by Tina Kashian
Lucy dragged her gaze from the folder. “I told you everything I know.”
He nudged the folder with a forefinger. “This is the medical examiner’s autopsy report. He completed it this morning.”
Eagerness buzzed through Lucy’s veins. “What does it say?”
He drummed his fingers on the desk. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the information.”
Her voice was hoarse with frustration. “Then why display the folder in front of me like dangling fruit?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re an attorney, correct?”
“I’m a patent attorney. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Still. You must know the way this works.”
Why on earth did everyone assume she was an expert in solving crime or criminal procedure? “I’ve only handled patent applications . . . you know”—her hands fluttered before her—“for inventions.”
“I see,” he said in a tone that suggested he didn’t think there was a difference between the two.
“There must be something you can tell me,” she said, clenching her fingers in her lap.
“We don’t have a complete picture yet. The toxicology results won’t be available for several weeks.”
Lucy knew all this after talking to Bill, but Calvin Clemmons made her uneasy. “It’s just all so upsetting.”
“Of course. A woman is dead.”
She could feel his sharp eyes boring into her. “Why am I here, Detective?”
Springs squeaked as he leaned back in his chair. “I need clarification. Walk me through the restaurant’s process from start to finish when a customer walks in.”
At least this was comfortable ground. “A customer is seated and orders from the menu. As a waitress, I write their order on a check pad, tear off the check, and clip it onto the cook’s wheel. I would then get the customer’s drinks, and when the food is ready, the cook calls out my number.”
“Your number?”
“I’m number six. It’s pretty basic. Each waitress is assigned a number. She writes that number on every check. When an order of food is ready, the line cook calls out the specific number on the check so that the waitress knows her order is ready and to fetch it for delivery. A waitress always delivers the food, unless customers order from the hummus bar. Then customers get a clean plate by the hummus bar and help themselves.”
“Are the orders and checks generated by a computer?” Clemmons asked.
Lucy made a face. “My parents are old school. It’s all done on paper. Emma has been nagging them for years to have a computer system. But they’re comfortable with the way things are.”
“What about a carbon copy?”
“No.”
“Who prepares the food?’
“Butch is our line cook. He puts everything together. Mom is the head chef. The classic Armenian, Lebanese, and Greek food is all prepared by her.”
The detective drummed his fingers. “So your mom prepares the hummus?”
“Yes.”
“Who has access to the kitchen?”
“All the members of the staff. It’s unrestricted.” At his frown, Lucy rushed to add, “It’s not FBI Headquarters. Wait staff has to go into the kitchen to make coffee, tea, get supplies, and take dirty dishes to the dishwasher.” Lucy wondered what information the detective was after. Why all the questions?
Clemmons reached for the folder and flipped it open. Lucy was surprised when he removed a paper. Hadn’t he just told her that he wasn’t at liberty to reveal anything?
“The medical examiner ruled out salmonella, botulism, or anything that would result in food poisoning or a severe allergic reaction resulting in death,” he said.
Her hopes blossomed. “That’s good, right?”
“Yes and no. Heather Banks was a young, healthy woman in her thirties. The medical examiner is ruling it a suspicious death until the toxicology results are final. He believes Ms. Banks was poisoned.”
“Poisoned? On what basis is he making that call?” Even though Bill had warned her, it was still distressing to hear that the medical examiner had completed his autopsy and included it in his report. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat.
“The ME’s report states he detected a bitter-almond odor during the autopsy. The victim’s skin color was a deep pink, almost cherry red in color. And she’d vomited before she died.”
“What does that mean?”
Clemmons’s flat unspeaking eyes prolonged the moment. “Have you ever heard of cyanide poisoning?”
Now Lucy’s shock was real. “Cyanide! You think she was poisoned with cyanide?”
“The telltale signs are there. Cyanide poisoning suffocates its victims. Her abnormal color was due to oxygen staying in her blood and not getting to her cells. It explains the strange odor, skin color, and vomiting, as well.”
