Crème Brûlée To Slay

by CeeCee James

  “You saw someone choke?” I asked.

  “Yes, I suppose so. At the time, I didn’t know she was choking. No one did. We were celebrating my father’s birthday. Oh that was years ago. Anyway, a woman who was seated at the table across from us suddenly stood up and hurried to the bathroom. It came out later that she’d been choking and had actually died in there.”

  “Oh, how awful,” I said. “That must have really scarred you as a child.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together as she seemed to be trying to remember. “I don’t recall being traumatized. I was a rather analytical child. Instead, I tried to figure out why she’d left instead of getting help. I simply couldn’t understand why someone would rather hide away than to chance making a scene. But then, I suppose I watched it happen again last night.”

  Something about what she said stuck out to me. It was the same thought I’d had the night before. There were people in the world who’d rather die than make a scene. But Mrs. Vanderton was a woman who lived to make a scene.

  Cecelia came in bearing two plates full of French toast, as well as a platter of ham, sausage, and bacon.

  “All right, my lovelies. I hope you enjoy breakfast,” she said as she set them down. After a moment, she turned one plate so that it would look more pleasing, and then smiled at her guests.

  I hurried into the kitchen to get the glass pitcher of orange juice. As I pulled it from the refrigerator, my phone rang.

  I answered it. “Hello?”

  It was Frank. “You have time to talk?”

  “Give me a minute. I’ll call you back.”

  I hung up and took the juice out to the dining room and filled the glasses. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson were enjoying the food with eye rolls of delight. I completely understood their reaction. Cecelia was a darn good cook.

  Back in the kitchen, I dialed up Frank as I returned the pitcher to the fridge.

  “Hi Frank. What’s up?” I said when he answered.

  He was as blunt as he ever was. “We have the cause of death. Anaphylactic shock.”

  “Oh my gosh.” She hadn’t choked. She’d died of an allergic reaction. I rubbed the goosebumps on my arm as I remembered our conversation when I’d brought her the soup.

  “Forensics is going to need samples of all the food.” He exhaled heavily. “Also, Detective Kirby will want to talk with you since you’re the one who served her.”

  The goosebumps now ran down my spine. “Am I a suspect?” I swallowed, my mouth dry.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t think so. At this time, they’re running the investigation as if it was an accidental death. So, there are no suspects. But one of the dinner guests gave a statement that Mrs. Vanderton specifically asked you if there was seafood in the food, so you’ll probably be questioned about that.”

  “She did ask. And I went in to the chef to double-check that there was absolutely no seafood in the dish I served her.”

  “Was that the only allergy she mentioned? Not nuts or anything else?”

  “Yes. That was it. She was very adamant, but the only seafood we had on the menu was sole, and that was by special order.” I paused for a moment. “Was she on her way to get her EpiPen from her purse? She mentioned she carried one there.”

  “I’m not sure why she was in the study. Anyway, we notified the next of kin, which turns out to be a sister from Orlando. A Mrs. Amelia Spalding. She’s flying up tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh how sad. Were you the one who had to inform her? Were they close?”

  He let out a grunt and I could imagine he was probably rubbing his face the way that he did when he was mentally tired. “Yeah. Just got off the phone with her. Oddly, the sister mentioned she hadn’t talked to Mrs. Vanderton in nearly two years.”

  “Wow.” I was surprised, even though maybe I shouldn’t have been. Mrs. Vanderton had seemed to repel most of the town’s people. I guess I could see how she’d have done the same to her family.

  “Do you know if that was all the family she had left?” I asked.

  “There’s a brother too. Apparently he is out of the country. Mrs. Spalding assured me that she’d find a way to get into contact with him.”

  “Hmm, definitely not a close family then.”

  “No, apparently not. So, I have some other not-so-great news. Apparently, Detective Kirby found a can of shrimp meat in the bottom of the kitchen trash.”

