Barbecue, Bourbon and Bullets

by M E Harmon

  Who would that be here? I thought about the two cooks who left early, but ruled them out just because they weren’t around. I scanned the room. There was Sylvie, the girl who’d been holding the sign when got in the line outside. She slouched in a seat near the snotty couple. Her face was puffy as if she’d been crying. Every five seconds, she popped her chewing gum, prompting nasty looks from the balding guy. But Sylvie was oblivious as she thumbed through what looked like her Facebook feed.

  Jeez, I bet pics of the body were all over social media by now. I made a mental note to check her accounts later.

  That left only one person who could be my perfect fly. Connor. I scanned the place and couldn’t find him. Did he bolt when no one was looking?

  I spotted a pair of black Nikes under a nearby table. It was him sitting alone in a booth. Jeez, he was good. He was practically right in front of me and I hadn’t noticed him.

  Alma had just sat down with my new detective friend. I wanted to eavesdrop, but a sudden hunch made me think a chat with Connor would be more productive.

  He was worrying at his fingers, the way a habitual nail-biter does, when I slipped onto the seat opposite him.

  “Hey, Connor. How you doing?”

  He was in the kitchen staff uniform of all white with an over-the-neck apron. His eyebrows crinkled as if he was confused. But he snatched the nail-du-jour away and slyly wiped his hand on the apron.

  “Sorry, did I startle you?” I asked smiling.

  “No. Well, sorta. I was just in my own thoughts I guess,” he said. His eyes darted to the left before focusing on me.

  “Yeah, I get it. A lot going on tonight. You doing OK?”

  He nodded and looked away. “You a cop too?”

  “Who, me?” I asked, “No, no. I’m just a baker. I was just having dinner with Detective Hamilton.”

  “He your boyfriend?”

  Jeez. That kept coming up, didn’t it? Did that mean I looked like I could be his girlfriend? Detective Hamilton definitely ranked pretty high on the hotness scale and I was…just me. I was cute. I wore a size twelve, and was happy my thickness. But he was in an entire other class in the looks department. I was not even close. My belly started to twist and I pushed the negative thoughts away. “No, we were just having dinner. He had a Groupon thing and invited me when his friends canceled.”

  Why I just volunteered all of that, I didn’t know.

  Connor nodded again as if my confession was logical. I wasn’t exactly sure what he thought made sense—me not being Hamilton’s girl or having dinner with a handsome cop because of a cancellation. Either way, I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or not.

  He said, “Yeah, that Groupon brought people in by the truckload. And it had all been Debbie’s idea.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He drummed a finger with an almost nonexistent nail on the table. “Yeah, Rick was making a load because of that deal. I told Debbie to ask for a bonus but she wouldn’t.”

  “No, why?”

  He shrugged. “Debbie isn’t the type to stand up for herself.” His eyes moved across the room again.

  “You know, girls who don’t stand up for themselves sometimes get a boyfriend who can do it for them. Does Debbie have a boyfriend?”

  Connor gave me a blank expression. “Naw, not that I know of. At least nothing, like, permanent.”

  “You mean an official boyfriend-girlfriend thing?” I wanted to push his boundaries some.

  “She likes jerks. Guys who don’t appreciate her.” Now he was clearly staring over in Debbie’s direction.

  Oh. OK. I took a different tact. “You have a girlfriend, Connor?”

  Color rose on his cheeks. He was actually blushing. “I have friends, you know, no one on the regular.”

  That meant no, in other words. Connor couldn’t have been older than twenty-one. He was on the lean side, skinny even, but at least six feet tall. He had eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate in a face that was inviting in an “I’ll buy a teddy-bear for your birthday” kind of way. Sweet-like. Not the definition of a girl-magnet, but not the type to repel them either.

  “Why do you want to know about that stuff?” Connor nibbled at a nail that had somehow found a path to his mouth.

  I shrugged. “Just making conversation? Curious. Sorry, didn’t mean to be nosy. I’m just started to feel antsy. You know, there being a body in the next room and all.”

