by Leslie Meier
Much to her surprise, the person on the other end of the line was Willis, the butler at Pine Point.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, hoping something newsworthy had prompted his call.
“It’s Elfrida,” he began. “Ross fired her, you know.”
“I know. And even if he changes his mind, she can’t work right now. She’s under house arrest.”
“Indeed,” said Willis. “That’s why I’m calling you. I remember that you and your friend Sue Finch were able to help out in the past. We just need help this weekend, even Ross knows he can’t expect people to work on Christmas Day.”
It was true. Lucy and Sue had worked at Pine Point years before, providing kitchen help for the funeral of Juliette’s father, Van Duff. Van, who had been dressed as the Easter Bunny and was preparing to distribute treats to local children, was the victim of a murderous scheme hatched by a trusted employee.
“I’d like to help out,” said Lucy, “but I really can’t. Christmas is only days away and I have family staying for the holiday and my job here at the paper. Besides, I’m not the cook Elfrida is and I wouldn’t know where to begin. I think you should call Sue, maybe she can help you.”
“I already have,” admitted Willis. “She said she’s going to be busy this weekend distributing toys. She’s apparently a toy captain for the food pantry’s annual gift drive.”
“Well, maybe a temp agency,” suggested Lucy, noticing that both Ted and Elfrida were gesturing frantically. “Uh, hold on a moment,” she said, hitting the button on her desk phone.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Do you know how distracting you’re being? I could hardly focus on my call.”
“It’s Willis, right? And he wants you to work at the Point?” asked Ted.
“Yeah.”
“Well, you should take the job.”
“Are you crazy? I have a house full of family who’ve come all the way from Alaska for Christmas, who I’ve hardly gotten to see. I haven’t written one Christmas card or baked a cookie. I haven’t even gotten my Christmas tree up. . . .”
“Do it for Elfrida,” urged Phyllis. “If you’re at Pine Point, you can investigate and find the real killer.”
“I have worked there in the past, you know, and believe me, there is no time to investigate when you’re chopping and mashing. Even Elfrida said she was overwhelmed by the workload.”
“You don’t have to do a good job, you just have to be there,” advised Ted.
“And if you ask, you know Sue will help out, too,” added Phyllis. “She has a soft spot for Elfrida’s kids.”
“Okay, but I can’t do that and work at the paper tomorrow, too,” said Lucy, who had agreed to work half a day on Saturday so she could take Christmas Day off.
“I know. I’ll get Pam to come in, we’ll figure it out,” said Ted.
“And if I get stabbed?” demanded Lucy. “What then?”
Ted was philosophical. “Well, in that case, you’ll definitely know who the killer is, right?”
Lucy hit the hold button, reconnecting with Willis. “After some reconsideration, it seems I can take the job.”
“Great. I’ll do everything I can to help, just let me know what you need and I’ll get it for you.”
“When do I start?”
“Tomorrow, eight o’clock. Is that okay?”
“Sure. I’ll call Sue and see if I can convince her to help, too.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Willis, sounding very relieved. “Wonderful.”
Sue wasn’t at all surprised when Lucy called. “I’ve been expecting to hear from you,” she said. “What did you tell Willis?”
“I said we’d be happy to help out. We’re starting at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe you are, but not me.”
“Sue, I’m begging you. I can’t do it alone. And think of Elfrida, and those kids of hers. You know you’re crazy about little Arthur.”
“He was the cutest kid we’ve ever had at Little Prodigies.”
“Well, maybe we’ll turn something up that will keep his mommy out of jail.”
Sue was suspicious. “Are you investigating or cooking? Or are you really just trying to avoid Molly?”
Lucy hadn’t thought of the job in quite these terms, but she had to admit Sue might be right.
“All three.”
