Praline Murder

by Sandi Scott

  "Okay, you wanted to know about the people.” Ashley settled back into her seat, wishing she’d brought another cup of coffee and a praline with her. “Where should I start?"

  "How about the victim and his wife? What do you know about them?" Luna tapped his pen on the open notebook in front of him. He seemed to relax a little as though speaking with Ashley put him at ease.

  "Well, they're both teachers: Brent was the technical education instructor at Seagrass High, and Lucy teaches math there as well. She seemed really shy to me. She would stand with others during breaks, but she never had much to say. She listened and responded appropriately, but I don't think I ever saw her initiate a conversation. Brent, on the other hand, was definitely a people person. He seemed interested in everyone, and he'd talk to anyone about almost anything. You know the type—never met a stranger and would strike up a conversation with whoever was standing behind him in the checkout line at the grocery store. When the show started, they seemed like a really close couple." Ashley hesitated. "I hate to say it, but they've been arguing a lot lately. Brent went from getting along with everyone to sniping at Lucy, making backhanded compliments. Last night, he got downright nasty, and Lucy finally stood up for herself. I'm pretty sure some of that fight ended up being on camera."

  "What did he say to set things off?" The detective seemed interested in the couple's disagreement.

  "He implied that Lucy was too fat when she picked up a small cookie during a break. The man had a pretty squishy physique himself, and he told her she shouldn't eat poison.” Ashley rolled her eyes. “You know, talking about sugar, then he told Lucy that the camera adds 10 pounds.”

  Luna was taking notes and listening without comment. Ashley recognized his “pondering” expressions as she continued, “He tried to play it off as joking, but he was just plain mean to her. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind, but Lucy simply walked away. Before that, he’d made some crack about Lucy taking longer to 'get it' than he or Chance did.”

  The detective scrunched up his face. “Get what?”

  “You know, the acting, like she wasn't astute enough for the show.”

  Luna’s face lit up in understanding, and he gestured with his hand to signal that she should continue.

  Ashley was just getting warmed up. Her voice started to rise in indignation. “This was from the man who couldn't get through an entire scene without knocking something over or running into a wall or door. He was a total klutz, but he made fun of her because she wouldn't pretend to believe all the faked stuff. Come to think of it, she was mostly giving it back to Chance although I did hear her yelling at Brent when I got back from the trailer right before noon. They stopped when I came into the room, but I saw that Lucy had been crying, and Brent's face was nearly purple. If you hadn't told me someone hit him, I'd have figured he stroked out after that argument."

  Luna shook his head. "No, this definitely was not natural causes. What about the others on the set? Anything seem off about any of them?" It almost seemed like Luna was begging for her to come up with something—anything—to help provide a lead.

  "I didn't pay much attention to most of the crew. Like you said before, Chance Fortune is a piece of work; he gives me the creeps. I mean, who films a scene like that one this morning?” Ashley looked away disgusted as she remembered Chance's faked shock. Then she shuddered and continued. “The only other person I've noticed much is Trina Baumer, Chance's personal assistant. I wouldn't trust her any farther than I could pick her up and throw her, but I can't really say why. I did get the impression that she was deliberately sabotaging Brent although I can't tell you why."

  Luna leaned back in his chair before continuing, "We have to work fast on this one. Once the press gets ahold of a murder on the set of a reality TV show, you won’t be able to spit without hitting a news truck. Not only that, every wannabe supernatural 'expert' is going to come out of the woodwork. You know how much the residents are going to love that scenario. And the timing on this one couldn't be worse; I'm down to a skeleton staff this weekend. We only have a handful anyway, and most of the deputies are off altogether on vacation.”

  Ashley was puzzled. "All of them? At the same time? Together?"

  "Yeah, it's some guy thing they do every year. They go to Port O'Connor for some fishing and kayaking although I'm pretty sure there's more beer drinking and storytelling happening than actual fishing. It would be great if I could put a guy on the set to watch these people, but I can't spare anyone." He paused, looking sideways at her.

