Tarte Tatin Murder

by Sandi Scott

  Convinced that Javier Ortiz was a grieving father and not a cold-hearted murderer, Ashley thanked him for his time. As they walked to the door, he said, “Ms. Adams, I hated Oliver Green with everything in me, and his death doesn't make me sad in the least. But I don't believe for one minute that Mr. Brady had anything to do with it, and I'd hate to see him punished for someone else's crime. Please, please—if there is anything my wife or I can do for him, let us know.”

  “Thank you, Javier. I know that Charlie and his nephew, Ryan, will appreciate your faith in him. If you remember or hear anything that might be relevant, would you call me?” Ashley handed him a business card with her contact information. He agreed, and they shook hands.

  She walked to her car and texted Ryan. Not Ortiz—will tell U ltr. Anything new?

  Not yet—have an idea. Meet at club in a couple of hours?

  After dashing off a quick agreement, Ashley stopped at the grocery store on her way to pick up a few things for a new recipe she wanted to try. After gathering fresh mint and chocolate for cookies and spinach, mushrooms, bleu cheese and eggs for a frittata, as well as a pint of Banana Split ice cream on the way, she was checking out when a deep voice behind her spoke.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Adams.” It was Detective Luna.

  “Detective Luna, hello,” she replied. Apparently he was into healthy eating, as his cart was filled with fresh tatume and yellow squash, grape tomatoes, grapes, apples, and oranges, along with a package of skinless, boneless chicken breasts and a small loaf of whole-wheat bread. She felt a little embarrassed by her less-than-healthy groceries.

  “How are things going?” he asked. “It looks like you have some baking planned.”

  “Yes, I'm trying a couple of new recipes for the catering business.” She hesitated before continuing. “Detective, I know you can't tell me anything about your murder investigation, but Ryan and I have learned a bit more.”

  “Really? And what might that be?” He sounded interested, not sarcastic, so Ashley went on.

  “I talked to Wendy Graham. She explained that she was not having an affair with Dr. Green. She said that the texts Jordan Berg saw were about problems with the results of their research and that Green was insisting that they report it to the FDA, while she wanted to wait until they were sure of what was going on. I also talked to Javier Ortiz, the club manager. At first, I thought he might have killed Dr. Green because of the lies the scientist told him to get him to sign on for his daughter to be a part of the clinical trials, but I don't think that happened. He was grieving, not threatening. He did tell me, though, that he saw Green arguing with one of the volunteers around the time of the murder. Charlie Brady also told us that, when he and Green were at the fifth hole, his flask of Scotch was nearly empty; when he got back to the bar, however, I remember that it was so full that it spilled when he tried to drink from it.”

  “Hmm. That is interesting, but I still don't see that it clears Mr. Brady. I will talk with Dr. Graham and Mr. Ortiz, but don't get your hopes up too high. Mr. Brady is still a strong suspect, although I'll admit that he isn't the only one on the list anymore.”

  “Thank you, Detective. I really don't expect you to take my word or Ryan's that Charlie didn't kill Dr. Green. We both understand that you have to do your job and that it includes investigating Charlie. We appreciate your open mind, though; when Ryan talked to the deputies on the scene and the day after the murder, he didn't get the idea that they were even considering that someone else might have done it.”

  Detective Luna looked uncomfortable at the criticism of his fellow deputies, but he acknowledged her concerns. “I know it can seem that way, especially since we can't tell you anything about our case. But I can assure you neither Sheriff Mueller nor I want to put an innocent man in prison. If Mr. Brady didn't kill Dr. Green, we'll find out who did; we aren't going to stop investigating until we are completely sure we have the right person in custody. In the meantime, I'll say it again: please be very careful about asking questions. You don't want to irritate the wrong person.”

  Ashley nodded and turned to pay the cashier for her groceries. “Thank you again, Detective Luna. Have a nice evening. We'll be in touch if anything else turns up.”

