1 Catered to Death (9 page)

“Have you watched the news lately? Innocence is a thing of the past.”

I considered and then rejected the idea. “It still seems too well thought out to me. I don’t think Tyler would have been able to come up with something like that when he was in high school—not that he would have ever done anything like that in the first place.”

“Tyler barely managed to get his butt to school most of the time he was in high school so I seriously doubt he could have master minded any kind of plot, criminal or otherwise. DeeDee, let’s get back to what happened today. The lunch ended and then what?”

“Well, let me think. I was cleaning up when I heard this horrible scream out in the hallway. I went to the door just as Claudine was running up the stairs shouting that Frank was dead. It seemed like everyone came out into the hall and raced down the stairs to the basement at the same time.”

“Did you go too?”

I nodded.

“What did you see? Exactly?”

“Frank was in the gym lying on the floor right in front of one of those bull’s eye targets.” I drank more wine as I remembered how Frank Ubermann had looked stretched out on the floor, an arrow sticking out of his chest straight up into the air like something out of an old western. His blue eyes had been open and had been staring straight ahead up at the ceiling yet not seeing a thing. I closed my own eyes as I tried to wipe out the memory.

“So Claudine found him. That might be a might handy cover for having killed him.”

“I don’t know. She’s awfully thin and doesn’t look like she’d have the strength to pull a bow and arrow.”

“It doesn’t take all that much strength, DeeDee.”

“But it takes some, doesn’t it? I remember taking archery in high school and you had to aim and pull back if you wanted to hit your target. Claudine’s emaciated looking. Not the athletic type at all.”

“She’s still a possibility,” Steve insisted. “We’re going to operate on the everyone guilty until proven innocent theory. Then what happened?”

“Someone must have called the police because they arrived within a minute or two. Then we were all told to go back to the staff lounge. That’s about when I called you, Steve. Everything else is pretty much a blur.”

For a long moment Steve and I looked at each other from our respective recliners. “What a mess,” Steve finally remarked as he finished the rest of his drink.

“I’ll say it is,” I agreed.

Steve reached for the remote control and flicked on the television. “Well, I guess all that really matters is that you’re all right and that’s the main thing. Let’s try to forget about it for the rest of the night. I don’t want you having nightmares. I am sorry this had to happen on your very first catering job, babe.”

“Me too.” I polished off my wine and tried to focus on the program Steve had turned on but my mind couldn’t seem to relax. How was I ever going to get anyone to hire me once they learned that I was the person who had fixed Frank Ubermann his last meal? I felt like a cook on death row at the state prison. “I think I’m going to get some more wine,” I announced.

“Go ahead, honey. You earned it today.”

In the kitchen, I poured myself another glass of wine. I stood for a moment as the wine slid down my throat, finding comfort in the feel of my familiar kitchen floor under my feet, the soft fabric of my favorite lavender fleece bathrobe hugging my body. Everything looked so normal—the geranium plant in the window, the checked dish towels hanging next to the stove, the Corning Ware coffee pot that I used every morning because it makes the best coffee in the world. It seemed hard to believe that everything could look the way it always had when I felt as if I’d been through a tornado.

“Hon, while you’re up could you bring me some cheese and crackers?” Steve called from the family room.

Instantly, I felt better. Steve didn’t seem to be too bent out of shape over the day’s events. Surely if he could be fairly relaxed over the fact that I had a front row seat to a murder, it couldn’t be
that
big a deal.

Tyler came in the back door just then. “Hey, Mom,” he said when he saw me,
 
“Jane sent me a text and said you had your first catering job today. I forgot all about that. How’d it go? Anything exciting happen?”

I began to laugh and cry at the same time as I reached up to give my six foot four baby a big hug. “Oh, it was memorable,” I replied. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

Chapter Eight

Monday morning after Steve left for work I sat down at the round oak kitchen table with a cup of fresh coffee and allowed myself the luxury of a small nervous breakdown. I was still shaking from the events that had happened on Friday, even after a routine weekend and two nights of fairly good sleep. It just seemed impossible to me that someone had been shot by an arrow and
died
while I was upstairs making sure that everyone had enough herb butter for their croissants and refilling glasses of iced tea. The part I couldn’t seem to get past was that it hadn’t been anyone anonymous but someone I had met and spoken too, a living, breathing human being. A living, breathing human being who no longer existed.

Even though Steve and I are in our fifties, we haven’t known too many people who have died. Our grandparents, of course, and Steve’s dad. But while those losses were hard, none of them were totally unexpected. Neither of us had certainly ever known anyone who wound up murdered. It seemed incomprehensible to me. Who could have done such a thing? Who could hate Frank Ubermann so much that they wanted to see him dead? It had to be one of the teacher’s. That was the only solution that made any sense.

I warmed a croissant from the batch I’d baked Sunday afternoon and slathered it with butter and homemade strawberry jam to soothe my nerves. Comfort food at its finest and I needed it since this whole mess was making
me
a mess. Sipping my coffee after I finished the croissant, I mentally reviewed the teachers I had met on Friday. Really, it didn’t take a whole lot of stretching of my imagination to think that any one of them could have done it. The only person out of the entire staff who seemed even vaguely normal was the school’s receptionist, Ruth Sparrow, and even if Ruth appeared normal the woman had to be harboring at least a small grudge or two against the rest of the Eden Academy staff for treating her like an untouchable.