  I gasped. “It must have been from a meal they had earlier. Maybe the trash hadn’t been removed for a few days?”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  I thanked him and hung up, sighing. Honestly, I was not looking forward to a third interview with the police in less than twenty-four hours.

  Chapter 6

  The interview took place an hour later and was much easier than I’d expected. Rather than meet again in person, Detective Kirby called me, asking basic questions about exactly what had happened when I served Mrs. Vanderton. Seemingly satisfied, he ended the conversation in less than five minutes.

  The Johnsons had plans, today so, with no guests staying for lunch, Cecelia had reluctantly had me go home. There was no use paying me to stay when there was no work.

  I called Kari to talk about last night, and she invited me for a short jog around the block. I should have been more suspicious, but I was feeling guilty for my lack of commitment to my resolutions. I’d started the new year with a promise to myself that I’d exercise for at least forty minutes every day.

  Well, that had worked for the first three days. But by day four, my muscles were so sore, I had to take a break. Since then, my workouts had been pretty spotty. It really made me rethink why I even bothered to make New Year’s resolutions, if I wasn’t going to keep them.

  Still, I was here now, despite the slush on the ground. As the coldness seeped in through the soles of my sneakers, I was pretty sure I could have worked the snow as an excuse for not going, if I’d really wanted to. The fact that I didn’t made me proud of my dedication.

  Kari came to the door in her yoga clothes, blonde hair in a high ponytail, looking as chipper as ever.

  “Hey, how are you?” I moved back and forth on my feet, trying to warm up. My tennis shoes squelched in the slush.

  “I’m good. Tired. Maybe a hint of a headache.” With that comment, she just out-dedicated my dedication. “How are you doing?” she asked as she shut the front door and locked it.

  “Good, tired. Never want to do another catering event again.” I thought about it. “Although the person who made it so unpleasant ended up dying so….”

  She laughed and rolled her eyes. “So there is that. Ahh, poor Veronica Vanderton. What a legacy she left, huh?”

  “It certainly doesn’t seem like she’s going to be missed much, which is kind of sad.”

  “That is sad. Besides, no one deserves to go out like that.”

  “Like what? Choking?” I asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well,” I hesitated. I knew I shouldn’t tell her, but she was my best friend. And Frank hadn’t said to keep it a secret. “I’ve just received some news. She didn’t choke.”

  “What?” Kari’s blue eyes rounded. “Are you serious? What happened?”

  “She ate something she was allergic to. She died of anaphylactic shock.”

  “Oh, how horrible.” Kari stretched her legs. Her voice was muffled as she bent toward her toes. “I remember her mentioning at dinner how she couldn’t eat shellfish. But there wasn’t any, was there?”

  “No. I even checked with Adele just to be sure.”

  “Wow. That’s weird.” She checked her wrist where she wore a step tracker. “Okay, you ready?”

  We jogged the first block, with me feeling like a Shetland pony shambling along next to a thoroughbred.

  Not everyone is meant to look elegant all the time. I came down hard and nearly twisted my ankle. And maybe not even some of the time.

  We jogged several more blocks with no end in sight. The slush made
soft splats with each step. A familiar pinch started in my side, and I groaned. I’d always been susceptible to those side cramps, even as a kid. As it grew stronger, I remembered why I didn’t like to jog.

  Painting’s exercise, I told myself. And cooking—pant, pant—cooking is exercise too. All that dough rolling. Wrists of steel!

  By the time we arrived at the park, the stitch in my side was unbearable.

  “I need … to … slow down,” I gasped. I eased up until I was taking turtle steps behind her.

  “You did good, super good.” Ever the cheerleader, Kari tried to rally me. But there was no rallying at that point, and I reeled over to one of the benches to sit. I didn’t even care about the puddles on the seat from melting snow.

  Kari stood before me and stretched her legs. “That was fun!”

  I couldn’t help but smile. Even her voice was spirited. “So about the dinner last night. You didn’t see anything weird happen?”

