Mousse and Murder

by Elizabeth Logan

  I had one more selfish thing I wanted her to do. “Someone has to talk to Victor,” I said.

  “Oh, I started to, at what he called the ‘funeral party’ at the diner yesterday.”

  “That’s so Victor.”

  “I didn’t want to bring it up because I haven’t exactly finished with my questions. Maybe I could do it tomorrow morning, if you don’t mind?”

  Good one, Mom. “What a great idea,” I said as we both chuckled.

  “I can tell you he’s in the midst of switching girlfriends,” she said.

  “Rachel’s the new one?” I asked.

  She nodded. “And he spent much of Monday letting the old one down easy.”

  “That answers one question I had. But I still can’t figure why he was so quick to use Oliver’s apron, for example, and empty his personal drawer in the trash? And take his name off the new menu?”

  Mom shrugged. “I know what you mean. But I suspect there was nothing vindictive about it. He’s young, and Oliver’s gone. Let me talk to him. You’re his boss, still will be when this is all over, so it might be better if you keep out of it.”

  Whew. Mom knew how to take a load off my mind. I suspected that Victor was guilty of nothing more than ambition, but it would be good to be a little more sure.

  Why was this whole interviewing suspects thing so tricky? So much more than a to-do list. Were we—deputies, that is—supposed make up a point system and figure out a total at the end? Give Victor plus ten points for being a good employee, minus five points for wearing Oliver’s apron right away, plus ten for being flexible and coming in when I needed him, and so on? Was there a guide like the ones that came with board games, so it would be easy to figure out who won?

  Mom and I cleaned up the kitchen, needing to feel a sense of accomplishment before bed. Dirty dishes at the start; washed and dried and put away at the end.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning, I dropped Mom off at her house, drove back home to mine, and grabbed the Bugle from the driveway on the way in. I expected Chris to pick me up in about a half hour for our trip to the station house.

  Benny greeted me at the door as usual, but didn’t stay long. I figured he needed a little time to get used to the back bedroom being all his again. I made sure his feeder was full and his toys were in plain sight, since some had been inadvertently moved into corners by company the last two nights. I placed the motorized feather-and-bell toy Mom had brought him in the middle of the living room floor. I’d be ready to run it for him as soon as he showed up again.

  In the meantime, I sat on the couch and opened the Bugle.

  And slammed it shut, hoping I’d fallen asleep and had a bad dream. I opened the paper again.

  No, that was still the headline.

  LOCAL MAN ARRESTED FOR MURDER OF ESTRANGED SON. By Christopher Doucette.

  Chris. How could you?

  TWENTY-ONE

  He was not arrested.

  I paced. I read a sentence. I scrunched the Bugle pages together. I unscrunched them and smoothed them. I read another sentence.

  Arnold Quinlan, 67, of North 2nd Street in Elkview, was taken into custody, charged with the murder of his son, Oliver Whitestone, 51, a cook at the local Bear Claw Diner.

  I paced some more, my jaw tightening, my stomach churning, and read another sentence.

  Quinlan was estranged from his son for many years. The two reunited recently.

  They were not reunited.

  The reporting was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  My phone rang its text sound. I glanced at the screen.

  Running late. ETA 30 mins.

  From Chris. Christopher Doucette of the Bugle.

  I read one more section.

  Whitestone’s body was found in the woods near the main Elkview landing strip. The motive for the killing is unknown. Police are investigating.

  I grabbed my jacket, stuffed the newspaper in my tote without regard for its prearranged folds, ran in for a quick goodbye to Benny, asked his forgiveness for rushing off. “I’ll explain later,” I told him.

  I tried to sort it out. First, the big thing. Arnold was not arrested. I said it out loud, as if Chris and the entire reading public could hear me. That was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  And small things. Oliver was not a cook; he was a chef. “Police” were not investigating. Trooper Graham was investigating. I was investigating. I thought he was investigating, not chasing a story, a scoop.

  How could Chris get all this wrong?

  How could he do this to Manny? To Oliver? To me?

  I tried to calm down for safe driving. I’d already decided not to respond to Chris’s text. Let him get to my house and wonder why I wasn’t there. Should I have left a note? No. It would only have been nasty. I wrote one now, in my head. Dear Chris, no more heated steering wheel until you print a retraction.

  I couldn’t believe I’d been so naive. Flirting. Let’s go to France and taste test the confit de canard. Thinking he cared about me. The compliments. The flowers. Watching kayaks on Eklutna Lake.

  Chris had used me, plain and simple. Why, when he was buddies with Trooper, did he need me? It wasn’t hard to figure out. Because he knew I wanted to investigate and that would give him a whole other opening into the case, especially since Trooper would be otherwise engaged with the Girdwood issues. And who knew Oliver better than my mom? Another personal contact, with information he might not get from any other source.

  Smart. Nice going, Chris. Maybe I’ll nominate you for a Pulitzer.

  But weren’t we friends? Partners in the investigation? Why didn’t he just share his plan for releasing the information? Talk it over with me. Was it even legal for him to do what he did in today’s story? And why lie?

