twenty-six

After breakfast the next morning, Francine was a little surprised and even worried that she hadn’t heard from Charlotte. When she got out of the shower and had dressed and there was still no call, Francine called her.

She could hear the grogginess in Charlotte’s voice. “Hello? Francine? What time is it? Never mind, let me find my glasses. I slept here in the recliner.”

Francine told her it was nine o’clock. “Everyone’s going to be here in an hour to help get the place ready for the luncheon, and I thought if we were going to have time to talk ahead of that …”

“Yes. It’s all coming back to me. I have this stuff spread out all over the floor in the library. You have to come over. I don’t want to move it.”

“Have you figured anything out?”

“Yes, but I want to show it to you to make sure you agree. You’re the sensible one, you know.”

“So I keep being told. You’re sure you can’t just bring all that stuff over here?”

“Nope.”

“Let me talk to Jonathan and I’ll be over.”

Jonathan wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. “I have to run into the office for a meeting. It’s supposed to be a quick one, but you never know. Are you sure you’ll be back in time to get ready for the luncheon? You said they’d be here at ten. That’s only an hour away, and Mary Ruth might be early.”

Francine debated her options. “I’ll give Darla a key and ask her to let Mary Ruth in, in case I’m not back in time. I know she’s coming to the luncheon, and maybe it’ll dissuade her from taking any future actions against us.”

“You can hope.”

She gave him a quick kiss. “I’m sure it will be fine. I’m going to drive over to avoid the press. I’ll stop at Darla’s on the way.”

Channel 8 and Channel 59 had news vans parked outside her house, plus there were the two dark cars that had followed her yesterday. Remembering the agreement with Jud, she waved to them as she backed out of the driveway and drove a few houses down to Darla’s. She pulled into the driveway.

“What’s with the entourage?” Darla asked when she answered the door.

The television crews were scrambling to set up on the sidewalk out front.

“They’re my homies,” Francine said.

Darla smiled and waved at them, but Francine could see the alarm in her eyes. “Is this about the warning we gave Alice and Larry? Because it’s a homeowners’ association issue. You don’t need to get the press involved.”

Francine suddenly realized she could use this to her advantage. “Just drop the warning and there’ll be no investigation. In the meantime, I have another favor to ask.” She explained what she needed.

“If you take the press with you, I’ll go over right away and house-sit until either you or Jonathan relieves me.”

Francine gave Darla the key and left. The parade followed her over to Charlotte’s, where Channel 13 had a news van parked out front.

She stopped in the driveway. The reporters were out of their vehicles before she had even shut the car off. They charged up the driveway, microphones extended. Before she could reach the walk leading to the house, they were shouting questions at her.

“Is it true you found Jeff Kramer’s body?”

“In your opinion, are the two murders related?”

“You saw the body. Was the method the same as Guttmann’s?”

“Who do you think is behind the killings?”

“Do you think there will be more?”

“Is the killer finished yet? Are you worried?”

Francine waved them all quiet. “I have no comment on the death of Jeff Kramer, other than to say I’m sorry for his family. He was a good reporter. Am I worried, personally? I won’t rest easily until the killer is found, as I’m sure you can understand. I’m confident the Brownsburg Police are doing everything they can to solve this crime.”

She turned and headed quickly for Charlotte’s front door. She could see it had been slightly opened. The press trailed behind asking more questions. Her pace got faster and faster.

Charlotte yanked the door open and let her rush in, then slammed it in the faces behind her. She threw the dead bolt on the door. “I thought you handled that well.”

“Thanks. I tried to channel my inner Joy. Has Channel 13 been here all morning?”

“I noticed they were here after you woke me up.” She motioned her down the hall into the library.

Francine was overwhelmed by the mess. It was even worse than usual. Papers littered the floor. Some were copies and some were magazine pages. There appeared to be a method to the way they were laid out, but what that organization was, she wasn’t sure. Two easels with white boards on them had been set up, and Charlotte had written notes in three colors on them. Yellow sticky notes punctuated the writing on the white boards.

“What does all this mean?” Francine asked.

“I made a log of every event photographed in the magazines, plus every person who was mentioned in every caption. There’s a pattern. Jake was at every event where Sara Baggesen raced. Let me go over the evidence to make sure you concur.”

“I don’t think we have time. Were there any photos of the two of them together?”

“No, but it could just mean they were being careful.”

Francine was not convinced. “Did Jake race as well?”

“At some of them, but not in the midgets. He was in the Silver Crown series.”

The two of them took their familiar seats, Charlotte in the apricot recliner, Francine in the rocking chair, after moving papers to the floor.

“I don’t know, Charlotte. It hardly seems conclusive.”

“Friederich must’ve believed they were a couple. Why would he have gone to all the trouble to mark those pages?”

