“Do you know Mr. and Mrs. Weatherby?” he asked.
“Not really. Carl Weatherby works at a local restaurant. He’s come into Beach Tea to pick up special occasion cakes, but I don’t know his wife.” Dani thought for a moment. “What if he knew his wife was cheating on him? He could make the s’mores look like mine. Katie said something that made me think he was the caterer who cancelled.”
“Was he in Beach Tea yesterday?” Troy asked.
“No. He didn’t come in. Katie and Bailey were there, helping out. So was Brittany.” Dani tried to remember who was around when she started preparing for today’s event. “I started prepping everything. Brittany and Bailey were chopping olives and slicing ham. Katie was crushing graham crackers into crumbs. A few of their friends came in, and they chatted for a few minutes before I suggested they get back to work.”
“Do you remember which friends? Did anyone take a picture?” He handed Dani’s phone back to her. “Can you text me the pictures of the office, or email them to me?”
Dani sent the pictures to Troy, and continued talking. “I didn’t pay attention to who came in. Brittany would remember. Of course they took pictures—they’ve been posting graduation activities all week on social media.”
Dani and Troy went and brought Brittany into the kitchen so they could talk. They needed to figure out who made the lethal s’mores, but first they needed to find out who helped the killer—and whether the addition of peanuts to the crust was deliberate. Was it remotely possible that a helper who didn’t realize how lethal the peanuts would be had accidentally mixed them into the s’mores? Or, given how sensitive Ken Fenton was, could someone have even simply allowed the food prep area to get contaminated? But if it was an accident, why was it in the weird cupcake liner?
Chapter 3
Brittany answered their question with her parents by her side. “Everyone who came by the tea shop is here. Emily Walters, Taylor MacInnes, and Hannah Weatherby. They stopped by after dance class to say hi and see what we were making for today.” She looked troubled. “You don’t think one of them had anything to do with Mr. Fenton’s death, do you?” She buried her head on her mother’s shoulder. Jackie hugged her daughter, and Paul passed her a tissue.
“I’m just putting a timeline together,” Troy said. “Did anyone take pictures?” Instead of looking at Brittany, he focused on his notepad. He knew from Dani there were lots of pictures, but he often asked basic questions he knew the answer to in an effort to put the person being questioned at ease. The routine question should help settle Brittany’s nerves.
Dani wasn’t fooled by his soothing tone and casual air. If someone tried to make Beach Tea Shop look guilty of murder, whoever it was needed to know what was on the menu. Putting everything inside cupcake liners was Beach Tea Shop’s signature style. Using liners similar to Beach Tea’s meant the killer knew what the liners looked before he or she came to the graduation tea this afternoon. The thought of such heartless planning sent shivers down Dani’s spine.
“Everyone took pictures,” Brittany said. “We planned to put together a graduation collage to keep for our reunions. We’ve been taking pictures of everything. I don’t know what that has to do with what happened today. No one had a reason to hurt Katie’s dad.” Pulling away from her mother, she ran her fingers through her short hair, a sign of distress Dani was familiar with. A thought occurred to the girl, and she perked up momentarily. “What if someone saw the pics posted online? That would mean my friends aren’t involved, right?”
“Right, sweetie.” Dani’s heart broke to see Brittany upset on what had been a happy occasion.
“Can I go back outside? I don’t like being in the house,” Brittany said. Tears ran down her face, and she mopped them up with a soggy tissue.
“Yes,” Troy said, and watched Paul and Jackie help Brittany walk away. He tapped his pen against his pad, reading through his notes, and jotted cryptic messages that Dani couldn’t read.
Dani thought about what she’d seen and heard. The killer might have seen pictures from last night’s visit to Beach Tea Shop, if they had been posted online. Who would have known that Ken Fenton was severely allergic? His wife, definitely. His mistress? Possibly. The caterer would have known. Katie said everyone who came into the house knew about his allergy, but was that true?
