I followed her to the kitchen, and she pulled up a chair for me.
“So you saw the damage?
I nodded, grimacing.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad, Toni, really bad. It’s gone. It’s all gone.”
“Thank goodness we’re insured. We can always rebuild if we want to.”
The problem was that we didn’t have insurance, a small detail I couldn’t bring myself to mention at that moment. “What do you mean if we want to rebuild?”
She scowled. “Seeing as we were working ourselves haggard and barely making any money, why would we want to go through all that again? Before I forget—” she opened the cupboard and pulled out the coffee grinder, and then turned to face me, “—will you please explain why exactly you thought I was dead?”
“They found a body in the restaurant,” I said, the full horror of it hitting me again. “Oh God, Toni, I was so sure it was you. They said it was a woman’s body.”
The answer hit us both at the same time, and we blurted it out together. “Jennifer!”
“It must have been her,” Toni continued slowly. “She probably discovered she’d left her wallet there and went back for it. She and Charles are living together. She must have borrowed the key from him.”
I’d had no idea Jennifer and Charles were living together. It made the tragedy seem even worse. Charles was such a nice person, and losing a loved one was one of the most painful experiences in the world.
Jennifer was tall and thin, and had shoulder-length blond hair. From the description the fire chief had given me, no wonder I’d automatically concluded the victim was Toni.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, Toni, did you know that the fire was deliberately set?”
She looked at me, her eyes wide with shock. “It wasn’t an accident?”
“No, and the fire inspector said that the victim was probably murdered.” I stared hard at her. “Toni, listen to me. First I get hit by a car, then the restaurant burns down, and now Jennifer is dead—murdered. I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it harder and harder to believe that this is all just some gigantic series of coincidences.”
The color drained from her. “Somebody is willing to kill, just to see us out of business? Oh, my God. It has to be that crazy woman. What do you think we should do?”
I furrowed my forehead, thinking furiously. “I don’t know.” And then I made up my mind. “Just because somebody is trying to force us to close shop—damn it—doesn’t mean we have to lie down and take it. You and I have to fight.”
She dropped into the chair across from me. “That’s exactly what I was afraid you’d say.”
everybody thinks you’re dead
Toni was making coffee—the last thing in the world I wanted. All I felt was an overwhelming need to figure out who was responsible for what was going on, and find a way to stop them. Was it the bedraggled woman? Could someone who appeared to be a homeless person or mentally ill, if not both, somehow get hold of a car and run me down, and then find a gun, shoot Jennifer and burn down our restaurant? As unlikely as that scenario seemed, I couldn’t come up with a better one. I limped over to the living room, collapsed on the sofa and stared at the ceiling, as thoughts whirled inside my head.
“I almost forgot,” I shouted to Toni in the kitchen. “I have to call the inspector. Everybody still thinks you’re dead.” I reached over for the house phone on the coffee table, pulled out the bunch of business cards from my pocket and sorted through them until I found the one I was looking for. I punched in the number.
She came racing back. “Tell me you’re not calling Crawford and Sanders. I don’t think I could stomach having to deal with those two right now.”
I covered the mouthpiece and whispered. “No, I’m calling the fire inspector. And there’s another police detective in charge, thank goodness.”
On the third ring the inspector picked up, sounding surprisingly concerned considering how cold he had been earlier. “Ms. Landry, what’s up? Did something happen? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I have good news. My friend Toni is alive. It was somebody else’s body you found.” I tried to explain but realized that I wasn’t making much sense. “Here, you can speak to her yourself. She’s right here.” I passed the phone to Toni.
She answered his questions, told him who we thought victim might be, and after looking up Charles’s number on her iPhone and giving it to him, she hung up. “He’s going to let the police know. He said they’d want to talk to him.”
I couldn’t imagine a worse way of receiving such tragic news than by a policeman showing up at your door. I looked at Toni earnestly. “Don’t you think we should go to Charles before the police get there? He shouldn’t have to be alone.”
She hesitated. “We’re really sure about this, aren’t we?—about the victim being Jennifer, I mean.”
I nodded grimly. “It certainly looks that way.”
“I guess we should.” She pulled out her iPhone and touched the screen. “I have his address.” She named a trendy area of the city.
This took me by surprise. I hadn’t expected Charles to be living in one of Toronto’s pricier neighborhoods. Toni rechecked the address. “That’s the address he gave me.”
I let the dogs out, refilled their water bowl, and then we took off.
We headed east of downtown, toward Cabbagetown, so named for the Irish immigrants who first came to live there in the eighteen-fifties. The area had been gentrified—much like my own neighborhood of Queen West—until its real estate had risen to astronomical prices.
We turned from Winchester onto Sumac, pulling up in front of a lovely old Victorian house across from a small park. Again I asked, “Are you sure this is where he lives?” I couldn’t imagine that my sous-chef, whom we were paying a pittance, could afford to live in a near mansion.
She pulled her cell from her pocket and rechecked the address. “No mistake—this is it.”
I stared at the house, taking in the three-floor brick structure, its richly carved wood door, the detailed stained-glass windows and meticulous landscaping. This place had to be worth well into the seven figures. “How the hell can Charles afford to live here?”
