by Mary Kennedy
“You discovered him?” the older paramedic asked.
I hesitated. “Yes,” I said. Not exactly true, but I wasn’t sure if Gina was up to answering any questions. The blood had drained from her face, and she’d wobbled over to the curb, sitting with her head in her hands.
“I’m the one who called it in,” Ali volunteered. She was standing over Gina with her hand resting protectively on her shoulder.
“The police will want to interview you,” the older paramedic said, making her way toward us. She looked bone-tired and eager to be on her way. I wondered how emergency workers managed to deal with crisis after crisis and maintain their emotional equilibrium.
“They’re here,” Ali said quietly. Two squad cars pulled up fast with lights flashing, and I watched as Samantha Stiles jumped out and headed for the studio. She nodded at us, her gaze sweeping over Gina sitting on the curb. Sam gave me a questioning look, and when I shrugged, she made a sharp gesture with her fingers splayed.
“All of you, stay right here.” She was obviously the incident commander and spoke with quiet authority to three uniformed officers who accompanied her. “The ME’s on her way. Nobody in or out until she gives the okay.” She stepped into the studio and approached the paramedics, who were packing up their equipment. “What do we have here?” she said, indicating the prone Chico. “Any idea on time of death?” I knew the medical examiner would have the final word on this, but I suppose she wanted a rough estimate.
“We got the call eighteen minutes ago,” one of the paramedics told her, consulting her clipboard. She turned away from the doorway and I caught the words “dead for some time” and “rigor has set in.” I cringed and took a deep breath, determined to hold it together. Gina was crying softly to herself, and I wondered if it was the result of shock, or if she was genuinely upset at Chico’s death.
A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk, and one of the uniformed officers pushed everyone back when the coroner’s van arrived a couple of minutes later. “Nothing to see here, folks, nothing to see,” he said, which didn’t help to dispel their curiosity.
Dr. Ranklin, a petite woman with sharp features, emerged from the van and snapped on a pair of surgical gloves. She walked into the dance studio, pulling the door closed behind her. Now the gawkers turned their attention to the tearstained Gina, sitting unhappily at the curb, just as another wave of dizziness hit me.
“We’re going across the street,” I said to the nearest officer, who barely looked old enough to shave. I tried to put a little steel in my voice even though I was feeling shaky. “My sister’s shop is right there, and we live above it.”
“Ma’am,” he began uncertainly, “I think Detective Stiles wants you to remain here—”
“My friend is ill,” I cut in firmly. “Detective Stiles knows where we live, and she can interview us the moment she comes out.” I pointed to Oldies but Goodies for emphasis. “See, we’re just across the street. We’ll wait for her inside.”
Before he could raise another objection, I walked over to Gina, grasped her by the elbow, and briskly pulled her to her feet. “Let’s get her inside,” I said to Ali, who had tucked her arm around Gina’s waist. “Something hot to drink will work wonders for all of us.” A good shot of brandy might have been a better choice, but I felt uncomfortable suggesting it, with the young officer listening to my every word.
“Sit,” I ordered Gina the moment we were upstairs. The color was slowly coming back to her face, but her features were haggard and drawn.
“Shall I make her some herb tea?” Ali asked, fluttering around. She began pulling strange-smelling teas from the cabinet and piling them on the kitchen table. She’s fond of teas I’ve never heard of, made from exotic herbs and vegetables. Some of them are appealing, but others smell like dirty feet, and I knew Gina needed caffeine in her system.
I studied Gina, who was motionless, her hands resting in her lap, staring blankly at the gingham tablecloth. “Forget the herb tea, I think she needs some strong espresso.” Ali raised a questioning eyebrow at me. “I bought some; it’s on the top shelf.”
Ali made a little moue of disapproval, but began brewing the espresso. In a few moments, a lovely fragrance filled the kitchen. She pulled out a pan of strudel that was homemade from Granny Smith apples and cut generous wedges.
