Out of the Dying Pan Read online

  “Nana would be so mad at me,” Talia groaned to herself. “I haven’t put up a single decoration yet!” Since the eatery was closed on Monday, she vowed to devote part of that day to putting a colorful wreath on the door and buying a few decorations for the house. She wasn’t sure she’d have time to do the whole Christmas tree thing, but at least she could add some cheery holiday touches to the bungalow.

  Bo welcomed her with a face full of furry kisses and a not-too-subtle demand for dinner. “Don’t worry, I can see that you’re starving,” Talia said, cradling the cat in her arms. She kissed Bo’s whiskered cheek and then set her down. “How about savory salmon tonight?” she said, idly flipping through the row of kitty food cans in her cabinet. She took Bo’s wide-eyed silence as a yes, and spooned the contents of the can into her dish.

  Her cell rang just as the last spoonful of stinky salmon wafted into her face. She plopped the can in the sink and grabbed the phone off her table. “Detective Prescott?”

  “At your service.” The detective’s tone was cautious. “You have news about Ms. Butterforth’s murder?” No greeting, no pleasantries. Slam bam tell me, ma’am.

  Talia cut directly to the purpose of her call, explaining that Anita had experienced a breakin of sorts, and that someone had apparently riffled through Ria’s belongings.

  “You’re saying that she found things out of place?” the detective said doubtfully, “but that nothing was taken?”

  “Sort of,” Talia said with an irritated sigh. It was hard to explain an intruder breaking in and making things neater instead of messier.

  For a moment, only dead silence filtered through the phone. “I’ll look into it,” Prescott finally said. “And I’ll make sure Derek knows about the pair who took the call. I suspect it was Garner and Grabowski. Those two couldn’t find a pimple on their noses if they were staring straight into a mirror. And you didn’t hear that from me, by the way.”

  Talia chuckled. Maybe the detective had a sense of humor after all. “Any word on Andy Nash?” she said, pushing her luck right to the edge of the cliff.

  “Not yet,” Prescott said in a clipped tone. “And even if I knew something, I don’t think you’d have the patience to listen while I explained it to you. But thank you for the information, Talia. I’ll be in touch if necessary.”

  “But what if—” Talia started to blurt out before she was cut off like a pushy telemarketer. She wished she could have slammed down the phone, the way people did before they had cell phones. And that was the second time Prescott had implied that Talia didn’t have any patience. What was up with that?

  She slept fitfully that night. Visions of Ria’s folded pink nightie kept floating through her brain. Deep in her bones, she felt certain it was the killer who’d folded that nightgown.

  16

  It was Saturday, and Martha was in a mood.

  “I don’t suppose you gave any more thought to rearranging this kitchen,” she griped.

  Talia watched her stir enough Parmesan cheese into her batter bowl to glue a cruise ship together. “That’s too much cheese, Martha,” she offered quietly. “Add another egg and a little more flour and milk.”

  She was determined not to fight with the woman today, in spite of the fact that Martha had shown up for work armed with a pair of verbal boxing gloves. Had something happened to send her into a snit?

  Martha slammed the bowl onto the worktable. She whipped open the fridge door, nearly pulling it off its hinges, and pulled out another egg and a carton of milk. She poured the milk into the bowl, sloshing it onto the table. With the utmost tact, Talia pulled a paper towel from the roll and wiped up the spill.

  “I can clean up my own mess,” Martha said.

  Talia couldn’t resist an eye roll. “Is something wrong, Martha?” she asked. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What I want,” Martha said, “is enough room to get my job done. Working in this kitchen is like working in a tunnel.”

  Talia stared at her. It took every ounce of restraint she had not to throw a retort at her. She took three deep breaths. “I’m going next door for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” She grabbed her purse and scurried out the front door.

  In Sage & Seaweed, Suzy Sato was kneeling in front of a shelf lined with pastel-colored bubble baths. “Is that Talia I hear?” She turned and smiled up at her friend.

  Talia laughed. “Okay, that’s the second time you nailed me. What do you have, eyes in the back of your head?”

  Suzy blushed. “Help me up?” she said, sticking out an arm.

