Grilled for Murder Page 12

  * * *

  I stepped out of Tiffany’s with the handled bag she’d placed the gift in. So that made three of us—Tiffany, Phil, and me—who were home alone with no alibi the night of Erica’s murder. I swore. It was raining even harder now. I huddled under the shallow overhang while I fumbled with the umbrella, finally getting it all the way open.

  “Watch it, now,” a deep voice said from next to me.

  I tilted the umbrella and craned my neck to see Max standing a little behind me to my right. “Sorry. Did I poke you?” Where had he come from?

  “Almost.” He wore a brimmed hat and the collar of his overcoat was turned up. He held the handles of a black canvas bag that looked like a cross between a briefcase and a tool kit.

  “I can’t see much under this umbrella,” I said.

  “Been doing some shopping?”

  “I did.” I held up my bag. “Tiffany has beautiful stuff in there.”

  “She does. Hey, hope you’ll be able to make it to Erica’s service tomorrow.”

  Max seemed to have changed personalities from when I’d first met him. A change coinciding with Erica’s death. Maybe she’d been like a thorn in his foot and life seemed cheerier without her. It was an awful thought, that it might take someone’s death to improve a person’s mood.

  “Sue came by and told me,” I said. “I’ll be there. One o’clock, right?” A car drove by and nearly sprayed us both when it drove through a puddle. “I’d better be going before it rains any harder.”

  “Can I give you a ride somewhere?” he asked. “It isn’t much weather for walking.” He pointed to a big green pickup truck parked a couple of spaces down.

  “Thanks so much. I’m headed back to the store only a couple of—”

  “I know where your place is, Robbie.” He held out his keys and clicked the fob at the truck, which beeped and blinked its lights. “Hop on in.”

  I climbed into the passenger seat and laid my wet umbrella on the floor. It seemed like a fairly new truck, but the dashboard was littered with odd bits of tools and cylinders of locks that looked naked outside the doors they belonged in. The floor mat sported a collection of crumpled White Castle bags, some bearing stains of ketchup and mustard from the hamburgers they’d held. An empty fries box lay there, too, with the chain’s tag line of WHAT YOU CRAVE in white letters on orange. I should probably come up with something equally snappy for my restaurant.

  As we rolled down the street, I said, “Were you shopping somewhere, too?”

  “Not shopping.” He laughed, a low rolling chortle. “I work right back there.”

  “At the men’s store?”

  “Heck, no. I’m a locksmith. Guess you didn’t know.” He glanced at me with a smile, then back at the road.

  “Right. My aunt told me and I forgot. Have you been doing it long?” I turned a little sideways to face him.

  “Most of my adult life, since I got out of the Army, anyhow.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, it was the military who trained me in the trade.”

  “You must have to pick locks for people who lock themselves out.”

  “All the time. Or they go ahead and lose the only key. Who doesn’t get copies made?” He shook his head and patted the canvas bag, which sat on the console between us. “I’m off right now to install a dead bolt for a lady who got her house broke into. Burglars got in with a credit card. Shee-it.”

  “I’ve heard of that happening.”

  We rode in silence for a block, then he said, “Somebody told me you’re one of those crazy bicyclers.” Max glanced over. “The ones who ride around in a pack wearing ridiculous colored outfits, who take up the whole road.”

  “I hope I’m not crazy. And actually I rarely ride in a group. I just like the exercise. And it clears my head.”

  “I don’t get the attraction.”

  “How’s Paula doing?” I asked.

  “She’s awful torn up about Erica.” He pulled his mouth to the side as he pulled up in front of Pans ’N Pancakes.

  “Was she able to remember anything about Erica leaving the house that night?”

  “I told you, she’s a solid sleeper. She says she didn’t hear anything. And having to be questioned by the police after her sister was killed really sent her over the edge.”

  “What a shame.”

  “It wasn’t any fun. They took us all in separate, too.” His right index finger beat a rhythm on the steering wheel.

