A Baked Ham (10 page)

“Wow, it must be terrific being
you.
 
Seriously, how did you manage
that?”

He was clearly puzzled by the
direction our conversation had taken.
 
“We’re getting off-topic here.
 
I
asked you a question, and I’d really like an answer.”

“Okay,” I said, “you asked for
it.
 
Fred, everyone in seven counties
knows that you wanted the lead in that play.
 
It must have crushed you when Benny got it.”

He shook his head.
 
“Sure, I thought that I’d be good doing it,
but do you really think that I’m that petty, that I’d kill someone for a part
in a
community theater
play?”

“I’m sure that people have been
murdered for less,” I said.

“Maybe so, but nobody that I’ve
ever known. My competition is tough, but they aren’t that tough.
 
Sure, we all talk a mean game, but that’s all
it is, just talk.”

“Fred, when was the last time you
saw Benny alive?”

He pursed his lips, and after a
moment or two, the car dealer said, “It had to be when we were all backstage
before the show.
 
I saw him, along with a
dozen other cast-mates.
 
From the sheer
logistics of it I couldn’t have done it.
 
I heard that whoever killed him came in from the outside.”

“That’s just one theory,” I
said.
 
“I believe that the murderer could
have just as easily done it by slipping in from the hallway, killing Benny, and
then unlocking the outside door before escaping back into the anonymity of the
backstage crowd.”

“Victoria, how many people do you
think are backstage before a performance?” he asked me.

“After reading the playbill, I
know that there had to be at least a dozen.”

“More than that, actually, when
you count the crew.
 
The only problem is
that you’re forgetting something,” Fred said.
 
“We all know each other.
 
Don’t
you think that if someone had tried to slip in and out of Benny’s dressing room
someone would have seen them?”

“You folks are good at disguises,
though, aren’t you?”

“Are you talking about our
wardrobes?” Fred asked.
 
“We had several
dress rehearsals before Garret thought we were good enough to put the show
on.
 
I know the cast in their street
clothes as well as their costumes.”

“You probably do,” I said, “but
what if they were wearing
another
type of disguise?”
 
I was playing this
interrogation by the seat of my pants, but the question was valid
nonetheless.
 
Moose and I needed to
broaden our investigation to not just the actors and crew, but to anyone else
who might have slipped backstage to commit the murder in disguise.
 
Instead of eliminating suspects, I was doing
a fine job of adding a
bunch
more
possibilities to our list.
 

“Victoria, all of this
speculation on your part is useless.
 
Have you and your grandfather made any
real
progress on the case?”

I decided to tell the truth.
 
“Not that we’ve been able to tell so far,” I
said.

“That’s a pity,” he said.
 

It was time to change the
subject.
 
“Are you taking Benny’s place
tonight?” I asked.

“I am.
 
You know what they say,” Fred answered.
 
“The show must go on.”

“That’s sure what it looks like,”
I said.

“If you need any help, all you
have to do is ask,” he said.

“Thanks, but I doubt that you can
help us, unless you know who killed Benny.”

“Sorry.
 
I can’t help you there.”

“Then there’s nothing you can
do,” I said.

Fred shook his head, and without
another word, he slipped two singles onto the counter and left.

I got the distinct impression
that he wasn’t too happy about the way our conversation had just gone.

Well, that was just too bad.
 
If Moose and I were going to have any luck at
all solving Benny’s murder, then we were going to have to stir the pot a
little, and if we happened to offend a few folks along the way, that was just
something we were going to have to live with.

I doubted that we’d see Fred
Hitchings at The Charming Moose again anytime soon.
 
Something we’d discussed made me wonder,
though.
 

How hard would it be to slip
backstage before the play started?
 
Tonight, I was going to find out, and I might just bring a prop of my
own to help.

I thought about going home and
grabbing a quick nap on my next break at four, but I just had an hour, and
after making the commute, I had even less time than that to snooze.
 
Ultimately I decided to brave it out, stick
around, and join my husband in the back, something I did more often than not
most days.

“What sounds good this evening?”
I asked as I walked back to the kitchen to see him.

Greg smiled at me.
 
“I was hoping you’d ask me that.
 
What do you think about blowing off the play,
going home, and kicking our feet up?
 
I
can’t remember the last time we sat around and just did nothing.”

“I was talking about something to
eat,” I said.

“I wasn’t.
 
Don’t worry.
 
I’ll feed you before we leave, Victoria.
 
Just don’t drag me back to that playhouse again.”

“Last night hardly counted, since
you never actually saw anyone perform,” I said as I tweaked his cheek.
 
“You worry too much.
 
It’s going to be fun.”

“I don’t see how, but I’ll take
your word for it.”
 
Greg turned back to
the grill, rubbed his hands together, and then he said, “I could always grill
us up a couple of plain hamburgers.
 
How
does that sound?”

“Greg, there’s nothing plain
about your burgers, and you know it.”
 
I
thought about eating such a heavy meal, knowing how Greg liked to pile on the
toppings.
 
“On second thought, eggs might
be nice.”
 
I knew that some places
stopped serving breakfast at eleven, but not us.
 
If we were open, eggs were always on the
menu.

