Killer Pancake by Diane Mott Davidson Page B
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Women Detectives, Cooking, Colorado, Caterers and Catering, Cookery, Bear; Goldy (Fictitious Character), Women in the Food Industry
Ads: Link
with an arched eyebrow. She blew out smoke, stuck the cigarette back between her lips, and used both hands to rezip her dress. "Or haven't you heard?" When I shook my head, she shrugged. "I've heard some rumors. You know, got to follow everything up, check everything out. Let's just say I thought the cosmetics place was a good place to start."
I decided to ponder that in silence.
When she'd finished her smoke we walked back to the nightclub, picked up the last batch of boxes, and took them to the van. We chatted about the heat and how we would never in a million years spend the money Mignon was asking for all that night cream, day cream, outside- and inside- and in-between cream. Once the boxes were stacked and secured, I hopped behind the steering wheel, turned on the motor, and thanked Frances again for helping me. As I drove away, I watched her oddly stylish silhouette in my rearview mirror. Just checking out rumors, my feijoada. A new dress, high-heeled shoes, nail polish, and no cigarette for two hours of banquet and presentation? Lucky for me, I knew when she was jiving me.
Sometimes I think my van returns to Aspen Meadow by rote. And it's a good thing too, since I was in no shape to be analytical about anything, least of all driving. I rolled down the windows and filled my lungs with hot air. It wasn't much of a relief after the putrid-smelling warmth of the mall garage. Heat shuddered off the windows and pressed down on the van's roof. My elbow burned the second I accidentally rested it on the fiery chrome. When I started out in the catering business, most of my jobs had' been in Aspen Meadow. So of course I hadn't bothered to get air-conditioning in my vehicle. Occasionally, like today, I regretted making that small saving.
The van wheezed up westbound Interstate 70 and soon the sultry wind flooding the car cooled. Thirty minutes later I pulled over to take a few deep breaths under a pylon of what Aspen Meadow folks call the Ooh-Ah Bridge, nicknamed for its spectacular panoramic view of the Continental Divide. A small herd of buffalo grazed in a fenced meadow near the bridge. I stared dejectedly at them and felt a fresh surge of remorse. Why hadn't I accompanied Claire to her vehicle? Why hadn't I insisted Julian go with her? No, that wouldn't have been a good idea. In his loves- truck state of mind, Julian could have been hit as well. But a contingent of the sheriff's department had been stationed nearby. Why hadn't I insisted a policeman walk with Claire? Why?
Afternoon clouds billowed above the horizon like mutant cauliflower. Below them, the sweep of mountains were deeply shadowed in purple. My ears started to buzz. Tom would be calling. Three dark, stolid-looking buffalo eyed me, blinked, and then shuffled away. I had a sudden memory of Julian reeling out of control as his eyes fluttered shut. Julian was in shock. Next to the road, delicate bluebell blossoms bent in the mountain breeze. Claire, lovely violet-eyed Claire, was dead.
I drove home. I needed to be in my own place, needed a cold beverage, needed most of all to reconnect with my family and friends. When I came through the back door, the place felt empty and unusually stuffy. Irritation snaked up my spine. Because of the security system I'd been forced to install to keep my periodically violent ex-husband at bay, the windows stayed shut - and therefore wired - in my absence. I'd been tempted to disable the system once I was married to a formidable, gun-toting policeman. But Tom promptly vetoed that idea. You never know when he might turn up, he warned. I can't always be around. But it was okay now, I'd protested. The Jerk wouldn't dare bother me with a policeman in residence. Although he was ridiculously vain about being a doctor, my ex-husband was basically a coward. You haven't seen ex-husband jealousy the way I've seen it, Tom replied flatly. Believe me, you don't want to was the unspoken end of that warning.
Anyway, I'd given up trying to
I decided to ponder that in silence.
When she'd finished her smoke we walked back to the nightclub, picked up the last batch of boxes, and took them to the van. We chatted about the heat and how we would never in a million years spend the money Mignon was asking for all that night cream, day cream, outside- and inside- and in-between cream. Once the boxes were stacked and secured, I hopped behind the steering wheel, turned on the motor, and thanked Frances again for helping me. As I drove away, I watched her oddly stylish silhouette in my rearview mirror. Just checking out rumors, my feijoada. A new dress, high-heeled shoes, nail polish, and no cigarette for two hours of banquet and presentation? Lucky for me, I knew when she was jiving me.
Sometimes I think my van returns to Aspen Meadow by rote. And it's a good thing too, since I was in no shape to be analytical about anything, least of all driving. I rolled down the windows and filled my lungs with hot air. It wasn't much of a relief after the putrid-smelling warmth of the mall garage. Heat shuddered off the windows and pressed down on the van's roof. My elbow burned the second I accidentally rested it on the fiery chrome. When I started out in the catering business, most of my jobs had' been in Aspen Meadow. So of course I hadn't bothered to get air-conditioning in my vehicle. Occasionally, like today, I regretted making that small saving.
The van wheezed up westbound Interstate 70 and soon the sultry wind flooding the car cooled. Thirty minutes later I pulled over to take a few deep breaths under a pylon of what Aspen Meadow folks call the Ooh-Ah Bridge, nicknamed for its spectacular panoramic view of the Continental Divide. A small herd of buffalo grazed in a fenced meadow near the bridge. I stared dejectedly at them and felt a fresh surge of remorse. Why hadn't I accompanied Claire to her vehicle? Why hadn't I insisted Julian go with her? No, that wouldn't have been a good idea. In his loves- truck state of mind, Julian could have been hit as well. But a contingent of the sheriff's department had been stationed nearby. Why hadn't I insisted a policeman walk with Claire? Why?
Afternoon clouds billowed above the horizon like mutant cauliflower. Below them, the sweep of mountains were deeply shadowed in purple. My ears started to buzz. Tom would be calling. Three dark, stolid-looking buffalo eyed me, blinked, and then shuffled away. I had a sudden memory of Julian reeling out of control as his eyes fluttered shut. Julian was in shock. Next to the road, delicate bluebell blossoms bent in the mountain breeze. Claire, lovely violet-eyed Claire, was dead.
I drove home. I needed to be in my own place, needed a cold beverage, needed most of all to reconnect with my family and friends. When I came through the back door, the place felt empty and unusually stuffy. Irritation snaked up my spine. Because of the security system I'd been forced to install to keep my periodically violent ex-husband at bay, the windows stayed shut - and therefore wired - in my absence. I'd been tempted to disable the system once I was married to a formidable, gun-toting policeman. But Tom promptly vetoed that idea. You never know when he might turn up, he warned. I can't always be around. But it was okay now, I'd protested. The Jerk wouldn't dare bother me with a policeman in residence. Although he was ridiculously vain about being a doctor, my ex-husband was basically a coward. You haven't seen ex-husband jealousy the way I've seen it, Tom replied flatly. Believe me, you don't want to was the unspoken end of that warning.
Anyway, I'd given up trying to
Similar Books