“Are you suggesting that Jake, who’s twenty-three, is having an affair with a child of sixteen?”

“Do you know a sixteen-year-old who thinks of herself as a child? It’s only us old fogies who know they’re still children. They don’t. Just keep an open mind, okay? It’s a possibility. It’s also possible she may be stalking him. Maybe she signed up to race places where she knew he would be.”

Francine’s eyes got wide. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe she has Darla’s compulsive personality.” With not much time before she needed to get back, she picked up the papers nearest her, focusing on the photos of Jake. At one of the races, he was besieged by young woman fans. As Charlotte had said, Sara wasn’t among the gaggle of women. But Francine thought she spotted a familiar face in the background. “Charlotte, isn’t that Larry?” She thrust the page at her.

Charlotte pulled a magnifying glass from a drawer in the coffee table. She took a full minute to examine the photograph. “This copy isn’t that good. I can see why you would think it might be Larry because of the goatee. We should ask Jud to let us see the original.”

“If we did that, we’d have to explain why we wanted it, and if we were right it would be one more reason for them to suspect Larry. It would be better if we could borrow a copy from someone else. I wonder if the Brownsburg Library carries it.”

“They might. Of course, Larry and Alice are fans of Jake’s. In some ways it’s not a surprise to find Larry there.”

Francine checked the caption. “The race was in Florida. I don’t remember them making a trip to Florida anytime recently, even in the last year.”

“Larry made a golfing trip somewhere south in the spring, didn’t he?”

“He did. Jonathan couldn’t go because it was tax season. I don’t think anyone else went with him. But it wasn’t to Florida, not that I recall.”

“We can check with Alice, although I’m starting to suspect he may not be truthful all the time with her.”

Francine had to agree. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“So tell me what you know about them.”

She first swore Charlotte to secrecy. Then she told her about Larry’s apology to Alice and Jonathan about the large amount of money his grandparents had left him, how he’d moved it into an offshore account, and that most of it was gone. She also told Charlotte that Alice had Larry followed to Las Vegas, that she knew he’d come back earlier, and how Jeff Kramer fit into the picture as the man recruited to follow Larry when he arrived home.

Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. Then she closed it. Then it opened again. Francine thought she looked like a guppy.

“And Jud doesn’t know?” Charlotte stammered.

Francine shrugged. “It’s Alice and Larry’s responsibility to tell the police, not me.”

“You have a point.” Charlotte sat in the chair, still stunned. “What did Larry do with all that money?”

“He says he’ll tell Alice when he meets with this mystery person and tells them whatever it is he’s going to tell them.”

“Did he say when he would meet with the person?”

“No, and he didn’t give a time frame for making that decision, either.”

The mantel clock on the fireplace in the library chimed, and Francine looked at it. “We need to get going.”

Charlotte put the magnifying glass back in the drawer and pulled out Friederich’s black iPod Touch. “Before we leave, tell me how to turn this thing on.”

Francine took it from her friend. “I still can’t believe you stole his iPod.” She held down the top button but nothing happened. “It’s dead. It probably needs a charge. Mine loses a charge if I don’t use it for awhile. Help me remember and I’ll give you my charger when we get back.”

They agreed it would work best for them to drive separately, since Francine would be taking Mary Ruth to the gym immediately following the luncheon—if all went well. There was only one black press car outside now. As the reporter got out to question Francine, she waved him off and hurried to her car. He followed her and Charlotte.

Francine was dismayed to see the press was now outside her house, almost as if they knew about the luncheon. She pulled into the garage, edging past the Mary Ruth’s Catering van. Charlotte pulled up and parked behind Francine’s car. She walked as quickly as she could, wielding her cane. Francine lowered the garage door.

“I hope they don’t scare the neighbors away from the luncheon,” she told Charlotte.

“Are you kidding? This will make the neighbors even more excited. I bet we’ll get more than we planned for. Remember, the press is our friend.”

“I keep forgetting.”

They entered the mudroom that led from the garage into the house. Jonathan met them there with a concerned look on his face.

“What is it?” Francine asked. He just shook his head and opened the door to the great room.

Francine took it all in. During the short period of time she’d left to meet Charlotte, the entire room had been transformed. She held on to the door frame wall with one hand. “What happened here?” she asked.

“I was afraid you didn’t know about it. Darla told me the decorators came with Joy and that other woman, Marcy. They had this done in no time.”

“Where’s Darla?”

“She went home to change into ‘something more appropriate.’”

Francine could only imagine what that meant.

She assessed what the decorators had done. The room consisted of two large spaces joined together through an arched opening. Over the arch now hung replicas of the flags used in IndyCar racing. In the larger of the two spaces were two long tables that seated ten people each. In the smaller area, artfully displayed, were way too many black, white, and checkered accent pieces. Plus, a tall display case Francine had never seen before served as the room’s centerpiece. It was filled with hot rod, NASCAR, and midget car memorabilia.

