“Maybe,” admitted Xenia. “But you could get in touch with the diners and ask them.”
Beth nodded. “We might do that.”
“I can guarantee it,” said Xenia. “None of them got sick.”
“Could the ceviche have gone bad in that extra half hour before Vanessa ate it?”
Xenia shook her head. “Have you not heard me? I denatured it properly—there’s no way anyone could get sick from eating it.”
I hid my smile. Xenia was living up to Melissa’s depiction of the stereotypical chef who thought her food could never be bad.
Beth said, “So let’s say someone did poison Vanessa. Who could it be? Other than Alyssa, of course.”
Xenia shook her head. “I can’t help you there. It could be anyone. Staff can enter the kitchen through that door you just walked through, and someone could walk in through this door here, that leads to the parking lot.”
“Could someone have walked in when you weren’t here?” I said. “Was there some time that day when no one was in the kitchen?”
“There’s usually someone or other in here,” said Xenia.
“But what about the day the fire broke out?” Beth said. “No one was in here at that time.”
“I guess you’re right,” said Xenia begrudgingly. “I guess sometimes people go out.”
“Well, can you think back to Sunday? When could the kitchen have been empty?”
“Well, I sent the kitchen hands home a half hour early, at one thirty. There wasn’t much of a crowd, so we were going to close the kitchen anyway, and I could handle any orders that came in after that. I usually go outside to call my boys at around one forty-five, just to make sure they’ve eaten and everything.”
“So the kitchen was empty at one forty-five,” Beth said.
“Sure,” said Xenia. “But just for a few minutes.”
“And you went to the parking lot to make the call?”
“Yeah,” said Xenia. “But I was pacing around, not really watching the door. I guess someone could’ve walked in, now that I think about it.”
Beth nodded, and I said, “Thanks for your help. Here’s my card, let me know if you think of anything else.”
Xenia glanced at the card and put it away. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll call you.”
And then she went back to reading whatever it was she’d been reading before we came in.
I looked at Beth and shrugged, and we made our way out of the kitchen. Xenia had tried to be helpful, and I had no doubt she really believed she’d prepared the prawns correctly. I was tempted to believe her. And if everyone in the Black Cat knew that Vanessa would eat the prawns, that meant someone had tried to poison her specifically.
Anyone could’ve gone into the kitchen, and added some botulinum to the prawns. Beth and I just had to find out who might’ve hated Vanessa enough to want to kill her.
Chapter Eleven
We found Emma polishing glasses behind the bar and putting them away.
She gave us a shy smile when we introduced ourselves, and said, “I can talk while I work.” She turned to Melissa and said, “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, go ahead,” said Melissa, who was standing at the bar by herself.
I looked around for Neve, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. I assumed she’d gotten tired of not being able to overhear anything interesting and had gone home. Maybe she’d give up her silly venture of being a private investigator who spent her days annoying innocent souls like Beth and me, and would go back to being a receptionist.
“The place seems a bit emptier now,” I said to Emma.
She shrugged. “This is the quiet time, between breakfast and lunch. There’s another lull between lunch and dinner.”
“Right,” I said. “So you like working here?”
She shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. The same as waitressing anywhere else, really.”
I watched Emma, trying to judge her age. She could’ve been anywhere between twenty and thirty-five. “So you and Vanessa were friends?”
“Kind of. I mean, we were friendly, but not particularly close, if you know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I said. “But I heard you guys had a big fight last week.”
Emma smiled. “No, I wouldn’t call it a big fight. A bit of an argument, maybe.”
“What was it about?”
Emma shrugged, looking shy again. “Vanessa would sometimes complain that some weirdo sent her roses because he liked her singing. She said she’d quit singing if it didn’t stop. So, I told her that maybe I could sing instead of her sometimes.”
I looked at her, surprised. “You sing?”
Emma shrugged again. “Yeah, kind of,” she muttered. “But anyway, Vanessa said she’d keep singing. I guess the pay made up for it.”
“And now Vanessa’s gone,” I said. “You can do the singing for a few days.”
“Owen had someone come in these last two days,” she said. “I never actually asked if I could do the morning session. I guess I should.”
“I guess so,” I said. “Why haven’t you asked?”
“I don’t know.” Emma stopped rubbing the glass she was cleaning and looked at us thoughtfully. “It’s a little freaky, right? Vanessa complains about this stalker, and then she gets sick. I wouldn’t want that to be me. Maybe I shouldn’t sing.”
Emma looked so uncertain about the whole thing. I couldn’t imagine her trying to kill Vanessa just so that she could sing. Even if she did get Vanessa out of the way, there was no guarantee that Owen would ask her to take over the morning sessions.
“Who’s done the morning sessions these last few days?” Beth asked.
“You’d have to ask Melissa,” said Emma. “Some relief singer who they got in from LA. I guess she was expensive.”
I nodded and glanced at Melissa, who was standing a few feet behind us. I wondered if she’d heard any of the conversation, but she appeared not to have. Before I could ask her who sang this morning’s session, a waitress with cocoa-brown skin and close-cropped dark hair showed up and asked Melissa for something. Melissa began looking around for bottles, finding what she wanted and measuring out a shot of vodka.
