Biscuits and Slashed Browns Page 8

  “I’m afraid you can’t.” She blinked as she frowned.

  “It’s okay. She won’t mind. What I have to say won’t take long, and I know how to stay out of the way in a busy kitchen.” Please don’t stonewall me, lady.

  “No, I mean you can’t. She’s not here.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “She’s not here?” It was a totally busy Saturday night. Why wasn’t she in the kitchen cooking her tush off? The pit of my stomach was growing colder by the second.

  The woman leaned toward me and cupped one side of her mouth, speaking in a near whisper. “The police are talking with her. They have been since the afternoon.”

  “At the South Lick station?”

  She nodded, almost acting excited. “About the professor’s murder out at the maple festival. And it’s crazy in the back. The owner had to come in and help out. He’s not happy about it.”

  “I’ll bet he isn’t.” I’d bet Christina wasn’t happy about being questioned for all this time, either. Why in heck had they kept her so long? If I went down to the station, I knew the detective would join the ranks of the unhappy, too, and would order me straight out. From over the greeter’s shoulder I saw a woman wave to me from the bar. I peered in that direction to see it was Sonia Genest.

  “I guess I will sit at the bar for a while,” I told the woman. “I just saw a friend.” Not a friend, exactly, but a friendly customer’s face. From whom I might learn a thing or two about a certain murder victim.

  A minute later I was perched on a bar stool next to Sonia Genest, dressed tonight in a pale tunic-length sweater, dark leggings, and high-heeled ankle boots. The V-neck of the sweater showed off a gold necklace nestled in her ample bust, and her hair fell in loose waves on her shoulders. Definitely not a professorial look.

  “Robbie, do you know Nick Mendes?” she asked, gazing at me through heavily made-up eyes.

  I glanced beyond her. Nick Mendes? Why wasn’t he cooking at the Nashville Inn on a Saturday night? Were all the chefs in the county AWOL?

  He leaned forward and waved at me from the other side of Sonia. “We meet again,” he said in a voice surprisingly rich for a man as young and slight of build as he. No white chef’s coat for him tonight. Instead, a checked shirt fell tails-out over jeans. His dark jacket might have originally been part of a business suit but now featured frayed cuffs and a missing button.

  “Are you two friends?” I asked, slightly bewildered, shaking his proffered hand.

  “We are now.” Sonia threw back her head and laughed, a throaty sound that made Nick’s neck redden.

  The bartender laid a cocktail napkin in front of me. “What’ll you have?”

  Before I answered, I glanced at Sonia’s and Nick’s drinks. I kind of had the feeling those weren’t their first of the night.

  Sonia lifted her glass. “Sloe Comfortable Screw.” She grinned.

  Nick shook his head slowly, a smile playing with the corner of his mouth, as if amazed and delighted. “I don’t know how she can drink it. Sloe gin, Southern Comfort, and orange juice. Me, I’m good with rum and Coke.”

  Sweet drinks like those were not up my alley. “Can I get a decaf Irish coffee?” I asked the bartender, an older man with a reddened bulbous nose. “And a glass of water, too, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  I turned back toward the two. “So you just met tonight?”

  “Thought I’d see who was out on the town, and look who I found. A true Bostonian. Do it.” Sonia nudged Nick. “Say it.”

  He laughed. “I have a good idea about the bar,” he said slowly, except he pronounced idea “ideer” and said bar like it was something a sheep might utter.

  “He’s the real thing.” Sonia laid her manicured hand on top of his and stroked.

  Nick reddened again as the bartender set my drinks in front of me. This Nick and Sonia thing was looking a lot like a seduction scene. A decade in age had to separate Nick and Professor Sonia Genest, if not more. He was something of a beginner chef, as far as Christina had told me, while Sonia was a tenured professor at the university. But hey, they were both consenting adults, and unlike how Christina had described him, I didn’t find him too awkward. I could down my drink, leave them to their fun, and go home. Or I could see what I could learn, now that I was here. They might tell me to mind my own business, and that was fine.

  Interesting that Nick was from Boston. “Did you both hear about Professor Connolly’s death?” I asked. “He was from Boston, too.”

