Chapter 8
Dear Sophie,
I work a nine-to-five job, then I pick up my children from three different schools. We have athletic events some nights, and I’m okay with eating pizza or takeout on those nights. What can I cook that’s fast but still a real meal?
Overworked Mom in Sleepy Hollow, Illinois
Dear Overworked Mom,
When you cook, do it in a big way so that you’ll have leftovers for other dinners. Chicken breasts and chicken tenders can bake in 15 to 20 minutes. Make a big casserole of mac and cheese on a Sunday, and you’ll be eating well all week.
Sophie
Wolf took a deep breath and muttered, “Not yet. I would guess it was easier putting her in there than it will be to get her out.”
“Hi, Eunice! We brought you dinner.” I took the food from Nina and hustled to the kitchen.
Eunice rose from her chair and shuffled after me. “It smells wonderful.”
“The mac and cheese is one of Tilly’s recipes.”
“Oh gosh. I remember Abby having a fit about that mac and cheese. It was not to her liking at all.”
Eunice’s words struck a chord with me. Was it the ghostwriter’s job to improve the recipes? We all had different tastes. What I might find bland and boring could be the exact way someone’s mother cooked a dish and the way that the person thought it should taste. Was that my job? Was I supposed to tweak the recipes? Maybe not. For all I knew, other moms had cooked a dish in the same manner and some readers would think they had finally stumbled upon the authentic recipe that they remembered from their childhoods. I’d had that happen to me.
“Uh-oh. I made it according to Abby’s notes.”
Eunice held her hand against her chest. “Abby,” she said with a sigh. “If only I could have helped her in some way. Maybe I could have saved her.”
“Eunice, you can’t blame yourself. Whatever happened to Abby had nothing to do with you,” I said firmly.
Eunice wiped a tear off her cheek. “I keep telling myself that. But it doesn’t make it any easier to know that I was right next door and I did nothing. I could have at least called 911 or shouted out the front door to passersby on the street.”
“Eunice, have you considered one of those medical emergency buttons?” I asked.
She blew air through her lips in disdain. “I don’t need anything like that. That’s for old people.”
What could I say? I wondered exactly how old she was.
I found some beautiful Lamberton china in her cabinet. Soft rose and blue flowers were connected by a delicate scroll around the rim. “Do you have everyday china somewhere?”
“Use that old stuff.”
“But it’s so pretty.”
“All the more reason to use it, Sophie. It’s not like anyone is lining up to inherit it. I might as well enjoy it.”
She had a point. I doled out the chicken breasts, macaroni and cheese, and added a serving of the salad on each plate.
Nina bounded into the kitchen. “Wolf is working, so he’s not interested in spiked apple cider. How about you, Eunice?”
“I’ve never been known to pass up a good drink. Bring it on, Nina!”
“Would you like to eat at the dining table, or are you more comfortable in your chair?” I asked.
Eunice blushed. “I don’t think the dining table is fit for company.”
“The chair it is!” I felt terrible for having embarrassed her.
When we were settled in Eunice’s living room, it grew quiet. Through the window that was open a crack, we could hear murmuring outside, a reminder of Abby’s terrible death. I watched Eunice. She didn’t seem to hear it at all.
“Was Abby from around here?” asked Wolf.
I had to give Eunice credit. She was a strong woman. His question didn’t seem to bother her a bit.
“I got the impression she had moved around quite a bit. She wasn’t a born-and-bred Southerner, that’s for sure. I know she lived in Savannah and somewhere in Texas for a while. But she said a few things that led me to think she might have hailed from Wisconsin. I know she loved children and had been a kindergarten teacher before going to culinary school. By the way, Sophie, I believe she’d be very happy with this mac and cheese. It’s delicious. My favorite part is that it’s so creamy.”
“That’s the Colby cheese in it. It melts better than cheddar.”
“Wolf, do you know who lives on the other side of Abby’s house?” I asked.
Eunice answered. “Bob Hughes and Jerry Schwartz. They were away for the weekend and horrified to learn what had happened.”
I looked over at Wolf, who took a big bite of mac and cheese. He nodded in confirmation.
I couldn’t help thinking that the killer had gotten very lucky. A lady on one side who was hard of hearing and no one home on the other side.
Nina tried to keep the conversation away from the subject of Abby’s death, but it hung over us like a dark cloud.
Wolf ate quickly, thanked me for dinner, and excused himself to get back to work. “Eunice,” he said, “I know Abby was working for Tilly Stratford. Did she mention any other jobs she had?”
“She was beginning to look around for another freelance gig. She said she always worried about her next job, but every time one ended, another one came along.”
I saw Wolf to the door. “Did anyone find her phone or computer?”
Wolf raised his eyebrows. “How did you know about that?”
I wasn’t about to confess that I had overheard it. “Just a hunch.”
“All that’s left is a printer.”
“What about her purse?”
“Sophie, I don’t have the time to give you a complete inventory of exactly what we found in Abby’s house.”
Aargh. It was just like Wolf to clam up. Okay, I could snoop around her garage to see if a car was there. But I couldn’t go into the house. “I’ll only ask about the purse.”
“You know how it is. Women are always changing purses to match their clothes. All I can say is we haven’t found one with her wallet in it. Okay?”
It wasn’t very helpful, but it would have to do. Wolf said good night and left me thinking that whoever had murdered Abby had taken her computer, telephone, and purse. That had to mean something. Could she have a file on her system that someone would have wanted? Had her killer taken her electronics to prevent anyone from finding out what Abby knew? Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get home. Could the codes on the recipes be related to information on her computer? It seemed unlikely, but stranger things had happened.
I cleaned up Eunice’s kitchen and stashed the leftovers in her fridge before we left and walked home.
That night, I built a small fire in my kitchen fireplace and sat at the banquette in the kitchen with all the recipes in front of me. Methodically, I went through each page. When I found a recipe that contained Abby’s mysterious code, I wrote the code on a small yellow sticky note and adhered it to the outer edge of the page. There were twelve in all.
I studied them, but they made no sense to me. I couldn’t see a logical theme or rhythm to them. I considered what Eunice had told us about a book being the key to a code. I flipped through the pages in search of anything that resembled a book title. At midnight, I gave up, doused the fire, and went up to bed with Daisy and Mochie.