“Eat, Gina,” I said, pushing a plate and fork toward her. She held up a hand in protest, but I ignored her. “Sugar, you need sugar,” I insisted. “Just have a few bites if that’s all you can manage.”
I poured her a cup of steaming espresso and she accepted it gratefully. No one said anything for a few minutes as we sat at the table, lost in our own thoughts, listening to the commotion outside. I noticed that Barney and Scout were awake and alert, ears forward, balancing on the window ledge, watching the scene below.
I expected Sam Stiles to burst in on us at any moment, and I wanted Gina to have a few minutes to pull herself together. My own heart rate had slowed and I was feeling calmer. Just as well because I knew Sam would be in full detective mode when she confronted us, and friend or not, we’d have to be on our toes.
9
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Sam said minutes later. She was slightly breathless, and her face was flushed after rushing up the stairs from the shop. She sank into one of the ladderback chairs around the kitchen table and waved away the coffee and pastry. “I told Bates to keep you at the studio,” she said peevishly. “I’m going to have to have a word with him. He never should have let a material witness exit a potential crime scene.” She tsk-tsked to herself, whipped out a notebook and pen, all set to take our statements.
“Gina wasn’t well,” I pointed out. “Surely you saw her sitting on the curb. She might have been in shock, and I was worried about her health. I thought it was more appropriate to bring her inside.”
Sam flashed me a steely look, not prepared to be conciliatory. “Be that as it may, we have certain protocols for these situations. Normally the three of you would be separated, and you would each give your own statement. Witnesses are interviewed independently. That’s one of the first rules of investigation.”
Her eyes bore into mine, and she waited a moment for that to sink in. I knew where she was heading. She was annoyed that all three of us had had time to talk to each other and maybe even be in collusion, providing alibis for each other. But we were friends, weren’t we? If Chico was the victim of foul play—and I still wasn’t sure that was the case—she didn’t suspect us, did she?
“Since it’s too late for separate statements”—she heaved a sigh—“I’ll interview you all together right now.”
I spread my hands in a gesture of apology. “I’m sorry if we caused any problems for you, Sam. I’m the one who insisted that Gina come upstairs. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”
She nodded briefly and turned to Gina. “You’re the one who found the body. Why don’t you walk me through it. What were you doing at the studio today?”
Gina took a deep breath and related how she’d come over to borrow the key and Sam interrupted her. “Ali, you had a key to the studio? That seems odd. How come you had a key and Gina didn’t?”
Ali flushed. Her brow furrowed as she considered the question. “Chico and I exchanged keys just in case of emergency. You know, in case there was flooding or a fire or . . . something. In either one of our buildings, I mean . . .” Her voice trailed off and she gave a little helpless wave of her hand.
“We tried to look out for each other.”
Sam was eyeing her coolly, as if she didn’t believe a word of it. “So Ali, you had a key for”—Sam paused—“emergencies, and Gina, who worked at the studio every day, didn’t have her own key.” She arched her eyebrows suspiciously.
“I did have my own key a long time ago,” Gina said sullenly. “One day Chico forgot his key and borrowed mine. He never gave it back. It wasn’t a bi
g deal. He was at the studio night and day; it was his whole life. That’s how I knew something was wrong when he didn’t let me in.” The last words ended in a sob, and she raised a napkin to her eyes.
“So tell me what happened next,” Sam pressed on.
Gina continued her story, and I placed the espresso pot on the table. This time Sam accepted a cup and nodded her thanks. Her fingers were flying as she recorded Gina’s words in her notebook.
“I’m a little puzzled about something. Gina, you were the one to discover the body, right?” she asked, frowning. “But why did the paramedic tell me Taylor was the first one to find him?”
I gave a dismissive little grunt. “A miscommunication. All of us were peering inside the studio at”—I paused—“Chico.” It seemed strange to say “the body.”
“But Gina is the only one who actually entered the studio, is that correct?” Sam waited for affirmation and then scribbled some more.
