Grilled for Murder

by Maddie Day

  A shadow passed over Jim’s face as he carefully detached from Erica’s arm and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Jon, his twin, had killed himself in Chicago a year ago. Jim had told me how hard it’d been for him, and still was, to lose his twin, and to suicide, too. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll call you Erica from now on.”

  “No, I want you to call me Rickie. Please?”

  Jim cleared his throat. “Have you met my girlfriend, Robbie Jordan? This is her restaurant and country store.” He slung his arm along my shoulders, giving my arm a squeeze.

  Erica narrowed her eyes and studied me before flashing a big smile. She held out her hand. “His girlfriend? Well, isn’t this a surprise?”

  “Nice to meet you, Erica. Welcome back.” I forced a smile and shook her hand. I snuck a glance at Jim, who straightened his collar and was looking anywhere but at Erica. I gazed around the store. Almost everyone had stopped what they were doing, food halfway to their mouths, bottles halfway raised, to watch Erica.

  “Isn’t this a cute place you’ve got here,” Erica said. “It was a real dump last time I lived in town.”

  “Robbie did all the renovation work herself, too.” Jim’s smile at me was genuine.

  “Imagine that. You’re so talented,” she said in a voice oozing insincerity.

  “I’ll be bringing out some hot sliders in a minute, and the pizzas over there are probably still warm, if you’re hungry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you two have some time to catch up.” I cast another quick look at Jim before heading to the kitchen area, and if that wasn’t a panicked expression on his face, I don’t know what was. Well, he was a big boy. He could handle his former sister-in-law. Or not. I sure wasn’t going to get in the middle.

  Chapter 2

  It was nine o’clock before I finally got a chance to take off my apron and sit down near my desk in the far corner. When Sue had made the arrangements for the party, she’d also made it clear she hoped I would join them when I could. She’d said I should consider myself part of the family and not only the caterer. So I’d worn my black swingy dress with the cap sleeves and my turquoise cowboy boots. A multicolored chunky necklace brightened up the dress. And even though I had to wear my thick, curly, Italian hair pulled back when I was working, I’d added a sparkly pin for a party touch.

  A group of guys over near the door, including Abe, laughed at some joke, and several couples danced in the middle of the space. Erica flitted from group to group, a bottle of beer in her hand. By the smiles and hugs, people seemed genuinely glad to have her back in town. I let the party flow around me, glad to hold a plastic cup of white wine and get off my feet. It’d been a long day, but I loved seeing the place full. Part of my dream in restoring the store and adding the restaurant had been to make it a community gathering place. Just like this.

  A tune sounding like West Coast swing came on and Jim strolled up, his eyes sparkling. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  We’d gone dancing at a local roadhouse on our very first date, the one that unfortunately ended in news of a murder in town. We shared a love of dance, although my experience was mostly freestyle, while he knew steps to all different kinds of dances, from swing to contra to international folk dancing. He’d told me that was how he stayed fit, by going dancing every chance he got.

  I grabbed one more sip of wine, then said, “Why not?”

  I extended my hand and let him pull me up and lead me to where others were dancing. He was a good half-foot taller than me, and it felt perfect to lay my hand on his shoulder and have him take my other hand in his. He waited until the song started a new phrase, then led me through the steps. I tried to stay loose and follow, not my strong suit, but we’d gone dancing several more times in recent weeks and I was starting to get the hang of it. He’d told me about staying in the box, about imagining a rectangle defining our moves. It helped. Next to us, Phil twirled the woman he was dancing with, and then bent her down in a dip. He caught my eye and grinned, then straightened and waltzed away.

  The music changed to a slower tune. Jim pulled me in close, and the feel of his warm, smooth shirt under my cheek, his head bent down over mine, was heavenly. But after only a minute in paradise, a woman’s shouts broke our bubble. I pulled away from Jim. Erica and Tiffany stood a couple of yards away facing each other.

  “You’re lying.” Erica pointed a red-lacquered fingernail at Tiffany’s face. “I didn’t do any such thing.”

