“Come to think of it,” Chrissy continued. “You’re probably right about Cameo knowing about the party. It certainly wasn’t a group that anyone else I used to hang out with would have known about.”
“And do you remember if Z looked happy to see her?”
Chrissy frowned. “I don’t remember. Z was always so polite and, well, so enthusiastic about people that it would have been hard to know if he wasn’t pleased. He always looked happy. Didn’t he?”
“I guess so.” Susan was going to have to ask the question. She tried to phrase it as gently as possible. “Chrissy, you were a lot younger then …”
“Definitely. I can’t believe the way I used to act.”
“And you might have done things that are embarrassing to you now …,” Susan continued.
“Like dying my hair green, I know.”
“Did you have a crush on Z back then, too?” Susan asked, looking intently at her daughter. Was she going to embarrass her?
“Z? You’re kidding! Even then, I could see through him. Z was charming, but shallow. Not,” her daughter added, tucking her comb in her purse and snapping it shut, “my type at all!”
“Chrissy.” Susan put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Just two more questions. I promise.”
“Okay. What?”
“Is it possible that Cameo met Z at our house last year?”
“No, of course not.” Chrissy paused, and then continued more thoughtfully. “You know, you may be right. All my friends knew you were out of town, and Cameo actually asked if she could use our house to meet someone. I refused, of course. I didn’t like her that much—and I knew you wouldn’t approve of people being in the house when there weren’t any members of the family at home. But she could have met him there while I was at the beauty parlor having my hair dyed.”
“I thought you dyed it green with a friend.”
“I had it dyed back to the original color by a professional. And, you know, I used Cameo’s hairdresser. She recommended the man highly—almost insisted on him.” Chrissy paused and thought for a minute. “She even called and made the appointment for me.”
Susan was so relieved that she didn’t bother to wonder about Cameo’s own blonde locks. She didn’t have to worry anymore. The note on Z’s body must have been written last year by Cameo Logan, and then put in his pocket after his death—by the murderer. But it had nothing to do with Chrissy or any other member of her family. She took a deep breath.
“Can I go now?”
“Just one more question,” Susan insisted. “Why didn’t you introduce Klaus to us earlier this week?”
TWENTY-TWO
“Don’t you ever get tired of Christmas carols?”
“Don’t tease your mother, Chad,” his father insisted. “She’s busy resting up for her party. It’s tough being a lady of leisure, you know.”
“She wasn’t this crabby when she was doing all the work herself,” Chad said, leaving the kitchen with a plate piled high with food.
“Who does he think cooked the goodies he’s been eating all week long,” Susan muttered, leaning down to scratch Clue’s belly. “This dog needs to go on a diet.”
“We’d all be better off if we lost a few pounds,” Jed suggested, taking a large cinnamon roll from the microwave. “These are really good. When did you bake them?”
“Last night. I needed some time to myself, and baking seems to—what’s the new phrase?—to center me.”
“I thought I heard you banging around down here pretty late.”
“Yeast dough takes a while to rise,” Susan said, not admitting that she had also cleaned out all her kitchen cupboards to prevent anyone from The Holly and Ms. Ivy seeing them in their usual state. “I suppose I should take a bath. I want to be ready to get dressed before anyone from The Holly and Ms. Ivy arrives.”
“What are we going to do about Clue?” Jed asked, finishing the sweet roll himself, much to the animal’s obvious disappointment.
Susan looked down at the drooling dog. “I never thought about it. I guess we’re going to have to lock her up somewhere. Otherwise she’ll be jumping on everyone and stealing food.”
“How about the basement?”
“I suppose so.” She looked down at the retriever’s sad eyes and told herself that she had to be projecting her own feelings onto the animal. There was no way Clue could know what was being talked about. “Why don’t I take her for a long walk? The party doesn’t start till nine, so I have lots of time, and this may be the last time everyone will have their houses lit up this year.”
