1 Catered to Death (5 page)

“Antique store my ass. I saw that thing at a thrift store last week,” Jack said to Emily. “I bet you ten bucks that Claudine got it during their half price sale.”

Junebug picked up the tiny paperweight and inspected it through her bifocals. “Well, thank you,” she finally said. “I guess I’ll put it on my desk.”

“It will look lovely on your desk at home,” Claudine enthused.

“Not my desk at home; my desk here at school,” Junebug corrected. “And you’re right, Claudine, every time I look at it, I’ll think of the gang at Eden Academy, my home away from home, the home I plan on staying at forever. Where else could I make twenty-five bucks an hour for doing so little?”

I couldn’t miss the look that surged between Claudine and Frank. Although neither of them said anything, it was fairly obvious that they were both thinking the same thing:
Now what?

“Shall I begin serving?” I piped up in the lull that occurred after Junebug’s remark.

“Excellent idea, DeeDee,” Claudine replied as she dropped back into her chair next to Frank.

I began serving the food. As I set Claudine’s plate down in front of her, I couldn’t help noticing how Frank’s hand was resting quite comfortably on Claudine’s knee, his fingers absentmindedly kneading her flesh. Looking up, I saw that someone else had observed the same thing. Monica was staring at Frank’s hand like it was a tarantula resting on a rock in the hot sun. Monica glanced up and caught me catching her. Instantly, her eyes narrowed as she gave me a
so what
stare. I quickly averted my glance. The clock on the wall said it was almost one-forty-five. I had no doubt that the eating portion of Junebug’s retirement party was going to move along very swiftly since it seemed like the group of colleagues had already run out of things to say to each other, which was fine with me. The faster they ate, the faster I could get out of here and return to my house where no one snarled at each other. After an hour with the Eden Academy staff, I was sure of one thing: I wouldn’t mind in the least if I never saw any of them again.

Chapter Four

The seafood casserole seemed to be a success. Ditto for the croissants, the herb butter, and the tossed salad with garlic dressing and homemade croutons. All in all,
Classy Catering’s
inaugural luncheon was going very well, much to my intense relief. As soon as everyone had a plate full of food in front of them, just about all of the snapping and sniping between the Eden Academy staff members ground to a halt and I was finally able to step back and take a much needed breather.

I positioned myself next to the food and watched as the staff settled down and got to the business of eating. I have to admit that it felt a little strange to be the caterer instead of a guest. I was more used to talking to people at parties and hearing about their lives, a quirk of mine that Steve has always predicted would get me in trouble some day. But I can’t seem to help myself; I love hearing people’s life stories and from the looks of the Eden Academy crew, I had the feeling that I’d hear some true lulus if the opportunity arose. Jack Mulholland alone looked as if he’d be able to keep me entertained for at least an entire afternoon. I controlled myself though by sternly reminding myself that I was getting paid to do a job and kept my mouth shut and my eyes open for empty glasses and plates.

“Well, that was pretty good,” Frank said as the luncheon wound down. “Nice job, DeeDee.” He shot me a sexy smile that just about knocked me over. I had to admit that there was something extremely compelling about the man. Sleazy, but compelling.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I think you might have let the seafood casserole cook a wee bit longer,” Monica remarked in a musing tone. “I’m not an expert like you, of course, but I feel it was a tiny bit undercooked.”

“It was not,” Simpson disagreed. “It was perfect. The whole meal was perfect.”

I decided that I liked Simpson. “There’s still dessert,” I told him as I planned to give him an extra large portion of whatever he wanted.

Simpson shook his head regretfully. “Thanks but not for me. I’m getting a paunch.”

“We noticed,” Frank told him. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head and a sly grin on his face. “Speaking of paunches, whose turn is it to take out the garbage?”

“I don’t get the segue from my paunch to garbage duty,” Simpson said a little snippily.

“Simple. You got your paunch eating too much garbage,” Frank replied as if all of us should follow his line of thinking. “You eat junk food all the time, Simpson. I thought you learned better eating habits when you were a Scout. Looking at that burgeoning gut of yours reminded me that it’s garbage day tomorrow.”

“I’m continually amazed over how your mind works,” Simpson muttered.

Frank’s Cheshire cat grin grew even wider. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“Actually, I think it’s your turn, Frank,” Jack told him, wiping his beard with the sleeve of his sweater.

