by Jenny Kales
Callie’s knees felt weak as she stood up and peered in one of the windows. The uniformed officer was standing guard outside the door and when Callie glanced over at him, he shook his head at her. “You can’t go in. Just stay where you are. Detective Sands will be out in a minute.”
Callie sighed and sat back down. The sick feelings came back along with a surreal quality that made her feel like she was watching the scene from far away. Callie didn’t know how much time had passed before Sands joined her once again on the porch.
“Ms. Costas, I have a few questions for you.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.” She sat up straight, still hugging herself. She felt her arms shaking and hugged herself more tightly in an effort to stop.
“Right. Well, what’s with all of the food in the kitchen? It looks like the victim was preparing a meal. It looked pretty good, too. Some kind of stew and an apple pie? Sorry,” the detective said when he saw Callie’s expression. “I guess I haven’t eaten much today.”
“Drew was cooking for us tonight,” she told Sands, amazed that he could be hungry at a time like this. Her appetite, for once, was completely gone. “I cook all day for work, so he was going to treat me.” She sniffed, loudly. Detective Sands pulled a pack of tissues out of his pocket and handed them to her. She thanked him, dabbing at her eyes and nose before continuing.
“I found food burning on the stove so I turned off the flame,” Callie said, her breath catching in her throat. She heard the tremor in her voice as she continued her tale. “I didn’t want the house to burn down. Drew was an experienced chef. I don’t think he would walk away from a hot stove with food cooking on it for more than a minute. I wonder what he was doing by the stairs.”
“He might have heard someone come in,” said Sands, brusquely. “Have you spent a lot of time here? You seem to know your way around.”
Callie blushed. “We’ve been dating a couple of months and we hadn’t seen much of each other lately because of our busy schedules – the food business makes for late hours. In fact, we were supposed celebrating tonight because Drew just found out that he’d won the Taste of Crystal Bay.”
“I see,” said Sands. His hazel eyes seemed to bore right into her. “Did you remain in the kitchen or did you go upstairs?” Sands ran his hand through his hair, making a forelock stand on end. Callie thought it best not to mention it. The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could get out of here.
“I stayed downstairs. As soon as I saw Drew, I called 911. I don’t know if anything upstairs is disturbed but nothing looked out of place downstairs.” Other than Drew’s poor lifeless body, Callie thought.
“The bistro business was pretty good to Mr. Staven I take it,” he remarked. Obviously, he’d been as impressed with Drew’s magazine-perfect house as she was.
“Yes, well, Drew worked hard – he rarely had a day off.”
“I work hard too,” Sands replied. “But my house is a bit more modest.”
“Mine too,” said Callie.
Sands gave her a small smile and looked back down at his notebook. “Another question. We didn’t find any type of personal electronics in Drew’s house. The TV is there but no personal computer, cell phone or any other type of device. Do you know if he had anything like that?”
“Yes, Drew had a laptop and a cell phone,” Callie said. “He also had a tablet – he was just showing it to me the other day. You didn’t find any of that?”
Instead of answering her, the detective asked another question. “Who is Jane Willoughby?”
“She’s the head of the Crystal Bay Chamber of Commerce and she owns the fitness center, Bodies by the Bay. “Enjoy lake views while you whip your body into shape!’” Callie quoted the center’s current slogan. “Why?”
Sands looked directly at her. “There was a note on Drew’s desk – it said to call Jane Willoughby.”
“Oh,” Callie said. “That’s probably because Drew wanted to talk to her about the competition. They have a newsletter and I know Jane wanted a celebration at the next meeting, after the winner was announced.”
“So Ms. Willoughby owns the fitness center, you say? I think I was there once.”
“Bodies by the Bay,” Callie repeated, slightly dismayed at the double entendre, especially now that there was an actual body by the bay – Drew’s. “Uh, you can’t miss it. Follow Hamilton all the way around the lake and turn left.”
“Fine, we’ll talk to Ms. Willoughby too, then. Is she a close friend of yours?” asked Sands. His eyes scanned Drew’s porch and the street behind it like a hummingbird, never alighting on any one object or thing for long.
