Melinda Wells - The Proof is in the Pudding

“Let’s do it,” I said. “And we need to decide how to compensate Carole.”

Eileen went to the refrigerator and peered inside.

“Are you hungry? I can make something for you,” I said.

“No, thanks. I had a hamburger with Walter. I’m thirsty.” She took a bottle of orange juice from the top shelf, poured herself half a glass, and drank it. “I didn’t see your Jeep in the driveway,” she said.

“I’ll have it back sometime tomorrow, I expect.”

Eileen must have sensed that I was being evasive, because she turned and looked at me. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“What happened? Were you in an accident?” I heard a note of concern.

“No, nothing like that.” I gestured to the chair across from mine. “Come sit down. I’ll tell you what happened today.”

I didn’t let Eileen know how truly awful Hatch’s search had been, but even my much milder version brought tears to her eyes.

“Oh, Aunt Del, I’m so sorry! This is all my fault.”

“Stop it,” I said, squeezing her hand. “It is not your fault. It’s Keith Ingram’s fault because of what he did to you, and it’s mine because I stupidly left a fingerprint when I broke into his house.”

“I’m afraid to ask, but did Detective Hatch find my DVD?”

“There wasn’t anything to find. I destroyed it.”

Eileen and I had been so close for so many years that she could tell from the slight shake of my head that I didn’t want her to ask any more questions.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Eileen took a deep breath and wiped her eyes with a paper napkin from the blue dragon napkin holder on the center of the table. She’d made it for me when she was in a middle school craft class. All grown up, she’d urged me to get rid of the dragon holder, saying it was ugly. “It looks like something done by a child with no talent at all for crafts,” she’d said.

“That’s exactly why I like it,” I had told her, “because one particular child made it for me.” I think she was secretly pleased that I kept it.

Getting back to what was important right now, I said, “Look at these pictures and the guest lists from the gala. Tell me if there’s anyone here that you ever saw with Ingram. Or if he’d mentioned any of these names to you.”

Eileen studied the photographs. “That’s a good one of you.” She pointed to a picture in which I was leaning forward slightly as I watched actor Coupe Deville working on his Philly Cheesesteak. “You’ve got a great profile.” She pulled another photo toward her. “Yvette Dupree. Keith really hated her. A couple of months ago we were watching TV late one night and when she came on a talk show, he was so upset he turned off the set. In fact, I thought he was going to throw the remote. I asked him what was the matter and he said he couldn’t stand her, that she was a total phony who’d tried to ruin his career. That’s all he’d tell me. I’d only heard him speak so negatively about one other person.”

“Who?”

“Eugene Long. That’s another reason I was so stunned when he told me he was going to marry Tina Long. He’d said her father was an unscrupulous, vindictive drunk who had done so many crooked things, he deserved to spend his life in jail.” She shuddered. “When I think back, there were little signs about the kind of person Keith was, but I didn’t let myself see… Aunt Del, I thought I loved him. I was so stupid!”

“He put up a good front. When I met him the day he interviewed us for his column, he was charming. I’m not surprised you were attracted to him. Neither of us had any idea what he was really like.”

“But I learned. Too late,” she said bitterly. “And look at the trouble I’ve caused you and Daddy.”

“We’ll be all right.” I gave her hand a comforting pat.

“I could tell the police the truth and get you off the hook,” she said.

“No, you can’t. If you did, that would convince Detective Hatch your father had a powerful motive for murder.”

“I’ve put both of you in an awful spot. I’m so sorry.”

“Stay strong,” I said. “We’ll get through this.”

Somehow.

I didn’t sleep very well that night.

The police hadn’t returned my Jeep by the time Eileen and I had to leave for the Mommy & Me cooking class I taught every Saturday morning, so we loaded two cardboard boxes full of ingredients into her car.

Before we left, I phoned St. Clare’s Hospital, asked to speak to Roland Gray, and was transferred to the second floor.

“Nurses’ station,” a female voice said briskly.

“Good morning. Would you connect me to Roland Gray’s room, please?”

“Mr. Gray isn’t taking calls.”

“All right. Can you tell me how he’s doing?”

“We’re not allowed to give out information about patients,” she said.

I was getting frustrated, but kept my tone pleasant.

“What are your visiting hours?”

“Mr. Gray has is not having visitors.”

It was taking an effort, but I remained genial. “My name is Della Carmichael. Would you ask him to phone me? My number is-”

“I’ll tell him you called.” And then that Angel of Mercy disconnected.

Eileen saw me gritting my teeth. “No luck?”

“I’m not through yet.” I dialed the hospital’s main number again. When an operator picked up, I asked her when visiting hours were.

“From nine AM until noon, and from three PM until seven PM.”

“Thank you.”

My cooking class for adults, which followed the Mommy & Me session, ran from noon until three.

I told Eileen, “I going to find a way to see Roland Gray this afternoon if I have to buy a set of scrubs and pose as a hospital employee.”

“You won’t have to buy anything, Aunt Del. ”

“What do you mean?”

Eileen reminded me that while Liddy Marshall had given up acting for marriage and motherhood, now that her twin sons were in college she sometimes worked as an extra in movies and on TV shows.

“Liddy’s been on General Hospital several times as a nurse in the background, and she always supplies her own costumes so they’ll fit. You two are the same size,” Eileen said. “Why don’t you call her while I finish packing up.”

I grinned at Eileen and reached for the phone. “I knew there was a reason I put up with you all those years when you were a teenager.”

Liddy was delighted at my scheme for getting in to see Roland Gray.

“Of course you can have the outfit, and it comes with an authentic-looking ID badge. Don’t worry about the picture. Those things are so bad hardly anybody’s recognizable.”

“Great.”

“I’m coming with you,” Liddy said. “In case you need someone to create a diversion. Aren’t you lucky you have a best friend who’s an actress?”

I was lucky to have Liddy as my best friend, in more ways than one. She was the person who had set me on the path of cooking for a living.

My father had been a veterinarian and my mother was, and still is, an accountant in San Francisco. Because they both had to work full-time to support us, and I was the oldest of the four children, I’d prepared the meals from the time I was ten years old. My grandmother Nell taught me how to shop carefully for food, and how to make dinners from scratch. The fresh ingredients she showed me how to choose went into meals that were both more nutritious and cheaper than packaged dinners heated in a microwave. Learning what she called her “Nellie Campbell menu magic” was exciting. Cooking never seemed like a chore. As an adult it became my hobby, my relaxation. I enjoyed feeding people I cared about.

When I met Mack, I was a brand-new high school English teacher and he was in his third year as a police officer. I’d loved teaching English, and did it for fifteen years, until the terrible day when a student I’d given an F to for cheating brought a Glock to school and shot at me. I saw the pistol a moment before he pulled the trigger, and ducked. The bullet streaked past my head and smashed into the wall. When I saw where it had lodged in relation to where I was standing, I realized that it hadn’t missed me by much.