by Joyce Tremel
“I can’t say, but you need to come back. Pronto.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I hurried up the aisle with Dave at my heels. A visibly intoxicated Melody Mobley stood—or rather wobbled—in front of the booth. She wore one of those stretchy tube tops that were popular years ago and Daisy Dukes that came close to showing what most people liked to keep covered. Her sandals with the four-inch heels weren’t helping her balance any.
“Please tell me where she is.” Melody’s speech was slurred, all the syllables running together.
I assumed she was talking about me. “I’m here. Is there a problem?” I’d come up behind her and she spun around. Dave caught her by the elbow before she toppled over.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Melody said. “Those two”—she pointed to Mom and Kate, who were behind the table under the canopy—“wouldn’t tell me where you were. And they wouldn’t give me anything to drink.”
“Maybe you’ve had enough to drink for a while,” Dave said.
Melody squinted at him. “Who are you?”
“Just a friend,” he said.
“You’re no friend of mine, so mind your own business.” She turned back to me. “What are you going to do about it?”
“About what?” She could be talking about any number of things—her husband’s murder, for one.
Melody rolled her eyes. “Not what. Who.”
“Okay. Who.” I felt like I was in the middle of an Abbott and Costello routine.
She swayed again when she raised her arm and pointed at Mom and Kate. “Them!”
“Maybe you’d like to sit down,” I said.
Kate brought one of our camp chairs over and Melody plopped into it. I glanced over at Dwayne’s booth, but it was empty. It seemed odd that he’d leave without someone watching over his equipment. Anyone could walk up and help himself.
Dave must have noticed, too. “I’m going to see if I can find Dwayne.”
I nodded. A crowd had gathered around us, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Someone asked if we needed any help and I told him we had everything under control. I hoped I was right. I turned my attention back to Melody.
“Dwayne told me you’re a troublemaker,” she said. “About how you’re sticking your nose into nothing that concerns you. But I’m not sure I believe him. He’s not a bad brother, you know. He’s not a bad person.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself instead of me.
“I never said he was.” Thought it, yes. Said it, no.
There was a lot I wanted to talk to her about, but now wasn’t the time. She was definitely drunk and I shouldn’t take advantage of that fact, even though it was tempting. I’d have to wait until she was sober. She hadn’t yet said why she had wanted to talk to me, so I asked her.
She blinked a couple of times, then stared at me for a moment. “I . . . I don’t remember. Why was I looking for you?”
I spotted Dwayne jogging toward us. Dave was behind him, walking at a more leisurely pace. Dwayne was winded when he reached us.
“Melody, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
I would’ve thought he’d be worried, but it sure didn’t sound like he was.
“You were supposed to be watching my stuff. I should have known I couldn’t rely on you.”
She started to cry. “I didn’t do anything. I just came over here to talk to . . .” She looked up at me. “What’s your name again?”
Dwayne took her by the arm and roughly pulled her out of the chair. “You shouldn’t be talking to anyone. Especially these people. Time to go.”
Melody leaned on his arm as he led her away. The show was over for now, and bystanders went back to enjoying their afternoon. When those who had been waiting for samples began asking questions, Mom, Kate, and I played dumb, which wasn’t too much of a stretch.
In between customers, Mom asked me what that was all about.
I shook my head. “Frankly, I’m not sure. That was Melody Mobley.”
“The widow?”
“Yes.”
“So the man with the funny haircut is the brother you told your dad and me about.”
“Yes.”
“She was really upset that you weren’t here,” Kate said.
I got out some more plastic cups, then put the remainder back in the box I used for carrying items. “I can’t figure out why she wanted to talk to me. Why would she be here at all? Would you go to the place where your husband was murdered? And only a week later?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “Something’s not right.”
“I feel sorry for that poor girl,” Mom said. “Maybe it’s a comfort for her to be here.”
I glanced over to Dwayne’s tent. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but he was gesturing like he was still mad at her. Melody leaned forward in her chair with her head in her hands. “It doesn’t look like it’s much of a comfort right now.”
Mom and Kate turned to see what I’d meant. My mother’s cheeks reddened. “I should go over there and give him a piece of my mind. I don’t care if he’s upset she didn’t stay there and babysit his beer. That’s no way to treat anyone, especially someone who’s just suffered a loss like she had.”
“That’s not a good idea.” I told them what I’d discovered about both Melody and Dwayne.
“You really think she’s a murderer?” Kate asked. “She doesn’t look like one.”
I checked the ice around one of the kegs. I loved Kate like she was my own sister, but that comment annoyed me, especially after my own previous encounter with a murderer. “You can’t tell what someone’s capable of just by looking at them.”
Kate blushed and then I felt bad for snapping at her. I apologized and we moved on to more pleasant subjects.