  “Nope. Not a thing.”

  “Because you’re not going to believe this, but someone used Vanderton’s death as a distraction to swipe the sword.”

  “What? Are you kidding me?” Her mouth hung open. She retwisted her hair back up into a ponytail. “That thing was a landmark for Gainesville. It’s practically our mascot.” She thought about it for a second, and then indignantly added, “It is our mascot! It’s carried by the trooper bear on the high school banner!”

  I nodded, remembering. That’s right. There was a bear drawing a sword on the red flag.

  “Do you have any ideas about who could have stolen it?” I asked. I couldn’t see how she would, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

  “Well, there was that one lady who left during the dinner. It was a few minutes after Mrs. Vanderton disappeared.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re the first one to mention this. Who was it?”

  “She’s the gal wearing that red hat. The one with the big plume.”

  I blinked, not sure what to think. She’d just described Mrs. Johnson. “Yeah, I know who she is. She’s a guest at the Baker Street Bed and Breakfast. But I don’t remember her leaving during the meal.”

  “It was after you brought the salad. She excused herself for a moment. I didn’t think anything of it until you asked just now.”

  I rubbed my temple. What did this mean? Did Mrs. Johnson see Mrs. Vanderton? But wouldn’t she have raised the alarm? “I’ll be seeing her later. I guess I need to ask her about it.”

  “Okay, but keep me in the loop, because I want to know. Don’t be holding anything back after I’ve just given you a good scoop.” She eyed me hopefully as I sat there. “You ready to get going?”

  “I’m ready to get going, but I’m done running.” I laughed. “I really should head back to the bed and breakfast. It’s kind of slow lately, but maybe Cecelia will need me to help with dinner.”

  Kari tightened her shoelaces. “All right. Tomorrow then?”

  I stood up and nearly wept at the way my muscles protested. “I don’t know about that. We’ll see.”

  Kari smiled. “Drink lots of water. You’ll be okay. I’m not giving up on you.”

  As I limped back to Kari’s house where I’d left my car, I texted Adele.

  —How are you doing?

  I had a feeling that by now she’d heard about the allergic reaction. I’m sure the police had already questioned her.

  There were bubbles as though she were typing back. And then my phone rang.

  It was Adele.

  “Hey lady,” I answered. “How are you?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Adele?” I asked.

  Chapter 7

  I drove to Adele’s house, my mind spinning. The poor woman had sounded like a wreck on the other end of the phone. I could scarcely understand a word she’d said, it was so broken up with sobs and gulps of air. Finally, I told her to hang in there, and that I was on my way.

  The local doughnut shop’s sign flashed at me. Fresh doughnuts! I pulled in and ordered several different ones. That way, I could come bearing gifts. And hardly anyone could refuse the gift of a fresh doughnut.

  They were warm, and their sweet smell filled the van as I set the box on the passenger seat. Following the map on my phone, I drove the six blocks to her home.

  It was a small house, yellow, with white clapboard trim. Carrying the box, I walked to the front door and knocked.

  She answered the door in her bathrobe, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. Her eyes were red and puffy.

  “Oh, Adele,” I said, immediately juggling the box to give her a hug.

  “Georgie! This is awful! They found a shrimp can. They’re saying it was my fault!” That declaration started her sobbing in full force again.

  I released her and scooted her in, then closed the door behind me. “We’re going to figure this out. Everyone who worked with you last night knows you didn’t have shellfish on the menu.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she wailed. “It’s not the police or the investigation I’m worried about. It’s my reputation. My business is brand new and already I’m going to be labeled a guest killer!”

  “No, no, you aren’t,” I said, trying to soothe her. But what did I know? Gossip could be like a brutal feral animal tearing into lives. Still, I’d do everything I could to protect her. I led her to her kitchen. The sink and counters were overflowing with dirty dishes. I started searching the cupboards for a coffee mug.

  “What are you looking for?” she sniffed.