True, Ruth
said
she didn’t mind not being included in things like luncheons and parties but I wasn’t totally sure if I believed her. Even with her sweet personality it had to be hard on her ego to be ignored all the time and I was willing to bet my last stick of butter-flavored Crisco that Ruth wasn’t paid very well either. Why would Ruth stay in such a thankless job?

Then again, Ruth was around my age, possibly divorced or widowed, and finding another job once a person was over fifty was a lot like trying to find a parking spot at the Mall of America on Black Friday. Not going to happen. That was probably why Ruth put up with being dissed by the rest of the staff; she needed the job so she had to put up with their crap. Still, I didn’t think Ruth was a killer; she was too sweet and way too passive. Sweet and passive wouldn’t apply to any of the other people I’d met at Eden Academy, including Maxi, the loud bus driver. But Maxi hadn’t been in the building when Frank was shot so that cleared her.

Sorting through the suspects, I decided that if I had to bet who might have killed Frank Ubermann, my money would most likely be on Jack Mulholland. It didn’t help that Jack looked so freaky with his shaved head, huge beard, creepy glasses and a wardrobe that was straight out of a remake of
Easy Rider.
I’m perfectly aware that it’s not fair to judge someone on how they dress but from the moment I met Jack there was something about the man that had made me uneasy. There was an air of distinct weirdness floating around Jack Mullholland that made connecting the dots between him and Frank Ubermann’s killer a pretty short and straight line. I wondered if the police had made that connection yet.

Getting up, I reheated my coffee and then returned to the kitchen table, my mind mentally moving around the fateful luncheon table and finally resting on Frank and Claudine. Maybe Steve was right and their pre-lunch animosity was just a show so no one would suspect what was really going on between the two of them, although I wasn’t sure why either of them would care what I thought. Then again, if they were going to put on an act, it made sense to put it on for everyone, even the caterer.

I made a mental note to find out if Claudine was married. Maybe her husband had snuck into the school and killed Frank out of jealousy. From what I’d witnessed on Friday, if Claudine did have a husband it looked to me as if he had every reason in the world to be jealous, or at the very least suspicious, of Frank Ubermann.

Claudine had also been the most clearly upset after Frank’s body had been found but that might have been because she was the one who had found it, although Monica ran a close second. The rest had been almost calm, eerily calm, come to think of it, and Ruth hadn’t bothered to come out of her office until the police showed up. Maybe they were all in on it together?

Quickly, I dismissed that farfetched thought. The Eden Academy employees struck me as the kind of people who wouldn’t be able to board an elevator together in any kind of unison. They’d never be able to hatch a murder plot and pull it off without one of them ratting everyone else out. It had to be a single murderer and Claudine might have been doing what Steve suggested the other night, giving all of them a very clever performance to cover up what she’d just done—murder the boss.

Frowning, I wasn’t sure if I could buy that scenario. If Claudine was involved with Frank, surely she wouldn’t kill him. What fun would that be to knock off her lover? Unless he had just dumped her. Hell hath no fury and all that. Like Jack Mulholland had pointed out, the woman seemed to have ice water in her veins and it wasn’t at all hard to picture Claudine shooting an arrow into Frank’s heart, stepping over his lifeless body without turning so much as an eyelash and then running up the stairs to give Meryl Streep a run for her money. So Claudine was a definite contender.

Then there was Monica. It took a great deal of effort but I ordered myself to be objective about Monica, which was hard because I really didn’t like the woman. I try not to be judgmental—and usually fail miserably—but it had taken me all of three seconds to decide that I’d never want to have coffee or lunch or anything else with Eden Academy’s administrative assistant. Throughout the entire luncheon Monica had managed to simultaneously praise the food I had served while subtly knocking it at the same time, an art form that some people excel at. It’s called damning with faint praise and I loathe people who do it.

Unfortunately, I’ve met women like Monica before. The Monicas of the world love nothing more than tossing barbed comments up in the air and lobbing them over the net like fatal tennis balls at an opponent who never sees them coming. If Monica had been fooling around with Frank Ubermann and if Frank was also fooling around with Claudine, then the hell hath no fury scenario would fit her just as well—if not better—than it fit Claudine. Monica didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would ever lose anything gracefully—not a game of tic tac toe and most definitely not a lover.

I continued to mull over my murderous options as I poured one last cup of coffee. The only other people who had been at the luncheon were Simpson Ingalls and Junebug McClellan. Simpson had made it plain that he didn’t like his co-workers but he hadn’t said anything especially derogatory about Frank, at least not that I heard. After Frank’s body had been discovered, Simpson had even gotten a little weepy while he told me about Frank being his Boy Scout leader and all the fun they used to have roasting weenies around the campfire. Again it was a prejudice of mine, but Simpson seemed too smart to murder someone, plus he didn’t have a motive that I knew about.

