat to spy on him and later lie in wait for Jennifer at the house. And Whitney was the likeliest person to mistake Fawn for Jennifer. Finally, Chief Yardley’s favorite suspect, Fawn’s husband, could have donned a hat to keep Fawn from recognizing him when he followed her back to the house after the fireworks.

  Whether or not the killer had worn a crab hat as a disguise, Val still had no answer to the question that had occurred to her immediately after the murder—who was the intended victim? Fawn, if her husband had been the strangler. Jennifer, if Whitney had been the strangler. As for the others in the wedding party, Val could only guess at their motives for wanting either woman dead.

  She parked in the lot at the racket and fitness club and walked quickly to the entrance, catching up with a woman headed in the same direction. “Hi, Yumiko.”

  “Happy to see you, Val.” The club’s tennis manager smiled broadly. “The doubles group wasn’t the same without you and Monique playing with us on Saturday. I heard many people say they were sorry the café was closed this weekend. I missed your coffee and muffins.”

  “I’ll make coffee and put out some nibbles, if you want to stop by. Tell anyone who asks about the café to drop in. I’ll be there for another hour or two.”

  Over the past two days Val had made four times as much at the booth as she earned on an average weekend, but she’d missed the conversation and camaraderie that made her work at the café so enjoyable. Most of the people she’d served this weekend had been strangers. They’d walked away from the booth after picking up their food. It wasn’t the same as serving food to the café regulars, her friends and tennis teammates, who hung around to talk.

  For the tourists and the locals involved in the festival, this was the last day. For the locals not involved in the festival, this was Monday. They had regular tennis games scheduled, aerobics sessions, and yoga classes.

  Val preheated the oven, made coffee, and ate a pecan mini muffin left over from yesterday. She put the remaining ones on a plate as freebies for anyone who stopped by.

  As she made the dough for today’s muffins, a bartender who worked out regularly at the club came into the café for coffee. He told her that the chef who’d judged the cook-off had spent Friday night in the bar, drinking and ranting about how she’d destroyed his car and nearly killed him.

  “How long was he there?” Val said.

  “All night. From seven ’til ten or ten thirty. He drank so much he had trouble walking.”

  Earlier Val had all but crossed Henri off her list of murder suspects. Now she could do that with certainty. He’d been occupied with alcohol while Fawn was strangled. Val still held him responsible for the voodoo doll and the firecrackers, though she had no proof he’d played those juvenile dirty tricks.

  While the muffins baked, she chopped fruit and vegetables for the salads. The bartender left, and two women from her tennis team dropped in for coffee before going out on the court. The pace this weekend reminded her of the hectic life that she used to lead in New York . . . and that she could return to. But why would she want to? She could come up with only one reason—to redeem her reputation as a cookbook publicist. She’d left under a cloud and now she could return triumphant, but was that ego boost worth giving up her friends and family here?

  Val sensed someone at the counter behind her.

  “I’m glad I found you alone, Val.”

  Gunnar. Her heart leapt. She turned around.

  He wasn’t smiling the way he usually did when he saw her. “I’m r
eally sorry for being a jerk. I was wrong.”

  She released the breath she’d been holding. “No, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. And you’re not a jerk.”

  He sat at the counter. “I acted like one. I had trouble believing you’d prefer me to Tony. He’s like the star of the show, and I’m the understudy who’ll never get a chance to take his place.”

  “I felt the same way about your ex-fiancée when I saw her.” Val walked around the counter, sat on the stool next to his, and reached for his hand. “The only thing that matters is that we’re stars to each other. By the way, I decided to turn down the job offer in New York.”

  He studied her face. “Are you sure? I’d like you to stay in Bayport, but if that’s the right job for your career, you should take it.”

  “It’s not the right job for me now. It would be a step back. I enjoy what I’m doing here better.”

  Yumiko and the reception desk manager came into the café. Val went behind the counter, poured coffee for them and Gunnar, and passed the muffins around. She took out the ingredients for apple turnovers—the dough she’d thawed overnight, the filling she’d made yesterday.

