Tequila Trouble - Nicole Leiren

by Danger Cove

  Agnes nodded. "Once he recovered a bit, I was going to show him the fake ring and enjoy the look on his face when I let him know I was going to see an attorney to file for a divorce."

  "Had you already called and made the appointment?"

  "Of course. Why?"

  "Because if his death is ruled a homicide, they're going to start looking into everything. It won't take them long to discover you'd decided to file for divorce." She'd be lucky if Detective Pizza Guy didn't lock her up and throw away the key on that point alone.

  "You've forgotten I worked at the police department for years. The fact I had an appointment helps rather than hurts me." Agnes smiled at her revelation.

  The more I learned about Agnes's story and the steps she'd taken, the more it made me feel like premeditation might be on the table. "How so?"

  "If I was going to divorce him, why would I try to kill him?"

  "Valid point." Though I could think of a few reasons, including his taking advantage of her. It was also difficult to move past the logic that it appeared her actions, accidental or not, did most likely result in his death.

  Agnes took another long sip of tequila before slouching back in her chair and closing her eyes. "Why couldn't the idiot have just thrown up where he sat? If he'd done that instead of trying to get up, he'd probably be alive today."

  I shook my head and took her hand. "Again, Agnes, not the best way to frame your story. Right now the police believe this was an accident. And it was…sort of…we just need to practice your statement a little before you give it. I have to get back to work, but why don't you work on your version of events and search through Rico's things to see if you can find anything that might explain the ten grand. That could prove very helpful." I left out the part that her story needed all the help it could get right now.

  My words perked her up. She stood and grabbed her purse. "I promise I'll do that later. Maybe you can come by after work and help? I think what will make me feel better is a little retail therapy. I'm going to head to Seattle. Can I pick you up anything while I'm there?"

  Unbelievable. "No, thank you. I'll talk to you later." I'd thought about voicing my concern over how much she'd had to drink and then driving, but before I could say anything, she was muttering something about finding the right app to get a driver. At least she hadn't totally lost her senses.

  Confident that Agnes wasn't going to get behind the wheel of a car, I grabbed the other container of soup and headed to Hazlitt Heights. One more delivery and I could return to the safety of my bar. Despite the difficult situation with Agnes, I couldn't help but smile as I thought about the fact that I considered it my bar. Could I find that feeling somewhere else? Somewhere without Tanner? The smile faded. No doubt he was a big part of the happiness I'd found here in Danger Cove.

  My apartment building came into view. The three-story building was well maintained, simple, and clean. A few flowers added a splash of color to the beds out in front of the mowed lawn. The landscaping wasn't fancy, but you could tell some effort was being put into making the place look nice. I knew I'd certainly stayed in far worse places as I'd made my way across the good ol' United States. New York to Washington—from sea to shining sea. It had been a great adventure, which led me here.

  I knocked on the door of Mandi and her mother's apartment. "Ms. Adams? It's Lilly. I brought some soup. Can I come in?"

  A minute or so later the door opened. I managed to keep my gasp from escaping. She looked terrible. Pale skin, tired eyes, slow movements. I really, really hoped she wasn't contagious. I lifted the container. "Homemade chicken noodle soup requested by your daughter, created by Tara, delivered by me."

  My statement brought a small smile to her colorless lips. "Thanks, Lilly. That was very sweet of all of you."

  "Let me heat it up for you. Looks like you could use a little nourishment."

  "Are you sure?"

  I lifted my free hand over my heart and feigned hurt. "I do know how to operate a microwave. That might be the extent of my kitchen appliance know-how, but I have lots of experience with various makes and models. You have a seat, and I'll take care of this."

  She was far more compliant than Agnes had been during my most recent visit and followed my instructions. Since I'd hung out with Mandi many times at her place, I had a basic knowledge of where things were. A few minutes later, I placed a steaming cup of soup in front of my patient. Ms. Adams obliged me by taking a bite. I couldn't wait to hear her reaction. "Isn't it just amazing? The flavors wash over every taste bud. It's feel-good magic right there in a cup." I giggled at my statement. "I think being around all these chefs is turning me into a foodie."

