Page 113 of Murder By the Millions
CHAPTER25
A sudden emptiness seemed to flow now from the windows and the great doors,endowing with complete isolation the figure of the host, who stood on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell.
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’sThe Great Gatsby
Zach wasn’t pleased with me for putting myself in harm’s way, but fortunately, because the text I had sent him was bland to the max, which was very unlike me—his words, his compliment— he had determined something might be up. Concerned, he’d dispatched another officer to deal with the loose dog situation, and he and Bates had come directly to the recreation center.
During the course of the next week, Finette claimed I was wrong on all counts. She had plenty of money. She was flush. She had no reason to want Jason Gardner dead. But the facts proved out. She was in foreclosure. She had received final notices. Her bank account was empty. Also, after the police canvassed the neighborhood around the Sugarbaker estate, a witness cameforward who’d seen Finette exiting the property through the rear gate last Monday night. The witness hadn’t said anything until now, because she’d gone to Charlotte to take care of a sick sister. According to her testimony, the intruder had dressed in all black and was hunched over and limping on her right leg, the leg Darcy had attacked.
“Are you ready?” Tegan asked me. She’d come to Dream Cuisine at noon to supervise the final preparations for theGatsbyparty.
Vanna and I had started cooking at five a.m.
I tamped down a yawn. “Ready as we’ll ever be. Deviled eggs.” I gestured to a platter filled with one hundred portions. “Fixings for Waldorf salad.” Each was prepared in a bentostyle box. Difficult to transport but easier for service. “Five dozen orange-drop cookies and five dozen blood-orange crinkles. Ten pineapple upside-down cakes. Bowls of marinated olives and platters of cheese, as well as grilled shrimp. Four lemon-filled coconut cakes. Seventy-five salmon mousse cups. A hundred roast chicken wings with rosemary. Three sliced sugar-glazed hams. Five strawberry ladyfinger icebox cakes.” My back was aching, but I had to admit I was beyond pleased with the results.
“Stop!” Tegan pleaded. “My mouth is watering. I’m putting on pounds thinking about the feast.” She turned to her sister. “Vanna, did you bring your dress along, or are you going home to change?”
“I’m going to the bed-and-breakfast. I’ll get ready there and drive Mother over when we’re both ready.”
Tegan helped us load up the van and then left to let us finish up.
As the door to the kitchen closed, Vanna said, “Allie, we have to talk about something.”
“Your meeting with the mayor. Of course. I apologize for not asking how it went.”
“It went so well, um …”
I cocked my head and waited for her to continue. Vanna was rarely at a loss for words.
“I’m not sure I want to partner with you any longer,” she said in a rush. “I’ll continue to do the literary dining parties, but not the day-to-day stuff.” She motioned with her arm at the array of pots and pans needing cleaning. “Would it be okay? I mean, you probably want to say I’m more disappointing than an unsalted pretzel—”
I snorted. “Good one.”
“Your one-liners are rubbing off on me.” She grinned. “But please know that simply because I want out doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I do.”
My eyes widened. She what? I thought she barely tolerated me.
“And I love books, mysteries in particular.”
Okay, now she was scaring me. Who was this woman, and what had she done with Vanna Harding?
“But I’m sort of a one-woman act, you know? All these early mornings are, well, messing with my routine. I need more sleep. I need my beauty rest.” Frantically, she motioned to her face. “I’ve got bags under my eyes!” she wailed, after which she took a deep calming breath. “Besides, I like doing nighttime soirees. Are you okay with my decision?”
Honestly, I was relieved. I’d decided recently that I didn’t want to expand the business. I was enjoying catering and working at the bookshop. If Dream Cuisine continued to grow, I would have to curtail my time at Feast for the Eyes or give up reading … and that wasn’t going to happen.
“Of course I’m okay with it,” I assured her.
“Really? Thank you for understanding.” She grabbed my hands and squeezed. “By the way, I loved the Agatha ChristiebookThe Murder of Roger Ackroyd.Who knew mysteries could be so much fun to read?”
“Glad to hear it.” I tamped down a laugh. I didn’t want her to think I was mocking her.
“Hercule Poirot is really clever. However, I must tell you I found a number of misspelled words. Likeorganisewith ans,instead oforganizewith az,andmarvellouswith twol’s, instead ofmarvelouswith onel.You’d think the publisher would’ve caught the mistakes.”
“Some British English words are spelled differently from Americanized English versions.”
“Really? I had no idea.” She mimed her head exploding.
Three hours later I whisked home and grabbed my flapper dress. I would change into it after we arranged the food at the bookshop. However, I twisted my hair into a loose updo with tendrils, put on red lipstick—gloss simply wasn’t authentic for the period—and then plunked Darcy into his carrier. I was bringing him along so he could observe from the office. After all, being a tuxedo cat, he was already dressed for the party.
