Murder With Ganache: A Key West Food Critic Mystery (10 page)

“Any news?” my mother asked.

“Not really. Bransford’s headed over to harass them.” I held up my hand. “Don’t even say it. I know he’s doing his job.”

Then it occurred to me that my friend Jai at the homeless teen drop-in center might have some ideas about the kids in the photo. But I kept that to myself, thinking it might go better if I made those inquiries without an inquisitive entourage in tow.

By the time we returned to Tarpon Pier, Miss Gloria, Connie, and Connie’s father were on Miss Gloria’s deck waiting anxiously as we came up the dock. The women hurried up to greet us. “How is he?” they both asked.

We explained what little we knew as we returned to the boat.

“Thank goodness you found him. He could have been lying there for days,” said Miss Gloria.

And he would have been dead if it had been much longer, I thought but didn’t say.

Mom turned to look at Connie. “Are you feeling all right? You look pale.”

“We’ve called off the wedding,” Connie blurted out.

I gaped at her, stunned.

“Oh no, sweetie, don’t do that,” said my mom. She put her hands on Connie’s shoulders, and looked right in her eyes. “I just know Rory will be fine.” Now she cupped Connie’s cheeks in her palms. “And we’ll need something happy to take our minds off what happened.”

Connie backed away from my mother, bit her lip, and shook her head. “It doesn’t feel right. What if—?” Tears filled her eyes and she blotted them with her sleeve. “You’ve come all this way to help me get married—and what if Rory doesn’t make it?”

“She’s already left a message with the caterer,” Miss Gloria said, wringing her hands. “I couldn’t convince her otherwise.”

“This was the last day we could pull out without losing our shirts entirely,” Connie said. “I’m not throwing a big party when Rory’s so badly hurt and everyone is sick with worry. Ray’s gone back home to call the florist and rental company and the justice of the peace. It’s all decided.”

“Why don’t we call the vendors and let them know we might need to push things back a day or two?” Mom suggested.

“The wedding is off.” Connie’s voice and face turned stony.

“Oh honey,” said my mother, and folded Connie into her bosom. I folded myself in with them for a group sniffle. But hugging Connie felt like trying to comfort a fence post—no give at all.

She pulled away and pasted on a tremulous smile. “You have more important things to take care of right now.” She shouldered her backpack, hopped onto the dock, and strode up the finger to her boat. Her father, Keith, watched her go, then turned back to us, looking apologetic.

“What in the world is going on?” my mother asked.

Keith shrugged. “I hate to say anything but . . . it’s really not all about Rory. I’m afraid Connie’s fella and I haven’t exactly hit it off.” He closed his eyes and grimaced. Opened them back up. “I’m afraid he’s asked me to leave.”

Now I noticed he was dressed for traveling—creased khaki pants, his blue blazer, a battered leather briefcase with the strap slung over his shoulder.

“Ray asked you to leave?” I stammered.

“How could that be?” Mom asked.

“I shouldn’t have come,” Keith said. “I wanted so much to be here—to walk her down the aisle and make up for the time we’ve lost.” He looked at me. “I let go of her once, and I never wanted that to happen again. But I’m afraid Ray got jealous of my sweet baby’s old man.” He sighed and picked up an overnight bag that had been sitting on the dock next to our rolled-up hose. “Anyway, I’ll let her tell it when she’s ready. But I know it’s not right to make her choose.”

“Why in the world would Ray ask you to leave?” I repeated, stunned. “That makes no sense at all.”

He shrugged, an anxious, puzzled expression on his face. “But he did. And I figured her new life is with him, if she chooses that. So I’m going. But I wanted to stop by and thank you for your hospitality. And say good luck with your brother.” He shook my mother’s hand and then mine, holding mine for a little longer than hers. “I’m glad she’s got such a good friend. She’s likely to be down about everything for a while. But better she figure this out now, than in a couple of years when they have a kid and a dog and a mortgage.”

He nodded at Mom, Miss Gloria, and then me. “My door is always open if you get to Dallas.” He loped away to the parking lot.