  Talia grabbed her arm and lifted her gently upward. Suzy brushed off the knees of her bright red maternity leggings. “Come with me.”

  Baffled, Talia followed her over to a display case on the opposite side of the boutique. Cut glass bottles in a variety of shapes lined the shelves, each bearing a shell-shaped label identifying the scent within.

  “This is a brand-new line,” Suzy explained. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but there is a certain … aroma that follows you.”

  Oh dear God, was Suzy about to tell her she had body odor? But how could that be? She showered every day. She washed her clothes.

  “Don’t look so frightened,” Suzy said, her sky blue eyes beaming. “I’m only pointing out that there’s a slight eau de deep fry that tends to cling to your clothing.”

  Talia swallowed. “There is?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not a bad smell. It’s actually a very delectable scent! But you don’t want to carry it all the time, do you?”

  “No, I … I guess not.”

  Suzy lifted one of the bottles from the shelf. Shaped like an old-fashioned teapot, it was filled with a pale green liquid. “This delicate scent,” she explained, “is made from green tea with a slight overtone of citrus. It’s perfect for disguising any lingering traces of deep-fried food that might cling to you.” She removed the stopper and waved it under Talia’s nose.

  Talia took a deep breath. “Oh, wow, that’s really nice. Barely there, but lovely.”

  “Exactly!” Suzy’s laugh flitted through the shop. “It doesn’t overpower. It simply complements. And covers.” She winked at Talia.

  Talia peeked at the price tag. It wasn’t cheap, but it certainly wouldn’t bust her budget. And since she hadn’t done much shopping lately at all, she decided to treat herself. “I’ll splurge on it,” she said. “And I want to pick up some of your raffle tickets, too.”

  Suzy rang up the transaction while Talia filled out the raffle stubs. “Well, look at that,” Suzy said slyly, her Southern roots slipping into her silky tone. When Talia looked up, Suzy was craning her neck and peering through the front window of the shop. “Is that who I think it is?”

  Talia turned and followed her gaze. She gasped. “That’s Liliana Claiborne!”

  Suzy looked shocked. “You know her?”

  “No, but I met her at Ria Butterforth’s memorial service. Well, kind of met her. She sort of crashed the scene and had to be escorted out.”

  “That poor Mr. Claiborne.” Suzy shook her head full of springy red curls. “She cheated on him for years, you know, with a boy toy she picked up one evening at a charity event. The boy toy was the bartender, and from what I’ve seen, Liliana Claiborne is no stranger to the bottle.”

  “Oh my. I didn’t realize that. I didn’t even know you knew our landlord.”

  “Kenji and I met him, briefly, when I first opened the shop. He’s devilishly handsome, isn’t he? And as sweet as pecan pie.”

  Talia grinned. “I found him to be very pleasant,” she agreed. “And that’s all I’m going to say. How do you know that about his wife?”

  Suzy huffed and pulled out a salmon-colored gift bag from beneath the counter. “She came with him to the shop’s opening. Glory, what a scene she made! I’d been serving miniature glasses of champagne on a tray, and she kept slugging them back like they were nothing more than lemonade! Will spoke to her quietly, several times, but Liliana just
kept getting louder and more abrasive. People started to stare, and … well, honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I stopped serving champagne for a little while, and Will finally made his apologies to me and they left.” She jammed two sheets of silver tissue into the bag.

  “That must have been embarrassing for everyone,” Talia said. “How did you know about the, um, boy toy?”

  “Well,” Suzy went on, “as I was milling about serving canapés to the guests that day, I overheard two women talking about her.” She flushed. “Yes, I eavesdropped, and I can’t say I’m proud of it. But when I realized who they were dishing about, I kind of stood behind them so I could catch the whole thing. Let me tell you, I got an earful. Liliana, it seems, has always had a roving eye for the studly types.” She pushed the bag across the counter toward Talia.

  But if that were true, Talia mused, why was Liliana so intent on keeping Will? Why didn’t she just let him out of the marriage?

  “Oh, I know I shouldn’t be gossiping like this,” Suzy said, a hint of apology in her tone. “I’ve been the subject of a lot of hateful gossip myself, and believe me, it’s not fun. I guess I’m just still miffed at her for spoiling my grand opening that way. Not that she really spoiled it, but … oh, you know what I mean.”

