“Dieter Koenig’s wife has been dead for years,” I said. “She didn’t kill him, unless it was her ghost.”
“No. I mean she was the one who blackballed my store. She and I used to be friends. She actually babysat me when I was a little girl. Later, when I was a teenager, I idolized her. Followed her everywhere, like one of those dogs you pack in your purse. Did you know that? Then she started dating Dieter, and she couldn’t get away from her old friends and her old life fast enough.”
“That sucks,” I said sympathetically. For Ruby to carry a grudge, she must have been hurt. “Why would Mrs. Koenig blackball your store, though? That sounds like some serious hate.”
Ruby drew herself up taller. “She didn’t like me dating Tim Barber. He was quite the catch, back in the day.”
“Tim Barber? That guy?” I was shocked to hear Dieter’s late wife had been involved with the handyman, but within seconds, I formulated a scenario in which Tim Barber had killed old Dieter Koenig over some forty-year-old rivalry. The handyman had means and opportunity, and now, if Ruby’s memory was to be trusted, he also had motive.
Ruby waved one jeweled hand. “Oh, please. Tim. Dave. Harry. The old ho-bag was involved with anyone and everyone. I could make a list.”
I scrunched my lips together to keep from laughing. Ho-bag? That wasn’t a term I’d ever heard applied to the deceased Mrs. Koenig.
Ruby gave me a dead-serious look and whispered, “There are even a few women’s names on that list. Not that you heard it from me.” Ruby looked very pleased with herself, as though outliving the woman had been her sweet revenge.
“Sounds like the first Mrs. Koenig was a wild woman.”
Ruby nodded. “That was long ago, though. She settled down, and then she had the two boys and dedicated herself to raising them. Oh, she loved those boys. You could tell how proud she was. I remember one time I saw them at the bank, and the manager made a joke about her having two sons. He called the boys an heir and a spare. Well, she just reached out and slapped him across the face. The poor gentleman tried to explain to her that it was just a colorful expression, and he hadn’t meant anything by it, but she left in a huff. I’m sure she would have blackballed the bank, too, if the town had another one she could have used.”
“Who else did she have an issue with?” I asked. “Are there other businesses you know of that were blackballed by the Koenigs?”
Ruby stared down the street for a breath before sighing, “Just me.”
“And you have an airtight Las Vegas alibi,” I said.
She pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “Phew!”
I followed her gaze to the window and watched as customers from the bagel store next door stopped at the two-way mirror to check their teeth for poppyseeds.
“There’s something going on that I can’t quite figure out,” I said. “Maybe his death was an accident, but I feel like if I keep digging, I’ll find out something important about Dieter Koenig. Something that will illuminate everything.” And if it was something Logan had been keeping from me, all the better.
“Now that I think about it, I did hear something,” Ruby said. “Someone was complaining about the Koenigs costing him money. Now... who was it?” She tapped her fingers on the table in a rhythm that reminded me of Tony Milano and his tapping, which always annoyed my father. I didn’t mind.
I waited quietly while she thought. My visit to the jewelry store had been productive. I’d come by mainly to hear if Dieter had been making large purchases for his new girlfriend, and without even having to ask, I’d found out the answer was no. As a bonus, I’d learned Della wasn’t the first high-strung, slaphappy woman the old man had fallen for. He had a type, and that type was Trouble with a capital T.
Ruby snapped her fingers. “Accio Bistro. It was the manager. He was drinking at the Fox & Hound last night when I stopped in for a nightcap with a friend. I heard him calling Dieter Koenig some names I won’t repeat.”
If she wouldn’t repeat the names, they had to be a lot worse than ho-bag.
I asked, “Did he say why?”
“No, but have you eaten? It’s not too early for dinner. My treat.”
I flashed her a nervous, embarrassed smile. I hadn’t been to the Accio Bistro since February, when my ex-fiancé had terrorized all the diners in a drug-induced lapse of sanity. Based on some rumblings I’d heard, I believed I was on the bistro’s do-not-serve list, or worse, on the drop-her-food-on-the-floor list.
