Killer Crab Cakes (18 page)

It was a motive for murder, and Phyllis had learned that the question of whether a motive was good enough could be answered only by the person who committed the murder. Whatever the motive, it had been good enough for him or her to lace Ed McKenna’s leftover crab cakes with poison, that was certain.

“How many times?” Consuela said.

Bianca blinked up at her. “Mama?”

“How many times did this happen? How many times did you degrade yourself for that man?”

“Just the once, I swear. I . . . I was too ashamed to do it again, even though Mr. Blaine wanted me to. That’s the truth, Mama.”

“Where was Mrs. Blaine when it happened?” Phyllis asked.

“She had gone shopping with their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Forrest. It was one morning when Mr. Blaine told them he didn’t feel good. I came in to clean and he was still in the room. I told him I would come back later, but he said it was all right. He had his computer open on the table, but I didn’t pay any attention to what was on it until he . . . he showed me. There were pictures of women . . . and he said he would pay me if I would let him take pictures like that . . .” Bianca took a deep, ragged breath. “I started to run out of the room—”

“You should have,” Consuela said.

“But then I thought of the money . . . and he promised he wouldn’t hurt me, and that nobody would ever find out . . . and I thought maybe it would be okay—”

“You thought wrong,” Consuela said.

“I know that now, Mama. But then I didn’t. So I said I’d do it. It didn’t take long, and then . . . and then I put my clothes on and left. That was all. I swear it on the Blessed Virgin.”

Consuela crossed herself, then glared down at her daughter. “You’re gonna be grounded for so long—”

“Mama, I’m eighteen! You can’t ground me.”

Consuela snorted again. “You don’t think so? You just watch!”

Phyllis wanted to stay out of this part. She had come to the kitchen to make sure that Bianca was all right, as well as to ask a few questions of her own. Now that she was satisfied she had learned all she could from the young woman, at least for now, she would leave the rest of it to Consuela.

She gave Consuela a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and then left the room, returning to the parlor. The Blaines and the Forrests were nowhere in sight, and Frances Heaton and her brothers were gone, too, as were Charles Jefferson and Roger Fadiman. Nick and Kate Thompson were still sitting there with Sam, Carolyn, and Eve, though, and Tom Anselmo paced back and forth across the rug, pausing occasionally to smack his right fist lightly into his left palm.

Theresa met Phyllis just inside the door. “How’s Bianca?” she asked.

“Well, she’s upset, of course—” Phyllis began.

“Of course she’s upset,” Tom said. “She acted like a slut.”

Theresa rounded on him. “
Papi!
Don’t talk like that. You know better. You know Bianca is a good girl.”

“Good girls don’t do what she did,” her father said with a stubborn shake of his head.

“They do if they make a mistake. I know Bianca. I know she didn’t think it would hurt anything. And really, what
did
it hurt?”

“She shamed herself and her family!”

“The shame is in your eyes,” Theresa said.

“The shame is in the eyes of anybody who’s decent,” Tom insisted. He flung his hands in the air. “Ah, I’m not gonna argue about this! I’ll go mow the grass. I got to have something to do!”

He stomped out of the room, and Theresa headed for the kitchen to join her mother and sister.

Nick Thompson looked around and said, “Boy, lot of fireworks today, huh?”

“Don’t make fun of it,” his wife scolded. “Those people are really upset.”

“I’m not making fun of it,” Nick said. “It’s just that murder really brings out everybody’s dirty laundry, doesn’t it?”

“I never thought that Mr. Blaine would have done such a sleazy thing,” Kate said.

“I’m not a bit surprised,” Carolyn said. “I didn’t like him right from the start. I could tell that he was a terrible man.”

And Carolyn didn’t even know everything that was going on, Phyllis thought.

“That Charles Jefferson was certainly a handsome, well-dressed man, though,” Eve put in.

