“Fee!” Daisy’s desperate blurting of my name told me everything I needed to know, even if I’d been blind to the animosity between the widow and the woman who hovered, nervous but angry, as if waiting for a hit that didn’t come.
I was actually grateful for the as yet unexplained source of the pending confrontation about to unfold in front of me, taking the opportunity to use it to help pull myself under some semblance of not a crazy lady. At least, in comparison to the pair of women who faced off in my foyer.
“Mrs. Williams.” I swept forward, taking Bonnie’s arm and guiding her into the kitchen, Petunia trailing behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see Daisy doing the same for Joyce but in the other direction, leading her to the stairs with a grateful nod and smile. I didn’t stop moving until I had Bonnie seated at the kitchen counter with a cup and saucer in front of her and a pot of tea brewing, taking her coat and laying it over the back of a stool while Petunia sat at her feet in her cute harness and booties.
“I just couldn’t stand to stay in that place any longer.” Bonnie’s hands trembled as she clasped them in front of her on my counter, gaze haunted and lost. She hiccupped faintly, swaying on her stool, but caught herself before she spoke again. “Not in the same room Ron and I… I…” she sobbed once before looking away, lips a thin line, hugging herself.
I sat beside her, poured tea, all too familiar with this particular scene and, oddly, at ease because I’d handled grief in varying forms and degrees with a pot of my favorite blend before.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Williams,” I said. “You must be devastated.”
She leaned toward me then, took my hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, broken through her tears. Was that wine on her breath? Would explain the glaze in her eyes, her condition when she attacked Janet earlier. That meant she’d been drinking in the afternoon. Was that typical of her? “The way Ron treated your mother. She’s a darling, from what I know of her. So kind how she gushed over me when we met. No one else seems to notice me, but she knew who I was right off.” She had the faintest British accent and it came through in the way she spoke, though I could guess she hadn’t lived overseas in many years. “She spoke so highly of Ron and the show.”
That was my mom, making everyone else feel special and at ease. Who did that for her? Time for her daughter to step up, right?
“My mother is an amazing woman,” I said, “and I’m so lucky to have her.” There I went, choking up again. “She’s also an incredible baker. I was stunned when her work didn’t turn out.”
Bonnie flinched, shook her head, poking at her now red nose with a bit of used tissue. I fetched her a fresh one and she sparked a bit of a smile in response, tugging at the lines on her narrow face. “He was utterly wretched to her and I told him so. He’s such a beast. Was.” She exhaled. “I guess I’ll have to get used to the past tense.”
I nodded. “You were close, I take it? You’re on the set quite a bit?”
Bonnie didn’t hesitate, though she slurred enough in her speech I could tell she was still over the legal limit. “Not at all,” she said. “He was a cheating bastard who had affairs with all his favorites, including Janet.” She scowled then, like a switch had flipped inside her, from sorrow to rage as she glared over her shoulder at the kitchen door. “And that trollop, Joyce Young.”
Now I had the rest of the story. I gaped at her, unable to speak, certainly the last thing I expected to come out of her mouth despite knowing there was something between her and Joyce. She smiled again, patting my hand, sipping her tea as if nothing untoward happened just now. Like revealing she shared a roof presently with one of her husband’s mistresses.
“It’s all right, dear,” she said. “It’s old news. Anyone close to the show would tell you the same thing. I hated him sometimes, but he was my husband.” She shrugged. “I’m more sorry for how it happened, that it will hurt the show. Especially since his death could mean it will be cancelled now.”
“Why does that make you sad?” I barely registered I managed a question.
“Why,” she seemed surprised by my words, “because I have a lot of money invested in it, dear. I stand to lose a great deal of capital if it goes under.”
So she said. I had no compunctions, as her grief seemed to fade in the light of the truth, about thinking of her as a murder suspect.
“What about Molly Abbott?” I didn’t fill in the blanks of the question, though I was sure Bonnie knew what I was asking. I hoped for the best. I couldn’t see the sweet young woman as one of Ron’s conquests. When Bonnie shook her head, lips twisting, I had my confirmation.
“That one has a head on her shoulders,” she assured me. “Delightful young woman, going places. When this is settled, I might talk to her about her own show.”
Blink and miss it, apparently. She was moving way too fast for me, or maybe it was the wine I could only assume still raced through her veins if the continuing smell on her breath was any indication. I was accustomed to grieving widows and mothers, hurt and aching battered wives, even heartbroken women who had the love of their life torn from them because they weren’t the right gender in the eyes of their family. But this?
I was not expecting this.
“Well, I suppose this saves me having to file for divorce.” Bonnie sighed into her cup. “My lawyer will be horribly disappointed he’s missing out on billable hours, but it does simplify things.”
“Wow,” I whispered.
She tilted her head to one side, tsking. “I know, right? So much drama resolved with a single death. Now, if only we can salvage the rest of the season. Perhaps a guest judge or two.” Her lower lip trembled again. “I just don’t know what I’ll do if I lose profit on this venture.” She sobbed into her tissue while I gaped at her and tried to find something to say.
Inappropriate? Check. Her first.
“Why didn’t you file for divorce ages ago?” If she was going to be all logical and practical, I figured a bit of inappropriate wasn’t too far off the path.
She sniffed into her tissue. “Money, of course. Honestly, dear, you don’t understand this business at all, do you?” She did not just condescend me. “The more he made, the more I could take him for when it was over, not to mention my profits from the show itself. Besides, he was prepping to launch that ridiculous new cookbook of his. It’s already poised for the New York Times bestseller list. Far too lucrative to pass over.”
“Right,” I said. “Of course. How silly and financially irresponsible of me.”
She waved the tissue at me, wrinkling her nose like she smelled something funny. Maybe the stench of alcohol was getting to her like it was to me. “He was going to launch on the show, end of season. It meant a chance at endorsements and even a bigger judging position, even a show of his own.” She sipped her tea, blowing on the steam rising from the delicate china of my grandmother’s cup. “I was just being practical.”
“Utterly,” I said, unable to muster much enthusiasm. She didn’t sense it, apparently, because she smiled like I understood her better than her own mother. “Sounds like you’re going to get everything now?”
Bonnie shrugged, simpered, then frowned. “So much potential wasted.”
Holy crap. That was cold, even for someone under the influence. “Has the sheriff spoken to you about your whereabouts tonight?” I assumed as much, and since the spouse was often a suspect, I had to guess Crew had her on his radar.
Turned out that was the wrong thing to say. She huffed at me, setting the cup down a bit too solidly, the tinkle of china making me wince she might have broken something.
“Honestly,” she said. “That young man and his questions. He’s part of the reason I left the hotel in the first place.” She stood then, wavered on her heels, turning as Daisy appeared at the kitchen door. “Perhaps your help could escort me to my room? I’m suddenly feeling peaked and need to lie down.”
I just bet she was feeling something and it had nothing to do with her husband’s murder and everything to do with how much she’d had to drink today. I didn’t respond with such insulting thoughts, though, letting Daisy lead her out, raising my eyebrows at my best friend who rolled hers back behind the woman’s arrogant and somewhat wobbling departure. A quick check of the
cup showed a tiny sliver of the base had chipped free. I sighed over the damage, hoping a bit of glue could salvage the break, wishing life was as easy to fix.
***