A Berry Baffling Businessman

by A. R. Winters

  I screamed. It was muffled and barely made a sound since no air moved, but I gave it all I had. My hands went to Detective Gregson’s wrist, and I did my best to pry his hand off my face. I shook my head from side to side. Even my knees buckled in an attempt to escape him, but he had me in his grasp.

  “Count to ten,” his low, gravelly voice intoned in my ear. “Count to ten and I’ll take my hand away. One… Two…”

  My frantic need to break free of his control eased. I watched his eyes and his lips as he did a slow count. Inside my head, a voice berated me that it was just a trick. He was keeping my efforts to escape subdued until it would be too late for me to fight. He was killing me in front of everyone, and no one—no one at all—was coming to my aid.

  That was what one voice said, but there was another voice, too. That second voice was calm. It recognized that I felt better. The blackness at the edges of my vision had cleared instead of getting worse.

  “Ten…” Detective Gregson said, and as promised, his hand slid free from my face. The rest of him stayed near, though, supporting me.

  As for me, I was still as terrified as I ever was.

  “You were hyperventilating,” Detective Gregson said. “If I’d let you keep going the way you were, you would’ve passed out.”

  “Are you going to arrest me for murder?” I blurted.

  “Should I?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that. “Don’t you want to?”

  Gregson’s perpetual frown turned into a grin. “I do.”

  He released me and stepped away. I thought I’d fall at first, but I discovered that I was actually okay.

  “I didn’t do this,” I said again, pointing at the dumpster.

  Gregson reached into the pocket of the trench coat he’d hung over his arm. He pulled out a notebook, flipped it open, and got a pencil at the ready. “Tell me what happened.”

  Instead of answering, I stared blindly at the notebook. Without giving it any thought, I asked, “Why do you use a pencil?”

  Gregson’s strong brows lifted. “So I can write things down.”

  “But why not a pen? Why a pencil?”

  His lips thinned in annoyance, and his eyes narrowed. But then he took a deep breath and blew it out. “Pencil doesn’t bleed when it gets wet. My notes are more likely to stay intact.”

  Ohhh…

  His reasoning was so simple. So straightforward. I’d thought he was an old fuddy-duddy, stuck in his ways and too inflexible to do anything different from what he’d always done. Instead, his reasoning was rock solid and situated firmly in the needs of the present as well as the possible future.

  I blinked and when I looked at him again, I saw someone slightly different than the person I’d seen before. I wasn’t sure who had changed, him or me.

  More police cars pulled up, and Brad stepped out of one of them. His gaze was locked on me and Detective Gregson. I wasn’t even sure he’d noticed that the whole crime scene area was now being cordoned off with crime tape.

  Then I spotted Joel. He was on foot. His camera bag was slung over his shoulder with the strap cutting diagonally over his chest. He’d been called to take crime scene pictures, I was sure, and it gave him the chance to gather facts to publish in his newspaper. His gaze was moving around to take in the entire area, but his eyes kept returning to me.

  Both Joel and Brad looked worried. Neither one of them had any authority over Detective Gregson in the event the man decided to treat me as public enemy number one, something which he’d done before.

  My furtive glance at Brad and Joel was not lost on Detective Gregson. “I see your boy toys have arrived.” He looked around. “Where’s your pit bull?”

  I knew he was talking about Zoey. She was the only one with the ability to block Gregson's unbalanced hatred of me. She had dirt on the Police Chief and had used it in the past to keep Detective Gregson at bay, but she was nowhere to be found.

  “I’m more interested in knowing how poor Ollie there got stuck underneath that dumpster. He was thick, around the middle, I mean.” I pointed. “That dumpster’s barely off the ground. What the heck happened?”

  Detective Gregson’s smoky eyes darkened. “Yes, what did happen?”

  I sucked in a breath, realizing he was asking me. Really asking me. There was an intensity in the way he looked at me that made me want to squirm like a four-year-old being asked if he’d stolen a cookie when he had cookie crumbs all over his mouth.

