by Diana Orgain
“What do you mean you’re using some other PI?” Peter questions in at thick Spanish accent. “A woman! So, you’d rather have some broad handling your cases than me?” Peter paused, nodded, and smiled. “A restaurant owner in San Francisco has gotten himself in hot water, eh? His critics boyfriend is dead, and he’s being blamed? Sounds like my kind of case. A rich idiot in hot water makes for a great pay day. I’ll see you in San Francisco.” He hangs up the phone and stares out towards the audience. “Here I come, West Coast.” The light fades, and the play has ended.
I glance over, and I see Domingo storming out of the back of the theater. I’m feeling… puzzled. A woman PI in San Francisco competing with Vinnie? Could this story have been… real? Did Domingo really cover up accidentally killing a client? Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to write a play about it?
The audience clapped and gave the actors a standing ovation. After the play ended and the audience members cleared out, the lobby was opened up for the after party. Domingo was there, and I could see him speaking harshly in a corner with the director. I decided not to linger. Domingo was probably ready to strangle him for the betrayal. Instead, Jim and I mingled with Mom and some of her fellow cast members.
“That was… awful…” Peter said under his breath to Mom, Jim, and me. “I felt horrible. The writer was devastated. I could see him sinking down in his chair the whole time.”
“The audience loved it,” my mom said to reassure him.
Nate shook her head. “It was pretty bad. I’ve been telling Ricky since day one that this was a terrible idea. The musical number especially.”
“I love the musical number,” Jim said, and I stepped on his foot discretely. He smirked and gave me a sideways glance.
“Yeah, you sure can dance, Nate,” Tony said, smirking.
“The audience would have liked it just as much as a drama,” Nate said. “It wasn’t written to be a comedy. I feel like we just slapped the writer in the face.”
“So, the play is a fiction, right?” I asked. “I mean… it’s not based off his real life or anything?”
Peter laughed. “You really think he’d write a play about him accidentally giving a client a heart attack while they were in bed together and then covering it up and leaving town? Domingo’s a smart guy, right?”
“Right,” I said, but I was starting to question it. I glanced over my shoulder through the crowd of people, eyeing Domingo who was waving his arms around in frustration towards Ricky, the director.
“Jim!” a familiar voice called, and Jim and I spun around to see a woman with fiery red hair and a baker’s apron staring back at us.
It was Cassandra from Cassandra’s Cookies. I smiled at her; she and her workers had just finished setting up the dessert table, and I guess she had stopped by to say hello.
“Cassandra,” Jim said in this low, annoyed tone that caused me to feel a bit uncomfortable. It was so… rude… and so unlike Jim.
Cassandra ignored him and just smiled in my direction. “Hey, Kate, good to see you again. How were those brownies?”
“Amazing,” I said. “As always.”
“Wait… when did you two meet?” Jim asked.
“I went by the shop a last week ago to deliver the catering contract for the director,” I said.
Jim’s face flushed and he crossed his arms. “I didn’t know you were catering,” he said angrily.
Why is he angry?
Something was wrong. A sixth sense buzzed in my head. Why was he being rude to Cassandra?
I had been sending him to her café a lot to get those brownies. Had that had some sort of spat?
Cassandra, polite as ever, ignored Jim and continued to smile at me. “Well… anyways… I’m glad you liked the brownies. I was sure to put out a plate of them. I heard you were having twins?”
“How did you hear that?” Jim spat and I couldn’t help but to elbow him. My goodness, that tone of his!
“Paula told me,” Cassandra said, putting her hands on her hips. “Do we have a problem, Jim?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Okay, then,” she said, shaking it off. “Well, anyways, yeah. Paula told me – she came by to taste test the raspberry and cream cheese blintzes for the party.” Cassandra motioned to the table filled with delectable treats
I laughed. “Yum, I’ll have to try those next,” I said.
Cassandra smiled at me and then gave Jim a queer look, with that she headed off to chat to some others who were circling the dessert table.
“What was that about?” I snapped at Jim.
“It’s nothing,” he said in a tone that told me he definitely didn’t want to talk about this it, so I dropped it for the time being.
We were there to enjoy a party, so I wasn’t going to let petty stuff spoil the evening. Jim was normally a friendly and personable guy. I figured something must be up to make him act that way.
I squeezed his arm, letting him know I was giving him the benefit of the doubt.
The party continued, and apart from Vicente sulking in a corner, it was a lot of fun. We mingled, ate some amazing food, and of course once I had properly dined I headed for that dessert table.
I took one bite of that brownie with the purple icing and had to spit it out quickly into my napkin. Nope!
Craving done!
In fact, I was a bit repulsed by it. I suppose I’d had one too many. I tossed my napkin in the trash, glancing around hoping no one had noticed.
Suddenly, I heard people shouting over in the corner. “Call 911!” someone whaled.
“She’s not breathing!” called another.
I hurried over, and there she was. A woman wearing a Cassandra’s Cookies apron sprawled out on the floor.
“Is she unconscious?” someone asked.
“Is there a doctor in the house?” another called out.
Vicente rushed over. “Back up. Give her some air,” he demanded. “Let me help. I know CPR.”
