by Sandra Balzo
I relaxed. Plenty of time to figure out how I was going to approach Gabriella Atherton. ‘Elaine doesn’t play with the Friday group, though you could probably reach her at the Historical Society rather than wait for her to call you.’
‘I think I will do that,’ Tien said, getting up and stacking our plates.
‘Hey, I’m not done with that.’ I salvaged my last bite – the prized center with the glorious pocket of gooey stuff in it.
Tien shook her head. ‘I know what to get you for Christmas, Maggy.’
‘Sticky buns for life?’
‘Sounds like the fitness infomercial from hell,’ a voice intoned.
My partner must have come in the platform door – the one without chimes on it. I should bell the woman the way a normal person would a bird-torturing cat. ‘Thanks for scaring me. And what are you doing here? This is your day off.’
‘Day off to work my other job. No rest for the greedy. What’s the film crew doing out there?’
Oops. ‘It’s Chitown’s people shooting footage of the waiting room for the show tomorrow. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘Would it stop you if I did?’ My partner surveyed the plates in Tien’s hands. ‘All gone?’
‘There’s one in the bakery case.’
‘I suppose I should leave that for the customers,’ Sarah sniffed.
‘Why start now? And besides –’ I pointed at the glass-fronted cabinet – ‘Tien also made scones. They can have those.’
‘Works for me.’ Sarah pulled the last sticky bun from the case and brought it to the table.
‘We were just talking about you,’ I said as she settled into a chair at the next table, also a deuce.
‘And who could blame you?’ Like me, Sarah was uncoiling her sticky bun. Unlike me, though, she’d flipped the pastry upside down and was working counter-clockwise.
A sin against sticky-bun nature. ‘Who owns the Ristorante?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I’m an intermeddler. Work with me on this.’
Instead of answering, Sarah addressed Tien. ‘What else you got? Anything that will go with wine?’
‘Wine?’ Tien asked, looking at me.
I shrugged.
Sarah chewed the bun like a cow does cud. ‘I’m doing an open house at the Williams this afternoon and MaryAnne wants me to serve wine and snacks.’
Tien said, ‘Sounds like a fun way to sell a house.’
‘The crowd will all be nosey neighbors,’ Sarah replied. ‘Open houses always are.’
‘Then why schedule them?’ I asked.
‘The neighbors come, the neighbors go and then you’re done with them. Even they’d be embarrassed to waste your time by setting up a pretext appointment to see the place again.’
Made sense, I guessed. ‘What time does this shindig start? I’m planning to come.’
Sarah did a double-take. ‘Why?’
‘To prevent someone from shooting you. Is that OK?’
‘I suppose. But what if they shoot both of us?’
‘I’ll take my chances. Now what time?’
‘Four to six.’
Tien said, ‘So you’ll need finger food, Sarah?’
‘Gosh, I don’t know. MaryAnne is going to be at some design show this afternoon and won't arrive until five, but she told me there’d be wine in the kitchen. I figured to maybe just pick up a container of that spray cheese at Pick ‘n Save. And, of course, celery sticks.’
Tien and I looked at each other and then at Sarah.
‘What?’ she asked, looking somewhere between innocent and peeved.
‘Gosh,’ I parroted, ‘you’re splurging with spray cheese and celery sticks, why not break the bank and get a sleeve of Ritz crackers, too.’
Those being, admittedly, my cracker of choice with spray cheese.
‘It’s fine,’ Tien said. ‘Sarah, I have some things in the cooler that I think will work well with wine. I’ll put together a couple of appetizing trays.’
‘Shame on you, holding spray cheese over her head like that,’ I said to my partner after Tien disappeared into the kitchen. ‘You knew she wouldn’t let you embarrass yourself and besmirch Uncommon Grounds’ reputation, by extension. No matter how much she has to do for tomorrow.’
‘Why? What’s tomorrow?’
Dang. A couple more things, I’d forgotten to mention to my business partner. I filled Sarah in on the catering job, as well as our invitation to Ward Chitown’s live show and celebration afterwards.
‘Sure, I’ll come. What are they celebrating?’ Sarah was still eating and didn’t mind talking with her mouth full. In fact, she seemed to prefer, even revel, in it.