“Fine. I’d better go pick up the basement. We don’t want to discover that Clue whiled away the evening by chewing up your ski boots.”
“Good thinking.” She reached out for Clue’s leash. That was all it took. The animal forgot her stomach and jumped up on Susan, tail banging hard against the kitchen cabinets. “Okay, Clue, let’s try to get out of here without destroying the furniture.”
“I’ll open the door,” Jed offered, and Susan and Clue were soon traveling down the street, bounding between patches of yellow snow. It was a lovely night (despite the pollution underfoot), and she paused about halfway down the block and turned to look back at her home. Clue sat obediently at her side.
The house looked lovely in the snow. Lights shining, ribbons blowing in the crisp breeze. “We’re pretty lucky to live in such a nice place with such a nice family, Clue,” Susan said quietly, looking down at the dog. Clue leaned against her leg and sighed. Susan would have been more impressed with the animal’s sensitivity if she hadn’t had a pocketful of dog biscuits. Clue could smell a biscuit through many layers of wool. “Come on, puppy. We don’t have all day.”
It was over an hour before The Holly and Ms. Ivy were due to arrive, but Susan was determined to be ready ahead of time. She wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to ask some questions.
They were walking by the Kent house, and Susan couldn’t help thinking about her encounter with JoAnn a week ago. What had JoAnn said? That The Holly and Ms. Ivy had started a fire in her kitchen? Susan continued on around the block, thinking about all the disasters that had happened to the catering company starting Christmas Day—starting, in fact, with that fire.
Susan turned around so quickly that Clue, trotting by her side, barked in surprise. The light over the Kent’s front door was on, and Susan took that as an invitation. “Come on, Clue, let’s go for a neighborly visit.” They hurried back down the walk and up the driveway to the front door.
JoAnn Kent opened the door at the first knock. “Susan. Hi. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your party?”
“It’s all taken care of. I wondered if you had a few minutes? I need to talk with you.”
“I guess so.” JoAnn looked down at Clue. “Can you tie your dog up outside?”
“Of course,” Susan agreed, glancing around. “I’ll just wrap her leash around this lamp,” she said, spying a cast-iron light that rose about a foot out of the snow next to the sidewalk.
“Good. Tell me,” JoAnn said, leading the way into her home, “have you actually heard anything about who killed Z yet?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you some questions about that,” Susan admitted, taking her coat off and draping it over the banister. “You know, you gave the last party that Z was personally involved with.”
“And don’t I regret that! I’d probably still have a kitchen if it hadn’t been for Z Holly. Have you seen the damage the fire did?”
“No.”
“Well, come on in. The contractors can’t start working until the middle of next week—they’re vacationing somewhere warm. All that’s been done is that the burned area was cut out, thrown away, and the holes patched up. I was assured that would get rid of the scorched smell.”
“And has it?”
“Breathe for yourself,” JoAnn offered, flinging open the swinging door between her dining room and the kitchen.
“Phew.”
“You can say t
hat again.”
Both women stood in the doorway and stared at the mess. The far wall of the room was naked, stripped of its cabinets, furniture, and wallpaper. New wallboard was protected behind sheets of heavy plastic. Quarry-tile flooring covered only half of the room, and the rest was encased in plastic. Everything reeked of smoke.
“You’re not doing much cooking these days, are you?” Susan commented, aghast at the sight.
“None. I wanted to move to a hotel—preferably a nice suite at the Plaza, but my cheap husband wouldn’t hear of it.”
“The holidays are so expensive,” Susan murmured diplomatically. “But tell me, how did this fire get started?”
“The small oven blew up,” JoAnn said abruptly.
“During your dinner party?”
“Right in the middle of it. We were just starting on the main course when there was this terrible bang.”
“It must have spread very quickly,” Susan said, looking at the large area of damage.
“I don’t know about that. Apparently there was no one around when it happened.”
“But you were eating in the dining room. Right next door. How did it have time to spread?”