  “I’m sure the police were only doing their job. Did they give you any clue about how the investigation is going?”

  He cast a sideways look at me. “No,” he scoffed. “Why would they?”

  “Just curious. I’m trying to figure out who would have killed Erica, although I’m not making much progress.”

  “Really? You don’t trust the police?”

  “I’m sure they’ll find the killer. But it’s bugging me they brought my friend Phil MacDonald in for questioning, too. I know he never would have hurt her.”

  “My sister-in-law rubbed folks the wrong way. All the time.”

  “Apparently. Even Tiffany Porter,” I said.

  “You could say that again. The two of them were arguing something fierce last week. Right out on the sidewalk, too. Airing their dirty linen in public.” He looked disgusted. “Normally Tiffany is as smooth as chocolate pudding with all those men she goes out with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everybody knows Tiffany likes to be shown a good time. She’s always at one fancy restaurant or another. And with a different guy every time. Not locals for the most part.”

  “I’m not surprised. She’s an attractive woman.” I stared out at the rain, then back at Max. “That guy, Vince. When did he arrive in town?”

  “What are you asking about him for?” Max narrowed his eyes.

  “It seems like a long drive to make. He must have been close to Erica.”

  He snorted. “He couldn’t stand her, to tell you the truth. He told me he was closer to her husband. Not quite sure why he came down. But he seems like a decent enough guy, and it made Sue and Glen feel warm and fuzzy he made the effort.”

  “I guess I’m going to have to trust the police to solve the puzzle of the murder. I sure can’t figure it out, at least so far.” I laid my hand on the latch. “Well, I’d better get inside. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Not a problem. And I apologize for Paula’s outburst yesterday. She’s not herself. Anyhow, we know you didn’t have anything to do with the murder. Just like none of us did, either.”

  Chapter 15

  I jabbed the red phone icon that evening, setting my phone on the kitchen table with a little too much force. I glanced at the clock, which already read eight. I’d completely struck out trying to find someone who could work with Danna while I attended the funeral. Adele wanted to go to the service herself, as did Samuel. Jim? I didn’t even want to ask him. His real-estate law practice was a busy one. Shoot. Who else could I call? I should have started calling earlier, but I’d gotten absorbed in a puzzle while I ate dinner and two hours had slipped away.

  On the off chance Phil didn’t have to work tomorrow, I pressed his number and said hello after he picked up.

  “Phil, I’m in a bind tomorrow. Remember last month when you filled in for me so I could attend Stella’s funeral?”

  “And tomorrow is Erica’s. Sorry, Robbie, but I have a new boss in the music department. She frowns on people taking too much personal time. I’d rather come work with Danna again, but . . . ”

  “That’s okay. How are you doing, anyway?”

  “Well, they forced me to go to the police station again yesterday, which did not make my boss happy, as you can imagine. And the interview was one more sham, one more travesty.” Phil’s rich baritone sounded angry. “Once again they let me go, of course. But the ever-vigilant Detective Slade told me not to leave town. She sounded like a bad police show.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish they’d find the actu
al murderer so we can all relax and get back to normal.”

  “Agree a hundred percent. Speaking of normal, I owe you some more desserts. And they’re in the oven now.”

  “You’re a dear.”

  “I love doing it, as you know. I’ll drop them off early tomorrow.”

  I thanked him and hung up. I’d better start training a part-time worker. What if I had to go away somewhere? Which, come to think of it, I was planning to do after Christmas. Or, heaven forbid, what if Danna or I got hurt? Danna. Maybe she had a friend who could help. I pressed her number.

  After she greeted me, I said, “Do you happen to have any friends who have experience cooking?”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to go to Erica’s funeral tomorrow. It’s at one o’clock. And I haven’t found a substitute.”

  “I can handle the restaurant alone,” Danna said.

  “If it’s quiet, I’m sure you could. But what if we got a rush? There’s no way you could manage. And the business is still so new, I don’t want any customers to have a bad experience.”