  The room quieted, with only the music continuing. Glen Berry rushed to his daughter’s side. “What’s going on here?” He looked from one woman to the other, the silver at the temples of his close-shorn dark hair catching the light.

  Tiffany set her hands on her hips, nostrils flaring in her golden-skinned face, earrings mixing gold and silver that flashed in the light. “She’s been stealing from me. She said she wanted to learn how to make jewelry. But all she wanted to do was own it.”

  “It’s not true and you can’t prove it.” Erica glared at Tiffany. “Why’d you come here, anyway? So you could party with a thief? Get some free food and drink?”

  “I was giving you the benefit of the doubt. But that bracelet?” Tiffany pointed to an intricate hoop of silver twisted with other metals on Erica’s wrist. “It’s missing from the store.”

  Erica snorted. “My late husband gave it to me. I wouldn’t steal your precious stock. It’s not very well made, anyway.”

  Tiffany took a step toward Erica. Glen stepped between them and pushed out both hands. “Now wait a chicken-picking minute, girls. Y’all don’t need to fight about this.”

  “You’re right,” Tiffany spit out. “Larceny is a matter for the police.” She grabbed her bag from the table and rushed toward the door. She tore her coat from the coat tree and, with a fierce jangle of the bell, was gone at the same time as the coat tree swayed and crashed to the ground.

  I glanced at Jim and shook my head, then hurried to the coat tree, arriving at the same time as Abe. He set it back to standing, while I gathered up a couple of coats from the floor. I dusted them off, one by one, and handed them to him.

  “Thanks,” I said. “That was quite a scene.”

  “I’ll say. Erica has never held back from drama, that’s for sure.” He hung up the last coat.

  “Did you bring her here?” Earlier in the fall Abe had asked me out to dinner. It’d ended up being the day a murderer had run me off the road on my bicycle and I’d broken my clavicle, so we’d never gotten to the dinner. Anyway, I was seeing Jim. And it looked like maybe Abe was going out with Erica.

  He laughed the delightful rolling laugh I remembered. “No way. I just happened to arrive at the same time she did. But we used to go out. Long time ago.”

  “How have you been lately?”

  “I’m good. Keeping busy.” He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans, which he wore with a white Oxford shirt and a gray blazer. The look suited him.

  “Still playing banjo?” I gestured at the case, which he’d set behind the coat tree.

  “You bet. Might still drag it out tonight if inspiration strikes.” He flashed me his big smile, that same dimple creasing his right cheek, his brown eyes smiling, too.

  “I’d love to hear you play.”

  “Could happen. Hey, sorry we never got our dinner in. I know you’re, um, hanging out with Shermer, but if an evening ever frees up, you give me a call, okay?”

  “Okay. Right now I think I’d better get back to cleaning up the food table.” I headed for the decimated dinner array, but paused at the drinks table.

  “How’s it going, Phil?” I asked. A couple of bottles of bourbon had made an appearance on the table, and neither was full, by the looks of it.

  “Not bad, not bad at all. I’m keeping an eye on a couple of folks, though. Might need a little backup from the owner at some point.” He raised his eyebrows and pointed his gaze toward Max.

  “He’s overindulging?” Gah. Acting as a bouncer
wasn’t what I’d signed up for.

  “Getting a little sloppy.” He gestured at the bottles of whiskey. “With this stuff, we could have quite a few overindulgers”

  “Sue said it’s okay to have the whiskey?”

  He shrugged, and winked one of his startlingly blue eyes. “It was her husband who brought it. So I guess it is.”

  “Now,” a man’s voice said from a few tables away.

  I looked in that direction. Max stood in front of where Paula sat talking to a couple of women.

  “It’s time to go.” His deep voice carried to Phil and me.

  Paula shook her head. “I’m having fun, Max. I’m staying.”

  “You need to come home with me. I’m concerned about our baby.” He reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling upward.

  Not this again. Probably not a good idea to try to intervene, but I hated seeing him rough with her.

  “Max.” Now Paula raised her voice. She swatted at his hand with her free one. “Let go. It’s my sister’s party and I’m not leaving. The baby is fine.”