  The pounding in my ears started up anew. I slowed down, tucking the Outback behind a semi with a blue cab, like Manny’s, in the slow lane. I wondered when Manny would be driving his truck again.

  I called Trooper on my hands-free setup. He answered just as I thought I’d need to leave a message.

  “Charlie?”

  “Has Manny been charged?”

  “No. Of course not. I would have given you a heads-up.”

  I took a breath. “Is Willow there? Ms. Yazzie, his lawyer?”

  “Not yet. I came in early. I’m way behind on paperwork.”

  “Did you see the Bugle this morning?”

  “Not yet. Like I said, I’m way behind.” He paused. “What’s up? Something wrong, Charlie?”

  “Front-page story.”

  “What?”

  “By Chris.”

  “What? Is he with you now?”

  “No.” I cleared my throat. Almost smiled. “He may be late.”

  I gave Trooper a quick summary of what was wrong. He clicked off, promising to track down the story.

  Another text message from Chris came in.

  I’m here. Are you ready? I’ve been ringing the bell

  I thought how ironic it was. I’d been concerned that Annie was being taken advantage of by her Frenchman. I didn’t trust Pierre not to use her, whether for a better room at her inn or for his own ego. I came close to warning her several times. And all the while I was one the being duped, being lulled into some romantic fantasy. I felt like apologizing to Annie and Pierre both.

  Another message from Chris, this one a voicemail.

  “I’ve decided to drive to the station house myself. I looked in the window of your garage and your car is gone, so I assume you had some other thing. An emergency? I hope not. At least not a bad one. I’m going to call your mom.”

  No. Not my mom. She’ll only worry.

  I called my mom, hoping to head that off.

  “What’s up, Charlie? Are you at the station house yet?”

  “No, but somet
hing came up and I’m driving alone. Chris might call you to find out what happened. Just say I’m fine and he doesn’t need to come.”

  The silence that followed told me Mom knew there was more to this message. “A spat?” she asked.

  “Not exactly. I’m driving, Mom. I have to go.”

  “I assume you’re going to fill me in at the appropriate time?”

  “Of course. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, sweetie. Try to stay calm.”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I pulled into the station house lot to the tune of my cell phone. I had never used the hands-free feature so many times in one morning. I didn’t hit the talk button until I heard Annie’s voice begin a message.

  “I’m just arriving at the station house, so this has to be brief for now,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry to bother you, Charlie. Nothing urgent, except Pierre and I are getting along so well and I wanted to share.”

  “I’m glad, Annie, but can this wait? I’m on my way to talk to Manny.”

  “How could I forget? I read that he’s been arrested. Poor Manny. Oh, go, go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “He has not been arrested, Annie. The Bugle was wrong. Chris was wrong. Don’t spread it, okay?”

  “Okay. I won’t say anything to anybody. Everything is so mixed-up these days. My head is reeling.”

  “Mine, too. Later, Annie.”

  And another call came in, but no message this time, so I ignored it. I couldn’t check for the ID while I was driving and I wasn’t about to take the chance that it was Chris again.

  I parked closer to the correct door this time, which meant my scarf needed to be wound around my neck only once. My car thermometer said it was thirty-five degrees, downright balmy, but I didn’t trust it. Just as I no longer trusted reporters for the Bugle.

  Inside, I stomped my boots on the floor, not because there was snow anywhere in sight, just because it felt good to stomp. I glared at the matron who was so unpleasant to us yesterday, and before I could think of something equally unpleasant to say to her now, Trooper came out of an office door.

  “Charlie, I was about to call you.”

  “What? Don’t tell me. Visiting hours haven’t begun and won’t start until sometime after lunch.”

  Trooper grinned but didn’t waste time setting me straight, likely afraid I’d haul off and do or say something I’d really regret.

  “Manny’s boss called right after you and I hung up. Moe and Jack tracked him down at the company headquarters in Juneau.” Trooper pointed to the door he’d just exited and motioned me inside. “It turns out Manny was with him the afternoon of Oliver’s murder.”

  I blew out a breath. If anything could have cheered me up, it was news like that.

  I took a seat in the government-issue gray metal chair opposite a matching desk. The office looked like it was shared by a few people. There was nothing personal on the walls or furniture except for a mug that had the misshapen look of pottery made by a kid and smelled like old coffee. The metal bookcase was overflowing with binders containing guidelines for state and federal agencies. Schools. Veterans Affairs. Housing and Urban Development Home and Health Care. I wondered how often they were referred to. They looked unopened, like a set of encyclopedias in a school library in the age of the Internet.

  Trooper moved the mug to a credenza and put his feet up on the desk, leaning back as far as the chair would take him.

  “’Scuse me,” he said. “Long night.”

  Whether it was the dim light in the windowless office or my own mood, I thought he looked tired and old. He was my parents’ age, I realized, and might be thinking of retiring. I hoped not. I couldn’t imagine dealing with Deputy Josh. That alone would be enough to keep me out of trouble.

  Right now, at least, he was ready to pick up on his report to me.

  “When he got to the Bear Claw that day, Manny told the guys the story about an argument he had with his boss, and this morning they verified it. Good pals, those guys.”

