“It’s a French delicacy,” he said. “But it’s too terrible, and you shouldn’t eat it.”
“Worse than your digestive biscuits?”
“These are good for you.” He took the last one. “Ortolans might taste fine, but it’s how they’re harvested that’s the problem.”
“Harvested? Are they some kind of fruit?”
“An ortolan is a kind of bird,” he said. “They have them in Europe, although I think they’re eating them to extinction.”
“But you eat chicken, so what’s the big deal?”
“Ortolans are caught wild, with nets. Then they are blinded and kept in a small cage to fatten them up, and then they are drowned in cognac.”
The cookies threatened to come back up. “That’s horrible! Why isn’t it illegal?”
“It is,” he said.
She pulled up the pictures on her phone. She’d taken pictures of the cheese plate, and she’d only had cheese and fruit. She hadn’t eaten one of those poor birds. In fact, she hadn’t even seen any birds on the food table.
“That cheese is illegal, too.” Gray pointed to a round cheese. “It used to be imported from Corsica, but the FDA made it illegal. Something about cheese maggots.”
“Cheese maggots?” She tried to remember if she’d eaten it. She hoped not.
“I used to date a guy who worked at the FDA,” he said. “If you want to report it. The cheese probably isn’t that big a deal, but the ortolans are. They’re endangered.”
“It’s related to a case,” she said. “But once that’s over, I’ll definitely turn them in.”
She tried to imagine someone doing all that to Fred—catching him, blinding him, and drowning him in booze.
“Are you thinking about Fred?” Gray asked.
“Maybe.”
Gray hugged her. “Nobody eats sea gulls.”
Maybe she ought to become a vegetarian. Where should she draw the line? Torturing animals before killing them was clearly wrong, but what kind of life did your average factory chicken have?
CHAPTER 26
Sofia got to work early the next morning. She’d had nightmares all night, mostly about Fred. Someone had captured her sea gull and wanted to poke out his yellow eyes with a stick. She fought giant maggots with tentacles, but she was handcuffed to a pole and couldn’t reach him. When she’d gone out to feed him, he hadn’t come, and she worried something had happened to him.
She started the coffeepot. She was never sure exactly how much coffee to put into the pot. Aidan put in a scoop and then some, but she hadn’t yet figured out how much ‘and then some’ actually was.
“Good morning!” Brendan came out of his office carrying a paper cup from Starbucks. He couldn’t get the coffee machine right either.
“You, too.” She stifled a yawn.
“Long night?” He took another cup from behind his back and handed it to her. He was the best boss in the universe.
While she drank her coffee, she told him about her nightmare and about the ortolan comment Bambi had made. He agreed they would report it either when the case was wrapped up or within a week, whichever came first. He seemed to think the Customs department would investigate it.
She checked her watch. Half past nine and Aidan still hadn’t arrived. “His date with Taylor must have gone really well.”
“You’re the one for him, Sofia,” Brendan said. “Always have been.”
“That’s sweet.” She swallowed the last sip of coffee. The caffeine was finally starting to chase away her exhaustion. “But I don’t meet a whole bunch of his checklist items.”
“Like what?” Brendan looked indignant.
“I sometimes wear one-piece bathing suits. I might want to have kids one day. I gesture using silverware.” There were probably more she couldn’t remember right now. It was a long list, and Aidan was constantly updating it.
“Those are all on his list?” Brendan laughed. “He’ll die alone.”
“They’re all important criteria.” Aidan had arrived. “And I won’t. Sofia knows the numbers behind that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Old men get play, old women get nay.”
“Something like that.” Aidan poured a splash of coffee from the pot. He sipped it and grimaced. “Who made this?”
“Me.” Sofia shrugged. “How was your date with Taylor?”
“Great,” he said. “She’s funny and interesting and has some good dance moves.”
Brendan looked disappointed.
“Told you so.” She felt a surge of pride that she’d found a woman for Aidan. “Guess I’m a better matchmaker than your dating algorithms.”
“Did you tell Dad about the key party yet?” Aidan asked.
“There was a key party at the vineyard,” Sofia said. “I got Aidan’s key and handcuffed him to a pole.”
“That’s not like it sounds,” Aidan said quickly. “Not at all.”
“It’s accurate,” she said. “Should I tell him about the dungeon room?”
“How about we talk about the case?” Aidan said.
“You told me it was a cheese party,” Brendan said.
“I misheard.” Aidan dumped out the coffee into the sink and the grounds into the garbage.
“I went to a key party with your mother once, in the seventies,” Brendan said.
Aidan dropped the pot into the sink and it crashed against the sides. “What?”
“What was it like?” She looked into the sink to make sure the pot hadn’t broken.
“With Mom?” Aidan picked out the pot, then turned around to glare at his father.
“It wasn’t like that,” Brendan said. “I was so naive I thought a key party was where you switched cars with the other guys.”
She laughed. “What car did you want?”
“I had my eye on this Shelby Cobra that Frank Hasselbeck had. She had the kind of curves you want to put your hands on.”
“Are you sure you’re talking about a car?” Sofia asked.