“Jane comes into my shop once in a while with her husband,” Callie explained. “I’ve occasionally worked out at her fitness center.” Sands didn’t need to know that working out “occasionally” meant “almost never.”
“And as I mentioned, we’re in the Chamber together. She’s more of an acquaintance than a close friend but I admire her. She’s a very successful businesswoman.”
“Right.” Sands said making another note. All at once, Callie felt uncomfortable at being the target of so many questions. Her mind had started to fully grasp the night’s events and she felt like she was going to collapse if she didn’t get out of there soon. She didn’t want the detective to know she was distressed. Take it easy. She could fall apart later, in private.
Sands showed no signs of slowing down with his inquiries. “Did Mr. Staven have any enemies? Or, were there any business problems that you know of?” She couldn’t read the detective’s facial expression and it bothered her.
“I don’t know of any enemies or business problems. That’s the thing I don’t understand. He didn’t even get to enjoy his success. He was so excited about the contest,” Callie began but stopped. It was too painful to contemplate.
“‘Taste of Crystal Bay,’ you said.” Sands seemed thoughtful. “Interesting. Well, do you know of anyone who would be angry about that?”
“Killing someone over a food contest?” Callie started to scoff, but the steely look in Sands’ eyes stopped her.
“Just about everyone would be disappointed, me included,” Callie admitted. “I was a contestant, too.” The detective's eyebrows rose at that remark, but she continued. “I don’t know anyone who was angry enough to kill. I mean, people just don’t do that kind of thing around here.” Callie realized how silly that sounded and was about to say so when Sands cut her off.
“Well, someone was angry – or passionate – enough to kill him. I have to ask you: Where were you for the last several hours. Can anyone vouch for you?”
“Uh,” Callie stammered. “I was at work with my assistant Max, and then I went home after Drew called and asked me over here. He wanted me here about an hour and a half sooner than I arrived – I got hung up at work. Then I went home, showered and changed and came over here. Also, I spoke to my father over the phone regarding childcare for my daughter. But I was alone at home for about maybe an hour and fifteen minutes, total.”
Sands folded his arms in front of him. “Right. Do you have a card with all of your contact information?”
“Of course,” Callie said, her head beginning to throb. While Callie dug into her purse for her business card holder, Detective Sands produced his crisp white card out of his equally crisp front pocket and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said faintly. Finally, she found her card and gave it to him.
He squinted at it. “‘Callie’s Kitchen. Mediterranean-inspired meals-from-scratch with Midwestern heart,’” he read. Callie thought Sands looked even hungrier than he had when he was eyeing Drew’s unfinished meal on the stove.
As she put the detective’s card in her purse, Callie heard a familiar voice coming up the walkway, demanding that someone tell her what was going on. Callie groaned. This could only be Gertrude DeWitt.
Mrs. DeWitt’s stylishly-short gray hair seemed to bristle at the unfortunate policeman as he told her that the house was
a crime scene and to stay where she was. A lifelong resident of Crystal Bay, now a widow, and a descendant of Crystal Bay College’s founding family, Mrs. DeWitt was a well-respected philanthropic fixture at any local event. Her home was on the tourist mansion tour and when she said “jump” the usual answer was “how high?”
Mrs. DeWitt smoothed her tweed skirt and tugged at the fashionable blue scarf at her neck as she kept up her barrage of questions. “What happened? I simply insist that you tell me what’s going on. Flashing lights? Police cars? Ambulances?” Mrs. DeWitt’s tone suggested these items were as welcome in her elegant neighborhood as a rat infestation.
Suddenly Mrs. DeWitt spotted Callie. “Callie Costas! What are you doing here, dear? Are you all right?” She reached out her arms and hugged Callie tightly to her birdlike bosom. Gently disengaging from Mrs. DeWitt’s embrace, Callie noticed that Sands was watching the two women with a stern look on his face. Before Callie could speak, he took charge.
“Your name, please, ma’am,” he said, nodding at the older woman.
