by Kathy Krevat
“Unfortunately, it is my fault,” he said. “My contact said they put the proposal on ice until the investigation into Benson’s death is over.”
“What?”
“They’re concerned about the bad publicity,” he explained. “So, it really is my fault. If I hadn’t punched that man, you might have gotten the green light by now.”
“Oh for crying out loud,” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s business, Colbie.”
“Whatever. But you cannot blame yourself. I wouldn’t even be in the position to make a proposal if you hadn’t helped me. And if they’re stupid enough to say no, we’ll find another company.” My voice had gotten steadily louder until everyone in the kitchen was staring at me.
Quincy laughed. “That’s my girl.”
* * * *
I was still fuming hours later when I arrived at the Sunnyside Farmers’ Market. My outrage gave me more energy to unload my car quickly. I set up faster than ever, but was not in the right mood to deal with customers.
Trouble meowed at me from the cat carrier. Chill. She even swatted at me when I tried to put her chef’s hat on and the elastic snapped back onto my hand.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be good.”
She grumbled but settled onto her blue cat-sized love seat that matched the blue on my Meowio labels.
I rearranged the non-cat food products that always went over well at these markets—the coffee mugs with a cartoon of Trouble in a chef’s hat, the kitchen utensils with paw prints running across the handles, and my newest addition, small stuffed cats in Trouble’s image with a chef’s hat, of course!
The Sunnyside Farmers’ Market was held every Thursday afternoon in the park behind the library. It was run by the education foundation and a portion of our booth rentals went to the schools.
I forced myself to take deep breaths to prepare for the onslaught of parents and children arriving after school. Trouble was always on her best behavior. I better be too.
The time passed quickly. Lots of my local customers stopped by my booth to chat and avoid shipping costs.
One of my earliest and most consistent customers picked up a case of Seafood Romance and asked, “Hey, why is Pico’s closed?”
“It’s closed?” I asked. I was just there yesterday. That didn’t make sense.
“I thought you would know since you go there all the time,” she said.
Hmm. I was getting a reputation. Maybe I should cut back. Then I thought about Pico’s chicken burritos and knew there wasn’t a chance.
After she left, I called the restaurant and got a recording that Pico’s would be closed for a few days. That was weird.
I dialed Pico’s personal cell number. “You on vacation and didn’t tell me?”
“Nah,” he said. “I’m going nuts. Someone let a bunch of crickets loose in the kitchen.”
“What?”
“I know, it’s crazy.”
“Why would someone do that?” I asked. Everyone loved Pico.
“My sons think it’s another restaurant causing us problems, but that don’t make no sense,” he said. “I even called the cops and they think it’s a frat boy prank, or something.”
“That makes even less sense,” I said. “Where are the frat boys going to get the best burritos in San Diego if you’re not open?”
“I said the exact same thing,” he said. “Hey. Maybe you can come solve that mystery for me.”
I seriously considered it. “Did the police look at the tapes from the security cameras?”
“Sure did,” he said. “But someone cut the freakin’ wire.”
“Just to leave a bunch of crickets?” I asked. “That’s even stranger. How are you going to get rid of them?”
“Junior here wants to buy a bunch of lizards, but I got the exterminators coming tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll be back open in no time. They make the most god awful sound.”
I laughed. “Guess I’ll have to get pizza tonight.”
“You’re breaking my heart, girl,” he said, but I could tell he was smiling.
After I packed up, I called Chubby’s Pizza, ordering the deep dish Chicago-style pizza with sausage and pepperoni that my dad and Elliott loved. They wouldn’t complain about the change in dinner plans.
I drove over to the restaurant, cracking the car window for Trouble, and waited inside by the pickup window. A man came in behind me and asked, “Waiting for your food?” He seemed to be one of those overly friendly guys who didn’t mind asking the obvious.
“Yep,” I said. The smell of tomato and garlic had my stomach growling.
He nodded and pulled his pants up over his beer belly. “Me too. Can’t wait.” He laughed, sounding a bit like a donkey, and shifted in place, like he had too much energy and didn’t know what to do with it.
I smiled stiffly, not wanting to be unfriendly, but not wanting to encourage him in any way. He could easily be the type to talk someone’s ear off.
“I like your shirt,” he said. “Is that for cat food?”
“Yes,” I said. I rarely regretted wearing the shirt advertising my business, but this was one of those times.
He looked confused. “Does your cat eat that brand or something?”
I nodded. “Yes, and it’s my business. I started it because she and lots of cats have digestive issues, and eating organic food is better for them.”
“Really?” he asked. “Is that a good business to be in?”
“It’s doing okay,” I said. I don’t think I ever got that question before.
“’Cause I’m the entrepreneurial type and I might be interested in something like that.”
“It’s not for sale,” I said, my tone a little sharp.
“And you don’t like, franchise it?”
“No.”
“Huh,” he said, then changed gears. “My cat sometimes throws up after he eats. Do you think your food would be good for him?”
