Killer Sweet Tooth Page 7

  “Did you tell Carl where you’d been?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Myra said. “I didn’t want him to beat the tar out of poor old Will. Didn’t want him to divorce me either. I even showed him the tickets to convince him we’d been at the movies and that nothing had happened. He pouted around at me for a day or two, but he never danced with another woman again. And if he was ever eyeing one, he never let me catch him at it.”

  I laughed. “At least Mary Breedlove didn’t kiss Carl on a stage in front of a room full of people.”

  “If she had, I’d have ripped her lips off,” Myra said. “But that just goes to show you, honey, jealousy is a powerful thing. Once Ben calms down a little, he’ll be back.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. “He and I had been dating when I met Todd—the guy I eventually married. So I guess he has reason to be jealous.”

  “The killer?” she asked. “You were dating Ben when you met the killer?”

  “Well, Todd didn’t kill me. I’m still here.”

  “You know what I meant. By the way,” she said in a singsong voice. “I could’ve sworn I saw a pink Cadillac in your driveway last night.”

  “Does nothing get by you?”

  “Not a thing,” she said smugly.

  “Scottie stopped by to apologize.”

  “Did he now? I knew it! That Elvis has the hots for you!” She chuckled. “If Ben doesn’t come around, I’ll let you borrow my Ann-Margret wig . . . only not until after lunch today.”

  “Are you wearing it to lunch with Cecil?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. How many times in my life am I going to get the opportunity to be Ann-Margret? Especially if I have to go to prison. I don’t want to be Ann-Margret there,” she said. “I’d rather look like Sister Mary Margret in prison.”

  “Speaking of prison,” I said, “let’s get together this afternoon and decide how we can figure out who really knocked Dr. Bainsworth in the head.”

  “Will do, honey. Talk with you later.”

  With that, she was gone. She was probably off to put on her wig and wait for Cecil to call . . . unless she’d already called him. Ann-Margret is feisty, you know.

  I mixed up the brownies and had them baking by the time I got another phone call. “Daphne’s Delectable Cakes,” I said.

  “Hey there, delectable Daphne.”

  “Hi, Scottie.”

  “How are you this morning?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. How are you?” I asked.

  “The boys and I are getting a little hungry and restless for some home cooking, and we were wondering if you could put together a nice lunch for us,” he said.

  “Um . . . you want me to make you lunch? Today?” I gulped. “As in, within a few hours?”

  “Yeah. We’re paying. We’re not a bunch of freeloaders, you know.”

  “I know, but I don’t run a diner, Scottie. I don’t even have enough food here to make a decent snack for the EIEIO.”

  “You don’t have to feed all of us, just about ten of us, and Cecil is bringing that friend of yours, the one who thinks she’s Ann-Margret,” he said. “We thought you could maybe make us some steaks and some steak fries . . . and a little dessert would be good. Could you whip us up a banana pudding?”

  “You love your bananas, don’t you?”

  “Maybe I’m part monkey.” He laughed. “Anyhow, what do you say?”

  “Scottie, they have fantastic steaks at Dakota’s.”

  “So? Dakota’s is really crowded at lunchtime,” he said. “You can hardly hear yourself think, much less talk. Come on. Be a sport. Please.”

  I sighed. “I have a lot of work to do. On your cake, for one thing.”

  “Did I mention we’re paying?” he asked.

  I mentally calculated whether or not I had time to work this unexpected luncheon into my day.

  “Top dollar,” he said. “No missionary discount.”

  “Fine,” I said. “What time will you be here?”

  “Is twelve thirty all right?”

  “That’ll work.” Twelve thirty would give me time to get my brownies out of the oven and then hurry to the Save-A-Buck for steaks, steak fries (yes, the Elvises would have to settle for frozen), rolls, and the ingredients for a chef’s salad and a banana pudding.