‘The end of the show? The discovery of the loot? Either way, I’m in.’ And wearing my red dress.
‘So, have you seen Pavlik?’
‘Yup. He’ll be at the party, too.’
‘And?’
Sarah took an interest in my love life – mostly because she thought I mismanaged it.
I said, ‘And he stopped over last night after work and I also ran into him at Sapphire later on.’
‘And?’
‘And, well –’ I could feel myself color up – ‘I was in the shower when he—’
‘Not that, you idiot,’ Sarah exploded. ‘What did he tell you? And I’m not talking about how you looked in Scrubbing Bubbles.’
Seemed uncalled for. ‘I assume you mean about Brigid?’
Sarah just glared at me.
‘He said that she was killed by a blow to the head somewhere else and then moved to the waiting room.’
I’d expected Sarah to be relieved but, if anything, she appeared more concerned. ‘Moved here?’
‘Not a bad spot, when you think about it. If that vent in the bathroom hadn’t conducted the smell, we might never have known there was a waiting area down there, much less that Brigid was moldering inside it.’
‘True.’ Sarah seemed to be chewing more on her thoughts than on her bun. Which was saying something.
‘OK.’ I finally asked. ‘What?’
‘“What” is the wrong question, Maggy.’ She looked up. ‘Someone killed my employee and then moved her corpse to this “secret” room in a building I own. The obvious question is, why?’
Chapter Fourteen
The obvious answer? To frame Sarah for the killing of an employee who ratted out her employer to the state board governing Sarah’s license to make a living. But even that begged the same question.
Why?
‘No idea,’ Sarah said, back to chewing before I posed a second observation.
‘Since it’s possible that Brigid was attacked while on the job, Pavlik thinks the three killings could be related.’
‘Well, duh.’
My day for sarcasm from everybody. How’s one supposed to brainstorm in the face of such judgmental put-downs?
Sarah took a break from her sticky bun. ‘So, does your sheriff like me for all three murders?’
Sometimes I wasn’t sure Pavlik liked Sarah at all, but I went with her cop jargon. ‘Not really. In fact, he was glad I was going to be with you at the open house. He said no realty agent should be in a property alone until we collar this killer.’
‘“Until we collar the killer”?’ Sarah repeated. ‘I just bet he said that. Besides, anything Pavlik tells you is probably to throw me off. Create a false sense of security in his primary suspect.’
She pushed her plate away, which might have been interpreted as loss of appetite if the thing hadn’t been virtually vacuumed clean. ‘Before long, he’ll have you wearing a wire.’
‘So he can listen while you kill me?’
‘Why would I do that? You’re not in real estate.’
‘Sarah, I hope the question by now should be, why would you kill anyone?’
The bells on the streetside door jingled before she could answer. Enter Gabriella Atherton, Jane Smith, and the blonde who had been with the group on Wednesday, when Brigid’s body ha
d been discovered. Redhead, brunette and blonde – all wearing tennis whites. Missing was MaryAnne Williams.
‘I’m going,’ Sarah said, following me as I circled behind the counter to take the Barbie’s order. ‘Bring the food when you come.’
‘Me?’ In one fell swoop, Sarah had successfully suckered Tien into making the snacks for the open house and me, apparently, into delivering them.
‘Sure,’ Sarah said. ‘Why should I wait and then have to take them to MaryAnne’s or home until this afternoon when you can just bring them from here?’
Made sense. Damn it. ‘What time?’
‘The house opens at the stroke for four p.m. I’ll be arriving at three thirty, so you should be there by three forty-five, latest.’
I should and, of course, I would. This was Sarah, after all. Resistance was futile and, in this case, unnecessary. ‘Amy is relieving me at three, so that’ll work out fine.’
Gabriella Atherton was chomping at her bit on the other side of our service window. I wasn’t sure if it was because she resented Kingston Realty having the listing for MaryAnne’s house or because the competing broker just badly needed a jolt of caffeine.
As my partner went through the kitchen and presumably out the back, I addressed our customers. ‘Morning, ladies. How was your tennis today?’