  This time he lifted and dropped his shoulders as if he’d been asked a question. With his other hand, he rubbed absently at a water stain on the table. “Yeah, it’s horrible what happened to Rick. He was a good guy, you know? Hired me when he had no business doing it. It wasn’t like I had any experience or nothing.”

  “So Rick was a good guy?”

  He caught me staring at his snacking and folded his hands firmly on the tabletop. “Most of the time he was. He had some problems with Greg and Alma sometimes, but I tried to mind my business.”

  I leaned in, “What business were you trying to stay out of, Connor?”

  “I shouldn’t say.”

  I folded my hands on the table mimicking his pose. “That detective over there is gonna call you over in a few minutes. Don’t you think it would be a good idea to know for sure what you’re gonna say?”

  He turned around to glance at Alma and Avery. Connor’s shoulders stiffened. A vein along his temple began to visibly pulse.

  “Whoa, Connor, it’s not like he’s going to arrest you on the spot. Relax. He’s just going to ask what happened from your perspective.” I didn’t want the guy getting too excited, especially not with me sitting in front of him. “But if you’ve seen something that could help, you should tell him.”

  Connor swallowed. “I only overhear things, you know. Sometimes people forget I’m in the room, even with me being tall.”

  I furrowed my brows as if to say, “Really? That’s horrible.” But it was exactly what I had guessed.

  “Rick thought there was something going on between Alma and Greg. He even asked me once if I’d seen them doing anything weird. And at the time, I didn’t understand but just assumed he meant making out or something—and I hadn’t seen them doing anything like that. And I told him that, but Rick was still paranoid. Used to watch them like a hawk. And one time he and Greg had a shoving match over mushrooms—”

  “—mushrooms?”

  “Yeah, about what to serve on the menu, but I think it was really about Alma. Rick was drunk or high, though. I think he had a problem he was trying to cover up. He was downstairs sleeping one off during most of tonight’s shift.”

  “I saw him during my kitchen tour,” I said.

  Connor looked at his watch. “Yeah, that must’ve been later on; he and Alma had a fight again, came upstairs to do some more arguing in the back courtyard. The staff ignores them until it gets bad, and when it does, Greg usually steps in.”

  “Where were you when Rick was shot?”

  “I don’t think he was shot. Nobody had a gun in the kitchen.”

  “Still,” I said, “something happened. Where were you?”

  “Um, I was either bringing in dishes or loading the dishwasher.”

  “Which one was it?”

  Connor’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t sound very much like a baker.”

  I took a deep breath and counted to five. “Sorry, sorry. I’m anxious and just want to get out of here. Don’t you? But it looks like the detective and Alma are wrapping up. If you think I’m grilling you, wait till he gets a crack at you.”

  He dropped his head into his hands.

  I prodded gently, “When you saw Rick was on the ground, where were you?”

  The answer came from between his fingers, muddled but still intelligible. “Walking to the dishwasher. I’d just picked up the spatulas from the grill to wash. Greg and Alma were standing over Rick.” He braced his arms on the table, leaned over and whispered, “You know, I think they did it. They didn’t look too surprised when he was on the
floor bleeding to death.”

  I looked right into Connor’s eyes. There was a pleading there that couldn’t be denied. It was earnest. And I thought, who is he protecting?

  “OK, Connor. Just be honest with the detective like you were with me and everything will sort itself out.”

  As if on cue, Alma and Avery stood. He watched her retreating back, then spotted me and Connor.

  Avery smirked. “Young man, a few minutes of your time, please.”

  Connor's head bowed as he slid out of the booth. “See you later, I guess.”

  I gave him a reassuring little pat on the back. He unfolded himself and crossed to where Avery waited. He shot me a warning look I pretended not to see.

  Alma passed by me. She’d managed to wipe away most of the mascara residue. The woman didn’t give me a second glance. She seemed like the type of person who dismissed people easily. I took an immediate dislike to her. Second person of the night. That wasn't good. Was I becoming jaded? Alma settled very ladylike into the seat next to Greg and immediately reached for his hand.

