by Lois Winston
“No time off for anyone until we hire someone.” She smiled. “No time off forever.” A ring-bedecked hand with a Christmas decoration painted on each nail crept toward the brownies.
“Fortier’s death was tragic.” I lifted the brownies from the desk.
She gave me a tight smile and one, slow blink of her eyes. “Tragic? You didn’t kill him?”
Concepción was impervious to bullshit, which was why everyone liked her.
“So you think he was murdered?”
She shrugged. “That’s for the police to decide.” The sibilance slurred with saliva. She smiled. Concepción Galisanao could smile as she scheduled you for sixty hours. “Maybe you say it’s tragic because no time off.”
“No, I think it’s tragic because someone killed him. I want to know who.”
“One of the women in the kitchen,” Concepción declared.
“Maybe. I intend to find out.”
Her chocoholic’s eyes, transfixed on the two brownies, misted.
“I heard Fortier got a big raise after his program took off.”
“Everybody heard that.”
“Well?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Whew!”
“Not really whew when you consider our wages,” Concepción said.
“How about the beneficiary of his insurance policy, Concepción?”
“I can’t do that.”
I peeled the cellophane from a brownie. “I know. Employee confidentiality. But Fortier’s dead.”
“Are you going to eat that damned thing?” Concepción snapped.
“I brought them for you.”
“Then let me have them, Carol.” The little woman lunged for the brownies.
I jerked them away. “Careful, Concepción,” I said, “you’re going to smush them, and these are ultra fudge masterpieces with hunks of walnut. Crispy outside and chewy centers.”
Concepción crossed her arms. “I can get some from the kitchen.”
I smiled smugly. “No, you can’t.”
Concepción walked to a file cabinet and found the hanging folder. “Jean upped the standard work policy to twenty thousand and the beneficiary is....” She turned to me with her nose wrinkled, “His wife?”
“Ex-wife,” I corrected.
“Says ‘wife.’“
I looked over her shoulder. Under beneficiary it said in Fortier’s scribble: Julieanne Fortier—wife. He was a bigger sleaze than I’d thought—not just dating the daughter of a former flame, but dating both while married.
I handed Concepción the brownies. “Thanks. You’ve been a big help.”
ELEVEN
Christmas night was not a success. I did my best to act surprised as I ripped open my big present from Chad, but I’d never been a gifted actress. My lack of oohs and ahs translated in Chad’s mind as disappointment. Plus, Christmas reminded him that I didn’t attend church, that I was, as his mother put it, “a heathen.” Chad fell into a melancholy funk.
Now as I padded over the mauve carpet of Archibald’s lobby, through murmurs of my colleagues’ conversation, I hoped this day-after-Christmas party proved more fun. I looked forward to buttonholing people to find out more about Fortier. Fortier’s niece Alexis didn’t have any buttonholes in her black velvet frock. I seized her tiny wrist and towed her to the balcony. She didn’t know me that well, but she didn’t protest.
“Whadzup?” she asked in typical twenty-something banter. Her nearly black eyes looked annoyed, but curious.
Out on the balcony, the fog swirled up the hill, obscuring any view and dampening our faces. At last year’s party, several drunken employees had leapt from the balcony to the lawn below. One of the cooks, Big Red, had broken his leg. This year the party was sans alcohol and subdued. There’d been other such changes in the last year. After a series of prime rib and steak thefts, Eldon had installed padlocks on the walk-in refrigerators.
I hadn’t thrown on my coat and the chill penetrated my long-sleeved, turtleneck dress. “I’m sorry about your uncle,” I said.
“Yeah, right.” The fog diffused Alexis’s petite frame but I heard the spite.
“He was an excellent chef and my heart goes out to you.”
“You guys all hated him!” The apparition flounced by to the rail. “Probably one of you killed him. Like that bitch Patsy!”
I followed cautiously, as though sneaking up on a tiny, flitting finch. “Patsy?” I prompted.
“You know how some women are when they can’t get what they want.”