  Driving home, Ashley thought about the recipes she wanted to work on that evening, hoping that the distraction would help her sort through all she and Ryan had learned so far. She had the sense that she knew everything she needed to solve the murder, but she couldn't quite put her finger on the last piece of the puzzle. She noticed that the clouds were blackening and that the wind was picking up. The dark weather seemed to match her mood.

  In fact, thunder rumbled in the distance as she pulled into the drive. “Oh, great. Perfect timing—the storm will probably kill the power as soon as I put everything into the oven!” The area was notorious for power outages with even the weakest thunderstorm. As she opened the front door, the sky lit up with a huge lightning strike and an almost painfully loud clap of thunder.

  “Whew, that was close!” she exclaimed. “It looks like I got here just in time.” Just then, a hard, driving rain began to fall; before she even finished picking up her bags from the porch, where she'd placed them to unlock the front door, the water was running down the sidewalks toward the street drains.

  Piling the grocery bags on the countertop, Ashley stroked her anxious dog for a moment. “Diz, it could be a long night. I know you don't like storms, but I'm afraid we've got a good one on the way. Let's get the candles ready, and you can have your supper before I start cooking. Maybe I can finish at least one recipe before the power goes out, and we have to snuggle down to wait for it to come back.”

  She reached to the storage cabinet above the refrigerator and retrieved a box of utility candles, several disposable aluminum mini pie pans, and some matches. Setting them on the kitchen island, she filled the dog's food bowl and freshened up her water dish. She began gathering cream, scallions, and butter for the frittata recipe she wanted to try first. As she pulled those ingredients from the refrigerator and took her purchases from the bags on the counter, she thought about her meeting with Detective Luna.

  “You know,” she said to Dizzy, “I don't think he paid one bit of attention to anything I had to say. All he could say was, 'I don't see how that helps clear Mr. Brady.' It's like he didn't hear a single word! I know I'm not a professional investigator, but that doesn't mean I don't have anything useful to offer!” She fumed as she recited her recipe to the pup.

  “Half a cup of dairy for every large egg, Dizzy; that's the perfect ratio. Beat them with a pinch of salt until they are frothy. I don't want a quiche, with a crust, but I would like them to be bite-sized finger foods. Let's try baking them in mini muffin tins—what do you think, Dizzy doll?”

  She laughed at Dizzy's excited bark. She heated some butter in a skillet while she chopped the scallions, then scooped them, along with a clove of minced garlic, into the melted butter. While that was cooking, she beat two large eggs and a cup of rich cream and sprayed the insides of the baking tin.

  “Tonight's batch will be our supper, girl,” she told Dizzy. “They'll have spinach and portabellas tonight, along with some crumbled bleu cheese.” After slicing the mushrooms, she stacked the baby spinach and rolled the leaves to chiffonade them into ribbons. “That will give us an option for customers who don't want bacon, ham or sausage.” She added the mushrooms to the onion mixture and stirred them around to coat them with butter.

  “This case is making me crazy. It seems like we've eliminated all the suspects except Charlie, and I know he's innocent. I can't explain it, Dizzy; I guess it's intuition, but I just know he didn't kill anyone. And I know that I've heard something important that I've forgotten, but I can't figure out what it is or who said it.”

  She scattered the shredded spinach leaves in with the scallions and mushrooms and waited for them to wilt before dumping the whole mixture into the eggs, crumbling in the cheese, and stirring it all well. Then she filled ea
ch mini muffin tin and then set them on baking sheets to catch any drips before popping them into the oven.

  “Okay, girl, they need about 35 minutes at 350 degrees, so let's work on dessert,” she said. “I'm thinking about adding some mint leaves and orange zest to the honey sugar cookies. What do you think?” Dizzy yipped her agreement and wagged her tail.