  AS I WALKED the aisles of the Save-A-Buck, I wondered if Myra knew her lunch date with Cecil was going to include nine other Elvises and me. On the one hand, I thought maybe I should call Myra and warn her. On the other hand, I didn’t want to be responsible for sticking a pin in her balloon. She’d already illustrated this morning how spiteful she can be when you get her riled up. Let Elvis/Cecil bear the brunt of that burden himself. Besides, there was still a chance that after talking with Myra, Cecil would change his mind and tell Scottie that he and Myra were having a cozy meal alone somewhere . . . somewhere like Dakota’s.

  There were a couple soccer moms—although, this time of year, I supposed they were basketball moms—whispering in the produce aisle. I heard Dr. Bainsworth’s name mentioned, and then one of the women nodded in my direction.

  I listened more closely as I examined the lettuce.

  “. . . the one who found him,” one said.

  “What was she doing there that time of night?” the other asked.

  “Probably having a fling with him. They say she moved back here after living in Tennessee for about fifteen years. I heard her husband tried to kill her.”

  “Wonder if he caught her cheating on him?”

  I placed the lettuce into my basket and quickly left the aisle. Although tears were threatening, I felt the desire to tell the women exactly why Todd had fired a shot at me. I wanted to yell at them that I’d never been unfaithful to Todd and that I’d never even met Dr. Bainsworth. How dare they speculate about me like that! They didn’t know me!

  By the time I’d finished shopping, I had my emotions under control. I realized this was the big drawback to living in a small town, and it was something I’d simply have to deal with if I wanted to stay here in Brea Ridge. And I did . . . at least, for now.

  Juanita was surprised to see me come through her line with a dozen steaks, two bags of steak fries, rolls, and enough salad fixings to feed a small army. Not to mention more bananas.

  “You must be hosting a dinner party,” she said.

  I explained about Scottie’s phone call asking me to make lunch for a group of the Elvises. “I tried to tell him that I don’t run a restaurant, but he was so insistent . . . and he said they’d pay me well.”

  “I understand their need for some privacy,” said Juanita. “Aaron told me that when they go out, the people in town keep asking for their autographs or to have their pictures made with them—especially the women.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “I hadn’t looked at it that way, but I suppose they do enjoy a bit of celebrity status. Will Aaron be at the lunch today?”

  “No, he is working. He is planning to go on the next mission trip, though, so he’ll need to get together with some of the EIEIO members to discuss that before they leave at the end of the week.” She leaned over and touched my wrist. “I hope things work out however you want them to between you and Scottie, but guard your heart, Daphne. He will be gone in a few days, and you don’t know for sure that you will ever see him again.”

  “I know. I have no interest in Scottie,” I said.

  “And did you and Ben make up?” she asked.

  Someone came up behind me in the line with her cart full of groceries, so I simply gave Juanita a slight shake of my head and made a banal comment about the drizzly weather we were having today.

  Juanita finished ringing up my groceries, and I paid her and left. Something she’d said lingered in my thoughts. The Elvises would be gone in a matter of days. If the woman at the Sunoco had seen an Elvis with blood on his sleeve, Myra and I had better be talking with her and pursuing that angle before those suspects left town.

  BY THE TIME Scottie and four of t
he Elvises showed up at my door, the steaks were almost done and I’d just taken the fries out of the oven. The chef’s salad, complete with hard-boiled egg slices, ham, cheese, and bacon, was sitting in the center of the table. The banana pudding was in the refrigerator.

  It was going to be a tight fit, but I had five Elvises and Myra seated at the kitchen table and four set up at the island. I had also set up a card table to accommodate two other people. It wasn’t the perfect seating arrangement, but it was the best I could come up with.

  “This house smells like a slice of heaven,” Scottie said as he came into the kitchen, gave me a peck on the cheek, and hung up his black leather jacket. “Daphne, I want you to meet Craig, Mike, Sam, and John.”

  I shook each of the Elvises’ hands. I told them to make themselves comfortable at the kitchen table and that I had iced tea, soda, or coffee to drink. Not surprisingly, all five Elvises—Scottie included—requested iced tea.

  While the other four men sat around the kitchen table, Scottie asked me if there was anything he could help me with.