  Ashley left him hanging for a few seconds before she said, "I know the set pretty well, and I've gotten to know some of the people. I guess I could keep an eye on things for you, if it would help." She knew her show of reluctance wasn't fooling the detective, but she was willing to play along.

  Luna hedged, "You're a civilian; I couldn't ask you to be part of the investigation. We've had that conversation more than once. Why do you still even ask?”

  Sensing that he wasn't as irritated or hesitant as he sounded, Ashley gave it one last shot. “Sure, Detective Luna. You’re right. You are down on manpower, but I’m sure you can wrap up this investigation alone before the tabloids descend on Seagrass to scrutinize you. I mean, I would only be listening to conversations that I'd probably hear anyway, then report my observations, but you know what . . . you’re right. What good would that do?”

  “Miss Adams,” he started trying to sound reluctant, “we both know I cannot stop you from listening, nor from sharing what you hear—you do that anyway—but I certainly can’t condone it.”

  "I understand," she agreed. "Is there something in particular you wouldn’t condone my overhearing?"

  "Well, you’re a hospitable Seagrass resident. You’ll probably be bringing some kind of comfort food to the wife, won't cha?” Luna looked like he had another warning for her, but he let it go.

  Ashley nodded and suggested, "I could drop by their apartment, if you want. I could take some pastries from the shop, give my condolences, sneak in a few questions and be back here, or at your office, an hour later. I really don't think she's the killer, but you would know where I'll be and when I should be finished so you could come looking for me if I'm not on time."

  Luna looked unconvinced at first, then he shrugged. "I'm not crazy about you being there alone, but I don't have anyone to send over there so you gotta proceed at your own risk.”

  “How about if I take Patty with me?” Ashley suggested. “She's been catering meals here, too, so it would be natural for her to be along.”

  Luna thought about it for a few seconds and nodded. “Like I said, I cannot officially condone your involvement in this investigation. But I also understand I can’t stop you as a citizen from bringing comfort to the grieving for one hour, Ms. Adams—one hour and no more. We should be finished talking with her shortly; then I'll send her home. She ought to be there in another 20 minutes or so."

  “Well,” Ashley hesitated, “maybe give me a little longer. I do have to stop at the shop to pick up some pastries on the way, and what if you need her here longer than you think? How about if I text when I get there, and you start the timer then?” Luna rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything else as Ashley headed for her car.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Patty,” Ashley called from the back door of their business, carrying the empty food containers from the morning. “Are you here?” she asked as she came around the corner. “Oh, thank goodness you are! You'll never believe the morning I've had! And what do you have going on today? I need you to go somewhere with me.”

  Her business partner looked up as Ashley’s words poured out. “Slow down, hon! What's happened? Did someone finally smack Brent or Chance for being so obnoxious? I'd like to watch that one!”

  “They did more than that,” Ashley replied, dropping the boxes she carried into the rinse sink. “Brent's dead, and Luna's been assigned to the case. And, are you ready for this? He asked me to help with the investigation. Well, he di
dn't exactly ask, more like he implied it and pretended that I talked him into it.”

  Patty did a double take, widening her eyes in shock. “Dead? Brent is dead? What on earth happened? If Luna's there, I guess it's murder, huh?” Patty went back to the vegetables she was chopping, still looking shocked. “And what do you mean, he asked you to help? That definitely doesn't sound like our favorite detective!”

  Ashley slumped into the nearest chair beside the worktable, leaning toward Patty in her excitement. “Luna really does want the help; he's in a major bind trying to get this murder solved before the media turns it into a three-ring circus, and he's basically flying solo this weekend. Anyway, from what he said, Luna thinks someone hit Brent over the head with a crystal vase and killed him. He's waiting for the ME to make it official. Get this, though, Patty—when I got there, Chance was filming some faked-up reaction to the news, like Brent's death was just another part of the show's script!”

  Patty harrumphed and set her knife on the cutting board to give Ashley her full attention. “That man has all the sensitivity—and common sense—of a rock. He's a real creep, and not in a way that fits the show's theme! What does Luna want you to do?” She covered the crudités tray she'd been working on while she waited for Ashley’s reply.

