Lorna smiled. “I don’t have time to fuss with things like this at the g.s. Too many other duties. But it is fun to put together some fancy food once in a while.” They finished up, washed their hands again, and prepared for the salad course.
Josie was just setting a salad in front of her new friend Trevor when he stood up abruptly. She managed not to drop the plate and to step back without falling over.
Trevor raised his beer, his arm perpendicular to his body, and cleared his throat. “Collingswood Cougars, I’d like to propose a toast.” His speech was just slightly slurred. Twelve heads, including Josie’s and Lorna’s, turned toward him. Ten hands gripped around a glass or bottle, and ten men waited expectantly.
“To the greatest team, and greatest group of friends, a running back could have.” He lifted his glass a little higher, then took a sip and sat down.
“Hear, hear,” someone said, and drinks were taken all around.
Someone on the other side of the table rose. “To all those who couldn’t be here tonight. Bunch of losers.” A laugh went up around the table, and glasses were raised again.
There was a pause. Lorna nodded to Josie, and they each set down the salads they’d been holding. They picked up the last of the plates, preparing to deliver them.
Dougie stood up, then pulled his too-tight football jersey down to cover his waistband. Beer bottle in hand, he looked at Rick Steuben, whose eyes were fixed on Dougie’s face, or something right behind him. “And especially to those who’ve gone before us. God speed, Beelzebub. You’re running with the angels instead of the devil now.” He drained his glass.
Rick continued to stare at Dougie. A small muscle ticked in his jaw. Who was this Beelzebub? It appeared that he and Rick had some kind of history, and, based on Rick’s expression, it might not be good.
“To Bub,” the voices said in unison.
“Fastest SOB I ever saw,” somebody added.
“Didn’t he steal that cheerleader you liked right out from under your nose, Rick?” somebody said with a laugh.
Dougie sat down. His father looked at him, then down at his plate, which he seemed to find much more interesting. Alden dug in. Josie and Lorna delivered the remaining salads, then went back to their temporary domain.
Lorna began slicing the roast beef, which she’d removed from the oven twenty or so minutes ago and had left resting on the counter. She placed the slices on a platter in the oven to keep warm until it was time to plate them. “You can go ahead and get the potatoes out of the other oven,” she said. “They’ll stay hot.”
Josie put on some oven mitts and retrieved her potatoes. She’d made these herself, start to finish, so she was feeling a little proprietary toward them as she placed one on each plate. “What do you suppose that was all about?” Josie said. “I don’t know who this Beelzebub was, but did you see the look on Rick Steuben’s face?”
“I couldn’t from where I was standing,” Lorna admitted. “But I did see Dougie. That was no simple toast.” She took the plastic wrap off the dishes of sour cream and placed them on a tray, then went to a sauté pan she had going on the stove. Dropping in a generous cube of butter, which sizzled when it hit the heat, she placed some partially cooked bright green beans on top of the butter and gave them a toss. A delicious garlicky fragrance drifted over to Josie’s nostrils. She wondered if any of the men in the other room truly appreciated the meal they were being served.
“There must have been something between this Bub and Rick,” Josie mused. “No one else seemed to have a problem.”
“You heard what that guy said about the girl. Or maybe they competed for the same position on the team. Could be anything. Grudges, even if they’re based on something stupid, can run deep.”
“Don’t I know it,” Josie said. “Look at Eb and Roy Woodruff.”
“Or you and Diantha,” Lorna added. “Sorry.” She gave a little giggle.
“Don’t be,” Josie said. “It’s her problem, not mine. You think they’re done with their salads?”
Lorna checked her watch. “Bring me the dishes of bacon bits and pats of butter, then go peek in and see. These guys don’t seem like the type to linger too long over salads when there’s rare roast beef in the offing.”
Josie did as Lorna asked. “They look like they’re done,” she said. “Want me to go clear the dishes?”
“Would you? Then I can start plating the main courses. We’ll have to deliver these in batches.”