  I closed my eyes to block his stare and thought. I ran through events in my head and told him what I’d done. ...I’d gotten up. Gone downstairs. Taken the trash out. Spotted Ollie’s shoe, then his hand, then his dead, lifeless staring face.

  I didn’t mention the smell.

  When I opened my eyes again it was to find Detective Gregson watching my mouth.

  I stopped talking.

  “Hm,” he grunted and scribbled on his pad.

  He asked question after question and I answered them all until my brain was numb.

  “Hm.” He grunted again.

  “Am I going to need to shut down the café?”

  “No, but keep this back door clear.” It was already blocked off behind crime scene tape, and we were in the cordoned-off section between the tape and the building. I was standing in the same spot I’d stood as I’d waited for help to arrive.

  In the parking lot beyond us, Chef John’s army of servers was taking the long route from the café’s front door, around the side of the building to the back, across the parking lot, and over to the banquet hall door. Nothing was getting in the way of the man providing the best food experience possible for the packaging conference’s attendees. He was as focused as a laser… and I needed to take that as a lesson for myself.

  “I need to get back to my customers,” I said.

  Detective Gregson looked up from his pad. “This man’s death getting in your way of making a few dollars? I’ll let his family know of your wishes to hurry things along.” His face brightened with a sudden thought. “Maybe they’ll compensate you for the interruption.”

  I stared at the bridge of his nose. I wondered if I were to head-butt him hard enough if I could break it. Given his previously expressed desire to lock me up and throw away the key, I decided not to chance it.

  Yet I couldn’t keep myself from pushing… I narrowed my eyes. “Going to arrest me? Because if you’re not going to arrest me, we’re done here.”

  Detective Gregson tilted his head. He gave a small nod. “Then we’re done.”

  I spun on the balls of my feet, letting my flying hair give him a near face-slap in the process. I didn’t even dare to breathe until I was safely inside the kitchen with the door shut behind me. I leaned my back against it, and blew out a breath.

  “Your days always this tough?” Chef John asked from where he stood cleaning a counter. The kitchen looked as though a tornado had hit it. He’d cooked all the food himself. His minions were only there to serve the food, and they were off doing just that. That only left him and me. “I’d heard about you and your body count collection, but I hadn’t believed it.”

  “It’s not my fault. None of it is my fault.”

  Why is it that anytime anyone ever said that, everything was their fault? If I kept on like this, no one would believe a word that came out of my mouth.

  Chef John quirked an eyebrow and smiled at me, but he didn’t say anything.

  I started cleaning.

  “No, no…” Chef John said. “I’m not putting any of this on you. You’ve been gracious enough to lend me your kitchen so that I’ll have something interesting to say in my memoir. That’s enough. You go take care of yours.” He pointed toward the door that led to the café’s open grill. “The guy you got out there—what’s his name… Jonathan—he’s good! You hang on to that one!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah! And if I figure out who made that red velvet macadamia nut cookie, I’m taking them with me when I leave.”

  A part o
f me thought he was serious, but he gave me a wink to soften the blow of his threat.

  Note to self: tell Patty to stay home for the rest of the weekend.

  But it felt good to have quality people around me who were admired by a man I admired. It felt amazing.

  “Hey boss,” Jonathan said, sticking his head through the door. “Uh…” His gaze switched to Chef John and then back at me, kind of like he was reluctant to say whatever it was that needed saying. “You’re needed out here, boss. Um, it’s Zoey.” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper, and his old hippie face scrunched up. “She don’t look too good.”

  Chapter 6

  A myriad of emotions flooded through me. The first one was relief that Zoey was okay, at least physically. I’d been so worried when she didn’t text me back last night. The second emotion was wanting to throttle Sebastian because he must have hurt Zoey’s heart for her to be in a bad way. Then there was a rush of regret at my second thought because I realized it was Sebastian’s father who was lying behind my café, smushed under my dumpster.