  “Anything new on the murder?” Gunnar asked when the club staffers left.

  As Val cut the dough into squares, she told him about the intimidating text message Jennifer received and about Noah spying while wearing a crab hat.

  “You figure Noah’s hung up on Jennifer?”

  Val put apple filling in a dough square and folded the dough into triangles. “Yes, and I’ve been hung up on triangles all weekend. Not just Jennifer, Payton, and Noah, but also Payton, Jennifer, and Whitney. She’s Payton’s ex-girlfriend. A Noah-Fawn-Sarina triangle also occurred to me, but Sarina doesn’t show a lot of interest in Noah. Of course, she’d want to hide her interest for a while if she eliminated Fawn as a rival.”

  “It’s hard to escape a pattern once it settles in your mind. It pops up everywhere.”

  Val stopped making dough triangles and looked into his eyes. He was talking about the triangle that had obsessed him this weekend, the one involving her, Tony, and himself. “Not everything, or everyone, fits into a three-sided box. You and I don’t, and neither do my mother and the chief.”

  “I know that now. I’m throwing out all my three-sided boxes.”

  The smile that transformed his face warmed her all over. Too bad she couldn’t act on the stirrings she was feeling inside. Too many other things to do now. Focus on the strangling. “I’m not ready yet to throw out the three-sided boxes the wedding group fits into, though last night I heard a story that gave me a new angle on the murder.” She told him what Fawn’s mother had said about the death of a bicyclist beneath the wheels of Jennifer’s car.

  Gunnar raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That happened ten years ago. How does it explain a murder here and now?”

  Val rearranged the turnovers to fit more of them on the baking sheets. “It doesn’t, unless this is the anniversary of the accident. Maybe someone’s been brooding on it and finally sprang into action. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything online about a car hitting a bicyclist near Franklin, the town where Jennifer and Fawn were high school friends. I also checked the surrounding counties and nearby cities. Nothing turned up.”

  “You could have been looking for information in the wrong part of the state. Indiana has two towns named Franklin. Virginia might have more than one Franklin.”

  “I’ll look into that. It’s also possible Fawn’s mother forgot the details and called a motorcycle a bicycle. I was too tired to do a thorough search last night, but I should have time later. Do you have any free time today? My mother is taking my place at the booth.”

  “I have a meeting with a new accounting client at noon. Otherwise, I’m at your disposal.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Chocolate fondue. In Granddad’s backyard. I want to run through what happened the night of the murder.”

  “That’s really romantic.”

  Val laughed and glanced toward the café entrance. “Here comes Bethany. Time for us to go into high gear on making the food for the booth.”

  Gunnar stayed at the counter, talking with her and Bethany for ten minutes. Then he stood up. “I’ll see you later, Val. What time do you want me at your grandfather’s house?”

  “A quarter to eleven.” That would give her time to make sure the booth was operating smoothly before leaving it in her mother’s and Bethany’s hands. And he’d have plenty of time to make his business meeting.

  * * *

  Five minutes before Gunnar was due to arrive at the house, Val chopped up a bar of dark chocolate. She reversed the cooking tradition in the house and simplified Granddad’s recipe, melting the chocolate with cream in the microwave for a fast fondue. Granddad shook his head in disgust and told her it wouldn’t turn out right if she cut corners. How often had she said the same thing to him when he pared down her recipes to five ingredients?

  She stirred the melted chocolate. “This isn’t going to be a gourmet experience. It’s a prop for a crime reenactment Gunnar and I are going to do in the backyard.”

  “Hmph. You didn’t have to waste good chocolate on that. And why do you need him anyway? You and I could have recreated the crime without an actor.”

  “Sarina and Noah are still upstairs. Payton and Jennifer may show up here. You have to keep them all away from the back windows. I don’t want them to see what we’re doing.” Fortunately, only the kitchen and her bedroom above it had windows overlooking the backyard.

