Fatally Flaky (4 page)

“Billie, dear,” Craig Miller pleaded now, running his short fingers through his brown hair as if he might tear it out, “please come back to your mother’s house. Please don’t bother Goldy now.”

“I can’t leave,” Billie snapped. “She won’t let me talk to her about what I came here to talk to her about.”

“She hasn’t been herself lately,” Craig said to the group, his pale blue eyes wide with apology. “She’s been trying to lose this weight—”

“Would everyone who is not a caterer please leave this kitchen?” I asked.

“Goldy,” Billie said, “if you would just listen to me, I could tell you we’ve added fifty people to my guest list.”

She finally had my full and undivided attention. “You’ve done
what?
”

Billie blithely closed her eyes. “My mother was supposed to tell you, and in all the rush of things, she forgot.”

“I can’t handle fifty more people here. Fire department regulations.”

“Why do you think I’ve been trying to reach you and your assistant all day?” Billie asked. “We’re having to move the wedding and reception to the Gold Gulch Spa.”

“You’re doing
what?
”

“Billie,” Craig Miller tried again. “This can wait.”

“It cannot wait,” Billie announced. “Mother’s calling everyone now, to make sure she hasn’t forgotten anyone else.”

Norman O’Neal may have lost his lunch already, but I was quite sure I would be next. Fifty extra people. A different venue. More food than I had ordered or had time to prepare.

When Tom returned to the kitchen, there was yet another knock at the back door. This was turning into one of the worst catering days of my entire career. Julian moved quickly across the kitchen floor to answer it.

“It’s probably the ambo for Norman O’Neal,” Tom said.

“Ambulance?” Craig Miller said softly. “Oh, I wish I had known. I just thought the fellow outside had had too much to drink—”

I shook my head while Julian conversed in quiet tones with whoever was at the back door.

“They want you, Tom,” Julian said quietly.

Oh, God, I thought. Arch. Something’s wrong. I glanced at my cell. My son had not tried to call. Nor had anyone else since the last time Billie had phoned.

Tom left, then stuck his head back into the kitchen. He looked very grave. He signaled me and I went out into the rain with him.

“I have to go, Miss G. They just found Doc Finn’s Cayenne at the bottom of a canyon.”

“And Doc Finn?”

“Inside the Cayenne. Dead.”

S
omehow, I don’t know how, Julian managed to get rid of Billie Attenborough and Craig Miller. Meanwhile, I pulled Jack aside and told him the terrible news. He turned ashen.

“Doc Finn?” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “My friend? That’s not possible. They must be wrong.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Can I get someone here to be with you?”

“How did it happen?” Jack asked.

I told him what I knew.

Jack rubbed his forehead. “I…we’d been talking a lot lately, Finn and I…” He broke off, and I signaled Julian for a chair. He rushed out, and returned with two.

“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry,” I said.

“My friend,” Jack was mumbling. “Doc Finn. I can’t believe it. I just—I don’t believe it. How could this have happened?” His pale blue eyes beseeched me, all his energy drained.

“I don’t know, Jack.”

“And, oh my God, this endless rain.” Jack’s non sequitur took me by surprise. When I didn’t respond, he said, “It’s just that Finn was a great driver, and that SUV of his was excellent. A ravine? I don’t understand.”

I did not know what to do. Finn had been Jack’s only friend in Aspen Meadow. But now I was worried about Jack. Maybe his son, Lucas, would be able to come be with him, and take him home.

“Can we go outside?” Jack asked me.

He was my godfather. He had brought me games and puzzles and endless days of joy when I was a child. I loved him unconditionally, totally, and forever. Now his best friend had died, and he was a mess. He had helped me when I desperately needed it. I simply could not abandon him.

I looked around helplessly for Julian. He understood the situation in an instant and brought me an umbrella.

“Tom told me what’s going on.” Julian’s voice was low. “He didn’t know what to do about Dodie and Ceci. But he thought the wedding shouldn’t be more ruined than it already has been. They’ve got a couple of deputies stationed outside your French doors to tell Dodie when the ceremony’s over—”

“Wait. As soon as the bride and groom say I do, pull Father Pete aside and clue him in. He’ll know how to handle things.”

“Good idea. How’s Jack?”

I shook my head. Julian turned on his heel and moved quickly through the kitchen, intent on making this already-messed-up wedding seem as normal as possible.

When Jack and I stepped outside under the umbrella, the ambulance was just pulling away, presumably with Norman O’Neal inside. Jack wrinkled his face in puzzlement, and I murmured that a wedding guest had gotten sick.

One of the sheriff’s department deputies had given Tom a windbreaker. Tom and two more investigators were deep in discussion. Tom’s discarded apron lay, sodden and forgotten, on the ground.

Investigators? Julian had said two uniformed cops were outside the French doors, for when the time came to notify Dodie. So what was going on? It was as if I’d been in a mental fog, and now I grasped a situation that I hoped Jack did not. Beside me, he’d tilted his head forward and was rubbing his hand through his sparse gray hair.

