Fatally Frosted Page 4

Peg smiled cruelly. “Yes, but have you ever done it with an audience? I’m sure it’s not as easy as it may seem.”

  I nodded. I hated to admit it, but she had a point. Then, I had a thought. “You’re not staying here the entire time the tour’s going on, are you?”

  Peg laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of warmth in the sound. “Suzanne, as important as you must think you are, I have seven kitchens open on the tour today. I simply wanted to stop by to check on your setup, and to brief you one last time on the rules.” As she looked around, she added, “It’s a good thing I did, too.”

  I gave her my most artificial smile. “Well, you’ve done that, so why don’t you move on to the next vic . . . I mean kitchen on your list.”

  I swear, I saw Marge stifle a giggle when she realized I’d been about to say victim. She’d been surprisingly quiet during my conversation with Peg, and I wondered how the tour organizer had managed to intimidate her so much.

  After Peg was gone, I said, “Well, I for one am certainly glad we got all of that cleared up. It could have been an absolute disaster if I’d continued measuring out ingredients. What was I thinking?” I’d done my best to imitate Peg’s nasal voice, but though I wasn’t all that effective a mimic, Marge had understood the impression.

  “She’s certainly unique, isn’t she,” Marge asked.

  “I’m kind of surprised you ever agreed to do this,” I said. “How did you two manage to bury the hatchet?”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Peg is harmless.”

  “That’s not the first word to describe her that pops into my mind.” Seeing coffee brewing on one of the countertops, I asked, “Is there any chance I could get a cup? I have a feeling Peg’s right about one thing. It’s going to be a long day, and I might not have much time for breaks once we get started.”

  Marge said, “Where are my manners? Why don’t you sit over on the sofa, and I’ll bring you a cup.”

  “I can get it myself,” I protested.

  “Nonsense. Let me wait on you. Now go sit.”

  I did as I was told, and sat on a sofa in the nearby sitting area where I could look outside at Marge’s landscaping. While it was true she skimped on buying things for herself, when it came to her flower garden, Marge hadn’t held back. An explosion of blooms dotted the landscape outside, and a fountain centered on a delightful stone patio supplied a constant, aerated stream for the birds. Several feeders were arranged near my vantage point, and as I watched, a Carolina Chickadee swooped in for a quick black oil sunflower seed before darting off again.

  “I think I found the best seat in the house,” I said as Marge walked over with two thick mugs.

  “I had the entire landscape in back designed just for that spot,” she said as she took another seat.

  “Then you should sit here,” I said as I started to get up.

  “Suzanne, you’re here doing me a wondrous favor. Besides, I get to enjoy this view every morning. I can share it with you today.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said. I wasn’t about to fight her on it, especially when I noticed a bright red male cardinal come in for some seed of his own. Instead of making a hit and run on the feeder, though, this fella was obviously more interested in sampling a few of the offerings before giving up his spot in line.

  “Who’s that?” I asked as I saw part of the back of a head peek around the corner of the courtyard.

  “Is someone out there?” Marge asked as she stared where I’d pointed. “They know they’re supposed to wait at the front door.”

  She ducked outside, but was back just as quickly. It was clear that whoever had been out there was now gone.

  “Suzanne, did you see who it was?”

  “No, I just caught a glimpse of red hair.”

  “Was it a man or a woman?” she asked.

  “Honestly, whoever it was had short hair, but that’s all I could say from the little bit I saw.”

  Marge frowned. “Peg should be doing a better job of keeping people in line.”

  After she settled back down beside me, I said, “Marge, may I ask you something?”

  She looked surprised, but nodded. “I owe you that much, at least.”

  I wasn’t satisfied with her terse explanation about her relationship patch with Peg, and if I was ever going to find out what had happened, this was the time. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but that didn’t keep me from dying to know the truth. I took a sip of coffee, then asked, “Why has there been bad blood between you and Peg for so long, and why did you ever agree to do the kitchen tour?”

