One Taste Too Many

by Debra H. Goldstein

  “Let’s get back to talking about what happened.” Peter’s voice made it clear his role was more police chief than old friend.

  Sarah looked at him more closely. He’d only gained a few pounds and his hair and eyes were still dark, but deep lines were etched into his forehead.

  Harlan retrieved his briefcase from the floor, where Sarah had dropped it, and placed it precisely on the table. “I’m representing Emily. I’m advising her not to say anything more until we have a chance to talk.”

  Peter frowned. “Harlan, you know it’s proper protocol for me to get a statement from anyone who witnessed a crime or its aftermath.”

  “What makes you think this was a crime? People have heart attacks, seizures, and strokes all the time.”

  Sarah listened to the two volley back and forth, with Emily in the middle. She glanced at Peter.

  “You’re probably right,” Peter said, “but I won’t know until I get the autopsy and tox reports back. In the meantime, this late at night, when I find a body covered in rhubarb, clutching a fork and not breathing, I tend to think in terms of a crime scene.”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide. Bill was already—” Emily began.

  Harlan rested his hand on her arm, stopping her, and said in his neatly clipped voice, “I need to speak with my client. Besides, you don’t even know if there is a crime.”

  Sarah nodded in agreement, but her stomach sank at Peter’s expression. Somehow, he knew.

  She’d gotten to know Peter during high school when he came around to visit Emily, who usually was either at cheerleading practice or out with the more popular boys. He never acted without considering things from all angles. If Peter didn’t think Bill died from a heart attack or a stroke, there must be some sign of poisoning or a wound that convinced him Bill was murdered. Unfortunately, from what she’d overheard Emily telling Peter, if this was his conclusion, the only person he’d found in the locked Civic Center with Bill was rhubarb-covered Emily.

  Chapter Three

  “There’s nothing I couldn’t have said while Peter was in here. I didn’t do anything.”

  “Emily, humor me. I can’t do a good job representing you if I don’t have the facts.” Harlan pulled two pads from his briefcase and gestured toward a chair with the one he handed Sarah. “Take notes. You’re part of my team today.”

  Sarah slid into the chair, staring, as was Harlan, at her twin.

  “Now, Emily,” Harlan said. “Why don’t you tell us how you got covered in rhubarb?”

  Emily looked at her blouse and then at her hands. Staring at them, she began to laugh uncontrollably. She held her hands up and waved her fingers, then grew more serious as she began to talk. “I guess I got it all over me when I gave Bill CPR.”

  “CPR?” Harlan sat beside Sarah and made a note on his legal pad. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  “Bill called me to come to the Civic Center.”

  “You? In the middle of the night? Why?” Sarah asked.

  Emily gazed at her hands. “I was getting ready for bed, so it was just before midnight when he called and told me there was a problem at the Civic Center. He wanted me to come immediately.”

  “And you went?” Harlan waited, pen posed in the air.

  “Of course. What choice did I have? He was head of the Expo and part owner of Southwind.”

  “What?” Sarah stared at her sister.

  Emily avoided making eye contact with her.

  “You two can discuss that later.” Harlan seemed to ignore the exchange between the sisters. “Right now, I need to know exactly what happened tonight. Emily?”

  “I told you, Bill called and I went to the Civic Center. His car was the only one in the front parking lot. I parked mine next to his and went up to the main entrance. The glass doors were locked, so I used my passkey to get in.”

  “Could you see him or anything through the glass doors?”

  “No. The main lights were off. Once I let myself in, the Civic Center’s emergency lights shone enough for me to make my way through the aisles in the main exhibition room to look for Bill.”

  “Aisles?”

  “Right. The booths for the Food Expo were set up yesterday so the room is now divided into four rows of stalls. Each row has a central walking aisle, except for the booths in the middle of the room. Those face an eating area and open space in front of a stage. When I neared the second aisle, I called out to Bill again, but there was no answer.”