  “I guess. Let me think.” She fell silent for a moment. “There’s one guy from high school. He liked to cook as much as me.”

  “Do you think he’s free?”

  “Problem. He went away to college. He’s back East somewhere. Yale, maybe.”

  “And there’s nobody else?”

  “Nope. I didn’t have a big circle of friends in school, and the ones I still hang with think it’s weird how much I like making food. They’re always getting fast food, or nuking frozen stuff.” I could hear the disgust in her voice.

  “I don’t suppose Corrine could help out for a couple of hours? I mean, I know she’s the mayor, but—”

  “Not going to work. Remember? Mom’s out of town.”

  “Right. I guess I’ll skip the service,” I said. “I didn’t even know Erica, but Sue seemed to really want me to go.”

  “Sorry, dude.”

  We disconnected. Maybe I could still make it over to the Berrys’ house after the funeral for the reception, or gathering, or whatever Sue had called it. Danna wouldn’t mind handling all the cleanup herself. My gaze fell on the bag from Tiffany’s. How was I going to work Adele’s birthday into the day, too? I thought for a minute, then pressed her number.

  We chatted for a couple of minutes before I said: “I’d like to have you and Samuel over for dinner tomorrow. Can you come?”

  “Hang on, I’ll ask him.” After a few moments of muffled noises, she came back on. “Splendid. What time?”

  “Come at six, okay?”

  “We’ll be there. Love you.”

  It would be fun to have Jim join the group, too. But I didn’t feel like talking to one more person, so I texted him the invitation, and he texted back almost immediately he would be there with bells on. Whatever that meant. I poured an inch of bourbon into a squat glass and sat again, pulling today’s puzzle toward me. Only the bottom left quadrant remained, and I had two of the words. But an author named Bagnold had me stumped, as did an Adriatic peninsula. I took a sip of the whiskey, savoring the warm, smooth feeling as it went down. Without rival was a clue for a four-letter word. I stared at it for a while, finally writing in lone.

  I gave up on the puzzle for now. After I transferred a load of restaurant laundry from the washer to the dryer, I moved to the computer. I’d set up a Facebook page for the store, which was a pain because now I needed to keep it current all the time. Had I planned a special for tomorrow? I could whip up some apple-spice muffins. Customers loved something a little sweet with their breakfast. I wrote an entry, searched for a public domain picture of a muffin, and put it up with the text. I checked my news feed, but since I spent as little time on social media as possible, I had almost no friends. I noticed the little person icon at the top had a red bubble on it, so I clicked it. Oh. Abe O’Neill wanted to be friends. Cool. I confirmed it, and almost instantly a message from him appeared down in the right-hand corner.

  Nice to see you on here. Did you hear about the funeral tomorrow?

  I typed, Hi, Abe. Yes, but I can’t go. Nobody to help Danna in the restaurant.

  A moment passed, then I can do it. Wasn’t going to go to the funeral, anyway popped up.

  My eyes bugged out. Really? Do you, um, know how to cook? I softened the message with a winking emoticon.

  I’m not a pro, but I love making food. Have tomorrow off work. And I AM a pro dishwasher . . .

  You’re hired, I typed. Come at noon so we can overlap. I’ll pay you. I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

  No pay. C U tomorrow.

  Thanks! I stared at the screen. What a guy. I’d have to think of some way to pay him back. Free meals for a week, maybe?

  Chapter 16

  The apple-spice muffins went together easy as pie the next morning. I slid four pans into the oven, one after another, as Danna strolled in at six thirty.

  “Hey, I found somebody to help out this afternoon.” I smiled at her, setting the timer for twenty minutes.

  “Who?” After she hung up her coat, Danna slid an apron over her head and tied it, then scrubbed her hands. Her dreads were held back by a multicolored knitted band this morning, and she wore a faded flowered cotton dress over a ribbed sweater and leggings, both in black.

