The Deeds of the Deceitful

by Ellery Adams

  “Thank you.”

  “The dress and shoes will be ready in two weeks.”

  “Will that work, Ashley?” Cooper asked.

  “Yes. The invitations went out today. The wedding is three weeks from Saturday.”

  “So, what about Mona’s fitting?” Cooper asked Ashley, hoping to change the subject.

  “She’ll be here in two weeks for the bachelorette party and will have her fitting,” Ashley said. “We’re just going to have to pay for a rush job.”

  “I don’t know about you gals, but I am starving,” Angela said when the fittings were complete. “Let’s go eat. Dinner is on me. We can plan my bachelorette party.”

  Bachelorette party. Cooper had forgotten about that. Maybe she could get Ashley to arrange that too.

  “Thank you for being my maid of honor, Cooper,” Angela said. She hugged Cooper and then turned and wrapped her arms around Ashley. “And thank you for being the best bridal planner ever.”

  “My pleasure. I can hardly wait to dance at your wedding, Angela.”

  “Is there anyone special you’re bringing to the wedding, Cooper?” Angela asked as they collected their bags and prepared to leave.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Angela smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard from you in a while.”

  “Tell us more,” Ashley added.

  “There’s nothing more to say. Just maybe.” Maybe because it might be a bit presumptuous to invite Jon Eason since she barely knew him, and who knows . . . with her poor judgment, he might be another prince bringing the wrong slipper.

  “What are you thinking about so hard, Cooper?”

  “Oh, you know. We’re in a bridal shop. I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me. I’m a disaster when it comes to men.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “Ashley, I am. Let’s face it.”

  Angela put a hand on her arm. “All the rest of those guys were auditions. They were just dress rehearsals for your heart. You’ll know when it’s the real thing. He’ll be kind and sweet and think you’re the best thing since carne asada fries from Casa Grande. And then, nothing else will matter.”

  Cooper blinked at her words, and her heart swelled.

  Ashley leaned close. “She’s right, you know.”

  “Of course I am. Now, let’s go eat. I mentioned fries, and now I’m starving.”

  Cooper smiled. She didn’t know if Angela was right, but she wanted to believe her, and maybe, just for tonight, she would.

  Chapter Eight

  Cooper stood beside Quinton, peering into the quaint French restaurant at the Friday night crowd. She picked up a menu from the hostess desk and scanned the leatherette cover that protected the parchment paper menu. “Richmond French Bistro. Offering white tablecloth, modern-traditional cuisine,” she read aloud. “What does that even mean?”

  “It means I will dine in style tonight. Good thing, because I’m starving.”

  “How did you find out that Alice Mayberry is here?” Cooper asked.

  “You said French bistro, so I called every French restaurant in the city limits and a few in the suburbs. At first, no one had heard of her. Then I described her. Voilà! I found Chef Mayberry. It turns out our friend Alice is using a different name.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because it’s her real name.”

  “I don’t follow,” Cooper said as her gaze followed a waiter carrying a tray filled with entrées. The scent of seafood had her mouth watering.

  “Alice Mayberry Wilson.”

  Cooper blinked. “Wilson? Like Dax Wilson?”

  “One and the same. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  “Coincidence?” Cooper said. “It’s more than a coincidence. Do we know if Alice is still married to Dax?”

  “I don’t know anything, except that she’s in the kitchen tonight.”

  “It seems awfully convenient that her last name is the same as his and, according to my conversation with Mindy, she recommended that the inn hire Dax. All pretty unusual, isn’t it?”

  The hostess led them to a quiet table and poured water into their glasses from a carafe. Once she left the table, Cooper leaned closer to Quinton. “How do you know Alice will even talk to us?” she asked quietly.

  “I thought we’d order and then ask to speak to the chef. I picked the last seating, so hopefully she won’t have an excuse to say no once the kitchen closes.”

  “Brilliant.” Cooper looked at the menu, and her eyes rounded. She took a peek around the busy bistro. This was the sort of place Ashley and Lincoln would come for dinner and think nothing of the cost. She wasn’t sure she could afford anything but an appetizer. Cooper sighed.