I nearly laughed. Patsy want Fortier? But maybe she knew something I didn’t. At least she wasn’t in denial about the murder like the rest of the kitchen.
I hadn’t known what to expect. I saw Alexis only occasionally when I ate in the EDR after my shift and she came in early to take advantage of the free food.
As I leaned on the balcony rail, she jumped away from me. Alexis looked like Fortier but the strong Gallic features were less dashing on a young woman. “He was eating your batter!”
Dough, I mentally corrected. “Yeah, I don’t understand that part,” I said, “but I agree he was killed.”
Her eyes grew to the size of quarters. “I can understand why you guys didn’t like him.” Those wide eyes were now shiny with tears. “But as an uncle, he was great. Generous. He got me this job, you know?”
“I know.” She was the second person to mention Fortier’s generosity. He’d lived in a condo near the yacht harbor that was worth at least a hundred thousand. He’d received money from Exploration’s acquisition of the cooking program and from a hefty raise. Plus he had a cookbook in the works. Now he was dead, would his wife Julieanne profit from his generosity? At the funeral, she’d looked a little down in the heel.
“I’m surprised you had Jean’s ex-wife come stay with you,” I said.
“Julieanne? I don’t think they divorced.” She didn’t sound sure. “Besides, she’s my godmother. Jean was my godfather. Neither of them had any kids, and they competed for me. Especially after my mom left.” She sighed. “I liked the attention and money and stuff, but it was kind of exhausting.”
“Are your dad and grandmother still here?”
“No. Julieanne drove them to the airport so I could come to the party.” She sounded worried. “I should have done it.”
“Why?”
She chose not to answer.
“If Jean and Julieanne are separated, what brought her to Santa Cruz?” I tried to sound nonchalant, while rubbing the goose bumps on my arms. I pulled down the sleeves that I would push up in another minute, a habit from years of working in dough.
“I like to think she came here because of me,” Alexis said. She pulled a tissue from the pocket of the velvet cape she’d thrown over her dress. “But she came here because of Jean. They split up fifteen years ago, and she’s still not over him.” She delicately blew her nose. “I guess she’ll have to get over him now.”
From her tone, I realized that Julieanne had not flown in for the funeral. She had been in town for a while. “What did she do in Santa Cruz?”
Alexis’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me all this stuff?”
“Because I think the same thing you do. I think Jean was murdered.”
“So why do you give a shit?” Her eyes flicked over me. “Were you one of his girlfriends?”
I shook my head. “Not his type.” The fact made me feel pissed off at Fortier even though he was dead. Because I clearly wasn’t his type, I couldn’t mistake his harassment for anything else.
In spite of her hostility, Alexis didn’t walk off. She wanted to talk. I stared into the mist, waiting.
“Julieanne worked at KRUZ-TV as an office manager.”
I felt like saying something dumb like, “Holy cow,” or “No kidding?” No wonder Alexis acted as if she were making a confession. The information held all kinds of implications. I didn’t want to ask my next question. I felt as though I’d already taken advantage of Alexis’s vul
nerability.
I was lucky; I didn’t have to. Alexis volunteered the information.
“I’m sure she helped Jean steal Buzz’s show.”
TWELVE
Alexis had assumed the morning crew’s silence regarding Fortier’s theft of the show was due to ignorance rather than discretion. Tact, like rumaki and caviar canapés, is a taste developed with age. She told me what I already knew, that Buzz had planned the Cruz’n Cuisine show. “Everything, even the title, was his idea.”
She whirled around. “I’m too cold out here.” I followed as she pushed through one set of French doors into the heart of the party.
Tables of hors d’oeuvres had been set up opposite the Christmas tree. Boiled shrimp piled on a bowl of ice, garnished with lemons. Frittatas baked in pie dishes sat on one side, and an array of crudité and dips on the other. I wondered if I’d have a chance to eat, as I planned to do some serious mingling. People milled, crowded the plush mauve chairs and couches, and nibbled shrimp with mango sauce between sips of sparkling apple juice. I wistfully eyed their plates.
“So how’d Julieanne get KRUZ to switch to your uncle?” I asked Alexis.