“What else would I be talking about?” Brendan asked. “She was fast, and she handled smooth as silk. That car made you sweat just looking at her.”
“Please stop,” Aidan said. “For the love of God.”
Brendan raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing wrong with a nice round piece of—”
The office phone rang, and Aidan snatched it up. “Maloney Investigations.”
Brendan turned to her and winked. His sexy car talk had been designed to drive Aidan crazy, and it had worked.
“It’s one of your cop buddies,” said Aidan. “He’ll only talk to you.”
“I’ll take it in my office.” Brendan headed in.
Aidan poured himself a cup of the freshly-made coffee and took a sip. Sofia poured herself a refill in the Starbucks cup. She needed the extra kick today. She blew on the top and then sipped the coffee. It was too hot, but it tasted great.
“What do you suppose your parents did at the key party?” she asked.
Aidan spit his coffee halfway across the kitchen.
She handed him a roll of paper towels.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” He crouched down and mopped coffee off the floor.
“You don’t think they—”
“You are talking,” he said. “Your lips are moving and words are coming out that I don’t want to hear.”
“We could talk about Taylor,” she said. “And your date.”
Before Aidan had to answer a real question about his own life, Brendan’s office door opened. He looked paler than when he’d gone in, and serious.
“What is it?” Aidan asked. “Dad?”
“Marcel Belfort was found this morning. Murdered.”
CHAPTER 27
Sofia was carsick. Again. And this time she hadn’t had a drop of wine. This time she was riding along the windy roads up to the vineyard sitting in the back seat of Brendan’s Town Car like she’d been arrested. Brendan had hustled them into the car and headed directly to Narek Grigoryan’s. He
hadn’t said anything the entire ride.
Aidan flipped down his visor, looked into the tiny mirror, and met her eyes. His eyes had the tight look around the edges. He was as worried as his father.
If they were anything like her, they were thinking Narek Grigoryan had killed his neighbor. That they should have seen it coming and stepped in. But when? Brendan had been counseling calm since the first meeting, and that hadn’t helped. She and Aidan had pulled Narek off the cop at his own vineyard and off Marcel last night. Should they have stayed with Narek, made sure he was calmed down? If they had, Marcel might still be alive, and Annabelle might not be a widow.
But how could they have known? How could she have known? Besides, she reminded herself, they still didn’t know. Narek might be innocent. She shouldn’t jump to any conclusions about his guilt—innocent until proven guilty—that was the law.
She stared through the tinted window at the grapevines. The darkened glass leached away their vibrancy.
Brendan pulled to a stop in front of the grand house, next to the sapphire-blue pool she’d once thought about swimming in.
“You stay in the car, Sofia,” Brendan said. “Aidan and I will go up to the door. I’ll call you when we need you.”
“Why?” Was she in trouble?
“I want to make sure that Narek isn’t waiting there with a shotgun,” Brendan said.
“Or that he hasn’t blown his brains out under that giant chandelier,” added Aidan.
“I’m part of the team,” she said.
“You’re the part that waits in the car to call in backup,” Aidan said.
“Maybe I’ll take up you up next time,” Brendan said. He sounded like a dad refereeing a fight about who got to sit in the front seat.
She took out her phone and held it up. “Ready for duty.”
Brendan and Aidan got out and walked toward the front door, empty hands by their sides, probably so Narek could see they didn’t have a weapon, even though she knew they both had handguns in their shoulder holsters. She wished she were over there. She was part of the team, too. The unarmed part.
But they had police training and police experience, and she was a former actress with a few months on this job. Maybe she should take more combat classes.
Brendan rang the bell, waited, then rang it again. When no one answered, Sofia wondered if Aidan was right and Narek had killed himself someplace inside his giant, spotless mansion. Maybe because he was upset that his wife clearly loved Marcel, or because he had murdered the man. Or maybe he was inside and too hungover to come to the door.
Then the door opened and Narek stumbled out. He was still wearing the crumpled slacks and shirt from yesterday. His blood had dried on the front of his white shirt. He took a step into the sunlight and put up his arm to shield his eyes like a vampire.
His nose was swollen up like a giant pink potato and both his eyes were bruised. Marcel had gotten in a good punch before the cop pulled him away. But Narek didn’t look much different than when they’d dropped him off, which had to be a good thing, right?
Aidan beckoned, and she got out of the car and headed over.
“What?” Narek snarled. “What now?”
“We’re checking in on you,” said Aidan. “How’s the nose?”
“Terrible, that’s how it is. That French bastard wouldn’t have landed a punch if you hadn’t pinned my arms behind me. I wish I’d yanked his cock right off. Then he’d have bled to death right there.”
“Tone down the rhetoric, sir,” said Brendan.
“He’s a thief, and I’ll talk about him however I want.” Narek stuck out his jaw like a boxer. He was clearly ready to go another round.
“You should put some ice on that.” Sofia pointed to his nose. “Do you have any ice packs? Or I can make you one.”
Narek sighed. “Come inside.”
Brendan gave Sofia an approving look, but really, how hard was it to point out the obvious and try to be nice?
Narek shambled through the giant door and into the massive hall. He was definitely the worse for wear. They all followed, and Aidan closed the door behind them.
