Biscuits and Slashed Browns Page 5

  “Did you get a new shampoo, Buck?” I swore I smelled lavender.

  “My wife went and got me this dang aftershave. She says it makes me smell manly. I say it’s like being in the inside of one of them satchetts.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Satchett? What’s a satchett?”

  “You know, them little bags of smelly stuff ladies like to put in their . . . lingerey drawers and all.” He blushed. “But hey, I like to keep the missus happy. She sure as heck keeps me happy.”

  Light dawned. Satchett was sachet and lingerey was lingerie. I laughed. “Sounds like you made the right choice, then.” I fiddled my silver pinky ring with my thumb. “So this new detective doesn’t really think Christina killed Professor Connolly, does he?”

  He shrugged, busy doctoring his coffee with a huge glug of cream and almost as much sugar. “We got to consider everybody who might coulda had a cause to want this professor fellow disappeared.”

  “Look. If chefs murdered every disgruntled customer they cooked for, the world’s population would be a heck of a lot smaller.”

  “Could be. Anyhoo, Thompson’s gonna stop by and talk to you later on. Not sure ’zackly when.”

  “Me?” My voice rose. “Why?”

  “’Cause you hosted the competition where the victim was a judge. Seems like most all the persons of interest was right here yesterday afternoon. Thompson just wants to know what you seen, what you heared.”

  I gazed at him, but my thoughts were on Sonia Genest. She wasn’t at the competition, not that I knew of. But from what I’d seen yesterday morning, she’d certainly had a beef with the professor. And I didn’t mean hamburger patty, either. Did I need to let the authorities know about what I’d overheard between her and the professor? I scolded myself. If even a chance existed that she’d killed Connolly, of course I had to.

  “I also heard something yesterday morning I should probably tell him. Do you know Sonia Genest?” I asked.

  His eyebrows went up. “The professor who looks like she oughta be one of them piano bar singers or a movie star from the olden days?” He traced an hourglass with his hands. “Not one of them skinny ladies they got nowadays. Sure, who don’t know her? She growed up right here in town.”

  “She lives in South Lick, too. Anyway, she’d just walked out of the restaurant after breakfast yesterday when Professor Connolly showed up. They had a kind of argument in front of me right on my front stairs.” I lifted my chin and pointed it toward the door.

  “You don’t say. To the point of murder, ya think?”

  “Not on the spot, and I hope not.” I grimaced. “But it was one more person Warren Connolly didn’t seem to get along with. Neither of them much hid it, either.”

  Buck sipped his coffee. “What all did they fight about?”

  “Sounded like a difference of opinion about research and climate change.”

  He whistled. “That there’s a hot topic, and I don’t mean on the thermometer, neither.”

  “So I hear in the news. Not that I’ve had much time to follow it this year.”

  “Welp, I best be getting back to work. You stay outta trouble, hear, Robbie? I don’t want you poking your sweet nose in this investigation. You yourself got in a heap of danger last time, as I recall.” He drained his coffee and stood, unfolding like a marionette from the Nashville puppet theater having the string on top of its head pulled straight up. He laid a bill way too large for his meal on the table as he always did. “Keep the change.” His focus shifted to the door.

  I followed his gaze as the cowbell jangled. A thin man in a black suit and an Indianapolis Indians ball cap scrunched up his nose and peered through rimless glasses. He seemed to recognize Buck and clomped toward us with a step seeming too heavy for his slight stature.

  “Speak of the devil. Yonder’s the man wanting to talk with you.” Buck stuck his uniform hat on his head. “Mr. Detective Oscar Thompson in the flesh.”

  Chapter 9

  “Afternoon, Oscar.” Buck tipped his hat. “Meet Robbie Jordan, proprietor of this fine establishment.”

  I smiled, trying not to be nervous, and extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective.” Why was I nervous? I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Ms. Jordan.” His shiny black suit had an Asian type of stand-up collar, not the usual lapels of men’s suits. He didn’t wear a tie and his shirt was buttoned up to the neck. He didn’t offer a hand to shake.

