Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits

by A. L. Herbert

  “I’m glad to hear that. But one more question,” I say as I catch sight of Wavonne coming in this direction with our salads. “Word is that you went into two of the apartment buildings in the community. Why did you go into two different places?”

  “The guy I was told to meet didn’t have what I was looking for. He sent me a couple of blocks down the street to someone he called an ‘associate,’ who had what I wanted.”

  Wavonne places the salads down in front of us.

  “This looks very nice, but I’m not really hungry anymore.”

  “Please stay and have your salad.” I take a look at our plates laden with avocados and bacon... and chopped eggs and blue cheese... and want to chuckle at the idea of Cynthia thinking they’re something “light.” They probably have as many calories as a cheeseburger. “You said you wanted to find out who killed Sherry, and that’s all I’m trying to do. Now that we’ve gotten the difficult conversation out of the way, you can enjoy your lunch.”

  Cynthia looks down at her salad, and while it may not be fried chicken or smothered pork chops, it does look reasonably appetizing.

  “Try some of the dressing.” I hand her the little metal gravy boat with my house dressing in it that Wavonne set down with the salads.

  Cynthia reluctantly takes the container from me and lightly pours it over her salad, spears some greens, avocado, and bacon on her fork, and takes a bite. “The dressing’s good,” she says, going back in with her fork for another mouthful.

  “The red wine vinegar gives it the tartness, and we roast the garlic before mincing it—that makes it nice and sweet,” I reveal, glad a tasty salad seems to be getting me back in Cynthia’s good graces. “So earlier, before I, perhaps needlessly, started asking you about what you knew about Russell and Sherry’s affair, you said you came today because you thought you might be able to offer some information that might be helpful. Did you have anything in particular in mind?”

  “Not so much anything... more anyone,” Cynthia says.

  Chapter 30

  “What do you mean by ‘more anyone’?” I ask Cynthia.

  “I mean Vera. Russell said you were concerned about her being the only suspect the police were investigating. Maybe she shouldn’t be the only one on their list, but when she came to see me shortly before Sherry was killed, she certainly seemed like someone who might be capable of... well, anything.”

  “When exactly did she come to see you?”

  “After we finished taping, but before we all gathered in the concierge lounge for her send-off. She begged me for a redo, and said it was only fair given that Sherry clearly sabotaged her. She was highly agitated and, no matter how many times I said no, she would not let it go. Our suite has two rooms, and I thought we were done when I said good-bye to her to take a call in the bedroom, but when I came back out she was still in the living area... and still insistent that I give her another shot. Finally, she threatened to sue if I didn’t right what she thought was clearly a wrong.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told the silly woman the truth—that justice is for the rich, and she’d go bankrupt trying to sue the Russell Mellinger machine. Only then did she finally leave.” Cynthia takes a bite of her salad and puts her fork down. “I feel bad for her. She got a raw deal, but that’s how competitions work—there are winners and losers. I told Vera she needed to accept what happened and move on. I thought she had finally let it go when she left, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility that, somewhere along the way to ‘moving on,’ she put a couple of bullets in the woman who set her up to lose.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. I’ve learned over the years that anything is possible.”

  I figure I’ve probably gotten all the useful information I’m going to get from Cynthia, so I decide to switch gears and get off the topic of Sherry’s death and end our lunch on a positive note. “How about some dessert? We have white-chocolate bread pudding and strawberry pie this afternoon.”

  “I think the cornbread was my food indulgence for the day. It must be loaded with butter.”

  “And sour cream,” I say with a smile.

  “Let me pay the bill and get back to the hotel. I still have some brainstorming to do and phone calls to make to figure out where we are going to go with the show given the recent turn of events.”

  “No bill,” I say. “Lunch is on me.”

  “Thank you.” Cynthia takes a last sip of wine, places her napkin on the table, and gets up from her seat. “I wish you luck, Halia. I hope the police can find out who killed Sherry, but if you beat them to it, even better.”

