Camilla T. Crespi - The Breakfast Club Murder

by Camilla T. Crespi

  Margot waved fingers at her. “Let me in,” she mouthed.

  Margot clacked into the kitchen on her high-heeled mules and pecked Lori’s cheeks.

  “What brings you here?” Lori asked. She was too busy and in too foul a mood to welcome the interruption.

  “I was worried about you.”

  Lori dropped the orzo in the boiling pasta water. “There’s no reason to be.”

  Margot sat on one of the ladder-backed chairs and crossed her legs carefully. She was wearing a skimpy white dress that would have looked great on Jessica or Angie. “The police are looking into phone calls.”

  Lori turned to look at her friend. Margot’s usually alabaster complexion looked flushed and a frown was trying to worm its way through the Botox freeze. Lori set the timer for five minutes, knowing she would need a reminder, and sat facing Margot.

  “How do you know?”

  “Two big detectives came over. They said they were in charge of the case, that they had my phone records, and they wanted to know why I’d called your cell the night Valerie died instead of calling you on your home phone. I didn’t know how to lie. I’m sorry.” Tears appeared at the edges of Margot’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Really. Lying would have only made things worse. Scardini and Mitchell would have found out sooner or later.” They couldn’t arrest her on such skimpy grounds, could they? No. At the most it meant the two would come visiting, ply her with questions again. She hoped not today. “Come on, Margot, they’re not going to arrest me.” She stood up and circled Margot’s chair to put an arm around her. To Lori’s immense surprise, Margot was crying into her hands. Margot crying for her? It was sweet, but out of character. Lori ran a hand across Margot’s shoulders and waited for her to calm down. Her ideas of the world around her were being totally upended.

  After a couple of minutes, Margot looked up. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that—”

  The timer went off. “Give me a sec,” Lori said. She fished out a few bits of orzo with a ladle, blew on the pasta to cool it down and tasted. It needed two more minutes. Margot joined her at the stove, her face composed. Lori smiled at her and noticed, in a frivolous second she was instantly ashamed of, that Margot’s mascara hadn’t run.

  “You saw Jonathan yesterday,” Margot said lightly.

  “Yes, we had lunch together. He wanted to fill me in on what he’d found out about Valerie.”

  “What?”

  “He knew about Ruth, but you’d already told me.”

  Margot looked down on the boiling pasta pot as if she’d never seen the likes of it before. “Do you like him?” she asked finally, in the same tone of voice she used to ask if anyone wanted a drink.

  “Sure.” Without checking the orzo, Lori lifted the pot off the stove—with oven mitts this time—and drained the pasta in the fine mesh colander she had placed in the sink. “Jonathan’s fun, good-looking, nice. What’s not to like?” She ran cold water over the orzo to stop the cooking.

  “Be careful,” Margot said, narrowing her eyes.

  Lori was reminded of a cat eyeing a fishbowl. “Why?”

  “He plays the field.”

  “I wasn’t planning to marry him. He hasn’t asked me out, either.”

  Margot kissed her. Lori’s nose was overwhelmed by the smell of Opium. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Thanks for letting me know about the police,” Lori said, dropping the orzo into a stainless steel bowl. “You did the right thing and please don’t worry. Now I really have to concentrate on the dinner.”

  Margot offered to help, despite her freshly manicured nails. Lori turned her down with a laugh.

  Later, while peeling the peppers and cutting them into thin strips, Lori thought about Margot’s warning. That Jonathan played the field didn’t come as a surprise. And he was at least five years younger than she was. Did it matter? If he asked her out, would she say yes? She was sure he would make a beautiful, considerate lover. She’d always thought lovers were like the tasty pre-dinner bites fancy restaurants offered, what the French called amuse-bouche, something to keep the mouth entertained momentarily. Maybe that could be all right for now, but she wasn’t too old to hope for a solid, deeply satisfying relationship with a man. If she was capable of loving a man again.

