Chapter 34
Dear Natasha,
I watch your show all the time. I love that you’re not like everyone else and that you are willing to take food to new levels for gourmands. What do you see coming up?
Epicure in Vinegar Bend, Alabama
Dear Epicure,
I love fans like you! Charcoal and artificial sweeteners are so yesterday. Look for lots of charred food, especially veggies and burnt sugar. There will be more wonderful sweet and salty pairings like butterscotch fish sauces and salted caramel potatoes.
Natasha
“Natasha!” cried Mars.
“You needn’t scold me, Mars. I’ve had a terrible day. Week. Month. Actually, the whole year has been dreadful.”
“You cannot move in with me,” said Francie, helping herself to more lemon chicken.
“I’d have to redecorate first,” said Natasha.
“What happened to your business plans?” I asked, pretending not to know.
“My own mother, half-sister, and her mother have stolen my idea. Not only that, but they stole the storefront I was going to use. They have stabbed me in the back,” she wailed. “I refuse to have anything to do with their plans.”
“I thought your mother and Griselda had a store of their own,” said Mars.
“They do. They ran out of room, so they’re moving to a larger space in a better location. They never tell me anything.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” said Nina wryly.
“What happened to your bakery space?” I asked.
“That’s the one they stole. The three of them are renting it and the place next door for their store. There’s a huge commercial kitchen in back where Charlene can cook for her clients. All they can talk about is expanding and their success.”
Humphrey set his chopsticks down. “It sounds like you should go to work for them if they’re doing that well.”
Natasha gasped and clasped a hand just below her neck. “Never! But now I’m back to square one.”
I hoped to cheer her up when I asked, “How’s the new beau?”
“You’re seeing someone?” asked Mars.
“Are you jealous?” Natasha flirted.
“Nope. Just happy for you.” He smiled at her.
“He’s scrumptious,” she said. “I’ve invited him to Marjorie Hollingsworth-Smythe’s Fourth of July bash.” She preened and purred, “Only the crème de la crème have been invited.”
“Terrific. You’ll have to introduce us,” said Mars.
“Marjorie is as pompous as you are, Natasha,” said Francie, “but she throws a great party!”
“Am I the only one not invited?” asked Humphrey.
Francie piped up immediately, “Then you must be my plus-one. My girlfriends will be envious when I arrive on the arm of a handsome young buck!”
“So who is this guy?” asked Nina.
“Harrison Grant. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Honestly, he could be a movie star. He has the looks and manners of Cary Grant.”
“Wow,” said Francie. “I can’t wait to meet this gentleman!”
“Now, Francie,” teased Natasha, “he’s all mine.”
Although Natasha had simply pushed a few noodles around her plate, I didn’t think she had eaten a bite. The rest of us had eaten too much.
We adjourned to the sunroom and sat under the fairy lights, surrounded by the dark of night outside the glass. Nina refilled everyone’s drinks and I brought Mars a pad and pen.
“I suspected Marsha all along,” said Nina. “But now that I know she and her bartender boyfriend, Eli, were stealing from Blackwell’s Tavern and cheating Tate, I’m certain that they killed him.”
Natasha, who had been busy planning her CBD business and had been out of the loop, gasped. “I thought for sure that Bernie knocked him off.”
“Thank you for your confidence in my character, Natasha.” Bernie gave her a little mock salute.
Mars scribbled on the pad. “I’m in total agreement. It’s the first decent motivation I’ve heard. They would have lost their jobs and gone to prison for that.”
“Well,” said Natasha, “be that as it may, if it’s not Bernie, I would put money on Bobbie Sue’s ex-husband, Pierce.”
“Why?” asked Humphrey.
“He looks like a murderer. And he has plenty of motive.” She rubbed her fingers together indicating money. “There’s a man who must be really sorry he dumped his wife. He probably never imagined she would be so successful.”
“Has anyone considered that Coach fellow who has been hanging around Bobbie Sue?” asked Humphrey. “When she came in to select a casket, he seemed sort of proprietary.”
Bernie gazed up at the lights. “Diners at the restaurant have thrown all sorts of names out there. Most have absolutely no logical basis. But one keeps coming up—Bobbie Sue. After all, she’s the one who inherits everything. Does anyone know if the expansion of her company might be costing more than expected? Maybe she’s not as successful as we all think.”
“Aha!” Natasha shouted. “That’s a very good point. Everyone fawns over her like she’s really a queen. Calling yourself a queen does not make you one.”
“We don’t know where she went when she left her party,” Nina pointed out. “Her daughter was conveniently at a slumber party. And her son ran in the 5K, so he was probably out late partying that night.”
“I’m still thinking Marsha and Eli.” Mars tapped the paper with the pen. “They had a lot to gain. If Bobbie Sue allowed Marsha to run the restaurant after Tate’s death, then they could have robbed her blind. And they also had a lot to lose. The best that could happen after Tate knew of their thievery was that they would be fired and wouldn’t have references from their previous employer. The worst would be prison. That’s a lot of motivation.”
“The only thing that bothers me about them is that I was attacked by a woman today,” I said. “And when it happened, Marsha was standing in my line of sight. That means someone else is involved.”
That came as news to all of them except for Bernie. In the middle of their questions, I asked, “Who feels like sampling a Japanese cheesecake?”
Happily, and rather remarkably considering how much we’d eaten for dinner, everyone was interested, even Natasha.
I returned to the kitchen and pulled the cheesecake out of the fridge. It looked fairly plain, so I washed some strawberries to dress it up.
Nina followed me to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. “Do you have any of the chocolate cheesecake left over?”
“I do.”
“I don’t see it.” She stepped aside and I searched for it. When I removed it from the fridge, I stared at it. Why had there been chocolate cheesecake at the murder scene?
“Hey, hey, hey! That’s mine, remember? I knew something was up with Tate when he didn’t show on Midsummer Night.”
“That’s right,” I murmured. “You won the bet.”
“I wouldn’t have minded a mom who served me chocolate cheesecake for breakfast.”
That was it! That was what had been bothering me. My throat tightened. Spencer. Bobbie Sue had called herself a bad mother for giving her son chocolate cheesecake for breakfast.