I am the best version of myself when there is less on my plate.

—Elizabeth Gilbert,
Eat, Pray, Love

“Wow,” I said, watching him disappear into a waiting cab. The door slammed shut and the cab lurched off. After the morning we’d had, this final twist left me confused and numb. “I don’t understand this. What did she say to you?” I asked Miss Gloria.

“When they got back from the marina, Connie’s father was waiting for them in the parking lot,” Miss Gloria said. “I saw the three of them talking and then Ray drove off in a big hurry. Connie was practically hysterical. I offered to make some coffee and talk things through, but she said no, the wedding was off. She insisted that Ray go home to start making calls. Her father tried to argue her out of it, but she wasn’t listening to any kind of reason. You saw the rest.”

“Did she say she was postponing or canceling?” I asked. “There’s a big difference.”

“Off,” said Miss Gloria. She settled her hands on her hips. “Which sounds like canceled to me. And although she said
they
decided to cancel the wedding, from where I sat, it looked like all her decision. Ray had nothing to do with it, other than slink off to make those phone calls.”

My mom sank into one of the folding chairs we’d set up on the deck and Sam perched beside her, holding her hand. “Maybe she’ll change her mind,” he said, rubbing her back.

“Do you think she has cold feet and the conflict between Ray and her father was a good excuse to bail out?” Mom asked.

I blew out a breath of air. “I know she loves him. I know that. But she loves her father too, even if he did jump ship like a stinking rat. I guess Ray was used to having her to himself, but I never imagined he’d be this jealous.”

“Have there been signs of her getting nervous that we might have overlooked?” Sam asked. “What did she act like when you girls met in Miami to pick out the dress?”

“Excited. Right, Hayley?” Mom looked at me, her hazel eyes worried. “You don’t think I pushed her too hard on all this? Maybe she really wanted to elope—”

“You can’t blame yourself,” I told Mom. “I think she was delighted to have our help with the party. She looked so beautiful in that gown. And then you said how proud her mother would be.” I nibbled on my lower lip. “That made her cry.”

“We all cried a little, but it seemed mostly like happy tears,” Mom explained to Sam. “Of course it’s hard for a girl not to have her mother help with a big transition. But she seemed thrilled when Keith showed up at the party last night. Didn’t she?” She leaned against him and closed her eyes. “I can understand Ray feeling rivalrous when her father suddenly materialized. But throw him out? That seems a little off.”

“More than a little off,” I said. “It’s downright weird. I’m going to talk to Ray. Maybe he can be persuaded to apologize. Maybe he could even catch Keith before he boards the plane. And it could be she’s overreacting. We’re all stunned about Rory. Maybe after a good nap, she’ll reconsider,” I said.

“Don’t forget to call Rory’s dad,” my mother said. “Unless you want me to?”

I considered that offer for one relieved moment. But how would she explain that Allison’s current husband’s ex was calling with bad news about his son? “No. I think it’s better I tell him. At least I’m nominally in their nuclear family. I’ll call once I’ve written a draft of this breakfast piece.”

While I worked up enough nerve to phone Rutherford Michaels, I scribbled some notes on the breakfast goodies that we’d sampled earlier this morning. The maple-glazed doughnut studded with candied bacon was definitely tastebud overkill, though it looked amazing. Irresistible, really: All the breakfast food groups in one sugary, fat-laden package. The passion fruit reminded me of an old-fashioned jelly doughnut from childhood—the fat tubes of sugary dough with jelly squeezing out both ends that my father and I would sneak when my mother wasn’t around to head us off. Only this one was even better. The doughnut with the chocolate ganache glaze was pure heaven. Once I’d roughed out a paragraph extolling the virtues of all those, winding up with the chocolate Boston cream stuffed with Earl Grey–scented pastry cream, I moved on to try to describe the sticky buns from Old Town Bakery.

“Does this sound accurate?” I asked my mother and then read aloud: “Light as air sticky buns striated with currents of cinnamon and walnut, and crusted over with a caramel coating for which you might well be willing to trade your mother.”