  Ashley straightened up and turned to grab an empty platter. “I'm going to take some pastries over to Lucy. Luna is sending her back to their apartment in a few minutes. In the midst of us expressing our condolences, I'm supposed to find out as much as I can about her and report back to Luna at the mansion. His theory is 'it's usually the spouse,' and he wants to be able to either cross her off the suspect list or confirm that she did it as soon as possible.”

  “So, he's sending you to talk to a possible murderer—alone? Is he crazy?” Patty was incensed, her brown eyes blazing. “You are not going to that apartment without me. You need backup, and it will seem completely natural for me to go along since we're business partners and since I've been catering meals for the show.” She swept the vegetable scraps off the table into the trash can and took her tray to the walk-in cooler.

  Ashley laughed at her friend's indignation. “Relax! I already told him that you'd be with me. Besides, I don't think he really believes she did it. I doubt he'd let me get within a mile of her if he did. But if you have the time to go along, it probably would look more natural, and it would be good to have an extra pair of eyes and ears, too.”

  Patty turned back to Ashley, grinning. “Why, what else would I be doing, my dear?”

  Ashley pushed off the table and clapped her hands. “Okay, then. Let me fix a plate of goodies, and we'll head out. I'm supposed to let Luna know when I get to the apartment; he's only giving me an hour from that point to get back to the mansion before he sends in the cavalry.” She began arranging mini croissants, fruit turnovers, Belgian pralines, and candied nuts on the tray she'd pulled down while Patty grabbed a Chicken Cordon Bleu casserole from the freezer. After covering the food with foil, Ashley and Patty gathered their purses and headed for the company van.

  Once they settled into the catering van, the friends discussed the murder, speculating on who might have wanted Brent dead and why. “You know, I'll bet Ethel had something to do with this. She got mad at Brent for not taking his love for Lucy seriously enough so she got even,” Patty suggested.

  “Well, I've never heard of a ghost being able to pick things up so unless Ethel's learned to carry heavy vases, I doubt she's the one who clobbered him,” Ashley answered. Her friend didn't say anything more, but she didn't look convinced.

  Patty braked at the railroad crossing where the signal lights were flashing, and Ashley remarked, “I know all the book and television detectives focus on motive, means, and opportunity to narrow down the suspect list, but I don't think means and opportunity are going to help much on this one. Pretty much anyone could have gone into the place between the time we all left last night and the time Brent was found this morning. The network didn't hire security guards, and just about anyone could pick those old locks. In fact, someone not connected to the show could even have wandered in, maybe thinking to steal equipment or some of the antiques. And if Luna's right about the method, anyone could have grabbed that vase and hit Brent over the head.”

  Patty drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she thought about it. “I can't imagine a real motive,” she replied. “I mean, Brent could be a bit of a jerk, but he wasn't so bad that you'd want to kill him over it. He was more like a middle-school kid who hasn't developed many social skills yet so you want to finger-flick them on the ear or the back of the head. He wasn't vicious, just goofy.”

  Ashley nodded at her friend as the crossing arms lifted. “Yeah, I agree—most of the time, anyway. Brent was pretty nasty to Lucy yesterday, but I don't think it was meant as intentional cruelty. He really seemed to believe he was offering advice that would be helpful, that she'd appreciate. He didn't seem to understand how hurtful his words were.

  Patty nodded. “Now, if it had been Chance or Trina, I'd definitely understand the motive. That filming scene this morning shows just what type of character Chance has—or doesn't have. And it sure seemed to me like Trina was deliberately sabotaging Brent every time she could.”

  “You noticed that, too? So, I'm not the only one,” Ashley commented, “but I can't figure out why she'd do something like that.”

  They pulled into a parking spot in front of the Redstaff's front door, and Ashley sent a short text to Luna to let him know that she and Patty had arrived. “Okay, let's do this,” she said, climbing out of the van and pulling the tray of snacks from the back.