Eldon, dressed as Santa Claus, stood behind a food table spread with desserts. As we passed, he handed each of us a paper plate with a petit four. “The pink one’s for Alexis,” he said. “My own creations.”
Alexis led me away from the crowd into the wide hallway to Vista Dining Room. A few people sprinkled the hallway, admiring the art display, recorded by discreet cameras installed to discourage theft. Alexis glanced at my plate. “I’d rather have chocolate frosting.”
“Here. I’ll trade with you.” Her petit four was topped with a sugary rose. I didn’t care which cake I had since my work had numbed my appetite for sweets.
“Julieanne kept Jean posted on Buzz’s progress,” Alexis said softly. She nibbled a bit of cake with her front teeth like a rabbit. “Buzz made his pitch and the producer liked the idea. That’s when ...”
Alexis froze. Then she abruptly turned to the wall as though enraptured by the watercolors on display. Walking towards us from Vista Dining Room were Suzanne Anderson and Buzz Fraser.
Suzanne looked cold in an electric blue dress that scalloped over her breasts and ended well before the knees. The tiny bolero jacket looked like scant comfort. She walked arm in arm with Buzz, but I doubted they had a date. Suzanne liked to flirt, and Buzz was an accommodating guy. Probably she was snuggling against him to keep warm.
“Hi, guys,” I hailed them.
Alexis whirled toward me, her face red, her dark eyes resentful.”I have to go to the restroom.” She clipped back toward the lounge as fast as her spike heels would allow.
“What’s eating Alexis?” Suzanne asked. She removed the blue band from her hair and slipped the elasticized ruffles around her wrist.
I shook my head, although I had an idea.
Buzz Fraser watched the long, dark hair billowing behind Alexis. The young woman slowed only to toss her unfinished petit four in the garbage. I tried to read Buzz’s expression, but he was noted for his unflappable nature in a work place where people had monumental egos. His look might have been one of concern or mere curiosity, but he did watch her until she disappeared into the restroom. Then he gave me a hug. Buzz wore soft brown cords and a warm, woolen sweater in a swirl of mellow earth tones. Even in the brief embrace, he felt warm. He smelled like eggnog, although I hadn’t seen any at the party.
“Where’s Chad?” he asked.
“He refused to be dragged. Spouses need alcohol to make these things bearable.”
This wasn’t true. Chad liked to talk to people, but given my intention to snoop, I hadn’t encouraged him to come. He’d been a little hurt and suspicious.
“Are you just going to admire that cake?” Suzanne asked.
I held the poinsettia-designed paper plate aloft and cast a critical eye on the petit four’s rose. “Why not? It’s Eldon’s objet d’ art.”
Suzanne frowned. “Eldon might say that, but the flower is pure Patsy.”
“Since Chad isn’t here, I’ll expect you to dance with me,” Buzz said.
“You bet.”
A force of personality, polar to Fortier’s, rendered Buzz so attractive. He possessed an unpretentious calm.
I wanted to do more than dance with Buzz Fraser.
THIRTEEN
Back in the lounge, the tall Santa Claus fumbled a tiny green package. Buzz got us each a coffee, and I perched on the arm of a couch, with my elbow on his shoulder. Suzanne leaned on the back of Abundio’s chair. The young dishwasher looked back at her, blushed, and squirmed with pleasure. Other employees sat haphazardly on the windowsills, couches, and thick carpet.
“This is Christmasy,” Buzz whispered, touching the ends of my scarf.
I’d tied it around my shoulders at the last minute for the Christmas colors in the pattern of bright red roses and green leaves on a gold background. It was like Buzz to notice exactly what a person wanted noticed.
My loose hair spread down over my shoulders and Buzz touched it, the way a person might sample a fabric between fingers.
I set aside my paper cup of coffee. It was a blend with a hazelnut flavor, but I liked coffee black and unadulterated. A bit of a purist. I sampled the pink flower with my finger. It was pure. Pure sugar. I didn’t want to abandon it where Eldon might see it since he’d claimed it was his special creation.
