I quickly slipped into the freezer. I paused inside and shivered. Though Clarice had already cleaned out a lot, the space was still stark. There, right in front of me, was a gigantic bloodstain.
The sight of it made me want to get out—and fast. I quickly secured the door with several boxes, just to make sure it didn’t slip shut and result in Gassy turning into Ice Cube-y.
This was where Emma Jean had been placed. She’d continued to bleed until the cold had stopped it. Despite the localization, the whole place had to be sanitized. Everything inside here should be thrown away. The freezer really should be thawed and scrubbed from top to bottom, but Borski hadn’t turned it off in time to properly defrost.
I guessed he’d never heard of blood-borne pathogens.
I started by pouring hot water on the floor to loosen the ice. Then I poured some bleach. Clarice helped me to wipe it all up and helped by bringing more hot water.
It wasn’t a pretty job. I wasn’t pretty when Clarice and I emerged from the freezer an hour later. My nose was red like I’d been outside in the freezing cold, yet my hair had the humidity effect going on and sprigs had started to spring from my baseball cap. My shoes were wet, despite the covering I’d put on them.
I needed to step back, let the freezer dry, and then reassess everything we’d done.
The good news was, Borski was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Selena and Julian were staring at us, watching us like they had nothing better to do.
“Not busy?” I asked, wiping my forehead.
“Not since the news leaked information about what supposedly happened here,” Selena said, giving me a death stare.
“Bummer.” I set a mop down and pulled my goggles off.
“Tell me about it.” She pursed her lips. “The only thing that’s worse than being busy is not being busy.”
That was deep.
“Mr. Borski left?” I asked.
“He said he needed to take a mental health day,” the sous chef said. “Gassy.”
I think people liked saying my name a little too much.
I wanted to give Clarice a dirty look, but I couldn’t without raising suspicions.
“He’s looked stressed to the max lately.” He flipped the knife in the air and caught the handle. He was obviously bored also.
The blonde finally sighed and disappeared to sit on a couch in Borski’s office.
“Impressive.” I pulled off my hat and facemask too. Without Borski here, I didn’t have to worry so much.
Clarice stepped out of the freezer also and rolled her neck. She unzipped the top of her Tyvek suite, which seemed to grab Julian’s attention.
He shrugged, smiling at Clarice. “I try. My dream was to be a carny at one time.”
“For real?” Clarice asked.
He nodded and flipped the knife again, obviously in impress mode. “Life is too boring to settle down, you know? I’ve already been a gardener, and a lifeguard, and a nanny. I figured I’d be a sous chef for a while. Who knows what the future holds for me? Bull rider? Tattoo artist? The possibilities are endless.”
“Endless,” I echoed.
“That’s the great part about America—the dreams we can dream and accomplish,” he continued. “At least, that’s true of the country as it now stands. We’ll see what happens after the election, right?”
“It’s like the fate of the world hinges on it,” I muttered.
Wherever I went, people wanted to talk about the election. And my conversation with Leona still left me perturbed. At least this conversation was better suited than the one I’d had when I was getting a cavity filled. The dentist went on and on about his choice of candidate. Actually, he’d gone on and on about the other guy: someone who would destroy our nation. I was afraid he might end up giving me a root canal just because he was so angry.
It was exhausting, in all honesty.
Julian slid his knife back into the butcher block. “Can I fix you something to drink? I make a killer smoothie.”
“Sounds great,” Clarice said. “I’ll take anything you can give me.”
I shrugged. “Why not?”
“So you guys are crime scene cleaners?” he asked, his gaze still on Clarice as he began to pull various fruits from the bowls on an island in the center of the kitchen.
Clarice smiled up at him. “That’s right.”
“How do pretty girls like you two end up in a career like this?”
Everything in me wanted to share my list of accomplishments and how I’d risen above my blue-collar career into a more prestigious one. After all, I had worked hard to get where I was. But I knew I’d only be shooting myself in the foot if I shared my affiliation with law enforcement. I needed to seem disconnected to all of this. It was honestly the best way to get information—most of the time.
Clarice and I exchanged a glance, and I nodded toward her. She was supposed to be the lead today, so she should act like it.
“I was just looking to make some extra money,” Clarice said. “I stumbled into it, I guess. But I’ve met some super great people. And I do feel like I’m making a difference, in my own way. People need closure, and what I do helps them.”
Her answer surprised me. Sometimes she came across like an airhead who only skimmed the surface of life. Other times her depth amazed me. She usually surfaced fast enough to give me the bends before plunging down deep again.
“Sounds noble.” He began chopping some bananas and strawberries.
“These are organic, right?” I asked, trying to work the subject in. “That’s all I eat.”
He smiled but said nothing, just kept chopping.
“Uh oh. You’re avoiding my question.” I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
“I’m just not answering it.”
“I see.”
He chopped silently for a few minutes before nodding toward the boxes. “You see those boxes over there?”
I glanced in the direction he pointed. There were several cardboard containers, all stamped with ORGANIC. “I see them.”
“That’s what our fruits and vegetables come in. That should answer your question.”