Josie made her way back to the dining room table for the umpteenth time. And there would be more to come. She started with Alden and worked her way counterclockwise around the table, picking up salad plates and silverware and stacking them as she went along. When she reached the tray stand, she deposited the dishes, then started around the other side of the table.
Despite Lorna’s prediction, the men had done a pretty good job with the salads. The only exception was Rick, who’d barely touched his. When she asked if he was finished, he looked her in the eye. “I guess so. Take it away.” Josie could see Dougie watching the exchange. He seemed to almost be enjoying himself. Which was odd. When she’d seen Rick in the general store, he and Dougie had seemed to be old friends. Clearly, they had had some falling out since then.
When she’d cleared the table, Josie picked up the full tray. She didn’t dare try to shoulder it, but the salad plates were small and not too heavy, so she carried it in front of her. Awkward, yes. But she managed.
Lorna had the plating nearly finished and was just adding some sprigs of parsley to each plate. The meat was a perfect pink surrounded by a delectable-looking darker crust. “Let’s get these delivered, then we can start cleaning up. We’re in the home stretch.”
It only took a few moments to set out the main courses and return to the kitchen. Josie found the dishwasher—thank goodness the kitchen, though dated, was modern enough to have one—and began rinsing and loading. Lorna stored the leftovers in disposable containers and put them in the fridge for Alden and Dougie. She put three containers aside. “For me, you, and Eb,” she said. “Trust me. Tomorrow you’ll be so tired you won’t want to cook. And what Alden and Dougie don’t know won’t hurt them.” She wrapped a huge meaty bone in some foil. “For Jethro.”
Josie didn’t know who’d appreciate the dinner more—dog or master.
As Josie worked on the dishes, her mind wandered. It had been a long, long day. First the break-in next door, then Taylor and Kai and the fake curse, and now something going on between Dougie and his friend Rick.
And then there was Harry, still in the county lockup unless he’d been transferred somewhere more secure. He had reason to be angry at his partner, who had gotten a television deal that didn’t include him. And he had no alibi.
Taylor had a couple of reasons to want her uncle dead. With him out of the way, she could have the television show all to herself. Not only that, but she stood to inherit Lyndon’s estate, depending on how he’d structured his will.
Kai Norton was using Lyndon’s death to his advantage too. He was getting his jollies on with Taylor, as well as sensationalist material for his show. No matter how you looked at it, Kai had more to gain with Lyndon dead than alive.
Josie started in on the pots and pans. Mercifully, there were only a few: the pan she’d baked the potatoes on, which only needed a light wash thanks to the foil, the sauté pan for the green beans, also a breeze, and then the big roaster. When she turned around, she realized Lorna wasn’t there. She’d started to feel guilty about being wrapped up in her own thoughts, but now she could go back to them.
She squirted some fresh dish soap into the sink and ran some hotter water. Much as she wanted Lyndon’s murder solved conclusively, it was Bea Ryder who stuck in her head.
Poor Bea. She was dead. Josie was sure of it somehow. And the injustice of it had been eating away at her, ever since she’d been to the house today. Bea deserved to be found, even if her killer was never identified. But short of renting a cadaver dog and
running it in a grid pattern around Bea’s property and the rest of Dorset Falls, Josie had no idea how to accomplish that. It was clear Jethro would not be up to that task.
“That roasting pan is as shiny as the day I bought it,” Lorna said, coming to stand next to her.
Josie looked down. She’d been scrubbing the same spot for a while now. She gave the pan a rinse and put it in the dish drainer. “Sorry,” she said. “Just lost in thought. Where’d you go?”
“Bathroom. You should see it. The wallpaper actually has a raised fuzzy design. Not that I wanted to feel it. I’m not sure how you’d clean something like that, and it’s bound to be crawling with bacteria. Now let’s get coffee and dessert served so we can get out of here.”