The crowd parted for him and he dropped to her knees next to her. I got a good look at the woman. I was certain she was dead.
And, to make matters worse, I knew her.
Chapter Six
An ambulance arrived and took over the CPR from Vicente. They had hushed tones to each other about the woman’s pulse or lack thereof.
The paramedics loaded her onto a stretcher and hauled the woman out of the theater post haste.
The crowd buzzed around in shock, the decibel level of their distress growing to an ear-shattering crescendo.
“A heart attack?” Someone asked.
“But she’s so young,” another said.
“Could have been an aneurysm,” a woman in pink tulle offered.
“Did she just die?” a man swirling a champagne flute asked.
Cassandra and the other employees at Cassandra’s Cookies, which consisted of four others apart from Cassandra and the woman who’d collapsed, were all standing nearby wide-eyed with horror-stricken looks painted on their faces.
“What… what happened!” Cassandra at last exclaimed. “Morgan was fine five minutes ago!”
No one could be sure yet – but I suspected foul play.
Why? Because Morgan was the adulteress.
That’s right. The man I’d been following around? Yeah, his mistress was the woman who’d just be taken to the hospital.
I texted Galigani to get down there ASAP. I looked around with a keen sense about me. Our client wasn’t here, and neither was creepy Bill – our client’s husband, the adulterer.
I had just taken pictures of Bill and Morgan last night. Something wasn’t right.
And, what are the chances of that anyways?
Jim rubbed my shoulder. “Awe, man,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s so sweet. I hope she’d okay.”
“Jim,” I whispered, pushing him back so we weren’t too close to anyone who might overhear. “Remember that client I was telling
you about?”
“Sarah something or another?” Jim asked. “You and Kenny snapped a picture of her husband last night, right?”
“Right,” I said and then nodded my head back towards Morgan. “Guess who was the mistress?”
“No,” he moaned in frustration for me. “Kate, do you think your client could be behind this?”
Before I could answer, Vicente Domingo crossed the room toward Cassandra.
“Ma’am,” he said, putting his hand out towards Cassandra. “My name is Vicente Domingo, and I’m a private investigator. If you would like for me to look into—”
“Actually,” Cassandra said, turning towards Jim and me. She hadn’t raised her hand to shake, so she just left Vicente standing there awkwardly with his extended hand as she turned his back to him. “I was going to ask you, Kate. You’re a PI, right?”
I grinned, flashing a smile in Vicente’s direction. He frowned, then shook his head as if this was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. He was about to speak, when I stepped in front of him and said, “And, I would love—”
“She’ll think about it,” Jim interrupted, and hr touched my arm like he was trying to cart me away.
Vicente laughed and puffed up like a peacock. “Ah, no need to worry. If Kate is too busy with her babies, then—”
Now, I was mad.
Between Jim and Vicente it’s a wonder I’d ever land another client.
“No, Jim,” I said. “I don’t need to think about it.” Then I turned to Vicente and hissed, “And I’m not too busy. I would love to help Cassandra out.” I turned to her. “I’ll do whatever I can to try to find out what happened to your employee.”
Vicente huffed off and a sour expression crossed Jim’s face.
“Thanks goodness,” Cassandra said. “Thank you, Kate.” She shook my hand and I felt her trembling.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
Her grip tightened around my hand for a moment, and then she went limp; diving right into me and almost toppling me.
Jim caught me, but Cassandra crumpled to the floor.
“Oh my goodness,” my mother shrieked, racing over toward us.
Now the party went into full blown panic mode. Whatever rumors had been circulating about Morgan quickly turned into ‘someone was out to get everyone at this party’.
I immediately thought about Vicente. Could he have been so angry about the production that he would do something to hurt these people?
But then why the caterers?
Had this been an accident? Or a coincidence?
Vicente rushed from across the room and administered CPR, while I dialed 911.
Cleary, whatever had just happened to Morgan was repeating itself with Cassandra. So Morgan had not collapsed from natural causes.
What then?
Was the food poisoned? The after party had begun right after the play – what were the odds someone could poison the food while we all milled around? I glasses around the room, almost everyone had a champagne flute or martini glass in their hand. Could our prep have slipped Morgan and Cassandra a mickie?
If so, why?
As I was contemplating my next move, Galigani burst through the theater doors, followed a few uniformed policemen. He rushed over to where I and began peppering me with questions.
The police took over the CPR duties and then another paramedic crew rushed in to attend to Cassandra.
Vicente came over to us and I realized I had lost track of Jim.
Where was he?
He’d been quite a character all night. Rude was the word I kept thinking.
Now, the police seemed to be everywhere, swarming through the crowd, taking names and contact information.
“The first woman was dead,” Vicente said. “I’m sure of it. I couldn’t get any pulse. This one, I think will be okay.”
Galigani nodded at him. “Yeah, I heard it on my scanner on my way down here, the first lady was DOA.”
I bit my lip, I wanted to fill Galigani in on the first woman being our
I couldn’t find him anywhere. I started looking around, and I realized he was not in the lobby at all. A few people had trickled outside, so I wondered out into the parking where I spot Jim speaking with an officer by a patrol car. Nothing unusual – a lot of people were speaking with officers about what they had witnessed. I started walking towards him, and the next thing I knew Jim was being put into the back of a patrol car. What!
