“Right.” He added in a dry tone, “I can wear raggedy clothes and black out a couple of teeth so I look like a miner.”
“I hadn’t thought of that, but great idea!”
Jeff rose. He approached Dee and gingerly removed the jar from her hand. “No more shaking. Sit down and eat.” He guided her to the table and gently pushed her into a chair.
Dee poked at her eggs. “I’m going to take a break from setting up the guest rooms. It only reminds me we don’t have any guests. I’ll go back to searching Jasper’s stuff to see if I can finally find what Michael was looking for.”
“Excellent. After breakfast, I’m paying Verity a visit. If I amp up the flirting, maybe she’ll back off trying to destroy us.”
“Good luck to you. Like Tennyson wrote in ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade,’ ‘Into the valley of death rode the techie.’ ” Dee picked up the jar and unscrewed the lid. She peeked inside. “Wow, I actually made butter. This could work.” She held the jar up to Jeff. “You may not have to black out your teeth after all.”
CHAPTER 28
Jeff left, hoping to work some magic with Verity. Dee dragged one of Jasper’s trunks out from under the bed. She pushed open the lid and was assailed by the scent of mothballs and mold. Coughing, she shut the trunk. “I’m not feeling this today, Nugs,” she said to the mutt, who’d padded in after her.
He rolled over, exposing his tummy for a rub. Dee complied. As she rubbed, the thought crossed her mind that she’d never received an update from Raul regarding the investigation into her drugging. She finished Nug’s tummy rub and texted the sheriff to see if he’d uncovered anything. She pressed Send and her phone rang. Dee checked and saw the caller was her father, not the sheriff. She accepted the call.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, sweetie. Sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you happened to see my fat black Magic Marker when you were here. I can’t find it anywhere.”
“No, sorry. It probably rolled under the couch when you were making a protest sign.”
“Hmm, I didn’t think of that. Hold on.” There was a brief pause. “Found it. Thanks, Deedle Dee.”
“Glad I made myself useful to someone.” The comment came out more acidic than Dee intended.
“Things not going well, huh?” There was a beat of awkward silence. Then he said in a deep voice, “This sounds like a job for Super String Man. Able to tie up villains and problems with a nice, neat bow.”
“No.” Dee’s patience with everything, including The Man of a Million Voices, hit rock bottom. “No voices. I need my father right now, not Super String Man or Tweety Sweety or Colonel Cluck. Please, Dad.” She began to cry. “Please.”
“Aw, Deedle Dee.” Struggling with how to respond, Sam tried another voice, this time a deep baritone. “Baby dumplin’.” There was a pause. Then Sam spoke as himself. “Delilah Annabel Stern, you are a brave, amazing young woman. I am so proud of you for taking a chance like you did, and Mom would have been too. I’m looking forward to a stay at the Golden, which, I know, is going to be a huge success because you are running it, and there’s nothing you can’t do. Besides, I need a break from clicking that airplane noise complaint button. I’m developing arthritis in my thumb.”
Dee burst out laughing. She wiped away tears that had dribbled down her cheeks. “You’re the best dad ever. I love you.”
“Not as much as I love you,” Sam teased. He grew serious. “Sweetie, you do know I’m always here if you need me.”
“I do.”
Dee ended the call with a promise to keep her dad posted. She leaned back against the bed, taking a moment to replay the conversation. Traumatic as recent events had been, they’d led to an unexpected breakthrough with her father—and for that, she’d be forever grateful.
She got up and went to her nightstand, where she rummaged through its single drawer until she found a mask left over from the pandemic. Dee looped the mask over her ears and flipped open the odiferous trunk’s lid a second time, determined to accomplish something, even if all she did was fill up a few garbage bags with Jasper Gormley detritus.
* * *
As it turned out, that’s exactly what Dee did. But she gave herself credit for decluttering. And once the trunk was aired out, it would add a nice historical touch to the Golden lobby.
Dee’s stomach growled. She checked her phone and was shocked to see it was 5:30 p.m. “I worked through lunch,” she said to Nugget, whose bark indicated he had no intention of missing a meal. She fed and walked him, then decided to treat herself to dinner at the All-in-One.
Raul called during her drive over there. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch. The cabin fire bumped your spiked punch down my to-do list. Apologies for that. But I do have an update. We lucked out on this one. The hoedown barn has security cameras, which were running during the party. Footage showed what looked like Radinsky hitting on Liza Chen. She brushed him off, but he stuck around. When she poured the glass of punch, he bumped her from behind and used the distraction to doctor the drink. He meant it for her. He didn’t know she’d poured it for you.”
Dee frowned, frustrated by another dead end. “So it had nothing to do with Michael’s murder.”
“Afraid not. I brought Liza in and she corroborated that Shawn was coming on to her. Apparently, it’s been an ongoing problem to the point where his behavior with her bordered on stalking.”
“And no clue about who set our cabin on fire?”
“Not yet. Jeff gave us access to the video from your security cameras. Whoever set the fire knew how to dodge them. But the arson investigator is working on it too. He may be able to track down the perp through the accelerant they used.”
Dee heard a trumpet blast in the background of Raul’s call. “Where are you?”
“Fresno. It’s my abuela’s seventieth birthday and the mariachi band just showed up at the restaurant. They’re pretty loud.” Raul sounded embarrassed.
“Thanks for calling. Now go have fun. And wish your abuela happy birthday from me.”
Dee pulled into the All-in-One parking lot, aggravated by the status of the investigations into both the murders and the fire. She went inside and made a right to the café area. Elmira, who was manning the buffet she’d laid out for the evening meal, greeted Dee with a warm smile. “Well, hey there. I’ve been thinking about you.”
Dee gave her friend a light hug and picked up a plate. “I’m so glad to be here I can’t tell you. I’m starving.”
Elmira motioned to large trays of food being warmed over Sterno cans. “We’ve got ribs—pork and beef—roast chicken, mac and cheese, and a token green vegetable.” She pointed to a tray of bright green broccoli. “Pile your plate high, honey. It’s on the house.”
Dee protested, but Elmira shut her down. “It’s a slow night, and I refuse to let food go to waste. You’ll be taking containers home with you too.”
Dee did as ordered. She took a seat at an empty table. Elmira joined her, holding a beer in each hand. She gave one to Dee, whose mouth was full of macaroni and cheese, so she nodded thanks. Elmira might be the world’s worst baker, but the woman knew her way around side dishes. If cooking was an art, while baking was chemistry, the All-in-One proprietor was an artist, but no chemist.
“What did you do to this mac and cheese to make it the best I ever tasted?” Dee asked after ingesting another large forkful.
“Used a proprietary blend of cheeses from a recipe handed down through generations of Willikers,” Elmira said. “No one can share it under penalty of death.” She winked, then realized what she’d said. “Apologies. Very poor choice of words.”