“It’s worth a try,” I said.
“Where can I buy it?”
“At Twomey’s Health Food Stores or straight from the website.” I dug a card out of my purse that had the website and business phone number on it. “And I sell it at local farmers’ markets too.”
“Cool,” he said. “I go to the Sunnyside one all the time. You sell there?”
When I nodded, he added, “I’m surprised I never saw you there.”
“There are a lot of people,” I said in a noncommittal tone.
“That’s the truth,” he said. “Here’s my card. I’m Drake Frost. I just got out of the insurance business, and now I’m selling nutritional supplements.” His card had the name of a well-known multilevel marketing company on it.
Ah. That explained his friendliness. He was looking for people to start selling through him to build the next layer of the pyramid. Newbies were trained to talk to as many strangers as possible to see if they’d be interested in a business like that.
“If that cat food thing doesn’t work out, let me know if you want to sell vitamins. For people, not cats,” he said with such a goofy laugh, that I didn’t take offense.
“Thank you.” I tucked his card into my pocket.
The cashier called out, “Number 46.”
“That’s me,” I said, grabbing my pizza box. “Have a good night.”
He moved out of the way and then held the door open for me. “Maybe I’ll see you at the market next time.” His big hands reminded me of a puppy with oversized paws that he hadn’t grown into yet.
I was pulling into my driveway when Yollie called to fill me in. “Benson had two phones,” she said. “Norma said one of them was a burner phone.”
Wow. “That’s interesting,” I said. “Did Steven remember seeing it?”
“Not really,” she said. “But that’s not somet
hing he’d pay attention to.”
“Where did she find it?”
“That’s the strangest thing,” she said. “She made the crime scene people go back and search the house again and they found the phone and some money in a hiding place under the floorboards.”
“That is strange,” I said. “Did she have any idea why he was hiding it?”
“No, but she seemed mad at the crime scene guys because they should have found it during the first search. I guess the phone was used for only one number and that phone is turned off now. If they found it earlier, maybe they could’ve learned something from it.”
“Did she tell you anything else?”
“That’s all I can remember,” she said, and we hung up.
I pulled out the cat carrier and the pizza and headed inside, my thoughts swirling. Why did an oboe teacher need a burner phone?
“Pizza!” Elliott yelled. Then he added ultra-politely. “Hi Mom. How was the farmers’ market?”
“Fine son.” I mimicked his tone. “How was rehearsal?”
“Great!” He took the pizza from me while I opened the carrier door for Trouble.
She took her time coming out and then stretched before following Elliott to the kitchen, meowing. You forgot to pet me!
“How much time do you have before your Power Moms meeting?” he asked, sliding plates across the table to set it quickly. “Grandpa! Pizza!”
“Shoot,” I said. “I forgot about that.” The Sunnyside Power Moms, or SPMs for short, was a group of home business owners who worked together to network and support each other. We met every month to go over joint marketing opportunities, especially at community events. “Buy Local!” had become our self-serving motto and we used the banner wherever we could.
“Do you have to go?” Elliott asked.
My dad walked down the stairs, a little glassy-eyed like he’d been napping. “Go where?”
“SPM meeting,” I said. I was pretty tired from such a full day, but then I thought about Benson. That group of women was connected to lots of people all over Sunnyside and had been a good source of information in the past. “I better get going.”
“Hey Mom?” Elliott asked, his voice tentative.
“Hey Elliott?” I responded.
“Is it okay if Da—Richard comes to opening night?”
After saying, “Of course,” through clenched teeth, I grabbed two slices of pizza and put them on a paper plate, then dashed out the door.
I ate on the way there, wiping the pizza evidence from my lips before I went in. The current leader of the Sunnyside Power Moms was Gina Pace, a personal trainer, who also ran the Mommy and Me classes around town, and she probably wouldn’t approve of my dinner. She had more energy than anyone I’d ever met. Yollie and I had become friends through SPM, but she wasn’t at the meeting when I arrived late. The group was discussing our participation in the upcoming Sunnyside Elementary School Holiday Bazaar and debating whether we should spread our booths out or stay all clustered together. The spread out faction won.
Several of the moms sent me curious looks, and sure enough, as soon as the official meeting was over, they rushed over to ask me about Benson’s death.
“Did you really almost die?” a new member asked. I’d forgotten her name and it seemed like a bad time to ask.
I guess that part of the story was leaking out, even though I hadn’t seen Yollie’s or my name mentioned on any of the news channels.
I told the group an abbreviated version of the story, and Gina said, “Are you looking into that death too?” Gina had previously helped me track down a murderer and took every opportunity to let people know.
“Oh no.” I lied through my teeth. “Why, do you have any clues?” I said it jokingly, but she gave me a meaningful look.
“Ah come on, Gina,” another mom insisted. “Tell us.”
“It’s nothing concrete,” Gina said with a coy smile. Then she dished. “But I heard that the PTA president of the elementary school was very distraught at the news, even though a certain oboe teacher dumped her a while ago.”
