The Battered Body (14 page)

The rain persisted overnight and then ceased as if a spigot had been abruptly turned off, leaving a wake of sodden, frost-tipped ground and a cold mist that seeped into every porous surface.

The weather befit James’s mood. He had fallen asleep reading the day before, to wake to yet another casserole. Milla and Jackson were feigning an interest in a wildlife program on turtles. During a particularly long commercial break, Milla informed him that the rest of her family had been interviewed all afternoon and instead of going out for dinner, each one of them escaped to their individual hotel rooms with cartons of takeout from a nearby Chinese restaurant.

Even his supper club friends were of no comfort. Bennett spent the evening with Jade Jones, who had driven up from southern Virginia in order to eat at Dolly’s Diner and play the role of Alex Trebek while her dinner companion answered dozens of trivia questions correctly. Gillian was having her business partners Beau Livingstone and Willy Kendrick over for a meal, and Lindy didn’t answer her phone at all, which meant she was probably having a long-distance date with Luis.

Scott and Francis, bundled up against the cold in bright orange ski parkas, barely acknowledged James’s presence when he arrived at the library that morning.

“Is that today’s
Star
?” he asked them.

Francis nodded. “I guess you already know about the Diva of Dough. Sorry to hear about her passing, Professor.”

Glancing at the cover story, it didn’t take James long to figure out that Murphy was unaware that Paulette’s death was being viewed as suspicious by the Sheriff’s Department. The article focused on the Diva’s celebrity status and hinted that the deputies interviewed had been less than forthcoming, but promised to deliver more information after the late cake maker’s family members and New York staff were interviewed.

“Thank you, Francis.” James returned the paper to his employee.

“I hope Milla’s holding up okay. She’s one of the nicest people we know. If Scott and I …” He trailed off and then began again, “I couldn’t imagine not having my brother around.” Embarrassed, he tapped on the newspaper with his right finger. “Ms. Alistair’s dropped the ball with this edition. I’m sure she was busy covering her lead story, but there’s nothing in here about Glowstar’s ransom note.”

James froze in the act of unlocking the front door. “How did you know about that? Lucy told me they thought it was a hoax and had shredded it right after it was read.”

“Lottie told me,” Scott replied proudly. “I think Deputy Truett has a crush on her. He tells her everything they’ve got going on at the Sheriff’s Department. Guess he doesn’t know she’s
my
girlfriend.”

“You use any excuse you can to say that word, do you realize that? And a lot of good
she’s
done us. She didn’t consider the note newsworthy either!” Francis scowled, folded the paper, and stormed inside. He flicked the lights on with violent motions and then rounded on his brother. “Do you even care about Glowstar or this job or anything besides your
girlfriend
? You’ve totally left me hanging on
Age of Conan
, and you don’t even read anymore!”

“What’s
Age of Conan
?” James looked at Scott. “Is that true? About not reading?”

Scott looked glum. “It’s a video game. We used to play online as a team. I was an assassin and Francis was a necromancer. His character got killed last night because he didn’t have me to protect him.” He slowly unzipped his jacket. “And I still love books, Professor. I just don’t have as much free time as I used to.” He lowered his voice. “If Francis had a girlfriend, this wouldn’t be so hard. I know he wants me to be happy, but he’s feeling left out.”

“You could always stake out the book return bin on Christmas Eve,” James joked. “Bring some of your high-tech gear and trap Glowstar’s kidnapper.”

Scott’s eyes widened. “Awesome idea, Professor! The note said midnight, right?” He balled up his coat and ran toward the break room. “Hey bro! Let’s powwow!”

The morning passed quietly. Since school was out until after New Year’s, several mothers towed grade school children into the library in order to check out books and videos to serve as entertainment over the holidays, but other than the Children’s Corner, the shelves remained untouched. There were very few hold or transfer requests, and since the Fitzgerald brothers had already repaired three broken hardcover spines, emptied the shelving cart, cleaned the computer screens, and dusted the shelves, James had no qualms about leaving them in charge of the floor while he answered e-mails.

