1 Catered to Death (6 page)

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” Frank retorted.

Simpson shrugged. “If you say so, boss.”

“I say so.” Frank threw his own napkin down on the table and pushed back his chair. “Time for me to shove off. I’ve got some work down in the basement and then I’m heading out of here.”

“You don’t want any dessert either?” I asked. At this rate, I was going to have a ton of leftovers to share with Helen.

Frank patted his flat stomach. “No, thanks. I’ve got to watch the calories at my age.”

Monica and Claudine both giggled at the same time. “Hardly!” Monica said.

“You can handle all the calories you want,” Claudine urged.

Frank smiled down at both of them fondly. “Looks can be deceiving, ladies. I’ll see all of you on Monday, bright and early. The students will be back so let’s not have any tardy slips among the staff. The cameras are working again which means I’ll be monitoring them and making sure each of you checks in on time.”

“Big plans for the weekend, Frank?” Emily asked.

“Sylvia and I are going camping,” Frank said. “I’m heading down to the storage room to get some supplies right now.”

I deduced that Sylvia must be Frank’s wife. Noting the disappointed expressions on both Monica’s and Claudine’s faces, I couldn’t help but wonder how Frank Ubermann was managing to take care of all three of the women in his life at the same time. He must be a master at juggling his schedule and also be on those vitamins for virility that are advertised at three in the morning.

I turned to Junebug. “Would you like a brownie or fresh fruit?” I asked.

Junebug considered her options. “I’ll take both,” she replied. “After all, my tax dollars kind of paid for this lunch too. By the way, honey, that lunch was all right but your croissants reminded me of hockey pucks.” Reaching out, she patted me on my backside. “Although I don’t need to tell you that, do I? I can tell that you’ve sampled more than a few by all that Crisco you’ve got in your can.”

I smiled back at the older woman but as I put her dessert down in front of her, I silently agreed with the general consensus of the rest of the staff: Junebug McClellan needed to retire.

Chapter Five

By the time the last staff member finally left the lounge, I was on the verge of screaming
don’t let the door hit you on the way out!
I did manage to control myself since a comment like that could hardly be considered gracious, much less professional. Simpson was the last one to leave and in spite of his comments about getting a paunch, wanting to lose weight, etc. he seemed to be chewing the entire time I saw him. At first that made me happy as it was a sure sign that the food was good but after a while I was ready to see him reach the conclusion that he’d ingested enough calories for a small family to survive for a week on. But since that kind of a comment would also fall under ungracious and unprofessional, I kept my mouth shut and began to clean up what I could without making Simpson feel like I was turning the lights out on him.

“Well,” Simpson said after all but licking the bottom of the seafood casserole, “that was quite a lunch. You are a marvelous cook, DeeDee. I think you’re in the right field. You’re going to make a killing as a caterer.”

I instantly forgave him for taking forever to eat. “Thank you.”

“Any more of that casserole hidden away somewhere?”

“No,” I lied. I had stashed a portion for the receptionist and as pleased as I was by Simpson’s compliment, I wasn’t going to give Ruth’s food to him. It went against my grain to exclude someone just because they were an hourly employee as opposed to a salaried staff member. It seemed so....outdated.

Simpson’s round-cheeked face fell. “Too bad. I really liked it.”

“Perhaps I can cater a party for you,” I suggested. “I’d be glad to make my seafood casserole again.”

“Excellent idea. My birthday is coming up and I really should have a dinner to celebrate. Do you have a card?”

“I sure do.” I pulled a card out of my pocket and handed it to him.

Simpson read it and grinned. “You really should change the name of your company to ‘Steve and DeeDee’s Catering.’ Your name is a positive hoot.”

“Well, Steve doesn’t help me with the catering,” I pointed out. “Besides, younger people haven’t heard of Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme.”

“I’m only thirty and I’ve heard of them,” Simpson pointed out.

“Maybe you’re right then.”

“Or how about if you call your business ‘DeeDee’s Gourmet?’” Simpson suggested. “Get it—it’s almost Eydie Gorme. Do you get it—gourmet—Gorme?”

“That’s cute,” I agreed. It really was and better than Classy Catering.

“It’s adorable,” Simpson assured me. “Oh, well, I’ve always been one for ideas but not so much one to carry them through.” He tossed his napkin down on the table and got to his feet. “Now I should get going.”

