by J. C. Eaton
“You must be here about the Stangler-Melinsky wedding menu. I’m Sebastian. Come inside; we can sit at one of these tables.”
“Thanks. I’m Phee Kimball, Ina Stangler’s niece. My aunt is understandably very concerned about the catering for her wedding in light of the unfortunate death of your master chef. I know all of you must still be in shock, and I feel badly for coming in so soon, but my aunt is inconsolable.”
“Yes, yes. It was a terrible shock. Terrible shock indeed, but we must forge on. In a business like ours, with so much competition, we cannot allow ourselves to take time off. It would be a disaster.”
Funny, but Rochelle didn’t seem all that broken up about Roland’s death and apparently neither did Sebastian. Come to think of it, neither did that hostess. I leaned forward, careful not to put my elbows on the table, and spoke.
“Thank you, Sebastian. I appreciate it. So, can you tell me about the menu? Will everything be as planned?”
“Certainly. Most certainly. Let me see. . . .”
Sebastian opened an iPad he’d been holding. “I have your aunt’s menu in front of me. This is a sunrise breakfast, so naturally we’ll be serving a variety of organic, freshly squeezed juices including, but not limited to, orange, grapefruit, guava, cranberry, tomato, apple, and grape. Our coffee selection will include light, medium, and dark roasts as well as specialty flavors. Your aunt wanted coconut and macadamia.”
Of course she does. Surprised she didn’t ask for something more exotic. “Uh-huh. That sounds good.”
“And teas, of course. A lovely selection of fusion teas.”
“Fusion teas?”
“Yes, we have our blends specially created.”
I nodded and waited for Sebastian to continue.
“Naturally we’ll be serving an assortment of rolls, croissants, and pastries with flavored butters and creams. Additionally, we will feature a delightful cheese platter with domestic and imported cheeses and, of course, an assortment of fruits and nuts. Now, on to the actual menu. Your aunt wanted blueberry lemon crepes, eggs Benedict with our own hollandaise sauce, poached salmon, lobster frittata, stuffed derma, boiled shrimp with cocktail sauce, seafood Louie salad, crab maison, sausage links, and country potatoes with onions. Is there anything I’m neglecting?”
Yeah, a loan application to pay for all of this. “No, I think that about does it. It sounds as if everything will continue as planned.”
Sebastian smiled and glanced at his iPad. “We will, of course, be coordinating with the company that will be setting up the pavilion. I have that in my notes. Seems there have been a few changes. Let’s see . . . Mmm . . . It appears as if your aunt finally found a company to her satisfaction—Feltons’ Pavilions, Tents, and Awnings in Phoenix.”
I swore I heard him groan ever so slightly at the name. “Um, have you worked with them before?” I asked.
“I’m afraid so. Yes. Nothing to worry about. I can assure you. We are consummate professionals and we will take painstaking care to ensure your aunt’s wedding meal is the epitome of perfection. We have a stellar reputation and guard it ferociously.”
At the sound of the word “ferociously,” I pictured him warding off Everett and Jake with a sharp knife. Then it dawned on me. I could use this opening to ask him the same thing I asked Rochelle, but I had to work my way around it.
With a voice barely above a whisper, I tried to sound as sincere as possible. “Believe me, I understand the reputation of an establishment must be guarded at all costs. Are you worried that Roland’s death will somehow diminish Saveur de Evangeline’s status in the valley?”
If Sebastian was taken back, he didn’t show it. “I would be amiss if I didn’t express some concern, but ultimately, no. Our reputation is firm. That’s why it’s imperative we continue without interruption. Roland may have been the owner and master chef, but we have many fine chefs in our employ and as far as ownership goes, Roland wasn’t the sole proprietor.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
“It’s not common knowledge. Roland ran the entire business, but he had the backing of wealthy restauranteurs. You may even have heard about another version of Saveur de Evangeline opening in Scottsdale—Saveur de Madeline. The time schedule will be delayed of course, with Roland’s death, but I have no doubt the venture will continue as planned.”