“Oh, don’t start,” Carolyn said. “Anyway, I’m sure he has a wife. A trophy wife, more than likely, some nipped and tucked and silicone-enhanced twenty-five-year-old.”

“I don’t think they use silicone implants anymore, dear. They turned out not to be safe. Of course,
I
never needed anything to attract a man other than what the Good Lord gave me.”

Carolyn rolled her eyes. Phyllis sat down and forestalled any more bickering between the two of them by saying, “Jefferson certainly had heard of Ed McKenna before. That was a surprise.”

“McKenna was in the same business as Jefferson, right?” Sam asked.

“A related business. Jefferson’s company designs guidance systems for the aeronautics industry. McKenna’s company actually manufactures electronic components.”

Carolyn frowned at Phyllis. “You’ve been studying up on these people, haven’t you? I knew you were going to try to solve the murder.”

“I just want everything cleared up before it ruins things for Dorothy and Ben,” Phyllis said. “If Chief Clifton or somebody else—anybody else!—solves the murder, that’s just fine with me.”

“With your competitive nature? That’s a laugh.”

Eve leaned toward Sam and laughed. “Pot, meet Kettle.”

“I heard that,” Carolyn snapped.

Nick said, “You know, if there
is
some sort of connection between Jefferson and McKenna, then maybe
he
had something to do with the murder. Maybe McKenna was standing in the way of some business plans Jefferson has, and he decided to get rid of the old guy.”

“I don’t know,” Kate said. “He didn’t look like the kind of man who would break into somebody’s house and poison some crab cakes.”

“Well, he probably wouldn’t do it himself, of course. But he could hire somebody to do it. Or get somebody who already works for him to do it.”

“Like Leo Blaine?” Phyllis asked.

Nick nodded. “That’s what I was thinking.”

“Or maybe Mrs. Forrest,” Kate suggested. “She’s Mr. Jefferson’s daughter, after all. And did you see the pathetic way she kept trying to get his attention? He must not have ever paid any attention to her when she was a kid. I’m sure she’d do anything to try to please him.”

“Maybe, maybe,” Nick agreed, sitting forward in his chair. “Hey, we’re really getting into the spirit of this detective stuff, aren’t we? Maybe
we
could solve this murder, honey.”

“Oh, no. This is a vacation, remember? At least, it was supposed to be before poor Mr. McKenna dropped dead.”

“Yeah, but people go on mystery cruises and things like that, where there’s a murder for them to solve.”

“A
fake
murder,” Kate said. “This is the real thing.”

Nick looked a little ashamed of himself. “Yeah, that’s true. McKenna’s really dead. It’s not a game, is it?”

It wasn’t a game at all, Phyllis thought. It was real, deadly real.

But Nick had definitely been right about one thing.

Murder brought out everyone’s dirty laundry . . . and Phyllis had a feeling that there was plenty of dirt that hadn’t even seen the light of day yet.

I
t was a subdued lunch. The Blaines and the Forrests didn’t come down to eat and didn’t go out, either. They remained in their rooms. Phyllis kept an ear out for the sound of things being thrown. She would have to intercede if Jessica started heaving things at Leo. She couldn’t allow them to bust up Dorothy’s furnishings.

Everything was quiet, though . . . almost ominously so.

Nick and Kate shared lunch with Phyllis, Sam, Carolyn, and Eve. They seemed to have forgotten about worrying over whether the food might be poisoned. They hadn’t forgotten the murder, though, and were still discussing various possibilities.

“I think this guy Jefferson is the key to the whole thing, myself,” Nick said. “He’s rich, and where you’ve got a lot of money in play, you’ve got a motive for murder.”

“And we all saw the way he reacted when he heard Mr. McKenna’s name,” Kate asked. “There’s definitely some sort of connection there.”

Phyllis said, “I’m sure the police will look into that. Chief Clifton and his daughter both strike me as competent investigators.”