“Yes, you said you have a meeting this afternoon.”

“I do indeed.” Simpson sighed. “I wish I were going camping like our fearless leader. There’s nothing I’d like more than to be out in the wilderness, away from all the stresses and annoyances of everyday life.”

Unable to picture Simpson sitting in the woods next to a campfire, I simply nodded. I liked talking to him but I was anxious to get the room cleaned up and my equipment put away. It was almost three o’clock and I wanted to get home so I could start Steve’s dinner.

“Unfortunately, I have to meet with an irate parent who wants to know why her darling is failing my English class. I never should have become a teacher. No one ever told me that the parents are a hundred times worse than the kids. I’ll call you about my party, DeeDee.”

“Oh, I hope you do,” I replied.

Simpson waved good-bye and I began to clean up. Cleaning up was much less stressful than setting up had been and as I worked I hummed to myself happily. My first catering job had been a success. Maybe not a standing ovation kind of success but the Eden Academy staff seemed to like the food and I hadn’t heard any complaints except from Junebug and I had the feeling that she was the kind of woman who always found something to complain about.

First I stowed the leftovers—and there weren’t many, another good sign—in the coolers. Then I put the used linens into a laundry bag and then I put the dirty plates, silverware and glasses into another cooler. When the table and side table were cleared, I wiped everything down, leaving the room looking better than it had when I’d first gotten there. Looking around slowly, I realized that I felt like I’d just run in a marathon. Being a caterer was a ton of work and while I’d expected to be busy, I hadn’t known that I’d be quite so exhausted when I was through. Along with the exhaustion was a sense of accomplishment. No one had choked on my seafood casserole, no one had an allergic reaction to any of the dishes I’d served. I felt like I’d scored a pretty solid hit with my first catering gig and it was a thoroughly pleasant sensation. I could hardly wait to tell Steve all about it.

Outside the staff lounge, I heard a sudden scream. Stopping in my tracks, I listened. There it was again.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I can’t believe this!”

It was a woman’s voice and she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Running to the door, I stepped into the hallway just as Monica came out of her office next to the lounge. “Who is that?” I asked.

“It sounds like Claudine,” Monica replied. Junebug appeared from around a corner.

“What the hell is all that hollering about?” she asked. “I’m
trying
to do a little shopping on Amazon and it’s hard to concentrate with that noise.”

Simpson came down the stairs. “Who’s screaming?” he asked.

“I think it’s Claudine,” Monica said again. “It sounded to me like it was coming from the basement.”

As if proving Monica right, Claudine came running up the steps from the basement, her thin face flushed and her hair looking as if she’d stuck her finger in a light socket. “He’s dead!” she screamed when she saw the knot of us standing in the hallway.

“Who’s dead?” Junebug demanded.

Claudine began to hyperventilate. “Frank, Frank’s dead! He’s down the basement and he’s been shot!”

“NO!” It was Monica’s turn to scream and her voice was at least five times louder than Claudine’s. “He can’t be dead! Do you hear me? He can’t be dead!” She raced toward the steps, her green wrap dress flying behind her like a super hero’s cape.

“Are you sure he’s dead, Claudine?” Simpson asked.

“Who’s dead?” Jack Mulholland joined us. I didn’t see where he’d come from, just as I hadn’t seen where he’d come from earlier that day when he appeared seemingly out of nowhere in the parking lot.

“Claudine said Frank’s dead,” Simpson said, sounding as if he didn’t believe what he was saying. “She said he was shot in the basement.”

“I didn’t hear a gunshot,” Jack replied. “What, did someone use a silencer on him?”

“Let’s go downstairs and see,” Simpson suggested.

“Shouldn’t someone call the police?” I asked.

“Good idea,” Simpson said. “But first we’d better see what’s really going on. Claudine, I don’t mean to be cruel but you aren’t the world’s most reliable witness. Maybe Frank fainted or something.”

“He’s dead,” Claudine insisted, covering her face with shaking hands. “I saw his body lying on the floor in the basement.”

“No offense, but how many dead bodies have you seen in your life?”

“Simpson, I’ve never seen a dead body before but I’ve never seen a moose before either but if I did, I’d be able to tell that it was a moose! I have a very high IQ, you know!”