  Sebastian’s father is dead… My mind went into overdrive. A host of blurred-out suspects started lining up in my head. At least they tried to, but I gave my head a good shake to chase them away.

  I headed for the door.

  “Take this,” Chef John said and handed me a tray with a wide assortment of canapés on it. My mouth immediately began to water. “Let me know what you think of them.” He winked, then turned his back to carry a huge stack of bowls to the sink.

  I headed out the door of the kitchen and moved behind the counter of the open grill. I faltered in my step when I spotted Zoey.

  She was leaning with her chin propped on top of her stacked hands atop the counter. I put the tray of hors d’oeuvres down on the counter’s end and slid it in Zoey’s direction. Her head turned and she gave me lots of side eye, but she didn’t pick up her head.

  I stopped pushing the tray when it came to rest against her arm.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  “My life is over.”

  My heart hiccupped. “Yeah…” The line of blurry-faced suspects was back, except this time Zoey’s crystal clear face was front and center.

  Which countries don’t have extradition agreements with us? I tried to list them in my head and realized I couldn’t. Zoey would know. She’d know how we could get her there. I was sure she’d had a good reason for killing ol’ Ollie!

  I gulped down my hesitation. I didn’t want to know the answer to what I was about to ask next. “What’s wrong?”

  “He said he likes me… but that it’s ‘complicated.’”

  I gasped an explosive release of air and sagged where I stood. Relief had my legs shaking like jello as my built-up adrenaline tried to figure out what to do with itself now that the fight-or-flight jeopardy had gone.

  “I know! He literally said that! ‘Complicated!’ Which is code for ‘I can’t be with you.’” Zoey wailed, finally lifting her head. “This guy has been stuck in my head for a whole year. A whole year! Do you know what I could have done with that brain space? I could have… could have… buoyed up Greece’s financial infrastructure.”

  My brain screeched to a halt. “You could have?”

  Zoey waved her hand spasmodically in dismissal. “There was a think tank. I was invited. It was this whole thing. Forget about it. I didn’t say anything.”

  “Zoey, where were you last night?” There was an edge in my voice that I hadn’t meant to be there.

  Zoey looked at me, then she looked at the tray of canapés. She selected one with an asparagus tip atop a soft-boiled quail egg and popped it in her mouth. She chewed—taking her time—then swallowed. She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s asking? You or the president of Murders, Inc? Did somebody else get knocked off?”

  My shoulders sagged. “Oh, Zoey…”

  Her face instantly paled. “Did something happen to Sebastian? Is Sebastian okay?”

  I held up both hands. “Sebastian’s fine. He’s fine.” That was a total lie. I had no idea whether or not the guy was fine. For all I knew he was shoved under his dad beneath the dumpster. “But, um, when did you see him last?”

  Zoey’s eyes went venomously wide, her mouth tightened, and I thought she was going to let loose with a dictionary’s worth of foul words. She jabbed a finger at me. “What do you know? Don’t lie to me. I know when you’re lying.”

  “No, you don't!”

  “I do, too!”

  “Well, I already lied to you. So there!”

  Zoey grabbed for the throat of my shirt, but I jumped out of reach then stuck my tongue out at her.

  The bell on the front door chimed, and Jack walked in. He stopped in the doorway, looked at his watch, turned and looked through the windows behind him, then opened the door for Agatha as she barreled through.

  “Who got killed?” She didn’t so much as ask as she did bellow. “It was that chef guy, wasn’t it?”

  “Did he eat some of your chicken?” Jack asked.

  “It could’ve been fried catfish,” Agatha shivered in revulsion. “What you did to that fish had to be illegal somewhere.”

  “Or the rice pudding. It sounds safe but the way you made it....” Jack shrugged, grimacing.

  I threw up my hands in exasperation. “He didn’t eat any of my food!”

  At the same time, Zoey came to life and yelled, “Somebody did die!” She lunged for me again. Her neon pink taloned nails scraped across the surface of my shirt.