Frank shook his head. “Impossible. It was my turn last week. I think it’s
your
turn, Jack.”

“It can’t be. I’m sure I just took the garbage out.”

“It’s on the roster, Jack,” Frank said in a voice that told me that this ground had been trod over a few thousand times. “You know that we have to follow a schedule if we want to keep things running ship-shape at Eden Academy.”

“If it’s my turn then I’ll take care of it,” Jack said testily. “Don’t I always do what I’m supposed to do?”

Frank laughed loudly. “Not without a whole lot of nagging, you don’t. You’re worse than some of our students. An over-aged, overgrown, hirsute teenager. Which reminds me,” Frank added, “we need to talk about those damn kilns of yours.”

“How can taking out the garbage remind you of the kilns?” Jack questioned. I couldn’t believe it. Why did these people keep on giving Frank openings to tell them what he thought of them? I barely knew the man but even I could see how much he enjoyed putting them in their place like a king getting his jollies out of knocking the serfs around. It was like asking to be hit over the head with a rolled up newspaper.

Frank smirked. “Well, the crap you bake in them looks like garbage to me so it goes to figure that they’d remind me of each other.”

The color drained from Jack’s face. “I’ll have you know that that ‘crap’ has won prizes at art festivals around the world!”

“There’s really no accounting for taste, is there?” Frank questioned.

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?”

“It means that some people like oil portraits of clowns painted on black velvet, some people like crap like you make and some people prefer real art.”

Jack’s face grew even more pale until he resembled a dead flounder. “Has anyone told you what a complete jackass you are, Frank?”

“Not today,” Frank said smoothly.

“Give it time. I’m sure someone will point it out before dinner.”

Frank shrugged. “Like I’ve ever cared what anyone thinks about me. So seriously, Jack, if you’re going to use the Eden Academy kilns for your own profit, you need to start kicking in for the energy it takes to fire those suckers up. You should have seen our electric bill last month. It was ten percent higher than it was the month before. What were you doing, working overtime? You get a big order all of the sudden?”

Jack’s mouth worked angrily and I could see his dark eyes shooting off angry sparks behind his glasses. “Why would you be looking at electric bills all of the sudden?” he asked. “I’ve been using those kilns for years and you’ve never said a word to me.”

“Monica pointed out to me how the electric bill is getting out of hand,” Frank said casually, nodding his silver head in Monica’s direction. “She’s great at noticing the little details that sometime escape my attention. I’m a very busy man, you know, and it’s sure a big help to me to have an assistant like this gal.”

Jack’s death glare switched from Frank to Monica who met his look with a hard gaze of her own. “Why don’t you mind your own business, baby?” Jack snapped.

“Anything that happens at Eden Academy is my business,” Monica informed him. “We all share in the same end-of-the-year bonuses, Jack. Your selfish use of energy is cutting into the school’s profit margin.”

“Since when were you ever in line for a bonus?” Jack questioned. “We’ve never given Frank’s secretary a bonus.”

“Until now,” Monica said quite smugly. “Frank decided that since I do such an exemplary job as his administrative assistant that I should share in the pie you all cut up at the end of each school year—you know, the leftover money that no one else is supposed to know about?”

Placing his huge hands on the table, Jack leaned toward Frank. “I’ve been told since Day One that this whole school operates on a flat playing field and that we all have equal say in what happens around here and that would include deciding who gets a bonus and who doesn’t. When did that change?”

“It changed the day I became the director of Eden Academy,” Frank replied. “I’m surprised it took you so long to notice, Jack.”

“Your title is ‘director,’ not ‘dictator,” Jack retorted. “Someday someone is going to take you down a peg, old man, and I just hope I’m there to see it happen.”

Frank waved a hand in front of his face as if he was shooing away a fly. “Let’s get back to the kilns. I expect a check from you to be on my desk Monday morning, Jack. Or we can deduct the energy costs from your paycheck. See? I can be fair when I want to be.”

“You call it ‘fair’ to call all of the shots while the rest of us have no say in anything?”

“Sure I do,” Frank replied.