“Didn’t she get divorced last year?” someone asked.
Another mom protested, “She’s single now. She’s allowed to date. What’s the big deal?”
Gina shrugged. “If it wasn’t such a big deal, then why keep it quiet? Also, it seems that the oboe teacher had a thing for recently divorced moms.”
A couple of women gasped. “He was taking advantage of them?” one asked.
Gina shrugged. “That’s what I heard.” She turned to me. “The PTA meeting is next Monday evening, at the elementary school. You know, if anyone wanted to, I don’t know, they could stop by to talk to her.”
She followed that up with a smirk but I acted nonchalant. I’d learned the hard way that letting all of Sunnyside know I was investigating a murder was never a good thing.
Chapter 9
Welcome clouds had started moving into the area overnight and a few drops were falling by the time I pulled into the parking lot at the commercial kitchen the next morning.
This was cause for celebration in southern California after so many months of no rain, and I smiled as I let the drops hit me.
One of the bakers was getting out of his car too. “Makes you want to dance to that ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ song, doesn’t it?”
I spun around in a circle with my arms out and he shook his head at me.
“I was kidding,” he said, holding the door for me.
Zoey was standing at the metal counter, staring at the schedule, but I wasn’t sure if she was actually seeing it.
I was so used to seeing her full of energy but not today. “Did something happen?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Later,” she said.
Then two police officers walked in and her eyes grew wide. They asked for me and when someone pointed, they walked over holding a clear plastic bag filled with the kitchen tools that had been confiscated in the search.
“Does this mean you didn’t find the murder weapon here?” I asked but they were just the delivery people and didn’t know.
Quincy was in his office, so I went upstairs to ask him. “Good morning,” I said. “Did you see that? We got all the kitchen utensils back. That’s good news, right?”
“Seems to be,” he said.
“Yay. None of them were the murder weapon. I’m so surprised,” I said in my most sarcastic tone. I plopped down into one of his chairs.
“Me too.” He smiled and leaned back in his leather chair, with his arms behind his head. “We just have to be patient until the police make some kind of statement. That won’t happen until the yogi returns from India.”
“After all that hoopla, they should do it sooner rather than later,” I grumbled.
Quincy changed the subject. “How are things going with Twomey’s?”
We discussed the upcoming order and his ideas for next quarter’s marketing. I thought about giving him a hint about Zoey’s predicament, but I had to ask her first. She was very independent and proud. Getting her to take any help was going to be difficult. I didn’t want to make her defensive right off the bat.
By the time I made it back downstairs, Zoey had put away the kitchen tools. “So what does it mean?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Let me call Norma.” I dialed, keeping an eye on Quincy’s office to make sure he didn’t hear me. As far as he knew, I was staying out of it. “Time for coffee?” I asked when Norma answered.
“Sorry, not today,” she said.
“Oh. Um, I see that our kitchen stuff was returned. I’m assuming that means none of them were the murder weapon, which we all knew.”
“That’s true,” she said.
“So did you find it?” I tried.
“Yes.”
“Whoa.”
�
��Yes. Whoa.” She sounded sarcastic.
This wasn’t getting me anywhere. “Can you tell me what it was?”
“No,” she said.
“We were thinking it might be a mandrel,” I said.
“Oh really?” Her cold tone made me think that I might be on the right track.
“If that’s true, then the murder wasn’t all that planned out, right? The murder weapon was just sitting there, conveniently. Anyone could have picked it up and used it.”
“What are you trying to say?” she asked.
“Just that the whole theory of how Quincy could have done all that like some kind of criminal mastermind doesn’t work,” I said.
“Have a nice day,” she said and hung up.
Zoey was looking at me wide-eyed. “What did she say?”
“Not much,” I said.
“Wow. Sounds like she shouldn’t mess with you.” She wiggled her shoulders in an ain’t you something special? move. “You sounded like that Serial podcast, clearing innocent people accused of murder.”
“You ready to tell me what’s going on?” I asked and regretted it immediately when she started crying. “I’m so sorry! I’m an idiot. Just ignore me.”
She shook her head. “I’m the idiot.” Her shoulders moved in silent sobs, and the other workers in the kitchen began to notice.
“Let’s go,” I told her. Then I yelled out to the other staff. “We’ll be back to clean it up.”
We walked out the back door to one of the wooden picnic tables near the loading dock.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
‘Okay,” she said. “Really, it’s kind of your fault.”
I could tell she was joking, but I still blinked a couple of times.
“I was going around in circles for hours yesterday until my brain said to me, ‘What would Colbie do?’” she said with a small, sad smile.
“Oh no,” I said.
“And I decided that I should send my friend to the bar Red always goes to and see if they can find out what he’s up to.”
I thought of the sexist way he’d treated me, someone he didn’t know. “A friend who’s male or female?”
“Oh male. Definitely,” she said. “He bought Red a drink and got him talking and he found out his ‘grand plan.’”