“By the time I got home it was too late,” Jonathan said. “At least it will give everyone something to look at.”

Charlotte put her arm around Francine’s waist. “It’ll be okay, really.”

“You think this looks okay?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s how I imagine death would look if someone crashed into the Speedway museum at high speed. Only with more color. What I mean is, we’ll make Marcy take it all down as soon as the luncheon is over.”

A crash sounded from the kitchen. “And this isn’t the worst of it,” Jonathan said over the outburst of voices that followed the crash. He rolled his eyes in that direction. “You need to see what’s going on in there.”

Francine crossed the great room and entered the kitchen, followed closely by Charlotte. Joy was shouldering a large, studio-like video camera by the door. Mary Ruth, clad in a bright pink Mary Ruth’s Catering apron, was behind the center island with a basket in front of her. Next to Mary Ruth, in front of an identical basket, was a short young Hispanic man. His black apron, spotted with grease, said El Burrito Loco. Marcy stood in front of them going over instructions, in English for Mary Ruth and in Spanish for the other guy.

Francine strode up to Marcy. “What’s going on here?”

“Food Network has an opening in two weeks on Chopped. One of their scheduled chefs backed out. They’ve asked for an audition tape from Mary Ruth. I thought, what better way to show what Mary Ruth can do than actually stage a competition?”

“Who’s he?” Francine pointed to the young guy in black apron. “Is he really a chef ?”

“It’s the best I could do in a hurry. He’s from that Mexican restaurant on Northfield Drive, down from the Kohl’s. His name is Jose. That’s all I’ve dared ask at this point.”

Francine looked from Mary Ruth to Jose. Everyone looked young to her, but Jose looked barely old enough to drive, let alone be a chef. “Hola,” she told him. “Quantos años tiene?”

He smiled and rattled off a bunch of things in Spanish. He leered at Francine.

She put her hands on her hips and looked at Marcy. “He says he’s twenty-five. I don’t think that’s possible. I didn’t catch the rest of it, though. What did he say?”

Marcy turned red. “Ummm. He saw the Good Morning America clip of you in the wet dress, and he … never mind. We don’t have time for this. If we’re going to get this recorded before the luncheon, we need to move.”

Francine was speechless.

“I can’t film with you in the way, Francine,” Joy said.

She spun around. The large camera lens Joy was looking through was pointed directly at her. “When did you learn to operate one of those?” she asked.

Marcy waved her hand for everyone to be quiet. “Okay, open your baskets and see what your secret ingredients are.”

The two chefs opened their baskets. Both pulled out a mango, chili paste, and huge tentacle of some kind.

Francine could scarcely believe it fit in the basket. “That looks like squid!”

“It is,” Mary Ruth said, pulling a butcher knife out of her knife bag. “I haven’t worked with fresh squid since chef’s school, but I know what I’m going to make.” She slapped the tentacle on Francine’s best cutting board and began chopping it into pieces. The sight of it almost made Francine sick. She couldn’t look to see what Jose was doing with his.

Marcy frowned at them to be quiet. “I think I can mute that outburst when I edit the tape,” she whispered, “but you need to control yourselves.” She pointed at Joy. “Keep rolling tape.” Marcy took a deep breath. “For whatever other ingredients you need, you can use anything you find in Francine’s pantry or refrigerator.” Jose ran to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer. He opened it and took a drink, burped, then ran the beer back to his station.

Francine’s breath came in short gasps.

Charlotte dragged her out of the kitchen. “I think it’s better if we just let them do it. I’ve watched this show a lot. They only have twenty minutes for the appetizer round. Mary Ruth’ll still have plenty of time to finish up anything for the luncheon. Let’s get the house in shape.”

“I don’t understand why Marcy is doing this. We didn’t even invite her, did we? What does she think she’s going to do here, film the luncheon?”

“She may want a crowd reaction to Mary Ruth’s new appetizer. It’s not how they do it on Chopped; that would be more like Cupcake Wars. But it might help with the audition.”

Jonathan pointed to a sheet of paper on top of a medium-sized buffet table that had been placed where the great room took an elbow bend into the open dining area. “Mary Ruth’s instructions are there,” he said. “Maybe I’d better help.” He picked up the paper. “The smaller table in the dining room is for desserts. The table in the middle is for the buffet stations. Francine, why don’t you work on the buffet? Here’s the menu. They want our dining room table expanded all the way out to seat another ten, so I’ll get the leaves and do that. Charlotte, why don’t you start wrapping the eating utensils in the napkins?”

Francine started to breath easier. Jonathan was her rock. He would help her get through this.