At four o’clock, I was just about to tap another keg when there was a loud crack of thunder accompanied by a bright flash of lightning. Seconds later the sky opened up and it began pouring. It appeared the rain from that morning had returned with a vengeance. Festivalgoers scattered, looking for shelter. Most ran for the parking lot. It wasn’t long before Ginger’s voice came over the loudspeaker and announced that, due to the dangerous thunder and lightning, the festival would be closing for the day. She invited everyone to come back the following day and if they showed their ticket for today, admission would be free.
I called Jake and told him and he said he’d be here shortly. Mom, Kate, and I packed everything up and when Jake arrived, we loaded the kegs into the truck. I waited under the tent while he dropped Mom and Kate off at their car; then he swung back and picked me up.
On our way back to the pub to put everything away, I filled Jake in on what had happened with Melody. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The big looming question that I couldn’t get out of my mind was, why had Melody wanted to see me? I didn’t have an answer to that.
* * *
Because of the rainout, I had had plenty of time to shower and feed Hops before going over to Jake’s house for the dinner that his mother had planned to bring to us at the festival. She had made an incredible meal of old-fashioned meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and sweet-and-sour green beans.
Bob Lambert leaned back in his seat and patted his stomach when we had finished eating. “You outdid yourself again, Dot.” He looked across the table at me. “This is why I can’t lose the twenty pounds the doc keeps telling me to lose. Dot’s the best cook in the world.”
We were seated in the dining room of the Lamberts’ house. When Jake’s parents had moved to Florida, they’d taken their furniture with them with the exception of the dining room set. Their condo didn’t have a dining room. The fifties style didn’t fit Jake at all, but he was reluctant to part with it, much the same as I had been with my grandmother’s furniture. It didn’t matter, because he rarely used the dining room. He’d furnished the rest of the house in a comfortabl
e, casual style. He hadn’t replaced the beige Berber carpeting, but he’d painted the rooms in neutral colors. The first time I came here with Jake, I’d expected there to be hockey memorabilia all over the place and the rooms decorated in early locker room. I was happy to discover I was wrong. The only trace of his former life was a small cabinet with glass doors in the family room in the basement.
“Dinner was delicious,” I said to Jake’s mother. “If we served that meat loaf at the brew house, we’d have people waiting in line for days.”
Dot smiled. “I’m so glad you liked it.”
Jake stood and began clearing dishes. He bent and kissed his mother on the cheek as he passed her. “You outdid yourself. But don’t even think about taking my job.”
“Never,” Dot said. “I don’t think your Max would consider hiring an old lady who only knows how to make fried chicken, meat loaf, and apple pie anyway.”
I liked how she said your Max. “I’m sure you can make a lot more than that. I’d hire you in a minute. Maybe we should add those three things to the menu and your mom can be the new head chef. What do you think, Jake?”
“I think you’re trying to get rid of me,” he said. “Maybe I’ll see if Dave needs a chef.”
Dot looked horrified. “Oh no! You can’t!”
Jake and I laughed and Bob grinned and shook his head.
She realized we were teasing her and she swatted Jake on the arm. “You’re just like your father. You’d think I’d have learned that by now.”
I got up and helped Jake clear the table; then we all moved to the living room. I sank into the leather sofa and considered never getting out of it.
“Jake said you had some excitement at the festival today,” Bob said. “That man’s wife made a scene.”
“I’m still not sure what it was all about and what she wanted. I’m not even sure anything she said was the truth. Her brother said she was a good actress.”
Jake sat beside me and took my hand. I always got a thrill when he did that. “The whole thing could have been for show.”
“Why would she do that?” Dot asked.
Jake’s thumb drawing circles on the back of my hand was making it hard to concentrate. “Maybe for attention.”
Bob pulled a throw pillow out from behind him. “That’s better.” He put the pillow on the floor. “Why would she want attention—especially if you two think she might have killed her husband?”
“Oh dear.” Dot shuddered.
“She was also intoxicated,” I said. “It’s possible that she wouldn’t have behaved like she had if she had been sober.”
“And her brother was there, too?” Bob asked. “How does he figure into it?”
Jake and I took turns filling them in on the whole story. Bob was intrigued. Dot was horrified. When she got up and went to the kitchen to serve up dessert, I followed to help.
“You have a much stronger constitution than I do,” she said as she cut into an apple pie. “I can’t even watch crime shows on television.”
I smiled at her. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m kind of used to it, since Dad’s a cop. I grew up with it.” I added a scoop of vanilla ice cream to the slice of pie on the plate she passed to me.
“Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.” There would be no more showdowns with killers for me. Once was more than enough as far as I was concerned. As soon as I knew who had poisoned Mobley, I’d pass the information off to Dad. Or Vincent. That was an even better idea. I’d kind of like to see the look on his face.
She handed another plate to me. “This is the first time I’ve gotten to talk to you alone. I want you to know I’m so glad—Bob, too—that Jake found you. I always knew you were the girl for him.”
“Really?”
Dot patted my arm. “Really. I saw all those adoring looks you sent his way over the years.”
I felt my face redden.
“And Jake was completely oblivious to them,” she went on. “Although I do think that when you went overseas, it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.”