  Ms. Adams smiled, but shrugged. "I'm sure it is all those things. Sadly, it could taste like dirt, and I wouldn't know the difference."

  "Why? What's wrong?"

  "This virus has affected my taste buds. Can't really taste anything." She lifted the cup for another few sips. "I'll be sure and save some though. When I'm better, I'd love to experience a little of that magic you mentioned. Thank you all for being so thoughtful."

  I gave her a quick hug—hopefully not long enough to allow the germs to jump from her to me. "Feel better."

  My legs pumped hard to get me back to the tavern. I felt bad being away so long. There'd been no calls for help or even Where are you? texts, so there was a confidence that the team had it all under control. While my body did its job, my mind focused on the fact Ms. Adams couldn't taste anything due to her illness. Maybe that was how Allyson was able to eat Jonathan's food yesterday without spitting it out. She couldn't taste it. Made sense. I knew she was love sick, but didn't think that would make those important little buds on your tongue go into hiatus. Whatever she had—I hoped I wouldn't get it.

  Tan was busy at the bar when I returned. Dinner rush was in full swing. I slid my apron over my head as I moved beside him. "Why don't you take a break? Thanks for helping out."

  He shrugged. "That's what friends are for."

  Something about the way he said friends bound all the loose emotional cords in my stomach into a double constrictor knot. I'd learned a lot about knots from some of the sailors passing through who had stopped in for a meal or a pint. The constrictor knot was the most difficult one to untie.

  Tan left for his break without another word. Drake arrived a minute later. "Hey, Boss. My shift is finished for the day. I checked with Tara, and she said they were all set in the kitchen. I think Tan's kid sister is assisting or something. Okay for me to be done, or do you need help?"

  A quick cursory glance around the tavern showed everything to be in order—along with a manageable number of patrons. "I think we're good. Thanks for offering. Can I get you something to drink?"

  He pointed to the bottle of Tsunatka tequila—Agnes's poison of choice. "I'll have a shot of that before I go."

  I picked up the bottle. "You sure? I can't give you the employee discount on alcohol. A shot runs thirty-five dollars."

  Drake flashed a handsome grin. "Make it a double. My mom sent me an early birthday present with some cash. I want to celebrate. I wish Agnes was here to celebrate with me. I'd buy her a shot."

  I measured the liquid into the shot glass. "I'm sure she'd love that. She was disappointed that Rico didn't share her love of tequila."

  The alcohol disappeared in quick order as he downed the shot in one smooth motion. "Just a single shot this time. Good thing I'm walking home." He laughed.

  In an effort to try to get him to open up and share a little more, I decided to give him an early birthday present. "This one is on me. Happy early birthday."

  "Thanks. That's very nice of you." He jerked his head in the direction of the door where Tanner usually stood to provide security. "I hope he realizes how good he's got it. Women like you are hard to find."

  My face heated at his compliment, but I needed to stop this before it got started. "He does realize it. We're very happy, thank you."

  His response sounded like a cross between
a snort and a guffaw, but I ignored him. When I didn't take the bait to share about my relationship with Tanner, he continued. "Have they learned anything more about Rico's death?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Was it ruled accidental?"

  I rinsed a few glasses and put the bottle of tequila back on the shelf. "Last I heard, they were still waiting on the autopsy results." His curiosity could be explained by the need to feed the small-town gossip mill, but I was still convinced he'd known Rico. I decided I could play the curiosity game. "Why, have you heard something?"

  He shrugged and leaned back on the barstool. "I just think it's curious that not even twenty-four hours after his death, his ex and a man he obviously didn't like were seen strolling on the pier holding hands."

  He made a valid point. "I agree. I ran into them yesterday over at Ocean View. They did seem to be happy. What makes you think Allyson and Rico were together in the past?" I'd surmised the same after hearing their exchange at brunch on Sunday, but since Drake wasn't there, I had no idea how he would know.

  "Clara filled me in. She was hanging out on the bench out back during her break. She was anxious to talk about the whole thing, so I let her." He cracked a grin. "Not only am I a great with my hands, I'm a good listener too."

