thirty-one

Francine took Charlotte home after dinner. Her plan was to drop her off at the door so as to avoid any invitations to drink brandy, but since there was a dark sedan she didn’t recognize parked at the next-door neighbor’s house, she decided it would be best if she went in. She should at least make sure her friend was safe before she left.

“Want a nightcap?” Charlotte toddled down the hall toward the library.

“No, thank you. It’s only seven thirty, a bit early for a nightcap.” She glanced into the family room, the kitchen, and each bedroom on the way down the hall.

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothing. Just making sure there’s no one here.”

“It’s creepy to think we have to worry about that, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s the reality.”

Charlotte played with her cane. “We need to get the rumors out quickly, about the secret video and the mysterious Suspect Y.”

“I never agreed to participate in this rumormongering.”

“You’re going to leave it all up to me?”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell me how you’ll do it.” She reminded Charlotte what time she would pick her up for lunch the next day and said good-bye.

Francine hadn’t even gotten herself buckled into the Prius when she got a phone call. “Hello?”

“Shhh! It’s Mary Ruth.”

“Why are you whispering?” she whispered back.

“Because I don’t want Alice to hear. I need for you to come over.”

“Why? What’s Alice doing there?”

“Larry moved out. She gave him an ultimatum, and he moved out. She’s distraught and she’s slowing me down. I have to get this food ready for tomorrow!”

“I’ll be right over.” She called Jonathan to let him know why she’d be late, then she speed-walked over to Mary Ruth’s house. Alice opened the door when Francine rang the doorbell. She wore flowered capris Francine had never seen before and hoped she wouldn’t see on Alice again. A black polo with dots of cookie dough on the collar was underneath a pink Mary Ruth’s Catering apron. Her ever-present cross pendant was missing, which Francine immediately noticed.

“I’m going to invest in Mary Ruth’s business,” Alice announced, slurring the words a bit.

“Really? Why is that?” Francine stepped warily into the house.

“Why not? Larry’s hidden his trust fund in some sleazy offshore bank. The least I can do is use our money here in the States to help my friend expand her business.”

Mary Ruth’s house was a two-story Colonial design, but small. Inside it felt even smaller because of the enlarged commercial kitchen she’d had built that took over most what had been the dining room. But the house always smelled wonderful, and right now it smelled like cakes baking in the oven. Alice, however, smelled like alcohol. She held a Manhattan in one hand. Francine guessed it was not her first drink of the evening.

“Not that I don’t think it’s a good idea to invest in Mary Ruth’s business,” she said, “but don’t you think you ought to talk to Larry about your investments?”

“Not anymore. I’m madder than the proverbial Mad Hatter. He still won’t tell me what he did with all that money from his grandparents. The old nutcases probably had something in the trust fund provision that prevented me from getting my hands on it. They never liked me from the start.”

Francine got that empty feeling again, like maybe she and Charlotte were letting their friendship with Larry color who they suspected. He did seem to have a lot of secrets. There was circumstantial evidence that Friederich was flaunting something. Was it one of Larry’s secrets? Would Larry kill to keep it hidden? Or did Larry think that trying to frame himself was clever and would make him look less suspicious in the end?

“Do you know why he’s afraid to tell you?”

“No, and whatever the reason is, I don’t know how it can be more horrible than the mistrust it’s put between us.” She took a belt of the Manhattan. “Want a drink?”

“Maybe I could use a glass of wine.”

“I’ve got your favorite Chardonnay in here,” Mary Ruth called from the kitchen.

It seemed to snap Alice back to reality. “Oh, dear, I’m shirking my chopping duties.”

Mary Ruth’s kitchen was in commercial duty mode. Dirty dishes were stacked next to the industrial-sized dishwasher, trays of cupcakes were lined up to be frosted, and prep for several other dishes was going on at a granite-topped rectangular island. Mary Ruth stood at a mixer, alternating wet and dry ingredients into the mixing bowl. “Do you mind helping, Francine? I don’t know how we’re going to get all this done without being up all night.”

Under Mary Ruth’s direction, Alice resumed chopping vegetables for a southwestern Cobb salad. Francine put on a pink apron and began piping cream cheese frosting onto carrot cake cupcakes that had cooled.

Alice continued her nonstop patter about her difficulties. “So I just asked Larry to leave. And he did.”

Francine looked up from the rows of cupcakes. “Just like that? He didn’t say anything?”

“No. I mean, he showed some emotion, thank God. Cried a little. Kept saying he was sorry, and that one day he hoped I would understand, but there was something he had to do before he could tell me anything.”

“No hints as to when that might be?” Francine asked, hoping for clues of some kind.

“He acted like whatever it was he was going to do, it would be done in the next couple of days. I told him he could come back when he was ready to tell me.”

A couple of days, Francine thought. Jake, too, hoped to have his fortune decided in that time frame, with a big win tomorrow. Charlotte was starting rumors that might affect someone in the next couple of days. And Joy was trying to land a correspondent position with a network. That was a lot of big events in such a short period of time.

“So you came over here to get away from the loneliness?”

“The loneliness, the anger, Darla Baggesen. I tried Joy, but she’s not answering her phone.”

Francine thought it was weird Joy wouldn’t answer Alice’s phone call. Before the skinny-dipping incident and Joy’s hiring of Marcy as a publicist, the two had been close friends. She hoped this whole craziness would end soon.

