Cornbread, Ribs and Murder

“Aargh! Will this torture never stop?” 

Emma expected the bathroom remodel would be a short-term inconvenience, but she never expected pain. The repetitive hammer bashing jarred her eardrums. Her temples throbbed. Resolved to ignore the disturbance, she employed a few yoga breaths—her sister Nic would be proud—and focused on her computer screen. Red dots danced against the backdrop of her latest manuscript. Ack! How could she get any work done with this racket? A drastic change was in order.

When her vision cleared, she gazed at the panoramic view out her office windows, hoping the lush green pines, the fluttery aspen leaves, and the gentle rise of the Bradshaw Mountains in the distance would promote a sense of tranquility. The sudden absence of banging did the job just as well. Ah, quiet. Now she could resume work on her story. No sooner had she typed a dozen words than the ear-splitting whine of a power drill shattered her concentration. A scream roiled in her head, seeking escape. 

“I can’t do this.” Stiff with tension, she hit save and closed the document. She swiveled in her chair, ready to flee her office. At the last second, she brought up her emails. The chapters she’d pitched to an agent six months ago hadn’t resulted in representation—yet. Anxious to hear good news from the latest batch of queries, she scanned the most recent arrivals. 

Yes! The one she’d been waiting for. 

Excitement wriggled down her arms. Finger trembling, she pressed the open tab and read the message. Her shoulders drooped. Dang it. She really liked this agent’s profile. They would have been a great team. Sighing, she logged out of her email account. How many rejections had she received so far? She refused to keep a tally. The growing numbers would only chip away at her confidence. 

“Screw this!” Headache in full swing, she jabbed the power key with the fierceness of a gladiator spearing an opponent. There’d be no work for her today. She located her phone beneath a pile of papers and dialed the Dulce Inn. Tomorrow began the start of her weekend at the inn with Nic. She loved these biannual trips to celebrate their birthdays—hers in April, Nic in September. Why not get the fun started a day earlier? After confirming she could check in today rather than Friday, she dialed Nic and explained her plan.

“Great,” Nic said with her typical enthusiasm. “You can stop by the house and try out my latest batch of cornbread.”

This weekend the city of Wyatt would enjoy its first ever rib cookoff. Riding on the coattails of the event, the Dulce Inn had planned a cornbread contest. Nic, in a surprising move, had entered the competition.

“Super. I’ll see you in an hour.” 

She disconnected and stood. Gus, a black lab/collie mix, and Trixie, a Maltese pedigree, bolted from their beds, excited about a change in their lazy morning routine. Grimacing at the racket, she fled her home office for the lower level of the house, the dogs panting at her heels. 

Liam slouched on the L-shaped leather couch in the family room. His fingers flew over the keys of his laptop nestled on his thighs. Her son had been home since Christmas. One online class would see him graduate with a degree in biology. She’d been thrilled to have him so close at hand.

“Hey, Mom.” A raised finger encouraged her to wait while he unplugged the ear buds. 

She never got over how much he resembled his deceased father; the familiar jaw line and curve to his cheeks, the same carefree, easy smile as though the sun shined specifically for him. But the green eyes and rich brown hair with natural gold and auburn highlights, well, that was all her. 

“Are you doing schoolwork?” With a huff of relief, she collapsed in the overstuffed armchair. 

“Looking at apartments.”

“It’s wise to see what’s available.” He had his heart set on a job in Phoenix once he completed all his degree credits. 

His forehead crinkled. “Is something wrong? You look stressed out.”

“This noise…” Fingertips massaged the pain at her temple. “How can you stand it?”

“Music helps…rock or hip hop on high volume.” He flashed his familiar cute-kid grin that always lifted her spirit. 

“I wish I could work with music in the background, but I need absolute silence. This hullabaloo has me in shreds. How would you feel if I headed out a day earlier than planned? It would mean more time with Gus and Trixie.”

Gus’s eyes fluttered shut when Liam kneaded his bony noggin. Trixie had gotten comfortable on a pillow and snuggled against his thigh, seeming content to stay for hours. “No problem. I love these guys.”

She marveled at how easily he took things in stride. Too bad she couldn’t be so carefree, but it simply wasn’t her nature.

“Okay then.” She released the tight grip on her jean clad thigh. “I’m already packed. Nic wants me to stop by her house before I check into the Dulce Inn so I can sample her cornbread for the bakeoff.” 

If he’d won a million bucks, she didn’t think he could look more surprised. “Aunt Nic is baking?” 

Smothering a laugh, she held up her hand, appreciating the irony. “It’s never too late to try new things.”

“I guess not. Do you need me to do anything else? Carry your bag to the car?”

