by Kathy Krevat
“Did they say why they questioned you?” Zoey pointed down to the kitchen. “And did all that?”
“Because I punched the victim,” he said. “Apparently, there’s a YouTube video of me threatening to ‘end him’ after I knocked him down.” That seemed to bewilder him. “I was so angry that I don’t even remember saying that.”
“That can’t be all they have,” I said.
“Plus some texts that I sent my daughter,” he said.
“How did they get those so fast?” I asked. “Never mind. What did you say?”
“Something stupid,” he said, not wanting to tell us.
“How stupid?” I demanded.
“That I’d ‘take care of him,’” he admitted. “Like I said, stupid.”
Zoey shook her head. “Even I know better than that.”
“It seems like I’m at the top of their potential suspect list.” Quincy pushed a stack of legal papers toward me. “They’re executing search warrants for my home and all of my businesses.”
“Well, that’ll keep them busy for a while,” I joked. Quincy had part ownership of more companies than I could count.
“They were especially interested in Turner Furnace Repair,” he said.
Uh-oh. “Do you know a lot about furnaces?”
“No,” he said. “I just helped the owner get a loan last year. Why?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what blew up in the garage,” I said.
He nodded. “That seems to be where Norma’s questions were heading. Someone created the explosion to cover up the murder.”
Zoey scowled at me. “I’m sure Colbie will do everything she can to help you.”
“No. She. Won’t.” Quincy took off his reading glasses and pointed them at me. “I’m innocent and I don’t need anyone looking into this. We all know that Norma won’t rest until she gets her bad guy.”
He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was definitely worried.
* * * *
Commercial kitchens have strict cleaning codes, so Zoey and I helped clean every inch of the kitchen with the rest of the chefs. When we were finished, we went over the schedule to figure out how to fit in all of the cooking to fill the orders. Top priority was my monthly order for Twomey’s Health Food Stores. It had only been a few months since they started selling my food and I still got a thrill when I saw it on their shelves. I’d been able to expand to keep up with the increased demand, and expected another jump in their next quarterly order.
I opened my laptop, hoping for a response from Natural-LA Grocers, but was disappointed. Now was certainly not the time to ask Quincy if he’d heard from them.
I called my friend Tod to let him know I wouldn’t be able to make our normal late lunch.
“That’s fine,” he said, a little relief in his voice. Tod was agoraphobic and when I first met him, he hadn’t been outside for years. Now he was working with a therapist who made house calls. He was making progress—allowing me to come into his apartment once a week even though it caused him some amount of anxiety, and going out for quick meals at quiet restaurants in his neighborhood. I still hoped for the Hollywood ending, where he would be completely cured and take off to some exotic location that he’d only seen online. But that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
While I worked with Zoey, stir-frying chicken in a frying pan the size of a hula hoop, I couldn’t help but wonder why someone killed Benson and tried to cover it up with a gas explosion. That was pretty sophisticated stuff directed at a simple oboe teacher. Not that I was going to investigate or anything. Quincy had been quite adamant.
If I was going to look into it, the first people I’d talk to would be his students and their parents. Steven might have been okay with his teaching methods but maybe others weren’t.
The timer chimed, and I turned off the gas. I’d better focus on my food or I’d have a bunch of unhappy cat customers.
* * * *
Since Elliott had rehearsal, I stayed late at the kitchen to finish the day’s production. Zoey left around three to pick up her son, and the late afternoon gang good-naturedly gave me a hard time for using some of their space. I texted my dad that I’d bring home Pico’s food and he sent back a thumbs up emoji.
Yollie called me when I was on my way home, the tangy scent of the chicken burritos filling the car. “You have to help Steven.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Your friend the cop just questioned him about his relationship with Benson.” She sounded angry. At me.
Holy cow. “I’m sure it’s just standard procedure,” I said. “She’s probably talking to all of Benson’s students.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “But I called some and you know what? None of them have been questioned.”
Shoot. “I’m sure she’ll talk to them soon enough.”
“It’s your fault he’s at the front of the line,” she said. “You have to get him cleared.”
I relented. “I’ll see what Norma has to say tomorrow.”
“You better,” she said. “You owe him.”
Oh man. Was I really going to get involved in another murder?
* * * *
By Tuesday, the news that business tycoon and philanthropist Quincy Powell was under suspicion of murder was all over the place. The YouTube video of him hitting Benson was playing on all major news stations and reporters were staked out by his house again. He texted that he was working from home, and he added, Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.
I called Norma. “Want a coffee?”
“Sure,” Norma said, her voice a little too friendly.
That couldn’t be good. Norma usually tried to avoid me during a murder investigation when I knew anyone involved.
Both of us knew that “coffee” meant Philz Coffee, the best in Sunnyside. By the time Norma arrived, shaking out her umbrella and shedding her raincoat, I had already ordered and paid for our large cups of my new favorite, Tantalizing Turkish, with its hint of cardamom and the addition of a fresh mint leaf, and had grabbed a corner table. It had been raining on and off for a couple of hours and clouds hung heavy in the sky.