I stared at Tom with his underlings. The Furman County Sheriff’s Department did not handle car accidents. No Colorado county did, and that was because the state patrol was in charge of automobile accidents. The sheriff’s department was only called in if there were other issues.

Criminal issues.

“Where’s Lucas now?” I asked Jack. “Let me call him for you.”

Jack gave me his son’s number, and I punched it into my cell. When I got voice mail, I identified myself and told Lucas his father needed him, as in, right now. I told Lucas where I was, and hoped his resentful attitude of that morning didn’t mean he’d ignore my message.

Without thinking twice, I punched in Marla’s number. Like me, she’d been unhappily married to the Jerk. Unlike me, she had inherited wealth and had no physical fear whatsover. Those two attributes had allowed her to clean his clock, financially and physically, when he’d come after her. We’d been fast friends ever since she divorced him. She had a wonderful heart, and although she might not particularly want to come take care of Jack, she’d do it anyway.

“Just a sec, Jack, take the umbrella, okay?” While he protested, I moved out into the rain. Marla’s home phone rang and rang. “Pick up,” I said to Marla’s voice mail. “I know you’re there and I need your help. This is an emergency, and I do mean a genuine bona fide emergency.”

On the other end, the phone crashed and clicked.

“For God’s sake, Goldy,” Marla said dramatically. “Now what?”

“Marla—”

“I mean honestly, Goldy, tell me one time your life hasn’t been a crisis. I have to get lots of sleep, just so I can deal with all the energy I have to expend—”

“Doc Finn’s dead,” I said quietly. Oh, why hadn’t I brought two umbrellas outside? Jack had moved off to talk to Tom, which was not something I wanted. And I was getting soaked.

“Dead?” Marla echoed. “Doc Finn? What happened?”

“A car accident. Marla, please listen, I’m under a time crunch here. I’m at my event center, trying to do Cecelia O’Neal’s wedding. But—” Oh, really, how could I summarize the events of the last two hours? I couldn’t. “—I need you to come over and be with Jack, my godfather. Take him to your place, take him to his place, do what ever. Just be with him. He’s a wreck, and I can’t get hold of Lucas. Please?”

“All right, all right, why didn’t you say so? I’ll be there in ten minutes. Wait—did you try to reach Charlotte Attenborough? She and Jack have been going out for the last two months.”

Oh, Lord, in the confusion I’d forgotten about Charlotte. She and Jack were indeed an item, maybe more in her mind than his, I’d gathered. Charlotte could be imperious and was used to getting what she wanted, but compared to her daughter, she was Mother Teresa. Still, I simply couldn’t face any more Attenboroughs today, and I doubted Jack could either.

“No, I didn’t call Charlotte, and I don’t want to. It’s a long story. Look, Marla, I’m outside and I’m totally sopping wet. Could you just please come over and get Jack? We’ll be in the kitchen. I’ll give him a drink or something.”

“Do you even keep scotch in that event center of yours, or are you strictly a wine type of gal?”

“Marla, please?”

She groaned and signed off. I quick-stepped over to Jack, who was trying to elicit information from Tom.

“My friend Marla’s coming to get you,” I announced. “Please, Jack, could you come into the kitchen?”

Tom looked me up and down. “You have a dry outfit inside?”

I told him I did. Then I shepherded Jack back into the kitchen, where Julian was giving two of the servers instructions on how to serve the egg rolls.

“I shouldn’t be bothering you,” Jack announced suddenly. He looked around the kitchen, his eyes wild. “You’ve got other things to do here. And where’s Dodie? I should be helping her. I should, I don’t know, be doing the first toast or something.” His face became even more agitated. “Do you know anything I could say about Ceci?” He rubbed his forehead. “I think Dodie just invited me because she wanted Finn to have company during the reception.”

“Jack,” I remonstrated, “you’re in no condition to do any such thing.” I reached into the cupboard behind the dry vermouth and drew out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. I poured Jack a hefty drink, plopped in some ice cubes, and drizzled in a bit—a very little bit—of water. Then I asked him please to sit down in one of the chairs Julian had brought.

Julian then wondered aloud if he should send Dodie outside to talk to the two uniforms, as she kept asking him if he’d seen Doc Finn.

“No,” Jack said suddenly, draining his drink and setting the empty glass on the counter. “Don’t ruin her special day with her daughter. Let me go talk to Dodie, tell her Finn was unaccountably delayed because of some…medical thing, I don’t know what, and does she want me to make the toast. Now, Goldy, don’t go getting stubborn on me, because I’m much more stubborn than you are, and I’ve been at it a lot longer. Dodie can learn what actually happened once the reception is over. And, godchild,” he said tenderly, “you need to get into some dry clothes, take care of yourself for a change instead of everyone else.”

Julian and Jack disappeared through the swinging doors. Two of the servers came back and said the guests had moved to the far end of the dining room for picture-taking, and all the tables had been moved back into the main dining room. Could they take out the shrimp cocktails, to start putting them on the plates? I gratefully said that would be super, then headed off to retrieve the clean uniform I kept in the restroom closet.