“You’re sweet to ask, but no.” Her gaze darted about, her nerves skittering with the sense she’d forgotten something. She pointed overhead. “If Daryl or Manny, the remodel guys, have any questions, give me a call. There’s plenty of food in the house, and—”

A palm flew up. “Mom. Don’t worry.”

She flinched—“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”—and forced a pained smile. “You’re not a kid anymore.” She rose from the chair and bending at the waist, kissed him on the cheek. “Have a nice weekend. Are you doing anything fun?”

“Probably just hike in the hills with Gus. Maybe finish that paper and send it off to my instructor.”

“Enjoy yourself.” She headed for the stairs and paused. “Oh, about Gus. Do your best to keep him away from Wini’s statue next door. He uses it like a fire hydrant, and she is not pleased.”

“You mean the ugly one in her front yard where the nude guy looks like he’s tossing a football.” 

“You got it.” 

A short while later, ecstatic to escape the noise, she hefted the heavy suitcase down the front steps and plopped it on the driveway next to her Mazda SUV. Her neighbor wiggled a hose over her shrubs, the spray sparkling in the sunlight. Emma waved. Wini returned the greeting, jiggling the hose and splashing water over the sidewalk.

“I’ll be away until sometime on Sunday, but Liam will be here, watching the dogs.” She dumped the heavy bag in the storage bay of her car. “Are you going to the rib cookoff?”

Wini patted her flat as a cutting board abdomen. “Nah, got to watch my figure.”

Emma twitched in surprise. Somehow, she never guessed the long-legged, slender ex-Las Vegas showgirl who exercised like a maniac ever worried about calories. 

“Let’s get together for a coffee when I return.” It felt good to offer the invitation to someone she sensed needed a friend. 

The woman perked up and smiled brightly. “Let’s do. Have a fun weekend.”

“Oh, I intend to.” What better place to relax than at the beautiful, historic Dulce Inn. And any time spent with Nic was a joy, although the sudden memory of the terrible murder last autumn dampened her mood. As much as she loved solving a crime, she sincerely prayed no sinister activity marred this getaway. Murders ought to be fictitious, like the ones found in the mysteries she wrote. 

Sunglasses on, purse and navy blazer perched on the leather passenger seat, she drove away from her house in Willow’s Edge at the base of Sutter’s Ridge, past pinion pines, aspen, and the desert-landscaped yards of rocks, junipers, Manzanita, and desert willow. Already excited about playing all weekend, the beautiful colors of spring foliage elevated her mood even more. The tension in her shoulders and neck eased along with the throb in her head. She hadn’t seen Nic in weeks and looked forward to sharing another birthday weekend with her favorite and only sister. 

Thirty minutes later, she cruised into town, past artsy boutiques, cute cafes, and the benches and water fountain in the quaint town square. Three blocks from the town hub, and headache gone, she parked at the curb in front of Nic’s apartment on the top floor of a 1920’s two-story converted house. 

She found Nic’s landlord, Mitchell, on his knees next to a flower bed in the front yard, digging in the soil. 

“I see you’re a flower lover.” 

He leaned back on his heels and stared up at her with a hand shading his eyes. “Well, hello to Nic’s sister.” 

“It’s Emma Banefield.” She guessed the older man with nary a strand of hair on the top of his head had forgotten her name. They’d seen each other only a few times in passing over the years. “Please, call me Emma.” She resisted the urge to lend a hand as he clumsily shuffled to his feet, suspecting his pride wouldn’t appreciate the aid. She nodded at the spent tulips. “Digging up bulbs?” 

“Just tidying things.” He tenderly swiped grime from a leaf. “I’ll miss it when we move.” 

“Move?” The surprising news flustered her for a moment. “I hope it’s something you’re looking forward to.” 

He chuckled. “Turns out its one of the few decisions my wife and I agree upon. She loves the house we bought in Phoenix.” One dirt smudged hand affectionately patted the building. “Yeah, we hope Nic will buy the place.”

What? Nic hadn’t uttered a word. 

“The move puts us closer to our daughter.” He tugged his sweaty T-shirt away from his neck. “Warm for this time of year.” 

“Perhaps you’re working too hard, but it’s just the sort of weather for a rib cookoff.”

He chuckled again. “Nic’s been busy baking batches of different recipes for the cornbread contest. Lucky for us, my wife and I got to taste them and weigh in on our favorites. Of course, our picks weren’t the same.” 

She still couldn’t get her head around Nic in the kitchen baking, her sister being a sprouts, beans, and veggie kind of girl. 

“I’ve got my fingers crossed she wins.” He crossed his index and middle finger.

“Let’s hope so.” She shifted on her feet. “I better go if I hope to get a taste before the contest. If I don’t see you before you leave, I wish you the best.”

As he thanked her, she hustled around the side of the house and sped up the wooden back stairs, her mind rolling over the latest news. In one swift motion, she rapped on the glass-paned French doors. Her other hand twisted the door handle as Nic called out.