“But you’re better, Mrs. Newsom,” Nick said. “Heck, from what I’ve heard about you, I’ll bet you’ve solved more murders than those cops have. How often do they have unsolved murders in a place like this?”

“I don’t know,” Phyllis admitted. “Probably not that often.”

“So Mr. Thompson’s right,” Carolyn said. “You’re better qualified to investigate what happened.”

Phyllis shook her head. “You’re forgetting that I have no official standing to question anybody.”

Carolyn snorted and said, “That never stopped you before, did it?”

Phyllis knew there was no point in being irritated with her old friend’s attitude. And she supposed that Carolyn had a point. She had poked into things in the past without any official standing. She could do it again. She
wanted
to do it again.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

“I’d start with Oliver McKenna, if I were you,” Nick suggested. “It seemed to me like he knew something about the connection between his father and Jefferson.”

That had seemed possible to Phyllis, too. She nodded but didn’t commit herself to anything.

After lunch was over, she went out into the kitchen, where Consuela was cleaning up. The woman’s face still bore lines of strain from the confrontation with her daughter earlier that day, but she was going about her work with her usual enthusiasm.

“Let me give you a hand,” Phyllis offered.

“That’s not necessary, Mrs. Newsom,” Consuela said. “I just have to finish putting a few things in the dishwasher and get it started; then I can go home for a little while. I already have everything on hand I’ll need for supper, so I don’t have to go to the store.”

“Is Bianca still here?”

Consuela’s face turned stonier. “No, I sent her home. It’s not fair to Theresa, making her do some of her sister’s work that way, but I wanted to get some distance between Bianca and Tom.” She nodded toward the kitchen window. Phyllis heard the lawn mower still running outside. Tom had already had time to cut all the grass. He had to be going back over it again, distracting himself with work from what his daughter had done.

“You know,” Phyllis said, “it’s really none of my business . . . and I admit that I have a son, rather than daughters, and I guess it really is different whether it ought to be or not . . . but I don’t believe that Bianca meant any harm. She just made a decision without thinking it through. Eighteen-year-olds do that all the time. I’ve read that it has to do with how some portions of their brains haven’t developed as much at that age.”

“I raised both my daughters to be good girls,” Consuela insisted. “Bianca knew it was wrong, what that man wanted her to do.” She closed her eyes for a moment and made the sign of the cross. “Thank the Blessed Virgin that she was smart enough not to do anything else.”

“Well, like I said, it’s really none of my business. But from what I’ve seen, Bianca really is a good girl, despite making a mistake, so I hope you won’t be too hard on her.”

“All I know is, it won’t happen again. When Dorothy hears about it, she’ll fire Bianca. She may fire all of us.”

“Oh, no,” Phyllis said. “I can’t see that happening. Dorothy’s very understanding.”

Consuela shrugged. “She won’t have any choice. When word gets around about what happened, it’ll hurt business. She’ll have to let us go.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Phyllis promised. “I’ll make sure she understands that what happened wasn’t Bianca’s fault, and you and Tom and Theresa certainly weren’t to blame. As far as I’m concerned, it would be very unfair to dismiss any of you.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Newsom,” Consuela said, but the tone of dull resignation in her voice made it clear that she didn’t think Phyllis’s efforts would do any good.

“Anyway,” Phyllis added, “I’d think that Mr. McKenna being murdered would have a much worse effect on business than . . . what Bianca did.”

“Maybe so.” Consuela smiled humorlessly. “Be thankful for small favors, eh?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Phyllis began, then stopped as she realized that of course Consuela knew that. After a moment she went on, “But speaking of the murder, do you recall if Mr. McKenna received any mail while he was here, or any unusual phone calls?”

Consuela shrugged. “I don’t think he got any mail, and I don’t remember him ever getting any phone calls while I was around. Of course, in this day and age when everybody’s got a cell phone, anybody who wanted to get in touch with him would have called him directly. They wouldn’t have called the bed-and-breakfast.”