Sweet Taffy and the Millionaire's Murder

by Dana Moss

  “You got lucky, I guess.”

  “If you’re implying a coincidence with the events on the yacht, then yes, I suppose so. But I had nothing to do with it. It was a shock. I’m still reeling actually.” She wiped her hands on her apron then she pushed the heel of her hands against her wet eyes. Was it the onions or was she trying to compose herself? “It’s so strange how one moment your life is one way and overnight it can change so drastically. One person’s violent actions can ruin so many lives.”

  “Ruin?”

  “Alter. Change. Turn upside down. Losing someone you know, someone you care about, affects you in ways you don’t expect.”

  Taffy understood. She’d lost her mother when she was young, and it had taken her a long time to comes to terms with the grief. She gave Anya a moment, and then, quietly, so Chef Albert and the other cooks didn’t hear, she said, “What about Lorne? He didn’t seem too upset when I saw you both yesterday. And from what I’ve learned about Blake since then, I’m not sure he was such a good friend to anyone. Were Blake and Lorne really such good friends?”

  Anya picked up her knife again. “Now you think it was Lorne? He’s really not that bad. His feelings are unpredictable, volatile sometimes, but he liked Blake. Probably loved him. They were old friends. He’s taking it pretty bad.”

  “I’d just like to figure out why he’s so keen to frame Macy for the murder.”

  Anya smirked. “Seems like he believes she did it as passionately as you believe she didn’t. Just different perspectives, don’t you think?”

  “But what if he was the one to kill Blake? And then Macy walked in and picked up the knife after he’d… you know?”

  Anya blinked, as if considering that possibility. Then she shook her head. “He’d never do anything to hurt Blake. He depended on him.”

  “How did he depend on him?”

  Anya reached for a second onion and started to peel it. “Well, we were all dependent on him for salaries, but…” She set down the onion and took a deep breath. “Don’t tell Lorne I told you this, but Blake pulled Lorne out of the drunk tank a little over two years ago, got him into rehab, which obviously didn’t stick, of course, but then he got him the captaincy on his yacht, and Lorne’s been in pretty good shape since. Up until now.”

  “So he’s the type to hide his grief? Or drown it with alcohol?”

  “Seems so.”

  “And you channel it.”

  Anya had made short work of that second onion, and now she deftly sliced the third one down its middle. Taffy could understand why Chef Albert was happy to have her in his kitchen, even temporarily.

  “What will you do after? Once you’re allowed to leave and pick up the threads of your life again. Maybe start that catering business in Carmel?”

  Anya paused in her chopping. “Maria told you about that too?”

  Taffy realized now that Maria had likely told her that in confidence. She backtracked. “Didn’t you mention it the other night, when we met?”

  “I don’t think so.” Anya had set her knife down and was looking at Taffy curiously.

  “You’d all cruised up from there that day. I’m sure you mentioned something about it in that context?”

  Anya eyed her carefully, and then she shrugged, and with that simple gesture, whatever seed of suspicion that had sprouted about Taffy’s statement seemed to be uprooted. “I guess we’d all had a few drinks. Maybe I did say something. But I’d been trying to keep it to myself because I didn’t want Blake to be worried that I’d leave him high and dry.” She sighed. “I suppose that’s not a concern now.”

  But Taffy decided she’d be more careful about what she said to those involved in this case. She didn’t want to get Maria in trouble for confiding in her. That trust was invaluable to Taffy.

  “It’s a great goal to have. I hope you achieve it. You’re obviously very good at what you do.”

  She smiled. “I’ve had a lot of experience over the years. I’ve worked in so many kitchens, with so many different kinds of food. Italian. French. Mexican. Japanese. Even Ethiopian, though that was only a two-week stint.”

  “Then Chef Albert really is lucky. He might not let you go off to start your own business.”

  “Oh, I won’t let anyone stop me. It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time. That and a family.”

  Taffy was surprised to hear that. “Are you married or engaged already?”

  “Not yet. But I hope to be soon.” She smiled to herself but didn’t say more as she picked up her knife and started chopping again. Taffy watched her deftness, her precision, and her unusual technique.

  Over the chopping, Anya said, “Don’t you want to get married one day? Maybe to that hunky boyfriend we met the other night?”

  Taffy felt herself starting to blush. “Oh, it’s too early for me to think about that. And Maria’s wedding will be first. That’s what I was talking to Chef Albert about.”

  “You just never can tell what life will throw at you. Don’t take anything for granted. Just look at Macy. About to be proposed to one day and a suspect for murder the next.”

  Taffy frowned at that. “Everyone’s still a suspect actually.” That thought got her mind focused again. She cleared her throat.

  “Any idea where I might find Lorne?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Anya had told Taffy she thought Lorne might still be in his hotel room, but rather than go back to the front desk and ask Greg—whose patience she had already tested to the degree that she was afraid he’d go running the other way if she approached him again too soon—Taffy chose to take the back stairs from the kitchen side of the resort to gain access to the second floor.

