Interesting that she was always getting in my way. It was almost enough to make me put her on the suspect list.
After rattling off a half dozen more insulting “guidelines,” she finally bounced out to help wrangle the kids in David’s photo shoot.
Daffodil walked out to the dining room to serve drinks and appetizers, and I was left with Landon, who’d finished seasoning his fish and was washing his hands.
I decided it was an excellent opportunity to gain some info from him while improving the dessert.
“Landon? I’m worried these cherry pies will be too ‘one note’ in their flavor profile with cherry ice cream. Can you taste them and let me know what you think?” I put on my best damsel-in-need-of-a-man’s-opinion face, with wide eyes and a hopeful expression.
Landon glanced up from the sink and fell right into my trap.
“Oh yeah, your palate’s right,” he said after the first bite. I let him shove the rest of the minipie into his mouth. “So, I do have a pure vanilla bean ice—”
“Who killed Ashlee?” I interrupted, knowing we had seconds till he was back on food.
Landon smiled a lazy smile. “I’m thrilled you asked for my opinion, Hazel, because I have a crush on you.”
Er . . . what? This was not what I expected him to say. People didn’t just up and get crushes on me. I was the cake baker, the sidekick. On a good day.
“You’re so pretty,” he said, looking down shyly.
“I—er—about Ashlee,” I stuttered.
Landon shrugged. “I don’t really care who offed that stuck-up gold digger. I like a woman who works for a living. With her hands, not other parts if you know what I mean.”
“I’m sure I don’t,” I muttered, blushing.
“You’re the real thing, Hazel. Wow, there’s even a dusting of flour in your hair.” Landon reached out to touch my hair. His meaty hand felt strong, rough, unwelcome.
I pulled back. “Stop it.”
Landon seemed to remember where he was. “Oh geez, sorry, I don’t know what got into me. Please don’t tell Marina. She’s been through so much lately already, with that crazy assistant of Ashlee’s implying she was having an affair with Drew. She might think I believed it and was getting even, or something.” He shook his head like a dog with water stuck in his ears, and I knew the potion was spent. “Vanilla,” he cried out helplessly. To him it was probably the last thing we were talking about that made sense. “Let’s go with vanilla ice cream for the pies.”
“Perfect.” I smiled up at him. “I knew you’d come up with a great solution.”
Then, to spare us both even more awkwardness, I excused myself to use the restroom.
I stared in the bathroom mirror. Well, I’d done about all the sleuthing I could do in the kitchen—and what had I uncovered?
One: that I wasn’t the only one nursing a harmless (?) crush.
Two: before she abruptly quit, Ashlee’s assistant had accused Marina of something serious. Sleeping with Ashlee’s then fiancée Drew. Yet, when I saw her right after the assistant quit, she’d showed no signs of being skittish about marrying Drew. Had she not believed it? Or was she such a pure, heartless gold digger that she didn’t care? Or . . . what if the information had never gotten to Ashlee at all? Was it possible that the assistant had been intercepted and fired before she could tell her boss her suspicions? If you believed Drew, the Kensingtons had never fired anyone in a hundred years.
But I was no longer content to believe Drew about anything.
I texted Max: At the Kensington’s. Got a lead on Drew, possible affair with assistant Marina. Can’t believe I’m saying this but . . . do you think you could ‘go flying’ into his suite to check it out?
The response came instantly: Not a good time. Kade admitted to making fake IDs for Ashlee so she could leave Drew and start a new life. Driving him to a safe location to wait till the killer’s found.
Holy goodness. So that’s what those papers were in Max’s car. And now Max was helping Kade skip town? Things were getting real.
And I was definitely on my own here at Kensington Manor.
That’s when it occurred to me that the little bag of invisibility mints was still in my purse. I could do some spying myself.
Max would be so proud.
I chewed a mint and watched in wonder as my mirror image poofed. Like sunsets and recreationally popping Bubble Wrap, some witch tricks never got old.
Opening the door a crack at first, I made sure the hallway was clear and then tiptoed right into the parlor where David’s photo shoot was in full swing.
