1 Catered to Death (18 page)

Turning my head, I saw what Ruth was pointing at. Sticking out from under the bus, much like the Wicked Witch in the Wizard of Oz, were two legs. “Dear God,” I said as we sprinted over but even though Ruth dialed 911 as we ran, I knew in my heart that it was too late. Monica Webber was already dead.

“In a way, it makes sense,” Simpson Ingalls remarked a short while later. The police were busily marking off spots on the pavement while a cluster of Eden Academy staff plus myself watched. Simpson, Claudine, Jack and the student teacher Emily had joined Ruth and me seconds after we reached Monica’s body. The scenario was eerily reminiscent of how we’d discovered Frank Ubermann’s lifeless form lying on the floor of the school’s basement just a week before.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He shrugged somewhat nonchalantly. “Monica was an ace at throwing other people under the bus. She loved that expression. ‘I just threw so and so under the bus!’ I can’t tell you how many times I heard her say that over the years after she’d stabbed someone in the back or gotten someone fired or just tattled on one of us to Frank. It seems like poetic justice to me that that’s how she’d end up—literally under a bus. The Eden Academy bus yet.”

“Simpson!” Claudine snapped. “Shut up for once in your life.”

Simpson shrugged again. “I’m sorry she’s dead but I’m not going to act like I liked her. Monica and I never liked each other. I don’t think Monica ever liked anyone other than Frank.”

A policeman approached us and began to fire off questions. Since I didn’t know the answers to any of them, I listened as I tried to piece together this latest tragedy. It couldn’t have been an accident so who ran her over? “Who drives that bus?” the police officer asked.

“Maxie Cox usually does but she took the other bus today because that one’s been acting up,” Ruth replied. “We need a new bus but the school hasn’t been able to afford one.”

“We do have a lot of expenses, don’t we, Ruth?” Claudine said icily. Hmmm. Was Claudine making a jab at Ruth’s salary? Claudine had to know how much Ruth made an hour. I recalled Monica commenting that Claudine was on the school’s finance committee.

“Where is Ms. Cox?”

“Running her route,” Ruth replied, ignoring Claudine. “She usually gets back to the school around four-thirty.”

As if on cue, another short bus pulled into the lot. I could see Maxie’s large, hulking frame behind the steering wheel dressed in a red and black plaid lumber jacket with a matching cap. She expertly parked the bus in a corner and then climbed out of the bus and began walking toward us. “What now?” she barked as she got closer.

“Another murder,” Simpson announced. “The ever-so-charming Monica. Boo hoo.”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, sir,” the policeman said sternly.

“Sorry,” Simpson said. “I know that but I also know that I’m not a hypocrite. If you think Frank Ubermann was asking to get murdered, then I’m afraid you can say the same thing about his little Girl Friday there.” He gestured toward Monica’s legs with his chin. “Monica was practically begging for it.”

“Why do you say that?” the officer asked in a pleasant enough tone.

I noticed Claudine lightly kick Simpson in the shin and he seemed to remember that anything he said could be held against him in a court of law. “Oh, don’t mind me. All I’m saying is that Miss Monica didn’t have a winning personality.”

“That’s an understatement,” Jack muttered under his breath.

Maxie was staring down at Monica’s legs. “How the hell could that have happened? I couldn’t get this bus started this morning.”

“Apparently someone could,” Claudine said.

“Does anyone know why Ms. Weber was out in the parking lot?”

“I was in her office when she received a telephone call,” I volunteered. “She said she had to meet someone and she left but I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

The officer eyed me. “Weren’t you here when Mr. Ubermann was killed?”

“Yes. I catered a lunch that day.”

“Funny coincidence that you’d be here now,” the officer noted.

“Whoa,” I said, holding up a hand, “I was in Ruth’s office; we both heard the noise when Monica got hit.”

“That so? Well, do me a favor and don’t leave town unexpectedly. We’re probably going to want to ask you a few questions. Got a card?”

Reluctantly, I handed him one of my Classy Catering’s business cards. I should have headed straight for the Hillside Market instead of stopping to see Monica. How was I ever going to explain this second brush with murder to Steve?

“Really, DeeDee,” Simpson remarked, “Forget changing the name of your business to ‘DeeDee Gourmet.’ Maybe you should change it to ‘Killer Catering.’”

I didn’t laugh because the police officer was right; this was no laughing matter.

Chapter Fifteen

“You look industrious,” Steve commented that evening when he entered the kitchen after getting home from work. “What smells so good?”

“Chili, fajitas, beef tips—enough red meat to choke a horse. Plus homemade biscuits and individual pecan pies. Does that sound like enough to you?”

“Enough what? Calories?
 
Cholesterol? Fat? I’d have to say so.”

I hit him lightly with my wooden spoon. “Enough food, Steve! Junebug and Jeff said they wanted a menu that was heavy on red meat and hard liquor. I bought out the booze section at the liquor store so I’m good on that but I’m a little concerned that they’ll be upset that I’m not serving steak.”