  Her thoughts whirling, Talia grabbed the bag that held her new scent, hugged Suzy good-bye, and headed outside onto the plaza. She’d snagged her purse but not her jacket when she left Fry Me a Sliver, and the December chill now gnawed at her like sharp icicle teeth.

  She glanced over at Once or Twice. Liliana Claiborne, clad in a full-length black wool coat with a furry collar, was attempting to unlock the door. Either she had the wrong key, or the key just wasn’t working. When Talia saw Liliana kick the door with the toe of her red leather boot, she dashed over.

  “Can I help?” Talia said kindly, coming up behind her. “You look like you’re having trouble with your key.”

  Liliana, her brunette hair flying loose about her face, turned and stared at her through eyes that looked bloodshot and unfocused. “You’re that woman,” she said. “The one from the funeral.” She said it matter-of-factly, without a hint of malice.

  “Yes, I’m Talia Marby. And you’re Liliana, right?”

  Liliana’s breath was stale. Her blood-red lipstick had been applied with a too-generous hand. She nodded absently, and then went back to jiggling the key in the lock. When it refused to open, she cursed and slapped her hand on the door.

  Concerned for her, Talia stepped a bit closer. She wasn’t even sure if Liliana had any right to enter Ria’s shop, but the torment in the woman’s eyes was so intense that she had to do something to help. “Here, let me try.” Talia reached for the key, and Liliana immediately snatched her own hand away. The key jiggled, but wouldn’t turn. Talia suspected it was the key from the shop’s prior incarnation and wasn’t going to fit no matter how long they stood there and fussed with it.

  “I don’t think it’s going to budge, Liliana. Is there something you need? Maybe I can help.”

  Liliana began to shake. Tears slid down her sculpted cheeks, leaving tracks in her makeup. “You can’t help,” she said softly. “No one can help.”

  Talia’s heart twisted. The poor woman looked absolutely lost, as if she didn’t have a friend in the world to care about her.

  “Liliana, you look like you could use a cup of hot coffee to warm you up. Why don’t you come with me?” She slipped her arm through Liliana’s and tugged her gently toward the plaza. Liliana didn’t resist. She clomped along next to Talia, stumbling a few times on the uneven cobblestone.

  Martha shot them an odd look when they entered the dining room.

  “Why don’t you sit over here,” Talia said, propelling her over to a table at the back of the dining area, near the restroom. She wanted to keep her out of Martha’s line of vision so Liliana could have some privacy. “How do you take your coffee?”

  Liliana brushed her hands over the table, as if testing it for cleanliness. “With whiskey,” she said in a low voice. She looked up at Talia with a sad smile. “Black, please, and as strong as you can make it.”

  Talia smiled. “Our French roast is pretty powerful. I’ll be right back.”

  Ignoring Martha’s gawking, Talia poured a mugful of coffee for Liliana. She wished she could have offered her something to eat, but it was too early for lunch and she didn’t have anything really suitable for breakfast.

  Talia set the mug and a napkin on the table, and then slid into the chair facing Liliana. Liliana wrapped her hands around the mug and closed her eyes for a moment. Then she took a long, careful sip. “That’s actually very good,” she said, setting her mug down. “I expected it to be typical fast-food coffee.”

  Talia didn’t know if she should be insulted by the “fast-food” comment, but she decided it was probably just Liliana’s way of speaking. She struck Talia as a woman who’d been spoiled much of her life by having the best of everything.

  Liliana lifted her elegant chin and took a deep breath. “I don’t smell anything frying,” she said, almost wistfully.

  Talia smiled at her. “Actually, it’s a tad too early. We don’t open until eleven thirty. I’m sorry I don’t have any breakfast food to offer you.”

  A smile touched Liliana’s lips, and all at once Talia saw the stunning beauty she had to have been in her youth. In her mind, she pictured how Liliana and Will must have looked when they were first married—what a handsome couple they must have made. Talia couldn’t help wondering what had caused the first crack in the relationship.

  In a honeyed voice Liliana said, “When I was a little girl, we had a cook who was from Edinburg. Oh, she used to make the most fabulous breakfasts for me! Have you ever heard of a Scotch egg?”

