Lineage Most Lethal

by S. C. Perkins

  This was verified when Chef Rocky reached up to grasp a ladle hanging from a hook, which drew back the sleeves of his chef’s whites and exposed a myriad of colors racing up his forearm.

  “If he weren’t so brilliant in the kitchen, and if I didn’t know that he’s got integrity underneath it all, I don’t know that I would have brought him here from the Sutton Grand,” Pippa added. “Pretty much everyone reacts like the brunette did, and he doesn’t do much to stop it. Even Mrs. P. was flustered around him the first few times they met.”

  “You’re kidding,” I’d said. “Really?” I’d only just met Mrs. P. that day, but it was already hard to imagine anyone making her nervous.

  “Really,” she replied. “I hired him away from a New York hotel about eighteen months ago to work at the Grand. Mrs. P. had been on vacation in Europe at the time, so she didn’t know about it. When I finally introduced her to Chef Rocky, she blushed nine shades of red and literally stuttered! She told me later she wasn’t expecting to find our new chef so, and I quote, ‘bloody handsome.’”

  We’d both giggled all the way to our next stop on my hotel tour.

  Expecting to see Chef Rocky and his stutter-inducing handsomeness, I pushed open another swinging door into his kitchen. There was a hum of activity, with an undercurrent of something else. I scanned every nook, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Excuse me,” someone snapped. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

  I turned to find the brunette who’d nearly crushed her flower garnishes the day I’d met Chef Rocky. She was holding a baking sheet full of cut root vegetables, ready for roasting in the oven. Under the cap holding back her dark hair, her face was shiny, like she’d been standing over a steaming pot.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was just checking for Pippa—Ms. Sutton, that is—to see if Chef Rocky ever arrived.” It was a lie, but hopefully she wouldn’t know.

  “Oh, Ms. Sutton is asking, is she? Are you sure it isn’t Mrs. Sutton? She’s the one usually sniffing around here looking for Rocky.” The jealousy in her voice was as obvious as the slash of butternut squash puree across the front of her chef’s whites. Her name was monogrammed on the left side. The jealous brunette was named Lacey Costin.

  So, the kitchen staff knew about Roselyn and Chef Rocky, I thought. Not liking Ms. Costin’s snide tone, I merely stared, letting my disdainful silence do the talking for me.

  She didn’t back down totally, but she did finally answer my question, her brown eyes flashing with annoyance.

  “Fine. No, Chef Rocky hasn’t come back, for your information. We don’t know where he is, either, and now we’re behind because of it, the selfish jerk.” She made to push past me with her tray of vegetables. “And unless you’re here to do the two jobs I now have since we’re short a team member, please leave!”

  It was then that I recognized the undercurrent in the kitchen as professional panic, and I didn’t need to add to it. I left, and headed back upstairs to my room to get ready for dinner, feeling hopeful Pippa would have news on Chef Rocky by the time we met for cocktails.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’d changed into a cherry red pointelle sweater and black cigarette pants. A few minutes with my hairbrush, some lipstick, and one more light coat of mascara, and I was good to go again.

  Sliding my feet back into my wedges, I pulled out the faux-snakeskin clutch I kept inside my tote and checked that all my essentials were still there. Leaving my room, I was sliding my key card into my clutch when something hit my left shoulder and slammed me into the adjoining wall.

  TWENTY-TWO

  It was a moment before I realized what happened, and another before I breathed properly again. My door had shut with a soft pneumatic hiss and a secure-sounding click. My shoulder and the back of my head were smarting already as I stared, open-mouthed, at the figure who’d swung wildly around to face me. It was Uncle Dave.

  Anger welled up inside me. What in the blue blazes was he playing at?

  He swayed violently, and I realized he was drunk. So blitzed that he probably didn’t even realize what he’d just done.

  “That woman,” he slurred, fishing around in his pocket for his key card as he lurched. He used the key card to point first at me, then in the direction of downstairs. “She’s lying. I know she is.” He stumbled sideways in the direction of his room, then pointed at me with his card again.