Norma crossed the store with long strides, all business in her beige jacket thrown over her jeans. She sat down and stretched out her legs in front of her. Her eyes were tired. “Thanks,” she said, reaching for the coffee.
“Good morning,” I said, waiting for her to take a sip before asking her any questions.
She spoke first, getting right down to business. “Your friend has a problem.”
“Which friend?” I asked, not wanting to implicate anyone.
“Quincy,” she said as if it was obvious.
“Oh,” I said cautiously. Norma never did this. It must be serious. “Can you tell me why?”
“Besides that fact that he has plenty of motive?” She leaned toward me and spoke quietly. “The district attorney hates Quincy and is gunning for him.”
“Why?” I was stunned. Everyone loved Quincy.
“It seems Quincy had some kind of huge fundraiser for his opponent in the last election.” She kept her eyes on me while she took another sip.
“Wow. Well, it looks like he won anyway,” I said. “What’s his problem?”
“He’s the kind to hold a grudge,” Norma said in a tone that showed she did not approve.
“You know Quincy, Norma,” I said. “It’s totally impossible for him to kill someone, especially in this way. And then trying to cover it up with arson? It’s so cold-blooded. No way could he do that.”
She sat back and I could almost see her brain churning. “How well do you know Yollie?”
“Really?” I may have overdone the sarcasm. “You can’t possibly think she could do it. Or her son either!” I said, just as she was about to ask another question. “Creating an explosion like that takes a
lot of knowledge a soccer mom just doesn’t have.”
She subsided.
“Aren’t there, like, traffic cams or something to show you who was in the area then?” I asked.
She frowned, not liking me telling her how to do her job, but answered, “We checked the nearest traffic cam footage and saw nothing out of the ordinary.”
“So you didn’t see Quincy,” I reinforced.
“No,” she said. “But the DA pointed out that there are paths to the victim’s house that avoid traffic cameras.”
I sighed. “Is this guy an idiot, or does he really believe that after fighting with Benson, Quincy figured out how to sneak his way to Benson’s house, avoiding all cameras, kill Benson, arrange an explosion to hide the evidence, and then sneak away—all in like twelve hours? Just because Benson said nasty things about his granddaughter?”
Norma moved as if to stand up. “We do have to ‘exhaust every investigative avenue,’ as he says.” She used finger quotes so I knew she felt the same way I did.
“He must be a great legal mind,” I said with heavy sarcasm. “I guess that’s why Quincy gave money to his opponent.”
A smile flitted across Norma’s face.
“I thought of something last night,” I said, not wanting her to leave yet. “Yollie and I must have just missed seeing the killer. Did we drive by him?”
“The garage has a door that leads to the backyard,” she said. “That’s most likely how he, or she, escaped without being seen.”
“But the backyard has that huge hedge,” I said.
“There’s a way through it,” she said. “It looks solid from the street, but it has a cutout to let people through to a gate.”
“Quincy can’t be the only one you’re looking at, right? The guy was such a jerk that he had to have other people who didn’t like him.”
“Don’t worry, we’re on it,” she said.
“Wait, one more thing,” I said, realizing how unlikely it was that Norma would share information. “Why did you tell me about the DA? Do you want me to see where this goes?”
“No, not at all,” she said, her voice firm.
“Because you’re always telling me that amateurs shouldn’t be anywhere close to murder investigations.” That had never stopped her from using what I uncovered on my own though.
“And I stand by that,” she said. “Of course I don’t want you to get involved.” She looked around to make sure no one could hear. “As long as all of the police resources are tied up with the DA’s little grudge match, I won’t be able to go after the real killer.”
“And Quincy will be under suspicion,” I said.
“Do you have anything else for me?” she asked, taking another sip. “If not, I have a search of another one of Quincy’s companies to oversee.”
“You know, those searches are very disruptive,” I said. “Isn’t that harassment or something?”
She stood up with a grim expression. “Better that than being arrested for murder.”
Chapter 5
As soon as I got back to my car, I called Quincy. “A little bird told me that the DA doesn’t like you very much. Did you host a fundraiser for his opponent?”
“Is that so? Interesting,” he said. “Troublesome, but still interesting. There’s nothing I can do until they complete their work. I know, and you know, that I’m innocent.”
“But the public doesn’t know,” I said. “And humans like to see powerful people fall. We need to find out who the real killer is.”
“Colbie,” he said. “I’m not hiring someone to look into this so that I can be accused of interfering with a police investigation. You need to stay away from this.”
“I have to go,” I said, hanging up before he could convince me. Besides, I was pretty sure Norma had just encouraged me to see what I could find out.
* * * *
My conversation with Norma filled me with a sense of urgency. It was time to say it out loud. I was investigating another murder. How did this keep happening to me?