  “You’re welcome.” I stand up as well. “Come by again sometime, and we’ll talk about more pleasant things.”

  Cynthia smiles in a way that makes it quite certain that a return visit is not likely.

  I sit back down and watch as she exits the restaurant. As soon as the door closes behind her, I reach for my cell phone and dial.

  “Yo,” says the deep voice on the other end of the phone. “What may I do you for, Halia?”

  “Hey, Jack. How are you?”

  “Not bad. I figured I’d hear from you.”

  “Really?”

  “Hutchins said you were on the scene at the Ashbury murder at that new hotel in Fort Washington. I know enough to expect my phone to ring if a murder happens anywhere in the vicinity of Halia Watkins.”

  Jack Spruce is a Sweet Tea regular, friend, and local police officer. I slip him the occasional complimentary slice of red velvet cake or banana pudding, and he is kind enough to give me a little inside scoop on the happenings at the Prince George’s County Police Department.

  “I can’t say you’re wrong, but strangely, I’m more looking to give you information rather than ask for it this time.”

  “Oh?”

  “I just wanted to make sure that the police... that Detective Hutchins is aware that Cynthia went on a bit of an errand, in disguise no less, supposedly to score some drugs a few days before Sherry was killed.” I know I told Trudy I wouldn’t tell anyone, but when we parted company she hadn’t made it 100 percent clear that she was going to notify the police about Cynthia’s foray into the city and, clearly, they need to be made aware.

  “Where in the city exactly?”

  “An apartment complex called Brentwood Manors.”

  “Interesting. As far as I know we have not been told of Cynthia going there, but coincidentally, we’ve been working with the D.C. police department on breaking up a crime ring there for weeks.”

  “So Brentwood Manors is definitely a drug den like Cynthia said.”

  “Yes,” Jack says. “But it’s not just a drug ring we’ve been after in that neighborhood. There’s a weapons operation going on there, too.”

  “Weapons?”

  “Yes, there’s a guy there named Bruce—he’s the one dealing drugs. And another guy named Sam—he’s been dealing weapons... guns, knives, all sorts of ammunition and tactical gear. We tried to bust them just yesterday, but they must have gotten wind of police interest and shut everything down or moved it elsewhere. The apartments we’ve been watching were empty.”

  “So, given what you just said, it sounds like Cynthia may not have gone to Brentwood Manors to buy drugs—she may have gone there to buy a gun.”

  “Possibly. But at the moment, we have no way to prove what she purchased there.”

  “True. I guess I’ll have to keep digging around.”

  “I’d tell you to let us do that, Halia, but I know I’d be wasting my breath.”

  “Probably so.” I switch the phone to my other ear. “Thanks for chatting with me, Jack. Hope to see you in the restaurant soon. I’ve got a slice of pie with your name on it.”

  “I’ll probably be in one day next week.”

  “Okay.” I’m about to say good-bye and hang up, but then it occurs to me that there’s one more thing I’d like to ask Jack. “Hey, one last question before you go.”

  “Shoot,” he say
s. “Sorry, that was a poor choice of words given events of late.”

  “I stopped by the inn yesterday and talked to Trey McIntyre. We spoke for a bit in his room and he didn’t tell me anything remarkable, but I did notice one thing—there’s a door in his room that I assume, when unlocked, connects his room to Sherry’s.”

  “Yes. We’re aware of that. We’re not completely incompetent, Halia,” Jack jokes.

  “Was it locked on Sherry’s side the night of the murder?”

  “Yes. It was locked when our team got there.”

  “Okay. Good to know. Thanks again, Jack.”

  I hit the end button on the phone and lay it down on the table. I start to get up to check on a few things in the kitchen when I see Wavonne looking at her own phone as she strides toward me.

  “Wavonne, you know my rule. No phones when you’re working. Put that away.”

  “I don’t think you want me to do that.” She hands the phone to me. “Hit the play button.”