  I wasn't sure if he was trying to flirt (ugh!) or was referencing his skills in the garden. Either way, I still wouldn't take the bait. "I'm sure she appreciated the listening ear. Do you think it was a love triangle or something going on between the three of them?" I wasn't sure how much Clara had shared, so I decided to dangle a little fishing bait of my own. From what I witnessed, Allyson hated Rico. Experience had taught me that hate that strong often emerged as a result of loving someone with that same intensity before things went horribly wrong.

  My question caused him to arch an eyebrow. "What makes you think I would know anything about that?"

  Since I didn't want to bring up the background check and the subsequent info I'd received from Vernon until I had the complete picture, I fabricated the tiniest of white lies. It wasn't even a half lie…more like a quarter, maybe even a tenth. Yeah, let's go with a tenth of a lie. "When I spoke with Allyson, she mentioned she was originally from Seattle. You listed a previous address in Seattle on some of your paperwork. Agnes told me Rico was from Seattle. I thought maybe your paths had crossed at some point."

  He looked at me with an odd expression—one I couldn't place—before grinning at me. "Seattle is a lot bigger than Danger Cove. It's not like everyone knows everyone…or their business…like they try to do here." He pulled out his credit card. "I'll cash out. Thanks."

  My fishing expedition hadn't gleaned me any more results than his had. Well, you couldn't blame us for trying. Of course, my bait had tipped the karma scale in the negative direction thanks to my little white lies and cost me forty bucks. My internal lie detector might not be fully calibrated, but I was certain Drake knew something about Allyson that he wasn't telling me.

  He signed the slip. "Thanks for the birthday shot. Have a nice evening."

  "You too."

  "Hey, Lilly, how's my mom doing? Did she like the soup?" Mandi emerged from the kitchen, an empty dish bin in her hands.

  I recounted my visit for her. "She said to let everyone know how thoughtful it was of us to bring her the soup, even if she couldn't taste it."

  Mandi's nose wrinkled in an adorable fashion as she scrunched up her face. "That's too bad. I had some during my break. It was so good."

  "Agreed. Maybe I should get Tara to add it to the menu this fall. Hot soups are always a crowd pleaser. Oh, it did make me think that maybe Allyson was sick, and that's why she couldn't taste Jonathan's cooking."

  Mandi chuckled at my statement, but then a serious look crossed her face. The look that told me she'd just thought of some detail I hadn't. Which, by the way, happened a lot. Trivia and details were her thing. "What's up, Mandi? What are you thinking?"

  She leaned over the bar and lowered her voice. "It's probably crazy…"

  "I thought that we did crazy, you and me. Don't go getting sane on me now."

  "What if it was Chef Jonathan who lost his ability to taste?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mandi's statement, simple yet profound, gave me pause. She continued with her thought process. "It makes sense when you think about it."

  "How so?" I could probably figure it out, but if she'd already done the mental math, no sense in me recalculating.

  "He was reluctant to cook the meal from the beginning, right?"

  "Right."

  "But Agnes is relentless and wouldn't even consider giving him money without tasting the product first, so he had no choice."

  I nodded my head and picked up on her train of thought. "But he knew if he tried to cook the meal, Agnes and I might sense that something was off, especially since we were expecting perfection. I'm not sure what happened at Bree's the other night. Maybe her spices really were old and useless or maybe her chicken really was starting to go bad. Who knows. Regardless, delivering anything short of perfection at the brunch could potentially sink his hopes of securing new investors for his business."

  Mandi's blue eyes sparkled like freshly polished sapphires. "Exactly. He couldn't have that, so he insisted that Tara and Clara assist him."

  Tiny goose bumps prickled my skin. "Clara told me that morning that she and Tara had done all the work. Even said he was testing them when it came to the flavor combinations. When I ate my dish, it reminded me of their style and presentation." Trust me, I'd eaten enough food prepared by them to know.

  "Makes sense. He needed them so his secret would remain safe."