Sue laughed. “A trifecta. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
* * *
In the past, when Lucy and Sue worked at Pine Point, they were instructed to use the servants’ entrance on the side of the house. This morning, Lucy decided things would be different and marched right through the front door, where she encountered Willis in the hall. He was arranging a silver bowl of holly leaves on the hall table and Lucy braced for a reprimand, but none came.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” he said, giving the arrangement a final adjustment. “I’ll take you down to the kitchen and get you started.”
Willis led the way through the elegant dining room, pausing at the jib door that concealed the service stairs that led to the basement. “There’s a lot for you to do,” he said. “We’ll need lunch for about sixty people, and Juliette is hosting a holiday dinner tonight for twenty-four guests. You’ll find the menus on the bulletin board—but considering the situation, they are suggestions, only.” He sighed. “Juliette is not the problem, she understands that things are difficult and compromises may be required, but Ross . . .” He sat down on one of the Jacobean side chairs that stood against the wall and Lucy noticed his face was ashen.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Can I get you something?”
“I’m fine.” He managed a wan smile. “Just tired. The last few days have been very difficult.”
Lucy sat down beside him. “You must be exhausted.”
“You have no idea. Everything’s topsy-turvy, nothing like it was before Juliette got married.” He stared at the Flemish still life of vegetables that hung on the opposite wall, above the Georgian sideboard. “I’m not getting any younger, you know, and these old bones tell me it’s time to retire,” he said, rubbing his knees, “but I don’t want to abandon Juliette. I’ve known her since she was a little girl, you know, and I have to admit I’ve always felt very protective of her. Almost fatherly, you might say.”
Lucy wasn’t sure how far she could go, but figured she might never get Willis in such a chatty mood again. “Marriage is a big step, especially for someone as successful as Juliette. Do you think she’s happy with Ross?”
Willis took his time before answering. “I think Juliette is happy, I believe she truly loves Ross, but I do worry that the feeling isn’t mutual. I get the sense he married her for her money so he could get his movie made. The worst of it is, sooner or later Juliette’s going to realize that she’s been used. It will break her heart.”
“I think she may be getting a clue,” said Lucy. “I noticed her watching Ross like an eagle when he consulted with the script girl.”
Willis lowered his voice. “It’s not just the script girl, there’s the wardrobe girl, and the actor playing Lady Clare, and I even saw him chatting up poor Bobbi.” Willis hesitated, then decided to unburden himself, lowering his voice and leaning in. “He was actually pressing her up against a wall, leaning over her and whispering in her ear.”
Lucy already had a rather low opinion of Ross, but she found this behavior shocking. “How did Bobbi react?” she asked, wondering if Bobbi might have threatened to expose his behavior, and if Ross himself had acted to eliminate that threat.
“She didn’t seem to mind one bit,” said Willis, pressing his hands on his thighs and rising from the chair. “I’m afraid this isn’t getting lunch made, is it?”
He held the jib door open for her and followed her down the service stairs to the basement. As Lucy made her way down the stairs, she remembered someone telling her that Willis had left the great hall when the screams were heard. No one knew the ins and outs of the mansion better
than Willis, and she wondered if he had taken matters into his own hands and killed Bobbi to protect Juliette. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she turned and looked at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Ah,” he said, with a knowing smile, “I can only imagine what you’re thinking. You’re wondering if the butler did it.”
“It did cross my mind,” said Lucy, with an embarrassed little smile, “but I realize you didn’t have time.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he replied, sounding rather offended. “I would think my integrity speaks for itself. I would never do such a thing.”
“Not even for Juliette?” asked Lucy.
“Not for anyone,” he said, marching on down the corridor to the kitchen. Lucy followed, relieved to find the hallway had been thoroughly cleaned and no trace of Bobbi’s death remained. Pausing at the kitchen door, she discovered it was a huge mess: dirty pans, glasses, and dishes left on every available surface, along with assorted boxes of cereal, egg cartons filled with broken shells, plastic bread bags spilling their contents, jars of peanut butter and jelly, and half-empty milk bottles.
“I’m sorry about this,” said Willis, “but people have been fending for themselves.”