  “I saw her, you know. That day—” He shook his head in disgust. “That damned day everything went to hell. I saw her looking at the Weems. She knew what it was worth.” His key card dropped to the floor, and he put his face in his hands and moaned, “Why won’t anyone believe me?”

  He pitched forward, his own shoulder hitting the wall, his hands still over his face. Biting back annoyance at his continued feud with Mrs. P., I bent to retrieve his key card and took his arm.

  “Come on, Uncle Dave, let’s get you to your room.” My tone was brisk efficiency, and I managed to guide him, stumbling and swaying, to his door. Using his key card, I opened the room and shoved him inside.

  He didn’t say another word. Just whimpered, weaved to his bed, and collapsed. He was passed out in seconds.

  For a moment, I thought of Hugo and wondered if Uncle Dave had something really wrong with him. Screwing up my face, I reached out and put two fingers on his neck.

  His pulse was there, strong and steady. So were his breathing and color. Exhaling in relief, I dropped his key card on the nightstand and walked out.

  As his door shut, though, I held out my arm to stop it. Uncle Dave was part of Pippa’s dinner party about to start downstairs at Eighteen Ninety-Five. Should I go back in and try to get him to sober up? Or call his sister Melinda? Then I decided doing so might create tension and embarrass Melinda and Pippa. I sighed; I didn’t want that.

  Thus, I consoled myself with shooting a dirty look at his door, hoping it would stick to it and he’d feel its intense heat when he came back out. Feeling better at this thoroughly juvenile mental image, I made for the grand staircase, surprising Pippa halfway down.

  “Lucy!” she said on a gasp. She looked frantic, her eyes going around me and up the staircase. They were huge and worried.

  “Pippa, what’s wrong?” I said.

  “I—I was looking for Uncle Dave,” she said, fingering the zipper on the blue puffer vest she wore over a sweater the color of pistachios. “Um, my mom called and needs me to come get her. I was hoping he could come with me.”

  “I saw him go in his room,” I said.

  She was about to start up the stairs and I put my hand on her arm, saying quietly, “I think he might be drunk, though.” I paused, then said, “In fact, I know he is.”

  Glancing down the staircase, the newlywedded Nguyen-Sobnoskis were walking in the front door. Pippa heard them, too, and, after mouthing a choice four-letter word, composed herself in a trice like only actors and people in the hospitality industry can do.

  “Hello, you two,” she said, her smile warm and friendly. “Did you have a good afternoon at the spa?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Nguyen-Sobnoski stopped just long enough to give a glowing review of the day spa I would be enjoying in a couple of days with Serena and Josephine. I made a mental note to request the vitamin C facial, because Mrs. Nguyen-Sobnoski’s skin looked like a million bucks.

  Then I reminded myself that she was getting another regular dose of something I hadn’t had in a long time, so the vitamin C mask was merely her skin’s bonus elixir. My mind switched back to concern mode as soon as the newlyweds had continued up the stairs.

  “Let me go with you,” I told Pippa. “Uncle Dave needs to sleep it off anyway, and you and I can go get your mom. Come on, I’ll drive.”

  Seeing Pippa’s hesitant look, I peered down at the front desk to catch Mrs. P.’s eye. She’d have my back and encourage Pippa to go with me, I was sure. She was indeed back at her post, but she was turned away, taking a phone call while she tapped on the screen of her computer. I could just hear
her saying, “Yes, that weekend is available.”

  “I don’t know,” Pippa was saying. Then she glanced at her phone as if hoping to see a text. There wasn’t one.

  “Then let me go get one of your other cousins,” I said. “Maybe Aunt Melinda?”

  “No,” she snapped, then looked ashamed. “Forgive me, Lucy. I didn’t mean to sound rude. Aunt Melinda is wonderful, but not who I need right now.”

  “Nothing to forgive,” I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. Pippa was one step below me, putting us eye to eye. I saw her looking into my face, a realization coming over her features, and then got a sense that she’d made a decision.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes, you want me to go find Aunt Melinda?” I asked.

  She shook her head, her blond hair tied back in a low, casual knot at the nape of her neck. “No, I mean, yes, I’d like you to come with me.”