“We all know that, Claudine,” Jack said. “Now let’s go downstairs and see what’s happening before we call the fuzz. Come on.”

I followed the group down the stairs, not because I wanted to see if Frank Ubermann was really dead but because I didn’t want to remain on the first floor if there was a murderer creeping around the building. I barely knew the members of the Eden Academy staff and from what I had seen of them, anyone of them could have been a killer but there had to be safety in numbers.

We walked swiftly down the steps until we reached an open area in the basement that obviously served several different purposes—gymnasium, student cafeteria, auditorium. Monica was standing in the far corner of the room, her hands covering her face just like Claudine’s had. Lying on the floor in front of her was a man clad in dark slacks and a cashmere V-neck sweater.

My heart began to pound and I felt dizzy. I’ve never been good with anything dead and always turn my eyes away from road kill. Now, less than ten yards away from me, the body of a man I’d just met was on the ground. I stopped walking, hanging back from the rest of the group as I tried to catch my breath. Simpson, Jack and Junebug reached Monica’s side.

“Is he really dead?” Junebug asked.

Jack bent over Frank and I saw him carefully touch his neck, just like detectives did on crime shows. He stood up, an odd expression on his face. “Dead as a doornail,” he announced. He sounded almost pleased to me.

“Was he shot?” I asked, surprised that I was able to speak at all.

“See for yourself,” Jack invited, stepping back. It was then that I had a full view of Frank Ubermann’s body. He’d been shot, all right, but not with a gun. Sticking up out of his chest was an arrow, one that had apparently found its bull’s eye.

“No wonder we didn’t hear anything,” Simpson commented. “I doubt Frank heard anything coming at him either.”

Monica began to sob hysterically.

“Steve?” My voice sounded small and I felt like I was very far away from my husband, like I was calling him from the bottom of a barrel.

“DeeDee? I was wondering about you all afternoon. How are you, honey? How’d the lunch go? Did everyone like the seafood casserole?” Steve sounded so normal, so alive and healthy that it took all of my self-control not to start crying.

“Yes, they seemed to liked everything…”

“Are you done then?”

“No, I’m still at Eden Academy. Steve, could you please come over to the school? Right away? I need you.”

“Of course. What is it? Can’t you fit everything back in your car?”

“It’s not that.”

“You sound funny, DeeDee. What is it? What’s the matter?”

“It’s awful—the police are here and an ambulance and, oh, Steve, could you just hurry?”

“DeeDee, take a deep breath and tell me what happened,” Steve ordered. “Slowly.”

I couldn’t stop myself. I started crying too, not as hysterically as Monica but I was still crying. “Someone’s been murdered. And at my very first catering job!”

“I’m on my way,” Steve promised. “Don’t move. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Steve made it in seven. The longest seven minutes of my life. While I was waiting for him to arrive, I sat in the staff lounge and watched as several policemen hurried in and out of the doorway. This was the first murder that had happened in Kemper since we’d moved here twenty years earlier and I had the impression that the police were almost as shocked as the Eden Academy staff.

Steve burst into the room, my knight in shining armor with a bad knee and bifocals. “It’s OK,” he told me when he reached my side and grabbed my hands “everything is OK.”

“Steve!” I jumped into his embrace and buried my head against his shoulder. “Oh, Steve, it was so awful!”

“What happened?” Steve asked, still holding me tightly. “Are you all right?”

I nodded against his jacket. “I’m fine. The lunch was fine too. Well, it wasn’t really fine. I mean, everyone liked the food but they were all so awful to each other, Steve. They were crabbing at each other and being so terrible. It was like they all hated each other.”

“Who got murdered? Did someone get shot?”

“Excuse me, sir, but who are you?”

Turning, we saw a police officer who appeared to be approximately fourteen-years old with a round baby face, big blue eyes and not even a hint of a beard on his peachy skin. He looked like someone dressing up like a cop for Halloween. Steve eyed the police officer’s nameplate. “I’m Steve Pearson, Officer Austin.”

“This is a crime scene, sir. I’m afraid we can’t just let you walk in the way you did.”

“It’s all right, officer,” I told him. “This is my husband.”

“Doesn’t matter, ma’am. This is a crime scene and everyone in this room is a person of interest.”

Steve laughed. “DeeDee doesn’t even like to kill mosquitoes.”