Slice and Dice (16 page)

“Right!” He stared at her a moment, then cocked his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “But why do I get the feeling there’s still something you’re not telling me?”

“There’s a lot I’m not telling you.”

“No, I mean, you’ve got another motive for confiding in me.” He hesitated. “Something’s frightened you. That’s why you looked so nervous sitting in the lobby.”

She blinked. “God, am I that transparent? I pride myself on having such a poker face.” She finished her drink, then set the glass down and pushed it away. Retrieving her cigarette from the ashtray, she continued. “It happened earlier in the day. I’ve never felt quite this shaken up before. I really believe my life is in danger.”

“Any particular reason?”

“I received a threatening note.”

“Which said?” Before she could answer, he glanced over her shoulder and saw that Sophie had entered the bar. “Hey, Soph!” He stood, waving her over. Looking down at Marie, he apologized. “I’m sorry. I’ve interrupted your story. I really am concerned.”

“It’s okay. We can finish this another time.”

“Are you sure? Will you be all right?”

“As soon as the bodyguard I hired gets here, I’ll be fine.” She turned to look as Sophie rushed toward them. “Lord. Does she always dress like that?”

Bram couldn’t quite imagine why his wife was wearing a monk’s cowl. And she wasn’t alone. Nathan Buckridge, dressed in the same ludicrous way, followed closely.

“Sweetheart,” said Sophie, hurrying up to the table and giving him a kiss. “I’m so sorry. We got caught in the storm and ended up inside a deserted monastery. Then, on the way home, we had a flat tire.”

“Really,” said Bram, his voice suggesting that he was less than impressed with her explanation. He turned to Nathan, glad that he was a good three inches taller. “You must be the ex-boyfriend.”

Nathan nodded. “I’ll leave you two alone now, but I just wanted to tell you that I’d hoped to have Sophie back here by four. I never counted on the storm or the crappy tires on my rental car. I take all the blame. I hope you won’t be angry with her.”

Now Bram was furious. “Look,
Bozo,
you don’t need to protect my wife from me.”

“I didn’t mean —”

“Nathan,” said Sophie, “why don’t you go. I’ve had a really nice time. The picnic was wonderful.”

“Sure. Okay.” It was hard to look dignified in a monk’s cowl, especially when everyone in the room was staring, but he made a valiant stab at it as he turned and stalked out of the bar.

“You had me worried sick!” said Bram, taking hold of Sophie by her shoulders.

“I know, honey. Really, I couldn’t help it. But I’m back now. And everything’s fine.”

She sounded way too tittery, thought Bram. Something was up.

“Why are you wearing a tux?” she asked.

“We were supposed to attend that AIDS fund-raiser tonight, remember?”

“Oh, no.” She touched her hair, then smiled weakly. “We got caught in the rain.”

“Why don’t we go upstairs? You can fill me in on all the details up there. That is, unless you plan to go to the St. Paul Club dressed like Friar T\ick.”

She glanced at Marie. “Sophie Greenway,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Lela Dexter.”

“Nice to meet you. You know my husband… how?”

“He interviewed me on his show once. Many years ago. We bumped into each other in the lobby and just got to talking.”

“Right,” said Sophie, looking a little unsure. “My husband’s very sociable. It was nice of you to keep him company.”

“My pleasure.”

Sophie studied her for several more seconds before turning to Bram. “Come on, honey.”

He was torn. He wanted to make sure Marie was okay, but since she had help on the way, he decided that clearing the air with Sophie was more important. “I hope I see you again, Ms. Dexter.”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll run into each other. I’m staying at the hotel through the end of next week.”

Bram noticed Sophie sneaking peeks at Lela over her shoulder as he tugged her through the room and out the door.

Journal Note

Monday, 9
P.M.

I’ve switched moms. I’m now in a two-bedroom suite on the eleventh floor. My new bodyguard, a man named Rafferty — his first name is Sean, but he prefers to be called by his last — is ensconced in his own bedroom. He isn’t the talkative type, and that’s just fine with me. He’s huge, sufficiently menacing, trained in the martial arts, and carries a Glock neatly tucked under his suit coat. What more could a girl want?

I’ve finally calmed down, but after what happened earlier today, I still feel uneasy. Someone in the Buckridge clan has discovered not only that I’m here but that I’m digging into their past. I have to be more careful, although I don’t like living this way. Then again, it was a quick means of discovering that I’m on the right track. And that makes me more determined than ever to continue my search.

No word from Pluto. He’s already got Oscar Boland s interview, and as soon as I’m done transcribing Eleanor Simpson s interview tonight, it will be sent off as well, winging its way in cyberspace to his anonymous remailer. If he has any more help to give, I wish he’d give it. This biography’s got to take shape fast. Not that my leads aren’t growing. This morning I put two of my best field researchers on the trail of the Jadek family. Supposedly, Arthur and Constance are from Wisconsin. I want to know more about their background. Were there other brothers or sisters? Are the parents still alive? None of this has ever been written about. Hopefully, I’ll have the answers soon.

The short interview with Eleanor Simpson took place yesterday afternoon at her daughter’s house in Lake Elmo. Eleanor is in her seventies now, but still vigorous. She said she walks a mile every day, if not outside, then on her daughter’s treadmill. We sat on a screened back porch. Her daughter asked if she could stay and listen, and I agreed.

Eleanor wore matching pink sweats and smiled excessively. She was delighted that she might be quoted in a book and war very willing to answer all my questions. I didn’t think I’d get much out of her, other than general background and a confirmation of various dates, and my sense proved to be true until the very last minute. Feeling frustrated that my time had been wasted, I tossed out a final question. I never expected the answer I received, and though I don’t know where it will lead, I think it may turn out to be significant.