“Well, we just kept on eating,” JoAnn admitted. “We assumed that someone in the kitchen would take care of whatever had made the noise. Of course, we had absolutely no idea that it was a fire until smoke started seeping out under the closed door.…”
“But who was in the kitchen?”
JoAnn nodded. “Now you know why we’re suing. Apparently there wasn’t anyone in the kitchen when the explosion occurred.”
“You’re kidding!” Susan was stunned. She had spent the last week in kitchens where The Holly and Ms. Ivy were producing a party; there were always lots of chefs and workers around. More than enough, considering the size of the parties, it had seemed to Susan. “Do you know how many people were working here that night?”
“When I spend the money to get one of the best caterers on the eastern seaboard, I assume that I’m paying for competence—that they know what they are doing, and I don’t have to do anything but enjoy myself. And I was busy getting ready for my guests. I didn’t stand in the kitchen and count as people walked through the door.”
“But you must have noticed something. Was Z here? Or Gwen Ivy?”
JoAnn smiled for the first time. “Z came by with the setup crew.… Oh, all right, I remember four people who arrived around noon. They set the table, started cooking, put out canapés, and arranged a portable bar by the tree in the living room.”
“And Z?”
“He brought a bottle of champagne with a tiny sprig of mistletoe tied around it.” She smiled again, and Susan remembered the rumor about JoAnn and Z. “But he had to go on to another party—he worked so hard—and then, I suppose, only four of his employees were here.”
“Do you remember any of them? What they were doing?”
“Well, the bartender was in the living room until dinner was served around three in the afternoon. There was a cute young woman who offered appetizers before the meal, and then she put the meal on the table. My husband is very old-fashioned, and he likes to pass food around the table.”
“So you might not have seen anyone else from the company until after you had eaten.”
“True. But I didn’t expect to be left alone. What if someone wanted something? Or if the kitchen appliances exploded?” she added sarcastically.
A loud shout from outside interrupted before Susan could ask more questions. JoAnn hurried to the nearest window.
“It’s my husband. He seems to be yelling at our front door.”
“Clue!” Susan cried, and ran to the door. She pulled it open and discovered her pet jumping up and down and preventing David Kent from entering his own home.
“Where did this mongrel come from?”
“She’s mine,” Susan said indignantly. “And she’s a golden retriever from one of the best kennels in the country—and I’m sorry she ate your doormat. I’ll buy you another one.”
“She growled at me!” he stated, getting to what he considered the point.
“She does that sometimes when she’s playing,” Susan explained, patting her dog’s head and accepting her coat from her hostess. “You’ve been a big help, but I’d better get going,” she added quickly. “See you both later!”
“Later?” David asked.
“At my New Year’s Eve party,” Susan explained.
“Is that beast going to be there?”
“She’ll be locked up,” Susan insisted, untangling Clue’s leash, waving good-bye, and hurrying back to her own home.
“Where have you been?” Jed asked, as she reentered her kitchen.
“Talking with the Kents. Did you finish up down in the basement?”
“Sure did. Are you going to take a bath?”
“I’m on my way upstairs,” Susan said, suiting the action to her words.
There was loud music coming from her children’s rooms. It was so nice to have the entire family together, she thought, hurrying on into the master bedroom.
Her new dress was hanging on the closet door, and Susan caressed it as she passed. She loved this dress with its full skirt and gauzy gold vest. But, right now, she had other things to think about. She hurried into the bathroom, tossed some mimosa-scented oil into the tub, and turned on the tap. While the tub filled, she returned to the bedroom and grabbed a pen and her trusty notebook. A warm bath was a great place to do some serious thinking.
Half an hour later, she was clean, she smelled good, and she was ready to give Brett a call. It was important that he attend her party for professional, if not personal, reasons. As if on cue, she heard her husband greeting people at the back door, joined by the tinkling of glass as Clue, barking, jumped on someone carrying a load of glassware. Jed yelled. Susan tightly tied her robe around her waist and ran downstairs. Gwen was standing at the foot of the stairs. Finally. This is what Susan had been waiting for. And now she knew what questions to ask.
