Biscuits and Slashed Browns Page 19

  “You got it. I’m sorry to come at such a busy time.”

  “It’s okay. We can handle it.”

  “I saw Nick Mendes leaving just now. Was he in here?”

  She shook her head and stirred the broth. “No. I didn’t see him.”

  “Maybe he forgot something out front.”

  “Or maybe he knows one of the waitstaff.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Getting back to the knife, you yourself are a hundred percent certain nobody but staff was in here then?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I saw. But like I told the detective’s assistant, I had to duck out twice. Earlier in the afternoon Betsy had locked herself out of the house.” She rolled her eyes with a fond look on her face. “The woman is ultra-competent, except when it comes to keys. So I had to rescue her. And believe me, I’m going to figure out a hiding place for a spare key.” She laughed.

  “You said you had to leave twice. Where did you go the other time?”

  “I got a message from the Hollow’s owner. He wanted to meet with me in Nashville. I left my knife roll on my desk, but my office is never locked.”

  Her office, which was tucked in a back corner, out of sight of the kitchen. Bingo. Whoever snuck in could have grabbed the knife without being seen.

  “When I got to Nashville the boss never showed up.” Christina pulled her mouth to the side. “It was actually kind of disturbing. When I texted him to see where he was, he said he never asked for the meeting.”

  So it had been a ruse phone call. A fake summons. “Any idea who actually made the call?”

  “The guy who wanted to steal my knife, obviously,” she said with a steely set to her mouth. “But who it is? Not a clue.”

  “You must have been gone an hour or so, getting to Nashville and back. What time was that?”

  “At four. Worst possible time to leave the kitchen. Luckily I have a super great team.”

  “And you didn’t miss the knife?” I knew my own knives were my treasures, my babies. I paid extra for the best ones, which were built and sharpened for a leftie. I stored them into their leather roll every night.

  “Well, I did, but not until later. It’s not my best knife now. I dropped it once and it got a ding out of it near the tip, so it’s not as useful as some. I believe I can get it ground out.” She shook her head. “Or thought I could, but I never got around to it. Now, even if they ever return the Tojiro, it’s going into the furnace. I don’t want to have anything to do with a murder weapon, especially not in my kitchen.” She shuddered.

  “Thanks, my friend.”

  “Yo, team,” Christina called out. “Robbie here has a question or two for you, so help her out, okay? But keep working.”

  I moved down to a large prep area where a older man in a tunic that had seen better days was expertly transforming a mound of peeled carrots on his left into perfect matchsticks of juliennes on his right. I introduced myself, then asked, “Did you happen to see anyone at all who didn’t belong here in the kitchen last Friday?”

  “Nope. Already told the police I didn’t see nobody unusual.” He peered at me with faded blue eyes. “What are you, some kind of lady PI?”

  “No, just a friend.”

  “I believe in letting law enforcement do their job.” He gazed at me with an expression of distaste, then clammed up, chopping carrots with a vengeance.

  All righty, then. I thanked him and moved on. I continued to strike out with worker after worker, from the prep guys to the pastry chef to the cleanup kid. The woman making soups was flying around like a whirling dervish and I didn’t dare interrupt her. When I’d talked to everyone, I called my thanks to Christina and headed into the front of the house.

  Who to talk to first? Maybe the bartender or one of the waitstaff had seen someone suspicious slip into the back to steal the knife. At the least I could find out what Nick was doing in the restaurant earlier. I sidled up to the bar and introduced myself. The bartender reciprocated but kept working.

  “I’m a friend of Christina’s. Did you happen to see anybody go into the kitchen last Friday who didn’t belong there?”

  “You working for the cops?” He laid both hands on the bar and stared at me. “Because my brother does, and I know they don’t like civilians trying to do their job.”

  I backed up a step. “No, I don’t. I’m just trying to help a friend. No worries.” I turned away. Jeez. Wouldn’t anybody talk to me? I spied a fresh-faced waitress who had been my server last time I ate here. She was the one prepping the flowers, so I slid into the chair opposite.