~*~
Chelsea and Alex came into the kitchen and put their arms around Dani. She was grateful for their presence. They had weathered the loss of their parents and their grandfather with the love and support of their grandmother and BevAnne. They had survived Nana Jean’s death with the help of BevAnne. They had been through tough times together, and Dani welcomed the comfort her sisters gave her.
“Any idea who did this?” Chelsea asked. She kept her arm around her sisters but looked at Troy for an answer.
“Obviously, someone who knew Ken Fenton was allergic to peanuts. Someone with a motive.” Troy stopped talking and thought for a moment. “Someone who knew Beach Tea Shop would be catering—and that you always use cupcake liners to present the food. Someone who knew they could mix peanuts with graham crackers. When the s’mores are side by side the differences are obvious, but otherwise, no way would it be noticed. The plate in the office had cupcakes from the kitchen and the doctored s’mores. Whoever did this came to the party, and he or she is still here.”
“We need to ask BevAnne if the liners under the tainted s’mores are the ones she saw last night at the craft store. If they are, she might recognize who bought them,” Dani said, as she and her sisters sank into kitchen chairs.
“I hope so.” Troy called BevAnne into the kitchen.
She bustled in and sat next to Dani. “Are you all right, girls? Such a shock for a young man to die like this.”
Dani and her sisters shared a look. BevAnne thought anyone under 45 was a youngster.
Their godmother smoothed her hair and settled her scarf around her neck. Being impeccably groomed at all times was BevAnne’s armor against the trials and uncertainties of life.
Troy showed her a picture of the tainted s’mores. “Are these the liners you saw someone buy last night?”
“They are! How odd to see Dani’s s’mores in them,” BevAnne said. She turned around and picked up a s’more in a green-patterned liner. “Wait! Those aren’t yours, are they?” she asked. “Your s’mores have finer crumbs on the bottom. These are close but not exactly the same.”
“No, they’re not,” Dani answered. She felt hope rising and squashed it.
“Do you remember what the person who took the package of cupcake liners looked like?” Dani asked.
“Of course, dear. I’m not blind, and I have an excellent memory.” BevAnne said, “And I said hello when I saw her today.”
Dani held her breath. It was one thing to know the killer was here, and another thing to know the killer was here. Was it Shannon Weatherby or Kelly Fenton? Mistress or wife?
Troy asked the question. “Who was it, BevAnne?”
“Hannah Weatherby,” BevAnne answered. She noticed the confounded expression on Dani’s face. “What am I missing, dear?”
“Nothing, BevAnne. We’re the ones who missed it.” Dani was shocked, but thought it made sense in a weird way. Teenage girls were so emotional. The question remaining was why had she killed Ken Fenton?
~*~
Hannah Weatherby sat in a dining room chair. “I did it,” she said. Her mother sat near her, close enough to touch her but not doing so. A tape recorder sat in the middle of the table.
Hannah pleated the table cloth and released it. Then she began again. Pleat. Release. She didn’t look at Troy or her mother. Her nervous habit revealed more emotion than her face.
Shannon put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Don’t say anything, Hannah. Your father is calling an attorney.”
Hannah pulled her arm away from Shannon. “He’s useless. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had an affair with Mr. Fenton. Just go away, Mother.” Tears gathered in her eyes,
but Hannah tipped her head back to keep them at bay.
“Did you know Mr. Fenton had a peanut allergy, Hannah?” Troy asked.
“Yes, but I didn’t think he’d die. I just wanted him to get sick so his wife would pay attention to him, and he’d leave my mother alone.” Hannah’s voice broke, but she continued, “I didn’t know my mother was cheating on my father until I heard her on the phone. She said his name, and I knew who it was.”
Shannon reached out again, but Hannah pulled away from her. Shannon looked helpless, unable to stop her daughter from talking herself into jail and helpless to deal with the messy aftermath of her infidelity.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Troy asked.
“I was at Beach Tea Shop last night, and I saw Katie making graham cracker crumbs. I thought about how easy it would be to grind up peanuts and mix it in with the crumbs. My father has been teaching me how to cook. Dani Powell was making the s’mores when we were there. It looked easy enough.”