  “I’m going to make you a nice cup of tea to go with these doughnuts. And then we are going to figure this out.”

  She gave me a few directions, and I soon set a steaming cup of mint tea before her. I really wanted to give her chamomile, since that was especially soothing, but at least mint wasn’t caffeinated. I pulled out a chair across from her and opened the box of doughnuts.

  “So, what’s you pleasure? I grabbed a variety,” I said. “Sprinkles? Buttermilk? Or a maple twist?”

  She smiled and reached in to break the buttermilk in half. “You didn’t have to do this.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “Pish. It was just as much for me. I earned this. After all, I did go jogging today.” I had the other half of the doughnut. Adele grabbed her mug and I waited to ask any questions until she took a sip.

  “Okay, so the police contacted you?” I asked.

  She nodded, her mouth full of doughnut.

  “And what did you tell them?”

  She swallowed and then brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “I gave them my menu and the list of all the ingredients I used. I insisted the canned shrimp wasn’t mine. They even collected my grocery list for evidence.”

  “Okay, good. Did you give them the names of everyone who helped you prepare the meal?”

  She nodded, cupping her mug like it was a life preserver.

  “It simply did not come from you. I know that.” I sat back in the chair, thinking. “The canned shrimp had nothing to do with you. It could have even been from the night before. Now, was there any other food that you set out?”

  “We had hors d'oeuvres earlier in the evening, before the presentation. Prosciutto-wrapped baby asparagus, phyllo cups with ricotta chèvre and pancetta, and cherry-tomato pepper tartlets.”

  Some of those names were unfamiliar to me. “None of those include seafood, though, right?”

  She shook her head.

  Not that it really mattered if they did, because there was too much time between the appetizers and the time of Veronica’s death for it to be the dramatic type of anaphylactic shock that she’d suffered.

  I thought of something else. “Did you set out any dessert or finger foods for the guests to eat as they mingled?”

  She shook her head. “Just the opening wine and hors d'oeuvres. And then we served dinner.”

  “I see. Well, I remember one of the guests eating a cookie in the library. There was a big plate of them. You’re sure that wasn’t from y
ou?”

  “Definitely not. I didn’t bring any cookies. We had the crème brûlée for dessert.”

  “Yes, I remember.” What was I even thinking? Shrimp cookies? I hardly could imagine so. But it was odd they were sitting out. Maybe they’d somehow been cross-contaminated. Even poisoned? I needed to get the info to Frank as soon as possible. Hopefully, the cookies were still available for some kind of testing.

  Adele seemed curious with my line of questioning. “The fact that you saw cookies proves there was other food available. Food I didn’t prepare. Georgie! This could be my saving grace!”

  I grabbed my phone, deciding to text Frank the information right away. “I completely agree, and you never know. She may have suffered from a nut allergy as well.”

  She sat back, looking so much more hopeful. I was, too, even though I had to squelch that tiny inner voice reminding me Mrs. Vanderton wasn’t found in the library where the cookies were, but in the study. But perhaps she’d taken her cookie in there to eat.

  “Don’t you worry,” I said. “We’re going to get the word out. If I have to print up flyers and plaster them around town announcing how the accident happened, I will. We’re not going to let anything happen to your business. We’ve got your back.”

  She took another sip of her tea and gave a big sigh. Suddenly interested in the doughnuts again, she grabbed another piece.

  As she ate it, she glanced around her kitchen. “Good grief. What a mess.”

  While I waited for Frank to reply to my text, I thought back to what Kari said about Mrs. Johnson leaving the dinner, and about that shrimp can. Were they both just coincidences?

  Exploring the origins of the cookie and whether or not she had a nut allergy seemed like the right way to go. I could explain those other clues away, couldn’t I?

  Chapter 8

  Frank still hadn’t responded to my text by the time I left Adele’s. I headed to the B&B, hoping it wasn’t too late to test those cookies. I wanted them to be the answer so badly.