  Sarah stared at her sister. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to make Bill mad. So I worked my way toward the center of the room, where the Southwind booth is adjacent to the food court area.” Emily put her head into her hands.

  When she raised her head, tears escaped the corners of her eyes. “He was lying in front of the Southwind booth. I yelled his name and ran to him. He didn’t move. He just lay there, holding a fork, sprawled on his back next to a smashed rhubarb pie.”

  “Did you touch him?” Harlan asked.

  “Yes. He was so still. I felt his neck to see if he was dead or alive.”

  “And?”

  “I wasn’t sure, so I called nine-one-one and started giving him CPR, like they taught us in Girl Scouts.” Emily glanced at Sarah. “Or at least taught most of us.”

  Sarah leaned forward. This wasn’t the time to remember their respective Girl Scout experiences. “You mentioned someone else was in the Civic Center with you?”

  “Yes. I didn’t realize it then, though. I was too busy trying to help Bill.”

  Seeing the color drain from her sister’s face, Sarah put her hand on her sister’s. “Tell me.”

  “Except for where there were emergency lights, it was dark and quiet. I cupped my hands over his chest and pushed, counting the compressions in my head. When I got to one hundred, I felt his neck again and checked if his chest was moving. Nothing. I put my face over his to see if I could feel any breath on my cheek. I couldn’t.”

  Emily’s gaze was still directed at her, but Sarah got the feeling she wasn’t what Emily was seeing.

  “Remember how we used to kid that the line of his jaw was always stiff? Well, when I rocked back on my knees, I noticed it was more set than usual. I looked at my hands and realized the rhubarb from his shirt was on me, too.”

  “How did you know it was rhubarb, not blood?” Harlan said.

  “I guess by smell and feel and seeing rhubarb crisp all over the place.” She shook her head. “Harlan, I honestly never thought about blood. What passed through my mind for a moment was wondering if the dry cleaner would be able to get the stains out of his shirt. It was one of those white, starched, monogrammed ones. Considering the situation, I threw that idea out of my mind and began pressing and counting again. I stopped when I heard someone else.”

  Harlan raised his hand. “Could it have been one of the emergency responders? Surely they must have gotten there by then?”

  “Absolutely not. They didn’t get there until later. When they did, I had to let them in through the front door. From the sound, this person stumbled into something in one of the aisles behind me.”

  “If you heard someone, why didn’t you go find the person?” Sarah asked.

  “I couldn’t leave Bill, but I shouted ‘Help! Please help us!’ The click of the Civic Center’s back door was the only answer to my plea.”

  Chapter Four

  Sarah sat Indian-style on the floor of her apartment. At three thirty in the morning, she was happy to let Emily, in a borrowed oxford cloth shirt and rolled-up jeans, check out her refrigerator while she stroked her Siamese cat’s soft fur. Although RahRah’s purr wasn’t audible, contentment vibrated through his body.

  Emily tightened the towel wrapped around her wet hair. “It was great Harlan convinced Peter to deal with Jane tonight, or should I say this morning, and let me come back at ten to give my statement.” She peered into the refrigerator. “Spaghetti, nail polish, eggs . . . don’t
you ever go grocery shopping?”

  “I’ve been meaning to make a run.”

  “Well, I’m starved. Let’s see what I can do with what you have.” Emily pulled a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and checked its date stamp. “Great. By the way, these passed their last day to be sold two weeks ago.” She rummaged farther in the refrigerator. “Do you have any kale or spinach?”

  Sarah couldn’t believe Emily was more worried about food dates and healthy eating than the fact Bill was dead. Maybe she was traumatized? Perhaps she was avoiding talking about Bill’s death for another reason? After all, Emily was the one who found Bill, and she’d never shied away from voicing her opinion of him during Sarah’s divorce. Perhaps she was afraid of being Peter’s prime suspect.

  “Em,” Sarah said, “we’ve got to talk about tonight. Why were you at the Civic Center so late?”

  “To meet Bill. He is . . . was chairman of the Civic Center.”