  His ball cap provided an incongruous contrast to the suit. Its devilish red made the image spring into my mind of a red forked tail appearing behind him. I almost giggled but swallowed it down instead. Laughing at an imaginary picture would never do.

  “Have you come for lunch?” I asked instead.

  “No, I’ve eaten. I need to ask you a few questions. Can we have a measure of privacy?” His voice was thin and reedy.

  Way to jump past the niceties. “I need to stay in the restaurant in case we get a rush of people.”

  He raised one eyebrow after scanning the nearly empty space.

  “You could come back at three after we close, or we can sit over in the corner.” I pointed to my desk area, which was pretty much out of the main area.

  “See you, Robbie, Oscar.” Buck gave a little wave and moved toward the door faster than a cheetah on roller skates, as he would say. Faster than I’d ever seen him move, as a matter of fact, for a man who usually ambled. Maybe he was just in a hurry. Or maybe he didn’t want to get too deep into a discussion with the detective.

  Thompson squinted at the office corner. “It’ll do.”

  As he clomped toward the desk, I saw the cause of his noisy gait: black cowboy boots. Funny choice of footwear. By the time I got there he’d already sat and pulled out a digital tablet and a stylus from his leather shoulder bag.

  Adele regarded the two of us. “Howdy, Oscar.” Her voice came loud and clear as she waved, grinning, from her chair.

  He squinted at her, then nodded. “Ms. Jordan.”

  “I’m going to take a minute to talk to the detective, but if we get customers, they’ll take priority,” I called to her as I sank into my desk chair and folded my hands in my lap.

  “No problem, hon.” Adele looked back at her phone.

  “What can I help you with?” It felt good to rest my feet and enjoy the lingering aromas of freshly baked biscuits, grilled meats, brewed coffee. Not so good to be questioned about a murder.

  “With your permission I’m going to record our little chat.”

  Uh-oh. This sounded official. “Why?” Why would he record our conversation?

  “It’s just a formality, Ms. Jordan. So I don’t forget anything.” After he went through identifying himself for the record and having me do the same, he asked, “You apparently had Professor Connolly in here twice yesterday, correct?”

  I was definitely nervous. “Yes. The professor came in for breakfast, and then he was also one of the judges at the breakfast food competition in the afternoon.”

  “Did you know him before yesterday morning? Ever met him?”

  “Never.”

  “Tell me anything and everything you witnessed about the professor whenever you observed him in conflict with others.”

  I blew out a breath. “Okay. In the morning at around eight o’clock he met Sonia Genest coming out, and she seemed unhappy with him.”

  “Just unhappy?” He peered at me.

  “Unhappy with the way he does his research. Something like that.” I frowned for a moment, then shook my head. “I can’t remember the exact wording. Then a little later, Sajit Rao came to see his son, Turner, who works for me. When he saw Professor Connolly, Dr. Rao also looked unhappy with him, but they sat and talked for a few minutes.”

  “Lots of unhappiness going down around here.” He looked skeptical.

  “At first he was unhappy. But by the end of their conversation, Sajit was upset with Connolly. Angry, really.”

  “Angry enough to kill him?”

  I narrowed my
eyes. “How should I know? I barely know any of these people. Dr. Genest is a regular here, but we only exchange hellos and menu choices.”

  “All right. What else?”

  “I’m sure you heard about the competition.”

  “Please tell me in your own words.”

  I glanced over at Adele but she was fine, now at a table with the newspaper spread out in front of her, and the store was still empty of customers. “I didn’t see him in any particular altercation with anyone. But when he choked on a half a biscuit—”

  “I understand the biscuits were your entry for the competition.”

  “They were.” I cocked my head. “But all the other judges ate them. Nobody else choked.”

  “I’ll need you to give me the recipe. Perhaps he had a severe allergic reaction to one of the ingredients.”

  Could he have? I did add a touch of cayenne, but it was such a small amount. No way a grain of hot pepper made him choke.