TWENTY-THREE
Candlelight improves many things. It hides the dog fur on the carpet and the wrinkles around middle-aged eyes.
“This is your best party ever,” Jerry Gordon said, coming up to where Susan stood by the doorway, watching her guests.
“But we miss some of your specialties,” Kathleen added tactfully.
“You’re a good friend to lie so well,” Susan said. “I appreciate the thought, but The Holly and Ms. Ivy did a beautiful job. Their food is fabulous. I really think it’s the best I’ve had at any party all week long.”
“And she’s been to a lot of parties this week,” Jed said, joining the group. “But not all of them were catered by The Holly and Ms. Ivy.”
“Oh, yes, they were,” Susan contradicted him. “The Logans’ dinner party was and, of course, the hospital ball. And The Holly and Ms. Ivy catered both Gillian’s and Alexis’s parties. And they did all three parties on Thursday night—even the historical society dinner at the old mill, and I’ll bet they don’t usually do dinners like that. And there was Courtney Sawyer’s sweet-sixteen yesterday. Every single one of them was catered by The Holly and Ms. Ivy. And they worked on others in town that I didn’t get to,” she added. “That’s what finally tipped me off.”
“What do you mean, tipped you off?” Jerry asked.
“Susan did it again.” They had been joined by Brett Fortesque.
“Did what?” Jed asked, looking at his wife.
“I solved the murder,” Susan said, grinning at the surprised looks of everyone around her.
“Mrs. Henshaw!” Jamie Potter interrupted before Susan could explain further. “When do you want dessert served? It takes some last-minute preparation, and I want to get the timing right. I couldn’t find Gwen.”
“How about at eleven-fifteen? Then there’ll be time for everyone to serve themselves before champagne at midnight. I can’t wait to find out what it is.”
“And don’t worry about Gwen Ivy,”
Brett suggested. “She was called away. I think she put that young man … Stephen …”
“You mean Stefan?”
“That’s right. Stefan Hoffmann. That’s what she said. She put him in charge.”
“No problem,” said the ever-obliging Jamie. “And thanks for inviting my aunt to your party, Mrs. Henshaw. She’s found someone who tats, and she’s having the time of her life—of course, we’ll all probably be getting tatted toilet-paper holders sometime later this week.”
“I’ll look forward to that. I’m really glad she could come.” Susan smiled.
“So Gwen Ivy did it,” Jed said, after Jamie disappeared into the crowd that was standing around the dining room table. “You’re saying that Gwen’s the murderer.”
Susan nodded yes.
“But how did you catch on?”
“Because she organizes the schedule for The Holly and Ms. Ivy, and why else would she only accept jobs in Hancock, Connecticut, during the busiest week of the year? And remember, we’re talking about a very well-known catering company. One that has been entertaining famous people for years. Hancock is a nice town, but it’s not New York City.”
Kathleen blinked. “You know, I wondered about that, but it didn’t seem significant. After all those years in the police department … I must be losing it. Nothing is insignificant in a murder investigation.”
“You weren’t running a house, raising a preschool child, and entertaining your in-laws when you were a detective,” Susan reminded her.
“And you weren’t two months pregnant,” Jerry added, grinning broadly.
The Gordons had to accept congratulations all around before the conversation could continue.
“What did Bananas say when you told him that he’s going to have a little brother or sister?” Susan asked, hugging her friend.
“We have over six months to discuss that. Why don’t you tell us about the murder before it’s next year,” Jed insisted.
Susan waved at a neighbor. “Happy New Year! Have you tried the duck pâté?” She called out before turning and smiling at her husband. “We are giving a party here, you know.”
'Tis the Season to Be Murdered Page 23