  While she waited for the stick of butter to soften, she continued talking about the case. “This whole thing is so confusing. Charlie disappeared from the course, but he can't remember why. Jordan Berg definitely had a motive—he blamed Dr. Green for the problems with his fiancée—but he has an alibi. I haven't checked with the florist, but Wendy confirmed it, and I don't think she'd lie for him because she was pretty upset with him. And she had the opportunity, since she was at the club, but she really doesn't have a motive. Killing him may have stopped Green from reporting the data problems to the FDA, but it also didn't keep it secret, and she didn't really try to hide it from us. Javier Ortiz definitely had both motive and opportunity, but something just tells me that he didn't do it. I guess I can see that, from Detective Luna's perspective, all we've done is to eliminate everyone but Charlie. To be fair—although I'm not sure I really want to be fair yet — he did let me tell him everything without interrupting, and he didn't throw out snarky attitude like he could have done. Diz, there has to be something we're missing; there has to be another suspect we haven't thought of yet.”

  While she was thinking, she'd creamed the butter with a quarter cup of sugar and half a cup of honey, then mixed in a cup and a half cup of flour, a quarter teaspoon of baking soda, an eighth teaspoon of salt, and a teaspoon each of chopped mint leaves and fresh orange zest. Then she wrapped the dough and set it into the refrigerator to chill for ten minutes. She poured herself a glass of iced tea, added a sprig of leftover mint, and moved to the living room couch to wait.

  “And, if this murder case isn't mystery enough, what's going on with Patty? She barely even knew we were there at dinner. Dizzy, I don't know what to do about her. I want to find out what she's thinking, but I'm afraid that asking her will start a conversation that will cost me her friendship. I wouldn't have gotten through all that mess with Serge if Patty hadn't been there for me; I don't want to lose her as my friend or my business partner. But I can't work with her if I'm walking on eggshells because I think she's mad at me. What should I do, girl?” Warm brown eyes, seemingly filled with understanding, gazed up at Ashley. Standing up to place both front paws in Ashley's lap, Dizzy nuzzled her mistress's chin with her nose, then patted Ashley’s cheek with her paw. Outside, the storm rumbled on, lightning making the sky noon-bright as the rain poured down. Dizzy spun around and began barking, her body trembling.

  “Ssh, girl,” Ashley comforted. “It's okay; I'm with you, and I won't let anything hurt you.” She held her dog close, returning the comfort Dizzy had given her, and they cuddled together as the storm passed over them. The lights flickered several times, but they didn't go off completely. For tonight, anyway, they wouldn't need the candles after all.

  As the rain slacked off and the thunder moved away into the distance, Ashley sighed. “I guess this case and relationships both are a lot like creating new recipes. You try one combination and, if it doesn't work, you keep what was good and try something else for the part that was bad. Speaking of recipes, those frittatas should be done; let's see if they turned out properly or not. I'll get the cookies into the oven while we eat.”

  She pulled the tins out of the oven and set them aside to cool slightly while she used her mini ice cream scoop to form perfect little cookie balls. She rolled the balls in sugar, placed them on her parchment-lined cookie sheets and flattened them. “There. Sixteen minutes at 300 degrees, and we'll have our dessert.”

  She picked up the first mini frittata and took a taste. “Mmmm. These are perfect. The creamy eggs work wonderfully with the sharp cheese and the veggies, and they will look great, all golden brown, on the tiered trays. Patty's going to love these! And they'll go perfectly with a light soup for luncheons or afternoon tea; maybe a vegetarian version of Italian wedding soup? Or gnocchi in vegetable broth with kale and carrots? I'll bet they'd be good with a quinoa-farro salad, too.”

  A few minutes later, when the cookies were out of the oven and on the cooling rack, she had another idea. Quickly, she texted Ryan. “Need a new perspective on case—let's go to crime scene and look around.”

  “Sure—last appointment should be done by 3 tomorrow; meet at the club about 3:15. Bring cookies.”

  Ashley laughed and sent her agreement. She put a few of the cookies in a bag to take with her the next day, then had another brainstorm. She used her mini scoop to add mint chocolate chip ice cream between two of the slightly warm cookies and tasted the sandwich.

