[ Highest Rank #101 in Mystery/Thriller ]
Time has passed. Things have changed. Isabeth, Benny, and Faith aren't quite the same. They have blood on their hands, a code they honor, and secrets they keep locked away. The Psychopath Maker knows this an...
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Isabeth twirled her hair around her finger leaning against the kitchen's door frame. Waiters with empty trays streamed in, refilling at the taupe granite island layered with trays of tiny morsels of deliciousness fresh from the oven, straight off the grill, or chilled in the hidden camel oak fridge. Once the slave-driving, toque topped, double-breasted jacketed wearing chef placed a warm tray in the hands of a steady line of waiters they buzzed out like a Camaro charged with a full tank of gas. Mr. Franz was useless, truthfully everyone was useless but there was one last person she hadn't gotten to yet.
Camilla Hamilton, the little sister of Fiona, dutiful daughter in a crisis. This was all her doing. The casket, the flower arrangements at the church, every piece of food ushered out on the trays, even the music emitting from the speakers; it was all her doing. Mr. Hamilton was too occupied with who to invite, what to say, and how to say it without falling apart. Mrs. Hamilton had fallen apart after the sheriff spoke the words Fiona and death in the same sentence. She didn't make it to the morgue to claim her daughter's body, Camilla also did that and as Fiona's country South Carolina Aunt Mercy rummaged through every cabinet, slamming doors and opening drawers in search of a platter for her Sock-it-to-me cake, it would be Camilla to the rescue removing the woman from the kitchen and out of Chef Luke's nerves.
"You already looked in that cabinet Aunt Mercy." Isabeth reminded her emerging into the kitchen.
"I did, baby." With a heavy hand, Aunt Mercy slammed the cabinet door close. "This kitchen is just too big. I'm forgettin' where I looked. Who needs this many cabinets Karen can't even cook, she was blessed she married a rich man but we won't travel down the road she just lost her baby, God bless her heart." Aunt Mercy journey to the next cabinet whipping the door open; only plates. She closed the cabinet with a huff.
Camilla rushed in the kitchen, "Aunt Mercy we don't need a cake. We already have dessert." Chef Luke violently shook his head dropping a dollop of butter in a skillet, sizzling in seconds. "I told you this on the phone. I told you at the hotel when you told me you bought a cake."
Aunt Mercy walked back over to her cake as if Chef Luke was going to start slicing into it and claim it as his own. "Milla, I bring my sock-it-to-me cake to every family gathering. Your mama loves my sock-it-to-me-cake."
Isabeth placed a tray of shot glasses filled with steamy tomato shop coupled with triangle sliced grilled cheese sandwiches into the hands of Martin, the only waiter she knew by name.
"She loves Fiona." Camilla balled her fist looking down at the stone floor. "She wants Fiona back, not a damn piece of cake!"
Camilla closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, and exhaled. Isabeth watched Aunt Mercy's wide eyes and tight lips, more surprised that the little girl raised her voice than cussed at her.
"Aunt Mercy, I'm sorry. Forgive me." Camilla placed her hand on her neck massaging her tight muscles. "I'll find the platter and cut the cake."
Aunt Mercy walked around the island, took both of Camilla's hands into hers, "Don't worry yourself; leave it. It was stupid of me to bring it."
