A Bite of Blueberry Page 7
With a frown on her face, Priscilla watched him go. Where had he come from? And where was he going? She hadn’t even gotten his name in the exchange.
A familiar shriek from the other side of the street caught her attention. She checked the street quickly. At nearly eleven, even the most avid tourist had turned in for the night in the neighboring towns’ hotels. When she reached her front door, Priscilla was keyed up and ready to attack whatever had caused Anna to scream.
When she burst into the lobby of the shop, she found Anna, once again, on the counter, facing down a frog.
It drew a startled laugh out of Priscilla, who’d been expecting to find a human intruder attacking her assistant. Instead, the noisy bullfrog was hopping up and down, croaking incessantly.
“I went to feed him and he escaped,” Anna explained. “He just jumped right out!”
“You know you didn’t have to remove the terrarium lid,” Priscilla said, bending to scoop Joseph off her floor. “There’s a slot where you can feed him.”
“I didn’t know that,” Anna half sobbed. “Just please get it away, Priscilla. I hate those things.”
Stifling another laugh, Priscilla tucked the frog under her arm and strode toward the counter. She bumped the divider with her hip, ignoring the frog’s struggles and her assistant’s shriek of protest as they passed.
Priscilla hesitated when she reached the top of the stairs. “You’re just going to keep pulling the same escape routine if I put you back in the terrarium, aren’t you?”
The frog’s throat swelled in response. She was becoming more and more convinced that Joseph Reed’s human intellect remained inside the frog’s body. It was already bad enough he’d been cursed to live as a frog, but to be stuffed in a tank and fed worms? That was an indignity no one should have to suffer. She set the frog down on her floor and crossed her arms.
“If I give you free rein in my bathroom, can I trust you to behave until you return to human shape? I’ll set up a little pond for you in there and give you fish to hunt. Would that be acceptable? One sound for no, two for yes.”
The bullfrog seemed to consider it for a few seconds before making two loud sounds in the back of its throat. Priscilla sighed. It was a sacrifice she’d have to be willing to make so her business would run smoothly. She was helping Arthur solve a murder investigation; the least he could do would be to allow her to use his shower.
Priscilla lifted the terrarium from its resting place beneath the sunlamp and carried it into her bathroom. It took her about ten minutes to unload all the rocks and flora she’d placed inside for Joseph to enjoy. She also had to pick out the half-eaten bits of worm he’d left floating in the water. She’d have enough cleanup to do after Joseph became human again. She didn’t want to clean up dead worm as well.
When that was all done, she put the stopper in her drain and poured the murky water into her bathtub. She’d need more to fill it, but this would do for now. She placed the rocks all over the bottom of her tub and then replaced the flora she’d selected.
The frog was waiting for her in the doorway, watching her every move. She bent so she could look it in the eye. “I’m sorry this has happened to you, Joseph. But I need to solve a murder. It would help me if you could just behave until the spell wears off. You won’t stay like this forever.”
In answer, the bullfrog took a running leap and splashed into the water in her tub. She smiled faintly. “Thank you, Joseph. That means a lot to me.”
She closed the door gently behind her, leaving the frog to enjoy its new temporary home. Downstairs, she cleaned her hands thoroughly in the sink and put on a pair of gloves for good measure. Since she refused to shear her hair off to acceptable health code standards, she also was forced to don a hairnet while she cooked.
“Is he back in?” Anna asked. She’d climbed off the counter while Priscilla had been upstairs.
“Sort of. He’s taken up temporary residence in my bathroom. You’ll have to visit Landry’s if you need to go.”
Anna made a face. “You’re letting it live in your tub, Priscilla? I don’t think that’s very hygienic.”
“It isn’t, but neither is letting it hop around my shop. Did it get into any of our food this time?”
“No.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. At least one thing had gone right. “Good. Take a break, Anna. You’ve earned it.”
Anna peered at her with no small amount of concern on her face. “Are you going to be all right, Priscilla?”
“I’ll be fine,” Priscilla snapped.
“Translation, I’m stressed, so stop bothering me, Anna,” her assistant surmised.
Priscilla’s shoulders slumped and her eyes pricked. Not being able to cry was a pain at times. It would have been cathartic to keen at a time like this.
“Nothing has gone right for the last three days.” Priscilla leaned most of her weight on the center island in her kitchen. “First this frog situation, and then Ava’s arrival. Benedict Montgomery was murdered, right under my nose, and I can’t get my godmother to give me any information, magical or otherwise. I might be sending your father on a wild goose chase. At this point, we have no idea who killed Benedict, just that they weren’t using a traditional gun.”
Anna sighed. “It’s a tough one. Have you thought about closing up shop for a few days, just to recuperate? You knew the society contract was going to be hard on you, even without the murder.”
“I can’t close my doors now,” Priscilla said. “I’m fairly sure that Lucas and Nora Montgomery will never let them open again. Clarissa is certain I had something to do with her brother’s death.”
“That might be, but you haven’t lost the society contract. Catherine Quentin called. She’s taken over for Nora for the time being. They still want you to cater.”