“It’s certainly not from the money we pay him.” Toni was staring at it in awe. “This place is gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind living here myself.”
I gawked at it for a minute longer, as much in procrastination as in admiration. “Well, we can’t stay out here forever.” I pushed open the door and hopped out on one foot, grabbing my crutches from between the front seats and pulling them under my arms. Another week and I’d be getting around almost as comfortably with them as without.
Just as Toni reached for the bell, the door flew open and Charles appeared in his terry bathrobe. The deep circles under his eyes hinted at a sleepless night. “Jennifer?” he blurted, looking faint with relief until, seeing it was only Toni and me, his face fell. “Oh, hi.” He frowned, puzzled. “What are you two doing here?”
“Uh, Charles, I’m afraid we have some bad news. There’s been a fire at the restaurant.”
“Oh?” he answered, glancing over my shoulder, still looking for Jennifer no doubt.
My heart sank for him. “The restaurant is pretty much gutted,” I added.
This seemed to get through to him. “The restaurant is gone?”
“Burned to the ground, Charles—it’s gone.”
He took a step back, tightened the belt around his robe and gestured for us to come in. “That’s unreal. That means we’re all out of a job?”
Nodding, I took a deep breath. “There’s more. The fire inspector thinks it was probably arson.”
“Are you serious?” He frowned. “Was it that lunatic who threatened you?” Pausing between the foyer and the living room, he shook his head in disbelief. At last he gathered himself and pointed toward the sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
I shuffled further in. “No thank you.” I turned and almost gasped out loud. T
he living room was magnificent—large yet inviting, with dark hardwood floors, robin’s-egg walls and creamy white high ceilings. I looked around, admiring the light taupe sofa and armchairs. An arched doorway separated this room from the dining area—a long dark-wood table, upholstered chairs, a sparkling chandelier and what looked like hand-painted wallpaper with an oriental motif. The decor was magnificent, elegant yet comfortable with tasteful furnishings and walls covered in art. It could have been featured in a decorating magazine.
“Are you sure? Coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” I said again, letting myself sink into one of the down-filled armchairs. I cleared my throat. “Er, Charles, I need to ask you, did you give anybody a copy of the restaurant key by any chance?”
He looked taken aback. “Of course not—I’ve only got one copy, and I have it right here.” He rose and went to an antique desk near the entrance, picking up a key ring and going through it. He paused, his forehead furrowing. “I know I had it yesterday.” Understanding flashed through his eyes. “Jennifer must have borrowed it. We had an argument last night and she took off in a huff. But why would she have wanted—” He froze, blood draining from his face. “The fire—did anybody—?”
My mouth dried. But just as I was about to tell him, I was saved by the doorbell. Charles looked too shocked to move.
“I’ll get it.” Toni strode to the door. “Hello, Officer, I’m Toni Lawford,” I heard her say in a low voice.
And then I heard a male voice I recognized as Police Officer Duncan’s. He walked in, and nodded to Toni and me. “Are you Charles Bateman?”
Charles paled and nodded.
The officer turned to me. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with him in private.”
“Of course.” I turned to Charles. “We’ll be waiting in the car in case you need us.”
I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, but we pulled on our coats and left. Soon we were sitting in Toni’s car, shivering. She turned on the motor and put the heat on full blast. Hot air instantly streamed in. “Poor guy,” she whispered, breathing in her hands for warmth. “I can’t imagine what he must be going through. He’s probably feeling a hundred times worse because his last memory of Jennifer will be of them arguing.”
I was trying to picture the timeline according to what Charles had just told us. “Jennifer didn’t tell him she was going to the restaurant.” I thought for a second. “If she was storming out after an argument, she was probably planning on checking into a hotel, but since she’d forgotten her wallet at work, she must have swiped the restaurant key from Charles’s ring as she left.”
I was quiet for a few minutes as I pictured the scenario unfolding in Charles’s house as we spoke.
“Poor guy.” I said, echoing Toni’s words.
We sat in silence, our shivering quickly fading as the interior warmed. Ten minutes or so later, long after the temperature had reached toasty warm, the front door opened and the inspector stuck his head out. He glanced up and down the street until he spotted us and waved us over.
I followed Toni into the eerily silent living room. Officer Duncan nodded a greeting. Charles was sitting in the same spot, now with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His grief was almost palpable. I paused, uncertain what I should do or say.
Toni didn’t hesitate. She strode over and sat next to him, rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry, Charles.”
He raised his head and looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. “I have to go identify the body. I don’t think I can do that by myself.”
Toni squeezed his hand. “Would you like me to go with you?” He nodded silently.
“All right then,” Duncan said. “We might as well get this over with. It shouldn’t take very long.”
Charles seemed to gather his courage. He pulled himself out of his chair.
Toni turned to me. “Why don’t you stay here? Maybe you can call the guys in the meantime.”
A minute later the three of them were gone. I took out my cell phone, staring at it as I drummed up my nerve. For all I knew they could have already heard. But if they hadn’t, and I didn’t call them, they would leave for work. I punched in Jake and Marley’s home number.