Chapter 23
The individual chocolate mousse desserts topped with homemade cinnamon whipped cream were rich but small, so it didn’t take long for the men to finish. Lorna poured coffee all around, while Josie collected empty beer bottles and cocktail glasses. She put the bottles into a box and set them by the back door, then tackled the dessert dishes. All that would be left now were the coffee cups. Even if they wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher, they’d be easy enough to wash out by hand.
Josie grabbed Lorna’s keys from one end of the counter and took the box out to the car. She popped the trunk and shoved the bottles as far back as she could. She supposed she could have left them here, but at a nickel a piece, they could add a few dollars to Lorna’s kitty. As she closed the trunk, Josie saw movement off to her left. In the moonlight, she could see two figures. If she wasn’t mistaken, one of the figures was Dougie. The other might have been Rick Steuben. They must have slipped out sometime after dessert.
She hadn’t exactly been quiet, but they didn’t seem to notice her, and in any event they were at least fifty yards away. They appeared to be arguing. A wind was blowing up off the lake, and it carried a few words her way.
“What . . . doing?!”
“. . . agreement.”
The figure who might have been Rick put out both hands and gave a hard push on Dougie’s chest. Dougie grabbed on to Rick’s football jersey and held on, keeping himself from falling. They tussled for a moment, then broke apart. Dougie took a moment, maybe to catch his breath, then headed back toward the house. Rick went in the opposite direction. She heard a car start up and the crunch of tires on gravel.
What had she just witnessed? Now she knew there was something going on between these two, but short of coming out and asking one of them, she’d probably never find out what it was.
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time she and Lorna got back to Lorna’s apartment and unloaded. Fortunately, the boxes and cooler were much lighter this time around. Toting them all downstairs had been bad enough. Taking them back up, filled, would have been torturous.
“You want a drink?” Lorna asked when they were finally done. “Or a chocolate mousse? I’ve got extra.”
Chocolate was always tempting, but Josie shook her head. “I’m wiped. And I’ve got to work tomorrow. Time for me to head home.”
“I can’t deny I’m ready for bed myself,” Lorna said. “Thank you so much for your help tonight. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, you only have to ask.”
“I will. But I had fun, even though it was hard work. And I learned some stuff too. So we’re good.”
“Good night, and thanks again.”
Josie gave her a hug. “I’ll see you in town tomorrow.”
As she drove home, she thought about the altercation between Dougie and his friend Rick Steuben. It was too bad she’d only heard snippets of their conversation. It would almost have been better not to have heard anything. Then she wouldn’t have to wonder what else had been said. Rick had said “agreement” in a way that made her think Dougie had somehow broken whatever it was.
She turned on the radio. More static than music, as usual, but it might serve to push out the thoughts that were competing for space in her tired mind.
It worked. Because by the time she got home, Josie’s only thought was to crawl into bed.
* * *
The sun shining through her bedroom window woke Josie the next morning. She snuggled deeper under the handmade quilt that covered her bed. Coco had been sleeping on the other pillow by her head and woke up when Josie moved. Coco gave her a look, walked across her stomach, her little white paws sinking into the bedding, then jumped off the bed and strolled out the door.
Josie stretched out under the covers. Yup, every muscle in her body was sore. Catering was hard work.
She looked at her bedside clock. Ten minutes before her usual wake-up time. Be realistic, Blair. Ten minutes isn’t enough time to go back to sleep. You might as well get up. She sighed and threw off the covers.
A faint odor of food wafted into her nostrils. Not exactly unpleasant, but not exactly fresh, either. Probably her hair. She should have taken a shower last night. Well, the sheets needed washing anyway. She stripped the bed, carried her bundle to the downstairs bathroom, and dropped the load into the washer.
Eb was in the kitchen when she came in to put on the coffee. He wore his half-moon reading glasses, so he must have either been working in his shop or preparing to do one of his crosswords, though it seemed a little early for either of those. Eb liked his routines.