The kids—three bouncy preschoolers—were indeed cute in their ladybug costumes. David seemed to be having fun photographing them while Leeza looked as driven as ever in her role as his assistant, making silly faces at the children and running in to wipe faces and brush hair. What was her deal, was she just a consummate pro, or was she guarding some big family secret?
I tiptoed into the dining room. The family was gathered at the table and did a prayer in front of the spread.
“Loving God,” Estelle’s rich voice intoned. “Please cherish dear Ashlee’s soul, heal our son’s wounded heart, and restore peace to our grieving home.”
Beautiful prayer, but it struck me as odd that she was the one leading it and not Fred, the man of the house. Guess the Kensingtons were more progressive than I thought.
“Amen,” everyone murmured. Except for Fred, who was busy casting flirty looks in Daffodil’s direction as she served him a romaine, blue cheese, cherries, and walnut salad. To my horror, he escalated to making kissy faces at the girl—right in front of his wife, who was blowing out the prayer candle. Everyone else pretended not to see what Fred was doing. Daffodil looked like a deer in headlights. I wondered if she’d be quitting soon.
Man, that guy was as lower than a snake’s belly.
I was relieved to see that Sammy Boy wasn’t in the room. Now that I knew Fred was a dog kicker, I felt protective of Estelle’s pup.
Suddenly I realized Drew wasn’t in the room either. Wasn’t present at a dinner in honor of his dead wife. “Wounded heart” indeed. Where the heck was he, out partying at some nightclub?
His was definitely the first room I’d check for clues.
The house had its own lift, whose doors probably opened right into people’s bedroom suites, in an ordinal person’s attempt to be as cool as witches with our dematerialization spells. But it’s not like people—by which I mean Leeza—wouldn’t notice an empty lift going up and down. I was stuck taking the stairs . . . or so I thought until I saw a uniformed housemaid heading into the lift.
I tiptoed in after her as quickly as I could, squeezing myself all the way to the edge of the elevator car to avoid bumping into her cleaning cart. She got off on the third floor and pushed the cart into a glam looking sitting area, complete with a wet bar heavy in its whiskey selections.
Seriously, there were so many potted trees and hanging strings of lights and metallic accents up in here that it looked like a trendy outdoor bistro.
I had to tail the housemaid really close so I wouldn’t get stuck in the elevator heading down again. Luckily she knew her business and walked with purpose right up to a closed door.
I knew I’d struck gold when I heard her knock and call out, “Mr. Drew?”
“You can come in, Elsa.” It was Marina. “He is out . . . I was just . . . organizing his personal effects for him.”
Yikes, she sounded nervous. She really wasn’t a good liar. Instantly suspicious that Ashlee’s assistant had been right, I pushed into the bedroom after the maid as soon as she’d unlocked the door with a key from her giant ring.
Elsa began to make up the bed, and Marina ducked into the bathroom.
I followed, very nearly getting swatted by the closing door.
Whoa. I was thinking I would have to be super careful where I stood, but this bathroom was the size of my whole house, no kidding.
I lurked at one end of the long sw
eeping vanity counter. There was a separate door for the toilet, and a big-screen TV on the wall so you could watch from the enormous round tub filled with bubbles.
I looked away as Marina disrobed, flinging her clothes onto the heated floor, and settled into the tub with a sigh of pleasure.
The door to the toilet area opened and Drew Kensington walked out in a tan silk bathrobe, one hand behind his back. “You ready for this, Marina?”
“Always.” She smiled like someone who was about to open a big present.
This really was not looking good.
For Landon, at least. For me and my investigation, things were heating up as nicely as the steaming tub Marina was luxuriating in.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” Drew said.
Oh, geez, what was I in for now? I’d have to have Britt wipe my mind, assuming her compulsion powers extended that far.
But when Marina obeyed, Drew popped a tiny chocolate into her mouth. “Good old sativa, guaranteed to pump up creativity,” he said with a smile. So he’d just offered her a pot edible? Those were legal in Oregon, though Blue Moon Bay didn’t have its own shop. If they did, our bakery might be doing better what with all the people suffering from munchies.