“Mrs. Gertrude DeWitt. I’m a neighbor of Drew’s. What’s going on? Isn’t anyone going to tell me?” Mrs. DeWitt’s blue eyes blazed and her lips pursed in a little bow of wrinkles.
Distressed though she was by the circumstances, Callie eyed this interchange with interest, if only to see how Sands would handle the wealthy philanthropist who was staying true to form, even in a crisis. If she liked you, you were golden – but get on her bad side and watch out!
“There’s been a murder, Mrs. DeWitt. You say you’re a neighbor? You might have seen something that can help us.” Sands appeared to be unflappable in the face of Mrs. DeWitt’s demanding words.
Mrs. DeWitt swayed a bit on her feet and looked to Callie for confirmation. Callie took the older woman’s arm to give her support and nodded sadly.
“Oh my goodness. Drew!! No!” Mrs. DeWitt wiped her eyes, her long elegant fingers laden with brilliant-cut diamonds and precious gems.
“It’s true. I’m sorry,” she said to Mrs. DeWitt and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Mrs. DeWitt addressed her statement to Callie as if the detective couldn’t hear her. “This is unbelievable. I truly feel like I’m in the middle of a dream.” A terrible dream, Callie thought. I wish I would wake up. She sniffled again and noticed that Mrs. DeWitt was looking a bit green around the gills. She held onto the older woman’s elbow more tightly.
“Where were you tonight?” Sands asked Mrs. DeWitt.
Mrs. DeWitt appeared to be stunned and a little offended that an actual human existed who didn’t know her exact itinerary. “I was working on fundraising activities for the CBC with the financial steering committee for the last couple of hours. I had planned to see Jane Willoughby about the Taste of Crystal Bay celebration we wanted to have, but I couldn’t get her on the phone. Someone at her…fitness center…told me she’d left for the day.” Mrs. DeWitt wrinkled her nose. She hated the name “Bodies by the Bay” and had told everyone she thought that it sounded like a strip club.
“CBC?” Sands asked.
“Crystal Bay College,” Mrs. DeWitt said impatiently.
Sands plowed onward, unfazed by her impolite tone. “Yes, of course. And where, specifically, was your meeting?”
Mrs. DeWitt appeared to be regretting her decision to approach the crime scene. “I was in a conference room with committee members.” She glared at Sands as if daring the detective to challenge her.
“The whole time?” Sands wanted to know.
“Not the whole time. I was in my private office, there, as well.” Callie patted Mrs. DeWitt’s shoulder encouragingly. The older woman had begun to cry, huge silent tears and Callie searched her purse – in vain – for a tissue. She wondered why she – the person who had found Drew -- was relatively calm, when Mrs. DeWitt was so upset. And then she knew: the reality hadn’t set in yet. When it did, Callie had a feeling it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Thank you.” Detective Sands was saying to Mrs. DeWitt. “Please leave your information with me in case we need to question you further. You’re free to go after that.”
Glaring at him, her despair beginning to morph into anger at a situation so completely out of her control, Mrs. DeWitt pulled a business card out of her quilted Chanel bag and handed it to him. Giving one sharp nod to Callie, she tromped off the porch and in the direction of her house without another word.
Despite the hellish quality of the evening, Callie couldn’t help looking at her admiringly as she departed. She wished she had that kind of gumption when dealing with her ex, Hugh and his pretty but annoyingly cheerful new wife, Raine.
Sands startled Callie with his next comment: it appeared that he was even hungrier than she’d thought.
“You don’t make shepherd’s pie by chance? At your food business? I’d love a real, homemade shepherd’s pie and I’m a horrid cook myself.” Food talk? Maybe he was trying to distract her from the horrors of the night.
Callie managed a small smile. Hungry non-cooks were her kind of people. “In fact, we do. My grandmother is part Irish and she swears by her version of shepherd’s pie, which she taught to me. Of course, I added my own touches. It’s good. Mostly, though, I cook foods from the Greek side of my family, along with some good old comfort food favorites. And yes, I’m Greek.” Well, half Greek, but that was neither here nor there at such a moment. Callie’s stomach rumbled and she crossed her arms over her abdomen.