“What?” Priscilla couldn’t believe her ears. After all the poor publicity she’d been getting of late, she hadn’t expected anyone to request her services, let alone from the very contract which had caused the uproar.
Anna shrugged. “I guess she likes you. She was such a fan of your food that she wants a breakfast-themed spread. A cake is necessary, of course, but she wants it to be a blueberry breakfast special. She also wants two dozen apple turnovers, two dozen banana and blueberry parfaits, and salmon. I forwarded that order to Olivia, because it wasn’t really our specialty.”
Priscilla was floored. Not only was she still employed, she had forty-nine desserts to prepare in less than twenty-four hours. She’d have done more prep, if she’d ever dreamed she’d be allowed to keep the contract.
“I’d better get started then,” she muttered to herself.
“Will you need help?”
“Some,” she admitted. “Are you sure you aren’t too tired?”
Anna’s smile seemed to erase the dark circles beneath her eyes, at least for a moment. “Are you kidding? I’m down for anything.”
“Good. Let’s get going then.”
Chapter Seven
Arthur squinted at the drawing she’d given him.
“Is it a porcupine?” he asked.
Priscilla sighed. For all of her talents decorating cakes, she apparently wasn’t as good an artist on paper. “No, it’s a star.”
Anna was trying unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle behind her hand.
Priscilla glared at the pair of them. “It’s not funny. I’m trying to help.”
Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think this is going to show up in any database, Priscilla. Could you maybe show me a picture?”
“Gee, if only I hadn’t left it in my other pair of jeans,” she said. “I don’t happen to have one, Arthur. This is the best I can do.”
“If this is your best, then we’re back to square one,” Arthur said. “It looks like a hairball.”
“It’s a star!”
“Oh, you two are hopeless,” Anna said, then yawned hugely. It was almost three in the morning, and all the turnovers had been placed in the oven. Priscilla had
already baked the cake, and wanted to prepare the parfaits closer to time. If she was lucky, she might get six hours of sleep before the benefit.
“Are not,” she and Arthur said at the same time. She exchanged a glance with the chief for a second and then looked away, embarrassed.
“Haven’t you heard of the internet?” Anna asked. “It would at least be a place to start.”
Honestly, in all the commotion, she hadn’t even thought about searching for the tattoo on the internet. Priscilla did own a computer, though she seldom used it except to check on her web page. Technology was something of a mystery to her, and she’d been using the same laptop for close to five years.
Anna fiddled with her cell phone and presented them with a screenful of images a few seconds later. There were hundreds of pictures. Some of them depicted shooting stars, nautical stars, Celtic knots in the shape of stars, stars with skulls in them; even the Star of David made frequent appearances in the search results.
Priscilla was despairing of ever finding the right design when Anna scrolled right past it.
“Wait! Back up. That’s the one.”
“The Elven star?” she asked, pointing to the seven-pointed star.
“No. The one right there.” She indicated the one with five green marks that composed a star. “This is the one he has.”
“Uh-oh,” Arthur said.
“Uh-oh?”
Arthur pursed his lips and shook his head. “It’s not definitive, Priscilla. It’s compelling, but not something I can take to court. People these days get tattoos without knowing their meaning.”
“What does it mean?” Priscilla pressed. “Why do you look concerned?”
“Did he have anything else on his body? More tattoos? Maybe a scroll and a dagger?”
She nodded. “There was one like that on his neck, just beneath his chin. It said something like ... morte prima di disonore.”
“Death before dishonor,” Arthur muttered. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.”
“You know Italian?”
“Emily’s great grandmother was an Italian immigrant. She taught me some before she passed,” he explained.
“So what does that mean, Daddy?” Anna asked.
“It doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” he hedged.
“All right, what do you think it means?” Priscilla asked.
Arthur sighed. “The scroll and dagger tattoo is typically seen on military men in Italy. It doesn’t mean anything by itself. But the star means that he is, or was, part of the Sicilian mafia.”
Priscilla stared at him. “You mean that he’s a mobster?”
“I can’t prove anything. This doesn’t confirm that he had anything to do with Benedict’s death. I can’t arrest him for having the tattoo. If he’s not actively involved in anything illegal, I can’t bring him in.”
“It has to be him, Arthur. What are the chances that a mobster comes to town and the very next day, a kid dies? He doesn’t have an alibi.”
“He also doesn’t have any motive, Priscilla,” Arthur argued. “Why would he want to kill this kid? From what I can gather, he’s just a magician in LA. He doesn’t even have any speeding tickets or DUIs. This guy is squeaky clean. Aside from having an unfortunate tattoo, he’s not guilty of anything.”
Priscilla stared down at her hands, clenched into fists on one of her tables. She had never felt so helpless. She could sense that Martino was dirty. How could she prove it?
The timer beeped and she got up to flip the apple turnovers. Her entire shop smelled strongly of cinnamon. When Landry’s reopened at eight, she’d purchase more blueberries and bananas to complete the rest of the order. She put on mitts and carefully maneuvered the trays out of the oven.
Once upon a time, she’d thought it a clever idea to name her treats to mirror the kitschy nature of the tourist trade in Bellmare. Now it just seemed like poor taste on her part. These were listed as “poisoned apple turnovers” in her display book. But considering that a girl had been poisoned, and Priscilla had once been a suspect, it no longer seemed that funny.