“You want wheat flakes for breakfast? That’s what I’m having,” Josie said as she set up the old-fashioned percolator and turned on the burner underneath. The contraption had baffled her when she first came to live here, but once she’d gotten the hang of it, she had to admit it made pretty good coffee.
“Yup. Put some blueberries in.”
“I was planning to.” Josie made two bowls of cereal, added milk and the requisite blueberries, and stuck in two spoons. “Let’s eat at the table,” she said.
For once he didn’t give her an argument, but followed her into the dining room and sat down. She pushed aside his stack of newspapers to clear a surface and set down the bowls. Eb ate a few bites of cereal, then said, “How come my workshop’s a mess?”
She almost spit out a blueberry. “Uh, Eb? Look around you.” But she knew what he meant. “Sorry about your worktable, though. I was getting your dirty coffee mug and accidentally knocked some things over.”
“I expected you’d blame it on the cat.” He’d almost, but not quite, busted her.
“Yeah, well, sorry. What are you going to do with all your thingamajigs? The workshop’s pretty full.”
Her great-uncle stirred his cereal around before answering. “I could bring some out here. Decorate.” He looked her full in the face, which she knew was registering some degree of horror. They didn’t need one more thing to maneuver around. Or dust. Then he guffawed. “Gotcha.”
All right, so she wouldn’t have to dust. But he still hadn’t answered her question. And knowing Eb, if he hadn’t done so by now, he wasn’t about to.
In the kitchen, the percolator was emitting the rhythmic blurp, blurp sound that meant it was almost done. She’d give it a couple more minutes.
“Eb, do you remember Bea Ryder?”
He didn’t look up from his breakfast. “Owned the dress shop in town. Lived out on Ryder Road. Disappeared. Probably dead.”
Mr. Sensitivity. “Were there any rumors? Any clues at all as to what happened to her?”
“Why do you care?” He went back to his cereal.
How could she make Eb understand when she barely understood it herself? “I heard about it and was curious, that’s all.”
“Don’t go snooping into things that’ll get you in trouble. They never caught who did it.”
Wow. Was there concern hidden in those words? She went back to the kitchen, then brought out two mugs of hot coffee and the container of half and half. She poured some into her coffee and gave it a stir with her cereal spoon. “I’m not snooping. What are you doing today?”
He eyed her. “Last I knew, I didn’t report to you.”
“Just making conversation.”
“Well, don’t. But if you have to know, I’m driving over to Tractor Supply, then to the feed store. Taking my dog with me.”
That would make Coco happy. She and Jethro had an armed—or perhaps a better word would be clawed—truce.
“Save room for dinner. I’ve got roast beef from last night.”
“Yup,” was all Eb said.
Chapter 24
Josie sat in front of a computer screen at the Dorset Falls Free Library. Before she left the house, she’d taken a look at her doilies. Correction: Bea Ryder’s doilies. They looked good. They were going to look even better once she tacked them down on some accent pillows. But for now she’d left them on the kitchen table. Some of them were still ever so slightly damp, and one more day of drying wouldn’t hurt them. The ones in the storeroom of Miss Marple Knits should be ready by now. She’d nearly forgotten about them.
But she hadn’t forgotten about Bea Ryder. The librarian, one of two who staffed the library, made some keystrokes and, with a couple of clicks of her mouse, pulled up a screen. “You’re in luck. The Dorset Falls Tribune has been digitized through the 1970s, so we have the right time period. It’s even searchable. Not too long ago, we would have had to hunt through rolls and rolls of microfiche to find what you’re looking for.”
Josie had called Evelyn and asked her to open for her this morning. She didn’t expect to be here long. Wasn’t even really sure what she was looking for, just that she needed to know more about Bea’s disappearance.
“Here you go,” the librarian said. “There are only a few hits.”
“I guess that makes sense.” A woman’s disappearance, without evidence of foul play, was not likely to spawn a lot of follow-up articles in a small-town newspaper.
“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be at the circulation desk.”
Josie read the first article.
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