  “You’re the chef’s friend, aren’t you?” she asked with a shy smile, looking all of twelve even though she had to be at least twenty-one to serve alcohol.

  “I am.” I lowered my voice. “I’m trying to figure something out. Have you heard she’s lost one of her good knives?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes went wide. “And somebody killed that dude with it.”

  “Exactly. Last Friday, can you remember seeing anyone sneak into the kitchen? Somebody who didn’t belong there?”

  She chewed on her lip for a moment, then shook her head. “Friday? I was off. Had to go to my sister’s wedding in Cincinnati. Sorry I can’t help you.”

  “When I came in, a guy named Nick Mendes was leaving. He’s a chef, too. Do you know what he wanted?”

  “He said he left a jacket here. But we couldn’t find it.”

  “Thanks.” I stood. “I’m just going to check with the others about Friday. Have a good evening.”

  But nobody out here could remember an out-of-place visitor from Friday, either. Maybe I should have gotten a list of all the people who worked on Friday. But the police must have done that, and didn’t want to go back and bug Christina one more time. I finally slipped with my disappointment out the door.

  Chapter 35

  Sparse raindrops spattered the windshield of the van when I climbed in. I spent the short drive home considering the false phone message Christina had received. I should have asked if she’d told Thompson. Maybe he could trace where the call had come from. It seemed pretty clear somebody wanted her out of the kitchen at an opportune time to steal a knife. But how could no one have seen the thief? Nick’s story of the jacket seemed a bit flimsy. If he’d left it there, why couldn’t any of the staff find it? He must have been mistaken.

  One block from home the skies opened up. A massive dump of rain cascaded onto my windshield. Technically the sun didn’t set for another hour, but the light was already a dusky dim and, with the downpour, driving took all my attention.

  As I passed the front of my store, I glimpsed a figure on the porch. Or did I? Phil delivering more brownies, maybe. I parked in front instead of around back. As I switched off the engine, my phone rang. I’d changed it to a few bars of a Joni Mitchell song about California Mom had loved.

  “Christina, long time no see,” I said.

  “Gotta make this quick, Rob. My sous-chef said she remembered a friend of mine had stopped by Friday while I was out on the bogus call. Said it was a chef friend.”

  My eyes went wide. “It wasn’t me. Do you have other chef friends?”

  “I know it wasn’t you. The only one I can come up with is Nick. My chef said it was a slim man, not too old, who said I’d told him it was okay to tour the kitchen.” A crash sounded in the background. “Gotta go.”

  It could only be Nick. Why hadn’t the woman told Detective Thompson? Maybe he’d phrased his question wrong. It didn’t matter now. I quickly tapped Thompson’s name in my phone’s Contacts list. But he didn’t pick up. I tapped out a text message, instead.

  Hoosier Hollow cook says Nick M came into kitchen last Friday. Maybe stole C’s knife?

  I hit SEND and slid my phone into my back pocket. Maybe this was the break in the case we needed. A break the police needed, I reminded myself. I’d done my part as a responsible—and overcurious—citizen. I peered through the deluge at the porch again but didn’t see the person I thought I’
d glimpsed before. I figured I might as well go in the front door while I was here. I had my own prep to do for tomorrow morning, and no sous-chef on staff to help me. I tucked my bag under one arm and dashed for the steps. When I arrived under the wide porch overhang I looked again for my visitor but didn’t see a soul. Huh. I must have been mistaken. Visibility was pretty bad.

  But what if it was Nick? What if he was the murderer? He’d said he wanted to drop by and check out my antique cookware. Maybe that was a ruse and he was lurking out here. I shivered and tested the door, but it was securely locked. I opened it in a hurry and rushed inside, locking it behind me. I took a moment to call Buck but got his voice mail.

  “Buck, I’m alone in the store, but I believe I saw somebody outside. Can you send an officer to check, please?”