“Sounds fun,” I lied, and off we went to Accio Bistro.
Chapter 21
"I’m ashamed to admit I don’t remember much of last night,” said the manager of Accio Bistro.
Ruby and I were seated at a cozy table for two not far from where the bread bandit had struck back in February. A few of the waiters were looking at me with suspicion, but nobody had tried to ban me. Truth be told, I was innocent. But on the night of the Rainforest Delight scandal, my name had been unfairly linked with the events. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten caught up in trouble and likely wouldn’t be the last.
Tonight, though, I was just a regular citizen having an early dinner with a dear friend, who had a few questions for the manager of the restaurant.
The manager, a rubber-faced man named Howard Blight, stared at our pitcher of water. His eyes bulged as he licked his thick lips. Ruby had called him over to our table and asked him to expand on whatever had been bothering him the night before, over at the Fox & Hound.
“Howard, sit with us a moment,” Ruby said, pouring ice water into an unused glass. “You’ll remember if you try.”
He swayed from side to side but didn’t sit. “I shouldn’t drink at all,” he said. “When I drink that devil’s brew, my brain shuts off and my mouth keeps talking.”
“Sit down and keep us company a moment,” she said sweetly. “It’s the least you can do to make up for what I heard last night. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”
He bowed his head and took a seat. “I was blowing off steam. I didn’t mean anything by it. Mr. Koenig was a great and wonderful man, and he will be sorely missed.”
She asked, “Then what were you so worked up about?”
Howard Blight glanced around nervously and shuffled his chair closer. I caught a whiff of him, which did little to inspire my appetite for dinner. He’d showered, I guessed, but something seemed to be wafting from his pores.
“Tequila,” I said. “You were worked up over tequila, weren’t you?”
His bulging eyes got even more wide and bulging. “How’d you know? Have you been spying on me? I know you’re a detective, Stormy Day. Sometimes I see you in that black car of yours, always behind me. Never in front of me. What’s that all about?”
I held my hands up and nodded for Ruby to continue with the questioning, since apparently I made Howard Blight nervous and paranoid.
She patted his hand. “You were saying? Why were you so angry at Mr. Koenig?”
“Because of the champagne,” he spluttered. “We ordered a hundred bottles of the type he asked for, and I’m the idiot who didn’t take a deposit, because I figured the Koenigs wouldn’t stiff me. But the party got cancelled, well, for obvious reasons.”
Ruby gave him an inquisitive look.
“Because he died,” Howard said. “And you don’t exactly serve champagne at a funeral. I called Brandon Koenig, trying to see if we could come to some sort of agreement. He says he’s going to think about it.” Howard gesticulated wildly with the free hand that wasn’t being patted by Ruby. “Can you believe it? He’s going to think about it. The guy’s a billionaire, but he has to think about paying for the champagne his father ordered.”
Ruby kept patting his hand. “There, there. Sometimes the powerful are like seagulls. They eat and fly and think nothing of what they"—she made a rude brapping sound with her mouth—"crap all over.”
“I’ll say,” Howard agreed.
“What was the party for?” I asked.
Howard sho
t me a bug-eyed look and slurped back his glass of water. “Beats me,” he said, setting the glass on the white tablecloth. “What would you need a hundred bottles of champagne for? Something special, I bet.” He pushed his chair back and stood with a groan.
Ruby said, “A tablespoon of honey, every hour, on the hour.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “My grandfather’s secret hangover cure.”
Howard got down on one knee next to where Ruby sat and kissed the top of her hand. “Lady Ruby, you are a treasure,” he said, and then he was gone, heading in the direction of the kitchen.
“You really are a treasure,” I said. “And that’s a tasty-sounding hangover cure.”
She winked. “The only true cure for a hangover is the bottlecap.” She winked again. “The trick is you leave the bottlecap on the bottle the night before.”