“Come on in!”

The combined great room on one side and the dining and kitchen area on the opposite end never failed to shine with its buttery-colored walls and sparkling white kitchen cabinets. Vivid teal on the lower cabinets added a striking contrast. She breezed into her sister’s open arms for a hug, catching the familiar scent of Nic’s ylang ylang body lotion. 

“You never mentioned Mitchell and Gloria are moving.”

Nic gestured to the corner dining area. “Let’s sit. I’ll make us tea.”

Emma slid her purse next to her on the banquette bench cushion, then rested her hands on a table rich with honey tones. Colorful modern art, pottery, plants, and all manner of quirky but tasteful doodads imparted an eclectic charm to her sister’s home. Nic filled the tea kettle at the country style sink and set it on an ancient stovetop right out of the fifties, the kind with a shelf holding antique salt and pepper shakers. 

Outside the kitchen window, two apple trees shaded the back yard and daisies sprinkled the grass. “I saw Mitchell working in his flower bed, and he mentioned it. Are you sad to see them go?” 

Nic held two boxes of different teas. 

Emma pointed to the Earl Grey.

“I am sad. They’ve been good property owners and colorful neighbors. I’ll really miss them—even their bouts.” She set two cups on the table, one a brilliant azure and the other bright orange. 

Without thinking, Emma reached for the blue, one of her favorite colors. 

Nic plopped the teabags inside. “Mitchell says they aren’t getting any younger. And with the birth of another grandchild, they want to be closer to family.”

“Will you buy the building?”

Nic scoffed. “Where would I get the money?”

“You could rent out the lower half, or use it for a business selling your candles, or…” She smiled when the wonderful idea sprang to mind. “You could offer yoga.”

“Oh, Em.” Vapor rose when she poured hot water into their cups. “I don’t see any way it could happen.”

“Why not? If money is the only drawback, I can help.”

Nic lifted her head and stared. “Kind of a quick leap. You’re always so cautious.”

“Not when it concerns you and your happiness. Besides, I’ve more than enough money considering the sizeable estate of Jonathan’s deceased mother.” Between the money her husband, Jonathan, had left her and his mother’s estate, Emma didn’t want for finances.

With a tight face, Nic twisted the ring she’d had made for her last birthday around her finger. “I don’t know. What a huge commitment.” 

Emma swirled her teabag in the cup, puzzled by her impetuous sibling’s reluctance. “You could sell art.” She gestured to the glazed bowls and pitchers about the room. “Your best friend from your teaching days is a potter at the high school. Kelly knows everybody in the Wyatt art community and beyond. Why, it’s a perfect fit. Candles, pots, wall art, acrylic, oils, and who knows what else might pop from your creative brain.” Even as the excitement raced through her body, it seemed obvious Nic harbored reservations. “Well, don’t close the door just yet. Sit on it for a while.”

Nic nodded and shrugged a tepid agreement. “I almost forgot!” She drew a fork from a nearby drawer. Not one for agonizing long, she grinned and lifted plastic wrap off two separate pieces of cornbread displayed on a vintage milky green Jadeite cake platter. “These are the latest iterations. Taste them and see what you think.” 

Brimming with anticipation, she accepted the utensil and cut off a sliver from the golden piece on the right. “Hmm. This is good.” A sip of tea cleansed her palette before she tried the second one. “This is yummy and moist. You managed a subtle mix of sweet and spicy. I like this one the best.”

“Yes!” Nic pumped a fist. “Mitchell, Chloe, and Ken agree. Naturally, Gloria, who always needs to be different, chose the first one.”

“Ken was here?”

In between sips of tea, Emma finished off the second piece of cornbread while Nic filled her in on the visits of her daughter, Chloe, and Ken Hakata, a homicide detective friend on the police force. “Oh my gosh.” Nic jumped up from the table. “I have just enough time to bake a fresh batch of the favorite and get it to the contest.”

“Would you like help?”

Nic drew a cartoon of eggs from the fridge. “Nope. Got all the dry ingredients ready to mix and pop in the oven. 

“All righty then. See you at the Dulce and good luck.”

Minutes later, after the short drive to the inn, wearing her blazer and crossover purse, she lugged her rolling suitcase through the hotel parking lot. A woman’s angry swearing gave her pause. Jillian Jackson, the owner of the Dulce Inn, ran her hand along the side of a silver Lexus, her face as contorted as the gnarled trunk of a juniper tree.

“Is there something I can do to help?” She’d rather not interact with the often-unpleasant woman, but if she could assist someone in need, she would. 

Dressed in expensive tailored dark navy pants and a silk blouse, Jillian looked up. Her liver painted lips curled. “Oh, it’s you.” 