I called Lani and could hear her sewing machine start up again as soon as she answered the phone. “What’d you learn?” she mumbled.
“Do you have pins in your mouth again?” Her wife, Piper, was a doctor and hated that habit.
She took a few seconds to answer, so I knew she was taking them out. “Not now. Tell me everything.”
I filled her in on what Norma had said. “Let’s have a meeting at my house. I’m going to call Yollie and see if she and Steven can help us figure out our first steps.”
* * * *
Yollie and Steven came over after school and Lani joined us. My dad was at a movie with Annie and Elliott had rehearsal, so we had an empty house.
Trouble greeted everyone as they came in, demanding attention by winding around anyone’s ankles if they didn’t immediately pet her. I served coffee and tea while we settled at the kitchen table.
Lani opened up my laptop and started a spreadsheet titled Benson Suspects. She rubbed her hands together, acting more like a supervillain than a hero. “My favorite part. Writing down the suspects!”
Yollie’s eyes widened.
“Don’t worry,” Lani said. “Pretty soon it’ll become old hat.”
“I certainly hope not,” Yollie said.
Steven scowled at Lani and I realized that he probably had some complicated emotions about Benson’s death.
“Steven, I’m really sorry for your loss,” I said. “I know this is particularly hard for you, but the police are focused on Quincy and I need to give them other ideas about who could have done this.”
“How do you know he didn’t?” His tone was belligerent.
“One, because he has a solid alibi that the police will confirm. Eventually,” I said. “But also because I know him very well, and he’s just not capable of killing someone.”
He met my eyes, and the anger in his face changed to sadness. “Can we hurry this up? I have to practice.”
“Can you tell me what Norma asked you?”
He looked at his mom, who nodded.
He shrugged. “She just asked a lot of questions about what happened that morning, and what I knew about…Benson.”
“What’d you say?” Lani asked.
He repeated the details about my interrupting his lesson, and what he’d heard about Quincy punching Benson. None of that was good for Quincy.
“What else do you know about Benson?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “He was just my teacher.”
“Had he been acting any differently lately?” I asked.
“No.” He pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. “I told the detective the same thing. He was the same.”
“Do you know of any students or their parents who were mad at him?” I tried.
He pushed his hand through his hair. “Lots of them. Everyone wants a great recommendation but not everyone gets one. All of us seniors are trying to get into college and auditioning, and it’s crazy. We’re all crazy.”
Lani typed in Students and on a separate line, Parents.
“Anyone in particular?” I asked.
“There was some dad on his Facebook page who said he was going to sue him,” Steven said. “Maybe start with him.”
I almost laughed when I saw Lani type Mad Dad.
“How many students has Benson taught over the years?” I asked, hoping it was a manageable number.
He shrugged. “Forty? Fifty? Maybe more. I don’t really know.”
Oh no. That was too many to investigate. “Did past students like him?”
He paused a moment to find the right words. “Look,” he said. “Some teachers are your, like, mentors for life. Benson wasn’t like that. He just wanted to teach music and help you get into college and then you were on your own. Some people were offended.”
“Yes,” Steven said. “He did lots of freelance work. Substituting for the local symphony, and like, lots of recording gigs. He had his own woodwind quintet too, and he always invited us students to those performances.”
“There are lots of motives for murder,” Lani said, as if she was an expert. “Jealousy, money, revenge, love. Did Benson ever talk about dating or anything personal?”
“No,” he said, but seemed uncomfortable. We all could tell that he knew something.
“Spill it,” Yollie said in her mom voice.
“Geez,” he said and then added as if it was painful to say. “I saw someone leave on Saturday morning a few weeks ago.”
“Ooh,” Lani said. “The walk of shame.”
Steven cringed.
“Did you recognize her?” I asked.
“Or him?” Lani added with a frown at me for assuming. She typed in Lovers.
Steven nodded. “It was the secretary at my school. Ms. Volker.”
“Opal Volker?” Yollie asked, sounding a bit horrified. “The counseling secretary?”
“Yeah,” he said. He may have shuddered.
Yollie turned to me. “The parents hate her. She’s awful to just about everyone.”
“Then why is she still there?” I asked.
“No one knows,” she said.
“How can I talk to her?” I asked.
She scowled. “She never responds to voice messages. Ever. Some parents just show up at her office.”
“Looks like you’re going to high school,” Lani said to me a little too gleefully.
“Great,” I said. “My least favorite part of my life.”
“Ooh,” Lani added, staring at the computer. “Mad Dad is actually Fred Hugo and boy did he go off on Benson. Also, according to his very public Facebook page, he ‘likes’ the Sunnyside Library Family Movie Nights.” She smiled at me. “Looks like you’re also going to the movies.”
“Whoever killed Benson had to know that he was alone on Sunday mornings,” Yollie said. “And that’s a lot of people. His students and their parents all knew he spent most of every Sunday practicing or making reeds. Maybe a lot of other people knew that too.”