  CHAPTER 21

  * * *

  Lori was in Jonathan Ashe’s gray marble kitchen, having just finished setting the dinner table, when Janet arrived with a hand truck that held three boxes filled with flowers in their vases. Janet had put on makeup, unusual for her, and tied her old-fashioned pageboy in a low ponytail. She looked pretty and young, dressed in the catering staff uniform: black loafers, white socks, black trousers, a white button-down shirt, and a black bow tie she had borrowed from Seth. Lori was wearing the same outfit without the bow tie.

  “You look good,” Lori said, opening up the bread stick boxes. “Thanks for coming so early.” It was five o’clock. The guests were expected at seven. “Those flowers are gorgeous.”

  “It’s all Sally’s doing.”

  “I’m sure you helped.” Janet was always putting herself down, and after what Beth had said, Lori expected Janet to be upset or nervous. If she was, she was keeping it well hidden, to Lori’s great relief. She wanted Mrs. Ashe’s birthday party to be as perfect as she could make it. If the guests were impressed, she was counting on them to spread the word or hire her for their own parties. Later, when they were washing up, she and Janet would have a talk.

  “Where shall I put them?” Janet asked.

  “Anywhere you’d like.” Lori knew exactly where she wanted the flowers, but micromanaging was counterproductive. She’d learned that lesson from Ellie. Lori was hoping she and Janet could become a team if and when Corvino Catering took off.

  “Hey, Janet,” Jonathan called out, striding into the kitchen in bare feet, a white terry cloth bathrobe covering what Lori presumed was his naked body. His hair was still wet from the shower. “Glad you’re here to help out,” he said.

  “Hi,” Janet said, and hurried out of the room with her box of flowers.

  Jonathan edged himself next to Lori at the island in the center of the room, close enough for her to smell the soap he’d used: sandalwood. She carefully rolled prosciutto slices onto pencil-thin bread sticks and thought of the first time she had seen Jonathan. At the car wash, chatting with Janet as if they were old friends. “Need anything, Lori?”

  She wanted to ask him how he and Janet knew each other, but she was afraid of sounding jealous.

  “I can help.” Jonathan reached for a prosciutto slice and folded it into his mouth.

  Lori pushed him away with her hip. The intimacy of the gesture brought instant heat to her cheeks. “No distractions, please, and no picking at the food.”

  “Anything you say. Until later, then.” He planted a kiss on the back of her neck that sent a shiver down her spine. His departure left wet footprints on the floor.

  Janet walked back into the kitchen. “The flowers are in place. What do you want me to do now?”

  Lori asked her to arrange the cheeses on the ornate, gold-edged Mottahedeh platters Mrs. Ashe had given her, platters that had been wedding gifts. Platters that would need to be hand washed with the rest of the gold-edged Duke of Gloucester dinner service. Next time, Lori promised herself, she would ask to see the plates before setting a price.

  “How do you know Jonathan?”

  “From the shop,” Janet said.

  “He orders flowers for his girlfriends?” Lori wanted to kick herself for acting like a schoolgirl, but that kiss on the back of her neck had made her go soft in the head.

  “He comes in with his mother to pick an orchid, which we make into a corsage for her. It’s a weekly ritual.”

  “I don’t like to give up old habits,” Mrs. Ashe said from the doorway.

  Startled, Lori broke the bread stick in her hand. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ashe.” Lori turned around to face Jonathan’s mother
, who looked the epitome of old New York elegance in her long mauve chiffon gown, triple string of pearls resting on the shelf of her bosom, a deep purple orchid corsage pinned just below one shoulder. A hair stylist had swept her silvery gray hair high above her forehead. She looked like she was wearing a tiara. “I hope you won’t think we were gossiping.”

  “Women ask all sorts of questions where my son is concerned.”

  So Margot was right, Lori thought. Jonathan did play the field.

  Mrs. Ashe took a few cautious steps into the kitchen. “The flowers are very handsome.”

  “Thank you,” Janet said.

  “To answer your curiosity, Lori, my husband used to present me with an orchid corsage every Friday evening after he came home from the office. It was his way to celebrate our weekend. My son helps me keep up the pretense. When you two young ladies get older you may discover that you need little subterfuges to make life palatable. And as for Jonathan, he is a wonderful son, and the day he finds a woman with some backbone to her, he will make an even better husband and father. I’ll leave you to your work. I have to take care of the place cards.”