‘Awful!’ This from Jane Smith. ‘First of all, Fox Ears requires white tennis attire, which eliminates most of my favorite outfits. Then MaryAnne and I lost at love and love.’
‘Georgia and I played that team a couple of weeks ago,’ Atherton said. ‘They kept lobbing us.’
‘And both of them stay back,’ the blonde contributed. ‘What fun is that?’
‘MaryAnne didn’t continue on with you for coffee?’ I began frothing skim milk in preparation for their drink orders.
‘No, she had to make sure everything is ready for the open house because she also has a design show today.’ Smith was holding a menu, which she’d been studying as she spoke. ‘Oh, I don’t know why I even look anymore. I’ll have my usual, Maggy.’
Ahh, yes. The latte that’s not a latte. How very Zen of her.
I made it first, then a flavored coffee for the blonde, saving Gabriella’s drink for last. ‘Iced latte?’
‘Please. Light on the ice.’
‘Of course.’ I tamped the espresso into the portafilter and then lowered my voice. ‘I assume you’ve heard that it was Brigid Ferndale whose body was found.’
‘I did.’ Instead of a chilly tone, Atherton leaned in conspiratorially. ‘I have to say I was a little surprised to see Sarah here today.’
Did she mean ‘instead of jail’? I would’ve asked, but I wanted information and knew from experience that you can catch more Barbies with honey or, more likely, Splenda, given their obsession with calorie-counting. ‘She’s very concerned, as I’m sure you are.’
‘Me?’
‘About the safety of your agents,’ I said, setting down the portafilter, rather than twisting it on the espresso machine. ‘You know: the three women who’ve been killed?’
‘Of course, I know.’ Atherton stared hard at our filter. ‘Luckily, none have been from my firm. I’ve been telling them to be very careful. Always work in pairs.’
I glanced back over my shoulder, as if I were making sure my partner couldn’t overhear. ‘What a double shame, then, that Brigid hadn’t made the move to Atherton yet.’
Atherton’s eyes could have ignited a brush fire. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, if you and she had come to an agreement on Monday night, Brigid might be alive today.’
‘Really.’ Neutral. Neither agreement or disagreement. ‘Aren’t you going to make my drink?’
‘Oh, sorry.’ I feigned surprise and twisted the filter on the machine.
‘Anyway,’ I continued, ‘Brigid told me in confidence –’ another glance around for an invisible Sarah – ‘that she was interested in joining your firm.’
‘She did?’ Now one eyebrow went up. ‘Why would Brigid tell you that?’
‘Please.’ I pushed the button for the espresso and pulled the cold, nonfat milk from the refrigerator. ‘If anyone knows how difficult Sarah can be, it’s me.’
Forgive me, Sarah. Though, it was undeniably true – just not a sentiment I’d share with Gabriella or anyone else for that matter. Sarah was like a hangnail. Annoying, yes; aggravating, often. But you never questioned the fact you had a hand.
But I wax philosophical and thus digress.
Atherton shrugged. ‘Brigid and I did speak for a few minutes at Sapphire on Monday, but I really can’t afford to bring anyone on who doesn’t already have solid connections in the community.’
The definition of a potential rainmaker, as MaryAnne Williams had put it.
‘Brigid must have known at least Kingston Realty’s clients.’ Dumping the espresso in a glass, I added milk. ‘From what I could tell, she was practically running the place.’
‘Perhaps. However, as I tried to explain to Brigid, that doesn’t mean the clients would – or even legally could – follow her to Atherton.’
‘I suppose she didn’t believe you. I liked her, but Brigid came across a little too . . .’
‘Full of herself?’ Atherton said, pushing me a Splenda to supplement her drink. ‘I’d have to agree. Brigid practically bragged that she could take down Kingston Realty. Single-handedly.’ A tight smile. ‘Ballsy. It made me want to give her a chance. Almost.’
As Atherton opened her handbag to pay me, stirring chords from Richard Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ – the signature theme played during the sky cavalry’s helicopter attack on a Vietnamese village in the movie Apocalypse Now – rang out from inside the designer leather.