Charlotte professed to needing help with the utensil-wrapping operation, so Francine took some time to get her organized. All the while the sounds of clattering and chaos arose from the kitchen, but she tried to ignore it, telling herself it would be okay.

When Charlotte was finally at work, Francine read over the list and studied the diagram for how to place the serving trays. She needed a station for the sesame chicken wraps, another for the pulled pork mini-sandwiches with a plate for buns ahead of the meat. Mary Ruth planned for three types of barbeque sauce so she needed to leave room for that. Then came the apricot-and-black-walnut chicken salad, served cold, and a vegetable tray with Mary Ruth’s signature spicy southwestern dip. The dessert table would have chocolate fudge pecan brownies and an angel food cake drizzled with a cranberry/orange zest icing. The thought of that wonderful food made Francine’s mouth water, and she momentarily forgot about the cooking challenge. Then she realized she would have to go into the kitchen to ask Mary Ruth about the warming trays.

At least, she rationalized, it wouldn’t take long.

Francine entered the kitchen. Mary Ruth and Jose were elbowing each other trying to get something out of the freezer at the bottom of Francine’s stainless steel refrigerator. Mary Ruth emerged triumphant, waving a package of puff pastry sheets Francine didn’t know she even had. Jose ran over and stood in front of the microwave, blocking Mary Ruth from getting to it.

Francine cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Stop tape!” yelled Marcy. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m here for the warming trays so I can set up the buffet table.”

Mary Ruth put the puff pastry package down at her station. “They’re in the van. I’ll give you the keys.” She bent down to get her purse.

Mary Ruth came up in time to see Jose snatch the puff pastry. She threw her keys to Francine and grabbed the other end of the package. She and Jose played tug of war momentarily, but Jose had more strength. He rattled something in Spanish, then yanked it away from her.

Mary Ruth yelled, “Hey, that’s mine!” She picked up a pan and whacked Jose in the head with it.

Jose was momentarily stunned. He dropped the package on the floor. Before Mary Ruth could retrieve it, he recovered. He swore at her in Spanish and brandished his butcher knife in front of her.

She held up the frying pan in a defensive position.

“Rolling!” called Marcy.

“I don’t think so!” Francine marched over to Marcy. “I will not have this kind of behavior in my house. You get him out of here.”

Jose gave Francine the once over. He said something in Spanish.

She caught part of it. She narrowed her eyes. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

“Uh, umm, I don’t think so,” Marcy stammered.

“I may whack him in the head myself.”

“Too late,” said Mary Ruth. With Jose distracted, she’d gotten close and gave the frying pan a flick with her wrist. It banged him in the head in the same spot and this time he went down. The knife clattered on the floor as he hit.

“That’ll teach him to steal my recipe,” Mary Ruth said, standing over the unconscious victim. “He was duplicating my dish.”

“I don’t get it, either,” Marcy said. “The beer-based batter he was making for the calamari looked good, even after he threw in some vodka and it accidently caught fire.”

“There was a fire?” Francine said.

“A small one. We were able to put it out with a fire extinguisher.”

Francine steadied herself against the bar.

“Did we get that on tape?” asked Marcy.

Joy looked sheepish. “I never stopped rolling.”

Jose stood. He wobbled for a moment. He babbled in Spanish.

Marcy said something back to him. His eyes went glassy, and then he fell forward onto Mary Ruth. She wasn’t prepared for his weight, and the two of them careened back against the refrigerator. The appliance slammed into the wall.

“Get him off of me!” Mary Ruth screamed.

Jonathan came running into the kitchen. He pried Jose off of her and eased him onto the floor.

“I think he might have a concussion,” Marcy observed. “I hope you have a good insurance policy.”

Francine stared at her.

She rethought the situation. “Um. Maybe I’d better get him to the emergency care clinic.”

“Good idea,” Jonathan said. “Let me help you load him into your car.”

Jonathan put his arms under the young man’s armpits and dragged him across the kitchen. Marcy went ahead and held the doors open.

“I can imagine how this is going to look to the paparazzi out front,” Charlotte said.

Francine looked out the front windows. She sighed. “They’re still out there. You’ll need to load him in the Prius in the garage so they don’t see him.”

Jonathan glared at Marcy. “You’re going to sit in the back seat and keep him propped up so he doesn’t look unconscious.”

She shrugged.

“Is it okay if I go ahead and finish off the calamari dish?” Mary Ruth asked. “I need to serve it for the appetizers or we won’t have enough. I’d planned on using whatever Jose and I created. I may use his original idea for a beer batter as an alternative.”

“Get it on tape,” Marcy told Joy.

“This has been way more exciting than anything they do on Food Network,” Charlotte said. “They need to rethink the Iron Chef competition. Mixed martial arts would be a dandy addition to the cooking battle in Kitchen Stadium.”