From my corner, I glanced around the room to see how all the other guests were reacting to the shouting match between Frank and Jack. To my surprise, they didn’t seem to be reacting at all. Simpson looked slightly bored, Junebug was shaking her flask over her coffee cup and everyone else was still eating their lunch. Maybe Jack and Frank going at each other had to be pretty much an everyday occurrence.

The color rushed back into Jack Mulholland’s face along with a look of pure loathing. “If I were you, I’d start watching my back at night, Frank. You have an uncanny knack for making enemies wherever you go.”

“Jack, you’re behaving like a fool,” Claudine interjected. “This is neither the time nor the place for this kind of discussion. DeeDee, would you please serve dessert?”

Instantly, I began whisking plates off the table, surprising myself with how quickly I could move in such a hostile atmosphere. The very air seemed to be almost steaming with waves of anger directed at Frank Ubermann from Jack Mulholland.

“Of course,” I said in the sickeningly chipper voice I generally reserved for long-distance telephone calls to Steve’s mother. “We have fudge brownies or fresh fruit for dessert,” I announced to no one in particular. “Strawberries and blueberries with a custard sauce.” It was like addressing an audience of mimes. Not a soul responded to my announcement.

“Ever since you started working here you’ve been breathing down my neck,” Jack said to Monica, switching his anger from Frank to the woman sitting next to him. “I can’t turn on a light switch without you following behind me and switching it off. You watch every penny like it’s coming out of your own pocket.”

Monica smiled at him sweetly. “Calm down, Jack. You have a vein bulging in your forehead that looks like it’s about to blow.”

“Monica’s right,” Junebug said, her first contribution to the conversation since getting her gift.

“What are you talking about, Junebug?” Jack asked irritably. “Monica’s right about what?”

Junebug stared at him from behind her rimless glasses. “This school may be private but it still gets some of its funding from tax dollars, you lame brain. My tax dollars are helping you fire that ‘art’ you make. Doesn’t seem right to me that you’re using the kilns on the taxpayer’s dime. Monica’s doing her job keeping an eye on you. I say either be a teacher or an artist, not both because you obviously aren’t capable of doing two things at the same time.”

Monica all but started preening as she smiled smugly at Jack and I half expected her to lick her forefinger and chalk up an imaginary point in her favor.

“Thank you for that keen observation, Junebug.” Jack stood up and threw his napkin down on the table. “The next time I want your opinion, I’ll be sure to scrape it off my zipper. Thank you for the lunch,” he said to me. “It was delicious. I wish I could say the same about the company. Frankly, I’d rather have lunch in a tank filled with hungry sharks.” He took a step toward the door.

“You don’t want any dessert?” I asked hopefully.

“No, thank you. I couldn’t swallow another bite.”

“What about the garbage, Jack?” Frank asked calmly. I watched him in amazement. Frank Ubermann seemed to have been born without any nerve endings at all. Jack had all but threatened him and Frank remained unflappable and as cool as a cucumber. “Are you going to remember to take it out this week?”

“Don’t worry. Everything will get taken care of,
Herr Director.
” As Jack stormed out of the room he paused behind Frank’s chair and I could almost see his breath steaming as it came out of his mouth. “I mean it, Frankie. Watch your back. The only people around here who don’t have a number on it are those two sluts sitting next to you and we all know that either of them would do anything for you. The rest of us would like to see you rot in hell and the sooner the better.”

After Jack slammed the staff lounge door behind himself, an uncomfortable silence fell over the group as the members of the staff of Eden Academy looked around embarrassedly, each studying the ceiling or the floor but none of them making eye contact with each other. I began to walk around the table with the dessert tray, trying to smile and acting like I hadn’t just witnessed the most unprofessional exchange I’d ever seen in my life.

“That didn’t go well,” Frank remarked to the group at large. “All I did was remind him to take out the garbage. He always forgets and then I get stuck doing it. Is that such a terrible thing?”

“He needs to be reminded,” Monica assured him with a warm pat on his arm as she shimmied her breasts at him. “That man is getting to be plain impossible. He acts like he can do whatever he wants to around here.”

“Not for long,” Frank murmured under his breath.

“Yes,” Claudine agreed, looking pleased. “Mr. Jack Mulholland will be having his comeuppance quite soon, won’t he?”

“What are you talking about?” Simpson inquired. “Or is it something else that falls under the Highly Classified heading that seems to cover so much of what happens at Eden Academy?”