“Several of you will be asked to share your remembrances of Kassie,” Elias said.
Charles gave another snort of contempt and from the corner of my eye I saw Eugenie and Russell exchange a look.
Then Elias looked to his left. “Obviously the show can’t continue without two judges. I’m happy to report that local business owner Marguerite LeClerc is stepping in to help us. If you’ve been out to eat at Fern’s Diner, you’ve already met Marguerite, better known as Peggy Sue.”
From the sidelines Peggy Sue walked over to join him. Instead of her fifties carhop outfit, she was dressed in slim black trousers with black heels and a crisp white shirt with the cuffs turned back. She looked competent and professional and it struck me that this might just work. Peggy was knowledgeable about food. For several years she had written a column for Food & Wine magazine. She had a bachelor’s degree from the New England Culinary Institute and had worked in several restaurants in Chicago and Minneapolis before coming home to Mayville Heights. She was savvy about business and people. She had a great sense of humor. And most importantly, she was available.
Charles looked over his shoulder. “You heard it here first,” he said, a huge grin on his face.
Elias turned the microphone over to one of the associate producers, who quickly explained the changes to the schedule for the next two weeks. Then the meeting was over.
Eugenie and Russell already had their heads together. Charles was making his way toward Ray. I turned to Rebecca. “What do you think?” I asked.
“I can’t say I wasn’t surprised at Peggy being chosen as the new judge,” she said, “but the more I think about it, the more it strikes me as being an excellent choice. Did you know she has a degree in culinary arts?”
I picked up my messenger bag that I had set at my feet. “I did. And I agree with you. I think Peggy is the perfect choice. She’ll be very easy to work with.”
Rebecca wrapped a long, multicolored scarf around her neck. “That will make the transition easier,” she said. “Not to speak ill of the dead, but Kassie could sometimes be . . . challenging.” She tucked the ends of the scarf inside her jacket. “I’m guessing the autopsy is today?”
“It is,” I said. “By the end of the day we might know exactly what happened.”
“It would be good to have some answers. I wonder if Kassie has . . . had a family.”
Kate Westin was standing behind Rebecca. “She has . . . had a son who is about twelve or thirteen.”
I hadn’t pictured Kassie as someone’s mother.
Rebecca frowned. “I didn’t know Kassie had a child. I never heard her talk about him.”
Kate folded her arms over her midsection, her shoulders once again hunched up around her ears. “She . . . she mentioned it once.”
“It’s sad, nonetheless,” Rebecca said. She turned her attention to Kate. “Do you know if anyone has collected her things, her clothes, her makeup?”
Kate shook her head. “I don’t, but I can ask around.”
Rebecca smiled at her. “I know Kassie had some things over at the community center. Her son might want them.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Kate said.
“You might want to wait until the police have finished their investigation,” I said.
“Kathleen’s right,” Rebecca said. “I didn’t think about the police.”
Kate nodded. “Okay. I’ll wait.” She glanced across the room. “Excuse me. I see someone I need to talk to.”
“Do you need a ride home?” I asked Rebecca.
“Thank you, but I have a meeting with Lita and then Everett is taking me out to dinner.”
“Lucky Everett,” I said, smiling back at her.
Rebecca winked. “That’s what I keep telling him!” She headed toward the back of the set.
I fished my keys out of my pocket and turned toward Eugenie and Russell. When I’d taken over the research position, Eugenie had given me a filming schedule for the show so I knew in advance what the theme for each week was. She had added notes for each week letting me know what information she needed. If there was a mystery ingredient for a particular week, I’d find that out just a couple of days before filming and Eugenie was happy with two or three details she could use.
During Pie Week the mystery ingredient had been bison meat and Eugenie had explained to the show’s future audience that what we think of as buffalo roaming the plains out west are really bison.
I touched her shoulder now to get her attention. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said. “I’m going to get started on next week’s research this weekend. If you think of anything else that you need, please let me know.” Cake Week was coming up next. Eugenie had already asked me to find out if Marie Antoinette really had said, “Let them eat cake,” or the equivalent in French. (There was no record of it.)
“I will,” she said. “And thank you for the calendar. Now that I know we’re going to be continuing I’ll make sure it gets hung on the set as soon as possible.”
I stared at her, feeling a little confused. “You got the calendar?”
“Yes. It was on my desk this morning. I just assumed you left it.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t me. But I’m very happy you have it.”
“It must have been elves,” Eugenie said with a smile.
I had a feeling it had been one tall, blue-eyed, dark-haired elf in particular.
We said good-bye and I walked out to the truck.
I was just setting the table for supper when Marcus came in the back door.
“Something smells incredible,” he said, leaning over to kiss me.
“Merow,” Owen commented loudly from his place by my chair.
“In case you don’t speak cat, that meant spaghetti and meatballs,” I said.
Marcus took a step toward the stove where the tiny meatballs were still sizzling in a pan. He didn’t take a second step because Owen had jumped down and was blocking his way.
“You’re wasting your time if you think you’re going to be able to swipe one of those meatballs,” I said. “If Owen isn’t getting one, nobody is.”
The cat meowed again loudly as if to emphasize the point.
Marcus looked down at him. “I would have shared,” he stage-whispered.
Owen wrinkled his nose as though he might be rethinking his actions.
“So how was your day?” Marcus asked.
“When I got to work there was a tire from a road grader in the gazebo.” I gave the sauce a stir. “And that wasn’t the worst part of my day.”
“Should I ask what was the worst part of your day?” he said, trying and failing to stifle a smile.
“I got out of the truck in the parking lot and dropped my travel mug. And it was holding my first cup of coffee because some furball managed to unplug my clock.” I shot a look at Owen over my shoulder. He decided to play innocent and look over his own shoulder.
“Did you dent it?”
I shook my head. “No. The top didn’t even come off. Of course, it did when Harry drove over the mug with his truck.” I held up my thumb and forefinger about an inch part. “It’s that thick now.”
Marcus leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Oh, the story’s not over yet.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Okay.”
“Harry apologized, of course, but I still didn’t have my coffee.”
“Why didn’t you just make coffee?”
“Because there wasn’t any to make.” I lowered the heat on the meatballs just a little. “Abigail had taken money from petty cash to get a bag. I sent a text to Susan and because she is a kind and good person she got me the largest take-out cup of coffee Eric has. She was just coming up the steps with it when Harry came out the front door carrying the stepladder.”