  The smile slid off Nick’s face, which paled as I watched him. Sonia kept smiling, but her eyes narrowed.

  “Yes. Who hasn’t heard?” She made an insincere-sounding tsking noise. “The conference organizers sent around an e-mail, along with the usual blather about sympathy and other BS, letting everybody know what happened.”

  “You don’t sound particularly upset about his passing.” I watched her, too.

  “I’m not. He was a charlatan. A liar. A fake researcher. He didn’t have my respect and he basically stole grant money from people doing real work, real science.” She stared at me. “No, Robbie. I’m not upset.”

  “His daughter came into the restaurant today,” I began.

  Nick stood. “Excuse me a minute. Nature calls.” He hurried away toward the restrooms.

  “Warren’s daughter?” Sonia asked, even as she gazed after Nick. When he disappeared through the door, she shook herself and faced me again.

  “Yes. She’s a grad student at IU. She was completely distraught. Devastated.”

  “The poor thing.” Sonia didn’t sound like she quite meant it. She must have caught sight of my expression because she hurried on. “I mean, it’s really too bad. No kid wants to lose a parent.” She closed her mouth, opened it as if she were going to speak again, and shut it instead.

  I cocked my head. “Did Connolly steal a grant from you personally?”

  Sonia sipped her odd drink. “Steal? Not per se, and not from me directly. But he certainly pushed a couple of my most talented grad students out of the running for competitive lab positions in Boston. I don’t even know how he could say he ran a lab. It was a sham, Robbie. Smoke and mirrors, all of it.”

  “Were others at this conference unhappy with him?”

  “Who isn’t unhappy with him? You saw how he rubbed people the wrong way.”

  It was true. Even Noreen saw it, despite her love for him. “But anyone in particular?”

  “Here comes one now.”

  I’d thought she meant an academic attending the conference. Instead, Sonia lifted her chin in Nick’s direction.

  “Oh?” I asked in a low voice, but it was too late for her to answer.

  Nick slid onto the bar stool and picked up his glass in almost one move.

  I sipped my faux coffee and licked the whipped cream off my upper lip. “By the way, Nick, why aren’t you cooking at the inn tonight?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. “They had a celebrity chef coming in. She wanted only her own people in the kitchen. Damn prima donna. Anyway, I got Saturday night off. Could have been a lot worse.” He slid his right hand down Sonia’s back until it rested on her generous hip.

  “Did you have last night off, too?” I asked. He might not have an alibi for Connolly’s murder if he hadn’t been cooking.

  “No, the celebrity is in town for only this one night. I think she’s trying to leverage the festival, even though she’s not on the schedule.”

  So much for my idea, and I couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to ask Sonia where she’d been. I set my elbow on the bar and my chin on my fist as I looked around Sonia toward Nick. “Terrible about Professor Connolly choking, wasn’t it?” I lifted my eyebrows.

  He pulled his own brows together. “Terrible. I’ll tell you, I just felt paralyzed.” He nodded, as if agreeing with himself.

  “I noticed neither you nor Dr. Rao reached out to help him,” I said.

  Sonia shot me a dark look, which I ignored.

&nbs
p; “I didn’t know what to do.” He threw his left hand in the air but kept his right firmly on Sonia’s hip. “It was wicked awesome the guy knew the Heimlich.” His hand drifted down to Sonia’s butt.

  “Abe O’Neill,” I said. “He has paramedic training. Sonia and I were just talking about Professor Connolly’s scholarly work.” I ignored Sonia’s snort. “Had you ever met the professor before the contest, Nick?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say I had, Robbie.”

  “I just wondered. Since you lived in Boston, too.”

  “Nope. It’s a pretty big city, you know. May he rest in peace.” His tone aimed at somber but didn’t quite make it.

  I finished my now-cooled drink and left a bill on the table, plenty to cover my tab and a tip. “Have a good night, you two.”

  Sonia laid her head on Nick’s shoulder. “I expect we will.”