Sands didn’t appear to notice. “I may just have to stop by sometime. Now, I need you to come along to the station with me. We’ve got to have your official statement tonight. We’ll take your fingerprints, of course. It’s routine.”
Routine. Wonderful. “Am I a suspect?” Callie asked, realizing that she had begun shivering with fear again.
Detective Sands looked at her intently as if sizing her up. “Ms. Costas, everybody is a suspect until further notice.”
Three
Callie awoke the next morning with a headache, her eyes painful and red. Between bouts of crying the previous evening, she’d sipped from a medicinal bottle of ouzo, the strong Greek liqueur that was her father George’s spirit of choice. Not a good move, she thought, as she struggled to sit up.
The police station visit the night before had been unsettling. Callie had texted her best friend and local attorney, Samantha, and asked her to meet her there, so at least she’d had some moral support during her ordeal. It didn’t hurt to have someone with legal knowledge on hand, either.
Sands had led Callie into an overly air-conditioned room with pale grey walls, where he’d given her a cup of brackish coffee and asked her for her version of events, which he recorded. As she sat there relaying her story, Callie realized that her lack of a good alibi was a problem.
“Don’t worry,” Samantha had reassured her after the detective had told her she could go home. “Someone must have seen you, or maybe you texted someone, made a phone call, something. We’ll figure it out.” Samantha, so chipper and loyal, despite the massive black storm cloud threatening her friend, had cheered Callie slightly. Sam had promised to help her any way she could and that was some comfort. Not much, but some.
What was she going to do now? Callie debated, coming back to the present. She felt like pulling the covers over her head but instead, closed her eyes as the horrific memories washed over her. Seeing that her mistress was finally sitting up, if not fully awake, Koukla, her Yorkie, began her usual morning routine of attempting to dissuade her from getting out of bed. The little dog jumped on her chest and made herself comfortable.
Callie fell back onto the pillows. How wonderful it would be to stay here, cuddling Koukla and forgetting about everything she’d witnessed the previous evening. Not that she could do that if she tried – a picture of Drew’s lifeless eyes were burned into her own dark brown retinas. Giving Koukla a gentle nudge, Callie struggled out of bed and made a beeline for the bathroom tap.
While she gulped a glass of water, the i
dea of going to work seemed more logical by the minute. As much as she wanted to hide, she had a business to run. Koukla made a charming companion, but Callie thought she might go crazy if she stayed home wondering what was happening – both at work and with the investigation into Drew’s murder.
Despite everything, her work ethic remained iron clad, no doubt a remnant of her upbringing. He father George had put in long hours at his diner, The Olympia, and had rarely missed a day of work. In fact, his pride in what he’d built at the diner was so strong that he’d asked Callie to take over for him when he retired. Well, maybe “asked” wasn’t the right word. “Commanded” might be more accurate but even so, Callie had declined in favor of starting out on her own. Remembering the arguments that had ensued and the tension that still remained between them, Callie vowed to forget about that for the moment and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.
“Mom!” shouted Callie’s 10-year-old daughter, Olivia. “Do we have waffles?” With all of the baking her mother did, Olivia was spoiled by homemade foods and thought frozen stuff was a special treat. Callie heard items being shifted loudly in the freezer. Then there was a crash and a yelp from her daughter. “Ow! A chicken just fell on my foot!”
“Just a minute!” She scurried down the stairs, passing through her sunny living room, chock full of soft, cushiony furniture, candles and colorful pillows and into her small but equally sunny kitchen. Olivia was sitting on a stool, holding out her bare foot which was red but not swollen.
Callie picked up the chicken, stuck it back in the freezer, popped some frozen waffles in the toaster and took a closer look at her daughter’s foot. She poked it gingerly. “Does it hurt?”
Olivia pushed her honey-colored hair – as yet uncombed this morning – out of her eyes and shrugged. “I guess not, not anymore. Well, maybe a little bit.”
