“You said Chef Duquesne killed your mother?” Hannah asked, hoping that the memory of that sad time would distract him enough so that he wouldn’t notice that she was exploring the shelves under the counter. Using her fingers and feeling around for something that she could use to keep him from turning on her. There was no doubt in Hannah’s mind that he would try to kill her. He was telling her why he’d committed murder. After he finished, he couldn’t let her live to tell anyone else.
“I was just a kid,” Rodney repeated. “I didn’t know she was sick. I thought she was just tired,” Rodney said. “She was always working, every minute of every day while I was in school. She’d leave food for me and she taught me how to fix it in the toaster oven she’d found in a thrift store. But there were nights when she didn’t get home from the restaurant until I’d gone to bed.”
As Rodney told the story, Hannah took a chance and pulled out a bowl that was filled with something. She could hear it slosh. It was covered with plastic wrap and she carefully inched off a bit from the edge. Then she dipped her finger into the bowl and rubbed it against her palm. It was slick and smooth, lightly viscous, and that meant it was some kind of oil. It must be premeasured for something that Sally was planning to make for the wedding reception.
“I remember how thin she was. When she held me, her arms were bony. I noticed, but I didn’t notice, not really. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Hannah responded quickly. This was a good sign. He was no longer just telling a story. He was interacting with her now. “Did Chef Duquesne know that she was sick?”
“If he did, he didn’t care. He just made her work longer and longer and told her that what she baked wasn’t any good. I could hear her crying in the night.”
Hannah’s heart went out to Rodney, and she had to remind herself that he was a dangerous killer. If she let sympathy get in the way of her determination to stay alive, she’d never walk down the aisle in her beautiful wedding gown. She’d never hear Reverend Bob pronounce them man and wife, never dance with Ross at their wedding reception, and never see the man she loved again!
New determination filled her. Hannah lifted the bowl and held it in one hand. It was heavy, but that was all to the good. She wasn’t quite sure how she would use it, but somehow she would.
“One night she baked a cake,” Rodney went on, plagued by his memories of the past. “She was very excited about it and she even copied the recipe for me. It was something that she’d been practicing after work at the restaurant every night. She told me that he was bound to like it and to praise her for her work when he tasted it. When he did, she’d ask him for a raise and he’d give it to her because he’d be so impressed with her cake.”
Suddenly it all came together and Hannah knew what had driven Rodney Paloma to murder. “The candied violet cake,” she said.
“Yes. Very smart, Hannah. But tonight you were too smart for your own good. I would have been gone tomorrow and no one would ever have figured it out.”
“But you won that night! We tied for first place. Chef Duquesne must have liked your mother’s cake.”
“Oh, he did! But that was only a partial vindication. It was for me because I made her cake. And it was for her because he had to admit that it was superlative. But he still had to answer for the fact that he had killed her!”
“Yes,” Hannah said, taking a deep breath. “I can see that.”
“Of course you can.” Rodney dismissed it. “I ordered a special bottle of wine, one that I knew he liked, and I found him right here in the kitchen. I opened the wine and poured it, and then I said I had a toast to make. And I toasted my mother and told him that it was her cake!”
“What did he say?” Hannah asked as she inched off a little more of the plastic wrap. Over half of the circumference of the bowl was now exposed.
“He said that it was his cake in the first place and he’d spent months trying to teach her to bake it. And the only reason he’d hired her in the first place was because I was his child. And he’d thought that he could get some use out of supporting us, but she was too dumb to learn anything.”
“And that’s when you killed him?” Hannah asked, her fingers scrabbling at the edge of the plastic wrap. Another few inches released their hold on the lip of the bowl and almost all of the oil was now exposed.
“I didn’t kill him then. I wasn’t planning to kill him, even after he said that about my mother. He grabbed a knife, told me to follow him, and led me to the walk-in cooler. He said he’d show me what he thought of my cake.”
“But he cut a piece of mine, instead of yours!” The oil sloshed slightly as the rest of the plastic wrap came loose. Hannah dropped it on the floor and readied herself for what was about to come. “I understand why you did it now, Rodney.”
“What else could I do when he stuffed a bite of your cake in his mouth and swallowed? And then he said I was a lousy baker, just like my mother. He told me my cake was pretty, but it had no taste, just like my mother. And that’s when I picked up the knife and stabbed him for my mother!”