  A minute later I’d switched on the lights inside. I was safely out of the rain and into air still faintly smelling of maple and sausage, rosemary and cinnamon. I’d left up the strings of tiny white lights after Christmas because they looked so festive, and they were connected to a wireless switch so it was easy to flip them on. Every time I saw the bright pinpoints garlanding along the tops of the windows where I’d hung them after Thanksgiving last year, I smiled.

  I surveyed my lovely old country store from where I stood in the kitchen area. The tables where customers enjoyed good food and each other every day. The shelves full of sturdy, functional, beautiful pieces of antique cookware. My posters of Italian opera on the walls mixed with photographs of Brown County in every season. The interior stairs ending in what would soon be three new bed-and-breakfast suites. The door leading to my cozy apartment and my cozy cat, Birdy. It was my dream and my solace all in one package.

  My hair had gotten wet in the dash, so I removed the clip and shook out my curls, fluffing them up to dry. I clipped my hair back again and scrubbed my hands. I took out my big pastry cutter and the stainless bowl it fit into. Whistling an aria, I brought out butter and eggs from the cooler and opened the flour bin. I measured out the flour for biscuits and had started to cut in the butter when I sniffed. I must not have taken the compost out this afternoon.

  I grabbed the covered bucket from under the sink and headed to the side door. Last month I’d built a roof over the area outside the service door so I could empty trash and compost in bad weather conditions without having to suit up in jacket and hat. Conditions just like these.

  After emptying the bucket, I pulled open the door but couldn’t get any farther. A hand clamped onto my shoulder.

  Chapter 36

  I gasped and twisted my head to see Nick. Nick. My insides turned to ice and my heart thudded so hard I was sure he could hear it.

  “Nick! You startled me.”

  “Did I?” He nudged me in through the door. “You said I could come by anytime to check out the cookware.” He kept his voice low, pronouncing each word distinct from the next. The long raincoat he wore was stained and worn and featured the unpleasant scent of a damp basement mixed with the aroma of greasy hair and nerves.

  I swore silently. “Sure, anytime,” I’d said when he asked about the cookware. What a dumbass I was. Invite someone over who might be a killer. I didn’t know for certain if he was, except that he could have stolen Christina’s knife. He might have known Connolly in Boston, or held some grudge against him. He worked where Connolly had been hurt, if not murdered. He’d turned abruptly silent when I tried to question him about his past. But was he a murderer? Either way, I didn’t want to be alone with him here. Wait. He didn’t know I knew about him stealing the knife. He didn’t know I’d told Thompson. How could he? Play it straight, Jordan. And get him out of here as fast as you can.

  “I would have expected you to come in the front door,” I pointed out.

  “That door wasn’t open. I saw the lights on and thought it would be fine to drop in now.”

  “Anyway, what I meant was, drop by when the store is open. I’m too busy to show you around. A private party is coming and I have to get ready for them. Please come back tomorrow, okay?” By now we were in the kitchen and he’d dropped his hand from my shoulder. The service door had locked automatically behind us.

  He smiled. “While I’m here, I’d like to browse what you have.”

  “This is a really bad time.” How could I convince him to leave?

  He ignored me, strolling slowly, hands clasped behind his back, along the shelves. “You have quite the collection.” He selected a heavy black device shaped kind of like a metronome and held it up in a gloved hand. “What’s this?”

  I peered down the aisle from where I stood next to my biscuit makings. “It’s a marmalade cutter. It slices the orange peel.” It clamped to the edge of a table and you fed orange quarters into a hole in the side while pushing the blade handle back and forth. Kind of a lethal machine, one which did not feature a single safety guard. They apparently weren’t big on OSHA in 1870, the year stamped on the cutter. I couldn’t believe I was explaining vintage kitchen tools to someone who might be a murderer.

  He stood there, weighing it in one hand, and then the other, all the time staring at me. Killer or not, he was definitely a strange guy and acting even stranger. Was he going to attack with the cutter? I shuddered inwardly at the image of what the blade could do to a finger or a whole hand. Where was the officer I’d asked Buck for?

