Two Cooks A-Killing (7 page)

Angie wondered if she was alone in the house. Aside from the plinking xylophone sounds of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” all was quiet and still. She wondered if Sterling and Silver had gone out for dinner. And she still hadn't seen Junior.

As she headed up the stairs, curiosity about the second floor struck. It had two wings. She'd seen Sterling turn left at the top of the stairs. If that was where the family's bedrooms were, the guests' rooms were most likely to the right.

That was the direction she turned toward.

She knocked on the first door. After waiting a moment, she eased the door open to find a large bedroom. A beautiful floral display stood on a desk, and beside it were pictures of Kyle O'Rourke and his family. She neared the flowers and sniffed the air. Nothing. As usual.

Angie had never quite made up her mind about Adrian Roxbury. He was such a
nice
person, yet he had let himself be swindled out of half the brewery. Angie wanted to give him a good kick just to
wise him up. Naïveté in the face of corruption was no virtue in her book.

She also didn't like the fact that he still carried a torch for his former girlfriend, even after she married Cliff. After all, he'd married the dark, sexy Leona. Angie wanted to tell him to get over it already! To have married Leona, feeling as he did about another woman, was wrong.

Angie hurried out of the room. What was wrong with
her
? They were just fictional characters, for Pete's sake, and she was carrying on as if what they did mattered!

Across the hall was another door. After another knock-and-wait, Angie entered. It, too, was large and airy and adorned with candles—at least they had a scent—silk flowers, a full-length dressing mirror, and pictures of Gwen Hagen made up to look like Leona.

Angie had always despised Leona. Everyone did. The woman was cold and calculating. She would have been a good match for Cliff.

As Angie turned to leave, she noticed a doll atop the pillows by the headboard. How sweet, she thought, crossing the room to see it better.

She gasped, put her hands to her mouth, and ran into the hall.

She reached the stairs just as Silver stepped out of a room in the family wing. “What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost,” he said.

“No. A doll.” She took quick breaths. “In Leona's—I mean, Gwen Hagen's—room. It has long, curly black hair, just like Leona, but it has a knife sticking out of it, and blood all over its stomach.”

“Blood? Are you sure it wasn't catsup? It's got to be a joke,” he said.

“If it was, it's not funny,” Angie said. “Who would have done such a thing?”

“I have no idea,” Silver replied. “If it's as bad as you say, we'd better remove it before Gwen gets here. If she leaves, the show will be canceled faster than a ninety-ninth-rated pilot.”

It was catsup, as Silver had guessed. They removed the doll as well as the pillow sham. The incident added to Angie's unease. Something about the house and the people in it bothered her, though she couldn't pinpoint anything exact.

Nonetheless, she was ready to go home. Tomorrow, she'd have to get Tarleton's final decision on the menu—she remembered the kinds of traditional meals they'd served on
Eagle Crest
and had a good idea of what the one presented the night Julia died had consisted of—then she'd order any food supplies she needed, test a few recipes, and go back to San Francisco and Paavo until it was time to cook the actual Christmas feast.

Being here was far less a thrill than she'd imagined.

 

Silver took the doll, saying he'd dispose of it, while Angie carried the stained pillow sham to the laundry room. They reconnoitered in the family room.

Silver had a black leather jacket over his arm. “Want to join me in St. Helena for dinner? They have some nice restaurants, and you're certainly dressed for it.”

“I've already eaten, but I'll join you for dessert. I'm feeling a little stir-crazy in this house, especially since I haven't done anything I'd intended since I arrived.”

“Get used to it,” Silver said.

“So I've been told.”

They rode in Silver's brand new silver Aston Martin convertible. All his cars were appropriately silver. It was starting to shower. Angie pitied the poor crew, or what was left of it, who would have to freshen the outdoor props and scenery.

Silver chose a small French café on Main Street. He ordered veal medallions, and for Angie, a small Crab Louis just to have something to play with while he ate.

“I've been talking to people about Brittany,” Angie said after a while.

“Brittany? Why?” he asked.

She explained how she'd been given Brittany's room, and the more she heard about the girl's death, the more uneasy she felt about it.

“She fell, that's all,” Silver said.

The waiter brought a bottle of Beringer Brothers sauvignon blanc. Silver tasted it and nodded.

“You don't think her death had anything to do with the doll in Gwen's room?”

He looked at her as if she'd be talking about New World Order conspiracies next. “You're joking, right?”

“Well…” Now she hesitated to say what she was thinking. “Somebody left it. I'd like to know who. Bart or Rhonda might have, or Tarleton, plus the crew go in and out all day long.”

“Don't forget Mariah, Tarleton's assistant—and more—from what I've heard,” he said with a wink.

