Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(521)

I got up and dressed quickly. I’ll say this much for Susannah. She has the ability to make getting up at five in the morning on a cold, autumn day preferable to remaining in my warm comfortable bed. There has got to be talent there somewhere.

Needless to say, I was not in a chipper mood as I clumped about the kitchen getting breakfast for the Ream party. I made no effort to keep down the racket. That the pots and pans seemed to hurl themselves at the stove, and that my bedroom, with Susannah gone back to sleep in it, was right next door were, however, coincidental.

I had just plopped the platter of eggs and bacon on the table when the Reams showed up. On the dot, just like I knew they’d be. People of their ilk are as tight with their time as they are with their money.

“Uhmm, it smells delicious,” said Lydia, who led the way. She was dressed in brand-new designer jeans, a new red flannel shirt, never-before-worn lace-up boots, and a new billed cap that sported a political saying. She looked about as much like the hunters I knew as Freni did.

“Coffee with muscle is in the big pot, decaf in the little, and there’s hot water in case anyone wants tea,” I said perfunctorily.

“Coffee better be strong,” growled the Congressman. “Damned impossible to get any sleep around here. First that young bimbo goes into histrionics, then some mystery guest takes a header down those wicked stairs of yours. I can hardly wait to see what you’ve got planned for tonight.”

“There is a banister,” I pointed out quickly. “And it’s fastened to the wall quite securely. The stairs are really very safe.”

“And charming, too,” said Lydia graciously. “Very Old World in style. They remind me of Europe.”

I flashed her a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Better do something with those damned stairs,” snarled the Congressman.

“Is that a hint?” I asked sweetly. If he’s not looking, a woman can push a man down a flight of stairs, just as easily as the other way around.

The three of them sat down and began to eat. I stole another glance at Delbert, and then at the Congressman. They both seemed half-asleep. Like Lydia, they were wearing brand-new duds. Why on earth, I wondered, would anybody wear new clothes to tramp around in a woods, unless they planned to be seen? Granted, these were not your typical interview clothes, but they had to be a long way from comfortable.

“Everything all right, folks?” I asked. Perhaps I was just a wee bit brusque because no one, not even the Congressman, responded right away. Like the obedient child I used to be, they ate in silence.

“Got any more of that delicious apple butter you served last night?” asked Delbert after a while.

“Coming right up.”

“Any more of that nice, crisp bacon?” asked the Congressman, suddenly coming to life. For a second I was flattered, but then he added, “Or were those charcoal briquettes?”

“He’s only kidding, aren’t you, dear?” said Lydia quickly. Her face had colored to the point that it almost matched her shirt. Frankly, I felt more sorry for her than I did angry at the Congressman. I got paid to put up with his rudeness. She, on the other hand, paid his bills. At least that’s what the papers said.

“The hell I am,” he snapped. “The food here is garbage. The service stinks. The—”

Lydia clamped a dainty, manicured hand over her husband’s mouth. She couldn’t have been more foolish had she tried to muzzle Shnookums. The Congressman may not have been in the habit of biting, but he showed no hesitation when it came to hitting. The blow he gave her was on the side of the head and with the palm of his hand. It was hard enough so that she tipped back in her chair and had to struggle to regain her balance. Why he simply didn’t push her hand away, was beyond me. Papa had never hit Mama to my knowledge, nor she him, and neither of them would so much as raise their voice in front of strangers, no matter how vexed they got.

“What the hell!” said Delbert, jumping up, but beyond that he made no move to intervene.

“Stay out of this,” growled the Congressman. “This is a family matter.” He stood up himself and grabbed his wife by the arm. “Bring the car around in half an hour,” he said, presumably to Delbert, then he dragged his wife out of the room.

Delbert sat mutely down.

Not knowing what else to do, I scurried into the kitchen and got the apple butter. When I returned, Delbert was sitting just as I’d left him.

“Does he do that often?” I asked, setting the apple butter down in front of him.

Delbert appeared to shake himself mentally, and offered me a weak smile. “Of course not.”