  Chapter 14

  Sheesh. It was a good thing I didn’t turn the sign to OPEN until eight on Sunday mornings. With an hour to go, once again I was alone in the kitchen. I knew Danna wasn’t coming in, and maybe Turner assumed I would know he wouldn’t be here, either. He’d be wrong, but he and I were still getting to know each other. I could cut him a little slack and make sure I took time to have a serious talk about responsibility and communication when he returned to work. It wasn’t like he didn’t have extenuating circumstances. His absence probably also meant Sajit hadn’t come home.

  I raced around setting tables, dashed back to the grill to turn sausages, checked the cash drawer, zoomed back again to slide one pan of biscuits out of the oven and stick the next one in. I definitely wasn’t going to list any specials today. I’d be lucky if I got through the regular menu.

  As I worked, I thought about last night. Something had been off in Nick’s reaction to my bringing up Connolly’s murder. I hadn’t figured it out last night as I walked home from the restaurant, and I still couldn’t. Sonia was a lot more open about her dislike of her colleague. But Nick said he hadn’t even known the professor. What had Christina mentioned about Nick’s affect? He seemed lacking in social skills? He hadn’t seemed so last night, but maybe awkward affect was what I’d picked up on when I’d mentioned the murder. No, it had seemed more like plain old discomfort.

  My musings were interrupted by a knocking at the front door. Couldn’t people read? The HOURS sign clearly read SUNDAY: 8–3. When I got to the entrance, already shaking my head, Christina stood on the porch, arms folded, lips pressed into a grim line.

  I hurried to unlock the heavy antique door. After she came in, I locked it again even while glancing at the clock, which now read seven-thirty. Gulp.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “You’re not usually a morning person.”

  “What’s going on is being questioned by Detective Thompson! Grilling me like I was some lowlife he could push around.” She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, virtual smoke pouring out of her ears. “Meanwhile Buck sat there all sugar and aw-shucks, but I knew it was just the bad cop, good cop routine. For hours, Robbie. Hours.”

  I tugged at her elbow. “Get in here. Sit down and tell me all about it while I work. Okay?”

  She sat at the closest table to the kitchen area and thanked me after I brought her a mug of coffee. Her hair was back in its customary ponytail, but I’d never see her face pulled so tightly into worry.

  “They told me you stopped in last night looking for me.” She waggled her head a couple of times. “My boss is as pissed at me as I am at the stupid police.”

  “I’m just glad you’re all right, and free. What time did they let you go?”

  “Too late to do any cooking, that’s what time.” She sipped the coffee.

  “This is all about your knife.”

  “Yeah. Thing is, my Tojiro eight-inch is missing. But you know I would never kill Professor Connolly, or anyone else.”

  I used my own version of the Japanese knife to cut chunks of melon into the fruit bowl as she talked.

  “I know you wouldn’t. Did you have any past with Connolly? I mean, besides the scene at Hoosier Hollow you told me about?”

  Christina stared at her mug. When she didn’t speak, I stopped gazing at her, even though it was clear she did have a past with him. She’d tell me when she was ready. I swept the melon rinds into the compost, wiped down the board, and surveyed my realm. I snapped my fingers. I’d forgotten all about the caddies. Danna usually restocked them and set one in the middle of each table. I muttered under my breath as I hurried into the walk-in. We kept the caddies in a big tray in the cooler overnight just to keep them clean and cool. I hurried out with the tray, but they were a mess. Half the little jars of jams and jellies were gone and I needed to wipe down and refill the syrup bottles, too. At least I’d switched to salt, pepper, sugar, and sweetener packets instead of the vintage dispensers I’d started out with. I grabbed the boxes holding the packets and the jams and began loading the caddies.

  “Hey, let me help.” Christina appeared at my side. “Sorry for being in such a funk. What can I do?”

  “No need to apologize, but thanks. I can use a hand. Here, do these.” I pointed to the jams and packets. “I’ll work on the syrups.” I should probably switch to little individual syrup bottles for the ease of it, as I had for the jams and jellies, but they were a lot more expensive.

  “Where’s Danna?”

  I explained. “And I have a new employee, Turner Rao, but he didn’t show up this morning.”