Lucy surveyed the chaos, dismayed. She’d expected to cook, not clean, but it seemed she’d have to do the latter before she could attempt the former. She was opening the cabinet beneath the sink, looking for cleaning products, when Sue breezed in.
“What the hell?” she declared, taking in the mess. She was standing, arms akimbo, still wearing her puffy winter jacket and carrying a tote bag, which Lucy knew contained her collection of knives, her batterie de cuisine.
“I’m sure glad to see you,” said Willis. “Thanks for coming.”
“Well, I’m going if this mess isn’t cleaned up,” declared Sue.
“I thought you and Lucy . . .”
“No way, Jose. This place has a cleaning staff, right? Well, let’s see what they can do.”
“Ross has them working on the set,” said Willis.
“We’ll see about that,” said Sue, marching out of the kitchen. Willis followed, and Lucy noticed there was a new spring to his step.
She crossed the kitchen to the bulletin board to consult the menus posted there, learning that a variety of sandwiches and salads were expected for lunch. Easy peasy. Dinner was something else, beginning with a lump crabmeat appetizer followed by roast duck, pureed parsnips in zucchini boats, a mixture of steamed vegetables, with peppermint Yule log for dessert. It was clear that some compromises would have to be made, thought Lucy, hearing footsteps and voices in the hallway.
Next thing she knew, three young women arrived in the kitchen and got to work, setting things to rights. Sue came in right after them and joined Lucy at the bulletin board, studying the menus.
“What do you think?” asked Lucy. “Willis says we can make changes.”
“Looks quite doable,” said Sue, dropping her tote bag on a handy table with a thunk and shrugging out of her jacket.
“We’ll definitely need something different for dessert,” said Lucy. “Personally, I can’t face another pink-peppermint Yule log.”
Chapter Eight
It was almost ten when Lucy got home, and this time it was Bill who was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the sports pages and drinking a beer.
“Well, it’s about time you showed up,” he said, scowling at her.
Lucy was tired and looking forward to a hot bath; the last thing she wanted was a fight with her husband. “Didn’t you get my message? I called and said I’d be late.” She dropped her bag on a chair and shrugged out of her parka. “It’s awfully quiet. Where is everybody?”
“It’s Saturday night, the girls are out. Toby and Molly and Patrick are having dinner with her folks, and Patrick is sleeping over.”
Lucy absorbed this last bit of news, trying not to feel jealous of Molly’s mother, Jolene, who was no doubt spoiling Patrick with empty calories and endless TV shows.
“What were you doing all this time?” asked Bill, who was picking at the label on his beer bottle. “They don’t need extras anymore, at least that’s what I heard from Jim at the hardware store.”
Lucy sank onto a chair. “Sue and I are filling in for Elfrida, cooking for the crew.”
“This late?”
“There was a special dinner, I think they were money people from Amazon. We made duck and cherries jubilee.”
“Well, I’m glad somebody got a good dinner tonight,” declared Bill, sarcastically. “As for your family, we had pizza.”
Lucy tried to put on a brave front. “There’s nothing wrong with pizza.”
“Well, personally, I’m sick of pizza and chili. I’d like my wife to come home at a decent hour and cook a real dinner, like meat loaf and mashed potatoes. . . .”
“Poor you.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “I’m not the only one who can cook, you know. There are five adults in this house, there’s a ton of meat in the freezer, and the pantry is well-stocked. It seems to me that you ought to be able to cook up a chicken or a pot roast.”
“How am I supposed to know what’s in the freezer?” demanded Bill.
“You could look. . . .”
“What about tomorrow? Are you going to be working on Sunday?”
“Only a half day,” said Lucy. “Elfrida’s under house arrest. I’m sure they’re working on getting a temp, but until they do, Sue and I have agreed to fill in.”
“I don’t get it. Why you?”
Lucy sighed. She really wanted to be soaking in that hot bath. “Because we did it before, and they need help right now.” She looked at him, feeling her dander rising. “Because I want to do it, that’s why.”