  I take the phone from her and see she has some tabloid TMZ or Perez Hilton–type site up on the screen. I hit the play button and see a grainy, dimly lit video of someone, a woman, I think, slinking around the pool at the Willow Oak Inn. It was clearly taken after dark. I continue to watch and see the figure approach Sherry’s sliding glass door, knock lightly, and let herself in. It’s only when the figure is right up by the door that a light from the side of the building illuminates her face in the darkness.

  “Twyla,” I say.

  “Yep,” Wavonne replies. “Little Ms. Southern Charm has got some explainin’ to do.”

  Chapter 31

  “I hadn’t seen you in over ten years and now three times in two weeks,” Twyla says to me as I walk into the darkness of Dauphine.

  “Maybe I’m just missing you,” I say playfully.

  Twyla laughs. “I find that hard to believe, Halia. Let me guess: You saw the video?”

  “I suppose you’d also find it hard to believe if I said, ‘What video?’” I say. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d find you here. I thought the police might have already brought you in.”

  “They’ve been here. I explained the whole thing to them, and they left.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear your explanation for being caught on tape slipping into Sherry’s room on what one assumes was the night she was killed.”

  “I was filmed the night Sherry was killed, but I was not going into her room.”

  “What?”

  “If you looked closely at the video, you’d have seen there is another room to the right of the one I went into. Sherry’s room was at the end of the hall—there were no more rooms to the right of hers.”

  “So, whose room did you go in?”

  “Trey’s.”

  “Trey’s? What were you doing in there?” I ask as the answer becomes obvious.

  “That’s not really any of your business, Halia, but I explained everything to the police, and I also told them I stopped for gas after I left his room. I dug up my receipt, and it’s stamped with the exact time I filled up the Cadillac. Eleven twenty-seven. Sherry was killed only two minutes later. There is no way I could have been back at the inn that quickly. The gas station’s a good fifteen minutes from there. And, if the receipt is not enough, there is probably security camera footage of me at the station or one of the cashiers would remember me. After all, I am a bit of a local celebrity, and my vintage Cadillac is not easily forgotten.”

  “Do you... or the police know who took the video? And why?”

  “Halia, I’ve shared all I care to at this point, but if the police are convinced I’m innocent when it comes to Sherry’s murder, I would hope that’s good enough for you.” She grabs a menu from the counter. “So why don’t you leave the murder investigating to the police and sit down and have some lunch.”

  If Twyla’s food was not so dreadful, I’d be tempted, but since that’s not the case, I simply say, “Thank you, but I just stopped by to have a quick word. I need to get back to my own restaurant.”

  “You know,” Twyla says to me as I turn to leave, “if you’re still nosing around in the whole thing, maybe there is one thing you should know.”

  I twist back around and look her in the eyes.

  “When I was with Trey in his room, he said something that was a little bit concerning to me. Before I left, I wished him good luck, and he said he didn’t need it. He said he was not worried about winning... even if he had to ‘play dirty.’ I distinctly remember him saying, ‘If other contestants are playing dirty, why shouldn’t I?’ When he said this, Sherry was the only other contestant left in the competition. I can only assume he was talking about her when he mentioned ‘other contestants.’”

  “Interesting.”

  “Isn’t it?” Twyla says. “By ‘playing dirty’ I thought he meant hiding her olive oil or switching out her salt with sugar. Murder certainly did not come to my mind.”

  “For Trey’s sake, let’s hope murder did not come to his mind either,” I reply as I, once again, turn to leave and hurry toward the door to get out of Twyla’s gloomy restaurant and back into the daylight.

  Chapter 32

  “It does smell good.” Wavonne eyes the foil-covered plate in my hand as we walk toward the inn.