  Her light eyebrows went way up. “Dr. Rao’s son?”

  “Yeah. He called me yesterday, and his dad had been missing all day. Turner and his mom have been looking everywhere and can’t locate Sajit.”

  Christina grimaced. “Do you think he had something to do with the murder? I mean, it was right there at their maple farm.”

  “I hope not.”

  We worked in silence for a couple of minutes. If I had time after I closed this afternoon, maybe I could go find the shed the Raos had mentioned. It was a long shot, and possibly a dangerous one, but maybe Sajit was hiding out there. Why, I had no idea, but I could learn his reasons if I found him. Mona had said she’d checked for him there. Something about the way she’d said it, and how Turner had reacted, made me wonder if she was telling the truth.

  Eyes trained on her work, Christina said, “I did know Warren before the scene in the restaurant, Robbie. Some years prior, when I was living in Chicago, I happened to meet him at my cousin’s wedding. Then a few years ago I was in Boston for a pastry master class and I snagged a ticket to a Red Sox game. You know how much I love baseball. But it was before I came out, and I was lonely. I knew Warren lived in the city, and that he was divorced. I met up with him at a bar near Fenway Park after the game. We drank and talked, then started flirting.”

  I kept my hands busy filling the syrup bottles from the five-gallon push-top dispenser, but my ears were wide open.

  “He ended up raping me.” Christina spoke so softly, I could barely hear her. “It was awful, and I pressed charges.” Her shoulders came up as she shrank into herself.

  “I’m so sorry.” I stopped filling. “What happened to him?”

  “He got himself a fancy lawyer and weaseled out of it.”

  “Really? Weaseling out is disgusting.” And it was. I returned to my work.

  “I had to come back here, and I couldn’t afford a similar caliber of attorney.” Now she met my gaze, with flared nostrils and a look of angry determination.

  “I’m surprised you kept your cool at the competition. I never would have known.”

  “I decided to take the high road.” She filled the last caddy with jams and jellies. “He was the last straw for men, as far as I was concerned. I’m happy with Betsy, I love my job, and I wasn’t about to let that jerk interfere with my life again. Except interfering is what he’s still doing, even dead.”

  “Did he know you were the chef at the Hollow?”

  “He must have. I haven’t changed my name or any
thing. Maybe he just wanted to rub it in, his victory over me. But I refused to see him while he was there. No way did I want to set eyes on him.”

  I finished up and added a clean syrup bottle to each caddy. “So part of the police questioning was because you had a prior grievance against him.”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter 15

  Christina, bless her heart, stayed to help me get through the morning rush. I told her I was going to owe her, big time. She’d batted away the suggestion, saying she was already so tired it wouldn’t make any difference. She assured me she’d grab a nap this afternoon before her dinner shift.

  I let her do all the cooking and I managed the front of the house. Not that it was the front, really, since the whole space was open. But I was happy to take orders, deliver food, make change, and bus tables while she grilled and flipped and dished up. We made a good team. The two of us easily buzzed through the first hour.

  Conversation buzzed, too, with murder as the primary topic. Happened every time. Part of my dream for the store had been to create a community gathering place, a town-wide water cooler. A gathering place was exactly what Pans ’N Pancakes had become, especially when crisis hit.

  I fielded questions right and left. A typical one ran along the lines of, “That professor, the one who choked? Heared he went and got himself killed, may he rest in peace. How’s Adele doing, anyway?”

  I tried to answer something like, “She’s doing all right. It’s a real tragedy.”

  One older lady stopped me as I moved past her table. “You going to solve this case, too, Robbie?”

  I hadn’t exactly solved any of the cases in the past, but I only shook my head. “Police work is for the police, ma’am.”

  Phil and Noreen pushed through the door a few minutes after nine. Were they more than just friends? The restaurant quieted. Clearly at least one person knew Noreen was Connolly’s daughter. In a town this size, one person knowing meant nearly everybody knew. I hurried to bus a recently vacated table for two and waved them over. After Phil kissed my cheek, the two sat kitty-corner from each other.