Somehow, we got through the next two hours. Jack did a wonderful toast, holding little Lissa with one arm and his glass with the other. Marla showed up as lunch was being served, and told Jack he was going home with her, no argument permitted. Besides, she added, she had a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label, which he needed to open with her. Jack even managed a smile. He hugged me and said we’d talk later.

The lunch, a chilled curried chicken salad recipe I had been working on for a while, was served on a bed of baby lettuce alongside cold raisin-rice salad, and was a big success. The cake—which Julian had miraculously frosted with our back-up supplies into a replica of Keystone Mountain—was enjoyed by all. By the time the DJ started playing the music, I was ready to collapse with relief.

Guests at wedding receptions don’t like to hear the sound of dishes being clanked around as they’re washed. But I had asked the servers I had hired for the event to bring all the dinnerware and flatware to the kitchen as soon as the guests were done. I gave them their pay, told them I needed them to come to Gold Gulch Spa, and not my event center, for Billie Attenborough’s wedding the day after next, and hustled them on their way. Julian and I then used our patented ability to clean silently, and washed, rinsed, dried, and packed up all the dishes, serving platters, trays, and flatware. By the time Dodie O’Neal appeared in the kitchen and handed me an envelope stuffed with bills, the cooking space was sparkling.

“Dodie, please, you’ve already given us the gratuity. It was part of your contract.” I looked inside the envelope and realized the number of twenties she’d given us amounted to nearly a thousand dollars. “This is way, way too much extra money.”

“Goldy, don’t protest.” Like some other women her age, Dodie managed to look older than her forty-five years. Her thin face was perpetually lined with wrinkles of worry, and she dyed her short blond hair at home. I didn’t know if the cops had talked to her yet, but I doubted it. “I feel as if I ignored you throughout the proceedings,” she went on, frowning.

“Have you, I mean, did you—,” I faltered.

“Yes. After Ceci threw the bouquet, I finally asked the two policemen why they were guarding the French doors, since I’d hired security guards. They told me. What a disaster, and so sad.”

“Yes,” I said, remembering the times Doc Finn had treated me for bruises and cuts, all caused by my horrible ex-husband. Doc Finn had tried, in vain, to get me to report John Richard to the police, but I’d been too afraid. This had all taken place before doctors were required to inform law enforcement of suspected abuse, and I knew in my heart that Doc Finn never would have had any fear of the Jerk. A rock seemed to be forming in my chest. Poor, poor Doc Finn.

“Well,” Dodie said now, “I want you to take the tip. Both of you. Give a good extra chunk to your servers, too. God knows you all deserve a big gratuity, since I understand Norman did show up, and caused a ruckus. And where were the security guards, I’d like to know? I didn’t give them an extra tip.”

“Please, Dodie, don’t worry. Norman was just a nuisance. He created a temporary disturbance.” I kept my tone nonchalant. Behind Dodie, Julian opened his eyes wide and cocked his head at me, as in,
You’re kidding, right?

“Where is Norman now?” Dodie asked nervously. She licked her lips and glanced around the kitchen as if Norman were going to jump out of the walk-in refrigerator. “Did he leave?”

“Yeah, he’s gone,” I said with a dismissive wave.

“But…where did he go?” Dodie pressed. “I suppose I should have checked on him before, but what with Cecelia being so upset, and Lissa starting to cry, I just didn’t have the heart to come out and look for him.”

“Your ex-husband, ah, became ill,” I told Dodie. “He’s on his way down to, oh, one of the area hospitals, I think.”

“He’ll probably try to sue somebody.” Dodie’s voice was resigned. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed, then brushed the pleats of her beige dress. “That’s what he always does when things don’t go his way.”

I thought of Tom’s imposing presence, not at all diminished by the fact that he was wearing an apron as he towered over Norman O’Neal. I thought of Father Pete, the priest with the deadly swing. Norman was going to sue somebody? Who would that be, exactly?

“Well, he can try to sue people,” I said. “But considering the forces arrayed against him, I don’t think he’d have much chance of winning.”

“L
ISSA STARTED CRYING?
Remind me who Lissa is?” Julian queried once we’d packed up the dishes—I’d given the leftovers to Dodie—and were walking through the rain back to my van. The precipitation had diminished to a whispering drizzle, which blended with the tumble of water over rocks in Upper Cottonwood Creek. The gray light made everything seem like dusk, even though it was not quite four in the afternoon, and the sun would not set until after eight.

I gave Julian an abbreviated version of Ceci’s trip to Romania. He was impressed, and said he hoped to be that good-hearted one of these days.

“You already are,” I said.

Julian pushed his boxes into the back of my van, and the two of us walked through the light rain to the kitchen door. When we arrived, Julian unlocked our storage door and brought out a shovel and a bag of sawdust. He dug into the bag and sprinkled it over the area where Norman O’Neal had hurled. We’d learned from unfortunate past experiences that the sawdust and shovel were necessary accoutrements for any catering venue where guests might be tempted to overindulge.