  Sarah fought not to roll her eyes. She might have divorced Bill, but she hadn’t lost track of his roles with the Economic Development Council and Civic Center. “That doesn’t explain why you were there so late to meet him.”

  Emily opened another drawer in the refrigerator. “Do you have any vegetables?”

  “They’re on my list.” Sarah watched her sister examine the milk and cheese packaging for their expiration dates. She wondered how long Emily would delay addressing her question. Sarah’s efficiency apartment didn’t have much room beyond the refrigerator for Emily to hide.

  “Is my food safe?”

  “Barely, but I think we have enough for me to whip up an omelet.”

  “You should be thrilled you found more than spaghetti and nail polish in there. Besides, you got a shower and you didn’t have to go home and explain to Mom what you’ve been doing tonight. You know she would demand every last detail.”

  “Point taken, except your last argument is moot. Mom left yesterday for that Mexican spa. Can you imagine spending a week in a place without Internet, news, or telephones?”

  Sarah instinctively glanced at her cell phone on the floor next to RahRah. “No, I can’t.” She pulled RahRah closer. “Then again, I’m not sure I want to see the local news.”

  “Me either.” Emily hesitated. “Nothing about tonight seems real.”

  She began bustling around the kitchen. “Why are you still sitting there? I thought you said you were hungry, too.” She went back to the refrigerator searching for another ingredient.

  Sarah sighed. Her sister was the queen of avoidance. “RahRah and I are staying out of your way so you can do your Julia Child/Rachael Ray thing.” RahRah jumped up onto her shoulder and draped himself around the back of Sarah’s neck. “So are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”

  “I wish I knew,” Emily muttered from back in the depths of the refrigerator. “Even though it’s too early for him to know anything for sure, Peter said Bill apparently ate a forkful of rhubarb crisp that killed him.”

  “That doesn’t prove Bill was murdered.”

  “I agree. Besides, if rhubarb crisp is what killed him, it couldn’t have been mine. It would have had to be someone else’s. You know as well as I do, Bill never touched my rhubarb crisp because I always use nuts in the recipe.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll tell Peter the same thing. After all, I was married to Bill for enough years to know which of your recipes he wouldn’t go near.”

  “Thanks. I hope you don’t have to vouch for me.” Emily leaned against the now-closed refrigerator and used her free hand to tuck an escaping strand of blond hair back under her towel turban.

  “To tell you the truth, I have a bad feeling about this,” Emily said. “The way Peter looked at me when I told him about someone else being in the Civic Center was like he was humoring me. I’m telling you, he believes I killed Bill.”

  “Aw, come on. That’s not like Peter. He’s always been a fair guy.” She yawned and stared at her twin. “Is there some reason for Peter to suspect you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “What about what Jane was accusing you of? Rifling through records? Bill being able to somehow get you kicked out of the Expo and fired from Southwind?”

  Emily frowned. “Sarah, Southwind and this expo are important to my career. You know how much I’ve been looking forward to the next four days. It’s more important than ever because if I don’t make a good impression with my food, Jane or one of the other Southwind cooks has a chance to slip past me for the sous chef spot that recently opened.”

  Sarah watched her sister put a frying pan on the burner. If winning the competition and showing well was so important to selecting the next sous chef, who could say the rat wouldn’t have tried to interfere on behalf of his bimbo. “You know, if Peter thinks you felt Bill somehow stood in the way of you advancing your career, he might view that as a motive for murder.”

  “Surely Peter knows I’d never kill over a job.”

  Sarah flipped her left palm up in an “I don’t know” gesture.

  “Crap.” Emily opened the partially filled egg carton. “If Peter suspects me, he’ll probably want to question me for more than a few minutes today. With the Expo opening Friday night, today, I need to get things ready at the Civic Center and at the restaurant instead of being stuck at the police station.”

  She took an egg from the carton. “We have to find him someone else to investigate.”

  “And how do you propose we do that? I don’t think I’ve seen this scenario on any of the TV shows I’ve watched recently.”