Atherton dug like a badger. Instead of her wallet, she pulled out a smart phone. ‘Gabriella Atherton.’
She listened. ‘I’m sorry, but you’re breaking up a bit. I’m at . . . yes . . . you’ve changed your . . .? But what about . . .?’ A glance at me. ‘Of course, dear. I’ll run right over.’
‘Need a to-go cup?’ I asked, wondering if Gabriella still got the same rush, as MaryAnne put it, from assignations with Robert as she had when they were cheating on his wife.
‘Yes, please.’ She stuck the phone back in her bag and this time did pull out her wallet.
‘Would you like me to remove the ice?’ Better to do it as I was pouring into the new cup, rather than trying to fish the cubes out after.
‘No, no. It’s fine.’ She slapped a five down on the counter, grabbing for the drink. ‘I need to run.’
‘Cover?’ I said, holding a clear plastic one in my hand. ‘So the doesn’t slop all over your Mercedes?’
‘Please.’
I held the cover where it was. ‘Did Brigid tell you where she was going after you spoke?’
‘Going?’ Impatience was palpable in her voice.
‘When Brigid left Sapphire Monday night.’ I tamped the lid at strategic points on the cup’s rim, but kept my fingers atop it.
Atherton shook her head, impatience now evidently growing inside her, as well. ‘Brigid wanted fifteen minutes of my time and I gave it to her. Then I went to join some friends and, so far as I know, our little schemer returned to the bar.’
Gabriella Atherton pulled the drink away from me and, with a machine-gun explanation whispered to her friends, left.
It was past noon now, yet I was still thinking about what Gabriella Atherton had said.
She’d given Brigid fifteen minutes of her time. What Brigid had done after that – with the remainder of the time the young woman had on earth, as it turned out – was anybody’s guess.
Except the killer’s.
According to Benjy the bartender, Brigid had spoken with Deirdre Doty until about midnight. Then, this time according to Gabriella Atherton, the two women had spoken for fifteen minutes. After that, Atherton said that Brigid returned to the bar where – back to Benjy – she’d closed out at twenty minutes after midnig
ht and presumably left, never to be seen again.
Could Brigid have been abducted from the parking lot? If so, her car should have still been there.
Unless, of course, she’d been the victim of a carjacking.
I picked up my cell and pushed ‘1’ on its speed-dial. Nothing happened. Then I pushed ‘P’ and held it down. New smartphone, not so smart new owner. ‘Pav . . . I mean, Jake, this is Maggy.’
‘Good try, Maggy, but I’ve gotten used to Pavlik. What’s up?’
His voice, warm though it was, sounded hurried, so I cut to the chase. ‘Has Brigid’s car been found?’
A pause. ‘Why do you ask?’
Where had I heard that before? ‘Because I was talking to Gabriella Atherton and—’
‘What a surprise.’ You could tell from the tone of his voice that it wasn’t.
‘She stopped in for coffee,’ I explained. ‘Said how sad it was about Brigid. And how much she’d wanted to work for Gabriella.’
‘Ms Atherton volunteered that?’
‘Well, I guess I might have said it first,’ I admitted, ‘but Gabriella confirmed it.’
‘As she did when I spoke with her.’
So Pavlik had tracked her down, presumably before tennis. ‘Well, then you also know that Gabriella stayed at Sapphire with friends after Brigid left. It occurred to me that Brigid must have driven there, but I don’t remember hearing anything about her car.’
A hesitation. Then: ‘The car was found in a slot near Uncommon Grounds, Maggy. We towed it to the crime lab’s garage yesterday to check the vehicle for trace evidence.’
The white Toyota MaryAnne and I had seen go by on the flatbed truck. ‘What did you find? If you can tell me, of course.’
‘We didn’t find much, but there’s no way that Brigid Ferndale was killed in her car.’
###
I arrived at MaryAnne Williams’ house just a minute shy of four. When Amy had arrived to take over the shop, she’d asked for an update. Since I’d neglected to call our intrepid barista before she walked into a full-blown murder investigation the day before, I figured I owed her more than a cursory: Brigid bludgeoned, body moved, murderer at large.
Besides, there was that whole people-person issue.