  “Pricey menu,” she murmured.

  “Cooper, this is on me. I can afford it, and it’s nice to have dinner with a friend.”

  “Thank you, Quinton. I’m not usually so busted, but canceling a wedding wasn’t cheap.”

  “Didn’t Nathan help you?”

  “I’m not going to ask him. It’s not his fault that things got out of control. I should have slowed down the train when my sister got on board.”

  “Ask your sister to help.”

  “No. I can’t do that either.”

  “Pride, Cooper. You have to let people help you.”

  “I’m letting you buy me an overpriced hamburger tonight.” She grinned.

  “A hamburger?” Quinton chuckled. “This isn’t the golden arches.” He grabbed the wine list. “How about a nice glass of wine with dinner?”

  She held up a hand. “No. But thanks. I’m a lightweight.”

  “What looks good to you?” Quinton asked as he perused the menu again.

  “I don’t know what half of this stuff is,” she said. “You’ll have to help me out here.”

  “We’ll start with the soupe à l'oignon,” he told their server minutes later. “And the fromage platter.”

  “Very good, sir. Your entrée?”

  “The lady will have scallops in puff pastry and beurre blanc sauce, and I’ll take the filet and jumbo shrimp.”

  “Are you going to translate?” Cooper asked when they were alone again. “Fromage is cheese. I remember that from our group’s French cooking class. What else did you say?”

  “French onion soup with our cheese platter. Beurre blanc is a fancy way to say white butter sauce.”

  “Why don’t they just say that?”

  Quinton laughed and picked up his water. “Because it’s a French restaurant, silly.”

  A few minutes later, their server returned with a freshly baked baguette and whipped butter. The scent of nutty yeast teased Cooper as Quinton sliced the warm loaf.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Cooper said around a bite of crisp yet chewy bread.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Quinton murmured. He wiped a bit of butter from his chin and grinned. “This has been the tastiest case we’ve ever investigated.”

  At the conclusion of their meal, Quinton followed his prepared script and asked their server for an audience with Chef Wilson.

  “Monsieur, my apologies if there is a problem with your meal,” the server said. Her face was concern-filled as she looked back and forth between them.

  “Not at all. C’est délicieux,” Quinton replied.

  “Very well, I shall let Chef Wilson know you wish to see her.”

  Cooper leaned forward. “You really do speak French.”

  “I had a crush on my high school French teacher. Miss Bogan. I was convinced that if I got straight A’s she might notice me. Didn’t happen, but I passed my French AP exam with flying colors.” He grinned. “What did you take?”

  “Field hockey. I should have taken French. If I had, I’d have two matching eyes, and I’d be able to order at fancy restaurants.”

  Quinton laughed. “Coop, you’re great just the way you are. You have character.”

  “Yes. That’s what my grandmother says too. I’m not convinced that�
�s a good thing.”

  Both Quinton and Cooper turned when the kitchen doors swung open and Alice Mayberry appeared. Her eyes widened and she paled when she saw them. Yet she didn’t turn away, and approached their table.

  “Delicious meal, Chef,” Quinton said. “I don’t suppose you have a few minutes to chat?”

  “What about?” She grimaced and glanced around.

  “Atwood Inn. Five minutes. That’s all,” he said.

  “Fine,” Alice said, arms crossed over her ample chest. “Make it quick. I’ve already talked to that detective, and I can’t afford to lose this job.”

  “We’re sorry for your loss,” Cooper said. She meant it. No matter how difficult Loretta Atwood was, it still couldn’t be easy for Alice. Beneath her gruff exterior, she was still a child of God, as Savannah would have pointed out.

  Alice simply nodded at Cooper’s words. Her face remained an impassive mask.

  “Do you mind if I ask why you were so angry when we were guests at Atwood Inn?” Quinton began.

  “Sure, I was angry. But it’s not what you think. My mother forced me to work at the inn. Her plan was to oust Chef Eason and get Mindy to sell. Making a fortune by selling to a developer was always her bottom line. It was the only way she could get any money out of the inn. She wasn’t going to wait for the inn to be profitable. Fact was, she never believed it could be.”