I bolted over. “Hey!” I shouted, approaching the officer. “What’s going on? Why are you arresting my husband!”
“He’s not under arrest, ma’am,” the officer assured me. “We’re just taking him to the station for additional questioning, and he’s cooperating.”
“Um… okay, but why?” I demanded, and I see Jim tapping on the glass of the back window. The officer opened up the back door so that I could speak with him. “Jim! What’s going on?” I asked, my voice slightly shrill.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just go home, babe, and I’ll be home later tonight.”
“Um, I think I should worry about it, seeing as how Cassandra asked me to investigate this case,” I said.
“Just go home,” he said and repositioned himself in the back seat.
The officer closed the door, politely tipped his hat to me, and got into the drivers seat. I stood there with my mouth opened wide, trying to figure out why in the world Jim would need to be taken in for additional questioning. “Kate!” I hear my mom’s voice, and I turned around to see her sprinting to me across the parking lot. “Kate, why are they taking Jim? Is he being arrested?” My mom looked near ready to keel over in shock.
“No, Mom,” I said. “They just asked him to come in for some additional questioning, that’s all.”
“But, why?” Mom asked, her voice full of panic.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But, I promise I’m going to find out. Galigani is on the way here… I’m going to call him and tell him to meet me at the station.” I stepped aside, gave Galigani a call to tell him what was happening, and he agreed to meet me and Mom down at the station. I took my new job seriously, so I really didn’t want to walk away from the scene of the crime just yet. But, whatever was going on with Jim was a greater priority to me – and, to Galigani as well, it seemed.
Mom and I took mine and Jim’s car to the station, and when we pulled up I spied Galigani’s car in the parking lot. He was just getting out of his car when we parked next to him. “Any news?” Galigani asked.
“Nothing new since we spoke on the phone,” I said, jumping out of the driver’s seat while my mom scurried out to give her boyfriend a reassuring hug.
“Okay, no need to panic just yet,” Galigani assured us both, gripping my mom. “Let’s just go inside and speak with the police.”
“Okay,” I said, following him. Galigani has been doing this whole PI think for quite a while. He has probably seen it all, so I was letting him take the reins here. He knew how to speak to police without making thigs more difficult; with my hormones all out of wack, the last thing I needed was to upset an officer when my husband was evidently being interrogated.
Once inside, Galigani told mom and me to sit down and that he would find out what was happening with Jim. He knew half of the officers in this particular prescient, and for the most part they all had a lot of respect for him. Half the cops in this city couldn’t stand PI’s, but Galigani was the exception for most. He conducted himself professionally, and he had proven himself time and time again to be an asset. He even worked cases with the police from time to time.
I felt myself tapping my foot impatiently, watching Galigani from across the station. My mom put her hand on my knee so that I would stop. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Kate,” my mom said reassuringly. “It’s Jim. What sort of trouble could Jim possibly have gotten himself into?”
She had an excellent point. I’d be surprised if someone told me my husband stomped
on a butterfly. He was a softie, a total gentleman. He never made any enemies – not really. To think he could have done anything to get himself into trouble was ridiculous. After what felt like hours but was probably less than ten minutes, Galigani came over and sat down next to my mom and me on the bench. “Well?” I asked.
“They’re still questioning Jim,” Galigani said. “But, they’re almost through. He’ll be able to leave in just a few minutes.”
“But, why are they questioning Jim?” I asked.
“The woman who was poisoned, the one who is still alive and is at the hospital, she and Jim had an altercation a few weeks ago,” Galigani said. “The police were called to the scene and everything.”
“Wait, what?” I asked, sitting up straight. “Someone called the police on Jim!”
“Sounds like it,” Galigani said.
“Why… why hasn’t Jim told me!” I practically shouted, and Mom hushed me. I was drawing attention to myself. I took a deep breath. Calm. “Do you know what happened?” I asked.
“They didn’t give me details, but there was some sort of incident a few weeks ago at Cassandra’s bakery. The two of them got into some verbal altercation, and Cassandra wound up calling the police down there to escort Jim off the property. She didn’t press charges or anything, but it’s on record,” Galigani said. “And, since Cassandra was one of the victims, they just wanted to talk to him about the incident.”
“I can’t believe Jim had to be escorted off a property,” I said. “That doesn’t sound like Jim at all. What could those two have possibly been having an argument about?”
“It wasn’t brownies, was it?” my mom asked, and I rolled my eyes.
“Surely Jim didn’t get into an argument over brownies,” I said. I know my cravings had been pretty bad with this pregnancy, but surely that would not lead Jim into getting into a fight with a bakery owner. Something else was up, and I didn’t like it.
My mom crossed her arms. “I just don’t see Jim getting into an argument with someone he barely knows. Does he know Cassandra?”
“Not that I know of,” I said, shaking my head. “He has been in and out of that bakery a lot in the past month or two picking up those stupid brownies for me. Maybe he got irritated one day when they didn’t have them and had to wait around for a long time?”