Hannah continued in a quavering voice, “I didn’t think he would die. I didn’t think they would get blamed. I’m really sorry. My mother used to be my best friend, until Mr. Fenton took her away. I wish I had sisters like you guys.” To that she added a tip of her head toward the three Beach Tea Shop owners.
“Hannah…” Shannon started to say, her voice trailing away under Hannah’s withering stare.
“Don’t, Mother,” Hannah said. “You made your choice, and it wasn’t me. We’re done.” She turned to Troy and said, “Can we leave now? I want to get away from her.”
Troy stopped the recording and picked up the recorder. “We can go to the Sheriff’s Department now.”
~*~
After everyone else had gone home, Dani, Chelsea, and Alex cleaned up the Fenton’s kitchen. The house was quiet. Katie and her mother were lying down after the emotional day. The sisters worked as a team to wrap up the little bit of leftover food, before packing up dirty trays and serving pieces to take back to Beach Tea Shop.
“I wouldn’t want to be that age again, would you?” Dani asked her sisters, glad that the intense emotion of the teenage years had smoothed out into the even keel of adulthood.
A chorus of “No” from Chelsea and Alex came so fast Dani knew they’d been thinking the same thing.
They were lucky to have had each other during those difficult years. Normal teen turmoil had been overshadowed by the loss of their parents and Grandpa Hal, with Nana Jean and BevAnne stepping into the void to raise them into self-sufficient adults.
A knock on the back door startled Dani.
Brittany stood there and motioned for Dani to let her in.
“Is everything okay?” Dani asked. She worried that Brittany would blame herself for what Hannah had done. She needn’t have.
“Yes. I wanted to check on you three.” Brittany hugged each of them in turn, ending with Dani. “Hannah didn’t mean for things to go so wrong, but I can’t forgive her for what she did.”
“We’re fine. Thank you for thinking about us.” Dani looked Brittany in the eyes and said, “Katie will need your help. It’s hard to lose a parent at any age, but it’s particularly hard when someone’s actions cause the loss.”
Brittany sniffled. “I know. I’m not sure what to do.”
Dani handed her a box of tissues. “Just be there for her. Knowing she has friends she can count on will make it easier for her to move forward without dwelling in the past.”
Chelsea and Alex put their arms around Brittany and Dani, and the four women hugged.
Brittany said, “She can count on me the way I count on you. I love you guys.”
Dani said, “We love you, too.”
--The End--
Linda Gordon Hengerer is the author of the Beach Tea Shop mystery series, and several non-fiction books on football and wine pairings. A New Jersey native transplanted to Florida, she enjoys winters with sun and sand instead of snow and freezing temperatures. She is a board member of Mystery Writers of America-Florida Chapter. Many years of working in corporate America have made her grateful for her writing time. Visit her at LindaGordonHengerer.com.
A Fair Day for Murder: A Jess Randolph Mystery
By Margaret Lucke
Editor’s Note: Private investigator Jess Randolph and her little brother Teddy can’t wait for a taste of Aunt Florence’s prized Fourth of July pie entry. Their rendezvous with pastry is postponed when a gourmet guru gets a knife in the back, and Aunt Flo looks like she has egg on her face.
Chapter 1
“Hurry up, Jess!” My kid brother Teddy grabbed my hand and tugged me through the entrance gate of the Mira Vista County Fair. “I want to see the pig races. Can I have some cotton candy? Look, there’s a Ferris wheel, let’s go on the rides.”
We set off down the wide paved walkway. Rows of booths on either side the walkway hawked funnel cakes, straw hats, and tips on saving water. Colorful streamers fluttered overhead, sketching patterns on the sky. A refreshing breeze was blowing, but the bright summer morning held the promise of heat later in the day.
“Yes to all of your requests,” I said, “but first I want to find the art exhibit and see my painting. Then we need to check in with Cousin Florence.”
“Did she bring the Fourth of July pies?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, but we can’t have any here. One is for the display and one is for the judges to taste.
His face fell. “Awww—”
“But she made three. The third one will be waiting for us when we get back to her house tonight.”