“You know you sound an awful lot like Molly, don’t you?” Lucy was quick with a retort. “Maybe Molly’s onto something.”
Bill stared at his empty beer bottle. “You do know that Monday is Christmas Eve, don’t you? What about presents and decorations?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” said Lucy, who knew only too well that Christmas was coming. “Actually, most of the shopping is done, I picked up gifts through the year. The girls can bake cookies and wrap last-minute gifts. You and Toby can put up the lights, Patrick will love trimming the tree. It will be a great Christmas.”
“So you say.” Bill got up and shoved his chair back, pointedly leaving the empty beer bottle on the table and heading upstairs.
Lucy picked it up, intending to toss it in the recycling bin, then put it back where he’d left it. Instead of following him upstairs, she went in the living room and settled on the sofa with a magazine. Feeling a bit chilly, she covered herself with an afghan and began flipping through the pages. She’d only read five of the ten reasons to cook with cast-iron pots when she fell asleep.
Waking sometime after midnight, Lucy wondered what she was doing lying fully dressed on the living-room sofa. Then she remembered her awkward conversation with Bill and decided she belonged in her own bed, sleeping beside her husband. She threw off the afghan and got up, stretched, and tiptoed upstairs. Bill was sound asleep, and didn’t stir as she undressed and carefully slipped between the covers.
He and his truck were gone when she woke in the morning, and the closed door to the family room indicated that Toby and Molly were still asleep, but Sara and Zoe were in the kitchen, eating breakfast. She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined them at the table, still in her pajamas and robe. “I’m going to be busy today,” she said as the mist cleared from her brain. “I need you both to help out.”
“Sure, Mom,” said Zoe, scooping up a spoonful of cereal.
“Do you really have to work on Sunday?” asked Sara, pulling a piece of toast from the toaster.
“I’m afraid I do. I’m helping out at Pine Point, because Elfrida’s under house arrest. It’s show biz and the filming must go on.”
“Why you?” Sara was scooping avocado and spreading it on her toast.
“Becau
se I did it before, and because Ted thinks I’ll get a story out of it, that’s why. And Christmas is in two days and Toby’s here with his family and your father is tired of pizza, so you two are going to have to pick up the slack.”
Sara sat down at the table, giggling. “I get it,” she said. “Dad wasn’t very happy last night, when you didn’t come home for supper.”
“What do you want us to do?” asked Zoe, pulling a memo pad out from under the pile of papers and mail that had accumulated on the table.
Lucy dug in her purse, still sitting on the chair where she’d left it the night before, and produced a pen, which she gave to Zoe.
“It would be great if you’d wrap some presents for me, I’ll leave them on my bed, along with the wrapping paper. The most important thing is dinner. Your father mentioned meat loaf, so I’ll get some hamburger out of the freezer. You can use the recipe in Fannie Farmer, throw in some potatoes to bake, there should be salad in the fridge, also plenty of frozen vegetables. If you feel heroic, you could mix up some brownies with Patrick, when he comes home, and have them for dessert.”
“Sounds like a Bill Stone Classic Dinner,” said Zoe, writing it all down.
“That’s the idea,” said Lucy. “If all goes well, I won’t be late today. We’re just doing lunch.” Lucy drank the last of her coffee. “For sixty.”
* * *
Back at Pine Point, Sue put Lucy to work making dozens of sandwiches for the film crew’s lunch while she baked a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies that Juliette had requested. “We’ve got tuna salad, ham and cheese, and turkey breast for sandwiches, there’s chowder thawing out in the slow cooker, and the cookies for dessert—that oughta hold them,” said Sue, as she popped a tray of cookies into the oven.
Lucy spread a blob of tuna salad on a piece of whole wheat bread and slapped the sandwich together, then sliced it into two triangles with a big chef’s knife. The knife, she realized, was very similar to the one that killed Bobbi.