  Twyla’s talk of gas station security cameras made me think about the cameras at the inn. There seem to be an awful lot of people, including her, who just happened to be in places with both security cameras and witnesses when Sherry was killed. Cynthia was in the monitored concierge lounge, Russell was in the monitored restaurant, and Twyla managed to be at the Shell station on Indian Head Highway when Sherry met her maker. And my guess is that Russell and Cynthia were the only two who knew that the area by the pool was not under surveillance. It’s just a lot of stuff that makes one “go hmmm,” and adds credence to Trudy’s theory that Cynthia, or any number of people, may have arranged Sherry’s killing without actually being the one to pull the trigger on the gun.

  “Let’s hope it puts Mitchell in a good mood... or at least a persuasive mood.”

  After I left Dauphine I went back to Sweet Tea and prepped a plate of my butter-baked chicken, some mashed potatoes and gravy, and a nice serving of collard greens with some chopped bacon on top. I also packed a bag with some cornbread and honey butter and a slice of Momma’s chocolate–peanut butter pie. I’m hoping my treats and a few kind words will help convince Mitchell to let me see the security footage of Cynthia and Russell. But I brought Wavonne along as a bit of an insurance policy in case the food does not do the trick. She’s much better than I am at throwing on a little sugar to get what she wants, usually in a cleavage-revealing blouse and hot pants.

  “Hello, ladies,” Mitchell says as we come through the door. “To what do I owe the privilege?”

  I smile. “Oh, nothing in particular.” I set the plate on the counter in front of him. “We were coming this way and thought you might enjoy a few samplings from my restaurant. Once you open, maybe you can recommend it to some of the guests. I’m sure they will want to eat at Sunfish, but probably not every night.”

  “That’s very nice. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s my butter-baked chicken with a few sides.” Wavonne sets a bag on the counter as well. “And that’s my sour cream cornbread and a slice of my momma’s pie. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will. We had already planned to put Sweet Tea on our list of recommended restaurants in the area, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to indulge in every bit of this food.”

  “Glad to hear that.” I move closer to the counter. “So how are things going here since all the commotion? I heard you haven’t lost any bookings, even with all the press about Sherry.”

  “That’s true. We expect a full house when we have the grand opening next month. I’m confident we’ll be ready. Russell has a whole team of tradesmen working overtime to make sure everything is done by the tenth.”

  “Does part of that e
verything include getting cameras installed around the pool? It’s unfortunate that they were not in place when Sherry was killed. The murderer would be behind bars by now.”

  “It’s definitely on the list. I’m assuming the crew will get to it over the next few days.”

  “So, I’m curious. How do those cameras work exactly? Where is the footage stored?”

  “It’s all online. We get a live feed in the back and can call up any past video on the cloud.”

  “So, you have access to the footage of the concierge lounge and the restaurant when Sherry was killed?”

  Mitchell looks at me quizzically. “Yes, of course. I pulled the footage for the police. Why do you ask?”

  “Is there any chance I can get a look at the recordings?”

  Mitchell dawdles for a moment before speaking. “Honestly, no, I don’t think so. Not without authorization from Russell.”

  “Are you sure? I’d just like to take a quick look... make sure no one missed anything.”

  “I’d like to help you... especially after you brought me all this wonderful food, but I just can’t. I could lose my job.”

  “Couldn’t you lose your job anyway?” Wavonne asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we know.” Wavonne tilts her head at Mitchell. “We know what you’ve been doing behind that counter. If anything is goin’ to get you fired—”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Let’s just say we’re very observant and have eyes and ears everywhere,” Wavonne decrees while I stand there dumbfounded. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Listen, you let Halia see the video, and I promise we’ll keep the little tidbit of knowledge we know about you to ourselves.”

  Mitchell looks at us, clearly perplexed about what to do.

  “Are Russell or Cynthia here?” I ask.

  “No. They said they had a meeting in the city.”

  “So how would they find out that you showed Halia anything?” Wavonne asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll stay out here and be the lookout. You take Halia in the back and show her what she wants to see, and I’ll give you a holler if they drive up.”