“Mmm, thanks, boss.”
“Well, enjoy your me-time in the big tub.” Drew pointed to the side of the tub where a whiteboard sat with dry-erase pens. “I know you always have your best design ideas in here. Investing in employees’ strengths is one of the core values of Kensington Industries.”
Me-time? Now I was totally confused. Drew was just pampering his assistant by offering her the spa-like experience of his bathtub? To enhance her creativity?
“You’re the best boss ever.”
I had to agree with that assessment.
He shrugged her off. “Hey, you’re the best assistant ever. Oh, by the way, did you file those reports from—”
“Yep.”
“Cool, thanks.”
There was no sexual tension between them whatsoever.
The maid knocked loudly. “Marina?”
“Come back in an hour please, Elsa,” Marina called. “I’m organizing . . . bathroom . . . things.”
Man, I could really see how a rumor could get started that these two were having an affair. Elsa muttered loudly to herself as the cart rolled away.
“Coast is clear now.” Drew ducked his head affably. “Time for me to go back to hiding from another awkward dinner event, where all the guests are staring at me to see if they think I’m capable of murder. Why does my mother insist on these outdated mourning rituals?”
Marina made a cluck of sympathy as he headed for the door behind her.
I’d just jumped out of his path when Drew turned abruptly and lunged at Marina from behind.
I saw his fangs come out just before he clamped them down on her pale neck. He covered her mouth to stifle her cry of pain, and took a long drink. Too long.
Stop it, I thought, realizing I was holding my own breath. If he went on much longer she’d be missing too much blood.
Marina slumped a little, and I was about to scream just to make it all end—though doing so could make my life end—when he breathed out a sigh. Didn’t sound like pleasure exactly. Just relief. He must have been super hungry.
What was happening to this town lately? Was I the only person from high school who wasn’t a freakin’ vampire now?
He took his fangs from her neck, and licked the wound to heal it. “You ok?” he said, as if suddenly remembering she was a human being and not just a can of blood soda. The guy didn’t seem to know what he was doing. My respect for Britt went up just watching him.
Britt. She’d fed from Ashlee and Jenna around the time of the wedding, and they’d both had weird reactions to her bite. Because, I now realized, they’d already just been bitten by Drew. The two vampires couldn’t sense each other, so they’d unknowingly fed off the same people and caused them to overdose on happy vampire chemicals.
Marina giggled and murmured some words in Russian. Her face looked goofy, like Jenna’s had. “That is some potent chocolate you give me, boss.”
Drew grinned lazily. “Hey, you should get something sweet out of the deal . . . I mean . . . ” He retracted his fangs. “Because you’re missing out on pie and ice cream.”
Crap! Pie and ice cream. It must be almost time for me to serve dessert. I snuck out of the bathroom behind Drew and barely made it out of the bedroom (which Elsa rather pointedly left open) before he closed it.
“So lovely to see you again.” Estelle gifted me with a queenly nod and smile as I presented her with a cherry minipie, topped with vanilla bean ice cream as nature intended.
Her eyes fluttered in near-ecstatic anticipation as she picked up her fork. But before she could load up her first bite, Sammy Boy snatched the whole pie slice off the plate and popped into his little mouth.
“Hey!” I cried out.
Unflappable as always, Estelle delicately dabbed at her pup’s mouth with a white linen napkin. That flustered me, and not just because the whole table laughed, and it felt a bit like they were laughing at me.
If Estelle was letting her dog eat the “ramble juice” dosed pie, I might not gain any info from her. Oh well, I was more interested in what secrets Fred had to leak.
“Please accept my sympathies on Ashlee’s passing,” I said, hoping it would serve as a prompt to get people to talk about Ashlee.
Fred laughed. “Who?”
I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. I’d expected him to be gruff, maybe even crass, but “Who?” Like she didn’t even matter. Cold as ice.