  Using one hand, Emily cracked the first egg into a bowl. She tossed the shell back into the egg container and started to reach for another egg but stopped. “The Civic Center is the most logical place for us to start looking for another suspect.”

  Sarah didn’t quite follow Emily’s reasoning, but she waited for her sister to explain.

  “Bill died there, so that’s the first place for us to look for answers. Between giving my statement to Peter and prepping for the Food Expo, I won’t have much time to snoop around, but you could.”

  Sarah started to protest, but Emily kept talking.

  From experience, Sarah knew Emily’s flushed face and rushed words were dead giveaways the wheels of her brain were whirling. “It’s simple. I know you must work today and tomorrow, but after work Friday and for the rest of the weekend, you can pretend to be my assistant. That way, no one will question you being anywhere in the Expo area.”

  Emily’s assistant? Was she kidding? “Em, I’m a true believer in being a supportive sister, but you know me when it comes to the kitchen. Don’t you remember my wedding shower? My friends subtitled it ‘Can She Identify What’s in the Box?’ When I opened the beautiful floral print paper plates and napkins and held them up, you were the one who quipped, ‘Oh, look. She got her good china.’”

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be cooking. Much. Just pretending to help. It will be easy. All you have to do is fake a few things.”

  A feeling of doom joined the hunger pains in Sarah’s stomach. She extricated herself from RahRah and washed her hands, hoping whatever Emily was concocting for the demonstration really didn’t require much time in the Expo kitchen but, in case, Sarah said a prayer she wouldn’t accidently blow the Civic Center up with her culinary skills. “Perhaps we should rethink this. I could probably snoop better in a trench coat than an apron.”

  “No, it’s foolproof. Everyone knows the Southwind staff is stretched thin between the restaurant and the Expo, so nobody will be suspicious I asked you to help out in our booth.”

  “Maybe not, but they’re going to question your sanity level when they see how I function in the kitchen. Have you forgotten that while Mom was teaching you to cook, I was watching Perry Mason? I only visited the kitchen to empty the dishwasher during the first commercial, set the table during the second, and eat dinner right after the confession.”

  “Not a problem.” Emily held an egg out toward Sarah. “I’l
l tell them you need a little extra cash and this is my way of helping you out.”

  “How saintly.” Sarah didn’t take the egg. She didn’t want to admit the truth behind Emily’s statement. If she hoped to go back to school, even part-time, anything she could squirrel away would help.

  “Really, it’s a perfect cover. You’ll be able to move around freely during the Expo.”

  “Why don’t I just wear a sign: ‘I’ll Work for Food or Money’?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Emily proffered the egg again. “Folks know things have been tight for you since your divorce, so they won’t be surprised I’m giving you a part-time job. They’ll be too busy whispering behind your back to consider you’re snooping. Now, take this egg. You need to learn how to break it with one hand.”

  “Huh? Two has always worked for me.”

  “Two isn’t as fast and doesn’t look professional.” Emily gave the egg in her hand to Sarah and selected another one from the box. “First, grasp it with all of your fingers. No, look at how I’m putting my fingers. My thumb and first finger are holding one end while my second and third fingers press the other end into the heel of my palm.”

  She held her egg so Sarah could mimic her motions but jumped back as Sarah squeezed her egg so tightly it burst across the counter. “Em, if I can’t even break an egg, how will I convince anyone I’m a cook? Maybe I need another cover?”

  Emily tore off a piece of paper towel and cleaned up Sarah’s mess. “Don’t worry. We have enough eggs for you to learn this.”

  Sarah carefully hit another egg against the edge of the frying pan. A broken line appeared in it.

  “That’s good,” Emily said. “Now, without moving your thumb and index finger ease the egg apart on both sides of the crack and let the yolk drop into this bowl.”

  Sarah pressed her lips together. She released them into a smile as her yolk fell perfectly into the bowl. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “Of course it wasn’t. Now try again.”