“That could be fun,” he
said.
 
“Would you like scrambled?”

“Sure, why not?
 
Throw in a little chopped bacon along with it
while you’re at it.”

“And some cheese,” Greg
said.
 
“Some mozzarella would go great in
that.
 
How about some bell peppers, too?”

“Hang on.
 
I don’t want a full-blown omelet,” I said.

“Put yourself in my hands,” Greg
said.
 
“Besides, this is going to be for
both of us, so I should get a little input, too, shouldn’t I?”

“Go on.
 
Make whatever you’d like to.
 
I’m sure that it will be delicious,” I said,
knowing that was his plan anyway.
 
I
could cook, but nowhere near as well as Greg could, and we both knew it.
 
While Mom could outshine my father in the
kitchen, Moose was better at it than Martha ever was.
 
If I ever had a daughter, I hoped that she’d
be able to outcook any man in her life, and if I knew Greg, he’d make sure of
it.
 

“That’s the spirit,” he said as
he gave me a quick kiss, and then my husband promptly forgot all about me.
 
When Greg was at his station at the grill, he
showed remarkable focus.
 
I’d learned
early on not to engage him in conversation while he was focused on cooking,
since it was doubtful that he’d remember a word of what we’d said.

“I might as well glance at our
inventory and see where we stand while I’ve got a little time on my hands,” I
said.

“Why don’t you just take a break,
Victoria?
 
You’re supposed to be off right
now, remember?”

“Honestly, Greg, do I ever
really
have any downtime?” I asked.

“You do now.
 
Grab us something to drink and set a place at
the table.
 
Our meal will be finished in
a dash.”
 
I was about to protest when he
said with a grin, “Don’t argue with the chef.”

“No, Sir,” I said as I echoed his
smile.
 
“How does chocolate milk sound to
drink?”

“What are you having?” he asked.

“Chocolate milk,” I answered.

“Then make it two,” he said.

“Dinner is served,” he said a
minute later as he neatly divided the huge omelet and plated both sections.

“I can’t eat all of this,” I
said.
 
What I had on my plate alone was
enough for three people.

“You underestimate your
appetite,” he said.
 
“Go on and take a
bite, and then tell me you don’t have room for all of it.”

I knew better than to argue.
 
I did as he told me, and then I felt the
ambrosia strike my palate, and smiled.
 
The cheeses blended together perfectly, and matched the subtle and varied
hues of the mushrooms, bacon, and bell peppers.
 
They combined into something greater than their parts, and I decided to
stop protesting and start eating.

Sometimes I hated it when Greg
was right.
 
Not only did I polish off my
portion of our omelet dinner, but I probably could have eaten a little bit of
his, if any had been left.

“That was magnificent,” I said as
I put my napkin down on the empty plate.
 
“Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.
 
Do you have any room for dessert?”

I groaned a little at the mere
thought of it.
 
“Sorry, but I couldn’t
eat another bite.”

“Even if your mother brought some
banana pudding over while you were gone?”

It was my favorite dessert ever,
and Greg knew it.
 
At Christmases, Martha
had made a small bowl of it just for me, and no one was allowed to sample from
my bowl, not even Moose.
 
Mom had carried
on the tradition at the diner.
 
Whenever
she made banana pudding, there was always a small bowl set aside just for
me.
 

Sometimes it was great working
where I did.

“Maybe I could have one bite,” I
said, though I wasn’t at all sure where I was going to put it.

“Should I grab two spoons?” Greg
asked.
 
“I’d be more than happy to help
you with it.”

“You can if you’d like, but
you’re not getting any of my banana pudding, so don’t even ask.”

“What happened to us sharing
everything once we got married?” he asked me with that grin of his that never
failed to lighten my heart.

“I told you then, and I’ll tell
you now.
 
There’s a great many things
that I’ll share with you, but banana pudding is not one of them.”

He threw a rag at me.
 
“Suit yourself.
 
I’ll just get mine out of the common bowl.”

“That works out great for me.”

I only meant to take a bite or
two, but I was halfway through the bowl when Greg asked, “We’re still going
tonight, right?”

“We are,” I said as I finished
the bite on my spoon.

“And are you still planning to
wear the same dress you wore last night?”

“I thought I would, since it’s
the best one that I own.”

He lifted up a cookie sheet and
held in front of him as a shield as he said, “Then, you might want to give that
dessert a rest if you have any hope of fitting back into it.”

He flinched, as though preparing
himself for an assault, but I didn’t throw anything.
 
Instead, I put my spoon in one of the dirty
dish bins, wrapped the pudding up, and then I put it back in the fridge on a tall
shelf in back.
 
“Thanks for that,” I
said.

“I should be the one thanking
you,” he said.

“Why is that?”

“You let me get away with saying
that without throwing a single thing in my direction.
 
Your restraint is growing by leaps and
bounds.”

I kissed his cheek.
 
“I appreciate the sentiment, but let’s not
make a habit of it,” I said with a smile.
 
After glancing at the clock, I said, “I’m going on out early to help
Jenny.
 
We’ve got a little more than two
hours here, and then we get to go home and get ready for the play again.”