Shortly before three o’clock, when he was about to interrupt the brothers’ animated plotting concerning the recovery of Glowstar in order to suggest a coffee break, Willow entered the library carrying a covered cake plate.

“I baked you something,” she whispered almost guiltily.

James took the cake from her hands and said, “There’s no one here. You don’t have to whisper.” Smiling, he jerked his head toward the break room. “Come on back. Would you like some coffee?”

Nodding, Willow followed him into the room behind the circulation desk and seated herself at the round table. “I made this cake for you. I didn’t know what to do today, so I baked. It’s one of Paulette’s recipes. I think she was planning to make it on Friday, actually. Lots of people have served it at their wedding, but it’s a bit too sweet for me.”

“You look tired,” James said gently. “I think you and I could both use a caffeine boost.” He opened a tin and began to scoop ground coffee into a paper filter. “How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected, considering I’m out of a job and will probably be arrested any second now.”

James’s hand jerked, sending coffee grounds across the counter. “What makes you say that?”

Willow sighed lugubriously. “I hated her, for starters. And I was at the inn most of the day. I’m not an idiot,” she said more forcefully. “The cops wouldn’t have questioned us like they did unless there’s foul play involved.”

After setting the pot to brew, James studied Willow carefully. “Well then.
Did
you kill her?”

Instead of a passionate refusal, Willow simply shook her head. “I’ve been tempted to more times than I can count, but I wouldn’t gain anything by it. I can hardly be an assistant to a dead woman.”

“True,” James agreed. “But weren’t you going to ask her for a raise this week?”

“You’ve got a good memory,” she said with a thin smile. “And I asked on Thursday and was told to forget it.”

Above the gurgles of the percolating coffee, James scrutinized Willow carefully. “Weren’t you angry?”

“Of course! I smoked six packs of cigarettes between then and Saturday night!” she exclaimed. “I’m
still
mad. In fact, I hope the bitch suffered.” Willow’s hand flew over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I know she was about to join your family.”

Poor girl
, thought James and smiled at her kindly. “Don’t worry about it.” He pointed at the cake plate. “I want to show you a magic trick. I’m going to lift the top off this cake and within one minute, twin twenty-four-year-old men, who also happen to be first-rate librarians, will appear in this room.”

Easing the lid straight up in order to keep the creamy lemon frosting from smudging, James took a whiff of the heavenly scent of sugar-laden sweetness and then glanced at his watch. “Fifty-five seconds remain. What is this marvel, anyway?”

“Lemon-strawberry layer cake,” Willow answered, visibly relaxing. “I made the jam in New York and brought a few jars with us.”

“So you’re an accomplished cook as well?” James positioned his body so that it blocked the beautiful, pale yellow confection.

Flushing attractively, Willow nodded. “I grew up in Vermont. My mom was an excellent cook, and she taught me a lot about preserving the taste of fresh foods. Every summer, we made tons of jams, pies, fruit tarts. Even homemade ice cream. That’s why Paulette hired me. Frankly, I can make anything she can. But the food I love to create is candy. Truffles, caramels, chocolates filled with fruit purées.”

“Did someone say chocolate?” Scott poked his head into the break room. “I only smell coffee.”

Francis pushed his brother forward and then lifted his nose and inhaled, his eyes narrowing. “No, not chocolate. It’s something else.”

“And with six seconds remaining, may I present Scott and Francis Fitzgerald?” James pointed at his employees with paternal pride.

“Did you know your boss was a magician?” Willow directed her question at Francis, who stared at their visitor with undisguised interest.

James stepped to the side in order to retrieve a few paper plates and a knife and thus, the cake was revealed. Scott nudged his brother in the side until Francis noticed the unexpected treat.

“Did you make that?” he asked Willow. When she bowed slightly in assent, he took the knife from James’s hand, quickly cut himself a slice, and stuffed a bite into his mouth. “
You’re
the magical one!” he pronounced enthusiastically. “A cake enchantress!”