“Do they know what happened to him?” Ali blurted out. She’d been quiet during the entire interrogation, and I wondered where her thoughts were taking her. “You said it was a potential crime scene, so does that mean you suspect murder?” Her voice wobbled on the last word.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Sam said, her expression closed, her voice flat. She was all business. “At the moment, we’re calling it a suspicious death. That’s as much as I can tell you right now. Once we get the ME’s report, I’ll have more information.”
After a few perfunctory questions, Sam decided she had enough to write a preliminary report and stood up. “I’m sure we’ll have more questions for all of you,” she said. “If anything else comes to mind, any detail, no matter how small, I want you to call me immediately.”
We nodded, struck by her solemn tone. This was the first time any of us had seen Sam in action as a Savannah PD detective, and she was impressive. Cool, methodical, and deliberate in her questioning, with a steady gaze and no-nonsense style that guaranteed compliance.
I stood up to walk her downstairs, and she surprised me by turning to ask one more question. “Does anyone know if Chico had family? A next of kin?” She directed her question to all of us, but I suspected that she was really interested in what Gina would say. Gina steadfastly kept her head down, staring at her plate.
“He mentioned a wife, or maybe an ex-wife back in Colombia,” Ali said slowly. “But I don’t have the name or any contact information.”
“He told you he had a wife?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. Her tone was incredulous. From what I knew of Chico’s philandering habits, this seemed totally out of character. I just didn’t picture him as a family man.
“No, Chico didn’t mention it,” Ali said quickly. “Someone else must have told me, but I can’t remember who.”
“If you think of it, let me know.” She snapped her notebook shut and glanced around the table. “I’ll let myself out, ladies.”
I returned to the kitchen table, and for a moment, we were silent. Gina seemed to have gotten a grip on her emotions and thanked us for looking after her. Ali gave her a quick hug and promised to check in on her later tonight. She asked if Gina would like to stay for dinner but she declined. She said she was exhausted and was eager to go home and take a nap.
“I don’t think they’ll let me back in the studio to check the computer, will they? I could call the students,” Gina offered.
“I’m sure they won’t,” I said, shaking my head. “But you don’t have to worry about that. There will probably be something in tomorrow’s paper,” I added, “so everyone will know that classes are canceled.”
“Yes, of course, I should have thought of that. My brain isn’t working today.” Gina gave a wan smile and hesitated. “Are they still there?” she asked softly. “The police?” I knew she didn’t want to see the coroner’s van or, worse, Chico’s body lying on a gurney.
“I think they left,” I said, walking to the window. Barney and Scout had lost interest in the scene below, and sure enough, the street was empty. “All clear,” I told Gina, and she headed down the stairs.
I heaved a sigh when Ali and I were finally alone in the kitchen. Barney seemed to sense my mood and circled around my feet for a moment before jumping into my lap. He nuzzled the top of his head against my hand, giving tiny meows encouraging me to pet him. “I think this calls for something stronger than espresso,” I said ruefully.
Ali opened the fridge and poured us both hefty glasses of white wine. “You know what I think we should do tonight?” she asked. Her brow was furrowed, her expression pensive.
My mind went blank for a moment. I felt bone-tired, and all I wanted to do was melt into the couch and have a quiet evening. But people deal with stress in different ways, and maybe Ali needed a distraction. “I hadn’t planned on going out, but we could grab some dinner or take in a movie, if that’s what you want.”
She shook her head and reached for the phone. “Dinner and a movie? Heavens, no, we don’t have time for anything like that. We have work to do.”
I glanced up as Scout settled companionably on the chair next to me and began grooming himself. “What did you have in mind?”
“We need answers, Taylor,” she said, and I could feel the tension in her voice. “We have to call an emergency meeting of the Dream Club.” She gave me a sharp look as if I was going to disagree with her, and I raised my hands, palms up.
“Whatever you want, Ali.”
She nodded, tilting her chin resolutely. “I’ll make the calls right now.”