  I held up my clutch with a smile. “Good thing I’ve already got my keys. Let’s go.” Then I remembered why I’d come downstairs. “But what about dinner with your cousins?”

  “I’ve already texted a couple of them to reschedule for tomorrow. Told them Mom asked me to handle some last-minute errands for her for the New Year’s party.” Pippa’s lips thinned into a line. “With how she’s been lately, they won’t be surprised. And with Uncle Dave being drunk, we were without one of the people who wanted to have dinner tonight in the first place.”

  I decided it was best to keep my mouth shut on both subjects. Pippa and I headed out the front doors in silence. If she wanted to talk, she would. She was staring straight ahead, though, her eyes concerned again, pushing her hair behind her ears every few seconds like a child might rub the edge of a stuffed toy’s soft ear to soothe herself.

  “Where are we going?” I asked as we buckled our seatbelts, trying not to show my growing worry at her state. My headlights illuminated a small section of Lady Bird Lake. As usual, runners were still out along the trail, and would be for some time.

  She sucked in a breath. “Chef Rocky’s house.”

  “Okay,” I said, then gripped my gear shift. “Is Roselyn with him? Is she okay?”

  Her voice finally cracked. “I don’t know. I don’t know where Mom is. But Chef Rocky isn’t okay. Lucy, he’s dead.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “How do you know?” I gasped.

  “I’ve been looking for him since before lunchtime—I’ve been texting, calling,” Pippa began, a flush on her cheeks. “When I couldn’t get him to answer even when I said it was important, I finally decided to drive over to his house. He tends not to answer right away, yes, but he’s never not responded for hours on end.”

  I was hoping she’d give me the quick explanation, but it was not to be. I reined in my impatience as I backed out of the parking spot.

  “I went to his door and knocked, but he didn’t answer,” she continued. “Then this woman walked by with her baby in a stroller, looked at my car, and asked me what happened to my Tesla.” Pippa was pushing her hair behind her ears again. “She told me she’d been wanting to ask how I liked it. She said she was going to ask me earlier today when she saw me, but I drove off too fast.” Pippa glanced at me. “I drive an Audi, not a Tesla, so I realized she’d seen Mom and thought she was me.”

  “Did she say what time this was?” I asked as I drove out of the hotel’s parking lot, my mind reeling just like it had this morning with Grandpa.

  Pippa shook her head. “No. But at this point, I didn’t think anything was wrong, so I told the woman she’d seen my mother, not me, and that I was looking for Rocky.” Pippa’s voice was strained. “I didn’t want to involve the hotel or start rumors, so I told her Rocky was our cousin. I don’t think she believed me.”

  If she looked as furtive as she did now, I thought, I wouldn’t have believed her, either.

  “Did this woman say if she’d seen him?”

  Pippa was now rubbing the space between her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers. “She said she saw him drive into his garage this morning around ten thirty, but hadn’t seen him since.”

  After Grandpa saw him arguing with Roselyn, I thought grimly.

  “Does he do that often? Leave and go home, I mean?” I asked, trying to breathe normally as I did my best to speed through the lit-up night toward our destination when I didn’t really know where it was. Pippa had merely told me to head toward the West Austin dog park, between West Ninth and Tenth streets.

  “Sometimes,” she said. “The whole restaurant dining room had been rented out for a bridal shower during lunch, and that was mostly preprepared. He wouldn’t be needed again until closer to dinner, so it was no big deal if he headed home for a bit.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So then what happened with the stroller lady?”

  She licked her lips. “I lied again and told her that Chef Rocky had hurt his back, and I was worried about him since he wasn’t answering his phone. I told her I was going to try to look in the windows. I don’t think she liked it, but her baby woke up and started crying, so she went back to her house. I knocked again a couple more times, and when Rocky didn’t answer, I tried to look through his shutters.” She frowned. “But they were all closed.”

  “How did you see in, then?”

  Pippa was staring out into the night as we drove. “I was about to leave, then I decided to try one of the side windows, where Rocky’s office is. When he first moved in, Mom and I went over one afternoon to help him organize. I had Boomer with me, and he jumped up onto the shutters trying to catch a moth. Two of the louvers broke, and I knew Rocky hadn’t gotten them fixed yet, so I thought there might be a chance…” She sighed. “He hasn’t told many people, but he’s been working on writing a cookbook, so he’s almost always in his office.”

