“Of course I did. They’re the best. I knew they would come up with something unusual. After all, they’ve done some of the best parties for years. I’d be crazy not to take advantage of their expertise.”
“But you’re suing them,” Susan reminded her.
“I told you. That’s just because Buck was so concerned about being sued. But I guess we don’t have to worry about that now.”
“Your lawyer already called The Holly and Ms. Ivy,” Susan reminded her.
Camilla shrugged and downed her third glass of wine. “We were extraordinarily lucky that they would cater for us this year; it would never have happened again anyway. Besides, there may not be a The Holly and Ms. Ivy by this time next year. Z was the brains behind that company. Gwen Ivy is nothing without him.
“Are you leaving?” Camilla interrupted herself to ask.
“Yes. I have a few things to do, and we’re going out tonight.…” Susan didn’t think anyone was listening, so she didn’t bother to explain as she left the house, crunching through dried rosebuds on the floor as she went.
The dog greeted her return enthusiastically, and Susan patted her head and promised to take her for a walk as soon as she got to her next stop.
Minutes later, Clue was prancing happily around the carriage house of The Holly and Ms. Ivy. The aromas escaping from large stainless-steel fans near the roof thrilled both pet and pet owner, and Susan realized that the cookies hadn’t been very filling.
Clue pulled her around to the back of the building, and Susan noticed that there weren’t any vans parked there. Footprints in the snow indicated that there had been feverish activity earlier, but for now, everything was calm.
A pair of squirrels attracted Clue’s attention, and Susan spent a few minutes untangling the leash where it had become wound around some tiny evergreens that had been planted near the driveway. Just as she was finished, a car drove up, and Jamie Potter leapt out.
“Hi! Can I ask you a few questions?” Susan called out.
“Sure. But I have stuff to do inside. Could you come in—but maybe not the dog.”
Definitely not the dog. An animal with an appetite like this one would be completely out of control in a room full of food. Susan yanked Clue back to the car, promising rewards of dog biscuits as soon as they arrived home. Then she rushed back to the carriage house.
Jamie was at the rear of the room, pulling large ceramic bowls from the big refrigerator and slipping aside the plastic wrap that covered them to stick in a finger and taste the contents. “Garlic butter for the goat-cheese ravioli at the Davies party,” she explained, evidently finding what she was looking for. “And I need a truffle slicer.… Here it is!” She pulled a paddle-shaped piece of equipment from a drawer. “It’s going to be used for the risotto at the Davies’, and then I’m going to steal it back for the Cutler do—nothing works better for shaving chocolate. Nothing.”
“Must be very convenient giving two parties next door to each other,” Susan commented, following Jamie on her path down the aisle, collecting tools and food on a cart in front of her as she went.
“I suppose so. It’s the first time it’s happened that I know of.” Jamie had stopped at her workstation and was pulling out drawers and sorting through pastry bags. “It would certainly be easier if those two women had just planned the parties that they wanted to give instead of competing with each other. You wouldn’t believe it. One wants three appetizers. So the other has four, followed by a choice of two main courses. And, naturally, next door must have three and six side dishes. And when it came to dessert they both just went hog wild. Alexis Cutler stuck to her country theme, and I made her twenty-three pies, four different cookies, two candies, and there are going to be two men on hand to turn old-time, cedar ice-cream makers that are supposed to produce both peach and apricot ice cream. I hate to think what the salt and ice solution is going to do to the hardwood floors in her dining room. I warned her, but that’s what she and Z decided, so that’s what she’s getting.”
“And what’s Gillian Davies serving?” Susan had to ask; her mouth was watering.
“Fabulous stuff. In fact, I think this could be my favorite of all the meals we’ve ever done in a private home. That woman has great taste. And she took Z’s suggestions and ran with them. The goat-cheese ravioli is for her party as well as the risotto with white truffles. She’s also having a boned turkey stuffed with sausage and chestnuts and Madeira gravy—very light. And a Parma ham, of course. But the dessert is the best.”
“I can’t wait. What is it?”
Jamie broke into a big smile. “You’ll have to. It’s a surprise. Just prepare yourself for a treat—one of my masterpieces.”
Susan was thinking that Jamie had just solved one small problem for her: she would go to Alexis’s party first and Gillian’s second. “Did Z plan both parties?” she asked.
“Probably. He usually does most of the preliminary planning. Meeting with the client, going to the home or the place where the event is to be held, and getting some idea of the basics.”
“The basics?” Susan watched as Jamie fashioned stars, comets, and moons from icing and laid them on wax paper to dry.
“What type of party it is to be—dinner, cocktails, whatever, how many people are going to be invited and how many are expected to accept, if there’s a theme, and things like decorations and food.”
“What about cost?” Susan had been a little appalled to hear how much Saturday night was going to run.
“Gwen handles most of that type of thing. In fact, she usually picks out the exact menu.”
“Z took care of the broad outline, and she managed all the little details?” Susan asked, thinking that this sounded slightly sexist.