  “Now I know why he’s not married,” Janet whispered, after making sure Mrs. Ashe was out of earshot.

  “She is a bit formidable,” Lori said, “but I feel for her. She’s trying to hold on to what’s gone and what can be sadder than that?”

  “Not knowing what’s around the corner is pretty bad, too,” Janet said, carefully unwrapping a gooey Camembert on one of the many large zucchini leaves Lori had gotten at the vegetable market. The smell of the cheese was delicious and overpowering. The future was scary, Lori thought. For the whole world. She swept a finger over the wrapping paper, caught a streak of the cheese, put the finger in her mouth and sucked, feeling instant comfort. One of the first things she had learned as a caterer years ago was not to eat your own food. She must remember that or she’d end up rolling instead of walking.

  “At the shop you said you were off the hook with the police,” Janet said. “Do they have another suspect?” She looked up at Lori and tried on a smile. “I mean, it’s great for you. Really, but who do they suspect now?”

  “I think Rob’s on top of the list.”

  Janet gave what sounded like a nervous giggle. “Rob, of course, who else? The husband is always the first one to be suspected.”

  “In this case, the ex-wife took precedence until the police found out about Valerie leaving Rob all that money.”

  “Did Valerie have a lot of money? Does the will say how big her estate is?”

  “I don’t know, but everyone said she had a lot of money. What makes you think she didn’t?”

  “No reason, except that we’re always making assumptions about people that turn out to be wrong. You, of all people, know what that’s like.”

  “Yes, I do.” Lori looked straight at Janet. “Hon, is there something you want to talk about?”

  Janet’s face clouded over. “No. I just keep thinking that maybe whoever killed Valerie was someone she knew, someone she trusted.”

  “Like Rob?”

  “Who knows?”

  “He may be a louse, but he’s not a killer.”

  “Oh,” Janet said, tugging at a zucchini leaf weighted down by a hefty wedge of Roquefort. “Sorry.” The leaf broke. There were no more to replace it. Janet looked crestfallen.

  Lori turned off the tap. She’d been washing the cherry tomatoes. “It’s fine,” she said. “Tuck the torn end under the Pont-l’évêque. No one will notice.”

  Janet fussed over the cheese plate for what Lori thought was a long time. “That looks great,” Lori said, in an attempt to reassure her.

  Janet finally placed the platter on the round glass and steel table at the far end of the kitchen, near the sliding door that led to the terrace where the hors d’oeuvres would be served. “I’m sure Rob didn’t kill Valerie,” she said, walking back to the island, “but would you have ever thought you couldn’t trust him?”

  “No,” Lori admitted.

  They worked silently after that, scooping out the cherry tomatoes, cutting the bottoms so they would sit up, cooking the bacon in the microwave, crushing it into bits to stuff into the tomatoes at the last minute so the bacon wouldn’t get soggy. They toasted the pita bread, spread the slices with the artichoke spread, artfully laid out the fresh vegetables around the dips on more gold-edged platters. As they worked, Lori wondered if Janet and Seth’s marriage was in trouble.

  The doorbell rang just as the peaches were ready to be taken out of the oven. Lori lifted the peaches out and cursed silently. She’d have to answer that. Janet was in the dining room, clearing the entreé plates. Lori was carefully setting the baking pan on the wooden carving board so as not to damage the marble countertop when she heard Jonathan call out, “I’ll get it.” He waved at her as he rushed past the half-open kitchen door that led to the foyer.

  Good, Lori thought, and turned to see Janet come through the swinging door to the dining room with a tray of dirty dishes. They started stacking the plates next to the sink.

  “You’re a success,” Janet said in a tired voice. “They practically licked the plates clean.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you.” Lori raised her hand. Janet gave her a limp high five and a limper smile. Lori hoped that Janet would open up later, tell her what was going on. Now it was time to top the peaches with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Decaf coffee was percolating in the urn. One silver tray held a doily covered with chocolate lace cookies. Another was filled with dark and white chocolate truffles. Lori felt herself relax. The evening was coming to a successful end.

