been staring straight ahead up at the ceiling yet not seeing a thing. I closed my own eyes as I tried to wipe out the memory.
“So Claudine found him. That might be a might handy cover for having killed him.”
“I don’t know. She’s awfully thin and doesn’t look like she’d have the strength to pull a bow and arrow.”
“It doesn’t take all that much strength, DeeDee.”
“But it takes some, doesn’t it? I remember taking archery in high school and you had to aim and pull back if you wanted to hit your target. Claudine’s emaciated looking. Not the athletic type at all.”
“She’s still a possibility,” Steve insisted. “We’re going to operate on the everyone guilty until proven innocent theory. Then what happened?”
“Someone must have called the police because they arrived within a minute or two. Then we were all told to go back to the staff lounge. That’s about when I called you, Steve. Everything else is pretty much a blur.”
For a long moment Steve and I looked at each other from our respective recliners. “What a mess,” Steve finally remarked as he finished the rest of his drink.
“I’ll say it is,” I agreed.
Steve reached for the remote control and flicked on the television. “Well, I guess all that really matters is that you’re all right and that’s the main thing. Let’s try to forget about it for the rest of the night. I don’t want you having nightmares. I am sorry this had to happen on your very first catering job, babe.”
“Me too.” I polished off my wine and tried to focus on the program Steve had turned on but my mind couldn’t seem to relax. How was I ever going to get anyone to hire me once they learned that I was the person who had fixed Frank Ubermann his last meal? I felt like a cook on death row at the state prison. “I think I’m going to get some more wine,” I announced.
“Go ahead, honey. You earned it today.”
In the kitchen, I poured myself another glass of wine. I stood for a moment as the wine slid down my throat, finding comfort in the feel of my familiar kitchen floor under my feet, the soft fabric of my favorite lavender fleece bathrobe hugging my body. Everything looked so normal—the geranium plant in the window, the checked dish towels hanging next to the stove, the Corning Ware coffee pot that I used every morning because it makes the best coffee in the world. It seemed hard to believe that everything could look the way it always had when I felt as if I’d been through a tornado.
“Hon, while you’re up could you bring me some cheese and crackers?” Steve called from the family room.
Instantly, I felt better. Steve didn’t seem to be too bent out of shape over the day’s events. Surely if he could be fairly relaxed over the fact that I had a front row seat to a murder, it couldn’t be that big a deal.
Tyler came in the back door just then. “Hey, Mom,” he said when he saw me, “Jane sent me a text and said you had your first catering job today. I forgot all about that. How’d it go? Anything exciting happen?”
I began to laugh and cry at the same time as I reached up to give my six foot four baby a big hug. “Oh, it was memorable,” I replied. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
Chapter Eight
Monday morning after Steve left for work I sat down at the round oak kitchen table with a cup of fresh coffee and allowed myself the luxury of a small nervous breakdown. I was still shaking from the events that had happened on Friday, even after a routine weekend and two nights of fairly good sleep. It just seemed impossible to me that someone had been shot by an arrow and died while I was upstairs making sure that everyone had enough herb butter for their croissants and refilling glasses of iced tea. The part I couldn’t seem to get past was that it hadn’t been anyone anonymous but someone I had met and spoken too, a living, breathing human being. A living, breathing human being who no longer existed.
Even
“So Claudine found him. That might be a might handy cover for having killed him.”
“I don’t know. She’s awfully thin and doesn’t look like she’d have the strength to pull a bow and arrow.”
“It doesn’t take all that much strength, DeeDee.”
“But it takes some, doesn’t it? I remember taking archery in high school and you had to aim and pull back if you wanted to hit your target. Claudine’s emaciated looking. Not the athletic type at all.”
“She’s still a possibility,” Steve insisted. “We’re going to operate on the everyone guilty until proven innocent theory. Then what happened?”
“Someone must have called the police because they arrived within a minute or two. Then we were all told to go back to the staff lounge. That’s about when I called you, Steve. Everything else is pretty much a blur.”
For a long moment Steve and I looked at each other from our respective recliners. “What a mess,” Steve finally remarked as he finished the rest of his drink.
“I’ll say it is,” I agreed.
Steve reached for the remote control and flicked on the television. “Well, I guess all that really matters is that you’re all right and that’s the main thing. Let’s try to forget about it for the rest of the night. I don’t want you having nightmares. I am sorry this had to happen on your very first catering job, babe.”
“Me too.” I polished off my wine and tried to focus on the program Steve had turned on but my mind couldn’t seem to relax. How was I ever going to get anyone to hire me once they learned that I was the person who had fixed Frank Ubermann his last meal? I felt like a cook on death row at the state prison. “I think I’m going to get some more wine,” I announced.
“Go ahead, honey. You earned it today.”
In the kitchen, I poured myself another glass of wine. I stood for a moment as the wine slid down my throat, finding comfort in the feel of my familiar kitchen floor under my feet, the soft fabric of my favorite lavender fleece bathrobe hugging my body. Everything looked so normal—the geranium plant in the window, the checked dish towels hanging next to the stove, the Corning Ware coffee pot that I used every morning because it makes the best coffee in the world. It seemed hard to believe that everything could look the way it always had when I felt as if I’d been through a tornado.
“Hon, while you’re up could you bring me some cheese and crackers?” Steve called from the family room.
Instantly, I felt better. Steve didn’t seem to be too bent out of shape over the day’s events. Surely if he could be fairly relaxed over the fact that I had a front row seat to a murder, it couldn’t be that big a deal.
Tyler came in the back door just then. “Hey, Mom,” he said when he saw me, “Jane sent me a text and said you had your first catering job today. I forgot all about that. How’d it go? Anything exciting happen?”
I began to laugh and cry at the same time as I reached up to give my six foot four baby a big hug. “Oh, it was memorable,” I replied. “I’ll tell you all about it.”
Chapter Eight
Monday morning after Steve left for work I sat down at the round oak kitchen table with a cup of fresh coffee and allowed myself the luxury of a small nervous breakdown. I was still shaking from the events that had happened on Friday, even after a routine weekend and two nights of fairly good sleep. It just seemed impossible to me that someone had been shot by an arrow and died while I was upstairs making sure that everyone had enough herb butter for their croissants and refilling glasses of iced tea. The part I couldn’t seem to get past was that it hadn’t been anyone anonymous but someone I had met and spoken too, a living, breathing human being. A living, breathing human being who no longer existed.
Even
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