Interesting. That’s what Borski had done. Transferred the produce from the bags into these boxes. Then he’d delivered them to the restaurant himself. No one had questioned him.
Except maybe Emma Jean. Or did Julian suspect it also? I couldn’t read his grin.
I crossed my arms. “So, how do deliveries work here? I mean, this setup isn’t traditional. I imagine trucks would have trouble getting back here because of the narrow alleys. Our van even found it tight.”
He threw some fruit into a blender. “Greg hand-chooses everything himself. He insists on picking it up from local growers and brings it in every couple of days.”
“Wow. That’s dedication.” And a lie. How many lies had Borski told?
“That’s Greg for you. He even picks up the meat, poultry, and fish from local farms and fishermen. Some things we can’t get in this area. He has a friend from up north who brings certain kinds of fish down for him.”
Sure he did.
I glanced at Julian as he turned the blender on. He definitely seemed to have a talent and flare. He’d cut those fruits up like a pro. My finger would have come off by now.
I wandered to the other side of the room to the lockers there. One of the doors had photos taped to the front. It obviously belonged to Julian. One showed him playing some hippy-looking instrument around a bonfire. Another had him suspended over train tracks as if levitating. Still another featured him squatting beside some kind of white plant with pruning shears in his hands.
Interesting that all of his photos were of himself, but maybe these pictures just made him happy.
I needed to find out what he knew. Because he knew something. He’d threatened to cut off Emma Jean’s fingers, according to Borski. A moment later, he handed Clarice and me our smoothies. I wasn’t going to lie: they looked good. Really good.
I took a sip
and let the fruity flavors wash over my taste buds. Perfection.
“You should make a pumpkin one,” Clarice said, peering over her straw like a pinup girl.
Did she do that on purpose? Or did she try to be sexy and coy? I honestly thought it came naturally to her.
“I love pumpkin,” she murmured. “It’s super yummy.”
“Everyone loves pumpkin,” Julian said with a grin. “It’s the watermelon of the fall.”
She giggled. “I like that.”
Julian’s eyes warmed, and he looked pleased that Clarice was giggling. What about poor Nate? He wasn’t my favorite person, but still . . .
I took a few more sips before broaching the subject I really wanted to talk about.
“So, it’s crazy what happened here, isn’t it? I’m sure the lady who died will be missed at The Crispy Biscuit. I’m surprised there’s no memorial set up in her memory.”
He chopped up some more fruit, obviously making a smoothie for himself now. As he did so, he glanced up at me. I waited for him to slice his finger open. He didn’t.
“Not really,” he deadpanned. “No memorials or wakes or times of mourning here.”
Ouch.
“How do you think she ended up here in the freezer?” Clarice jumped in before I could ask about his morbid assessment. “That’s what I can’t get over. It’s super weird.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I think it’s all crazy.”
I took another sip of fruity goodness before a new thought hit me: I hoped none of the nonorganic fruits had been anywhere near that blood spatter. After all, the killer had only left her in the freezer. Who knew what happened between the time she died and the time she ended up in the freezer. Where was the health department?
I set my smoothie down. “I heard she had a lot of enemies.”
He glanced back at me again, slicing a pineapple as he did so. “How’d you hear that? Did you know her?”
Careful, Gassy. Don’t show your hand.
“It was on the news.” I tried to say it like it was no big deal. “Or maybe it was a blog.”
Julian gave me a sideways glance. “Do you always read up on the murders you’re cleaning up after?”
I decided to go with the truth. “I do. Unfortunately. I guess you could call it morbid curiosity.”
“I think I would do the same thing,” Julian said. “But, yeah, Emma Jean wasn’t the most friendly person. She had a talent for rubbing people the wrong way.”
“Even here at the restaurant?” Clarice asked.
Clarice and I shared the trait of having unquenchable curiosities, which worked in my favor at the moment because she rounded out the conversation nicely. We seemed like three friends—one with a bad name—standing around, shooting the breeze.
Julian chuckled sardonically. “Especially here at the restaurant. I’m not saying someone here finished her off because of it or anything. I’ll leave that for the police to determine.”
“I didn’t say that,” Clarice said. “The whole situation is just fascinating.”
“She was an opinionated know-it-all. She wasn’t afraid of anyone. People didn’t like that.” He stuck more fruit in the blender, casually glancing toward the door leading outside the restaurant. There was still no action there. Customers had deserted this place.
“I see. So . . . like, what did she do?” Clarice asked.
She couldn’t have done a better job if I prepped her.
He snorted. “Well, when she was here on Monday, all I can say is that she was extremely agitated.”
“Why?” My pulse spiked as I anticipated what he might say. This could be the missing puzzle piece I’d been searching for.
I only hoped Julian shared before Selena came back in here and stopped all my snooping.
“Well, apparently her ex-husband came in here with his new girlfriend.” He poured his smoothie into a tall glass.
My eyes widened. No they didn’t . . . Bill and Katarina? Funny how Bill had never mentioned that. A lie of omission? That made my neighbor look guilty. Very guilty.
