James busied himself refilling their glasses as Milla gave Jackson a grateful kiss.
“Where’s your sister?” Jackson barked, embarrassed into gruffness by the public display of love. “The woman’s always late.”
“No need to lose hair over a few minutes,” Milla scolded and then took a large swallow of champagne. “After all the arrows slung today, I sure needed a drink.”
“I take it the family reunion didn’t go so well?” James inquired, noting the pinched look of Milla’s face.
Milla shook her head but clearly didn’t feel like elaborating any further. The trio drank champagne and waited, exchanging small-talk about the wedding, James’s house, the bitterness of the December wind, Glowstar, Dr. Ruth, and Bennett’s Jeopardy! preparations.
After Jackson tapped on his wristwatch for the third time, Milla picked up the phone and called over to the Widow’s Peak.
“Willow? Have you seen my sister?” she asked lightly. As she listened to Paulette’s assistant, Milla began to frown. Finally, she said, “I understand, and no, I don’t want you to get into any hot water. We’ll see her when we see her, and you as well, my dear.”
Jackson waited until Milla had replaced the phone in its cradle before declaring, “She’s not comin’, right? What are we supposed to have for dessert without her damned cake?”
Milla opened the freezer door and began to push around packages of frozen waffles and bags of vegetables. “We’ll have to settle for ice cream. Willow says my sister is locked in the kitchen and is never to be bothered when she’s baking. Apparently, Paulette told her that if that ever happened Willow would be fired on the spot. The innkeepers have had to give my sister the key to the kitchen door so she can lock herself in for as many hours as she wants.”
“That’s not too strange to me,” Jackson remarked. “I don’t like folks bargin’ in when I’m paintin’.” He gave James a pointed look.
“Sorry, James.” Milla sighed as she placed a half gallon of Edy’s Mocha Almond Fudge on the counter. “It seems we wasted your Friday night for nothing. If Paulette’s still cooking, then we’re not going to taste her cakes ’til morning. I could never have imagined she’d turn out to be quite this self-absorbed.”
“That’s okay, Milla.” James gave his future stepmother a one-handed hug before turning resolutely away from the tempting carton of ice cream. “Having cake for breakfast sure beats the Fiber One I was planning on eating before church.”
However, there was no cake for breakfast either. In fact, the phone rang shortly after six a.m., shattering the silence in the house. Milla had taken to spending the night whenever she didn’t have classes to teach the following day, and when her shriek resonated throughout the early morning’s darkness, James raced downstairs without slippers or robe, fearful that his father’s fiancée had sustained a terrible injury.
“What is it?” he asked her as he bolted into the kitchen, quickly noting that though she seemed unharmed, her face was like a pale moon in lightless gloom.
Wordlessly, Milla handed him the telephone receiver as though it were a lethal object and then moved over to the sink. She turned on the faucet and watched blankly as the water streamed between the divides of her trembling fingers.
“Hello?” James’s voice was filled with trepidation.
“James?”
It was Lucy. He relaxed a fraction and then suddenly recalled that she was a sheriff’s deputy scheduled to be on duty that day.
“What’s happened?” he asked her over the sound of the running water.
“It’s Paulette,” she answered evenly. “She’s dead. I’m here at the Widow’s Peak.”
“I’ll be right over.”
“No, James.” Lucy’s tone was firm. “We haven’t determined if the death is accidental or not. I’ll call you as soon as we know something.”
“Lucy, I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he stated as though she hadn’t spoken, and then he hung up the phone. Drawing Milla toward him, he gently pushed down on the faucet until the harsh stream of water ceased and then whispered, “I’ll find out what happened. I promise.”
He then eased Milla into his father’s arms and the two men exchanged imperceptible nods. “Make her some coffee,” James whispered as he headed upstairs to pull on some clothes. “Pour in a shot of Cutty Sark. Make yourself one too. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day.”
SEVEN
When the Bronco crested the top of the hill leading to the entrance of the Widow’s Peak Inn, James expected to see Sheriff’s Department cruisers with their light bars flashing, but there was only one sedan present parked neatly off to the side. The porch lights flanking the double front doors still burned, providing meager competition with the waking sun.
Mr. Mintzer, the owner of the inn, sat on one of the wicker rockers with a coffee mug cradled in his hands. He gazed at James dully and did not rise to greet him.
Noting that the older man wore no coat and that his sockless feet were encased in a pair of unlined slippers, James speculated that the innkeeper was in shock. Touching him lightly on the arm, James squatted next to the silent man. “You must be cold, sir,” he spoke softly. “Could I get you a coat from inside?”
After a long pause, Mr. Mintzer answered mechanically. “You can hang your coat in the hall closet. It’s just past the stairs.”
Since Paulette had booked every room, James felt it safe to assume that the red barn coat, gray wool hat, and thick leather gloves belonged to the gentleman out on the porch. Without pausing to announce his presence to Lucy, James returned outside and made sure that the innkeeper was appropriately attired.
“Can I get you anything else?”
James handed Mr. Mintzer his gloves, growing more and more concerned at the vacant look in his eyes. Without warning, the man blinked and grabbed him by the hand. “She was an awful woman, but we’d never wish this on her.” He shook his head. “That picture’ll be burned in my mind for the rest of my days. Her on the floor-her face covered like she was wearin’ a mask made of mud. It’s a good thing Hattie wasn’t up when I forced my way in. Ever since that first mornin’, when that woman told my wife her eggs were runny and her fruit salad wasn’t ripe, Hattie’s given up cookin’ for her.” He shrugged and stared off into the distance again. “It feels awful odd to take it so slow in the mornin’ when you’ve got guests, but there’s been no need for us to stir until we were sure she didn’t need the kitchen. Looks like we won’t be goin’ in there for a spell anyhow.”
“So you found Paulette?” James couldn’t help asking.
“I like to have coffee about six,” Mr. Mintzer explained. “When you get older, you just can’t sleep late anymore, even if you want to. It’s like your body’s tryin’ to tell you that time is runnin’ out and you’d best get up and live a full day. Anyhow, I collected the paper and went to fix the coffee but the kitchen door was locked. I’d given that baker lady a spare key but I still had mine and I knew she didn’t wanna be bothered when she was makin’ cakes, but a man’s gotta have his coffee! Isn’t that so?”
“Absolutely,” James agreed, wishing he had a cup that very moment.
“She was in the kitchen when we went to bed last night.” He creased his brow in thought. “That musta been a bit before ten. I couldn’t believe she was still in there all those hours later. Never heard of somebody cookin’ all night, but then again, I’ve never met someone like her.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically. “When she didn’t answer my knock this mornin’, I felt in my bones that somethin’ wasn’t right, so I unlocked the door and there she was.” The man huddled forward in the chair and took a sip of coffee that had surely lost all trace of heat. “Looks like her heart just gave out and she toppled over. What a shame. And what a mess too.”