Lucy listened with mounting dismay. “That’s ridiculous. There’s no cyanide in the restaurant.”
“You certain about that?”
What possible use could her parents have for cyanide? None. Nada. The thought was absurd and, under any other circumstances, she would laugh. “Heather must have eaten it before she came to Kebab Kitchen.”
Clemmons drew his lips in a tight smile. “The thing about cyanide is that it works fast. The medical examiner suspects Ms. Banks ingested the deadly dose within a short window of time.”
“How short?”
“Very short. We’ll know for certain when we get the tox results.”
Lucy recalled that Heather had seemed restless and had been sweating and breathing heavily. She had forgotten to tell Clemmons that detail when he interrogated her at the crime scene, but something held her back from mentioning it. Goosebumps rose on her arms, and she felt sick to her stomach. “Your team collected everything she ate from the restaurant, even the trash.”
“That’s right. Everything we took will be tested.”
“You won’t find anything. There’s no cyanide at Kebab Kitchen.”
“We interviewed your line cook, Butch. Other than seeing Ms. Banks around town, he has no connection to the victim. He also mentioned that Ali Basher had arrived in the kitchen with a delivery the day Heather died. I’ve since interviewed Mr. Basher. He claims he never knew Ms. Banks, that he remained in the kitchen the entire time he was there, and he never saw her in the dining room.”
Lucy wasn’t surprised. Butch and Big Al were longtime family friends and trusted by her parents. She couldn’t fathom why either had a reason to harm Heather. “That should confirm it then. No one at the restaurant would harm Heather.”
Clemmons ignored her and put the autopsy report back in the folder. “What was your relationship with her?”
“I already told you. We didn’t have a relationship. We were in the same high school class.”
“Witnesses saw you arguing with Ms. Banks at Mac’s Irish Pub.”
Lucy stiffened her spine. “I mentioned that as well. We never argued. We just exchanged a few words.” She realized how ridiculous that sounded as soon as the words left her mouth.
A smirk crossed Clemmons’ face. “Is that what you would call it? Exchanging words?”
Since that wasn’t much of a question, Lucy didn’t answer. “You can’t seriously believe I had anything to do with her death, do you?”
He withdrew another sheet of paper from the folder. Lucy instantly recognized the pink carbon paper as the health inspection report. Heather’s signature was ominously scrawled on the bottom of the page. Lucy’s insides froze, but to her credit, she was able to keep her expression bland. For the first time since coming home to Ocean Crest, her years of legal training came to her aid. Her civil trial professor’s voice rang in her head. Show little emotion to an adversary, no matter how bad the facts.
Detective Clemmons was quickly becoming an adversary. If that hadn’t been clear before, it was now.
She was a prime suspect.
“Do you recognize this?” he asked
.
“Let me see,” she said, reaching out for the paper. She feigned reading the report for several seconds before looking up to meet his gaze straight on. “It’s the restaurant’s most recent health inspection report.”
His beady eyes narrowed. “Don’t you mean its most recent failed health inspection report?”
“It wasn’t a failed inspection, but violations that require reinspection. They’re all minor infractions—”
“Issued by Heather Banks,” he pointed out.
“The violations are inconsequential,” she argued.
“I wouldn’t call any health violation inconsequential. The restaurant could be shut down if the problems aren’t remedied.”
“What I meant to say is that it’s no big deal. A quick call to a handyman and we’re good to go.” She knew it wasn’t that simple. The additional sink Heather wanted in the kitchen would cause plumbing and structural problems and could cost a significant amount. The numerous other items were enough to give her and her parents headaches, as well.
“You were there the day Ms. Banks inspected the restaurant, correct?”
“Yes.”
“That must have upset you and your parents.”
She shifted forward in her chair. “Now wait a minute, Detective. Are you suggesting that I had a reason to harm Heather because of this?” She jabbed a finger at the inspection report.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just interviewing the last person to see the victim alive.”