She wondered if he was laughing at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I saw her coming out of his bedroom in the middle of the night, and the way they act when they think they're alone.” He added more salt to his veal.

Putting this news together with Donna's gossip, Angie was beginning to feel she was living in the midst of the soap opera.

“What about Bart or Rhonda?” she asked after sipping some wine. Silver had chosen an excellent wine for this meal. She wondered how he felt about having his name associated with wine that tasted like it should come out of a screw-top jug. “There's probably no love lost between them and Gwen since she's become a star and they're has-beens.”

“Ouch! Never utter that anywhere near those two if you want to live!” He shuddered.

“It's true,” she insisted.

He put down his fork, finally ready to pay serious attention to her concerns. “All right, I agree. On the other hand, I expect Tarleton, Mariah, or my dad has been with them from the minute they walked in the door.”

“Do all the actors stay in the same part of the house?”

He explained, as Angie had seen, that the second floor was separated into two wings. At the end of the hall in the left wing was Sterling's room, then Silver's, and a couple of guest rooms.
Tarleton used one of them. The opposite wing had four more guest rooms, now used by the four lead actors. The third floor, where Angie was staying, was once an attic. Some years back, a crew converted it into four additional bedrooms for stars like Brittany Keegan as the Eagle Crest cast grew.

“You haven't mentioned Junior,” Angie said.

“The maid's quarters off the kitchen is like an apartment. Junior took it over since our housekeeper lives in town with her husband. Junior doesn't care for these people and tries to stay as far from them as possible.”

“I've wondered why I haven't seen him.”

“You'll see him if he wants you to. Only then.”

Angie didn't know if she liked that. “So, if Rhonda, Bart, and Mariah didn't leave the doll, did one of the crew?”

“It was a bad joke, that's all. Nothing to worry about.”

“Tarleton wouldn't want to upset his star,” Angie continued. “So I'd rule him out.”

“And I haven't seen Gwen Hagen for ten years, you've never met her, and my dad wants the actors ecstatic to be here, not scared,” Silver said, “which leaves exactly no one.”

“Not so. There's the cook, Rudolf Goetring. He's a weird fellow and I haven't seen any evidence he can cook,” Angie said. “Frankly, I'm not sure why Tarleton hired him.”

Silver shook his head. “I'll agree that his presence is strange, but I don't know if he's
that
weird.”

There was one more person that Angie hadn't suggested, and that Silver hadn't defended: his own brother, the elusive Junior Waterfield.

 

Late that night, Angie was standing at her window looking down at the courtyard. She couldn't sleep. The room was cold and depressing, she didn't know what to do, and she missed Paavo.

She was looking at the moon through the tall almond tree that was to the left of her window, when the corner of her eye noticed movement. She glanced down to the courtyard and saw a tiny man.

No, it couldn't have been a man. A child? Was that it? He darted across the courtyard, no bigger than one of Santa's elves.

She blinked a couple of times. Was she seeing things, or were Christmas and soap operas making her crazy?

Visions of the bloody doll…the gasoline behind the bar…the crew talking about sabotage of the props and equipment came back to her.

Maybe she wasn't the one who was crazy.

“Angie, you have a visitor,” Mariah said with a scowl. “Am I in a scene from
Groundhog Day
, or something? Is that what this is? Over and over the same thing?”

Angie sat at the breakfast table, which was covered with a variety of bagels and schmears. She wondered if Goetring was from New York. It wasn't a common Bay Area breakfast.

“Who is it?” she asked between sips of coffee.

“How should I know?” Mariah shrieked. “I'm having to take everything apart trying to find that damned drummer boy!” She stormed from the room.

Angie drained her cup and headed for the foyer. No one was there. Pulling open the door, she found the glaring black eyes of a stout older woman with black hair pulled straight back into a stylish bun, pursed lips, and an angry disposition. In other words, her mother.

“What kind of place is this, that the help leaves a guest standing outside the door?” Serefina bellowed.

“I'm sorry, Mamma,” Angie said, “but Mariah isn't—”

“Ah, come bella!”
Serefina marched into the house, uninterested in explanations. “Look at the little tree twirling around, and the music!” She handed Angie her navy blue Dior wool coat and matching handbag.

“Where's papà?” Angie said, sticking her head out the door.

“He didn't want to come. If I lived in the wine country, I'd have a home just like this,” Serefina exclaimed. Her silk dress of soft navy print was slimming, almost. “I don't know why me and Salvatore don't live here. It looks just like Italia.”

“Without all the people, cars, or pollution—except on weekends,” Angie added.

Serefina waved her round arms, taking in everything around her. “It's been a long time since I've seen it.”

“You've been here before?”

“Of course. Now, I wanted to see how you're doing here, and say hello to your father's good friend, Sterling.” Serefina left the living room to poke her head into the dining room, and she continued down the hall to the family room.