“It would be hard to cater a meal and serve steak,” Steve observed, “wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not a grill master, as you know. They like Western things so I think what I’ve come up with will be OK.”

Steve sampled a beef tip, smacking his lips and rolling his eyes. “Fantastic! Did you go over the menu with Junebug?”

“No, she didn’t want to. She said to serve whatever I thought was best.”

“Then you’re good.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m a little nervous. I want tomorrow night to be perfect.”

Steve sat down on one of the tall chairs next to the breakfast bar and watched me work. “The book club job went well. That should give you some confidence.”

“Oh, it did,” I assured him, putting off for as long as I could the news that I’d happened to be on hand for another murder at Eden Academy that afternoon. “I’m also very happy to have another catering job so soon. I guess I just have pre-party jitters.” I scooped a small pile of chopped jalapeno peppers into my hands and then dropped it into the chili. “I’m sure everything will be fine,” I told him with a lot more conviction than I actually felt.

Steve drew a deep breath and I could tell something was up. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator before sitting down at the kitchen table. “DeeDee, we need to talk.”

“About what?” I asked, wondering if Steve was going to bring up the Visa bill. I hadn’t charged
that
much to it but it was bigger than usual, thanks to the deadbeats at Eden Academy.

“You know how much I love you and how much I want your new business to be a success.”

Oh, yes, this definitely sounded like a precursor to a discussion on our budget and how we really need to stick to it. I looked up from the enormous pot of chili I was stirring. “Of course, I know that, Steve.”

 
“But this whole murder thing is making me nervous. I think you’re hanging around with that Eden Academy crowd too much. It didn’t bother me at first but the more I think about it, the less I like it.”

Oh, boy. Just wait until he heard about today’s adventure. “I’m not in any danger,” I hedged.

“How do you know that, honey? You might be if you ask the right guy the wrong question. DeeDee, if one of those people really did murder Frank Ubermann, do you think they’re going to look the other way when you show up with a few red velvet cupcakes and a lot of nosy questions?”

Sighing, I turned the flame down under the chili, put my wooden spoon on the spoon rest, and turned to face my husband. “I think I need to tell you something, Steve.”

Steve immediately looked nervous. “What?”

“I stopped at Eden Academy today with some more cupcakes and I’m afraid something else did happen.”

“What happened?”

“Monica Weber was killed.”

“Oh, my God, how?”

“Someone ran her over with one of the Eden Academy buses.”

Steve slapped a hand against his forehead in an overly dramatic move that I hadn’t seen him use since the days when he used to look at Tyler’s report card. “Do you see what I mean? That place is dangerous, DeeDee, and I forbid you to go there anymore!”

Now it was my turn to stare. “You ‘forbid’ me? Since when do we have the kind of marriage where one of us can forbid the other to do something?”

“Since you started hanging around that school. I’m serious, honey, I don’t mean to sound like some kind of Victorian husband but it scares the daylights out of me to think of you talking to those people. Can’t you see how dangerous it is?”

I dismissed his concerns with a wave of my hand. I truly didn’t feel threatened by anyone at Eden Academy. Whoever killed Frank Ubermann and Monica clearly had it in for both of them. No one who worked there could have a grudge against me since I barely knew any of them. “Oh, Steve, really you worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough, apparently. I wish you’d check in with the police and see what they have to say about all of this.”

“All of what?”

“Your involvement in trying to solve this crime. I can’t think they’d be in favor of it.”

“Well, of course they wouldn’t be in
favor
of it! The police never want amateurs sniffing around and that’s exactly why I’m not going to say anything. Besides, it’s not like I’ve uncovered any major clues anyway. So far I’ve only confirmed the things I’ve suspected—such as Monica and Claudine were both in love with Frank. Or maybe I should say they both had crushes on him. Simpson said Monica was sleeping with Frank but I don’t know that for sure. Besides, having a crush on someone is hardly a crime. I’ve had a crush on you for years.”

My attempt to sweeten Steve’s mood failed miserably. “Why are you so hell bent on figuring this out?” Steve asked again. “I know how you said you feel morally obligated to help but I have to think there’s more to it than just that.”

I got up and went back to my chili. “I wonder if I should add a little more salt,” I said. “I don’t like to over salt things and since the McClellans are older maybe I should skip it. High blood pressure and all that. Then again, taste buds fade when you get older so they might want it a little saltier.”

“Dee Dee––”

I looked up at Steve. “Monica said the school can’t pay me until everything gets sorted out. Apparently Frank was the only one who could sign checks for Eden Academy. I figured that if I found out who killed him, maybe the school would move along a little faster to find a replacement. Of course, now that Monica’s dead too, who knows when the school will be able to write checks again?”

“That’s crazy. They have to pay you. They have to pay everyone else too. Somebody’s going to have to take Frank Ubermann’s place when it comes to administrative duties.”

“I know that but Monica was really dragging her feet and since she seemed to be the one in charge of the purse strings at Eden Academy, I thought I’d just help her along by doing some sleuthing on my own.”