  Some customers chose that moment to walk in and take a seat in one of the booths. Mandi sighed. "Guess we'll have to continue this later."

  I checked on the few patrons at the bar and started some of my cleaning routine. The more I could get done now, the less I'd have to do at closing time. The circular motion of the cloth against the stainless steel of the sink area helped me think. If it was true that Chef Jonathan had lost his ability to taste, the stakes for him would have reached new heights. It would be a long, hard fall if word of this got out. Assuming it's true.

  Bottom line—it was the only thing that could explain away his odd behavior. Desperate men do desperate things. Rico had issued the threat about Agnes's money. So one had to ask: would Jonathan kill to get it? That was a question I'd need to answer…and soon.

  I tried to determine the best way to obtain that answer—short of asking him—which I didn't feel would go over well. Given the man was an expert with knives, I decided a head-on approach would most likely end with me on the wrong side of a razor-sharp edge.

  Before I could formulate an alternate approach, Allyson walked in with a man dressed like he'd stepped out of the center of Vogue magazine. In addition to his finely tailored suit, he sported a very unique accessory: an onyx and silver cane, which gleamed in the artificial light. Was it customary to polish a cane? Interestingly, he didn't appear to have a limp of any kind leading me to believe it was a decorative accent to the outfit. To top off his model-worthy look, he had a clean-cut square jaw and hair as black as night. It was his smile, though, that caught my attention. It lit up the room and upped the swoon factor for single women by at least ten decibels.

  Allyson and Mr. Vogue walked directly to the bar. "Hi, Lilly. This is Steven Sinclair. He's Jonathan's business partner."

  The smile on her face as she looked up into those mesmerizing eyes of his struck chords of adoration. My immediate thought was that maybe he was the mystery man she'd cheated with. Though I didn't condone cheating, no jury of her peers would ever convict her once an eight-by-ten glossy of Mr. Sinclair was admitted into evidence.

  Mr. Sinclair and I shook hands. "Pleasure to meet you. Can I get you something to drink?"

  "Tequila, please. Straight up."

  I pointed to the row of tequila bottles. "Pick your poison," I offered with a grin.

  Wi
thout hesitation, he chose Agnes's favorite. Not only was I going to have to try this, as it seemed to be a favorite for those who could afford to be selective, I was going to have to order some more. "Great choice. Would you like it chilled?"

  "Please."

  "Anything for you, Allyson?"

  She shook her head, but then added, "Could I get some water with lemon?"

  "Sure." While I prepared their drinks, I noticed Allyson's gaze searching the restaurant, continually returning to the door to the kitchen. "Looking for someone?"

  "Steven would like a few minutes of Tara's time if you can spare her."

  Every fiber of my being wanted to tell her to get out of my bar and take her smooth-talking tequila drinker with her. But I'd promised Tara I wouldn't stand in her way. A promise was a promise, especially when made to a close friend. I poured Steven's chilled tequila into a shot glass and put it in front of him. "Dinner rush is over, so she should be able to spare some time. Let me check."

  He leaned his head back and downed the shot in one smooth swallow. Definitely not his first trip to tequila town. He placed the shot glass back on the bar and smiled. "Chilled to the perfect temperature. Thank you."

  I shrugged and nodded with a slight smile. "It's what I do. Let me check on Tara."

  In the kitchen, I found my chef with her head in our large, commercial refrigerator. The clipboard in her hand indicated to me she was doing inventory. Guess it had been a slow night for orders. Clara was chopping vegetables with a vengeance. Ashley was washing a pan with her head down. No conversation. No banter. Not good.

  "Everything okay in here?"

  "Yes." They all answered in unison without looking up, which screamed: everything is not okay.

  Tara continued her work in the fridge, but asked, "You have an order?"

  "No, but there's someone out front who wants to see you."

  "Who?"

  "Steven Sinclair. He's Chef Jonathan's business partner."

  Tara turned to look at me—finally. Her eyes sparkled with excitement while her mouth twisted downward in regret. "He wants to see me now?" She chanced a quick glance at Clara, who had increased the velocity of her chopping on the hapless veggies.