  “That’s two questions,” Marge said.

  “Indulge me,” I said as I sipped my coffee. It was a first-rate blend, and I wondered if she’d bought it and brewed it just for the tour.

  Marge stood and started to pace around the large space. “I don’t believe I even know where to begin. Peg and I have always been at odds over one thing or another. I suppose it all goes back to our fathers.”

  “They knew each other?” I asked as my attention was diverted from the backyard habitat for a moment.

  “I should say so. They were business partners once upon a time, and I’m afraid it ended badly.”

  “What happened?”

  Marge said, “Peg’s father, Daniel, grew tired of the investment house they were running, and from the way my father used to tell it, he’d done more than his part to run the company into the ground. One day Daniel came to my father and asked him to buy him out. My father agreed that it would be a good idea, but refused the outlandish price Daniel put on his half of the business. After much arguing, Father finally agreed to turn over the keys and title to his new car, a Cadillac that was the talk of the town. My father told me Daniel’s share of the business wasn’t even worth that, but he wanted to be rid of a partner who’d become dead weight. The papers were signed, the car exchanged hands, and my father proceeded to work eighty-hour weeks until he built his firm into a place he could be proud of. A year after the transaction, Daniel drove while he’d been drinking, and he crashed the Cadillac into a tree, totaling it beyond repair and killing himself in the process.”

  I’d heard stories growing up that Daniel Masterson had died in a car wreck, but I hadn’t realized the history behind it.

  “How awful.”

  “Not as bad as how Peg’s mother acted. Shelly had to blame someone for her husband’s death, someone besides the man himself, so she focused on my father. Peg must have grown up with stories of the evil man who’d stolen her father’s business, so it’s a wonder she speaks to me at all.”

  “It’s tragic, though, isn’t it?”

  “On more levels than I can convey,” Marge said. “Last year Peg talked me into serving on some of her favorite committees, but I don’t have time for that anymore. My life these days is rather full without worrying about fundraisers and benefits.” She glanced at her watch, then said, “Look at the time. We’ll be opening in ten minutes! Suzanne, do you think anyone will come?”

  “Of course they will,” I said. “You’re taking tickets at the front door, right?”

  “If anyone shows up,” she said.

  “Why don’t we go peek and see if anyone’s out there waiting to get in?”

  Marge looked surprised by the suggestion. “What if they see us?”

  “Come on. It will be fun.”

  We slipped through the kitchen, and I started for the front door when Marge touched my shoulder. “Let’s go into the living room. We can get a better view from there.”

  I followed her into yet another room of the big house, and she ducked behind the curtain first. When she came back out, she looked positively stunned.

  I felt my heart start to sink. It was beginning to feel like I was going to be making beignets all by myself. “What’s the matter? Did no one come?”

  “Look for yourself,” she said.

  I brushed past her and glanced outside. There were at least sixty people on the sidewalk and stoop waiting in line to get in,
all of them dressed in their Sunday best.

  “I’d better go get ready,” I said, more nervous than ever at the prospect of cooking in front of such a large audience.

  Marge must have seen the terror on my face. She patted my arm as she said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Make me proud.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said as I hurried back to the kitchen so I could don the smock and hat before my audience was admitted. As I settled the tall hat down in place over my hair, I gave myself a little pep talk. There was no reason to be nervous. I made donuts for a living, and the beignets I was about to prepare were very much donuts, despite their fancy name and appearance.

  Taking a deep breath, I trotted out my brightest smile and prepared for the mob of visitors.

  “If you’ll all quiet down, I’ll get started,” I said. Even in the spacious kitchen and the adjoining sitting area, the room was packed with folks eager to see Marge’s kitchen, and while they were there, watch me make a pastry.