That left Junebug. Thinking about the tiny woman in her Wild West outfit, I shook my head. Again, maybe I was prejudiced. Junebug was simply too old to have killed Frank with a bow and arrow in spite of her Annie Oakley outfit and somewhat coarse manners.

Then again, look at our neighbor, Helen Sirott. Helen’s in her early nineties and still mows her own grass and puts up her own storm windows every fall. Junebug might be a senior citizen like Helen, one who looked old on the outside but was still spry and full of vinegar on the inside, although Helen was a nice person and I wasn’t too sure if the same thing could be said about Junebug.

This was getting me nowhere. I drained my coffee cup and then carried it to the sink and rinsed it out. It was probably a silly waste of time thinking about poor Frank Ubermann and his unfortunate demise since I would obviously never be catering another lunch at Eden Academy. My only ties left with the school were to get paid and get my plate and silverware back from Ruth Sparrow. After that the entire luncheon could fade into a traumatic memory, along with the Thanksgiving dinner where I accidentally dropped the turkey on my mother-in-law’s head and the high school prom incident that still gave me nightmares.

Of course, those traumatic memories couldn’t hold a candle to this one but in time the luncheon at Eden Academy would become less painful and more unreal. Besides, with any luck no one would ever know that Classy Catering had catered Frank Ubermann’s last meal. No one paid attention to caterers anyway.

Feeling better, I headed upstairs to get dressed. I decided that I’d stop at the school for the things I’d left with Ruth and to make sure Eden Academy had my address so they could send me a check. It seemed a little crass to worry about money at a time like this but, crass or not, I really needed to be paid before the MasterCard bill arrived.
 

“That was a delicious meal. I loved everything—you’re a fabulous cook. Thank you so much for thinking of me. I have your plate and silverware right here. I washed everything too.” With rapid motions that reminded me of a baby bird hopping around its nest, Ruth Sparrow reached into a drawer and pulled out my plate along with the fork and knife I had given her. “I didn’t think I’d be able to eat a bite but as soon as you left I ate every speck of food. I’ve heard grief can do that to a person—make them ravenous.”

“I’ve heard that too. It has something to do with being grateful for being alive, I think.”

“I’ve also heard that some people react to grief by wanting to have sex.” Ruth sighed. “Not me. I turn to ice cream for comfort. I suppose that’s a good thing since I’m not married and don’t have a boyfriend at the moment. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a handsome husband like you do, DeeDee.”

“Yes, well––”

“I mean it. Take care of your man. You never know what’s going to happen and you might end up like me—eating a pint of ice cream by yourself at night with nothing to wrap your arms around but a hot water bottle.”

Feeling a touch embarrassed by Ruth’s voluntary peek into her personal life, I accepted the plate and silverware and tucked them into my oversized handbag. “I’ll do that,” I said, lingering in Ruth’s doorway. While I knew it was none of my business, I couldn’t help being curious about Eden Academy, Frank Ubermann and the rest of the staff and I was dying to talk to someone who actually worked there and had the inside scoop on the school. Ruth seemed like my best bet. Plus, as the receptionist, I was sure that Ruth Sparrow knew everything that happened at Eden Academy. The third point in Ruth’s favor was that she was by far the friendliest person I had encountered since walking into the school. Feeling a bit like a bull in a china shop, I plunged ahead. “How’s everything going today?” I asked. “Pretty rough?”

Ruth shrugged. She was an attractive woman in her early fifties but that morning she looked tired and much older than she had on Friday. “It’s been a nightmare, if you really want to know,” Ruth said. “The phone has been ringing off the hook all morning long. This is the first time it’s been quiet since I got here at seven-thirty.”

“The press is calling you, I suppose?”

“The press, parents of students, community members. The school is closed today in honor of Frank’s memory and naturally parents want to know if we’ll be open tomorrow.” Ruth sighed deeply. “Frank was so well known in town and everyone wants to know what happened. Did you know that he was a Boy Scout leader for over twenty years?”

“Simpson mentioned that to me,” I replied, noting how almost reverent Ruth’s tone had become as she recalled her late boss.
Et tu
, Ruth? I wondered.

“He used to take the Scouts to Jamboree every single summer. He looked mighty handsome in his uniform too. Those shorts were just made for him. I feel so sorry for all the kids he’s mentored over the years. They’ve lost their leader. And his wife! My heart goes out to her. Do you know Sylvia Ubermann?”

I shook my head.

“She’s a lovely woman. She’s also quite the volunteer—always helping out with one cause or another and is a star member of her weaving club.”

The idea that Frank left a wife behind, presumably a grieving wife as well as a stellar weaver, made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t fathom life without Steve in it every single day, couldn’t imagine waking up one morning and not seeing him lying next to me in our double bed and suddenly my little game of finding out whodunit seemed less like a game and more like something that truly mattered.

 
“How sad for her to lose him like this. Did they have children?” I asked, hoping that they did. Children, even grown ones who no longer lived at home, would be a comfort to Frank Ubermann’s widow.