  On the opposite side of the room, Debbie made a sound of disgust and lurched to her feet.

  Rookie cop didn’t like the sudden motion. When she responded to his question about her intentions, he let her know someone would escort her to the restroom shortly. Debbie slung herself back into the chair so hard, I just knew it was going to tip over. It didn’t, not that the waitress seemed to notice.

  So yeah, without question something was going on there. A love triangle between Greg, Alma and Debbie? In all this time, Alma hadn't paid Debbie an ounce of attention. They worked in too close of quarters for her to be ignorant of Debbie's feelings for Greg. Maybe Alma knew but didn't care because nothing romantic was transpiring between her and Greg? Or perhaps Debbie was just too low on the social totem pole to be considered as a rival?

  Some pieces were still missing. Debbie swore Alma did it, and Connor fingered Greg and Alma. If those two were in cahoots, how did they shoot Rick at close range and have the entire restaurant not hear the gunshot? And both Connor and Debbie agreed they had not seen a gun.

  Oooh, I was itching to snoop around that kitchen. There had to be clues hidden among the pots and pans.

  Poor Connor was tearing the last of his nails to bits while speaking with Avery. Unfortunately their little chat was taking longer than I had expected. I didn't know what to make of that.

  “Hey! What's going on here?”

  It was balding guy and burned-out new mom. They'd been stewing in their juices. Baldy smacked the table and stood up. “Listen, unless someone tells us what is going on right now, we are leaving! We have rights! I have a new baby at home who my wife needs to get back to.”

  To my surprise, it was Alma who acted. Before the uniformed cop could go into the spiel we'd been hearing for the past two hours, Alma crossed to the small bar on the left side of the restaurant.

  A bottle of wine thudded on the new parents’ table. “Here,” she said, “this bottle is worth two hundred dollars; we save it for our best customers. It's yours on the house for your continued patience.”

  Balding dude puffed up his chest, but his wife waved him to silence. “Honey. Honey, sit down. We’re good with this.” She reached for the bottle opener Alma dangled like a carrot.

  I had to give Alma credit. She was detached but knew how to handle customers. Maybe the success of this place was due not just to the food and booze but to her natural savvy as well.

  And maybe she was also clever enough to kill her husband in a room full of people.

  I drummed my fingers on the table, unsure of what to do next. Granted, no one had invited me to launch an investigation, but that was beside the point. Rookie officer was still on alert, though, looking bored like the rest of us. I stood and made a show of yawning.

  I'd only taken five steps toward the kitchen when Rookie zeroed in.

  “Where are you going?”

  I took a few big steps and leaned against the wall next to the kitchen. “Just stretching my legs. Sir.” Never hurts to show a little deference.

  Rookie gave a once-over and seemed to judge me untrustworthy. He took a step and was about to say something when Avery beat him to it.

  “I got it. She's OK,” he said, taking my elbow. In my ear he whispered, “You are incorrigible.”

  “I know, right! Avery, I can't help myself, I admit it. Maybe you should arrest me later.” Whoa-ho, did I just say that? That was kind of flirty. Flirtyness had just come out of my mouth unbidden.

  A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Maybe. If you don't get me fired first. I'm thinking you might've missed your calling.”

  That kind of felt like a compliment. Though he could've been implying I was a pest. I choose to accept it as the former. “How was your talk with Connor? Oh, and what did you think about Alma? She seems a little cold to me. Hey, how come you weren't writing down notes in a little notebook like they do on TV?”

  “One, because I was eating dinner when all this happened and don’t walk around with a notebook. Two, I only take notes as a formality in case I have to testify or something. Three, I don't need a notebook. I have good recall.”

  “Like an eidetic memory?” I was kidding.

  “Yeah, just like that.”

  I paused, stunned. “Shut up! Really, you have total recall? And you became a cop? Man, you would've made a killing in the sciences.”

  He didn't meet my eyes and shrugged it off. I think the detective was being modest.

