by Harper Lin
I filled up every ice tray I’d been able to find between my house, Matt’s, and the café. I even had a couple that Sammy had brought in for us to use. We had a big ice machine that provided all the ice we usually used in the café, but that was hooked into the water line, just like our espresso machines were, and I didn’t think it was a good idea to try to pour punch into it. If I was lucky, we would have just had fruity ice for a while. If I was unlucky, the whole machine would probably get gummed from the sugar in the punch, and I’d have to buy a new one. It was easier to just use the few that I’d managed to scrounge up.
I covered the punch with plastic wrap and wedged it back into the fridge alongside the containers of sorbet, pineapple juice, and soda that I had ready and waiting to use for more punch. Both of our industrial-size fridges were completely packed with food for the party that night. I had no idea how many people would attend—a downside of making it an open-house event—or how much they would eat, so I might have gone a little overboard on the food prep. I just wanted to make sure everyone was well fed! I would have felt like a terrible hostess if anyone went away hungry.
I did the next fold-and-turn on the puff pastry then popped it back in the fridge. I needed to get the lemon curd tart filling going. Fortunately, it was a pretty straightforward recipe that I’d made a million times. As long as I didn’t scramble the eggs, I’d be fine.
I zested a bunch of lemons then poured in the sugar and mixed them up. Then I dropped in the eggs and some lemon juice, put the whole thing in a pan on the stove, and cooked the mixture for a few minutes. Then I added a pinch of salt and some butter, strained it all, and left it to cool. And I pulled it all off with no major disasters. As soon as I got the puff pastry done and cooked, I’d be ready to go.
Or so I thought until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror next to the door and realized I’d have to find time to go home and get a shower if I didn’t want to show up at my own party with flour in my hair and specks of lemon curd all over my face.
Chapter 7
I managed to get the café cleaned, rearranged, and decorated, the food all prepared, and myself cleaned up in time for the party to start. All that was thanks in no small part to Sammy, who I felt like was sharing my brain and providing two extra hands for me. Every time I turned to ask her to help me with something, I found her already doing it, whether it was carrying food out to the tables or adjusting a decoration or putting out a sign-in sheet so Matt and I could thank everyone personally for coming in the days after the party.
Well, who was I kidding? Matt would thank his buddies for showing up that night and then never think of it again. That was probably a fair approach to take, but if a lot of people showed up—which I hoped they did, for the sake of the animal shelter, but also because I had made quite a lot of food—it might be hard to get around and say hello to everyone during the party. With a list, I could go thank them afterward.
Matt managed to pull himself away from his work and showed up early, like I’d asked. I was thrilled because Sammy and I needed help moving a few tables around to create more space for people to mingle.
“Oh good!” I exclaimed as he walked in. “Could you get that four-top from the back and bring it over next to this other one?”
“Hi, honey, I missed you too.” He sauntered over and looked down at me with a wry smile.
“Sorry, I’m just trying to get everything all set so we’re not still working on it when people start arriving.” I gave him a quick peck on the lips before going back to the napkins I was arranging in a fan pattern on the table.
“Relax.” He glanced down at his watch. “The party doesn’t start for twenty minutes.”
My head snapped up to look at the large cast-iron clock that hung on one of the café’s exposed brick walls. “Twenty minutes? Forget these napkins! We need to get plates and forks and cups and—”
Matt put his hands on my shoulders. “Calm down, Franny. We’re going to get it all done. Just take a deep breath. It’ll be okay.”
I looked at him like I thought he was crazy—because I did. I was sure there was no way to get everything done and make everything perfect in twenty minutes. And that was assuming no one showed up until the official start time. Someone always did. No one else would show up for another half hour or so, but there was always that one person who was there before they were supposed to be. Whoever it was, I wanted to be sure we were ready when they walked in.
Fortunately, the first people to trickle in were more like family than guests—the people we would have invited even if we were just having a small gathering at the house. Sammy’s boyfriend, Ryan, was the first to come in, followed shortly by Rhonda—who also worked for me—and her husband, then my high-schoolers, Becky and Amanda, with their families. There was no sign of Ephy as the official seven o’clock start time came and went, but I reminded myself that she was joining us to celebrate, not coming in to work. She could be as late as she wanted, and it would be fine. Besides, other people were starting to filter in. Some friends, some acquaintances, some people who I didn’t really know but recognized from the café.
Almost everyone signed the sheet of paper serving as a guest book, and I saw lots of people slipping money into the collections box for the animal shelter. I wondered briefly if it had been a bad idea to leave it so close to the door—it would be so easy for someone to grab it and run out—but I reassured myself that we were in Cape Bay, which wasn’t exactly a hotbed of crime. Well, for the most part. We had had more than our share of murders in town lately, but it was a safe town otherwise, with just some vandalism and the occasional petty theft taking up most of the police department’s time.
I gradually started to relax and enjoy the party. People were milling around, chatting with each other, eating the snacks I’d spent so much time preparing, and generally having fun.