  “What was it she held over you?” Cooper asked.

  Alice blinked and her head jerked back slightly, as if surprised by the question. “What makes you think she held something over me? She was just a miserable woman.” Once again she eyed them. “I thought you were a Bible study. Are you amateur detectives too?”

  “No. We just like Mindy and we like you. We’re trying to figure this out.”

  “Look, I like Mindy too. She got a raw deal. Sometimes life stinks.”

  “What about you and Dax?” Quinton asked.

  “Dax Wilson and I were married for a whirlwind thirty days. Then he moved on to the next flavor. He uses women and then throws them away.”

  Quinton and Cooper left the bistro shaking their heads, still discussing Alice.

  “I was sure that Alice was our perpetrator, but it turns out that she’s a victim too,” Cooper said.

  “Sad, isn’t it? Except I have a gut feeling there’s a little more to her story than she let on,” Quinton said.

  “Really? Why?”

  “I interview people all day at the bank. For loans. There’s a ‘tell’ when they’re hiding something or outright lying, and I can say that Alice ticked all the boxes.”

  “Like what?”

  “Notice how she had a hard time looking us in the eye, and she kept licking her lips? She’s hiding something.”

  “That doesn’t mean she’s a murderer.”

  “No. If I were to make a guess, I’d say that most of what she told us was true. I’m sure that Detective Olson verified her alibi. She probably was home watching The Great British Baking Show, however, I think she purposely omitted information. I’d like to know what.”

  “How do we find out?”

  “Let’s have a chat with her last employer. Maybe they can shed some light on things.”

  “I bet Jon knows who it was. He mentioned something about her last place of employment when we chatted at the inn.”

  “Great. I’ll talk to him,” Quinton said. “He needs to be interviewed too.”

  “What about Starsky and Hutch?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to interview Eason. He likes you. You’d have a hard time telling if he was lying, and you’d have a bias, because you like the guy.”

  Cooper opened her mouth to protest, but Quinton was faster.

  He held up his palms. “I like the guy too. The difference is I don’t want to date him. I can be objective.”

  Cooper hated that he was right. But he was. She was such a ninny. Her thoughts couldn’t help but linger on the police investigator who charmed her, all the while hiding that he was a very bad guy. When would she learn?

  “You’re right, Quinton,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Cooper. I don’t think Chef Eason was involved, but we want to be able to clear him unequivocally. Right?”

  “Of course,” she agreed. She wanted nothing more than to find out that Jon was everything he seemed to be, and that for once her romance radar was working.

  • • •

  Cooper thought about her parents’ modest home and grimaced. She should never have invited Jon over. He was a friend of Ashley and Mindy, and that meant he was accustomed to much more than what the Lees could offer.

  A moment later and she immediately regretted her thoughts.

  Her parents were kind, generous, honest, God-fearing people. If that wasn’t enough for the likes of Chef Jon Eason, well, too bad. Then she remembered that her grandmother would be home and groaned. Leave it to Grammy to embarrass her in front of Jon. She could only pray that she didn’t take out her dentures and put them on the kitchen table or ask Jon what his intentions were.

  Cooper assessed herself in the full-length mirror. Weekend faded blue jeans and a vintage Abbey Road T-shirt that was older than she was. The shirt was a find from the local thrift shop. It would be good for Jon to see the authentic Cooper, in her indigenous setting. She’d obliged the dress code for the Atwood Inn two weekends ago. Now she was dressed for the Lee Bed & Breakfast.

  Behind her, Moses and Miriam both meowed loudly.

  “Don’t you two start sassing me. I am not going to get all gussied up. It’s Saturday morning. Our guest can take it or leave it.”

  Miriam stared at her with displeasure.

  “I got a pedicure yesterday,” Cooper said. She glanced down at her neatly polished toes. “Doesn’t that count?”

  Appeased, the cat jumped to the windowsill.