I wasn’t sure I believed that. By the time I was out of grad school, Jake had had his own life playing professional hockey. The only time I’d seen him during those years was when Mike and Kate got married.
Dot placed the pie server and the knife in the sink and returned the ice cream to the freezer. “He used to ask about you all the time.”
“Why didn’t he ever say anything to me?”
Jake barged into the kitchen. “Dad wants to know how long it takes to cut four pieces of pie.”
I shoved two plates at him, hoping he didn’t notice my pink cheeks. “Here you go.” I took another plate from Dot and followed Jake back to the living room. The pie was delicious and we chatted about nothing in particular for a while until I had to call it a night.
The rain had stopped by this time. Jake walked me to my car and put his arms around me. “I think they liked having you here tonight as much as I did,” he said.
“I loved spending some time with them.” I rested my head on his chest. “I’ve missed this.”
“What? Standing on the sidewalk by your car?”
I laughed and lifted my head. Before I could swat him on the arm for being a smart aleck, he leaned down and kissed me. I’d definitely missed this.
“Ahem.”
We stopped kissing, but Jake kept his arm around me. “You have really rotten timing, Dad,” he said.
Bob had a big grin on his face. “I’m sorry to break up the romantic interlude, but I remembered something.”
“And it couldn’t wait until I came back in?” Jake asked.
“Max might want to hear it, too.”
I couldn’t imagine what was so important he had to rush out of the house to tell us.
“That night we had dinner at the brew house, we were talking about the man who was murdered,” Bob said. “I told you that when I saw his picture on TV, I thought I recognized him, but the guy I knew wasn’t named Mobley.”
I only vaguely recalled the conversation.
“Lots of people look alike,” Jake said.
Bob shook his head. “Sure they do, but that’s not the case this time. As soon as you two walked outside, I picked up the newspaper and the headline on one of the articles jogged my memory. I definitely knew the dead man, but like I said before, when I knew him, his name wasn’t Reginald Mobley. He owned a restaurant I used to go to.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We moved back to the front porch so we could hear Bob’s story.
“It was about fifteen years ago when I was working downtown. Me and a couple of coworkers used to eat lunch once in a while at this place on Fifth Avenue.” Bob gave us a little smile. “Not too often, though. It was a swanky place and a bit pricey. The owner, Ronald Moore, was a nice enough guy, although a little standoffish.”
I wished he would get to the point.
“Anyway,” he continued, “he didn’t just own the place. He also did a lot of the cooking. Some of the stuff I didn’t care much for. I’d never even heard of some of the things that were on the menu. I’m a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so I usually just ordered a steak or chicken.”
“Dad, what does this have to do with Mobley?” Jake asked.
“You’ll see in a minute. One day, three or four of us went out to lunch. We hadn’t gone to this place in a while, so we decided to go there. When we arrived, we were surprised it was all closed up and there was a notice from the health department taped to the door. The place never opened up again.”
“Dad—”
Bob put up his hand. “Before you ask me again, the guy you knew as Reginald Mobley is Ronald Moore—the guy who owned Le Meilleur. I’m sure of it.”
I didn’t want to doubt him, but it seemed a little far-fetched to me. “Why would
he change his name? And his profession?”
“That I can’t tell you,” Bob said. “I didn’t think all that much of it back then. Restaurants come and go all the time. We figured the health inspector found roaches or mice or something like that and the owner decided to call it quits and move on. I never gave it another thought until I saw that article in the paper about a restaurant shut down for health violations. Then it all clicked. It was driving me crazy that I couldn’t remember where I’d seen him before.”
After Bob went inside, Jake walked me back out to my car. “What do you think about what your dad told us?” I asked.
Jake put his arms around me. “I don’t know. I’d like to believe it, but why would a guy who was probably making a decent living running a restaurant drop everything like that? Why wouldn’t he just fix whatever issues the health department found and reopen it? Instead, he not only disappeared—he changed his name. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Exactly.”
* * *
The next morning I told Candy about Melody’s behavior at the festival. Mary Louise had the day off and my friend was working the bakery counter with a high school girl who worked part-time. I’d just bought one of my favorite apple cinnamon muffins and planned to go across the street for an iced mocha. I needed the sugar and caffeine fix this morning. I’d tossed and turned most of the night, even though I was exhausted. Plus, every time I rolled over, Hops thought it was playtime. I finally managed to sleep three solid hours and only dragged myself out of bed at seven.
“Do you think Dwayne was telling the truth the other day when he told me Melody was a good actress and she knew who we were at the funeral home?” I asked Candy.
She shook her head. “She might be a good actress, but not that good. You saw the look on her face. She was trying to figure out if she knew us or not. If she was acting, she wouldn’t have looked so confused. And from what you said happened yesterday, that wasn’t an act, either. She seems to have some real problems.”
“Dwayne got her away from me awfully quick, too. I think he was afraid she was going to say something she shouldn’t,” I said. “Maybe even admit that they killed her husband.”