  Surprised by the fast one-eighty Liliana’s mood had taken, Talia felt some of her own tension drain. She liked this gentler version of Will Claiborne’s wife. It was so much more pleasant than the angry one. “I’ve heard of a Scotch egg,” Talia said in response, “but I’ve never had one. Isn’t it a hard-boiled egg wrapped in sausage?” She thought back to those wonderful mornings as a kid when Nana used to serve her favorite breakfast—French toast made from thick slices of hearty Italian bread, with a dab of ricotta cheese whisked into the egg mixture. And even when Talia was young, Nana would permit her to have a half-filled cup of coffee, so long as she added a hefty dollop of milk. Talia was sure it was the reason that coffee had always been her comfort drink of choice.

  “That’s right,” Liliana said, “and then the whole thing was deep-fried.” Her smooth brow furrowed for a brief moment as she skipped along memory lane. “Of course these days most people bake them instead of deep-frying them, but the original way is the best.” She took a delicate sip from her mug. Her face lit up as if she were a child again. “Our Maidie knew how to season the pork sausage to perfection. Oh, her Scotch eggs were just marvelous! Although on some days, when I’d overslept and was running late for school, she would simply deep fry the egg by itself.” She gave out a slight laugh. “All that lovely grease. Terrible for the arteries, but back then I didn’t care.”

  Talia studied Liliana for a moment. The woman looked as if she could use a decent meal. She was stick-thin, and her coloring was deathly pale. “Liliana, have you eaten anything this morning?”

  Liliana’s smiled faded. She pushed a strand of brunette hair away from her face. “I don’t normally eat in the morning. I’m not usually … up for it.” Her pale hazel eyes brightened. “Oddly enough, coming in here has made me a bit hungry.”

  Martha appeared suddenly next to the table, coffeepot in hand. “Would you like a refill, ma’am?”

  “Thank you. That would be delightful,” Liliana said.

  Martha poured a steaming refill into Liliana’s mug. “If you’re interested,” she said in a quiet voice, “I know how to deep-fry an egg.”

  Talia sat back, flummoxed. Martha was full of surprises today, wasn’t she? She’d shown up for work on
a broom, and all of a sudden she was skimming across the sky on a cloud of fluff. And she’d clearly been eavesdropping on their conversation. She must have heard every word Liliana had spoken.

  Liliana splayed a manicured hand against her chest. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “No one has made a deep-fried egg for me in a very long time.”

  That was all Martha needed. She cocked a finger at Liliana and promised to return in a few. Talia smiled at Liliana. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

  Talia rose and trailed Martha into the kitchen. She didn’t trust herself to say anything, so instead she opened the fridge. She pulled out the remains of the fruitcake Kelsey had given her the night before and sliced off a chunk about a half-inch thick.

  Martha, meanwhile, had cracked open an egg and was guiding it expertly into a small fry pan of boiling vegetable oil. Talia watched with interest as the egg sizzled. She’d never before seen an egg prepared this way. With practiced moves, Martha used a wooden spoon to roll the egg gently around in the pan. When it was perfectly browned, she lifted it onto a paper towel with a slotted spoon, and then transferred it onto a plate.

  Talia microwaved the fruitcake for half a minute and then placed it carefully next to the egg. “Thank you, Martha. I’ll take it from here.”

  When she returned to the dining room, she saw that Liliana had slid off her coat and draped it over the back of the chair. Talia set the plate down in front of her, along with a few more napkins and some plastic ware. The egg did smell delicious, she thought grudgingly. She almost wished Martha had whipped up one for her, too.

  Liliana’s eyes widened when she saw the plate, and tears poised on her lashes. “Oh my, I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. It looks exactly like the ones Maidie used to fry up for me. And I simply adore fruitcake.” She placed a napkin carefully across her lap and sliced into the egg with her plastic knife. The gooey yolk drifted lazily over the crispy whites, making Talia’s mouth water. How the heck did Martha learn to do this?

  While Liliana dove into her breakfast, Talia nabbed a cup of coffee for herself. She still had so much to do, but she wanted to question Liliana before she let her escape.