13. Lottie

LOTTIE

“ T ell us everything and start from the beginning,” I tell Francine Dundee right here in the middle of the Cozy Croon Café with Charlie, Carlotta, and the ghost of a long dead polar bear all huddled around the table just waiting with bated breath to hear what she has to say.

The Cozy Croon Café might be known for its comfort food and live music, but today, it’s all about the conversation—or more accurately, the interrogation.

Have I mentioned the delicacies Francine has plied us with that I can’t wait to plunge deep into my belly?

I think she’s hoping we’ll eschew her guilt in the homicide of Ursula Wingate if she comps our meal. But I’m less afraid of anteing up at the register than I am of the fact Carlotta can get us all banned from this place for life.

The lobster mac and cheese really does look as if it should be called lobster mac and crack. With that layer of slightly bronzed cheddar melted on top of it, I’d turn a blind eye while Francine Dundee slaughtered half the town so long as she remained my supplier of this delectable treat.

“I met Ursula when I volunteered at the zoo as a preteen,” Francine begins.

“I can relate.” Carlotta nods. “I, too, hung out with animals when I was a preteen.”

Charlie ticks her head to Carlotta. “And that explains all the teen pregnancies.”

“How well did you know her?” I ask the woman.

Francine’s face tightens, but she recovers quickly. “Not well,” she says curtly. “She wasn’t exactly a friend of mine. In fact, I made it a point to steer clear of her kind when I was a kid.” She wrinkles her nose at Carlotta. “I did my best to steer clear of you, too.”

“That’s too bad for you, Carlotta,” Petey says, sniffing at my plate. “It seems Francine here knows her way around a feeding trough.” He quickly slurps up half my platter and Francine gasps at the sight.

I quickly pick up a fork and do my best to shovel it in right by Petey’s side. The last thing we need is our suspect passing out because the food is seemingly doing a disappearing act all by its lonesome.

“Don’t worry, Lottie.” Francine bucks with a laugh. “I shoveled it in like that when I was carrying my boys.” She slaps the table. “I’ll bet all the lobster in this kitchen that you’re carrying two little men in that belly of yours.”

“Let me guess, a future detective and a judge?” Carlotta lets out a whoop. “I knew the three of you were still getting frisky.”

I take a moment to glare at the woman who bore me.

“Francine,” I clear my throat, “what was your relationship with Ursula like as of late?”

Francine’s thin lips all but disappear as she presses them into a line. “I was looking for a little work around the holidays and Ursula needed some help in the kitchen for a cook. That was over a year ago and I stayed on. As you can see, we’re sorely understaffed. I also double as a waitress, janitor, and accountant. Ursula liked the idea of opening a restaurant, but she had no idea what hard work went into it. I’m more or less the manager here.”

“I know nothing about Ursula. Tell me about her,” Charlie says as Petey starts in on her dish now that he’s licked my platter clean. Drats. I really wanted to try that lobster mac and crack, too.

Charlie picks up her fork and pretends to shovel in her food as quick as it’s disappearing. And not one to leave a sister on her own, I pick up my own fork and help myself to her lobster mac and cheese as well.

Oh my GOOD GRIEF! This really is crack.

“Ursula was a good-for-nothing user and manipulator.” Francine doesn’t mince words. “She’s been married four times, or maybe it was fourteen times, but nevertheless, she’s two-timed every husband and boyfriend she’s ever bothered to be with.” She growls as she gives the stink eye to the entire establishment as if it were Ursula herself. “Anyway, she met up with this Wingate fellow, Orson, and stole him away from his poor wife. The guy is loaded with enough real estate to outfit a small island nation.” She nods my way. “That’s why she went for him. All Ursula ever wanted in life was furs and fame. But she got this place instead.”

“Hey”—Petey sits up a notch—“I think that’s true. Why, Ursula used to tell me all the time what a fine fur I’d make one day and that she couldn’t wait to have me hugging her body.”

Charlie and I exchange a grimace.

“That didn’t happen, did it?” I ask under my breath and he shakes his head.

“She was too busy with boys to notice me in my later years.”

“Lucky for you,” Charlie mutters before making big eyes at Francine. “Lucky for you, she got this place. How did Ursula come upon this place, anyhow? And more importantly, how did she come upon the recipes?” She tips her ear at the woman so as to not miss a beat. And you can bet your britches, Charlie isn’t going to want to leave until she wrangles a few recipes from the woman.