  I remembered the day, not only because it was less than a week ago and was when Oliver’s body was discovered, but also because it was one of the busiest days in the diner. The tourists at Annie’s had piled in. They’d filled the place, and Victor and Nina had performed their magic, setting up a separate table with a special meal in the kitchen to accommodate Moe and Jack, and eventually, Manny.

  “Manny and his boss had a fight about Manny’s retiring,” Trooper continued. “You know how the guys are always teasing Manny about getting too old to drive a rig. Well, his boss was not teasing. He was trying to force Manny to pack it in, but Manny has a union rep, et cetera, so they got into it. The funniest thing the boss said, listen to this—‘If Arnold was going to kill anyone that day, it would have been me.’”

  “Good to know,” I said, through a big smile. “So that’s all it took?”

  Trooper nodded. “That and your lawyer friend. We might have sent him home anyway, but she pointed out, in case we forgot”—Trooper smiled—“that we’d detained him for almost twenty-four hours, so we were going to have to charge him, ask for an extension, or let him go anyway.”

  Go, Willow.

  “His boss has committed to coming in tomorrow and making a formal statement,” Trooper continued. “But yeah, it’s over, unless something else turns up.”

  “Where’s Manny now?”

  “Out of here. Your friend took him away, offered to drive him home. Nice lady, really. We tried to call you, by the way, but something must be wrong with your phone. Constantly busy.”

  “I believe it.”

  “Chris isn’t with you?”

  “Something came up,” I said, and realized I’d better beat it out of there before he showed up. I jumped from the chair. “I’m going to catch up with Willow and Manny. Thanks for this, Trooper.”

  “Shall I give Chris a heads-up about this before he comes all the way out here?” Trooper asked. “Or are you going to do it?”

  “He’ll figure it out,” I said, and headed out the door, leaving Trooper with a curious look on his face.

  * * *

  * * *

  I dialed Willow’s number from the Outback.

  The heated steering wheel reminded me of Chris and roiled up my stomach again. I wasn’t proud of myself for giving him the runaround, but part of me felt he deserved it. Since he’d left me out of the loop, falsely announcing an arrest in the investigation of Oliver’s murder, there was no reason for me to include him in anything I’d learned about Manny’s release.

  The whole situation sounded a lot like “He started it, nyah, nyah,” and that was the part I wasn’t proud of. But I wasn’t so remorseful that I wanted to give him an update. Let him find out on his own.

  Willow’s voice, her understanding lawyer voice, soothed me.

  “I thought about waiting for you at the station house, but I figured it was better to get Arnold out of there before some higher-up got involved and changed the decision.”

  “Good thinking. Where are you now?”

  “We’re almost to Arnold’s house. He’s anxious to clean up. I figured you and I could take him out for a celebratory meal.”

  “I know just the place.”

  “I thought you might.”

  We made a plan to meet at the Bear Claw in an hour, which gave me enough time to answer messages and, more important, drop in on Benny. I pulled off the road at a safe enough distance to know that Chris wouldn’t be on my tail and paid a virtual visit to my tabby. He was lying in his usual cone of sunshine, but upside down, on his back. He probably wasn’t sleeping. Missing Mom, I guessed. On the off chance that he could hear me, I told him I’d be home in the afternoon and that I’d be sure Mom and Dad would be at our house for dinner tomorrow evening.

 
I didn’t know exactly when Dad’s flight was due. He and the Russells were flying together, and Barney had offered to drive Dad home from the Anchorage airport. Dad would be full of stories about his business stops with Russell in Salzburg and Tyrol, which would prove a nice distraction from the drama of the week in Elkview.

  A call to my mom went to voicemail, and I left a brief message about Manny’s release.

  Since I’d been so short with Annie, I called her back to let her talk.

  “I was telling you about Pierre, but really it’s not important compared to what we’re doing. Investigating, I mean. But Pierre is thinking of staying for a while. He says he can send his article from anywhere, once he gets to the lights when his car is ready, and can come back here. We’re getting close.”

  I’d hardly followed the sequence, and I could hardly believe what I did follow. But I couldn’t joke with Annie. Being mean to Chris was one thing; being mean to Annie was untenable.

  “Do you have anything else to report, Annie? On Stanley, maybe?”

  “I called him, and I’ll try again. I didn’t want to go all the way to Anchorage without knowing if he’s there. I especially don’t want to drag your mom there. My deputy partner, you know. She’s already spent a lot of time traveling this week, and your dad returns tomorrow.”

  “That’s right. And I know she has things to do before Dad arrives.”

  “Maybe I’ll take Pierre with me to Anchorage. And I know you think I’m just trying to have Pierre time, but really I’m concerned about your mom. Also, that is. And I don’t think Pierre’s ever been to a big city in Alaska.”

  Annie meant the big city in Alaska, the only one, with about three hundred thousand people. Fairbanks, next largest, had only ten percent of that number. I didn’t know the population of Zurich, but since it was a global center for finance, I was pretty sure it topped any city in Alaska. Still, Anchorage had its charms, and a road trip would be one more bonding experience for Annie and Pierre.