Free Just Desserts : A Bed-and-breakfast Mystery by Mary Daheim Page A

think we just roasted the evidence at 350 degrees.”
    Smoke was still pouring out of the leather satchel as Renie dangled it from the steel fork. In the doorway, Oriana was clutching at her pearls and emitting a series of shrieks. Judith was at the sink, pouring water into a kettle, but Joe had grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall by the refrigerator.
    “You may be up to code, but you aren’t up to snuff with your emergency reactions,” he shouted at Judith.
    “Don’t you dare spray that thing all over my kitchen floor!
    Stop it, you’re going to zap Renie!” Judith dove in front of Joe and threw the kettle of water onto the satchel which her cousin had dropped unceremoniously at her feet. “There!
    The enemy has been subdued.”
    JUST DESSERTS / 57
    “Oh, good,” remarked Renie, “only my shoes got wet.” She looked again. “Eeeek! The flour I spilled has turned to paste!
    I’m glued to the spot!”
    At the kitchen door, Oriana had been joined by Otto and what appeared to be the rest of the guest list. Judith noted that Dash and Ellie had taken up the rear. Over the twittering of Gwen, the cries of Oriana, and the vague murmurings of Lance, Otto bellowed the obvious question: “What the hell’s going on now in this loony bin?”
    Before anyone could answer, Sweetums streaked through the open back door, flew across the kitchen, and splayed himself against Otto’s pantsleg. “Owr!” yelled Otto, swatting at the cat. “Get this ugly furball out of here!”
    Judith charged after Sweetums, slipped on the wet floor, and had to be steadied by Joe. “Thanks,” she gasped, feeling his hands at her arm and waist.
    “Take a deep breath,” cautioned Joe, still holding on to Judith. He waited a moment, the magic eyes resting on her startled face.
    “I’m okay,” she said, but her voice was shaky. Not, she realized, from the near fall, but from Joe’s touch. She cursed herself and broke free, all atttention riveted on Otto, who was still trying to pry Sweetums loose from his pants.
    “He likes you, Daddy,” said Gwen. “Nice kitty, come see Gwenny. Gwenny woves kitty-witties.”
    With a spate of apologies, Judith finally broke Sweetums’s hold and carted his hissing form back out through the kitchen. “You’ll be cat soup tomorrow,” she muttered, slamming the door on his yowling face and securing the cat latch as well.
    Renie had managed to get herself unstuck and was mopping up the floor while Joe dispersed the Brodies, except for the irate Otto. “Look at the tears in this seven-hundred-dollar suit! I should have brought my Doberman along! Booger shreds cats into confetti! I’m covered with fur! I’ll probably go into a coma!”
    “How about the front parlor instead?” suggested Joe, steering Otto out of the kitchen. “If you wait there, I’ll 58 / Mary Daheim
    be right along. Mrs. McMonigle is just making more coffee.”
    “Mrs. McMonigle is making mayhem, if you ask me,”
    grumbled Otto, but complied with relative docility.
    Joe made sure that Otto was out of earshot, then turned to Judith and Renie. “Put the coffee on and let’s see that satchel.”
    “It’s locked,” said Renie, then looked again. “It’s not locked. Somebody pried it open.”
    Joe gave Renie a patronizing look. “Of course. What did you expect, they just wanted to braise it for fun?”
    A quick search showed some melted cosmetics, scorched store coupons, a ruined hairbrush, and a wallet which was surprisingly intact. “It’s Wanda Rakesh, all right,” said Joe, studying the California driver’s license. “Doesn’t look a lot like Madame Gushenka, but it’s her.”
    Judith and Renie stood side by side, scrutinizing the face that smiled back at them. According to the license, Wanda was forty-six years old, five foot eight, a hundred and forty-five pounds, and lived in Culver City. Her hair was brown, her eyes were hazel, and she was nearsighted. She had probably been a pretty woman, at least in her