Emma recoiled. Had she ever been the recipient of so much scorn? Treated like moldy bread or roadkill. Most people liked her, except for the owner of the Dulce Inn. The hard-driving, opinionated woman made it perfectly clear during their last visit she considered Emma and Nic to be snoopy busybodies. In fact, she’d had the nerve to suggest they find a different hotel for their next getaway. But then, they never excelled at following orders. 

“Shall I call the police?” 

“I’ll manage, and when I find out who did this…” She kicked the slashed tire, silver beaded bracelets jangling at her wrist, and let loose with another X-rated barrage that seared Emma’s ears. “The phone calls were bad enough, but this… Somebody’s going to pay.” Like a tornado, she swept across the street and flung open the inn’s brass and glass double doors.

“Oh, my.” Emma surveyed the damage and winced at crisscrossed cuts in the shiny paint of the expensive vehicle. What a mess. Who wouldn’t be furious? Was the damage a random act of vandalism or someone taking out their aggression specifically on Jillian? She glanced around. With no cameras in the lot, there’d be no images and finding the culprit would be almost impossible. Suitcase rolling noisily behind, she followed Jillian into the lovely, familiar lobby of the Dulce Inn. Given the car’s expensive damage, it was no wonder the owner stomped across the lobby, her stiletto heels snapping like gun fire against the rustic Saltillo tiles. Penelope, her favorite employee, was helping a guest at reception, so Emma slowed her approach and snagged her cell from her jacket pocket. Obsessive, but she checked her mail anyway. “Dang it!” Another agent rejection. Chuffing an exasperated breath, she stuffed the phone back into her pocket. 

“Well, hey, Emma.”

She looked up, delighting in Penelope’s fresh, open smile. After multiple trips to the historic hotel, they’d become friends and the formality of her last name seemed unnecessary. 

“Nice to see you again.” The slender, long-limbed woman wore a gold nose stud that sparkled against her dark skin and matched her filigreed dangly earrings. 

“You, too. I’m so glad you were able to secure me a room. Hope I didn’t cause you any trouble.”

Penelope shot a quick glance over her shoulder, possibly checking no one would overhear. Her boss, Oliver Stonewell, a veritable institution at the hotel, held his staff to the highest standards. He wouldn’t tolerate a blurring of professional boundaries or breaking rules. 

“No trouble for you. You and Nic are my favorite guests. Whenever you’re here, exciting things happen.” Her brows shot up. “Oops, I don’t mean murder is okay…”

Emma waved away her concern and slid her credit card across the counter. “Of course, you don’t. Our last two visits at the Dulce crackled with the sort of excitement and tragedy we could all do without.” 

“That’s for sure. The hotel’s reputation and Jillian can’t handle any more bad news.”

“Is she okay? She certainly wasn’t a few minutes ago when she discovered her tire slashed and the side of her car keyed.” 

Penelope gasped and pressed fingers against her gaping mouth. “How awful.” 

A door slammed and they jumped, glancing nervously at the hallway housing three administrative offices. 

“Do you think she heard me mention her name?” Trepidation rattled the clerk’s soft-spoken voice.

“No. The distance is too great. She’s upset about her car.” She tilted her head in question. “Who would do such a terrible thing?”

The desk clerk shrugged with upturned palms. “I don’t know, but she’s been edgy lately.”

Edgy? What else was new? On the best of days, Jillian came across sharp, sarcastic, and dismissive. Imagining life at the Dulce with the woman’s frequent demands made Emma shudder. 

Penelope leaned across the desk, her voice but a whisper. “She and Leo Ragazzi, her general manager, were really tight until the relationship took a nose dive.”

My goodness, the woman picked up boyfriends like a mother picks up Legos.

“Another one?” Leo Ragazzi wasn’t the first manager with whom Jillian had had an affair. The last one, a hothead named Carter Ramirez, terminated employment when the relationship ended. As owner/boss of the esteemed hotel, Jillian acted like the queen of the castle and the male employees her personal possessions to do with as she pleased. 

Penelope nodded and her loose, black curls bobbled like a fishing bobber on choppy water. “Leo doesn’t take any guff from her. I’ve heard them arguing.” She returned Emma’s credit card along with a tiny folder holding two room key cards. 

“Do you think Leo trashed her car?”

The clerk swished her mouth to the side. “He doesn’t seem the type. If either of them resorted to such drastic tactics, I’d wager it would be Jillian since she might believe she had cause.” 

Jillian certainly had a fiery personality. “You mean he dumped her?” 

“If his sudden glacial attitude toward her is any indication, I’d say yes.” 

Emma rapped the counter with her knuckles and did her best to dispel the sudden image of a smoking volcano. “Let’s hope we’ve seen the end of the drama for the weekend.”

“Amen to that.”