  On the way up she realized she’d forgotten to ask Anya about whether or not she knew anything about Blake’s ex-wife. She’d have to do that next time she talked to her. Taffy still intended to check up on the masseuse, after all that trouble of getting the name from Greg, but since talking to Anya, she wondered if pursuing that trail would lead to a dead end.

  It was Lorne she was more worried about now. Even though Anya didn’t believe he was guilty, Taffy wondered if she was being a little naive. He’d been on the boat that night. He’d had access to everything. He and Blake had been alone on the boat while Macy and Cher went swimming. It really was his word against Macy’s and Cher’s.

  Taffy’s phone buzzed with a text notification. Cher again.

  Whine, whine. Where are you?

  Taffy shot back a quick, Be back soon, as she opened the fireproof door that led to the main corridor of the second floor. She really should hurry. She’d left them alone a long time.

  There were about ten rooms per each of the five floors and Taffy had no idea which one was Lorne’s. She figured she could knock on all of them and most of them would be empty—tourism being what it was in Abandon these days—and maybe she’d discover Lorne’s room by process of elimination.

  At the third door, she heard some shuffling within. Her phone buzzed again, but she ignored it and knocked. There was more shuffling and then the inner bolt clicked and the door opened a crack.

  Lorne’s unshaven jaw came into view, and then his bloodshot eyes. Taffy wondered if they were red from grief or drink.

  “What do you want?”

  “Just to talk.”

  “It’s not a good time.”

  “It might not be for a while. Can you let me in? I won’t stay long.”

  He grumbled a bit but widened the door. Taffy followed him into a messy room. Tangled sheets, empty liquor bottles, an exploded-looking duffel bag, and an array of nautical maps that he must have taken from the ship littered the built-in desk.

  Taffy pushed some dirty clothes off of a chair.

  Lorne said, “It wasn’t Einer, was it?” He gave her a satisfied ‘I told you so’ look and plopped down on the end of the bed.

  “No. He had an alibi.” Taffy wondered if Lorne knew what it was, but she didn’t bother to tell him. Instead she got to her questio
ns, since she didn’t know how long he’d tolerate her presence before he became suspicious of her motives.

  “How close were you and Blake?”

  He laughed. “So you’re after me now, are you? Good thing you don’t do this for a living. You’ve a knack for barking up the wrong tree, Lassie.”

  His suspicions hadn’t taken long, but Taffy decided to ignore the insult.

  Her phone buzzed with another notification. No doubt Macy and Cher were wondering exactly how long she would take to get back. Taffy set her purse down so she wouldn’t feel the vibrations.

  “But don’t worry,” he continued. “I’ll humor you. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He spread his arms to encompass his disheveled room and equally disheveled self. The remains of his drink splashed a little.

  “Were you jealous of Blake?”

  “Because he was rich and I wasn’t?” He shook his head. “We went to the same schools, but his family background was different than mine. He was always going to be richer than me.”

  He got up and poured himself another drink. He held the glass with his right hand and poured with his left. Taffy couldn’t tell if that meant he was left-handed or right-handed. He must have mistaken her close observation of his pouring because he asked,

  “Want one?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not even eleven a.m.” Though a year or two ago that wouldn’t have been reason enough to say now.

  “Suit yourself.” Lorne shrugged. “I haven’t stopped since eleven last night, except to sleep for a few hours.”

  He finished refilling and then sat down on the end of the bed and stared at Taffy.

  She cleared her throat. “I heard that Blake helped you when you were down and out.”

  “Who told you that? Sweet little Mary Ann?”

  He didn’t seem to expect Taffy to answer.

  “I could tell you some stories about her, too, you know.” He looked away, letting his gaze soften as it passed through the gauzy curtains of a set of sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the pool deck and the bay beyond. “But you asked about Blake… It’s true he helped me when I was in a bad place. Gave me a job. Got me on my feet again. He was a good friend back then.”

  “What about more recently?”

  He turned to her. And then he looked down into his drink. “You’re just trying to catch me in some sort of lie, aren’t you?”

  Taffy thought he was being a bit paranoid. “I’m just collecting information, making some observations. You don’t seem all that distraught about your friend’s passing.”

  He slugged back another shot, keeping his eyes on hers. “Don’t I?”

  Maybe she was being too hard on him. People experienced grief in so many ways. And it’s not as if he looked as if he was thriving.

  Lorne stood up and walked to the sliding doors, his near empty glass came to a rest against his thigh while he stared through the crack in the curtains.

  “Sometimes I wonder if this balcony weren’t just a bit higher I might jump off it.” He turned to her again, a flash in his eyes. “And who are you to tell me how ‘distraught’ I am?” The blame in his voice was dark and menacing. “Who are you…?” he repeated.

  And then he started to laugh. “Really, who are you to be getting involved in all this? Aren’t you just some displaced New York socialite?”

  Taffy flinched. Clearly his questions were rhetorical, but that made them no less insulting. He added, “Does your detective friend know how much you meddle in other people’s business? Does she know you’re here right now?”

  Taffy wasn’t about to admit that she didn’t. She tried a different tack.

  “You said the other night that you didn’t understand what Macy saw in Blake. Was that just teasing? Or something more?”