  “Maybe you knew he was allergic to a particular ingredient and you put it in on purpose to get rid of him.” He raised one eyebrow.

  “No! Why would I do that? I’d never even met him before yesterday morning. This is ridiculous.” Totally ridiculous. Why was he suggesting such a thing? I folded my arms. This guy was insane if he thought I’d try to poison someone with an ingredient in my own restaurant. Did I need a lawyer? Maybe I should stop talking.

  “We’ll see.”

  I couldn’t help myself from continuing to speak. “The problem was the professor stuffed the whole thing in his mouth and it was too big.”

  He checked his tablet. “Mr. Abraham O’Neill performed the Heimlich and rescued Connolly.”

  “Exactly.” I didn’t really want to tell this suspicious man about the small plunk I’d heard—did I? I mentally shook my head. I hadn’t found a thing and could have imagined the noise in all the commotion. Or maybe somebody else dropped something and the timing was coincidental. If an object ever turned up I’d bring it to the detective’s attention, but I would look really stupid if I mentioned it but had nothing to show for my search.

  “But the thing is,” I went on, “nobody next to the professor tried to help him. I was behind the table and couldn’t reach him. Christina was doing her best to get past the others when Abe rushed up for the rescue.”

  He squinted at his tablet again. “Christina James, that would be. Chef at Hoosier Hollow Restaurant.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “Who was next to Connolly?”

  “In back of him? Nobody, I think. In front of him were the other judges.” I pictured the scene again. “Closest was Nick Mendes, with Sajit Rao between him and Christina. It was like the two men were frozen. Paralyzed. I don’t know why.”

  “What else?”

  I’d opened my mouth to answer when the bell on the door rang, ushering in a family of four wearing fleece, jeans, and hiking boots. From their tousled hair and pink cheeks I guessed they’d been hiking in the state park. The tall father flashed me a thousand-watt smile as his wife sank onto the bench near the door. A teenage girl in two long strawberry-blond braids focused on her phone until she glanced up to see the cookware shelves. Her eyebrows went up and the phone slid into her back pocket.

  “Mom, look.” The girl pointed, a dimple pressing into her cheek as she smiled, and headed off to check out the cast-iron baking molds, tin sieves, and antique whisks.

  “Excuse me a minute, Detective,” I said before hurrying toward the family.

  The girl’s gangly younger brother, already almost as tall as his dad, tugged at his sleeve. “Dad, I’m really hungry. Like starving.” He pushed black-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

  “And that’s why we’re here.” The father waved at me. “Miss, is it too late to get lunch for my family?” Smile lines radiated out from big blue eyes.

  I smiled back at this man who radiated positivity, a marked contrast to all-business Detective Thompson. “Not at all. Welcome to Pans ’N Pancakes. I’m Robbie Jordan. Please sit anywhere you’d like.”

  “Thanks, miss.”

  The tired-looking wife gazed up at me. “Jordan’s my last name, too.” She smiled. “Maybe we’re long-lost relatives. And our daughter”—she gestured toward the daughter—“her first name is Jordan.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you all,” I said.

  The dad extended a gentlemanly hand to help his wife to her feet and threw his other arm around his son’s shoulder. “Where do you want to sit, honey?” he asked the boy.

  The son rolled his early-teen eyes at the endearment but didn’t throw off his father’s affection.

  I headed back to the detective and continued my smile toward him, despite not feeling the love in his direction. I stayed on my feet. “I really don’t have anything else to add and I need to tend to my customers.”

  “All right. Thank you for your time.” He squinted at the tablet, his mouth coming open in the process. “Please give me your phone numbers. Cell, store, landline, whatever you have. And your e-mail address.” He extended it to me and I tapped in my contact info.

  He stashed the tablet before turning toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Oh, goody. Octavia hadn’t been the most fun to deal with, but at least she was civil, and businesslike in a totally different way than this one. Plus I’d seen her human side more than once.