  He said, “I usually don't tell people. Makes me feel like a freak.”

  “So why tell me?”

  Those eyes focused on me again, then away. “I don't know. You seem like you'd think it was cool.”

  I smiled. “I do. I come from a family of science nerds.”

  “I remember reading that in the paper in the fallout after the Chakiris case.” He returned the smile. “Anyway, seems you found an interesting place to loiter over here by the crime scene.”

  That sounded like I was about to be escorted by Detective Sexy back to my seat. I needed a good excuse to stay where I was, and quick. I scanned the kitchen through one of the open doors. As I did a second and third sweep, an itty-bitty warning bell went off in my head. Something was out of place here. Something that was wrong, out in the open, and in dead sight.

  Under my breath I whispered, “What is it? What is it?” Avery followed my line of sight, looking perplexed.

  I turned to him. “I see something out of place but it’s like a word on the tip of your tongue. I can’t quite figure it out. Distract me. Anything good come up in conversation?”

  “You know it would be inappropriate to for me to tell you anything that was said by Grover’s personnel.”

  “OK, OK,” I said dismissively, “I'll tell you. That might be better anyhow.”

  At their table, burned-out new mom filled her wine glass to the brim. Both parents were looking quite mellow. The Grover's employees were in various states of agitation. Greg and Alma were talking quietly. Debbie was simmering but less overtly. Sylvie was still smacking her gum, engrossed in her phone. And Connor, I couldn't see but he was probably where I saw him last.

  I made an effort to keep my voice low. “Debbie over there is jealous of the relationship between Greg and Alma. I'm guessing she and Greg had a tryst or two or nine, and she's way more into him than he is into her. He, however, is way into Alma.”

  “An affair?”

  I shrugged. “Um, not sure. It's not clear. She's a little on the cool side.” Again I scanned the kitchen. Everything was spotless. Even the grout between the tiles was a bright, clean ivory. What was I missing?

  “I would agree to that,” Avery nodded, “about the wife.”

  “Debbie, on the other hand, is a hot head.” What else was I looking at? Hanging pots, pans, steel workstation. Check, check and check.

  Avery said, “I'll talk with her next if a response team doesn't come soon.” He glanced at his
watch. “This is ridiculous, though, they should be here any second.”

  “There may be a lot of emergency calls coming in. You know, idiots taking advantage of the police being preoccupied,” I volunteered. “Speaking of idiots, Greg tried to intimidate Debbie to into being silent.”

  “He's a bully?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, totally. Though our little 'ol waitress had no problem standing her ground.”

  Grill, sink, air hoses. Check. All of the hoses ended in small silver nozzles. My eyes circled round to the back of the kitchen area. I could see the walk-in fridge, storage and...

  “Dishwasher!” I hollered so loud the new parents jumped. “Sorry, sorry.” I said to them and pushed at Avery. “Go get that dark silver thingy we saw earlier.”

  “I'm not moving evidence, Ali.” His voice was firm.

  I resisted stamping my foot. “Alright, fine. I thought that thingy was for one of the air hoses. But—look at all the hoses hanging from the walls. See how they all have the silver nozzles? But they're not nearly as long as the one we found in the washer.”

  Avery wasn't impressed. “OK, and? Maybe it's a different type of attachment they use for cleaning or something.”

  “Maybe,” I answered, feeling an idea coming on. “When I was younger, the boys on the commune weren't allowed to play with guns. But they would sneak out to the woods and make their own little BB guns using plastic bottles, straws or whatever they could find. Then they'd use pebbles as fake bullets. In fact,” I pushed up my sleeve, “look I still have a scar from when Bobby Klischman got hold of some ball bearings from the wood shop and shot me.” I pointed at the little circular scar near my shoulder.

  The detective looked at my arm. “Hold on, did you say, the boys on the commune?”

  I dismissed the comment with the wave of a hand. “Forget that and listen. The boys would use air as the propellant. They'd glue a handheld basketball air pump to a pop can or plastic bottle. Then they'd attach a straw for a gun barrel.”