Mary Ruth quieted the mixer and entered the conversation. “What was Darla doing to you? Checking the pool shed for more dead bodies?”

“In a manner of speaking. I don’t know how many times she’s been over, asking what the latest is on how Friederich died and whether Larry’s been cleared yet. I don’t know why she’s so anxious to have Larry cleared. Will the homeowners’ association throw a party for us and drop the grievances for the violations she’s dreamed up if he gets cleared?”

“You know what a gossip Darla is. She’s probably fishing for information more than she’s hoping for Larry to be innocent.”

Mary Ruth’s comment struck Francine. Darla had told them Jake was a hero in her daughter Sara’s eyes. That could explain it. Maybe she was trolling for gossip to reassure Sara. Or could there be a different motivation? Friederich had kept track of photos of Sara. What were Sara’s secrets? What did he know about Sara? Did Darla suspect that Friederich knew something, and so was checking up? Maybe damage control? Certainly Darla and Sara had a complicated mother/daughter relationship. Sara reportedly wanted to be a model more than she wanted to be a race car driver. Darla kept Sara on a short leash. Her ex-husband Vince had filed for custody. Alice had said that Sara wanted the custody change.

But maybe it had nothing to do with anything.

She piped a few more cupcakes. “Do you think Larry’s being back from Vegas while we were having the skinny-dipping party had to do with the secret bank account?”

Alice had been banging on the cutting board, taking out aggression on the poor vegetables. She stopped to answer. “Maybe. If we knew what the secret bank account was all about.”

Darla had made a comment during the luncheon that the police seemed to be ignoring whatever Friederich may have had on Larry. “If we assume that the killer knew Larry would be back early for a secret meeting, I wonder if he also knew about the bank account. Maybe Friederich knew about it.”

“If I didn’t know about the secret bank account, I don’t know how Friederich or the killer would have known,” Alice said.

Mary Ruth poured the batter she’d just created into the paper cups that lined her cupcake trays. “I still find it creepy to think that the killer might live in our neighborhood.”

“It makes sense, though,” Francine said, “since the killer had some inkling of what Larry was doing and had the ability to track him.”

Alice put down her knife. “I just feel so blindsided. My decision to have Larry followed was a last-minute thing. Should I have noticed something sooner, done something sooner? If the killer lives in our neighborhood and noticed …” She let the thought trail off.

“Don’t stop, Alice,” Mary Ruth said. “We have to keep plugging away if we’re going to get this done.”

Alice resumed hacking the vegetables into pieces. “I’m a terrible business partner. I’m sorry.”

When Mary Ruth didn’t answer immediately, Francine filled the silence, hoping Alice didn’t notice. “I wonder if Charlotte shouldn’t refocus on her original question about why Friederich’s body ended up in Alice and Larry’s pool shed?”

“She did say right from the start that if we wanted to find the killer, we needed to answer that question,” Mary Ruth said.

“Doesn’t it feel like it was a long time ago, even though it’s only been a few days?” Francine said. “A lot of what happened changed our focus. But in the end, it’s still a major question that needs resolving.”

A timer went off. Mary Ruth stopped it from beeping. “Francine, would you mind taking those cupcakes out of the oven? I’m just about ready to put these in.”

Francine went over to the oven. Sitting next to it was a cross necklace, the one Alice never took off. The one that held the clue to her #1 Sixty List item. Just yesterday Francine had said in jest that it would require divine intervention or too much liquor for Alice to take it off. And here it was. She blocked Alice’s view and turned it over. There was an inscription, Genesis 18:12–14. She memorized it and set the necklace back down.

Alice successfully finished cutting broccoli and cauliflower and moved to slicing zucchini and yellow squash. “I’ve been in real estate long enough to answer the pool shed question. The body went into that particular shed because of location, location, location.”

Mary Ruth ran her finger around the top edge of the bowl and licked the batter off of it. “Mmm, that’s good. If I do have to say so myself.”

“What kind of cupcakes are you making?”

“It’s a banana cream pie cupcake. I’ve got crushed vanilla wafers mixed in with the banana batter, and I’m going to frost them with whipped cream. It was a special request from Darla.”

“Darla?” Francine asked. “What are you doing making cupcakes for Darla?”

“She got me the catering job, remember? I told her I’d also make cupcakes for Sara’s racing team tomorrow.”

“Wait! Is Sara in the same race as Jake?” Francine remembered that Charlotte’s detective work with the magazines from Friederich’s place revealed the two were at the same events but hadn’t raced against each other. If they were an item, why would she suddenly race against him now? Were they in a relationship or not? Or was it more complicated than that?

“They’re in the same race. I don’t think it’s a big secret,” Alice said. “Darla’s mentioned it to me at least twice since she’s been visiting so often.” She went over to where Mary Ruth was sampling the batter and picked up the spatula. “Can I lick this?”

“You’re as bad as Charlotte. No. Francine, did you notice that I refrained from doing any more tasting than just a little bit of the batter?”

“Brady would be proud of you.”

Alice snatched up the spatula and licked it anyway. “Mmm. I can’t wait to taste one of those cupcakes.”

Mary Ruth looked at the messy kitchen. “Tomorrow, Alice. Tonight, we finish the prep work or die trying.”

Die trying, Francine thought. She hoped nothing so drastic would happen today or tomorrow.