  “Oh, yeah—Patty will love the eggs, but Ryan's going to be crazy about this dessert. As he would say, 'SCORE!' C'mon, Dizzy girl, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Ashley ran by her cottage and picked up Dizzy and a couple of bottles of water before her meeting with Ryan at the golf club. She wasn't sure if Dizzy was actually allowed on the greens, but she decided to take the chance. After all, Dizzy’s abilities had come in handy before, so maybe she would find a hidden clue. Besides, it would give the pooch a change of scenery from the flower-filled backyard. Ashley hadn't had a chance to take Dizzy to the park since before the murder, and they both needed a longer walk than they'd had lately. As they climbed into the car, she looked back at her cottage and smiled at the welcoming porch with its ornate gingerbread, carved railings, lush hanging baskets, and warm red front door.

  “Come on, Diz—let's find Ryan,” she said as they pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Apparently, club members didn't play much golf in the late afternoon or evening, and it was too early for the cocktails-and-dinner crowd.

  Ryan was waiting for them just outside the door. “We can probably get into the bar or dining area on Uncle Charlie's name and membership, but I don't think Dizzy can pass as a member's dinner guest. Why don't we walk around the outside, through the gardens, to and bypass all the potential hassles and get to the golf course?”

  “Sounds good,” Ashley replied. “Besides, maybe the killer walked that way, too, and we'll find something.”

  As they walked along, Ashley told Ryan about of Javier Ortiz. “He is angry, but I don't think it's killing anger. He's grieving, and I think he's angry at the universe for his daughter's death; he's focusing that anger on Green because he needs someone to blame, but I don't think he is angry enough at him to do anything more than yell. I don't think he has even had the energy for much more than that. I have to say, though, that I could understand if he did want to kill the man—not condone it, mind you—but definitely understand. Green made such big promises, and he totally misled them about the side effects of the treatment. He had to know what that little girl would go through, and he didn't care; he lied just to get them to agree to participate. And even then it didn't change the result the doctors had already said was coming. She still died.”

  Ryan nodded. “I talked to some of the other people on the trials list. They all said that Green blew off concerns about that sort of thing. And they said that the side effects were really bad; worse even for some than traditional chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Of course, patients who had good results from the trials think it was worth it, but even they felt strongly about the fact that Green lied to them. Still, like you said about Ortiz, no one seemed angry enough to kill over it. I think some of them might have considered suing him, but they all said that Wendy Graham's attitude and concern through everything made them decide to let it go.”

  The crime scene tape at the seventh hole had been taken down, but they could see where many feet had trampled what had been pristine greens. The body itself had been found at the edge of a small grove of trees, where thick underbrush covered the ground. It didn’t look like the grounds crew had been t
here yet; the grass needed a trim, and the weeds under the bushes were beginning to encroach into the normally perfect carpet grass.

  “I'll look over here by the trees,” Ryan said. “Why don't you look around on the green itself? I'm not sure what we're even looking for, but let's hope we find it anyway.”

  Ashley agreed, but wanted to finish telling him about her visit with the club manager. “Ortiz said that he came out here to confront Green, but one of the volunteers was with him. He said they were arguing pretty heatedly, so he walked away. Something about what he said reminded me of something, but I couldn't quite pull it out. Maybe I'll spot a clue to what's teasing my memory.”

  After a few minutes, Ryan called out, “Hey, Ash—there are tire tracks over here, just outside the trees. They look like they’re from a golf cart. Come take a look.”

  ”You’re right,” she said. “But does that mean that the killer was in a cart? Or could it just be from someone else playing the course? Do you know when the sheriff released the scene and let club members start playing again?”

  He shook his head. “I'm not sure, but I don't think they took very long to finish up out here. I don't think they kept it off limits more than a day. So yeah, it doesn't necessarily mean the killer left the tracks.” He looked discouraged.

  “Still, it could have been the killer. Remember, Ortiz said he saw a golf cart here that day, and the guy Green was arguing with had been driving around the tournament that morning.”

  It didn’t seem to cheer him up. “I don't think there's anything here for us to find, Ash,” Ryan replied. “Let's go grab something to eat and figure out what to do next.”

  Ashley agreed and called to Dizzy, who had been sniffing through the underbrush and barking at the squirrels fussing at them from the trees. The dog came trotting over, wagging her tail triumphantly, something held firmly in her teeth.