As Santa, Eldon was in his element—center stage, in-charge, promoting the company. He was a born bureaucrat and must have been miserable as a cook, before he worked his way up to head of the kitchen.
He called for the fourth time, “Alexis?”
People didn’t bother to look around. They wanted Eldon to get on with it. He reluctantly returned the package to the still large pile below the tree.
Buzz didn’t ask what had happened to Alexis. Buzz, ever the perceptive one, must have noticed his effect on her.
Eldon picked up a red foil box, all tape hidden, a lavish white bow on top. While I’d never buy a dress or shoes with bows, they looked good on presents.
“This is for Esperanza.” Eldon leaned back and made a ho, ho, ho.
I bent down and whispered in Buzz’s ear. “Let’s sneak out to the balcony.”
“Don’t you want to see what Esperanza got?” he teased.
“Glow in the dark Band-Aids, aloe vera cream for burns, and a spatula so she can quit borrowing mine.”
He arched one pale eyebrow.
“I have a black sense of humor.” I picked up the petit four thinking to dispose of it somewhere out of Eldon’s sight.
Buzz smiled, a rare phenomenon that transformed the severe Scottish features. “I don’t know. That’s what Esperanza would like.”
There he went again. Saying exactly what I wanted. Reassuring.
“She’s a pretty earthy lady,” he added. He held the door for me as others noted our escape. “Even if she did have that thing with Fortier.”
Cold fog enveloped us. Buzz hugged me sideways into the warmth of his sweater and I almost dropped the petit four. We walked to the rail and peered into the nothingness.
“When did they have their fling, anyway? It was before my time.”
“Except for me, Fortier and Esperanza, it was before everybody’s time.”
“Before Eldon’s?”
“Oh, yeah. Fifteen years ago, at least. I have to give Esperanza credit, though. She’s the only lady I know who ever dumped him.”
This was news to me. “What happened?”
“If I remember right, she had a husband who suddenly resurfaced—or something like that.”
“You know, don’t you, that I think Fortier was murdered?”
“Yeah,” he whispered, as though we were having a romantic conversation. “This thing Fortier had going with Delores is more complicated than people think.”
“How so?”
“Esperanza broke his heart. I think he was in love with her.”
“So Delores was a revenge?”
He shrugged and spread wide the fingers of his free hand. “Maybe it was a silly attempt to recapture the love.”
My baker’s nose again detected eggnog. With rum. “I want to figure out who killed him.”
“Be careful, Carol. Nobody likes people poking into their business, least of all a murderer.” The warning sounded harsh, unlike Buzz. On the other hand, when had we ever had occasion to discuss a murder. He released my shoulder and wove his large fingers around a strand of my springy hair. “Once a person has killed,” he added, “it’s not a big deal to do it again.”
I shivered. “Could we talk about Cruz’n Cuisine?”
If Buzz was surprised or put off, I couldn’t tell. “Fortier screwed me,” he said flatly. “Just like he did the rest of the kitchen.” He snorted. This was more than he’d been willing to say in five months.
Fortier’s womanizing disgusted Buzz more than Fortier’s theft. How was it possible that this man was single, with not even a significant other?
“What happened, exactly?”
“Am I a suspect?” He attempted a return to light banter, but he lost interest in my hair.
“At this point, aren’t we all?”
Whomever the police might suspect, I didn’t think I’d suffered some temporary amnesia during which I’d acted out a latent fantasy to kill Fortier. It was equally hard to believe that Buzz Fraser had done it. But if I wanted to investigate, I needed more to go on than gut instinct.
Since we couldn’t see anything from the balcony, we backed against the railing and watched the party through the French doors.
“So you want to know the details of my motive?” Buzz asked.
“Give me a break, Buzz.” He had not quite regained his kidding tone. “I’m new at this.” The cold had increased my hunger, and I nervously bit into the sponge cake layered with goo. This new endeavor of mine could make enemies and alienate people.
“Okay, Carol. I don’t know how it happened. I made the pitch. Everything was going great. Then the station manager dropped me like a hot potato.”