“So funny,” she said with a grimace. “But also true. I might even swap
you
for another bite.” She grinned and then rubbed her eyes and stood up. “Sam and I are starting to feel like drowned rats. Or chilled iguanas. Or something. Okay if we go back to the hotel to take a shower and a catnap?”

“Absolutely,” I said, getting to my feet to see them off. I felt about the same, only without the time to spare.

“Are we still going to Ray’s art opening later? It all seems so awkward,” she added.

“I think so—it’s a big deal for him. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

She took hold of both my hands and squeezed. “I’ll leave my phone on. Call if you need anything. Anything at all.” She hugged me hard.

“Anything at all,” Sam repeated and then helped my mother hop to the dock from the houseboat.

I watched them go, his arm slung over her shoulders. Her head tipped toward him. A good match, I thought. I liked the way he backed her up without forcing himself on her—or for that matter, any of us. He was respectful and pleasant with my father—not acting like one of the roosters that strutted the streets of Key West, crowing over the rights to their hens. I sighed, feeling a twinge of envy, and dialed up Rory’s father.

“Who’s calling?” he answered, his voice frosty like a man who suspected an onslaught of telemarketers, or political pollsters.

“It’s Hayley Snow,” I stammered. “Your son Rory’s stepsister?” Sounding weak and uncertain, as if there was some question about whether that relationship even existed, I scrambled to regain my composure. “I’m sorry to have to call you with some bad news. Rory’s been involved in an accident.”

I heard him suck in a big breath.

“Is he all right? What kind of accident?”

I gave him the stark details of finding Rory on the boat, his transfer to the hospital, and his coma, leaving out the fact that we’d lost him on Duval Street less than twelve hours into the visit.

He began to pelt me with questions. “What are the doctors saying? Do I need to come down there? Is his life in danger?” And most infuriating: “I knew it was a bad idea to let him go. How the hell did she let this happen?”

“Allison or my father will call you a little later with more up-to-date information,” I said, my voice tight with forced politeness. “But if he had been in serious danger, they would have airlifted him to Miami immediately. The worst cases always go out that way. I suspect the police will be calling you shortly.”

“Why in god’s name are the cops involved?”

I paused to breathe and summon up more nerve. “He may have been involved in the theft of a Jet Ski.”

“He stole a goddamn Jet Ski?”

I squirmed silently, wondering how much to say, deciding to ignore that question and try to turn the tables. “What was his frame of mind before he left on the trip?”

Rory’s father snorted. “His frame of mind? He’s a teenager for Christ’s sake. Grouchy. Rude. Uncooperative.”

Which sounded an awful lot like the man I was speaking with, only he lacked the excuse of puberty. I cut off another piece of glazed doughnut for moral support and popped it into my mouth. “Was there anything in particular he was looking forward to about the trip?”

“Look, I have no idea what you’re trying to get at here. Exactly how did he get hurt?”

Was there any chance of making a connection with him so I could learn more about what was in Rory’s mind before he hit Key West? Slim to none, but I had to try.

“Honestly, we don’t yet know what happened,” I said. “I suppose he could have tripped and fallen and hit his head. But they have to consider that someone might have attacked him and fled. There’s too little information to be able to say right now. But the police are very good on this island, and they are looking over the boat very carefully and making inquiries at the mooring where we found him. They will find the person who did this—bet on it.” I paused. “Allison says you’ve enrolled Rory in military school next fall. How was he feeling about that?”

Silence. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t care how he was feeling about it,” he said. “He needs discipline. A lot of it. This little stunt just reinforces that decision. Except I never should have allowed him to go on this junket. His mother has no idea about setting limits. Never has.” He hung up abruptly.

Poor Rory. Poor Allison. My father was right—his relationship with Mom looked like a Woodstock lovefest compared to that of Allison and her unpleasant ex. And this was what I found baffling and frightening about marriages. How did smart people manage to make such lousy choices? Which reminded me about Connie and Ray, one choice that didn’t seem lousy. And yet she seemed determined to throw it away. I dialed Ray’s number.