INTERVIEW: ELEANOR SIMPSON, LAKE ELMO, MINNESOTA, SUNDAY MAY 9

M:
You worked for WTWN-TV in the Seventies, is that correct?

Simpson:
(Nods) I was there for seventeen years. Started as a file clerk and worked my way up to associate producer. Loved every minute of it.

M:
When did you first meet Constance Buckridge?

Simpson:
After you called, I took out my old station records. I’ve got them all right here. (Nods to a stack of folders and notebooks) I guess you could say I never throw anything out. I figure it will come in handy one day. (Checks in notebook) I met Connie in September of ‘72. At the time I was a production assistant on the
Daytime with Jerry & Emmeline
show. About three months before, we’d started producing a cooking segment. Jerry was hopeless. All he could do was stir things and smile stupidly at the camera. Emmeline wasn’t much better. I think what sparked their interest was that in early June that year they’d been invited to the Buckridge home for one of Connie s special soirees. I mean, these parties were the talk of the town. Everyone said how classy the house was, how the food was like nothing they’d ever tasted before. Connie Buckridge had a reputation as a fabulous cook. Her husband, Wayne, built houses for a living. They were very well off. They lived in a beautiful home on Lake Minnetonka. I think
House & Garden
even featured it once. The interior design was very chic, lots of Oriental touches. Outside, the place looked sort of Sixties modern, with a terraced front yard, a patio in the back lots of old trees and shrubs, a boathouse, a pool, speedboats, a gazebo close to the beach — everything you’d ever want. I suppose you could say the Buckridges were the cream of the Twin Cities social scene. Anyway, one morning I was informed that, for the afternoon show, Connie Buckridge would be coming in to do the cooking segment. I liked her immediately. She was funny, quick even a little bit theatrical, a natural in front of the cameras. She was also attractive in a wholesome sort of way. After the first couple shows, she started coming in once a week. A neighbor of hers helped her do the setups.

M:
Do you remember the neighbor’s name?

Simpson:
I wouldn’t have recalled, but I just read it in my notes. Her name was Wells. Vashti Wells. She was very dark and beautiful, born in India but raised in America. Her husband was a banker, I believe. Anyway, she and Connie were quite close. Vashti would come in early to prep the set and then Connie would arrive just before showtime and whip up something wonderful. We all got to eat whatever she made that day. It wasn’t long before she became a regular. People just seemed to love her.

M:
After working with Constance for a while, what did you think of her, personally?

Simpson:
Well, she could be demanding at times, but it was because she wanted everything perfect. I respected that. It was hard not to like her. She was warm, a wonderful mother. Her two sons would come to the set with her sometimes. Both handsome boys, although the younger one was kind of scruffy-looking. I think she was having some problems with him. His hair was awfully long. But then it was the early Seventies. Connie was down-to-earth. That quality came through on the shows. I mean, she’d done a lot of traveling, been taught by some of the finest chefs all over the world, but she was just a regular person. When she got her own show —

M:
When was that?

Simpson:
In April of ‘73. It ran for about five months on WTWN and then it was canceled. It had a horrible time slot. Seven o ‘clock, Sunday mornings. Connie was devastated, of course, but it wasn’t long before the local PBS station offered her a contract. She was billed as Minnesota’s answer to Julia Child, who was very big at the time. And from there Connie went nationwide and became the celebrity she is today. She’s a real homegrown success story.

M:
What year did she start at the PBS station?

Simpson:
(Pages through her notes) October of ‘73. Several months later her husband died. He had a heart attack Very sad.

M:
Did Constance miss any shows because of it?

Simpson:
I don’t know. I didn’t see her much after she left WTWN. But since I know they were taped, she probably had a few in the can and was able to work around it. I know it was a very hard time for her and the children.

M:
I assume she and her husband had a close relationship.

Simpson:
(Hesitates) I’d only seen them together a couple of times. Mr. Buckridge had put on a lot of weight after they’d gotten married. Connie was forever worrying about the way he ate. She tried everything she could think of to get him to eat more sensibly. But Wayne Buckridge was a bullheaded man. Anybody who’d spent five minutes in the same room with him knew that. I’m sure it was hard for Connie to watch his health deteriorate. Did you know she was one of the first TV chefs to talk about low-cal eating? It’s funny, and please don’t quote me, but I don’t think Mr. Buckridge was a very happy man. I’m sure he loved his wife and his family, but in a way I believe he way eating himself to death. People can commit suicide in a lot of different ways. He may have been attractive once, but at the end, he was a sight. Way over three hundred pounds.

M:
You really believe he was trying to kill himself?

Simpson:
(Shrugs) Maybe that wasn’t his intent. But with his doctors all telling him he had to change his lifestyle, otherwise he was a dead man, what conclusion would you draw?

M:
Is there anything that really stands out in your memory about Constance? Anything unusual that might have happened?

Simpson:
Like what?

M:
You tell me. I’m not asking for things like how Connie might have burned the onions one day or fought with the director over the lighting or the menu. But perhaps you remember something that had to do with her children? Or her brother? Even her husband? Something she said or did that seemed odd.

Simpson:
(Taps a finger to her chin) Well, now that you bring it up … (Shakes her head) No, you wouldn’t be interested in that.

M:
Please let me decide.

Simpson:
(Hesitates) Well, there was this one time. I don’t know if it’s exactly what you ‘re looking for. It happened when we were taping one of her morning shows. One of the first ones, late April or early May of ‘73. I believe the subject that day included fruit ices — or homemade ice cream. Whatever. The tape began rolling and Connie started some things chilling, talking all the while about the differences between sorbets, gelatos, sherbets. A few minutes into the show, this rather frightening man walked into the studio.