“That’s good news, I suppose. Say, speaking of Roland’s death, do you have any idea who would have wanted to kill him?”
By now the news was out, so the fact Roland’s death wasn’t accidental didn’t seem to come as a surprise to Sebastian.
“Would have liked to kill him or actually could have done the deed? There’s a difference, you know.”
I was momentarily caught off guard and took a few seconds to respond. “Both. I’m curious.”
“It should come as no surprise whatsoever that Julien Rossier, from La Petite Pâtisserie, held a long-standing grudge against Roland. And your tent company . . . Well, they had some unpleasant dealings with him as well. Of course, that was years ago. I doubt very much Julien could have pulled off a murder, but when it comes to some of the employees from that tent company, I’m more inclined to think they could accomplish such a heinous deed.”
I thought about Jake and his cavalier attitude at the Petrogylph Plaza. No wonder Sebastian equated them with thugs. I bit my lip and didn’t say a word. Sebastian quickly maneuvered around the subject.
“This is strictly speculation. Strictly speculation. Nothing for you to lose sleep over. Your aunt’s wedding meal will be spectacular. You have my word.”
I reached across the table and shook his hand. I thought I detected a slight tremor, but maybe it was my imagination. “Thank you, Sebastian. You’ve been most generous with your time and attention to my aunt’s needs. I genuinely appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.”
As I stepped out of the restaurant into the morning sunlight, something clicked in my mind. The word “restauranteur.” Wasn’t Theodore Sizemore, the man they found dead on the golf course, a restauranteur? Nah, too much of a coincidence. Or was it?
Chapter 11
I got to the office a good fifteen minutes before Nate walked in. Judging from the circles under his eyes, he was either staying up past midnight or getting up at an obscene hour similar to my schedule as of late, and that included the past weekend.
I shouted to him as he made a beeline to the Keurig. “Hey! You look exactly the way I feel. I’ve had two early morning meetings this week, thanks to my aunt Ina, and not a lot of sleep. It’s a good thing we’ve got a reliable coffee machine.”
Nate was already getting his cup ready before I finished my thought. “The way my schedule has been going, I could take this stuff intravenously. I’ve been up since five. Five! Who the hell gets up at that hour? Don’t say anything. I’ll tell you who—Herb Garrett. That neighbor of your mother’s. He had an early morning tee time with some buddies of his and offered to meet me before he got to the golf course. To make matters worse, he didn’t want to meet in Sun City West, in case Theodore Sizemore’s killer was in earshot. His words, not mine.”
“Yikes. Killer? I didn’t know the authorities had an actual murderer in mind.”
“They don’t. The case is still under investigation. The guy’s death is suspicious, that’s all.”
“So where did you wind up meeting?”
“At a Dunkin’ Donuts in Surprise and, unless Herb always wears dark glasses and a booney hat, I swear he was trying to dress incognito. Is he a nutcase or what?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, compared with the other friends and neighbors my mother has, he’s pretty normal. Fancies himself a real Don Juan but seems harmless enough. I know he keeps an eye out for my mom in case anything odd is going on in the area. How did the conversation go? Find out anything?”
“Not as much as I would have liked. Herb didn’t see anything and woke up only when the emergency crews arrived, flashers and all. But he did, as he put
it, “have the skinny on this Sizemore dude.”
“Sounds like Herb. Of course, you do know that any information gleaned from the residents in Sun City West needs to be filtered for gossip, hearsay, and rumor. I should know. I get to do that all the time with my mother. So, what did you learn?”
“Well, to begin with, Theodore Sizemore had a falling out with some members of the board at his country club and decided to quit his membership for the year. Doesn’t seem like a cause for murder, but I’ll look into it. Herb went on to tell me how wealthy this Sizemore guy was and how he was a ‘wheeler-dealer’ when it came to investing in high-class restaurants in Dallas, Miami, Los Angeles, and Manhattan. That, I already knew.”
“What about family? Did Herb know if the guy was married or anything?”