  “How are you, my dear?” Mrs. Ashe’s voice slipped through the opening in the kitchen door. She was talking to the late arrival. “I have missed seeing your handsome face.” The warmth in Mrs. Ashe’s voice made Lori listen.

  “I am so happy to see you,” Mrs. Ashe said. There was a moment of silence and Lori imagined them hugging. Then Mrs. Ashe said, “It’s so sad about Christopher. How difficult it must be. Only a year has gone by, hasn’t it? My Edward died three years ago and I still miss him terribly. How are you getting on?”

  “Better,” Lori heard the man answer, followed by footsteps, then silence. They must have gone into the dining room. She had to finish with the peaches, top them with crushed pistachio nuts. The green looked pretty against the creamy white of the ice cream and the orange of the peach. Should she get another dessert plate ready? Thankfully she had roasted an extra peach. “Janet, please check if the new arrival wants dessert, or dinner for that matter.”

  “Will do.” Janet picked up the platter of roasted peaches and ice cream and swung the door open with her hip. Lori heard glasses clinking. Jonathan was serving more champagne with dessert. A few soft “happy birthdays” came though the door. Mrs. Ashe had made it clear she didn’t want anyone bursting into song.

  Janet came back and picked up the two silver trays of cookies and truffles. “He says peaches make his mouth pucker up, but he’d love the ice cream.”

  “Coming up.” She scouted around for a small bowl. The Duke of Gloucester service—Mrs. Ashe’s wedding service, she’d been told—was stashed in the stainless steel and frosted glass sideboard in the dining room and Lori wasn’t about to go in there to rummage around while Mrs. Ashe’s guests were toasting her. In the last kitchen cabinet, made of a burled wood stained pearl gray—Jonathan was taking this Ashe-gray thing too far—she found a cornflower blue cereal bowl and matching plate. Sweet and colorful. Lori loved it.

  “Mrs. Corvino!”

  Lori turned around. The man was standing in front of the swinging door, a white napkin edged in lace in one hand. “What a surprise and a pleasure.”

  She stared at him. He was tall, wearing khaki pants that needed pressing, heavy Timberlands on his feet, a blue button-down shirt with no tie and a wool tweed jacket he must have been broiling in. His face was craggy, with sharp cheekbones, topped by gray-blond hair with a str
and straggling down his forehead. Intense blue eyes stared back at her. She had seen this man before, but couldn’t, in this moment of surprise, place him.

  He came forward, hand outstretched. The napkin fell to the floor. “Alec Winters. I owe you a dinner and a dress.”

  “Oh, heavens.” Lori wiped her hand on her apron, held it out, and shook his. “I’m sorry, it’s been a busy night.” She felt foolish for not having recognized him. Hadn’t he worn glasses?

  “I’m out of context. White Plains is very far from Rome. And laser surgery has fixed my eyesight. No more glasses.” He smiled.

  Lori thought he looked kind and immediately realized that was what she had remembered about him in Rome, when, in her room in the modest pensione, she looked back on their awful meeting. Kind and sad. Or was she imagining the sadness because she knew that Christopher had died? Had Christopher been his partner?

  “How did you know I was here?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Janet slip through the door to the foyer.

  “Mrs. Ashe was singing your praises and handed me your card, in case I ever gave a dinner party again.”

  “That’s sweet of her.” Why was she embarrassed? She’d worked hard on this dinner; she deserved the praise. Or was this man with his intense gaze and the warmest smile the reason? Oh God! She remembered the flowers. Her note.

  “Your flowers were the most beautiful ones I’ve ever received,” Lori said, hearing her voice go gushy with overkill. She swallowed and said simply, “Thank you.”

  “I still owe you.”

  “No, you don’t. I wrote you a thank-you note, but I forgot to mail it.” She could see it in her mind, sitting on the hallway table next to the enamel key tray.

  Alec nodded. “Mrs. Ashe told me you’ve been through a lot lately. In fact, when I joined the guests just now, you were the talk of the table, but everyone thinks you’re too good a cook to be guilty.” He smiled again.