“Happy birthday, Francesca. It’s a lovely party.”
I turned around to see Mary Ellen, who ran the gift shop across the street, smiling broadly at me. She looked as polished and refined as ever, with her blond hair perfectly coiffed and a cobalt-blue jumpsuit topped with jewelry I was sure came from one of the local artists whose work she stocked in her shop. I only hoped I looked as good as her when I was her age.
“Mary Ellen! Thank you for coming.” I held out my arm and gave her a big hug. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”
“I’ve been nibbling my way through. Those canapés with the Italian sausage are divine.”
I thanked her and glanced over at the tables holding all the food to make sure they were still well stocked.
Mary Ellen touched my arm and leaned in. “As a woman who has thrown her share of parties, let me give you a little tip. Stop worrying so much and enjoy the party. The more fun you have, the more fun your guests will have.” She smiled warmly at me. Then her smile broadened as she looked over my shoulder at someone across the room. I looked over and spotted a dapper-looking older gentleman making eyes at her.
“Who’s that?” I knew I’d seen him in the café before, but I hadn’t met him yet.
“He’s new in town. Just retired here after a long career in law up in Boston. Handsome, don’t you think?”
He was rather handsome in that old-enough-to-be-my-father kind of way. I’d never really known my father—he and my mother had broken up when I was too small to still have any memory of him—but the man across the café was about the age he would be now. I guessed. I didn’t even know that much about him.
But I didn’t want to think about it right now, so I put it out of my head and focused back on Mary Ellen. She, however, was still looking across at the man with a coy smile on her face. She batted her eyes, glanced away, and then looked back. She could have taught a master class in flirting with the way she was acting. She tucked a strand of her blond hair behind her ear. It was impressive, really. If I were looking for tips, she’d be the person I’d talk to. It wasn’t just for show, either—Mary Ellen was perpetually popular w
ith the retirement-aged men in Cape Bay.
Mary Ellen’s new beau was making his way toward us now, a cup of punch in each hand. Mary Ellen touched my arm again. “If you’ll excuse me.” She started toward him then stopped and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Don’t forget to relax.” Then she flashed the man a brilliant smile and walked over to him.
She was right. The party was supposed to be fun, not stressful. I needed to relax and enjoy myself. I headed for the table with the punch, stopping along the way to greet friends and neighbors and thank them all for coming.
I caught Sammy’s eye and mouthed “thank you” as she refilled the punch bowls.
“Hey, Fran!”
I looked up to see the brilliant blue eyes of Todd Caruthers smiling down at me. “Todd! Hi!”
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against the hard muscles of his chest. Todd and I had gone to high school together. Back then, he’d been the too-attractive-for-his-own-good, all-American star athlete. To be honest, not much had changed since then. He’d gotten older, yes, but he was still distractingly handsome and just as in shape as ever—maybe even more. It made sense, given that he owned the cleverly named Todd’s Gym out on the edge of town near the marina.
“How are you doing, Todd?”
“Good! Good.” He ran his fingers through his surfer-blond hair. “You know, business slowed down after the thing with Joe, but it’s starting to pick up again. I’m hoping to get some more traffic by offering day passes to the tourists. Get the ladies who don’t want to miss their yoga class, you know?”
I nodded. “The thing with Joe” he’d referred to was actually a murder that had happened in the gym’s parking lot. I hadn’t realized business had slowed down for him after that, but it made sense. Even though the murder had been solved, I could see someone being put off from the place. It wasn’t fair, but people didn’t usually consider fairness when they were thinking about their safety.
We chatted for a few more minutes before I resumed my mission to get to the refreshments table. I was feeling more than a little parched. A cup of rum-spiked punch was just the thing I needed to quench my thirst and help me relax a little. I grabbed one of the Italian sausage canapés and popped it into my mouth on my way to the punch bowl. Ephy was standing near it, leaning against the wall, holding a cup of water. “Don’t like the punch?” I asked.
As usual, she shrugged. “I don’t like, like, sweet stuff.”
I wondered if that explained her personality. “Have you gotten anything to eat? There’s a lot that isn’t sweet.”
She shrugged again. I decided it wasn’t worth the effort to try to make pleasant conversation with her when I was supposed to be kicking back and having fun. Instead, I just ladled myself some punch.
“Does that have alcohol?” someone beside me asked.
I turned and saw Melissa, one of Sammy’s friends. I’d gotten to know her while investigating the murder at Todd’s Gym the year before. Her ex had been killed, and even though they were broken up, she had been devastated. She had somehow managed to keep it together for their little girl. As it always did, the sight of her dark curls, blue eyes, and cheerful face made me smile. And then my smile broadened as I glanced down and realized she’d grown a little since the last time I saw her. I caught my breath and blurted out “What’s this?” before realizing how terrible it would be if she wasn’t actually six or so months pregnant like I thought.
Fortunately, she grinned and turned to the side, putting her hands on the top and bottom of her belly to emphasize its size. “I’m having another baby!” she squealed.