  Nick set the implement back on the shelf and moved along the display away from me. I pulled out my phone, willing someone, anyone to call me. Could I text 911? I didn’t know if they accepted texts. Plus I wasn’t sure my hands were steady enough for my thumbs to actually hit the keys, but I had to try. I couldn’t very well make a normal call to the police while Nick was listening. I thumbed in an awkwardly spelled text to 911.

  need hlp! pns and panckaes. killer mght be here. hurri

  I jabbed SEND three times before my sweaty nervous finger hit the key. When I glanced up, Nick’s eyes burned into mine. He’d seen me. I gauged how far I was from the front door as opposed to the side door, and the distance to where he stood. The front was closer, but I’d have to cover a hundred feet. Could I pull off a dash for it? What if he came after me? What if he had a weapon in the pocket of that awful raincoat?

  Hang on. I could fake an incoming call. I put the phone to my ear. “Lou, great to hear from you.” I worked on keeping my voice cheery and upbeat. I had to make sure the quaver of fear I felt was a hundred percent undetectable in my speech. I waited a beat. “What’s that? They invited you? Sure you guys can drop by the party. I have plenty of food. I’m just doing prep. Can’t wait to see you.” I waited another moment. Nick kept picking up and examining cookware, but I could tell he was listening. “Perfect. See you in five.” I pretended to disconnect just in case he had eyes in the back of his head. With any luck, if he believed I had friends coming over he’d go elsewhere. The phone went into my back pocket.

  He disappeared around the end of the shelving. “Robbie, can you come back here?” he called.

  “Sorry, not right now.” How does never sound? This might be my chance to get away.

  “I need you to explain something. There’s another tool I can’t figure out.”

  No way I was getting trapped back there with him, or anywhere in here. While he was out of sight, I had to escape. I’d built that shelving unit. I knew it was forty feet long. I had maybe thirty feet to the front door. He stuck his head out and waved. I cursed silently. He disappeared again.

  Go! I took a deep breath and dashed. I ran for the door, but I had to keep darting around tables and chairs. I swore as I hit my hip on the corner of a table.

  Nick reappeared in the corner of my vision. I heard his feet pound the old wooden floorboards. I was two yards from the door. I had my hand outstretched for the doorknob when he grabbed my hair and yanked it back. I cried out.

  He pulled me to face him. “That’s not very nice, Robbie. Deserting me, your fellow chef.” Pearls of sweat dotted his forehead.

  “Hey!” I tried to pu
ll away but he kept hold. I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t deserting you. I remembered something I left outside. In my van.”

  “Looks like it was pretty urgent.”

  I tried to nod, but he didn’t let up on his grip. His nervous energy buzzed through to my scalp. His breath blew sour in my face and a tic beat next to his left eye.

  “So why don’t you have your own prep to do?” I asked. “Is the inn closed on Wednesdays?” I had to stall while I figured out what to do. Until the police got here. Where were they?

  “The inn is open. I don’t have prep to do because I quit.” He sounded triumphant.

  “Why? I thought the inn job was a good gig for you.”

  “Because I’m leaving town, Robbie.” He pulled my hair harder until I looked directly into his face.

  “Stop that. What are you doing?” How had I never seen how cold his dark eyes were, how they reflected nothing but malevolent intention? “You’re hurting me, Nick. Please let go.”

  “I’m just executing my plan.” With his right hand he drew the sugar auger out from behind his back and brandished the sharp spikes in my face. “After I execute you, that is.”

  Chapter 37

  “What are you talking about?” I croaked, my throat almost too thick from fear to speak. The acrid smell of his anger roiled my stomach.

  Nick pressed the point of the longest spike against the skin of my neck. He let go of my hair and gripped my biceps. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve been asking questions. Everywhere.” He poked the spike harder for emphasis. “You couldn’t let things slide. I have a good idea what you were doing at the Hollow today. Trying to find out who saw me take the knife.” He jabbed the spike again on the last word. The tip of one of the curled spikes pressed into the cloth of the shirt on my shoulder.

  At least he wasn’t piercing my skin. Yet. “But none of the staff said they saw anybody take the knife,” I blurted. “Really.” It was true.