The interview was not progressing well. Her first day back, witnesses had seen her arguing with Heather. Lucy was also the person to deal with Heather when she arrived to inspect the restaurant. And Lucy was unlucky enough to serve Heather her last meal.
Lucy didn’t have to be a genius to know she was in big trouble. “You’re calling Heather a victim now? Do I need a lawyer?”
“That’s up to you.”
She took a deep breath. “Let me assure you that I didn’t slip anything into Heather’s food or harm her in any way.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Now if you’re finished questioning me, I’d like to be on my way.”
“Of course.” Calvin Clemmons stood, the smooth smile back in place.
She shook his hand and hurried to the door.
“One more thing, Lucy.”
Her hand grazed the doorknob as she turned. “Yes.”
“How long will you be visiting us in Ocean Crest?”
“A month or so until I can go back to work.”
“Really? Your Philadelphia law firm confirmed that you’re no longer employed there.”
Oh, no. She winced. Clemmons had done more investigating than she’d thought. “I never said I planned to return to my old firm, but that I’m here temporarily until I can find legal employment.”
He nodded curtly. “Fine. But don’t leave town anytime soon.”
He’d done his research, all right. The problem was he was focused on the wrong suspect.
Me! He thinks I poisoned Heather.
Lucy recalled her dad’s order to find the killer. She thought of Katie’s offer to help. She’d already taken notes, thought of suspects, and even questioned Azad. But things had gotten even worse.
Not only was the future of the restaurant at stake, but her family’s livelihood, her parents’ pride—and most frightening of all—her own freedom.
* * *
By the time Lucy left the police station it was after five o’clock. She headed straight for Katie’s house. She opened the door and was blasted with loud, pounding music. Katie was in the family room, absorbed in imitating the movements of a fit male trainer on the TV, furiously punching, jabbing, and kicking the air.
“Katie,” Lucy called out.
Katie spun around and clutched her chest. “Jeez! You scared me to death.”
“Sorry, but you can’t hear anything over that.” Lucy pointed to the TV.
Katie reached for the remote and turned off the kickboxing DVD. One glance at Lucy’s face and she stilled. “Whatever happened with Calvin Clemmons, it can’t be good.”
As Lucy paused to catch her breath, her fears were stronger than ever. “The autopsy is complete. The medical examiner thinks Heather died from cyanide poisoning.”
Katie blew a strand of blond hair that had escaped her ponytail. “Cyanide? Like in the old spy movies when the villain is caught and he commits suicide by biting into a cyanide capsule that was hidden in his mouth?”
Katie really did watch too many police and espionage movies. “I guess.”
“What else did Clemmons say?”
Lucy’s stomach churned with anxiety and frustration. “He thinks I poisoned Heather.”
Katie’s jaw dropped. “What? Why?”
“Witnesses saw us arguing at Mac’s Pub. Clemmons found the health inspection report listing numerous problems and knows I was with Heather when she inspected the restaurant. Plus, he knows I served Heather her last meal. Why wouldn’t he think it was me?”
“How does it he think the cyanide was delivered?” Katie asked.
“He said it works fast, but it also depends on the dose. We won’t know how much was in Heather’s blood until the toxicology results return. But the poison had to have been delivered within a short amount of time—either soon before she arrived at the restaurant or during her meal. Clemmons must think I poisoned Heather’s hummus.”
Katie placed her hands on her hips. “Clemmons is thick-headed and stubborn about his theories. He’s also under pressure from the mayor and every business owner in town to figure out what happened before Memorial Day. And he dislikes your family.”
Lucy felt a moment of panic as the truth of Katie’s words rang true. How much effort would Calvin Clemmons put into seeking the real killer, now that she was his prime suspect?
“I have an idea.” Lucy went to Katie’s laptop on the coffee table and typed in cyanide poisoning in the search engine. A long list of sites came up on the screen.
“Good idea,” Katie said as she hunched over Lucy’s shoulder to see the screen.
