Murder Is a Piece of Cake by Elaine Viets

members.”
    “Smash is playing all the wedding reception favorites,” Ted said. “‘Proud Mary,��
     ‘Raise Your Glass.’”
    “We even paid an extra hundred dollars for the twist contest,” Josie said.
    “A twist contest!” Lenore looked like she’d bitten into a lemon.
    “It’s fun,” Josie said. “We have a cool trophy for the winner.”
    “I was hoping my son’s wedding would be small but tasteful,” Lenore said.
    “That’s what we want, too,” Josie said. “That’s why we decided not to have a dollar
     dance.”
    “I’ve never heard of that,” Lenore said. More frost.
    “It’s a bridal tradition,” Josie said. “The bride and groom dance with guests who
     pay for the privilege. The money usually goes to the honeymoon fund.”
    “I should think not!” Lenore said. She clutched her wineglass and took a stiff drink.
     “At least I’ve heard of that song, ‘Proud Mary.’ But what is ‘Raise Your Glass’?”
    “A song by Pink,” Ted said. “It’s a wedding favorite for . . . uh, my generation.”
    “This Pink,” Lenore said. “That isn’t Pink Floyd, is it? I heard one of their songs,
     something about a brick. It’s loud and depressing.”
    “I agree,” Josie said. “‘Another Brick in the Wall’ isn’t wedding music. Pink is a
     rock star. She won a Grammy.”
    “I don’t know her,” Lenore said, as if that were a failing on Pink’s part.
    Josie was relieved. That meant Lenore hadn’t heard of another Pink hit—“Fuckin’ Perfect.”
    “And I’m quite sure none of our guests have heard of this Smash,” Lenore said. “But
     they definitely know Peter Duchin. He plays all the time in Boca Raton.”
    Lenore drawled Boca Raton as if it meant something more impressive than “mouth of
     the rat.”
    “If they haven’t heard of Smash, they should have,” Josie said. “He was an MTV DJ,
     and he’s been on national television and radio stations all around the country. Since
     he moved here, he’s become a St. Louis institution.”
    Lenore sniffed. “Half of our out-of-town guests haven’t heard of St. Louis,” she said.
    Josie pressed her lips together, forcing herself not to answer back. She looked around
     wildly, hoping the server would appear with their lunch, but saw no sign of approaching
     rescue. She wished Ted would defend their choice, but he was scanning the horizon
     for signs of food.
    “We’ve already signed a contract,” Josie said.
    “I’ll buy it out,” Lenore said quickly. “With a thousand-dollar bonus for this Smash
     person.”
    Josie tried counting to ten to keep her temper. She quit at four. “No, thank you,”
     she said “We want Smash. Amelia asked for him.”
    “You’re letting a ten-year-old dictate your wedding choices?” Lenore didn’t hide her
     disbelief.
    “Amelia is eleven,” Josie said. “She’s happy that Ted and I are marrying, but our
     marriage will be a big disruption in her life. She asked for Smash, and Ted and I
     were happy to go along with that. Smash is our choice, too.”
    She looked at Ted, waiting for him to support her.
    “Yum,” he said. “My Reuben sandwich with duck fat fries is on its way.”
    “What are duck fat fries?” Lenore asked.
    “Potatoes fried in duck fat,” Ted said.
    Lenore shuddered delicately. She’d already banned the bread basket and wanted her
     salad served with the dressing on the side.
    There was a lull in the conversation while the server set down their meals.
    Josie inhaled the fragrant steam from her soup. “Mm. This tomato bisque smells delicious,”
     she said, hoping to keep the topic safely on food. “How’s your lunch, Lenore?”
    Ted’s mother brushed aside Josie’s question like an annoying fly and said, “Will Amelia’s
     father be at your wedding?”
    “No,” Josie said. “Nate is dead.” He was murdered, but Josie wasn’t giving Lenore
     that detail. “But her grandfather, Jack Weekler, will be flying in from Toronto.”
    Duck