  “No,” I said with a smile. “Everything is fine.”

  “Do you have an invoice for me?” he asked.

  “I do. I’ll get it for you before you leave,” I said. “But for now, go ahead and enjoy the meal. Are the others on their way?”

  “They’re supposed to be,” he said. “They’re in the van with Cecil.”

  My eyes widened. “Myra is not going to be a happy camper.”

  “Why not?” Scottie asked. “If she was expecting one Elvis to show up at her door, five is five times better, right?”

  “If you say so.” I poured tea into the men’s glasses and directed my next comment to the table in general. “Tell me, what made you decide to become members of EIEIO?”

  Craig, a tall Elvis with neatly trimmed blond hair and a mustache, spoke first. “I’ve always enjoyed working with children, Daphne. When you go on these trips and see those little faces light up, it makes it all worthwhile.”

  “I imagine it does,” I said.

  John—a skinny redhead who appeared to be in his midthirties—smiled shyly. “I’m just a small-town southern boy, ma’am. Craig heard me singing in church one Sunday a few years ago when the group was in our town, and he told me I ought to sign up for the EIEIO. I hadn’t ever been too many places before, and I thought the EIEIO might be a way for me to get out of Shady Springs, Georgia, and see the world.”

  I laughed. “I guess it was at that.”

  “It sure was,” he said, “and opened other doors for me too. Doors I never would have imagined opening.”

  “I like the kids and the travel too,” said Sam, a beefy Elvis who wore a thick gold chain around his neck. “But mainly I joined up because I love to perform.”

  “We all enjoy being onstage,” Scottie said with a wink in my direction, “but I think we all appreciate the fact that we’re giving something back too.”

  There came a knock at the door. It had to be Myra and the other five Elvises.

  Myra/Ann-Margret strode in first. Her wig was a little skewed, and her mouth was flatter than a breast implant during a mammogram.

  I greeted the newcomers and then pulled Myra aside. “Are you okay?”

  “I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life . . . except for that time—oh, never mind, I’ll tell you later. I had no idea I was being brought all the way next door for a romantic lunch with a dozen other people!” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you?”

  “No . . . not until a little bit ago. Scottie called and asked if I could make lunch, but he said not all the Elvises would be here.” I shrugged and offered up a silent prayer for my version of the truth that was only slightly more skewed than Myra’s wig. I reached and adjusted the wig as if that would help—and to ease my conscience. I probably should have called and warned her. “Maybe Cecil is planning on taking you somewhere—just the two of you—after lunch.”

  “In the stupid EIEIO van? What’re we gonna do with the other four? Strap them to the luggage rack?” She sighed. “I’m going home.”

  “Please don’t. I’ve made a really nice lunch,” I said, “and the EIEIO is paying for it, so it would be a shame for your rib eye to go to waste.”

  “Rib eye?”

  I nodded. “And chef’s salad, steak fries, rolls, and banana pudding.”

  “I’ll stay . . . but only because you’ve gone to so much trouble, and I don’t want to make a scene in front of this bunch of buffoons,” she said. “They’ve besmirched the good name of Elvis Presley is what they’ve done—the whole lot of them. And don’t you get involved with that slimy little Scottie. He’s probably the worst one of the bunch—other than Cecil.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said.

  Myra and I walked into the kitchen, where Scottie asked us all to gather in the middle of the floor, join hands, and bow our heads. I was standing between him and Myra, so I took one of each of their hands.

  “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “we thank You for bringing us here today and providing this opportunity for us.”

  Some of the other EIEIO members chimed in with “Amen” or “Yes, Lord.”

  “We thank You for the food we’re about to receive,” Scottie said, continuing, “and we thank You for Daphne.”

  I raised my head in surprise, looked at Scottie—who, like everyone else, still had his head bowed—and then lowered my head again.