  The cowbell jangled again with great commotion. A petite woman burst in bringing the scent of fresh air with her. A few years younger than me, she cast quick looks in all directions. When she spied Thompson and me, she hurried toward us. Up close I saw a tearstained face, red-rimmed eyes. Her hands shook.

  She confronted the detective, her puffy white jacket hanging open over a green sweater. “You have to tell me what happened!” She grabbed both his arms.

  His narrow nostrils flared in alarm and his lip curled. “Excuse me, miss.” He peeled off her right hand from where it gripped his left arm and she let the other drop. “Who in the world are you?” he demanded.

  Most of her auburn hair was pulled back in a clip, but escaped tendrils lay damp on her temples. “Please tell me. They said Daddy was murdered. It’s not true, is it?”

  Chapter 10

  “I’m Noreen Connolly. They told me you’d be here, described you.” Her brown eyes pleaded with him. “The tall policeman did. You’re the detective, right?”

  “I am Detective Thompson, and I’m afraid it’s true. Your father was killed. Our investigation is under way, miss.” He cleared his throat. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” He didn’t meet her gaze.

  The poor thing. “Sit down, please,” I urged her, pointing to my office chair. Maybe she’d gone to the police station looking for her father. Did she live around here?

  She stayed standing and pleaded, “I need to see him!”

  That was a terrible idea. It would be traumatic for her to set eyes on his dead body, especially since he’d had a violent death. But did they need the first of kin to identify the body? No, Adele would have been able to identify Connolly on the spot, since she’d met him the day before.

  The detective shook his head. “That would not be advisable. We have had a positive identification.”

  Good.

  “Miss Connolly, did you come to Indiana with your father?” Thompson asked.

  “I’m a student at IU,” she mumbled toward the floor, rubbing her forehead. She looked at us. “I was supposed to have brunch with him this morning. I went to his hotel and they said . . .” Great choking sobs prevented her from going on. She sank into my desk chair as a wail ripped out of her. It sounded as painful as a bandage ripping off raw skin. Noreen swiveled to the desk and laid her head on her arms, shoulders heaving.

  I worried a bit about the family who had come in for lunch. I shot a look in their direction, but they were busy talking and didn’t seem to have noticed Noreen’s outburst. When Thompson’s phone buzzed, he pulled it out and examined it.

  He look
ed up. “I’m needed elsewhere.” He gazed at Noreen, then back at me.

  “I’ll calm her down, see if she has a friend to call. And I’ll get her contact info, okay?” I murmured. “I’ll let you know.”

  “I’d appreciate that. I’ll need to talk with her.” He pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “I prefer communicating by text.”

  “Sounds good.” I watched him go. Adele pointed at me, waving an order slip from the hungry hiker family. Two middle-aged men ambled in and took a small table. The bell jangled again, ushering in five women, one leaning on a walker. And a devastated girl sat weeping at my desk. How come life never really smoothed out? Murder kept thundering toward me from one direction or another.

  I shook it off. I had this. First things first. “I’ll be right with you all,” I called to the men and the newcomers. “Adele, cook again, if you will? I’ll keep doing tables.”

  Everybody’s gaze seemed to be on Noreen. I turned my back on the restaurant and laid my hand on her shoulder.

  “Noreen? I’m Robbie Jordan. This is my restaurant. I’m so sorry about your dad.”

  When she raised her head I reached over and pulled a box of tissues toward her.

  “It’s like a bad dream,” she whispered. “I hadn’t seen him in a year and a half. He finally came to visit, and now he’s gone, forever. And I don’t even know, really, what happened. Except they said he’s dead.” She sniffed and blew her nose, but the wracking sobs had subsided for the moment.

  “The restrooms are over there if you want to wash your face. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Although what she probably needed was a good slug of brandy.

  She nodded pitifully.

  “I’m so sorry, but I have to get back to work. We close at two-thirty.” I snatched a glance at the clock. “In half an hour. I’d be happy to fix you a burger or something else for lunch, either now or then.”