“Yay!” Teddy ran ahead, then turned to face me. He was wearing baggy shorts, in keeping with the current fashion. From one of the deep pockets he pulled out a little camera, his new pride and joy. He had purchased it with money he’d saved from his allowance and what he’d earned doing yardwork for neighbors, and always kept it close at hand. With a grin he aimed it at me. I obliged him by making a silly face.
He snapped the shot and bounced on his tiptoes until I caught up with him. I was pleased that at age ten he was still a little kid. Well, not so little—I was only a few inches taller. But he had a childlike enthusiasm that made him good company, and for now he was happy to do things with me. By next summer, or certainly the one after, he’d be afflicted with all of the disdain and sophistication of adolescence and completely uninterested in hanging out a sister who was two decades older. I would be just another annoying adult.
We had arrived at the fair shortly after it opened for the day, yet the blue sky was already hazed with dust raised by the prize livestock snuffling the earth in the Critter Corral and the humans trampling the ground in the Fun Zone. The air was filled with smells of sunscreen, popcorn, and barbecue. Oompah music blared from the bandshell. Then the song ended, and in the lull I heard the faint wail of a distant siren.
Teddy scooted ahead of me again, pointing his camera in all directions, taking photos. I pulled him to a reluctant stop, and consulted the map the ticket taker had given me. “We’re here, the Palace of Fine Arts. Let’s go check out my painting.”
“They call this a palace?” Teddy adjusted his San Francisco Giants baseball cap and gaped at the brown stucco box of a building. It was the opposite of the grand and elegant San Francisco Museum with which it shared a name.
“Use your imagination,” I said. “Come on.”
Compared to outside, the space was dim and hushed and cool, yet equally vibrant with color. Gray fabric-covered panels had been set up in rows of varied lengths, creating nooks and crannies like small galleries within a museum. Paintings hung on these temporary walls, while sculptures stood on pedestals. I had never thought of a county fair as a venue for art, but Florence persuaded me that the Mira Vista County Fair mounted a prestigious show and that I should submit one of my paintings. When it was accepted, she assured me I’d been accorded an honor. Looking for it now, I was pleased to see that the work on display was of high quality; my painting was in good company.
We came arou
nd a corner and saw it, well placed and brightly lit. “Here it is,” I told Teddy.
“Look!” he cried. “It’s got a blue ribbon next to it.”
He ran forward, with me right behind him. My heart rose, then bumped down to my stomach. The prize didn’t belong to my painting. It had been awarded to the one hanging beside it.
“Hmph,” he sniffed. “Why did that one get the prize? It’s kind of an ugly mess, you know? Yours is better.”
“Thanks.” I agreed with him—the beribboned artwork was kind of an ugly mess. One thing I’d learned over a number of years of entering contests and submitting to shows: there was no accounting for the taste of the jurors and judges. My little brother might have been a kid, but he clearly was more discerning.
“Of course, yours is kind of an ugly mess, too. Just not so much.”
“Thanks—I think.” Now I felt fully deflated. “Let’s go find Florence. The judging of the cakes and pies is the first contest scheduled for today.”
“I bet the Fourth of July pie will win.”
“Me too. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.”
We walked out of the Palace of Fine Arts and into the bright, hot sunshine. The shriek of the siren filled the air.
Louder. Closer.
A shiver shot up my spine.
Chapter 2
“Where are we meeting Cousin Florence?” Teddy asked.
“At the cooking demo area in the Home and Garden Pavilion.” I checked the map again and we set out across the fairground’s broad central plaza.
Florence was my stepfather Roger’s elderly relative. I had never been sure exactly what their connection was—some sort of second cousin once removed?—but from the first time I’d met her I’d been glad to claim her as kin.
She lived outside the town of Mira Vista in California’s Gold Country, where she was the chair of the local Culinary Arts Club. The club was overseeing a series of contests and demonstrations during the weeklong county fair. When she invited Teddy and me to come for a three-day visit, she’d enticed us with promises of fireworks shows, carnival rides, and Fourth of July pie.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 63