  Lorne sucked air through his teeth, and then he stretched back as if relieving a kink in his spine. “Yeah, we had a habit of teasing each other. Since school. It was all in good fun. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about. We just liked to take the piss out of each other.”

  Taffy nodded. “And were you attracted to Macy?”

  His eyes flew to hers, narrowing slightly as they did, and then they slid away.

  When he didn’t answer, Taffy prompted him by saying, “Your teasing seemed to imply that she was too good for him.”

  “It was all in fun. Didn’t mean anything.”

  “You never flirted with her? Never implied that you’d be around if Blake, by whatever circumstance, wasn’t?”

  He stared at her hard. “Like I said. You’re barking up the wrong tree, Lassie.”

  Taffy stood her ground. “Were you jealous of Blake’s love life?”

  He laughed again. Then he shook his head. “Let’s just say I had plenty of opportunities to live vicariously through him.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He looked down at his drink again. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore anyway.” He tossed back an ice cube from his glass and crunched down on it violently.

  Taffy knew she should get going soon. She just had two more other questions.

  “When we talked yesterday, you never mentioned anything about his wife.”

  “His ex, Veronica? What about her?”

  “Why didn’t you mention her yesterday?”

  “What’s to mention? They’re not together anymore.”

  “But you know her?’

  “Sure.” He shrugged and looked away.

  “What’s she like? Do you like her?”

  He seemed confused by the two separate questions and he knitted his brow, as if thinking.

  “I suppose she’s both beautiful and formidable. A tough combination not to like and dislike at the same time.”

  “But Blake had had enough of her?”

  He looked down at his glass again. “He tires of them all eventually.”

  “And yet apparently he wanted to marry Macy.”

  “Apparently.”

  “You said yourself he was in love. That this was different.”

  “Yes. It was different.”

  Taffy frowned. He wasn’t offering much.

  “Veronica’s coming to town today. To identify the body and sign off on some paperwork.”

  Lorne looked surprised for all of a second. Then he shrugged and got up to open another bottle.

  “Will you see her?” Taffy asked.

  He shrugged again. “If she wants to see me.” He quickly added: “But I don’t know why she would.”

  “So there’s never been anything between you two?”

  He scoffed and broke eye contact. “Why would you think that?”

  “When you said you lived vicariously through Blake, I thought maybe you meant—”

  “She’s not… Well, actually, I don’t know what she is.” He finished his third drink.

  “Just beautiful and formidable?”

  “Not my type. Let just say that.” But Taffy had the feeling he was hiding something. He was brushing her off too easily. By now, his lids hung heavy over his eyes. It’s not just that he was drinking early in the day, it’s that he hadn’t really stopped since last night. And, oddly, unlike a lot of other drunks, his tongue didn’t loosen with drink but rather seemed to tighten, to hold onto his thoughts rather than let them go. But there was one more thing she wanted to ask about.

  “I heard you gave the police a video.”

  “Figured it could be helpful.”

  Not to Macy, Taffy thought. Not to me. “Are there any others?”

  He hesitated before answering, but then he shook his head. “I handed over anything I thought might be pertinent to the case.” He looked away for a moment, and then a thought seemed to crawl up his back and bite him on the neck.

  “Hey, why aren’t you barking after Mary Ann?”

  Calmly, Taffy said, “For one thing she wasn’t on the boat that night and you were.”

  He gave a drunken nod of understanding. “She’s not all sweetness and light, j
ust so you know. She tell you much about her past?”

  “Not much.” Taffy knew more about her future. At least her plans for it.

  “She said she’s worked her way up through a lot of restaurants. She’s got plans for her own business. Wants to get married.”

  “Really?” He smirked. And then he sneered. “Don’t know who’d marry her frozen heinie.” He slugged back another sip.

  “She had more complimentary things to say about you.”

  “Did she? Did she tell you she’d been married once before?”

  Taffy’s interest sparked. “No?”

  Lorne shrugged. “It was a long time ago. I don’t know much except it was a bit of a scheme. One of those Eastern-European mail-order things. She had to buy her way out, worked hard. She’s only hinted at it really, but it sounded rough. No silver spoons in her mouth.”

  Taffy had even more respect for her efforts to pursue her dreams.

  “I forgot to ask her if she knew about Blake’s ex. Do you know if she did?”

  Lorne screwed up his face in concentration and then relaxed it. “I don’t think so. They met once, I think, but Veronica never really came around the yacht much. She can’t swim for one thing. She knew Blake’s purchase of the boat was another sign they were done for good. Poor cookie…”

  “You felt sorry for her? Beautiful, formidable, and pitiable?”

  He looked up at Taffy with a look of confusion, and she realized he was beginning to get too drunk to converse with.

  “She’s a peach,” he said, raising his glass to her. “And so are you.” He was slurring his words now.

  Taffy picked up her purse and stood to go. “You might want to brew yourself a pot of coffee.”

  “Thanks for the advice, Lassie. This cross-examination has been a real blast.” He poured himself another drink.

  “Lorne, is there anything else that’s bothering you? Something you’d like to talk about?” Grief or no grief, Taffy couldn’t understand why he’d want to drink himself into such a stupor.