“That’s the way it’s been since I’ve been working here. Some of the older workers say that things were more equal in the beginning—but that’s not right,” Jamie corrected herself, turning a star into a blob, sweeping it off her work space with one hand and miraculously forming a perfect five pointer almost instantly. She concentrated on miniature suns and comet tails while she finished her explanation. “It’s not a question of equality. At least, I’ve never gotten the feeling that Z or Gwen were anything but equal partners. It’s just that they’re good at different things, and after a few years in the business, they automatically started to take over the parts of the job that they did best and left the rest to the other.”
“So you never got the impression that Gwen was uncomfortable with Z’s more public position.”
“Are you kidding? If anything, I think it was a relief to her.” Jamie looked around to make sure they were alone before continuing. “In fact, I overheard them together once when he was going off to talk to someone about a party. He said something about taking care of his ladies, and she said better you than me, that she’d go crazy if she had to spend as much time as he did schmoozing their clients.”
“Gwen planned almost all my party,” Susan commented, taking a finger of the frosting that Jamie offered. “Z just came over to look at the house and make sure I approved of the final menu plans.”
“That’s somewhat unusual,” Jamie said, “but not unheard of. They were pretty flexible.”
“And I’m not giving a huge party. Seventy guests for New Year’s Eve in my house. Not much in the way of decorations, mostly food.”
“You’re Saturday night!” Jamie exclaimed. “I’m glad you told me. Wait till you see what I’ll dream up for your dessert table,” she continued at Susan’s nod.
“I thought cakes, cookies …”
“Something special,” Jamie insisted. “You’ll be pleased. I promise.”
Susan looked at the work the young woman was finishing and agreed. “I haven’t seen or tasted anything of yours yet that wasn’t special.”
“I’ll use you as a recommendation when I open my bakery,” Jamie assured her.
“I thought you liked working here.”
“I love it. But most of us want to run
our own businesses eventually. That’s what we train for. But it’s hard to succeed in the food business, and with the economy the way it is, I’m staying put for the time being.”
Susan was silent for a few minutes before she posed the question she had come here to ask. “What was the argument about between Gwen and Z?”
“Argument?”
“It was mentioned right after Z’s death. You mentioned it,” Susan reminded her.
“I’m not sure.”
“But you think …,” Susan guided her.
“I think Z had gotten involved with too many of the women that The Holly and Ms. Ivy cater for.”
Susan thought about that for a second. “Is this a change in his behavior? I mean, was he suddenly sexually involved with more than one woman? Or had he broken off a relationship that he’d had with Gwen recently?”
“Oh, I don’t think he and Gwen were ever involved romantically,” Jamie insisted.
“Really?” Susan was perfectly ready to believe that men and women were capable of being coworkers and companions without romantic involvement, but she wanted to make absolutely sure on this point.
“I can’t believe it,” Jamie said. “You know how rumors spread in a place like this. And there’s never been a hint of anything between the two of them—ever. Z has been rather, well, rather promiscuous, everyone knows that, but Gwen … Well, if Gwen has been involved with anyone in the business, she’s kept it completely quiet. And if they were ever a couple, it was a pretty open relationship.”
“Because Z was always involved with other women.”
“Exactly.”
“So what happened recently that was causing arguments?” Susan asked.
“I have no idea. And I’ve thought about it—and listened to what everyone has been saying.”
“What has everyone been saying?”
“Well, there’s been a certain amount of conflict in Z’s romantic life recently because we’re doing so many affairs in Hancock, and he’s been … dating more than one woman in town.”
“Alexis Cutler and Gillian Davies.”
“And, of course, the mayor’s daughter last year. And one or two others.”
“There’s no reason to be discreet in the middle of a murder investigation,” Susan insisted. “You’re talking about JoAnn Kent, aren’t you?”
“I shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Don’t give me names, just tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“Was Z frequently involved with the women The Holly and Ms. Ivy worked for?”
“No, of course not.”
Susan thought Jamie had answered with a strange emphasis.
SIXTEEN
Alexis’s party had been going strong when Susan explained to her husband that she was moving to the gathering next door. It was freezing cold, and she rushed through the snow, congratulating herself on the self-control she had shown this evening. She’d tasted only a small selection of appetizers at Alexis’s home: a few Johnson oysters from California, steak tartare on homemade sweet-potato chips, Cajun alligator sausages on sourdough, smoked salmon from the Northwest on blue corn chips from the Southwest, just the tiniest bit of Smithfield ham on beaten biscuits—well, it was a party, after all, she reminded herself, knocking on Gillian’s door. An arch of Mylar stars flew from the awning above her head.
“Merry Christmas.” Gillian, dressed in white with silver accents, matched her home. “Come on in. That young man over there will take your coat. Drinks in the living room down those steps to your right. And food in the library to the left.”
Susan greeted her hostess, relieved herself of her coat, and went to find a drink. The living room was beautiful. Modern furniture was upholstered in white leather. Sea green rugs lay on bleached oak floors, and pale silk cushions and chrome lights reflected in glass coffee tables. Massed in corners and flowing from crystal vases, silver-and-white glass balls and grayish-green blue spruce discreetly proclaimed the joyous season. Three large evergreens were set up at one end of the room. Their only ornaments were white seashells tied to the boughs with silver threads. Susan accepted a glass of white wine and went in search of food.