  When she began climbing onto the counter, I held up my hands for her to stop. “It wasn’t Sebastian. I don’t think it was Sebastian!” What the heck was I saying? I was making it worse. “I didn’t see Sebastian! But…” I took a long, deep breath, hoping everyone there would take it with me and calm down. No one actually seemed calmer, but they were frozen in anticipation. “Oliver—Sebastian’s father… I found him this morning. Out back”—I coughed—“under the dumpster.”

  Zoey sat down, heavy on her stool, and Jack and Agatha took up spots on either side of her.

  Zoey shook her head. “I’ve met Sebastian’s father. There’s no way he could fit under that dumpster.”

  I shrugged and tried not to grimace. I wasn’t successful.

  “You saw him?”

  “I did. I found him.”

  “When?”

  “About forty minutes ago. Everything took a while before I could make it back inside.” I looked at Jack and Agatha. “How did you guys find out someone had died?”

  “Joel texted me,” Jack said. “Said you needed us. I called Agatha.”

  My very own death-alert network. I really was a special girl, and not in a good way. “I’m sorry guys. I’m sorry you’re being pulled into this again. But it doesn’t have to be like last time… or, you know, the time before that.”

  “Or the time before that?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah… That time, too.”

  “But it does have to be like that!” Zoey declared as she slapped the counter with her palm. “We’re in this… Sebastian is in this, and that means we are, too.”

  Agatha leaned forward to get a better look at Zoey’s face. “But is he, sweetheart? Maybe he has an alibi.”

  Zoey scowled, then shook her head no. “I don’t think so. Probably not. I was with him until midnight. We had dinner at the Saucy Dog and then just walked around.” She looked at me. “What time did Oliver die?”

  I shook my head. For someone who had seen so much, I knew so little. “I don’t know. We finished up the cooking class here and everybody left around eleven o’clock.”

  “Did you hear anything odd while you were in the kitchen cleaning up?” Jack asked.

  I thought back. I did my best to replay the night in my head. “No, I can’t think of anything.”

  “And you didn’t go outside before you went upstairs to your apartment?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “What about while you were in your apartment, dear?” Agatha
asked. “Did you hear anything odd during the night?”

  Again I thought, and again I shook my head no. I felt so useless.

  Poor Zoey was ashen. “Have you heard from Sebastian today?” I asked.

  She pulled out her phone, glanced at it, then shook her head. “He might not even know yet.” She looked at me. “I-I can’t protect him from this.”

  Jack cleared his throat. I could tell he had something to say but was hesitating. Finally, he spoke. “Could it be that Sebastian already knows? That possibly he’s known from the moment it happened?”

  “No,” Zoey answered without hesitation.

  It was Agatha’s turn. “Money, love, power, revenge… These are the things that lead people to kill.”

  “From everything I’ve heard, Sebastian was in training to be Oliver’s successor,” Jack said. “And Oliver’s company, Paperworx, has a monopoly on the East Coast. A lot of power and money to be inherited there.”

  Zoey snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Paperworx is huge! And their competition is fierce.”

  A lightbulb lit in my head. “You know who else is fierce? Okay, maybe not fierce but, I don’t know, super slutty and up to no good?” I jabbed my finger in the air and practically hopped up and down. “Ollie’s fiancée, Lara!”

  I dropped her name like a bomb, and then stared at them, waiting for their clamoring chorus of agreement to begin.

  They all stared back, silent.

  Still, I was nodding my head. I was filled with the certainty of my own conviction, but no one was nodding their head with me. “Oh, come on! It’s obvious! She’s a total gold digger!”

  A customer on the far side of the café dropped their fork on their plate and glared at me. They apparently didn’t appreciate the impromptu dinner theater.

  I lowered my voice, and dropped the bomb again, because, you know, maybe the person across the room heard me but my murder solving partners in crime hadn’t. “Lara,” I stage-whispered. Again, nothing. “Lara!”

  “We heard you, sweetheart,” Agatha said, “but you haven’t given us any evidence to back up your claim.”