“Hi, Hayley.” His voice sounded morose. I swallowed back the questions that I had planned to ask about the wedding—better to ease into that sensitive subject.

“Do you need any extra hands with the show this afternoon?”

“We’re in good shape,” he said. “Nance from the gallery is handling everything. I’m still in shock that they wanted my paintings.”

“Your paintings are amazing,” I said. “It’s just taken a while for the world to realize that.”

“Thanks,” he said. “The reception starts at five. You’re welcome to come by earlier.”

He wasn’t offering anything about Connie or her father or the wedding. But I had to know.

“I’m worried about Connie. Can you tell me what’s really going on? I know she’s concerned about Rory, but canceling the whole wedding? That seems extreme. Won’t you guys lose a fortune?” Which wasn’t what I meant to say at all. I meant to ask why he’d fight with her father. Had something gone terribly wrong between them? But I let the words sit.

“The money doesn’t matter.” After a pause, he said in a small, sad voice: “I can’t talk about it.”

I gave it one more shot. It probably wasn’t fair for me to be furious with him, but I was. “At the shower last night she glowed—she seemed like she was floating, she was that happy to see him.”

Subtext:
What the H-E-double L, Ray?

He said nothing.

“Could you call Connie’s dad, maybe apologize and ask him to come back?”

“No. And I can’t talk about it,” he said, sounding even sadder. “You’ll have to ask Connie.”

I heaved a big sigh. “Have you already called the vendors?” I asked. “At least let me do that for you.” I scribbled down the numbers he gave me and assured him we’d be at the opening, unless Rory took a horrible turn for the worse. Or unless Connie threw down the gauntlet and suggested that to be her friend, I couldn’t be his. I’d feel bad about cutting him off, but if sides had to be chosen, I’d choose hers.

Once we’d hung up, I started making calls, beginning with the caterer, Jennifer Cornell aka the Small Chef at Large, whom I knew slightly from her work at several other parties. She had always struck me as professional and reasonable. This morning, I was hoping for a strong showing on both counts.

“It’s Hayley Snow,” I said when she answered. “I’m calling about Connie Arp’s wedding?”

“I’m sorry to hear it’s off,” she said. “We always feel bad when that happens.”

“Here’s the thing,” I said. “I’m still trying to figure out why she’s canceling. A lot of people are already in town for the week.” I sighed. “And Ray’s parents arrive today from Idaho. Supposing she changes her mind in a day or two and wants to go forward. Would that even be possible? Could we put the cancellation on hold?”

“Sadly, I can’t refund the money anyway,” Jennifer said. “We’ve already bought the food and hired the staff. I can certainly wait a bit and see if they change their minds.”

“Sounds like this isn’t the first time you’ve had a wedding canceled.”

Jennifer laughed. “Definitely not the first. I’ve seen cases where the man freaks out and can’t go through with it,” she said. “Or an old flame shows up. Or a serious affair is exposed. Or a family member pulls the plug on the funds, something like that. But every once in a while, one of the parties has been feeling uncertain for a while. When the reality of the wedding sets in, they bail out. And better sooner than later, I always say.”

Jennifer agreed to hold off on trying to sell anything she’d purchased—at least for a couple of days. I thanked her for her flexibility.

None of her theories seemed to match what had happened with Connie. I puzzled over all the boyfriends I’d heard Connie talk about since I’d known her. Yes, there was a boy in high school who broke her heart and took another girl to the prom. Yet I’d never heard one yearning word about him, only sadness for the jilted girl she’d been back then. And for the prom gown she’d bought for the dance but didn’t get to wear. And she’d dated a few guys during our college years, but most of her energy then had been taken up with supporting her mother as she struggled with virulent cancer. And then facing the reality of her death, pretty much alone, except for my family and me. Her dad had moved out during her senior year in high school and her parents were divorced before the cancer struck. As angry as she’d been, Connie mourned her father’s absence in her life. Ray had to know that. He had to know how much Keith’s presence would mean to her now.