Estelle’s face was tight. So was everyone else’s at the table.
While I was floundering and considering my options, Sammy Boy reached out and snapped up a pie that Daffodil was about to set on a guest’s plate.
“He really cannot resist the treats,” Estelle said with an indulgent smile. “But never mind this silly boy, I’m so delighted to see you at the house, Hazel. Please give my regards to your grandmother.”
“I will, thank you, ma’am.”
She paused. “How is the bakery doing? Forgive me for intruding if this is a delicate subject, but are you faring all right these days what with the current economic climate?”
“What climate?” You mean the vast economic desert? I thought.
“That new upstart, Javanese Kitten or . . . whatever they’re calling themselves. Their product is inferior. But in this day and age it seems gimmickry often wins out over craft, alas.”
“Alas,” I said sadly. “But don’t worry, we’ll be ok.”
She nodded politely.
I squeezed my lips into a forced smile and turned away as quickly as I could. Ouch. It wasn’t just that she didn’t think our bakery was going to make it. She talked as if it was a forgone conclusion that we were toast.
And I was beginning to fear she might be right.
I decided to cool my jets in the staff room. Landon and Daffodil were there, talking about their respective day-off plans. The atmosphere was chill and congenial, like how I remembered the Thursday beer night. Working here wouldn’t be that bad, I thought, if the bakery did go belly up. Then I was horrified at myself for even contemplating such a thing.
“Out of curiosity, who cooks on Wednesdays when you’re out?” I asked.
He grinned. “The Kensingtons order in from Chef Wu’s downtown. Yes, rich people get takeout. It’s a thing. As a chef who trained for six years, I try not to weep into my foie gras.”
“Fascinating.” I’d much rather eat Chinese food, too. Something else occurred to me, though. “If you’re a trained chef, why didn’t you make the pastries for this event?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Baking’s not my bag. Don’t get me wrong, Hazel, I would never denigrate your craft.”
“Well then, who normally bakes around here?”
“Well it was Velma, David’s great aunt, but she passed away a year ago and we’ve been trying differ
ent people out ever since. None have worked out so far.”
“So was it your idea to try me?” If he had a crush on me, it stood to reason.
“No, this came from straight from the top.”
“You mean Fred and Estelle?”
Daffodil giggled.
“Leeza’s not in here,” Landon said to me. “We don’t have to pretend.”
“Excuse me?”
“She thinks all hell will break loose and it’ll be in the papers if we so much as say it out loud, but come on. You and I both know Fred doesn’t have two brain cells left to rub together.”
Whoa.
I paused, suddenly reinterpreting every action I’d seen Fred take. He hadn’t remembered who Ashlee was. He’d flirted with a very, very young woman. He may have even kicked a dog. What if what drove all those actions wasn’t nastiness but merely the confusion and frustration of . . . living with dementia?
If it was true, I needed proof.
And I had a feeling I’d find it in Fred and Estelle’s bedroom suite. When my great grandma had dementia, we had to cover all the mirrors, because she freaked out when she couldn’t recognize herself. If Fred was really suffering from Alzheimer’s or the like, there were sure to be clues in his part of the house.
“Back in a bit,” I said, rising to my feet. “Uh, bathroom.”
“Really, again?” Landon sounded a little worried about me. “I hope you don’t have food poisoning.”
I chewed the invisibility mint and tiptoed up the empty staircase.
Through the window wall behind the stairs, a moving shape outside caught my eye when I was nearly to the fourth floor. Sammy Boy was running around in the courtyard, his cute little mouth hanging open in a pant. Estelle must have let him out for a poop. Adorable.
Though I didn’t see Leeza waiting outside with a baggie, so maybe he was just out for a quick burst of exercise.
By himself. That was odd. Should I be offended that Leeza gave more freedom to a yapping, pie-snatching dog than she did to me, the caterer?
The fourth floor, unlike the third, opened up into not one but two landings that functioned as large sitting areas. One on either side of the stairs, divided by a black corner wall.
Fangs and Frenemies Page 16