Schuyler Square Day 47 The Body in the Kitchen

Peter Van Husen was the first person to reach the scene of the crime. He felt a surge of adrenalin rush through him, far more than a trained police officer ought to be experiencing but in his gut he knew who he was going to find lying in the kitchen—Mavis. She had been kidnapped the week before and whoever grabbed her had obviously finished off the job in the Schuyler Square Country Club kitchen, a tray of crab puffs probably dangling precariously on the counter above her head.

Nausea swept over him. If Mavis was dead, he had a pretty good idea of who had offed her: his wife.

Pushing open the double swinging doors, Peter rushed into the large room, his attention focused on finding the victim. Hoards of people poured in after him dressed in tuxedos and formals. For an insane moment it reminded him of the board game Clue and Peter had to fight back a strong urge to start laughing. The whole scene was surreal with police officers swarming into the room, knocking over plates and pans as if they were bloodhounds chasing an extremely fresh scent which, Peter supposed, they were.

Peter screeched to a halt in the center of the kitchen, his blue eyes darting around the space but coming up empty. There were no blood spatters, no bullet holes, no Mavis lying on the black a white tile floor with a butcher knife sticking out of her designer dress. “Where is she?” he shouted.

The caterer who had screamed about the body scurried up next to him, her round face contorted with fear. “In there!” she said, pointing toward the walk-in freezer. “We forgot to get the ice sculpture out so I went to get it when I tripped over something. I looked down and saw—“ She put her hands up over her face as if to block out the image of the murder victim. Peter patted her well-padded back. “It’s OK,” he said as he tried to find the nerve to enter the freezer. He so didn’t want to see Mavis dead. He hated seeing any victim of a violent crime but Mavis—the afternoons and evenings they’d spent together rushed back to him—so many stolen moments in hotel and motel rooms, so many erotic events in hot tubs and saunas. Now they were over and he knew he’d never find another woman like Mavis again. There wasn’t anyone else like her.

Forcing himself to move steadily, Peter crossed the kitchen to the door of the walk-in freezer and pulled it open. The caterer had been right. There was a body lying on the floor. Peter took in the prone figure, his mind instantly searching for clues of how the victim had died and who might have done it.

“What’s happening?” A fellow police officer appeared at his side. “Dear God,” he breathed. “Someone’s killed Ron Schuyler.”

Schuyler Square Day 46 The Policeman's Retirement Ball Goes On

Tom didn't seem exactly shocked by her revelation. "I didn't surprise you, did I?"

Tom shook his head, looking slightly embarrassed. "I suppose I figured out that Kirk was Ron's son a long time ago. What did surprise me is that you were ever involved with someone like Ron. You're so...nice and he's such a--"

"Jerk?" Veronica suggested.

"For lack of a more colorful adjective," Tom agreed. "It's none of my business, but how did it happen?"

Veronica shrugged. "What can I say? I was young and stupid and he was older and manipulative. Believe it or not, I thought I loved him."

Tom was too polite to agree totally with her. "Like you said, you were young. So what are you going to do now? Are you hoping the two of them well develop some kind of relationship? You probably already know that Ron has never been nominated to be Father of the Year. He's always pretty much ignored his other kids and it shows. The older one turned out just like him and the younger one is afraid of his own shadow.”

Veronica made a face. “To tell you the truth I don't know what I want now. At first I was all about revenge. I had lost my job in Minneapolis, Kirk was writing a novel and not bringing in a regular salary, we were about to lose our house and it dawned on me that perhaps Kirk’s dad should be kicking in some money after all these years. But then I came back here and Ron found me a job and a place to live and was fairly decent about it all. I must still be stupid because that seemed like enough to me.”

“You’re not stupid and don't forget the house he's renting to you was never a hot commodity on the market. There was a murder committed there."

"Thanks for reminding me."

"A murder that Ron might have had something to do with."

"Why are you saying that? What do you have against Ron?"

"Plenty on a business level but on a personal level it sounds like you might still be in love with Ron Schuyler. That bothers me because I think I'm falling in love with you too.”

“Are we having fun?” Chelsea Van Husen joined them, bouncing into their conversation like a giant rubber ball. Veronica smiled at her friend, trying not to look shocked as she took in Chelsea’s outrageous outfit and even more outrageous hair color. Poor Chelsea. She was trying so hard to get her husband’s attention that it was almost painful to watch. “It’s a fabulous party, isn’t it? Peter and Mavis did a wonderful job. Have you seen Mavis tonight? She looks stunning! Everyone looks stunning—the men, the women—even the bus boys look stunning!”

Chelsea was babbling, something Veronica had never heard her do. Chelsea was usually the epitome of calm and collected. There was an odd look in her eyes too—she was so fired up that she seemed close to manic. “Would you like to get something to eat, Chelsea? Or have some champagne?”

“Oh, no—I’ve got to find Peter. I have to tell him something—it's very important--I'll see you two later—“

Chelsea vanished into the crowd. “What’s the matter with her?” Tom asked. “She’s acting higher than a kite.”

“She probably feels like a fool since everyone in town knows about her husband and Mavis Schuyler.” Veronica cringed. “Just like everyone knows about me and Ron and our son.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Tom suggested. “Let the past go. You can’t change it. Focus on your future instead--”

A scream interrupted him as a woman wearing a white catering outfit suddenly ran into the crowded ballroom. She stopped in front of the band and began waving her arms frantically. “There’s a dead body in the kitchen!” she screamed. “Somebody do something!”