We ordered the day’s special, which was chicken with a cream-and-champagne sauce, paired with a champagne-and-wild mushroom risotto. The food was so delicious, we couldn’t feel bad about enjoying a dead man’s champagne.
Ruby fished for information from me, but I couldn’t tell her confidential details about the case, such as the fact that Dieter Koenig had been dating Della, or that he might have an illegitimate child by way of Danish royalty. If I’d been looking into the mysterious death out of my own curiosity, I might have laid it all out, along with charts and timelines, but the investigation was being paid for by Tyger & Behr, so the information belonged to them.
Without me spilling any beans, however, Ruby’s guesses were remarkably similar to the ones in my head.
She surmised that a hundred bottles of champagne would go equally well with a baby shower, a wedding engagement, or even an actual wedding.
We finished our dinner and talked each other into sharing a slice of Accio Bistro’s infamous mouth-watering lemon chiffon. The dessert went perfectly with more Earl Grey tea.
We’d been some of the first customers to arrive for dinner, but by the time we were quibbling over who ought to help herself to the last lemony bite, the dining room had filled up. It was busy for a Tuesday. Ruby and I agreed that word must have gotten out about the champagne-themed dinner specials.
Once we were done with eating, I visited the powder room to freshen up before going home. Ruby had already powdered her nose before dessert, so I went alone.
I stepped out of the washroom, searching through my purse for my phone and not looking where I was going. Just as I realized my cell phone was actually switched off and in the glovebox of my car, I noticed I’d taken a wrong turn and wasn’t back in the dining room. Thinking I’d eventually pop out somewhere familiar, I kept walking.
At the end of the hallway was a door marked Office, and around the corner was a dead end and a mop bucket. I turned around to head back but paused when I heard a voice coming from the office. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be such an eavesdropper, but the voice belonged to the manager, Howard Blight, and I heard him say Koenig.
I stood still, listening to what I assumed was Howard on the phone, trying to sell ninety-some bottles of champagne to the Koenig family.
“My chef is threatening to quit,” Howard said. “He says I’m making him commit culinary crimes, putting bubbly wine in dishes where it doesn’t belong. He says he’s going to report me to the Institute, whatever that is. I don’t know if he’s kidding. I do know I have ninety-four bottles that I can’t afford to store and can’t afford to pour over the specials. We’ll be out of business by the end of summer. Do you really want that to be your father’s legacy?”
A man with a refined, deep voice replied calmly, “You need not concern yourself with my father’s legacy.”
I clapped my hand to my mouth. Howard wasn’t on the phone after all. Which son was he talking to?
Another voice, similarly refined, said, “Dad wouldn’t leave a bill unpaid, and neither would we.”
I almost couldn’t believe my ears. Both sons were in the office with the manager. How much could the bottles of champagne cost? What could have made the catering bill important enough for both Drake and Brandon to personally visit the Accio Bistro?
I heard the sound of a check being ripped along its perforated edge.
“This should cover the damage,” said the first brother.
“Not so fast,” said the other. “We need to know what we’re paying for.”
“Bu-bu-but I told you already,” spluttered Howard. “And here’s the itemized bill, all printed out for you. We’re not charging for the service or most of the food, but we are asking for the cost of the champagne and the caviar, plus a small cancellation fee.”
“Don’t play stupid with us. I know you’re not as dumb as you look, Mr. Blight. We’re asking you what the party was in celebration of.”
Howard’s voice pitched up high and squeaky. “How should I know?”
There was the sound of a scuffle, and of the items atop a desk being rearranged violently.
Howard squeaked, “Honestly, I don’t know.” He gasped, coughed, and continued raspily, “Your father never told me why. He just said it was a surprise, and he was planning it himself, without getting his staff involved.”
I’d been edging my way closer to the door. I leaned over to peer through the open crack. Just as it sounded, the Koenig brothers were working as a team to put physical pressure on the manager. Drake had him in a headlock, and Brandon was gripping the man’s tie, threatening to choke him.