“Do you know anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt Vanessa?” I said, focusing my attention on Emma again.
Emma shook her head. “No. But things here have been really weird. Apparently, the place is haunted.”
I tried not to look too worried. “Why do you say that?”
“I hear things,” said Emma. “People are scared to go into the parking lot alone past midnight. Some of the girls saw the ghost there.”
“Let me guess,” said Beth. “A white apparition.”
“I suppose that’s what ghosts look like,” said Emma.
“Have you ever seen this ghost?” I asked.
Emma shook her head. “No, but Jennifer said that she knew a girl who’d seen it. She said the ghost spoke to her friend.”
“Really? And what did the ghost say?”
“I’m not sure,” said Emma. “You’ll have to ask Jennifer. Oh—and there’s also Sally.”
I looked at her, puzzled. “Sally?”
“You asked who might’ve wanted to hurt Vanessa,” said Emma. “Sally Smith. I overheard her talking to Vanessa. Something about a secret—that Vanessa needed to keep it a secret.”
My ears perked up. A secret sounded promising—and in my experience, I’ve found that people are willing to do whatever it takes to keep a dirty secret buried.
“Who’s Sally?” I said.
Emma looked around and then pointed her out to me. A short, skinny girl with mousy brown hair. She was wiping down a table at the far end of the restaurant.
“You should ask her what’s going on,” said Emma. “But Sally doesn’t really talk to any of us much. She’s really quiet.”
“I’ll have a word with her,” I said, handing Emma my card. “Thanks. Let me know if you think of anything else.”
Beth and I headed over to
where Sally Smith was working, and I wondered what her secret could possibly be.
Chapter Twelve
“Hi,” I said cheerfully as we approached Sally. “You must be Sally Smith.”
Sally looked at us warily and put down the rag she’d been using to clean the table. Up close, I could see permanent frown lines between her eyebrows, and though she put on a polite smile, she didn’t seem all that pleased to see us. I guessed that despite the frown lines, she was in her late twenties or early thirties, and Beth and I introduced ourselves.
“I know who you are,” Sally said politely. “Melissa said you’d be coming around to talk to all of us.”
“And you can talk to us now?”
Sally shrugged. “I guess this is as good a time as any, given how it’s so quiet now.”
I nodded. “Is the place usually busier?”
“Around lunch and dinner, and then late at night sometimes,” said Sally. “It ebbs and flows.”
“And you like working here?”
Sally nodded, her eyes guarded.
I said, “Were you friends with Vanessa?”
Sally bit her lip and looked off into the distance, as though deciding how much to tell us. Finally, she said, “I knew her. We talked sometimes.”
I suppose that meant she didn’t consider Vanessa to be a friend. Or did it? I was confused.
I said, “Did Vanessa tell you much about her life?”
“This and that,” said Sally. “I know she loved her boyfriend. They seemed pretty serious. And I guess you know about her stalker?”
I nodded. “Yes, Bill told us she had one. What did Vanessa tell you about the guy?”
“Just that he’d leave her a single red rose sometimes. Sometimes there were notes with the roses, saying she was pretty or that she had a nice voice. But she thought it was funny, not scary.”
I nodded. That’s what we’d heard so far. “Do you have any idea who it might’ve been?”
Sally shook her head. “It could’ve been anyone.”
“Right.”
I wondered how to broach the topic of her argument with Vanessa, but Beth beat me to it by saying, “Did you tell Vanessa some secret?”
Sally narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Beth said, “You were overheard telling Vanessa that she better not share your secret.”
Sally gulped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I said, “You don’t remember any secret? That you might’ve told Vanessa?”
Sally shook her head. “No.”
Beth and I exchanged a look: neither of us believed her.
Beth said, “You must’ve been arguing about something. People heard you.”
Sally shook her head. “It was just silly girl stuff. Nothing important.”
“So you did tell her a secret.”
“It wasn’t anything important, just something silly and embarrassing.”
“Maybe you could tell us. It might have something to do with Vanessa’s poisoning.”
Sally looked at us, concerned. But then she shook her head again. “No, it couldn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Are you sure?” I said. “Why don’t you try us? We wouldn’t tell anyone else.”
Sally looked away, refusing to meet my eyes. “I can’t tell you. It’s not important anyway.”
“Well, what was the fight about? Why would she tell someone else your secret?”
“She was really close with her boyfriend.” Sally twirled a strand of her hair nervously. “She wanted to tell him, and I said no. I’d told her in confidence.”
“Do you know if she told her boyfriend?”
“I don’t think so.” Sally’s eyes were hooded, and she gazed off into the distance. “I’m sorry about Vanessa. But really, my secret’s just a silly, embarrassing thing. It’s got nothing to do with the poisoning.”
“Are you sure you can’t tell us?”
“No,” said Sally. “And if there’s nothing else you’d like to ask me—”
I could see she was about to make an excuse about work in an attempt to get rid of us, so I quickly said, “Actually, there is. Did Vanessa have any enemies? Anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt her?”