How was she supposed to get the information she needed now? If she hadn’t been so pushy at Noah’s, perhaps she could have wheedled the information out of Avalon at a later date. As it was, she would be lucky to get Avalon to speak to her, let alone appear and volunteer the information required. In other circumstances, her godmother’s absence would have made her happy. Right now, it simply irritated her.
“Something wrong with the turnovers?” Anna asked. “You’ve been staring at them for a long time.”
With a start, Priscilla realized that she had indeed been glaring at the turnovers for a matter of minutes. She hastily retrieved a spatula, flipped the turnovers, and popped them back in the oven.
How did she draw Avalon in and corner her? How did she get the answers about Martino that would prove his guilt?
Arthur finished the cookie he’d been eating, wadded up his napkin and tossed it into the trash.
“Thanks for the snack, Priscilla. I could still pay, you know.”
“It’s fine,” she said absently.
“I’ll have to get going. I need to get some shut-eye sometime. See you tomorrow night.”
Priscilla only nodded. There wasn’t much she could think of to entice Avalon. Most of the tricks she could use would summon all fae in the vicinity, not just her godmother. And the use of Avalon’s name was dangerous. Avalon could make life a living nightmare for her—not that it wasn’t one already—if she used it often. The only surefire thing that was going to draw Avalon out of her hidey hole was the news that Priscilla had somehow gotten engaged.
It hit her like a ton of proverbial bricks. There was a way. It was risky, and honestly, a little embarrassing, but if it helped her solve a murder …
“Arthur, wait!” she called after him.
He turned, one hand on her door. “What is it?”
“I think I have a way to get more information. But you won’t like it.”
“It doesn’t involve anything illegal, does it? We can’t go breaking and entering.”
“It doesn’t,” she assured him. “It’s just a little ... embarrassing.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’m listening.”
Priscilla took a deep breath to fortify herself and then blurted it out.
“Arthur, will you go on a date with me?”
Poison Apple Turnovers
I originally learned this recipe during a brief sabbatical in France. We used apples from the tree that grew in her backyard to make turnovers. They turned out well, don’t you agree?
—Priscilla Pratt
Ingredients:
2 Granny Smith apples (chopped)
2 sheets of puff pastry
½ tsp cinnamon
6 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp lemon juice
2 tbsp coarse sugar
Directions
First things first, preheat your oven to 375 degrees and prepare a baking sheet.
Then get a small bowl and combine 2 tsp sugar and 1/2 tsp cinnamon cinnamon. In a large bowl mix the apples with the rest of the sugar and lemon juice. Let this sit for about 5 minutes and then drain and save any excess juice.
Roll your puff pastry into a rectangle and cut it into 6 even squares. In the middle of each square add a tablespoon of the apple mixture. Brush the edges with the reserved juice and fold from corner to corner making a triangle. Using a fork, crimp the edge to create a seal. Repeat this process until you fill all the squares. Place in the freezer for about 15 minutes or until you are ready to bake.
When baking, brush the tops with a little bit of apple juice and sprinkle some cinnamon on top. Place onto your baking sheet and bake for roughly 20 minutes, longer if needed, but no more than 25 minutes. Serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for the perfect treat.
Chapter Eight
“What?” Anna and Arthur nearly shouted in unison.
Priscilla winced. That had been too loud.
“I don’t see what that has to do with a ... a date!” Arthur exclaimed, stumbling over the words in his panic.
“That’s nuts, Priscilla!” Anna exclaimed, still on the verge of shouting. “Dad’s not ready to date yet.”
“It’s not a date, date. I just need to put the rumor out into the ether. Avalon will latch onto it and then I can catch her.”
“Hey, now,” Arthur said. “I’m a grown man, Anna. I can date if I want to. Not that I’m saying I want to. That is to say, you’re a beautiful woman, Priscilla, but—” he blew out a breath. “Oh hell.”
“Forget I said anything,” Priscilla said. “It was a bad idea anyway.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to date me?” Arthur demanded.
“For Pete’s sake, Arthur, make up your mind. Do you want to go out with me or not? I’m not asking you to make a commitment. I was just going to see if you’d accompany me to the Debutante ball tonight. You could even consider it an extension of your police duties. I doubt Martino is going to stop at just Benedict if this is a mob-related crime.”
“If it’s Martino Romano. Which we can’t definitively prove.”
“Yet,” she stressed. “So, will you go?”
Arthur was silent for a long moment before he asked, “Do I have to dress up?”
“You can wear nothing but a feather boa for all I care, Arthur.”
Heat suffused his cheeks and he looked down at the floor. “I’m no good at dating, Priscilla. Heaven knows how I managed to snag Emily.”
Priscilla looked away, guilt twisting her stomach into knots. It hadn’t been long since Emily Sharp, Arthur’s wife and Priscilla’s close friend, had passed on. Her death had been sudden and completely unexpected. A brain aneurysm, the doctors said. Three to five million Americans had such abnormal bulges on their brain, and almost none of them knew it. If aneurysms were caught early, they could sometimes be treated.