“Congratulations!” I gave her a hug, taking care not to splash any of the red punch on her white blouse. “Boy or girl?”
“Another little girl!”
I asked her a few more questions like when she was due and how she was feeling. Then I remembered what had started our conversation. “This bowl has alcohol. That one down there doesn’t.”
She gave me a brilliant smile. “Thank you! And happy birthday!”
As she walked away, I finally took a sip of my punch. My forehead wrinkled. Something about it didn’t taste quite right. Not bad, necessarily, just not quite right. I wondered if Sammy had done something different when she mixed up the fresh batch. I couldn’t think of what, but maybe one of the containers of sorbet was a little different from the others or something. Or maybe it was the Italian sausage I’d just eaten messing with my taste buds. Either way, it was still good, just different. I drained my cup and refilled it then drained that and refilled it again.
I spotted Matt sitting at a table across the room and made my way over to him. As much as I enjoyed chatting with everyone who had turned out to help us celebrate, the party was for Matt and me, and I wanted to spend at least a little bit of time with him.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said as I walked up and took the seat next to him. “Good party. Everyone seems to be having a great time.”
I surveyed the room, looking at all the small clusters of people chatting happily as they ate their hors d’oeuvres and sipped their punch.
I smiled up at Matt. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”
He smiled back, but the warmth that was usually in his eyes was missing. I looked at him a little more closely. His face was a little red, and his breathing seemed heavier than usual.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Just not feeling great.” He pulled at his T-shirt collar. “Is it warm in here?”
“A little.” I felt his forehead. It was a little warm but also clammy. “Do you need to go lie down?”
He shook his head. “I’ll be okay. Just don’t be mad at me if I’m not moving around and talking to people too much.”
I put my head on his shoulder. “I would never.”
He shifted in his chair and pulled at his collar again.
“Do you want me to get you something to drink? Some more punch? Or water?”
“Some water might be good.” His breathing sounded more labored already.
I got up and started making my way through the crowd over to the sink for some water. I hadn’t made it very far when Mary Ellen’s gentleman friend rushed past me on his way to the bathroom, clutching his hand over his mouth. As my eyes followed him, I saw Rhonda coming out of the other bathroom, looking decidedly green.
I stopped and looked around the room. More than a few people around the room were looking a little red-faced and sweaty like Matt. Some of the others just looked weak and pale. Worry started to flare up in my gut when something else flared up as well.
I barely made it to the bathroom to crouch in front of the toilet before my stomach clenched and everything I’d eaten that day came roaring back up.
Chapter 8
The next morning, I found myself huddled on Matt’s couch, wrapped in a blanket, willing myself to feel less awful. I’d spent the night at Matt’s place because it was marginally closer to the café than my own house two doors down was. With how terrible I’d felt when I’d stumbled home the night before, I didn’t actually know if I would have made it the last one hundred feet to my door. When Matt and I left the café, I was feeling weak and shaky, but I could walk, which was more than I could say for some of the other people who’d come to the party.
By the time I’d stumbled out of the bathroom the night before, after ignoring more than one knock on the bathroom door, the café had been lit up with the flashing red lights of the two ambulances parked outside. I already felt terrible from the nausea that had sent me running to the bathroom, but the sight of them made me feel even worse. In all the time I’d spent planning the party, it had never occurred to me that it might end with paramedics making their way around the room, checking my guests’ vital signs. Most people were sent home with instructions to rest, drink lots of fluids, and call 911 if they felt any worse, but several of them got hooked up to oxygen, loaded into the ambulance, and carted off to the hospital.
The worst part was that I had a sinki
ng feeling that it was my fault.
During the few moments I’d had during the night when I didn’t feel too sick to even think, I’d wracked my brain trying to think of somewhere that I might have cut a corner in my food prep or been sloppy with my cleaning or refrigeration. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t think of anything. I’d prepared a lot of food and had to juggle multiple recipes and ingredients at a time, but I couldn’t think of a single thing I might have done that could have caused cross-contamination or compromised the safety of the food. But I must have. All those people didn’t get sick from nothing.
Matt was on the couch next to me, also in his pajamas with a blanket wrapped around him. He’d been drifting in and out of sleep in between trips to the bathroom all night and looked, at the moment, closer to sleep than wakefulness. An occasional groan was the most coherent sound I’d heard from him in hours.
Latte lay curled up quietly between us, seemingly understanding that neither of one of us felt well enough to walk or play with him as usual. The poor little guy would have to make do with us occasionally shuffling to the back door to let him run outside for a minute.
In the easy chair off to the side of the couch, Detective Mike Stanton sat hunched over with a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He seemed to be holding it and staring at it more than drinking it, an indication, I suspected, that he didn’t actually feel much better than either of us did, even though he was up and dressed and out of his house.
He stared at the coffee cup for a few more seconds then put it down on the end table next to him and slowly drew a notebook and pen out of the pocket of his navy cargo pants. The detective flipped his notebook open and turned his bleary eyes toward me. “Any idea what happened, Fran?”