Punch, Pastries, and Poison by Harper Lin (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

We chatted for a few more minutes before hanging up. I wrote Mrs. D’Angelo’s name down on my notepad in neat letters then stared at it for a while, tapping my pen on the paper. I had my list. Now I just needed to decide what to do with it. The right thing to do was to give it to Mike. He couldn’t possibly be upset with me for making it when all I’d done was call my friends and ask them who they remembered seeing, could he?

I stared at the notepad a little longer and picked up my phone again. Slowly, I opened my list of contacts. My finger hovered over Mike’s name. I knew I should tap it, but I did so only after a good bit of deliberation. There was no point in having made the list of names if I didn’t turn it over to him, was there? It wasn’t like there was anything I could do with it.

My call went straight to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message, knowing that he’d see the missed call and call me back if he was so inclined. And if he didn’t, that was his fault.

Still holding the phone, I looked at my list. Then back at the phone. I knew Mike didn’t want me meddling in the case, but surely it couldn’t hurt if I just made a couple of calls... Could it?

Chapter 21

Mrs. D’Angelo answered on the first ring. “D’Angelo residence,” she said in her clipped tones.

“Hi, Mrs. D’Angelo, this is Fran Amaro—”

“Francesca! How lovely to hear from you! How are you, my dear? I heard about the incidents at your café! How awful! How terrifying that must be for you! I can’t imagine what you must be going through! And that poor girl! Persephone, the paper said her name was. Such a lovely name but so tragic. You know your Greek mythology, I’m sure—”

She went on for several minutes about the ancient story of Persephone and how she was the cause of winter, and wasn’t it just so poetic and her poor mother—Demeter, of course, not our Persephone’s mother. She barely paused for breath and certainly not long enough for me to get a word in.

I started to worry that Mrs. D’Angelo would just hang up when she was done, as she did when she snagged you for one of her speeches out in public. She’d show up, grab onto your arm with her long nails, regale you with whatever she was thinking, and then disappear, leaving behind only the nail imprints in your arm and a cloud of heavy floral perfume.

“But I’m just on my way out to my Ladies’ Auxiliary meeting. We’re working on a fundraiser for the Cape Bay Historical Society—which I’m also a member of, of course. We’re doing such good work. It was lovely talking to you, Francesca—”

I cut her off before she could hang up on me. “Actually, Mrs. D’Angelo, I wanted to ask you about my birthday party the other day.”

The line went silent, and I thought that maybe I hadn’t caught her in time—or that she’d hung up on me anyway. I had just pulled the phone away from my ear to see if the call was still connected when she finally spoke.

“Well, yes, dear, that’s what we were just talking about. You received my donation, didn’t you? I wrote quite a generous check—”

I interrupted her again, not wanting to give her the chance to really get going. “I don’t know, actually. The police are holding it as evidence until the end of their investigation—”

She started huffing and puffing, but I didn’t let her interrupt.

“I did know you attended, though, which I wanted to thank you for.”

The huffing and puffing slowed down a little bit but didn’t stop entirely.

“And I also wanted to make sure that you weren’t affected by whatever made everyone else sick.” On the spur of the moment, I decided to downplay my knowledge of the poison punch.

“Oh, no, dear, I abstain from all alcohol. And tobacco. I try to limit my vices as much as possible. An occasional dessert here or there—such as one of your lovely baked goods—but nothing too heavy or indulgent. It’s not good for one’s constitution to give in to temptation.”

I was about to interrupt her again, but she kept plowing ahead.

“That was why I was so upset about those young people smoking! I told your girl about it, you know, the older brunette one, not young Samantha. Dean Howard and that Karli girl, Jack and Donna’s daughter. I would have thought they raised her better than that, but who knows with children these days. Dean always was a handful. A bit of a disappointment to his father, but his mother was a pushover and never could discipline him. But regardless of upbringing, it’s not appropriate for those people to be getting their nicotine fix in a public place, no matter how much they think it’s okay because the cigarettes have computers in them now instead of lighting them with a match. Drugs are drugs, and I simply cannot tolerate their use in my presence. That was why they outlawed it. Well, not because of me personally, but because drugs shouldn’t be used in public. It’s a terrible example for the children. Why—”

I finally managed to get a word in. “Mrs. D’Angelo, didn’t you say you were going somewhere? I wouldn’t want you to be late because of me.”

“Oh, goodness, yes! Thank you for reminding me! It was lovely speaking to you, Francesca. We really should catch up more often. Call me anytime. Bye-bye now!”

She hung up, and I tried to catch my breath from the whirlwind conversation. Talking to her was always dizzying, but it was somehow even more overwhelming over the phone. Maybe it was just the sheer effort of keeping up with the flood of words.

I took a stretch break and made myself a fresh latte with a swan as decoration this time.