“The same way she got everything else,” Francine grouses. “By opening her legs.”

“How does that work?” Petey asks, turning my way, and I quickly shake my head at him. I’m not looking forward to explaining the birds and the bees to Lyla Nell one day, let alone the ghost of a polar bear. Carlotta already beat me to Evie.

Carlotta points her fork his way. “In other words, the woman rutted her way to the top.”

“Oh, like that,” Petey muses. “I did the very same thing at the zoo. That’s why they gave me the nickname Casanova of the Arctic. I always did have a way with the ladies.”

Something tells me Ursula and Petey would have gotten along great, well into Ursula’s adult life, too.

Francine nods to Carlotta. “That’s exactly how she got this place. Everyone knows the only reason Ursula married Orson Wingate was to land herself a real estate deal. She told me herself that she always wanted something to call her own, and since Orson wouldn’t buy her a house—he wanted them living in his mansion up on the hill—she talked him into buying this place. Apparently, her mother always told her to have something in her own name in case things went south. Ursula told me that her daddy used to work at the zoo with the cheetahs and he was a cheat-a , if you know what I mean.”

“So she came from a broken family?” Charlie asks as Petey works his way onto Carlotta’s platter, so I lean in and steal some of her lobster mac and crack, too. It’s not my fault Carlotta is slow to play along.

“That’s right,” Francine says. “The woman had daddy issues up the wazoo, and the wazoo is where she dealt with them. She liked men an awful lot—the older, the richer, the less available they were. Why, it made her mouth water just to have them. She was in for the thrill of the chase. That’s why she cheated on all of her husbands.”

“Including Orson?” I ask. That poor man looked horrifically grieved yesterday. I can’t imagine that he knew anything about some extramarital activity.

Francine waves the thought off. “If she hadn’t, she was about to. Nothing could tame her appetite when it came to men.” She growls as she says it, and even though it’s pretty dimly lit in here, I’d swear she was foaming at the mouth. “Anyway, I’m not the reason she’s dead. The woman was my boss. Sure, we had our differences. She certainly didn’t take me seriously in the kitchen. She was always rolling her eyes at my new menu options.” She glances down at the three empty platters before us. “But I can see you think my lobster mac and cheese is a hit.”

“You thought of this recipe?” Charlie marvels. “Tell me what it’s going to take to steal you away from this place.”

“She won’t be at this place for long,” Carlotta harps. “You’ll need to gift her a cake with a nail file in it if you want her to go anywhere with you. The woman is lying through her teeth!”

Francine groans as she rises to her feet. “I’m not lying about a single thing. I don’t know who killed Ursula Wingate. I’m certainly not aware of any enemies she might have had, and I spent a lot of time with the woman.” She shoots a dark look out the window. “The only other person who knew her better was Orson. If you want to know who could have shoved her into the next world, you should probably ask him.” She nods my way. “Lottie, I’ll box up another serving of my lobster mac and cheese for you, seeing that you’re expecting.”

“What about me?” Charlie asks, but it’s too late. Francine has already taken off like a bat out of the hot place.

“Don’t you worry,” Petey says. “I can sniff my way to the kitchen.” He lumbers off in that direction and Charlie lets out a sigh.

“A lot of good that will do me,” she says.

“A lot of good this waste of time did us,” Carlotta counters. “The wicked witch didn’t confess.”

“She may not have confessed, but she’s led me straight to the next person I need to speak with,” I say. “I’m about to shake Orson Wingate down and see if I can’t shake loose a clue or two.”

The crooner on stage announces the karaoke bar is free to anyone who would like it before he steps away and both Charlie and Carlotta exchange a look.

It takes less than three seconds for them to zip up there and croon out a dicey version of “Islands in the Stream” a cappella.

There really are some things worse than murder. Like the slaughtering of my eardrums.

Francine comes back looking winded. “I’m sorry, Lottie. All I can offer you is a tray of my famous spicy curly fries,” she says, handing me the box. “I was about to scoop out some of my famous lobster mac and cheese and I swear it just up and disappeared right before my eyes. I think I need to lie down.”

“I think you need to make another batch,” I say it like a threat and she all but salutes me before stalking off to the kitchen.

And I think I need to unplug that microphone before I lose my brain cells and my hearing.

But I’m not losing my way in this investigation. Orson Wingate, here I come.