Angie hung the coat in the closet. Her mother's explanations didn't wash. What was she
really
doing here? “Are you tired, Mamma? It was a long drive for you. You must have left the peninsula at the crack of dawn.”

“Before dawn,” Serefina corrected. “The more I thought about coming here and meeting Cliff and Adrian, the more I couldn't sleep.” She sighed, smiling like a lovelorn teenager, and plopped
down on the leather sofa in front of the rock fireplace. “
Faccia brava
, that Adrian, so sweet and handsome. My heart used to beat so fast when he'd show up on TV it would make my head light. But that wife of his,
Madonna mia!
How that Leona could go to bed with his brother, I don't know. What is this world coming to? If I see her, I'll slap her face!”

“Mamma, relax,” Angie said, sitting on the sofa arm. “It's just a story.”

“Sometimes I wonder. I lived with them for years!” She placed her hands against her breasts. “I raised my children to the troubles at Eagle Crest. Maybe the characters aren't real to you, but to me, they are like friends.”

“They're an interesting group, that's for sure,” Angie said.

“So, where is Adrian?” Serefina asked, swiveling around as if the star was lurking in the corners of the room.

“He's not here yet. Cliff and Natalie arrived yesterday, but they haven't come down to breakfast, I don't think. At least, I haven't seen them.”

“I can wait. Where is Sterling?”

Wait?
A sinking feeling hit Angie's stomach. “I'm not sure. I can look for him.”

“First, which way is the bathroom? I want to look my best before I see my old friend.”

“Sure.” Angie showed her mother to the downstairs bathroom, then ran up to Sterling's bedroom.

She raised her hand to knock on his door when the peculiar way he'd stared at her face hit her full force.

She'd almost forgotten about that. What
was
wrong with her face, anyway? Steeling herself, she knocked.

His hair was awry, making the plugs more visible than usual, and he was knotting the sash of his smoking jacket. In the background, the blue glow of a television lit the room. She wondered how it felt to hesitate to move about freely in one's own home. “I'm sorry to bother you,” she said, “but my mother has come to visit. Are you free?”

His face took on a rosy glow. “Serefina is here? Now?” He glanced down at the floppy slippers on his feet. “Give me a minute. I'll be right down.”

“Wait…one moment…”

He turned back.

“Yesterday, behind the bar I found gasoline in a wine bottle, and a bunch of rags…”

“Yes?”

“It's dangerous. I thought…”

“The crew does the strangest things. Don't worry about it, Angie.”

“But—”

“Tell your mother I'll be right there. Don't let her run off, now!” He shut the door.

Angie couldn't imagine Serefina walking briskly, let alone running anywhere. And what was with the sudden animation in Sterling? She had no idea he was such good friends with her mother.

Angie had just finishing mixing a pitcher of Bloody Marys, Serefina's favorite morning drink, when Sterling entered the family room.

“Serefina!” He rushed to her.

“
Caro!
” She held out her arms. They kissed first
one cheek, then the other. She stepped back, as did Sterling, still clasping each other. Then both smiled, as if approving of what they saw.

Angie was sure, based on their broad grins, that it wasn't anything like what she saw: a too-chubby woman with jet-black hair due to her hairdresser's help, and a cadaverously thin, overly tanned gray-haired man.

“You are
bellissima
, Serefina. The years have been kind to you,” he said.

“You were always such a charmer, Sterling. You were well named for your silver tongue.” Serefina gave him a coy smile. “Although your
accento italiano
hasn't improved one little bit.”

Angie handed them drinks in tall glasses with ice and a celery stick, forcing Sterling to let go of her mother. “I thought having your daughter here would be a pleasure,” he said, his gaze never leaving Serefina. “It's even more of one now. Can you stay a while?”

“Stay?” Serefina asked, her eyes wide as if it was the most surprising suggestion she'd ever heard. Angie went on red alert. She knew that look.

“I'm sure you'd like to meet the cast, wouldn't you?” he coaxed. “Only two of them are here yet. We have plenty of room.”

“Oh…well…” Serefina looked from Sterling to Angie, and back. “As a matter of fact, I just happened to pack a little overnight case. I was thinking I might be too tired to drive all the way home and could spend the night in St. Helena. But this is even better.”

Angie's eyebrows rose so high they skirted her hairline.

“Wonderful!” Sterling cast a fleeting glance at Angie. “If you could find Silver, ask him to take your mother's bags up to the yellow guest room. It's a tiny one, Serefina, in the family wing. I'm afraid it's all we have left.”

“I'm sure it will be lovely,
caro
.”