  Once they settled down, I said, “Today I’ll be making beignets, and though they are traditionally made in the shape of squares, triangles, and even diamonds, though they lack the hole we’re used to, they are donuts just the same. I’ve been told that even the name, in Cajun, means ‘French donut.’ Using flour, sugar, shortening, milk, eggs, salt, and yeast, the result is a spectacularly decadent treat, drenched in powdered sugar as it cools for a final touch of elegance.” I held a photo I’d taken of some of the beignets I’d made practicing for today, and they looked suitably impressed. So far, so good.

  I went on. “My recipe today uses baking powder instead of the traditional yeast. It’s a shortcut I’ve come up with for our demonstration. When I make these in my shop, I prefer using yeast so they have time to rise, but these are quite tasty as well, as you all will soon find out.”

  As I laid the ingredients out on the counter, I was about to start mixing when a scream pierced through the room.

  “She’s dead,” a voice cried out behind the crowd, and all eyes turned to the garden, visible through the windows where I’d watched the birds flitting in and out before. I didn’t need to see the victim’s face to know who was lying there beneath the feeder. I’d seen that outfit before; just that morning, in fact.

  Someone had murdered Peg Masterson, and I knew that my time with the Kitchens Extraordinaire tour had ended before it had barely even started.

  As everyone rushed to the window, I said loudly, “You all need to calm down. There’s no reason to panic.” I don’t know why I said it, but it seemed to get their attention.

  An older man in informal attire headed for the door to the garden.

  “You shouldn’t go out there,” I said.

  He barely slowed down as he said, “I’m a doctor. She might not be dead. I’m going to check on her.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “Fine, go ahead, but everyone else needs to stay right where they are.” I said to the rest of the crowd, “Somebody needs to call Chief Martin and get him over here.” That was one telephone call I had no desire to make. The police chief and I had clashed too many times in the past, and I had no desire to add anything to the list, though I knew he’d be cornering me soon enough.

  A dozen hands went for their cell phones, and I looked around for Marge. She’d be shattered by a murder happening at her home, no matter how she might have felt about the victim.

  But she was nowhere in sight.

  I started toward the rest of the house to look for her when she bumped into me coming down the stairs.

  “Where have you been?” I asked.

  “I had to change my clothes. Silly me, I accidentally spilled coffee on my suit after I took up the tickets at the door.” She noticed everyone staring out the window. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you making beignets?”

  “I’m afraid there’s been an accident,” I said, not knowing how else to tell her that her chief rival was most likely dead.

  Marge grabbed my hands and quickly looked me over. “Are you hurt? What happened? I’ve been worried about that hot oil all week. Oh, dear. Was it one of our visitors?”

  I took my hands back from her. “Marge, I’m fine, and no one was injured during the demonstration. Something happened outside.”

  She craned to get a look out the window, but I stepped in front of her and blocked her view.

  “Suzanne, move over. I can’t see. Who is it? It’s my house; I have a right to know what happened.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t try to stop her as she stepped around me. After a moment of silence, she asked softly, “Is that Peg?”

  “It appears to be,” I said.

  “What happened to her?” Marge asked. The flat tone in her voice was something that caught me completely off guard. It was as if she’d just learned that oranges were six for a dollar.

  “Marge, it looks bad.”

  My statement caught her attention. “For me? Just because it’s my house? I didn’t kill her, Suzanne. You can vouch for me. I’ve been with you all morning.”

  I hated myself for saying it, but I had to let her know what was on my mind before Chief Martin arrived. “Marge, I didn’t see you while I was setting up, and you weren’t there when I started my demonstration. There’s at least fifteen minutes when you were out of my sight completely.”

  She looked at me as though I’d just stabbed her in the chest with a butcher knife. “What are you talking about? I was right here the entire time.”

  I shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t vouch for you with the police. You just told me yourself that you were upstairs changing your outfit.”

  Marge frowned. “Suzanne, if you’re going to be that way, then I can’t tell them you were with me the entire time, either, can I?” There was an odd expression on her face that I had trouble reading. Was she trying to imply I’d had something to do with what had happened to Peg?