  Minutes later, the sound of a car pulling into the drive startled Cooper, and she dropped the hairbrush in her hand. “He’s early.” She slipped her feet into sandals, raced out of the apartment, down the steps and across the flagstones, until she stood in front of the two-car garage.

  Jon stepped out of a dark sedan. He pulled off aviator sunglasses and grinned when his gaze met hers. “Good morning, Cooper Lee.”

  “Good morning.”

  She stood dumbstruck as she realized that they could be twins. Jon wore jeans and a crisp white T-shirt that read A Hard Days Night across the chest. She recognized the image from the 1964 feature film by the Fab Four.

  Okay, he was the neat twin. His T-shirt had been ironed. Thankfully, his caramel hair was tousled as usual. Boy, he sure looked good.

  Her heart hammered when he turned and smiled. “Nice shirt,” she said, feigning nonchalance. Jon Eason was in a league she’d never played in, and she wasn’t sure if she could or should.

  “Thanks. I like yours too. Beatles fan?” he asked.

  “Obsessively.”

  “I thought there was something special about you.” He reached into the backseat and pulled out a bouquet of daisies and a foil-covered casserole pan.

  Cooper’s eyes rounded. “Flowers?”

  “For your mother.”

  She couldn’t help grinning. “You’re good.”

  “What can I say?” Jon offered a nonapologetic shrug. “I’m a Southern boy. My mama taught me well.”

  “I guess so,” Cooper said. She peered at the container in his hands. “What’s in there?”

  “No peeking.” Jon switched the casserole to the other hand so she couldn’t inspect the contents. “I can’t give away all my secrets.” He glanced around. “Take me to your leader.”

  Cooper laughed and led him to the back door of the house. “Mama, Chef Eason is here.”

  “Oh, Cooper, bring him in.”

  Her mama stood next to her stove in a frilly apron, and she even wore lipstick. Cooper was beginning to feel like the slacker in the group. Maggie wiped her hands on her apron and offered them a welcoming grin as
they stepped into the cozy kitchen that smelled wonderfully like yeast and spices.

  “Jon Eason, this is my mama, Magnolia Lee.”

  “Maggie,” her mother said. “Everyone calls me Maggie.”

  “These are for you, Maggie.” He handed her the flowers and slid the casserole dish onto the kitchen table.

  Cooper had never seen her mother blush before, but now she realized where she got the annoying response. Her mother’s face and neck were pink as she took the bouquet and the container. “What’s in here?” Maggie asked.

  “This is my special lasagna. I’m not Italian, but I do know my way around ricotta and tomato sauce. I thought maybe you’d enjoy this for lunch.”

  “Oh, my goodness. That is so sweet of you,” she gushed. “Imagine that. I have lasagna from a famous chef.”

  “I’m not famous yet. Though not for lack of trying.” He offered a crooked smile. “But I will admit that it’s an excellent lasagna.”

  Maggie put the casserole in the refrigerator before she opened the cupboard and pulled out a vase. She dusted off the crystal cylinder. “I can’t remember the last time someone brought me flowers.”

  Cooper glanced around. “Where is everyone?”

  “I sent your father into town with Grammy to find me clothespins. Do you know how hard it is to find them anymore? Why, it’s nearly impossible. They may be gone a good while.”

  When she winked at Cooper, she mouthed her mother a thank-you.

  “Chef Eason being here reminds me. Cooper, did I mention that I talked to that nice Detective Olson again?”

  “No, Mama, you didn’t. I hope he didn’t upset you with all that talk about nuts in Magnolia’s Marvels.”

  “Just the opposite.” Maggie waved a hand. “He assured me that it’s all going to be cleared up very soon.”

  “Really?” Cooper stared at her mother, confused by the detective’s words.

  “Oh, yes. Detective Olson said they expect the report on my treats next week, along with the autopsy report.” She shivered. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

  “Did Detective Olson call you, Mama?”

  “No, he stopped by, and we had a nice chat. He likes my iced lemon cookies.”

  Cooper stared at her mother. “Did he say anything else?”