Serefina took the car keys out of her purse and handed them to Angie. “Here. The car is locked.” She batted her eyes at Sterling. “It's become my habit because of living so close to the city.
Madonna mia
, you can't trust anybody there, compared to an area like this.”

“You should move here, Serefina.” He held her hand in both of his. “You'd love it. Do you still have your Rolls Royce?”

“Dear God,” she turned to Angie, looking like someone who'd just licked cream from a bowl. “This man even remembers the car I drive.”

Before Angie could respond, Sterling said, “Shall I show you to your room? Maybe you can put on some comfortable shoes and we can go out to Silverado for brunch and a round of golf. Are you hungry?”

“I'm starving. I didn't want to stop and eat, I was so anxious to get here.”

Sterling looked at Angie. “Do you mind? Your mother came all this way to see you, and I'm talking about taking her away.”

Angie gazed at Serefina to see if her mother would give her “the eye,” which meant that she was to object to whatever was being suggested. But Serefina simply smiled. Angie bit her lip. “No, I don't mind. I see my mother all the time. I'm sure
she'd love to go to Silverado. It's a beautiful country club.”

“And I'm one of their Gold members.” He winked at Serefina. “Extra-special privileges.”

“I can hardly wait,” she said, and they sauntered toward the stairs.

When they were out of view, Angie tumbled onto a chair. What was her mother doing flirting like that? Where was her father?

And where was Silver to help her with the luggage?

She decided it'd be easier to carry an overnight bag upstairs herself than to hunt for Silver, who was quite possibly still asleep.

Her mother was no better at packing than she was because the bag was Pullman size. She rolled it to the foyer. Silver could take it from there.

By the time she returned to her Virgin Mary—sans alcohol—it tasted awful since the ice had melted. She nearly dropped it when her mother entered wearing a green polo shirt, white culottes, and white socks and sneakers, and carrying the satchel that held her golf shoes.

“We're going now,” Serefina announced.

“You're really going golfing?” Angie asked.

“
Si.
It's been a long time.” She sucked in her stomach.

“You always said the only thing you liked about golf was driving the cart,” Angie cried, walking her mother to the door.

Sterling backed his classic MG out of the garage. Serefina gingerly crossed the slippery
snow. “So maybe we'll do something else,” she called. “I don't care. It will be fun.
Ciao!
”

This, Angie decided, was perhaps the most surreal experience she'd had in her entire life.

 

“Has Sterling found himself a new girlfriend?” Rhonda Manning tottered on stiletto heels toward the bar. Judging from her slurred words and wobbly demeanor, it wasn't her first visit. “She seemed a little old and chubby. Not his usual type at all.”

“That was my mother,” Angie said indignantly.

“Your mother? How cute. He usually goes after the crew's daughters. Now he's going after their mothers, too. What's this world coming to?” She stepped behind the bar and didn't have to search at all to find a glass, bourbon, and ice.

Angie neared. “I didn't realize Sterling was such a Lothario.”

“I didn't say he succeeded with them, did I?” She laughed.

“Was Brittany Keegan one of his conquests?” Angie asked.

Rhonda's back straightened, her eyes hard. “What makes you bring her up?”

“I discovered I was given her bedroom—and that she died in this very house. It makes me curious.”

“Don't you know it isn't smart to ask questions like that?”

Angie moved closer. “What can it hurt? The girl's dead. Her death was an accident.”

“Maybe because it was such a sad thing. None of us want to bring it up again. Especially not
around nosy little nothings who should stay in the kitchen, where they belong!”

Rhonda grabbed her glass in one hand, hesitated a moment, then took the bottle in the other and left the room.

 

Moments later, Emery Tarleton stuck his head in. “Have you seen Rhonda?” he asked.

“She went upstairs,” Angie said, still smarting from the encounter. “Can I talk to you about the Christmas dinner?”

“No time, now.” He dashed to the bar and grabbed a beer.

He had no time to talk, Angie thought, but he couldn't help but
hear.
Pretending to study the rustic Christmas ornaments on the tree, she broke into the love theme from
Titanic
, “Once more, you open the door…”

She'd never seen a man leave a room so fast.

Maybe he simply didn't care for movie music.

She was about to go into the kitchen to test the oven and do more planning when she saw Tarleton, Mariah, Bart, and Rhonda troop out the door without so much as a by-your-leave. Rhonda was steadier than Angie imagined she'd be, but the woman was an actress. How disappointing to find she was also a hard-drinking, vicious shrew.

They were soon followed out the door by Silver.

The crew was gone.

Angie hadn't seen Donna Heinz yet this morning. And even Goetring had abandoned the kitchen.

It was Saturday, and everyone seemed to be out enjoying themselves while she was here with a
Christmas tree that played “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” until she wanted to convert to Buddhism.

There was definitely something wrong with this picture.