“No, but I’d already found that out. Theodore Sizemore was divorced, no children, and the ex-wife remarried a CEO for some pharmaceutical company. She’s quite well off without any of his money.”
“So, who gets his money?”
“The lawyers are sifting through that now. I imagine monies from his business partnerships stay with the businesses, and as far as his personal wealth is concerned, I’m sure he had a will and I’ll eventually be privy to that information.”
“I’ve got one more question, Nate.”
“Yeah?”
“You were asked to investigate because the sheriff’s office thought the death was suspicious. Why? Can you tell me?”
“I know you won’t say anything to anyone. So, yeah. Theodore Sizemore was found face down on the river rocks with a toppled golf cart a few feet away. Granted, it’s a fairly steep fall, but he suffered a blow to his head that couldn’t have come from the fall. It was on the left-hand side of his temple, above the eye. Here’s where it gets interesting. The position of his body had him sprawled on his right side. The river rocks didn’t cause that blow. It had to have been done deliberately. The deputy sheriff who investigated noticed that immediately and the coroner concurred. Of course, we’re still waiting for autopsy results and toxicology, but my take is someone was standing off to the side of the path in the semidarkness and hurled a heavy rock right at the guy’s temple. Someone with good aim. Too bad there weren’t any witnesses.”
“Wow. That’s almost as creepy as Roland LeDoux’s death. Of course, he was bitten by a snake, but what the heck was he doing down in that ditch?”
“I’m sure if anyone will figure that out, you will, Phee. From the sound of things, your aunt isn’t going to give you any peace until she knows how her master chef met his end. I’d offer to look into it, but I’m inundated.”
“Oh gosh, Nate. I wouldn’t expect you to do that. I’m just concentrating on the wedding preparation stuff that seems to be landing in my lap. If there’s anything to Roland LeDoux’s death, I’m sure someone will figure it out.”
That second, the phone rang and I reached over Augusta’s desk to pick it up. Of all things, it was my mother. Nate refilled his coffee, but not before giving me the sign of an X with his fingers as soon as he heard it was her. I swear I heard him laugh all the way into his office.
“Mom! Why are you calling me at work? Is anything wrong?”
“Wrong? Of course there’s something wrong. A man was murdered a few yards from my house and, for all I know, everyone on this block could be on his hit list. Wanda and Dolores, who live across the street, are positive we have a prowler. They called the sheriff’s posse and reported it.”
“Reported what?”
“Oh. Didn’t I tell you? Wanda and Dolores had their landscaper plant a lovely flower bed of azaleas, lantanas, yellow bells, and other desert perennials. Brought in special reflective glass pebbles for it, too. And, of all things, someone went trampling through them. Made a real mess. Now the landscaper has to come back.”
“It was probably coyotes or javelinas. Maybe even rabbits.”
“You sound just like that sheriff’s deputy. No, Wanda and Dolores are certain it was done by a person. Someone who walked through the side of their yard from the golf course.”
“This is getting ridiculous, Mom. Is that why you called me? To tell me about your neighbors’ plants?”
“Not their plants, their prowler. And I called you because I had an idea of who might have killed your aunt Ina’s chef and I didn’t want to wait.”
“Is this idea of yours based on any facts?”
“It could be. I think that man was most probably murdered by a jealous ex-girlfriend. I read in the paper he wasn’t married, so it had to be an ex-girlfriend.”
“Just like that? An ex-girlfriend? Here we go again. The same as last year when you were certain the ex-boyfriend of your neighbor Jeanette was the one responsible for those book club deaths. And what do you know? She didn’t even have an ex-boyfriend or a boyfriend, for that matter! This is craziness. Stop coming up with these wackadoodle theories.”
“Call me later, Phee, and we can discuss this. I can tell by the irritated sound of your voice you’re too busy right now.”
“Because I’m at work! Work! I can’t stop to talk about plants, ex-boyfriends, or prowlers. Try not to dwell on this, will you? I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”
She made a “hrrumph” sound and hung up just as Nate walked back into the room.
“What’s this about plants and prowlers?”