Chapter Thirteen
“Her ex brought his new girlfriend here?” Clarice’s bottom lip dropped open in soap opera worthy shock. “That takes a lot of nerve.”
I had to agree with her. That took nerve. Like, a lot of nerve. Why would Bill do something that tactless?
“He came in quite a bit,” Julian said, eating up all the attention. “I guess this was his favorite restaurant.”
My jaw dropped open this time. “No . . . “
He leaned back and sipped his drink. “Oh, yeah. I heard about it every time he came here with his super hot girlfriend. Emma Jean was going out of her mind with jealousy.”
“I can imagine.” I shook my head, picturing it playing out in my mind. “That just seems so rude.”
“According to Emma Jean, her ex was rude all the time. But he especially liked to flaunt his new girlfriend.”
Clarice shook her head. “If I was the super hot girlfriend, I definitely wouldn’t want to be flaunted.”
What? That sounded like the Clarice I knew and loved. I didn’t have time to even wonder about where those words had come from. Julian was still being chatty, and that was the most important thing.
“You know who her ex is, don’t you?” Julian shook his glass, urging any parts of his wayward smoothie downward. “He’s that obnoxious radio talk show host. Bill McCormick.”
“You know—I think I heard that. He is obnoxious.” And Bill had kept that detail from me. The realization made anger simmer inside me. His omission only made him seem guilty.
“It’s not just on the radio. Bringing his new girlfriend here just shows how much of a jerk he really is. It’s not just for show.”
“I’d say so.” I pressed my lips together, choosing my words wisely. “I even heard the police are looking at him as a suspect.”
“They should.” Julian took another long sip.
But why? Why would Bill kill Emma Jean? That’s what didn’t make sense. What would he gain from it? After all, he had everything going for him.
Unless Emma Jean had something hanging over him also. Because Emma Jean liked to have things hanging over people. Maybe she had something that could ruin Bill’s newfound success.
Bill and I needed to have a serious talk. Soon.
“This was delicious.” Clarice set her empty glass, smeared only with some leftover pink smudge on the edges, on the stainless steel counter. “I guess we should finish the freezer.”
As she said that, Selena the cook stepped out, clanking some keys in her hands. “I’m outta here.”
“What do you mean out of here?” Julian asked.
“I’m done. This place is done. I have better things to do with my time.”
“Are you going to tell Greg first?” Julian continued, his eyes nearly bulging now.
“Frankly, I don’t care if he knows or not. He dug himself into this hole.” She offered a wave, dropped her uniform on the floor, and left out the backdoor.
“I can’t believe that,” Julian ran a hand through his hair, not looking quite as laid-back as he had earlier.
“She makes it sound like this place is doomed,” I said, trying to take as long as possible to finish my smoothie so I could prolong this conversation. “Is the restaurant really doing that badly?”
Julian frowned. “I don’t know. I think she’s exaggerating.”
“I mean, this will pass, right? As soon as they find this woman’s real killer, everything will go back to normal. The Crispy Biscuit will be the ‘it’ restaurant again for health-conscious foodies in the area.”
He nodded a little hesitantly and averted his gaze. “Right.”
Okay, that really hadn’t given me any answers. I needed some definitive proof about what was going on here. That meant I needed to somehow get Julian out of here so I could snoop. So I could really snoop.
Clarice was the perfect person to help me with that task, but I somehow had t
o get that message to her. Did she know me well enough to read my cues? I was going to find out.
I flung my gaze toward the outside door, careful not to move my neck. Clarice watched me, her eyes full of questions. Finally, she nodded.
“You need to go outside?” she muttered.
I gave her a look and shook my head, hoping Julian didn’t see me.
“You have a head twitch?”
I seriously wanted to strangle her. I shook my head again. I flung my gaze even more dramatically toward the outside door and then at Julian.
Her lips formed an O. “Julian, I could use help getting some of this equipment back outside. Would you mind helping me while Gab—Gassy, I mean, finishes up in the freezer? Then we’ll get out of your hair so you can finish . . . making smoothies and stuff.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Finish making smoothies? I supposed that was what he was doing. But . . .
“Sure thing. I don’t have anything better to do.” He grabbed an air scrub and began hauling it from the freezer.
As soon as he disappeared from sight, I ducked into Borski’s office. I opened a few drawers but saw nothing.
How did people keep books? Was it on paper?
No, of course not. Even I didn’t keep my books on paper.
It would be on the computer.
I tapped his keyboard and his screen popped on. Apparently, Selena had been playing Minecraft. Interesting.
I closed that screen and scrolled through the other applications until I found some accounting software. As I heard Julian and Clarice coming back inside, I ducked under the desk.
“Where’s your friend?” Julian asked.
“Probably in the bathroom. She has some digestive issues,” Clarice said. “It was like a premonition that her mom named her Gassy.”
I scowled.
“Enough said,” Julian muttered.
I waited until their voices passed before going back to the computer. I remained low as I hit the keyboard. A moment later, the ledger appeared.
I didn’t have to look very far to see that this restaurant was clearly in the red. Like, really in the red. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in the red.
Cunning Attractions Page 9