In the kitchen, where next door Alexis had expressed her country theme with stencils of bucolic cows circling open shelves of canned produce from New England farm markets, Gillian had opted for rows of enameled white cabinets above deep green tile floors. Susan noticed Jamie Potter pulling cartons of triple cream from the refrigerator and waved before going on to the library.
Appetizers had been laid out on a glass (or, surely, heavy plastic) Parsons table. In keeping with the rest of the decorations, mirrored mats and trays gleamed with smoked salmon mousse, caviar dotted with Maui onions, hundreds of tiny canapés of exquisite design and the finest ingredients. But no one was eating.
Unable to resist, Susan filled a pearly white plate with food and picked up a silver-shot linen napkin.
“You’re not going to eat that, are you? She’s not going to eat that, is she?”
Susan looked up at the two women she had met at the inn the day after Christmas. They were wearing their usual makeup. “I know my skirt is a little tight, but it’s Christmas and—”
“That’s not what we mean. It’s from The Holly and Ms. Ivy.”
“I know—” Susan began, about to give the company an impromptu tribute.
“It might be poisoned.”
“You’re kid— You’re not kidding, are you?” Susan asked.
“Of course not. You know that Dan Irving died after eating food from The Holly and Ms. Ivy, don’t you?”
“I know that he died, but I understood it had nothing to do with what he ate,” Susan said.
“Susan, how can you be so naive? First the mayor’s dinner, then the hospital ball … sane people aren’t eating anything that The Holly and Ms. Ivy have anything to do with.”
“We had full dinners before we came, and we’re sticking to wine—we watched the bartender uncork the bottle.”
Susan looked down at the plate of food in her hands and up at the two women. They had a point, but before she had time to say anything she saw Jerry Gordon on the other side of the room. And, unless she was mistaken, he was accompanied by his wife. Susan made a weak excuse and hurried toward her friends.
Kathleen was wearing a red silk jumpsuit and, as always, looked fantastic—except that one of the accessories was a little inconsistent with Kathleen’s usual style. “What is that thing on your shoulder?” is how Susan greeted her friend.
“Isn’t it cute?” Kathleen said a little stiffly. “Jerry’s mother made it for me.” She glanced at her husband, but he was busy waving to a neighbor on the other side of the room. Taking advantage of his distraction, she made a face at Susan, who, now that she had gotten closer, realized that she was looking at a snowman crocheted from heavy silver-and-white yarn. It would have raised a feeling of envy in Jamie Potter’s aunt, but it clashed with the pearls Kathleen’s husband had given her for Christmas.
“Is she here?” Susan asked.
“No. She’s at home with her favorite grandson. Ban is having a wonderful time with his extended family.”
“It doesn’t sound like you agree,” Susan said.
Kathleen sipped the cup of eggnog she held before answering. “She’s acting a little strange.”
“In what way?”
“She seems to disapprove of everything I do.”
It was a familiar feeling; Susan’s mother-in-law was wonderful, but that’s not necessarily the easiest thing either.
“It’s particularly unusual in that she’s always encouraged my work. You know, she worked all the time Jerry was growing up, and she wasn’t thrilled when I gave up my police work to move to Hancock, or sold the security company after Bananas was born.”
“But she doesn’t approve now?” Susan asked, confused. Why start to object to a mother working after her only child had begun nursery school?
“No. She’s been
very disapproving, in fact. I can’t understand it.”
Susan could. She assumed that Jerry’s mother was still trying to discourage any possible relationship between her daughter-in-law and Brett.
“And she’s making Jerry crazy.”
Susan leaned closer, and Kathleen continued. “You know how investigations go. I’m out at all hours, and it’s difficult to plan anything—and Jerry’s used to it. But now, every time the phone rings or Brett comes over and I have to leave, Jerry’s mom says something about how they will miss me at home and how lonely Jerry has been looking lately—or how she’s always believed that families should be together as much as possible during the holiday season. I don’t understand it.”
Susan opened her mouth to make a tactful comment, but Kathleen was frowning down into her drink and twisting her wedding ring over and over around her finger. Susan saw that she was upset and hurried to change the subject. “How is the investigation going?” she asked quickly.
“Fairly well.”
Susan was disappointed by the answer—and determined to elicit another one. “I know that Dan Irving died of something other than food poisoning.”
“You should be careful what you say. You know how rumors start in this town—in any town when there’s been a murder.”
Susan reminded herself that there was nothing to be gained by anger; it was just possible that Kathleen didn’t intend to be patronizing. She sat down on one of the leather couches and was pleased when Kathleen joined her, draining the cup of the last of her eggnog.
And then Susan realized exactly what she had just seen. “The food poisoning wasn’t an accident, was it?”
Kathleen glanced down at the empty cup. “Let’s just say there’s no reason for anyone to worry about The Holly and Ms. Ivy’s food.”
“The people who were sick were faking it!”
“Not necessarily. We think they were really ill, but not from an accidental exposure to toxic bacteria.”
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