  Max drew his mouth down and looked like he might erupt. “Get your own ride home, then.” He let go of her wrist and stalked toward the door.

  Erica waylaid him halfway there. “Hey, big guy.” She set one hand on her hip and laid the other hand flat on his chest. She gazed up at him, a little smile curving her lips. “You be nice to my big sister now, hear? She just wants to have a little fun before she becomes a mama.”

  “You, too, huh?” Max’s face hardened. “Get out of my way, Erica.” He lifted her hand off his chest. “I’m simply thinking about her health, but I guess I’m the only one who is.”

  “Now, now, big Max. We all love Paulie, you know that.” Erica still smiled but her voice turned as steely as my best knife. “And we love you, too. I don’t want to be seeing you guys argue.”

  Max glared down at her. Without speaking he turned and left the store.

  Whew. Erica sashayed back to the fold while I tried to remember what I’d been doing before the eruption.

  “Oh, Robbie, hon,” Sue called from the table where she sat, waving her hand. “Can you bring out them cupcakes?”

  Shoot, of course. The dessert. I never should have removed my apron.

  “Coming right up,” I said. I hurried to tie on a clean apron, and rushed through consolidating the rest of the food at one end of the table. I spread a clean cloth on the other half, retrieved the cupcakes from the walk-in cooler, and carried out the big box from the local bakery. After I opened the box and slid the foil-topped cardboard tray onto the table, I set a stack of small plates and napkins next to the dessert. The cupcakes were decorated with tiny versions of the town’s landmark Jupiter gazebo, once the site of a famous sulfur spring and spa, thus the town’s name. When I’d moved here from Santa Barbara, I’d found a name with the word lick in it slightly vulgar, but I’d learned it was like a salt lick, a naturally occurring place where animals went to lick salt and other essential minerals. So the Lick in the name only meant salts had been part of the mineral springs.

  “Dessert, anyone?” I called out in my best outdoor voice. I stood back and watched people flock to the table. What was dinner without some sugar to top it off, especially when people were drinking?

  Erica and Jim approached together. She picked up a cupcake and peeled back the paper with those red fingernails in four slow, seductive movements, watching Jim as she did. She took a bite, then ran her tongue around her lips. Jim glanced at me and rolled his eyes before grabbing a cupcake and turning away from her. I turned away, too. I had pans to wash.

  * * *

  The crowd had thinned to a half dozen or so by eleven o’clock. The elder Berrys had thanked me profusely, and Sue had pressed a check for fifty dollars over our agreed amount into my hand before they’d left an hour earlier. Erica had shed her heels and sat on the sofa, which I’d arranged with a couple of chairs in a nook for a small informal sitting area. She had her feet tucked up under her and a half-inch of whiskey in the cup she held. Paula sprawled next to her with her feet up on a chair. Abe sat picking out tunes on his banjo, accompanied by a guy who had pulled out a harmonica, while Phil, the aspiring opera star, sang along to blues, gospel, bluegrass, whatever kind of music they played. They were in the middle of “Suwanee River” when Jim leaned toward me.

  “I’ve got a migraine brewing.”

  “Oh, too bad.”

  “I’m going to head home.” He massaged the back of his head above his neck. “Sorry I can’t stay to help clean up.”

  “Yes, go. Don’t worry, cleanup’s nearly done, anyway, and I’ll get these guys to set up the tables and chairs again for tomorrow morning.” Which was going to come along way too early. At least I didn’t open until eight on Sundays, a small blessing.

  I walked Jim to the door. After he slid into his coat, Erica called out.

  “Goodnight, Jimmy. See you later.” She waved a lazy hand.

  “G’night, Erica. Bye, everybody.” Jim raised a hand in return, then turned back to me and leaned in for a kiss.

  It was a delicious one. “Talk to you tomorrow,” I said as he opened the door.

  “Sounds good.” He disappeared, then stuck his head back in. “It’s snowing.”

  I followed him out and stood on the wide covered porch, wrapping my arms around myself. It was indeed snowing, the first storm of the season, with fat white puffs of snow floating gently down in the streetlight. I watched Jim drive off in his Prius, then hurried back inside.