  “She’s been good to us, Lord,” he said. “And we ask You to bless her and to reward her for her hospitality and warmth. She has a heart for others—as You well know—and we appreciate her. Amen.” He gave my hand a squeeze before releasing it. Then he raised his head, grinned at the group as a whole, and said, “Let’s eat!”

  Myra seated herself with the five Elvises at the kitchen table.

  “Thank you for joining us, ma’am,” John said. “You give the rest of us a pretty view.”

  She giggled like a schoolgirl.

  Three of the Elvises sat at the island. Scottie insisted on joining me at the card table. He pulled out one of the folding chairs for me, moved the other to my right instead of across the table where I’d positioned it, and sat down.

  I looked around to make sure all the condiments were available. Fortunately, I had enough steak sauce and ketchup to go around. Salad dressing wasn’t as much in demand since the chef’s salad was dismissed by most of the EIEIO members. I’d have thought they’d have at least been interested in the meats and cheeses, but I suppose they wanted to save enough room for that banana pudding.

  CHAPTER

  Seven

  EVERYONE HAD finished eating, and Scottie was helping me carry the dishes to the dishwasher when the doorbell rang. It was Juanita.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I only had to work half of the day today so I went to get the fountain and the dolls for Isabel’s cake.”

  “Terrific,” I said. “Come on in.”

  “Yeah,” Scottie said. “We were getting ready to clear out of here anyway. You guys do whatever you need to do.”

  Juanita had stiffened. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her eyes were wide. “No,” she said. She shoved the bag she was carrying into my hands and backed away. “I must go.” She turned and practically ran to her car.

  I frowned at Scottie, Myra, and the EIEIO members, who were in various stages of putting on jackets, saying their good-byes, and getting ready to leave. “Wonder what’s up with Juanita?”

  “Hard to say,” Myra said. “She looked rather sick to me.”

  “Yes, she did. I’ll call and check on her later.” I sat the bag on the counter and retrieved the invoice for the EIEIO lunch.

  “Thank you,” Scottie said, glancing at the invoice before putting it in his pocket. “I’ll drop your check off later.”

  “You can simply combine it with the cake invoice if you’d like,” I said. “That way you wouldn’t have to write but one check.”

  “We’ll see.” He kissed my
cheek. “Thank you for a delicious meal.”

  “And thank you for the charming company,” John—the Elvis who’d been seated to Myra’s left—said with a nod in her direction.

  She laughed.

  “Before you go, could I see you for one second, Myra?” I asked.

  We ducked into the living room.

  “I’m going to the Sunoco early this evening,” I said quietly. “I want to be there when the clerk who claims she saw someone acting suspiciously comes in to start her shift.” I didn’t dare say “the clerk who saw a suspicious Elvis” with ten suspicious Elvises within such close proximity.

  “Can I go with you?” she asked. “My butt is on the line here too, you know. I’m going to a matinee with Cecil, but I’ll be back in plenty of time to go with you to the Sunoco.”

  “Okay. But for now, just have fun at the movie,” I said.

  She gave me a weak smile. “We’ll see.”

  “Give Cecil a chance to make things up to you,” I said. “He probably didn’t know he wasn’t taking you to a romantic lunch alone until Scottie told him all the EIEIO members who could make it needed to meet here for lunch.”

  “You could be right.” She frowned. “But I don’t see what they had to discuss that was so all-fired important. John kept getting the details mixed up about when and where the next mission trip was going to be, and Sam only cared about how many people were expected to turn out at the next event. It didn’t appear to me the EIEIOs got anything accomplished besides getting their bellies full.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I didn’t see much point to this so-called meeting myself. Maybe it’s like Juanita said this morning—they simply wanted to eat lunch somewhere private.”

  “Oh, please. They’re here because Scottie wanted an excuse to be here,” she said.

  Cecil stepped into the doorway of the living room. “Myra, darlin’, are you ready to go?”

  “Sure.” She turned to me. “I’ll see you later.”

  AS SOON AS everyone had left and I’d put away the extra food—mainly the chef’s salad—and finished loading the dishwasher, I called Juanita’s cell phone. My call went straight to voice mail.