“Can you believe it? My mother’s neighbors, Wanda and Dolores, are convinced they have a prowler.”
I went on to explain about the trampled perennials and the call those women made to the sheriff’s posse, expecting Nate to burst out laughing. He didn’t.
“Where did you say these neighbors live?”
“Diagonal from my mother’s house, near Herb Garrett. Why?”
“So the back of their house faces the golf course.”
“That’s right.”
“Phee, it might not have been coyotes. Did you mother say when their landscaper was coming back?”
“No, but I doubt it’s today. Those companies get pretty busy.”
“Great! Then there’s still time. Do you have the address?”
“No, unless you really want me to call my mother back.”
I’m sure he could read my face, and it had “PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME CALL HER” splashed all over it.
“You said it was diagonal to your mom’s place. Any distinguishing features about their house?”
“One. A pig. A huge ceramic pig that sits on the front lawn under their picture window. They dress the thing up according to the season or their moods. Last time I looked it was sporting polka dots and wearing a straw hat. My mother said Wanda and her daughter, Dolores, are from Iowa and that’s what they do in Iowa for lawn decorations.”
“Good. I shouldn’t have any trouble finding the place. Look, it’s a lead, Phee, and I’m checking it out. Catch you later.”
“You’re serious, Nate? You believe her?”
“That’s what I’m about to find out.”
He bolted out the door before I could say anything else. As I stood there, I couldn’t help but wonder why I was disregarding certain information that apparently had some merit. How on earth was I ever going to learn the difference? Not that it really mattered. Any investigating I wound up doing was by the seat of my pants. And I was doing it for one reason only—to prevent my aunt Ina from getting even more agitated about her wedding.
The only salvation I had was the fact my mother wasn’t plaguing Nate with all of her theories. Herb Garrett was bound to do that. It was just a matter of time.
Thankful to immerse myself in spreadsheets and data, I pulled up the monthly reports and got to work. I was so engrossed I didn’t even hear Augusta come in. I nearly jumped out of my seat when she rapped on the frame of my office door to say good morning.
“What makes you so jumpy this morning? I’m just saying hello, not holding up the joint.”
“It’s been a madhouse, if you must know. So far this week I’ve seen a dead body, had my mothe
r call to tell me two of her friends were brought into the sheriff’s station on possible murder charges, and now there might really be a murderer trespassing through her neighbors’ yard. In fact, Nate went to check it out.”
“A trespasser, huh? That’s a new one. I know those women don’t want to consider owning guns, but nothing says ‘Get the hell away from me’ more than staring down the barrel of a Glock at someone. Of course, a well-trained German shepherd or Rottweiler could do the trick.”
“My mother already owns a dog. And the only trick he knows is to hide under the couch.”
Augusta smiled and headed to her desk. For some reason, the phone had been quiet all morning, but that changed the minute she got in. The darn thing rang like crazy. Mostly new referrals.
“Mr. Williams is going to need to hire another investigator pretty soon,” Augusta shouted across the room. “There’s only so much one person can handle. You ever think about doing that detective stuff, Phee?”
I walked to the outside office. “Sure, I think about it. It’s right up there with trekking the Andes and riding an Icelandic horse across glacial rivers.”
We both started laughing, and I went back to my desk.
Nate appeared an hour or so later. Ecstatic, wired, and smiling. “It wasn’t coyotes, kiddo. Unless they’ve started wearing shoes.”
I was almost speechless. The last thing I ever expected was for one of my mother’s ramblings about the neighbors to have any validity.
“Oh my gosh. You’re kidding.”
“’Fraid not. I imagine the sheriff’s office gets all sorts of calls from panicky residents who overreact, so the deputies get to a point where they half-heartedly check stuff out. Now, don’t get me wrong or repeat this, but I think that’s what happened. When I got there—and, by the way, Wanda and Dolores were very accommodating—I took a good look at their plants. The track marks were really clear. Right down to the gravel. They could only have been made by someone who walked directly through their property upon leaving the golf course.”