  “I’ve got a great alibi. I was standing in front of a crowd of sixty people,” I protested, not believing that she was trying to turn the tables on me.

  “They weren’t here the entire time. You were alone in the kitchen when I started taking tickets on the front steps, and there’s a French door that leads straight out to that patio. How long does it take to kill someone, Suzanne? You could have done it and I never would have even seen you slip out the door.”

  I shook my head. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I didn’t kill her.”

  “Neither did I,” Marge said.

  I patted her shoulder gently. “Hey, I never said you did. Honest, I don’t think you killed Peg, Marge.”

  Her eyes began to melt tears. “You don’t? Truly? But I thought that was what you just said.”

  “No, what I said was that I couldn’t give you an alibi for the entire time. I just realized that you’re right. It works both ways. I guess the chief is going to have to look hard at both of us.”

  “You didn’t have a motive, though, did you?” Marge asked softly.

  “Everybody in town had a motive, when it comes down to it. Peg wasn’t exactly Miss Congeniality, was she?”

  Marge shrugged. “I know most folks weren’t all that fond of her, but did anyone else really have a reason to kill her?”

  That line of reasoning surprised me. “I don’t know. Did you have a motive yourself? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  She looked startled by the question. “Me? No, of course not. Peg had a beef with me and my family; it wasn’t the other way around.”

  “Then that’s what you should tell the chief,” I said.

  “Tell the chief what?” I heard a voice ask that was much too familiar to me. Chief Martin, our head of local law enforcement and a man who’d kindled his crush on my mother like a hearth fire, walked into the room. He’d put on some weight recently, though he tried his best to hide it with a jacket he didn’t need. The chief must have been a nice-looking man when he’d been younger, but the years had not been as kind to him as they had been to
my mother. I couldn’t imagine the two of them ever dating, but then that was ancient history, a time in their high school lives that was long gone, and never to be repeated, according to my mother.

  “We were going to tell you that we’ve been waiting for you,” I said.

  “I got here three minutes after someone called,” he said. “How much faster did you expect me to be?” He looked through the doorway into the kitchen and lounging area. “You pulled in quite a crowd,” he said in disgust. “That isn’t going to make it any easier.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. The chief and I had our differences, most of them stemming back to the time I was born. He’d resented my dad’s presence in Momma’s life, and I was a testament to the fact that she’d chosen someone else. Things weren’t exactly all warm and fuzzy between us before my propensity to show up near dead bodies began.

  Finally, he turned back and stared at me. “Are you telling me they all actually saw what happened?” I could tell in his voice that he was hoping this one would be wrapped up before lunch.

  “As far as I know, no one saw a thing,” I admitted. “They were all watching me.”

  He looked into the kitchen. “Then that had to give you the perfect view of the murder, didn’t it,” he said.

  “If it happened while I was giving my demonstration, I didn’t see it,” I confessed.

  “Suzanne, how could you not notice?” he asked fiercely.

  “I was busy talking, measuring, and trying not to throw up,” I said.

  The chief turned to Marge. “I suppose you didn’t see anything, either.”

  “Not a thing. Sorry,” she said.

  “Great. Why don’t you two go on in with everybody else. I just want to have to say this once.”

  Marge and I walked in after the chief, and the second my audience realized that the police chief was there, they converged on us like we were giving out free samples of food.

  As Chief Martin was being pelted with questions from a dozen different directions, he held up his hands. “Quiet, everybody. I need you to listen to me.”

  Everyone stopped talking, and I envied the chief’s ability to silence them so easily. I looked over his shoulder and saw the doctor walking away from the body as he shook his head, and that’s when I realized that Peg was indeed dead. Was there any chance it was from a heart attack, and not a homicide? I wanted to go out and ask, but I doubted that the chief of police of April Springs would have appreciated it. He tended to frown on my involvement with his police investigations, especially when it involved a dead body or two.