  Another storm appeared to be brewing inside, too. The music had stopped and Phil stood, mouth agape, facing Erica.

  “What century are you living in?” he asked, his voice shaking.

  Erica didn’t meet his eyes, instead leaning down to slip on first one shoe, then the other. She turned to Paula and extended her hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Guy can’t take a joke. You’re going to sleep over at my place, anyway, aren’t you?”

  “That was no joke,” Phil said in a now steady voice, with a low and serious tone.

  Erica headed for where I stood near the door without looking back.

  Paula looked at Phil, a distressed look on her face. “I’m sorry, Phil. What she said was totally uncalled for.”

  He shook his head with lips pressed flat. Erica grabbed her coat and shrugged it on, then handed Paula hers when she arrived at the door.

  “Thanks so much, Robbie,” Erica said with a smile that didn’t include her eyes. “It was a great party.”

  “Yes, thanks, Robbie.” Paula barely suppressed a yawn.

  “Are you okay to drive, Erica?” I asked. She’d been drinking all evening, but her speech wasn’t slurred.

  She batted at the air. “Don’t worry about it. I have a designated driver, right, Paulie?”

  Paula pointed a finger gun. “At least pregnancy is good for something.”

  “And we’re going to have a sister slumber party at my house,” Erica added.

  Paula rolled her eyes, but smiled. “If you insist.”

  “I need to protect you from that husband of yours. Give him a night to cool off.”

  “Careful, it’s snowing out there.” I held the door open for them and made sure they both made it down the stairs and into a small red sporty-looking car before I went back in. Abe and the harmonica guy had started playing again, but Phil wasn’t singing. I walked up to where he stood with arms folded near the kitchen area, staring at the door.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Erica’s a racist. She said . . . well, I’m not even going to repeat it.” His voice shook again. “Can you believe it, in this day and age?”

  I stroked his arm. “Unfortunately I can believe it, but I’m sorry it had to happen.” A yawn overtook me. “Oops. It’s been a really long day.”

  Phil looked at me. “Hey, go to bed. We’ll clean up and get the place set up for tomorrow. I have a key, remember. I’ll lock up.” He glanced at the remaining guests. �
��Right, guys? We’ll set this place right again and let Robbie get some sleep?”

  “Absolutely,” Abe called over, and the harmonica guy raised his hand.

  “Thanks, my friend.” I pulled Phil in for a hug. “What would I do without you?” His hair, cut in a kind of high flattop, brushed my forehead. It looked wiry, but it was extra soft.

  He laughed, the tension sliding off his face. “Well, don’t get too used to me. When I land my big opera role, I’ll be out of here faster than—” he watched me with a grin.

  “I know, than green grass through a goose.” I laughed, too, and made my way toward my apartment door at the back of the store. “’Night, everyone. Thanks so much for the help.” I unlocked the door, then locked it again behind me.

  My black-and-white foundling kitty, Birdy, watched from his perch on the back of the easy chair. I gave him a scritch on the head and listened to his chirping purr, the reason I’d named him Birdy.

  “Birdy, what do you think Erica said to Phil?” He didn’t answer. Most of the time I didn’t even think about Phil being African-American. He was just a talented, generous friend. Besides having an amazing voice that’d gotten him plush roles in the Indiana University music department, he baked all the brownies and cookies for the restaurant, he’d designed the logo for the store, and he helped out when his schedule permitted. Plus he was fun, and a good friend I was grateful to have. But I was sure he ran into racism on a regular basis. Our country hadn’t really made all that much progress in moving beyond prejudice, despite having elected a black president. That Erica would insult Phil to his face, though, surprised me. Then again, I didn’t really know her. And from what I’d seen tonight, including her attempts to honey up to Jim, her fight with Tiffany, and her run-in with Max, I wasn’t very eager to.

  Chapter 3

  Yawning, I rolled out of bed and stretched. I’d known six o’clock was going to come way, way too early this morning. Overall the party had gone well, although it’d been a little tense at times. I was glad it was behind me. Even with all that, it was good publicity for my restaurant and I hoped it would snag me more catering opportunities in the future.