“No. She was nice. We all got along with her. I’m not sure anyone would want to hurt her. Not even the stalker—she thought he was really harmless.”
I nodded. “And she didn’t seem any different in the days before she died? Worried, maybe, or anxious about something?”
I noticed Melissa walking past us, on her way to one of the tables to get the used plates left behind, and I wondered if Sally needed to get back to work.
Sally said, “No. Vanessa seemed fine. If anything, that just adds to the rumors about this place.”
“What rumors?” I said. “Not the ghost again?”
Sally nodded. “People say it’s haunted. That’s why things are going wrong. Like the fire.”
Beth said, “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
Sally shrugged. “I’m more scared of people than ghosts.” She gave us a wry smile. “Have you dealt with a group of drunk customers at four in the morning? Most of the tourists are nice, but we’re getting more of a party crowd these days. They seem to think this is a nice place to relax after all that drinking.”
I smiled back politely. I couldn’t help but wonder what Sally’s secret was—and I didn’t believe for a second that it was something harmless as she claimed.
Chapter Thirteen
After thanking Sally for her time, we found Melissa manning the bar once again.
“Do you have a list of diners who ate the prawn ceviche on Sunday?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “No. But there’s a pile of receipts here—you can go through them and find the tables who ordered the ceviche. There were four ceviche orders.”
We thanked her and settled down with the receipts at a quiet table. Other than the dim lighting, it was actually a rather pleasant place to work. The jazz music filled the room, and there were few other diners at that hour.
A half-hour later, Beth and I had managed to find the receipts of the tables which had ordered the prawn ceviche. I took photos of the receipts with my smartphone, and then Beth and I returned the pile to Melissa.
“Did you find what you wanted?” she asked.
“I guess so,” I said. “Now we just have to follow the leads.”
“Good luck with that. So you really think Vanessa was poisoned on purpose?”
Beth said, “We don’t know for sure. But if we call the people who ate the ceviche and find out that none of them got sick, then it’s pretty likely that Vanessa didn’t get food poisoning from badly prepared ceviche.”
“How would you get in touch with whoever ate the ceviche?” Melissa said. “The receipts don’t have contact information for the diners.”
I gave her a wink. “We’ve got our ways.”
I didn’t want to reveal just how easy it was to uncover the identity of credit-card users. The receipts from the bar would have the last four digits of the card used, and the users’ last names; running that information through my database would quickly bring up the card owners’ contact information.
Melissa looked thoughtful. “I see. I don’t know if I should be relieved if it turns out that Vanessa was poisoned. I mean, there are rumors about this place. But if she didn’t get poisoning from the badly prepared ceviche, that means Xenia did her job correctly. I don’t need to worry about hiring another chef.”
“Xenia seemed really confident,” I said.
Melissa nodded. “Of course. But in my experience, chefs are always confident. Anyway, if it turns out that the ceviche was prepared correctly, that means someone here is a killer. And that’s not a comforting thought.”
Chapter Fourteen
We called Bill and arranged to meet him for lunch.
There was a diner right near his office—“It serves delicious greasy food,” Bill said—and we
agreed to meet there.
Tom’s Restaurant was busy when we walked in, and I knew we’d chosen to eat during the corporate lunch rush. Inside the restaurant, a mirrored wall reflected the view out the window back at us. White-chrome tables and booths upholstered in some kind of red-brown material filled the space, and the scent of fries, pasta and chicken filled the air.
“I feel kind of sorry for Melissa,” I said as we sat in a booth near the back and waited for Bill. “It must be tough managing the place with all these things going on. Rumors about Alyssa the ghost, the kitchen catching on fire, and now Vanessa getting poisoned.”
“It must be harder for Owen,” said Beth. “Seeing how he actually owns the place.”
Just then, Bill slid into the seat opposite us. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “A meeting ran over.”
“It’s fine,” I said. We placed our orders when a waitress showed up—chicken salad for Bill, beef burger and fries for Beth, and lasagna for me. Once the waitress left, I said, “Did Vanessa ever talk about Sally? Another waitress at the Black Cat?”
Bill looked surprised. “Sure. I remember her mentioning something about Sally Smith. That she had a big secret.”
“When was this?”
“Just a few days ago.”
“Did Vanessa say what the secret was?”
Bill shook his head. “No. Vanessa said Sally had a secret. A big one, that she wasn’t sure she could keep. She seemed worried about it and said that she wasn’t sure she should keep it.”
“And?” I said.
“And that was it,” Bill said. “She never said anything more about it. I forgot about it. I mean, friends have secrets, I suppose. Maybe it was a girl thing.”
“And you’ve got no idea—no idea at all—what the secret might’ve been.”
“No,” said Bill. “Sorry.”
“These roses and notes that the stalker left Vanessa,” said Beth thoughtfully. “Did she get any the day she got food poisoning?”
Jazzy Jeopardy: A Piece of Cake Mystery (Piece of Cake Mysteries Book 3) Page 5