  The friends walked up the sidewalk to the apartment, commenting on the inviting front porch with matching rocking chairs and hanging baskets of colorful blooms. A few minutes after they rang Lucy’s doorbell, she finally answered the door.

  “Ashley, Patty—what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breaking over the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Has something else happened with the show? I just left there; I haven't even been home more than five minutes. What's happened now?”

  As she handed the tray of pastries to Lucy, Ashley said, “We just wanted to tell you how sorry we are about your loss and to make sure that you're doing okay.” As she looked into the widow's tear-stained face, Ashley finally felt the reality of Brent's death. “We also thought you might welcome a little food.” She knew that their small town would respond with more casseroles, salads and desserts than Lucy and any out-of-town guests could ever eat, but it would take a few hours for the benevolence brigade to catch up with recent events.

  “Please, come in,” Lucy said, opening the door wider to invite them in. “I just made coffee; will you have a cup with me while we sample the treats?” Ashley thought she seemed a little desperate for company, which worked well for the partners' plans.

  “Of course,” Patty said. “You go and sit down; I'll find my way to the kitchen and take care of getting coffee for everyone. You don't need to serve us; you need to take care of yourself today.”

  Ashley looked around the living area of the apartment. Nothing stood out; it was the usual collection of framed family pictures and standard entertainment center. Even the television was an ordinary size—no 60 inch flat screen for this couple. She tried to think of something comforting to say to Lucy, but was at a loss so she made small talk about the weather and upcoming local events. Finally, Patty came back with a tray holding three mugs, a coffee carafe, sugar, cream, and the sweets plate.

  Patty smiled and rolled right over the awkwardness. “I'll be 'Mother' even though we're drinking coffee instead of tea. I've always loved that saying.” She picked up the plate of treats and offered it to Lucy. “Hon, you have to try one of Ashley's croissants; they are as good as any I ever ate in France and better than most.” She poured two mugs of coffee, handed them to Lucy and Ashley, then poured her own before adding three spoons full of sugar. Ashley snorted at her friend, and even Lucy managed a watery smile.<
br />
  Patty defended herself, bristling with pretended offense. “What? I like my coffee sweet; it's one of the few sweet indulgences I have!”

  “Right,” Ashley laughed, as she ticked them off on her fingers, “just chocolates, cookies, muffins, fruit cobblers . . . not many sweets at all.”

  “Well,” Lucy interjected, “I can definitely understand that one; I have a bit of a sweet tooth myself, although I don't use sugar in my coffee.” She took a tiny nibble of her snack. “And these croissants are fantastic, Ashley. Thank you so much for bringing them.” Before Ashley could reply, there was a thump on the couch and something jostled her elbow, sending coffee splashing over her shirt and jeans.

  “Molly! Naughty cat! Get down from there,” Lucy scolded the pretty calico pawing at Ashley, looking for a belly rub. “I'm so sorry, Ashley; she's my baby, but she can be a pest! You aren't burned, are you?”

  “It's no problem. She's adorable! Ashley tried to reassure Lucy that there was no harm done. The poor woman looked like one more bad thing, however small, would send her completely over the edge.

  “Whew!” Patty exclaimed. “For a minute there, I thought Ethel or some other spirit had followed us over from the show house. Come here, you precious kitty!” She reached out and lifted the cat from the couch. After giving Molly a quick scratch, Patty placed the cat in Lucy's lap, thinking the widow might draw some comfort from her pet.

  Ashley managed to stop from rolling her eyes, still amused at her friend's previously secret fascination with ghosts. “Really, Lucy, I'm fine, but maybe I could use your bathroom to rinse the coffee out?”

  Pointing, Lucy directed Ashley around a corner where the bathroom was located off a second hallway. After blotting her clothes and washing her hands, Ashley decided to risk a little snooping. Heading back down the hallway, she peeked inside a bedroom, but she didn't see anything beyond a few men's clothes and toiletries so she didn't go inside. Where did Lucy keep her things? she wondered.