  “And was he? You saw him clearly?” I was hoping against hope she was wrong.

  She nodded, her hand going to her stomach, her voice a strangled whisper.

  “He’d moved a plant in front of the broken louvers at some point, but I could just see him through the leaves. The light was on in his office, and Chef Rocky was on the floor. There was … an ice pick in his ear.”

  “Um,” I said, hesitant to make her feel worse, but not seeing in my mind exactly what she meant. “How did you know it was specifically an ice pick?” Then I added, “And, where do I turn next?”

  Pippa pushed her hair behind her ears once, twice more as she pointed out an upcoming street and told me to turn right. “It was a housewarming gift from Mom and me, part of a really nice bar set where all the handles were hand-carved in the shape of animals—I helped her find it. The ice pick handle was a leopard, carved from burled wood with real topaz for its eyes. It’s beautiful and very distinctive.”

  “Okay,” I said, making the turn and trying not to think how that added to the list of things that didn’t look good for Roselyn. “And was the ice pick in the cartilage part of his ear? Or in his earlobe?”

  “No,” she whispered. “In his ear.” She made stabbing motions toward her inner ear. “It was down in his ear canal.”

  I gave her a look of horror. “Are you sure?”

  Her voice was a whisper. “I think he was stabbed all the way through the eardrum. I didn’t know that could kill someone.”

  I didn’t know it could, either, and I felt as sick as Pippa looked. I made myself take a couple of deep breaths, hoping that keeping my eyes on the road would keep my mind off the nausea.

  “Are you absolutely sure he was dead?” I asked.

  “I’m positive,” she whispered, nodding with vehemence. “He was totally white and he wasn’t moving at all. And the blood coming out of his ear … it wasn’t, you know, running anymore.” She made trickling motions with her fingers for emphasis.

  I swallowed hard, but asked, “Did you call the police and tell them what you saw?”

  She shook her head, staring out the windshield, but, I suspected, not seeing where we were going. “I don’t know where s
he is,” she said, and I knew she meant Roselyn. “I called her five times and she didn’t answer. Texted her, too. She wouldn’t respond. That’s when I came back to the hotel.”

  “You were looking for Roselyn back at the hotel? Not Uncle Dave?” I asked.

  “Yes, but then I went looking for Uncle Dave when I couldn’t find Mom. I wanted someone with me when I came back here. That’s when you met me on the stairs.” Her expression went a mixture of mulish and frightened. “But I won’t call the police until I know where my mom is. I’m scared she…”

  She didn’t have to finish the sentence. I was worried Roselyn might have done it, too. I wondered if Pippa knew about Roselyn’s relationship with Chef Rocky. If she did, I bet Pippa could see her mother in a heated fight with the chef as clearly as it was playing out in my own mind.

  Maybe the bar was near his office … Chef Rocky was becoming physical with Roselyn … She reaches out for a weapon and grabs the first thing her fingers close around … They struggle, twisting and cursing, until they’re near the chef’s office … Roselyn raises her arm high …

  Oh, yes. With Roselyn’s temper, height, and passion, I could see it all too vividly.

  “Pippa,” I said, keeping my voice gentle, “I really think we should call the police and have them meet us there. If Chef Rocky attacked Roselyn and she had to defend herself, then the police will find evidence of that.”

  Pippa’s jalapeño-green eyes were suddenly as hot as the fiery chile pepper. Then they cooled just as quickly and her face crumpled. “I’m worried something is really wrong, Lucy. See, Mom and Rocky … they had a relationship a while back. It didn’t last very long, but they still spend a lot of time together. Rocky’s actually been very good for her, believe it or not, but Mom’s been acting so weird lately. What if they did get into a fight and she killed him?” She looked at me imploringly. “Please tell me you’ll help her if that’s the case.”

  “But Pippa,” I spluttered, as the dog park came into view, “I don’t know what I could possibly do. I really don’t know anything about law enforcement, and it’s not good to meddle in police business.”