Scott rolled his eyes in mock disgust, but Willow’s face gleamed with pleasure.

“This is delicious.” Francis edged around his brother and sat down at the table. “You should move down here and open a candy shop. If your chocolates are anything like this cake, you’d be a big hit.”

“It’s true.” Scott pushed his heavy glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “There’s not much to do during the winter except read and eat. You’d be an instant success.”

“That’s really sweet,” Willow replied, her bright smile directed solely at Francis. “And I’m going to have to move, all right, since I can hardly afford the rent on my studio apartment in Brooklyn without a job, but I may go back to Vermont.” She caressed the mountain ridge on her Shenandoah County Library cup. “Though I really love it here. It reminds me so much of home, but I bet it’s a lot warmer in Quincy’s Gap during the winter.”

As James watched Willow chat with the twins, the young woman seemed to cast off her downtrodden air. The more she talked and smiled, the more he felt that this quiet, eclipsed person could truly bloom in a town like Quincy’s Gap. She and Francis obviously felt an immediate attraction, and James wondered if there were an occupation she might be able to take up somewhere in the Shenandoah Valley. After all, most jobs throughout the region were likely to promise a kinder boss than Willow had found in Paulette Martine.

This girl’s no murderer
, James thought as he listened to Willow laugh at one of Scott’s jokes. And he was suddenly struck by an idea.

“Willow? Are you planning to go home to Vermont for Christmas?”

“No.” Willow’s smile evaporated. “Paulette insisted that I stay to help her make the wedding cake and rolls for your parents’ reception, so I don’t have a flight. Even if I could get one, I get the impression that I’m supposed to stick around.”

“In that case,” James clapped his hand on her shoulder. “How would you like to spend Christmas with my family? I may have thought of the perfect job for you.”

By five thirty that afternoon, it was already dark. James hated the winter solstice. The short-lived periods of December daylight were tinged with a grayness that eventually gave way to a deep, charcoal-colored sky and the horizon felt heavy, as though it were hanging too near to the ground. Food log in hand, James walked reluctantly up the flight of stairs leading to Ruth Wilkins’s office.

If I didn’t have this appointment
, he thought, smiling at the irony of the situation,
I’d be sitting on the sofa in front of the fire with a book and a bag of cheese puffs on my lap
.

Dr. Ruth had a scented candle burning in her office and had strung glitter-covered snowflake garlands across her window. Dozens of holiday cards were tacked onto her bulletin board and the screen saver on her computer showed a man raising up a little boy so he could place the star on top of the Christmas tree.

“That’s a nice smell.” James gestured at the candle. “Orange and cloves?”

“Very good.” Dr. Ruth swiveled the candle and read the label. “As well as sandalwood, lemon, and bergamot. It’s supposed to be a type of aromatherapy appetite suppressor. It was a gift from a client.”

“I’m already thinking about what to have for dinner, so maybe it takes awhile to work.” James handed her his food log and then sat down in the chair across from her desk. “I was doing fine until this weekend.”

“That happens a lot. There’s a routine about the workweek that makes it easier to stay on track.” She fell silent and examined his log. “You did really well for the most part. I think I could offer you some substitutions for a few of these high-calorie casseroles and I’d like you to try to limit your dessert calories to one hundred and fifty per day.”

“We’ve still got about a dozen casseroles left,” James commented.

“Except for today, I don’t see any cakes listed here.” Dr. Ruth looked at him expectantly. “What happened to your role as official cake taster?”

James stared at her. Was it possible she didn’t know about Paulette’s death? “Do you read the
Star
, Dr. Ruth?”

“I’m not much of a newspaper person. I read the news online each morning, but I’ve been too busy getting ready for Christmas to even play games on Pogo. That’s my guilty pleasure.” She caught the worried expression on her client’s face. “Is there something I should know?”