“Here’s a site with info,” Lucy said. “It says cyanide poisoning is rapid-acting and potentially deadly. It can be a colorless gas, a crystal, or a white powder. It mentions a bitter almond smell, but not everyone can detect the odor.” Lucy glanced at Katie over her shoulder. “Clemmons said the coroner smelled bitter almonds.”
“How can it be ingested?” Katie asked.
“It’s strictly regulated by the government for manufacturing purposes. But it can also occur naturally in some foods and certain plants such as lima beans and almonds. Also apple seeds and cherry and peach pits.” Lucy drummed her fingers on the coffee table. “Clemmons thinks Heather ingested it quickly. If it was in her food or drink, it would probably be delivered as a powder. The site also says how fast it works to kill depends on the amount of cyanide a person is exposed to.”
Katie propped a hip against the sofa and folded her arms across her chest. “What else can you remember from when Heather came into Kebab Kitchen?”
Lucy let out a breath as she thought back. “Heather was uneasy and restless when her cell rang. She was also sweaty and breathing rapidly. I know she vomited before she lost consciousness.”
Katie confirmed what Lucy was afraid to hear. “They’re all listed as symptoms of cyanide poisoning.”
“Heather’s boyfriend was closest to her and could have slipped her something in her drink. Do you know where Paul Evans lives?”
Katie shook her head, then reached for the laptop and started typing. “It’s not a problem. I can easily find out. Real estate taxes are public record in the county.” She pulled up the county website and typed in Paul Evans’ name. “Nothing’s showing up.” She turned to look up at Lucy. “Wait a minute. Paul said he only came back to Ocean Crest six months ago. He probably doesn’t own a home, but is renting a place.”
Lucy tapped her foot. “That makes sense. His name wouldn’t appear in the real estate tax rec
ords. I can ask Max. He handles almost all the rentals in Ocean Crest.”
“Good idea,” Katie said. “Meanwhile I think I know where we can find him.”
“Where?”
“I stop at Lola’s Coffee Shop on my way to work every day. I always see Paul in a corner table writing on his laptop.”
“You think he’ll be working so soon after Heather’s demise?” Lucy asked.
“It’s worth a try.”
“I’ll head there early tomorrow morning,” Lucy said.
Katie shook a finger. “Not without me you won’t. Lucky for you, I don’t work Fridays.”
“Pushy, aren’t you?” At Katie’s expectant look, Lucy grinned. “The truth is I’m glad to have a Watson.”
“Just like old times.” Katie said brightly. “I’ll drive.”
CHAPTER 7
Bright and early Friday morning, Lucy’s eyes were wide as saucers as Katie’s jeep sped down Ocean Avenue. “Slow down! We have to be alive to question Paul Evans, remember?” She clutched the handle above the passenger side door as the jeep screeched to a stop at the town’s first of three stoplights. She’d forgotten about Katie’s aggressive driving.
Katie shot Lucy a sidelong glance before the light turned green and she stepped on the pedal with a lead foot. “Relax. I always drive like this.”
Lucy’s right hand tightened on the door handle as she pulled her seat belt an inch tighter with her left. “It must help that your husband is a cop. No one in town would give you a ticket for reckless driving, would they?”
“Hey! I don’t drive reckless,” Katie protested. “And I wouldn’t use Bill to get out of a ticket.”
Lucy never had a chance to argue. The jeep whizzed into the coffee shop’s parking lot in what she was certain was record time. The vehicle came to a screeching halt, and Katie put it in PARK.
“See?” Katie said. “Safe and sound.”
Lucy exhaled. “How about I drive next time?”
Katie gave her a sidelong glance. “Suit yourself.”
When they entered the coffee shop, Lola Stewart, the owner, was busy behind the counter. She was a tall, thin woman with pronounced cheekbones, a sharp chin, and steel-gray hair she always wore pulled tightly back into a bun. She was working an espresso machine which hissed and spat clouds of steam as it turned milk into frothy foam. Sunlight from the shop’s front window caught her glasses, sending flares of light across her face, and her friendly smile softened her otherwise harsh features.