I was just about to kick the door and demand they release him when they did. Within seconds, Drake was laughing and ruffling Howard’s hair.
“Good ol’ Howie,” Drake said. “You always were a snitch. It’s a good thing I’ve known you since we were all kids. I can tell when you really don’t know anything.”
Howard coughed again and smoothed down his sparse hair. “I know plenty of things,” he retorted.
“Like what?” asked the glasses-wearing brother, Brandon. “Things about our father?”
“He said you two were going to be livid,” Howard said. “He said he’d already done it, so you couldn’t stop him. And he sounded so excited about it, too.”
The brothers exchanged a look.
Howard looked down at the small slip of paper on his freshly cleared desk. “Hey, this check isn’t signed.”
“Dummy,” Drake said, giving his brother a shove.
“You’re the dummy.” Brandon shoved him right back.
Howard whined, “Please, would one of you sign the check?”
The brothers ignored him and continued to fight like a couple of twelve-year-olds in the backseat on a long road trip.
From behind me came Ruby’s voice. “There you are,” she said.
I jumped from the cracked-open door and hustled down the hall toward her as quickly as I could without making noise.
“I got lost on my way back from the bathroom,” I said softly.
She shook her head. “How did you ever survive in the big city?”
I shrugged and glanced over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being followed. If Howard or the brothers had noticed me spying, they hadn’t been worried enough to come after me.
I tried to return to our table to settle the bill, but Ruby grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the door.
“Already paid,” she said. When I reached for my wallet, she swatted my hand. “You don’t owe me anything. It was a two-for-one special, so yours was free.”
I gave her a skeptical look. The old yours-was-free trick was one I used on my too-proud-for-charity roommate.
Ruby was a sly one.
And so was Dieter Koenig. If the squealing of Howard Blight was to be believed, the old multi-millionaire had done something shortly before his death that he knew would upset his sons, and he was going to break the news with a hundred bottles of champagne. I had a few ideas what that news might be.
I’d been planning to go home straight after dinner and finish my chores like a good roommate, but I was so close to figuring out Dieter’s sec
ret, I couldn’t stop now.
Chapter 22
If a man orders a hundred bottles of champagne, chances are his girlfriend knows why.
Dieter Koenig’s sons didn’t know what event Accio Bistro had been hired to cater, but his girlfriend might. And since Della had been spending so much time with Logie, I had a hunch he knew as well.
After retrieving my car from the Olive Grove parking lot, I drove to Logan’s office. Corine, who often worked until six or seven, was just leaving for the day. She let me in the front door and waved me down the hall with her blessing.
I found Logan in his office, eating noodles from a square takeout box and staring at his computer screen.
I announced my presence by saying, “Either your hair’s turning bright orange or you’ve got carrot shreds in your beard.”
He paused his fork and smiled with his eyes. “I’m saving those for later.”
“So that’s what the beard is for! You use it to squirrel away food.”
“Winter is coming.”
He didn’t invite me to sit down, but I did anyway, dropping with a sigh onto the button-tufted leather sofa in the lounging part of his office. The room was L-shaped, and thanks to Logan’s exquisite taste, resembled a posh bachelor’s apartment.
I lay back on the sofa, pretending to begin psychoanalysis. I’d started doing this a month ago as a joke, calling Logan by the made-up title of Dr. Feelgreat, but I’d discovered it to be surprisingly effective. It was easier to be open and calm while staring at the ceiling. We humans are so attuned to each other’s microreactions that it’s little wonder the best conversations happen on long road trips, when we’re rocked gently by the motion of the vehicle and not overreacting to the smallest of facial expressions.
“Well?” he said.
“I’m sorry I hung up on you,” I said.
“I’m over it,” he said.
“And Jeffrey is sorry he let Tony get his stinky cologne all over his fur.”
“He said that?” His voice was neutral. I wished we were in my car, driving somewhere fun.
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