 
“That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, DeeDee.”

“Maybe not, but I want my money,” I replied. “Simpson said Monica and Frank had a bad habit of accidentally ‘forgetting’ to pay people who have done services for them. Really, Steve, I’m being totally discreet. I’ve talked to Ruth Sparrow, Simpson, Claudine and Junebug and I don’t think any of them knew I was secretly interrogating them.”

“Unless they get together and compare notes.”

“Not going to happen. They don’t like each other enough to compare notes.”

“Now that Monica’s dead, maybe the school will decide to loosen those purse strings and you’ll be able to get paid. Then will you stop your investigation?”

“Aren’t you at all curious over who killed Frank Ubermann and now Monica Weber?” I demanded.

“I would like to know but I’m willing to wait until the police figure it out.”

Steve meant it. He could be as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to be. “So I suppose that means you aren’t going to help me at the McClellan’s tomorrow night? I could really use an extra pair of hands. There’s a lot of food and extras to lug over. Plus, you could do some investigating too.”

“You’re not giving up, are you?”

“I can’t,” I told him. “I’ve already invested too much time and money.”

“DeeDee, you catered that lunch a week ago for around two hundred bucks. That isn’t all that much time or money.”

“It is to me.”

We were at a standoff and we both knew it. If Steve caved and came to the McClellan’s with me, I risked the possibility of his being a lot more proactive in his detective work than I really wanted him to be and if I caved, then I could kiss my brand new career
adios.

Tyler breezed into the kitchen dressed in pajama bottoms and a ratty T-shirt. “Morning, Mom, Dad,” he said as he headed for the basement where his computer was set up along with a large screen television.

“You mean ‘Good afternoon,’” Steve informed him. “Or maybe good evening. It’s almost time for dinner.”

“I was up late,” Tyler replied. “Need to get my beauty sleep, don’t I?”

“Want to sample some chili, Tyler?” I asked, hoping to stave off yet another confrontation between Tyler and Steve. I was going to be very happy when Tyler finally got a full-time job that paid him enough to move into his own place, if that blissful day ever arrived. As much as I adore my only son, playing the buffer between Tyler and Steve gets exhausting.

“I just woke up,” Tyler said. “My brain isn’t ready for your chili first thing, Mom. Neither is my stomach. I’ll try some later.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek before continuing toward the basement.

To his credit, Steve waited until Tyler had vanished down the steps before muttering, “His brain isn’t ready for anything at any time of the day.”

“Steve,” I began but then stopped. Steve had a point; Tyler was something of a procrastinator, a characteristic I was sure he’d outgrow once he moved into his own place and had to pay his own bills. That or when he hit forty, whichever came first. “Why don’t you finish telling me how you don’t want to help me with this catering job?”

Steve suddenly stopped scowling in the direction of the basement as a light bulb clearly went off over his head. “I have a great idea. Why don’t you bring Tyler along with you?”

“Tyler? On a catering job?”

“Why not? You’re the one who always says that he needs to have some initiative.”

“Somehow helping me out isn’t the kind of initiative I had in mind.” I tried to picture my son at Junebug’s house but my mind simply wouldn’t go there. Tyler had long black hair, several tattoos and a lip ring. I wasn’t positive but I imagined that most of the McClellans’ guests would look like escapees from the Bush ranch. On the other hand, maybe it would do Tyler some good and the McClellans good too to see how other people looked and lived. “I could ask him, I guess. I suppose I could pay him too.”

“He should pay you since he doesn’t kick in for groceries or rent or anything else around here,” Steve began but stopped himself. “No, you’re right. If he’s helping you then he should get paid. What time do you have to be there?”

“I thought I’d head over around four to get everything set up.”

Whistling to himself, Steve headed down the basement steps. “Tyler? I hope you’re not busy tomorrow night––”

I smiled to myself, happy that Steve had abandoned the subject of me dropping my investigation, for the time being anyway. I was fairly certain that once the fact that another murder had been committed at Eden Academy sunk in, he was going to pick up the pressure on getting me to back off. Which meant that I needed to pick up the pressure and figure this whole conundrum out. Someone killed Frank and someone killed Monica. The odds were extremely good that that someone was one and the same. But who?

Shaking my head, I gave the chili another stir. The brisket was in the oven and I’d make the biscuits the next day but I wanted to bake the individual pecan pies next. I was getting tired. Catering was more exhausting than I’d thought it would be, both physically and mentally. Steve came back up the stairs, whistling cheerfully and looking pleased with himself. “He said yes?” I asked.

“Are you kidding? He can’t wait, especially after I told him that he’d make fifty bucks for a couple of hours of work.”

“Good! If he does really well, I’ll give him a tip.”

“I wouldn’t go overboard,” Steve suggested. “Just letting him live here is a tip enough in my opinion. Now, honey, I want to hear more about what happened to Monica.”

“I told you. Someone ran her over with the school bus.”

Steve looked at me shrewdly. “You do realize that this is the second murder that has happened while you were in proximity within the same week?”