  “Abe O’Neill said he’d be happy to,” I said. “And I got the feeling he knows how to cook.”

  “Sweet. He’s a nice guy. Where do you want me to start?”

  “Table setup, then the pancake batter. I already started the coffees.”

  She saluted. “Yes, ma’am,” and hoisted the box of silverware rolled in blue cloth napkins.

  I erased the Specials blackboard and lettered APPLE-SPICE MUFFINS onto it, then headed into the cooler for sausage, bacon, and more.

  “The rain must have stopped overnight,” I said when I emerged with my arms full of meat, milk, and eggs. Danna hadn’t appeared at all wet when she came in.

  “It did. It’s clear out but it’s cold.” She shivered. “Feels like winter.”

  I switched on the strings of lights. “Does that help?” I’d forgotten to leave them on all night yesterday.

  “It does, sort of.” She laughed. “Those sure look pretty. You did a super nice job with all the decorations.”

  “Thanks. So, if your mom is out of town, you’re all alone in the house. You okay?”

  “I’m cool. Kind of nice to have the place to myself. I can play music as loud as I want without her telling me to turn it down. I’ve stopped freaking about strange noises, too.” She finished laying the tables and started measuring flour, brown sugar, and other dry ingredients for the pancakes.

  Bananas. Oops. “Darn. I think I forgot to order bananas.” What was up with my brain this week? Too much else on my mind, that was what.

  “Don’t we have some frozen blueberries? We can make it seem like we planned it that way.” Danna grinned as she strode to the Specials board and added BLUEBERRY PANCAKES to it, then drew out a couple of bags of berries from the freezer.

  We worked in silence for a few minutes.

  “You know, I read something last night you might be interested in,” Danna said, cracking eggs into the mixing bowl.

  “What’s that?”

  “I was noodling around on the Internet, looking for information on Erica.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I might find something new. And because her body was in your store.” She beat the eggs with a whisk.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Sort of. I saw a column from a Chicago news site speculating her husband didn’t commit suicide.” She measured milk into the bowl and then oil. “That he was murdered.”

  I felt my eyes go as wide as they got. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. This guy was actually looking into police corruption. Which they have a real problem with up there, apparently. And the officer who declared Jon Shermer committed suicide was under investigation himself.”
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  “Did the article say who would have killed Jon? And why?” If it was true, then there was a killer at large in Chicago. But it also might soothe Jim’s heart to know his brother didn’t cause his own death.

  “That’s where Erica’s name came in. The guy suspected she was having an affair with this unscrupulous officer.”

  I tilted my head. “You mean, the writer implied Erica killed her husband?”

  “Yeah.” Danna stirred the flour mixture into the liquids and set the beater to rotate on low.

  “That’s really incredible. Will you send me the link after you get home today?” I asked.

  “For shizzle.”

  “Huh?”

  “Translation: for sure.”

  I laughed. “You’re making me feel old and I’m only twenty-seven.” I glanced around the store, making sure the tables were ready, and my gaze fell on the garlands. I laid down the knife I was cutting fruit with. “Shoot. The tree.”

  “What tree?”

  “I cut a Christmas tree on Monday at the place where I got the garlands. But I forgot all about decorating it. It’s outside in a bucket of water. I better go check and make sure it isn’t dry.” I headed for the service door. It was indeed cold out, and I was only wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt. Once outside, I hugged myself. And then stared.

  Where was the tree? I’d put it in a bucket of water on Monday right here, right beyond the trash cans. There was the bucket. But it was empty. What?

  I strode out and all around the area. Sure enough, pine needles littered the ground around the bucket. I checked around the back at the small brick patio outside the back door of my apartment. No tree. I looked in the barn. No tree. I stomped around to the front porch. No tree.

  I couldn’t believe it. Who was so small-minded they would steal a Christmas tree? Could anyone be desperate enough to do such a thing? I headed back around the side and slammed the service door behind me. Danna looked up from the griddle where she was turning sausage links.