10
“Don’t you think we should have invited Gina?” Lucinda asked, her face clouded with worry. “She’s going to wonder why she wasn’t included, and I think she needs us now more than ever.”
“This is a time to be surrounded by friends,” Dorien Myers agreed. “I can only imagine how shocked and upset she must be.”
“It’s better to let her rest,” Ali said firmly. “I did try to call her, but it went right to voice mail. She looked absolutely shattered when she left here, and I’m sure she’s turned her phone off for tonight. We can fill her in on everything tomorrow morning.”
Ali had pulled herself together very quickly after the shock of Chico’s death just a few hours earlier. I must admit, I was impressed by my kid sister. She appeared to be a lot stronger and more resilient than I’d realized.
She’d pulled out half a dozen casserole dishes from the freezer and had put together a quick supper for the Dream Club members. She’d managed to assemble everyone except Gina and Sam Stiles, and we all gathered in the cozy living room with the shuttered blinds open to the evening air. A fragrant breeze wafted in from the street, and a Mozart concerto was playing softly in the background.
“I don’t know how you managed to do all this,” Persia said, taking in the cheerful blue and yellow gingham tablecloth and matching napkins. I’d set the table buffet style with bright blue Fiesta ware and poured white wine for everyone. “Especially in light of what’s happened, Ali.” Persia went on, “After all, you were very close to Chico, weren’t you, Ali?” She kept her tone level, but the slight emphasis on the word “close” made me think she was making an effort to be discreet. Southern towns are rife with gossip, and Savannah is no exception.
“Well, of course—we were neighbors,” Ali cut in. “Everyone on the street is going to be upset by the news.” She glanced at Minerva and Rose Harper, the elderly sisters who ran the flower shop. “You probably knew Chico longer than anyone.” I remembered Ali telling me that the Harper sisters and their flower shop had been a fixture in the district for nearly half a century.
“Oh my yes,” Minerva said, scooping up a portion of green beans and toasted almonds. “I was surprised when he first moved in. I never thought he’d get much of a following in this neighborhood, but he proved me wrong. Women took to him, you know.”
“Like bees to honey,” Rose piped up. “
How did you get all this food together, Ali? This macaroni and cheese is absolutely delicious. It’s better than the one I make.”
“It has three different kinds of cheeses,” Ali said absently. “That’s the secret. And I add a touch of white wine. I’ll write the recipe down for you.” I noticed Ali had taken a tiny portion of salad greens, but hadn’t touched any of the casseroles.
I had no idea the freezer was so well stocked with homemade delicacies, and was amazed when she’d pulled out an enchilada casserole, an artichoke and Gruyère mixture with wild rice, and an amazing roasted vegetable curry.
It was obvious to me that Ali’s talent for cooking would be a tremendous asset to the vintage candy shop, and she should be serving light meals and snacks to her customers. I resolved to bring the issue up again once things had settled down with the investigation. This was no time to talk business; everyone’s mind was on Chico.
We spent a few minutes talking about being interviewed by Sam, and then Persia jumped in. “You do remember my dream, don’t you?” she asked, looking around the group. “It was prophetic, wasn’t it?” she said, raising her eyebrows in a V.
“Tell me again,” Lucinda said, leaning forward. “You saw a dark-haired man, and there was some loud Latin music playing in the background.”
“Exactly,” Persia said, giving a smile like the Cheshire cat. “It all fits, you see. The man, the music, and in my dream, the door was open to the street.” She widened her eyes and tossed me a meaningful look like someone in a soap opera. “That’s precisely what you discovered when the two of you rushed over to the studio, wasn’t it? The door was open to the street, and you could see inside?”
“Yes, that’s what happened,” Ali said, pressing her lips together for a moment. “We could see Chico lying inside and music was blaring away, the salsa numbers he uses for his dance classes. He was lying there still, so still.” She winced at the memory, and her voice wobbled a little. Ali had always insisted her relationship with Chico had been casual, yet she was having a hard time dealing with his death, and trying not to show it.