This time the words poured out of me. The restaurant had burned down during the night. The police suspected arson. A body was found in the debris and Charles was on his way to identify the remains as Jennifer’s.
“Jennifer is dead?” he said in disbelief.
“Her identity hasn’t been confirmed yet. But it looks that way.”
“But—” He struggled for words. “What happened?” In the background I could hear Marley asking, “What’s wrong?”
I tried to give him some answers, but I still had as many questions as he did. To my great relief he offered to call Scott. I hung up and breathed a sigh of relief.
There was nothing I could do but wait. I put my aching ankle up on a footstool as I contemplated the possibilities. There were only three I could think of.
The first was that one single person was responsible for everything that had happened; the hit-and-run, the burning down of the restaurant and Jennifer’s murder. Whether this person was the woman who had uttered the threats was a different matter. Much as I would have liked to believe that theory, if I did, I would also have to believe that this woman, who appeared insane and possibly homeless, had access to a luxury car and to guns, and as crazy as she was, that she had formulated some kind of plan to get rid of us and or the restaurant.
Another theory was that not all of those incidents were committed by the same person. Maybe Steven was right and that the hit-and-run really was no more than an accident. I liked this theory. But it still left unanswered questions. Even supposing that crazy woman had burned down the restaurant, how did she get her hands on a gun?
My last theory was that the hit-and-run, the burning of the restaurant and Jennifer’s murder were all related, but that somebody other than the crazy woman was responsible. This idea scared the bejesus out of me, but I had to consider it nonetheless. It implied someone sane was behind it all. There were countless questions with that one. What did Toni and I have in common other than the restaurant? Nothing.
I had to be missing something, but what? I was still puzzling over this when my cell phone rang.
It was Toni. “We’re on our way back—should be there in ten minutes or so. Why don’t you make a pot of coffee in the meantime? I have a feeling Charles will need a cup.”
I bit back the countless questions I had. Now was not the time, not with Charles in the car and hearing every word. I’d wait for a moment alone with her. I hung up and made my way down the hall toward the back, where I found the kitchen. I searched the cabinets until I found the coffee. I was grinding the beans when in occurred to me that Charles had probably not eaten since last night. He could do with some food too.
By the time I heard the front door open and close, the coffee was ready and I had the eggs whipped and ready to pour into the skillet. I returned to the living room, praying Toni would tell me the victim was somebody else—not Jennifer. But one look at Charles’s stricken expression was all the answer I needed.
I caught Toni’s eyes and she nodded grimly.
I clomped back to the kitchen where I set the coffee on a platter, dropped a spoonful of butter into a pan and poured in the beaten eggs. “Toni, could you come out here and give me a hand?” She hurried over and I pointed to the coffeepot, whispering, “Do they know how she died?”
“So far, all they know is that she was shot in the back. But they have no idea if she died of the gunshot or from smoke inhalation. They’ll know more after the autopsy,” she said in a low voice. “The news of Jennifer’s death was already on the radio when we came back. Poor Charles. I thought he was going to pass out when he heard it.”
She picked up the pot and a cup and carried them out to the living room. I followed. “Here you go,” she said to Charles. “And Nicky made you something to eat.”
/> He sat crumpled over, staring vacantly at the floor. He shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“I won’t give you too much, just a little bit. You have to keep up your strength,” she insisted. She set the cup down and disappeared to the kitchen, returning with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. She handed it to him. He picked up the fork and took a halfhearted bite.
I sat across from him and cleared my throat. “Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anybody you want me to call?”
“No thanks, I’ll call Jennifer’s family myself,” he said flatly. “Before they hear it on the news.”
At that moment, the overture for Sex in the City began to play—Toni’s cell phone. She pulled it from her pocket and disappeared down the hall, holding a whispered conversation.
She reappeared a moment later. “That was Jake. He wanted to know if Charles needed company. I told him to come over.”
Toni was in the kitchen refilling Charles’s cup when the doorbell rang. I shuffled over to the door and peeked through the peephole. It was Jake. I opened the door and he walked in looking distressed, Marley in tow. They both appeared to have just tumbled out of bed, with day-old beard and bed hair. They gave me the same questioning look I had given Toni. I nodded, just as she had to me.
“How is he?” Jake whispered. He slipped out of his coat, glancing at Charles over my shoulder.
I shook my head. “Pretty upset as you can imagine.”
He and Marley stepped into the living room. I stayed in the entrance hall, giving them a moment of privacy. At that moment the doorbell rang again. This time it was a stranger.
He stepped inside. “I’m Jennifer’s brother. I just heard—” He turned and spotted Charles. He hurried over.
The doorbell rang again. I opened the door to another stranger. “I’m Bret Atwood, Jennifer’s husband,” a muscular and sullen-looking man said, and without any further ado he went storming over to Charles.
I hovered by the entrance. Jennifer’s husband? What the hell?
A heated argument was going on in the living room. I might have been tempted to join in and stand by Charles, who seemed at the receiving end of the second man’s fury. But Jake and Marley stepped in protectively. Meanwhile, the brother was playing ping-pong with his eyes, from Charles to Jennifer’s husband. Why wasn’t he standing up for Charles too?
Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) Page 13