  Granddad looked less grumpy, now that he had a role to play. “I’ll make sure your mother locked your bedroom door from the outside when she left. Then no one can go in there and watch what you’re doing from the window.” He went up the staircase by the kitchen and came down a minute later, carrying the barking motion detector. “The door’s locked. Here’s my plan. I’m going to hang around the front hall. If Noah and Sarina come downstairs or if Payton drives Jennifer back here, I’ll keep them away from the back of the house. I’ll also set up RoboFido at the base of the staircase here. If anyone sneaks down, Fido will bark to alert me.”

  “That’ll certainly scare away whoever is coming down the back stairs.” She laughed as she poured the melted chocolate into a bowl. “By the way, you can stop worrying about Chef Henri coming after me. He didn’t mistake Fawn for me and strangle her. He was drinking at a bar Friday night.”

  “I stopped worrying about him yesterday. He checked out of his hotel and drove north.”

  “How do you know?” She scraped the chocolate from the pot with a wooden spoon.

  “I got Ned to tail him.”

  Val dropped the spoon she was about to offer Granddad to lick. Chocolate splattered on the counter. “You involved Ned in your sleuthing again?”

  “He offered to keep an eye on the chef. Ned’s very fond of you. He lost the chef for a while on Saturday, but he stuck with him on Sunday.”

  The doorbell rang as Val was wiping the chocolate off the counter. “That must be Gunnar. I’ll get it.”

  She brought him back to the kitchen. Granddad gave him a more cordial welcome than usual. Chocolate wasn’t the only thing melting in the kitchen. Now might be a good time to mention her mother’s plan. “Mom wants to take all three of us to lunch when the booth closes at two. Can you make it, Gunnar?”

  He nodded. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “And I’m looking forward to eating steak,” Granddad said, “since I didn’t get it last night.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Granddad. Mom’s planning lunch at the crab house.”

  “That’s okay too. Crabs are even better than steak.”

  Granddad set up the barking sentry as Gunnar and Val adjourned to the yard to reenact Fawn’s final fondue.

  Chapter 21

  Val put a plate of strawberries, a bowl of melted chocolate, and a fondue fork on the picnic table in the backyard. Sh
e gave Gunnar an old clothesline she’d found in the shed. “Can you make a rope that looks like the one we saw in the maze? I know the clothesline is thicker than that rope, but it won’t matter for this purpose.”

  Gunnar took out a pocketknife and cut a length of rope. Then he looked up. “We’d better make this fast. It looks like a storm is coming.”

  She watched the clouds race across the sky. “It might blow over.” She pulled a bench close to the table. “Before you arrived, I went online to look for another Franklin in Virginia. No luck. Then I realized no one had actually said the town was in Virginia. I’d assumed it because Jennifer and Fawn both went to college in Virginia. I found a Franklin in West Virginia, close to the Virginia border.”

  “Any hits on an accident that killed a bicyclist there?”

  “None. I checked a map to see where two teenagers from Franklin, West Virginia, might go for a party. James Madison University in Harrisonburg, Virginia, is an hour east of Franklin. That’s where the accident Fawn’s mother described happened. The driver was a minor whose name was withheld. The bicyclist was a student at James Madison. Emilio Alvarez.”

  Gunnar tied a bowline on one end of the rope. “You don’t know for sure Jennifer was the driver.”

  “Right, but everything else fits. Ten years ago. A passenger in the car. The driver absolved of any fault. The bicyclist had entered the intersection without having the right of way.” Now for the exciting part she’d been bursting to tell him. “Someone came forward who’d received a text message from the driver shortly before the accident occurred. But that was discounted as a factor in the accident because the passenger texted the message, using the driver’s cell phone.”

  Gunnar finished tying the second knot. “Who got the message and what did it say?”

  “That will take more digging. I ran out of time, but I’ll go back online when we’re finished here. Payton may be involved somehow. That’s around the time when he met Jennifer. He and Noah were in law school then at the University of Virginia, less than an hour from James Madison University.”