The house felt emptier than the last time they’d visited.
“Where’s your staff?” Sofia asked.
“Off today. We like to have the house to ourselves on weekends.” He rubbed his cheeks and it made a rasping sound. “At least, we did.”
“There’s probably ice in the kitchen,” Sofia said. “Maybe aspirin, too.”
She led the way into the kitchen and rooted around in the giant freezer until she found a single blue gel ice pack tucked away behind a pack of strawberries. They had enough food in there to last out the zombie apocalypse.
“Found one,” she called.
Aidan held out a bottle marked aspirin toward Narek. Considering what they’d seen at the Beforts’ who knew what was actually in there. But Narek took it and shook four aspirin in his palm.
“Do you need some water?” she asked. “I can find you a glass.”
Narek tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. Wincing, he took the ice pack and held it against his nose. “You came to check on me?”
“We wanted to make sure that you were OK.” Sofia wished Brendan or Aidan would jump in. “Do you need to see a doctor about your nose? It might be broken.”
“I survived worse when I was a boy.” Narek collapsed into a wooden chair in the corner of the kitchen and gestured for them to join him.
What kind of childhood had he had? She’d never had a broken nose as a kid, and neither had Emily. Even Violet hadn’t had any serious violence-related injuries.
“Did you put ice on your nose last night, after you got home?” She wasn’t sure if she should come straight out and ask him what he had been doing all night.
“I sat in the living room drinking until I fell asleep.” He looked down at the floor. “No ice.”
“You didn’t leave the house at all?” Brendan asked.
“I have plenty to drink here. I make wine and enjoy alcohol. I could drink myself to death without leaving the living room.”
That wasn’t a yes or no, or a pleasant mental image.
“Was anyone here with you?” Brendan asked.
“I was quite alone. The staff is off, as I said, and Milena...” His voice trailed off.
“Yes?” Sofia prompted.
“She was at her mother’s in town. She says she’ll stay there.” The ice pack made a crunching sound as he adjusted it. “For now.”
No verifiable alibi.
“Did the security company come by?” Brendan asked. “To install cameras.”
“I scheduled them for this afternoon. I thought it would be easier with the staff gone, and Milena said if one of them is stealing my water and filling my car with shit, it is better if they’re not there when the cameras go in.”
That meant there wasn’t any surveillance footage of him home alone the night before.
“But we all know it was that French prick, Marcel.” He closed his eyes and shifted the ice pack higher. “I will kill him someday.”
The sound of a car engine drifted through the open kitchen window. Was it already the cops? Brendan seemed to think so.
“That’s the kind of thing you need to stop saying,” Brendan said. “Don’t talk about killing Marcel.”
“I can say whatever I wish. This is America.” Narek sounded more tired than indignant.
“But your neighbor, Mr. Marcel Befort.” Brendan paused.
Narek lifted the ice pack off his face and looked at Brendan. Narek’s eyes were bloodshot, but the swelling around them had already gone down a little. It still looked like it hurt.
“What about my neighbor?” Narek asked.
“He was found dead this morning,” Brendan said. “Murdered.”
Narek’s eyes widened in surprise. Then, it was as if a gate came down behind his eyes. His battered face lost all expression.
The front doorbell rang. It had a deep, pleasan
t chime. She bet Milena had picked it out. Of course, she’d picked out Narek too, and look where that had gotten her.
“That’s probably the police,” Brendan said. “I would strongly recommend you contact a friend of mine, a lawyer named John Stark, and don’t say anything to the police besides your name and that you will only speak to them with a lawyer present.”
“Shouldn’t I defend my innocence?” Narek didn’t sound blustery anymore. “Tell them I was here, alone, drinking, and I did not kill that French pig, even though I’m glad someone did.”
“I recommend otherwise.” Brendan’s voice was mild, but it had a veiled threat in it. Sofia would have done what he said. He took a business card out of his wallet and handed it to Narek.
Narek took it and crammed it in his front pocket without reading it. Returning the ice pack to his nose, he walked toward the front door.
Brendan fell in behind him, then Aidan, then Sofia, like a row of ducks. Worried ducks.
CHAPTER 28
T he Befort front yard looked the same as it had the night before, but the cast had changed. Instead of party guests, the parking lot contained crime scene vans and police cars. These experts were packing things up much more slowly than the band had the night before, moving with a seriousness of purpose that had been absent in last night’s gathering.
Because Marcel, naked Marcel, was dead.
Yellow tape marked off a dark stain in the dirt near the horse trough. Sofia shuddered. That must have been where Marcel died—outside, alone, under the stars.
Brendan had used his contacts to get them onto the property and was inside the house talking to the woman in charge. Aidan fidgeted next to her and scanned the tree tops, probably looking for his drone, and his worried expression said he wasn’t finding it.
“Do you have any idea where the wife was last night?” asked Officer Bowie. He was tall and thin, like the rock star.
“She left the party last night in the company of a Rick Pankhurst,” said Aidan. He rattled off the make of the truck and its license plate number.
Sofia didn’t even remember what color it was. Maybe blue. She had a lot to learn about this detecting business.
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