Al grunted. “Even the place where the Seafood Surprise was frozen in the middle? I’m tellin’ ya’ we didn’t expect that. They’re lucky Cassie didn’t get sick after eating there, or I woulda’…er, I dunno’, I woulda’ hadda’ take some serious action.”
“Knowing you, Al,” Rob said, “I would expect nothing less. Here’s what I found out. When a restaurant gets a bad review, the regulars often band together to defend the place they love. They get up in arms about it on social media, and before you know it, the restaurant’s Trip Advisor profile has gone viral. The proprietors post clever retorts about the review’s shortcomings or the fact that the reviewer didn’t tip, and then they grab the headlines.”
Al wasn’t sure what social media was, or if the Trip Advisor was a real person. He scratched his head. “Rob, ya’ lost me, man. Is this something to do with that iPad thing Cassie keeps tappin’ on? All that tappin’ and swipin’. . .makes my head spin.” He lowered his voice, in case Cassie could hear. “One time, I heard her talkin’ to some weird woman called Siri. Is that normal?”
There was a pause, while Rob considered his answer. He decided it was a good thing they weren’t on Face Time. The last thing he wanted was for Al to see the grin he was wearing. “Um, yes. In fact, it’s entirely normal and nothing to worry about at all. Another thing—because Food Spy always has something good to say about a place, however minor, people are visiting those establishments to see the cute waiter, or taste a secret recipe like Kale Explosion Juice, that sort of thing.”
“Stop right there. I understand Cassie’s obsession for kale, but what cute waiter are ya’ talkin’ bout?”
“Al, I’m not sure I—”
“Spit it out, Rob. Or Ima gonna’ have to kill ya’.”
“Al, I sincerely hope you don’t mean that,” Rob sighed. “But for what it’s worth, here goes. In one of the reviews, Cassie mentioned a handsome waiter who flirted with her. She said if she’d been twenty years younger, and not already dating an even more handsome man of a more suitable age, she might have written her number on the check like he asked.”
“Huh,” Al said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That’s all right then. But Ima gonna’ tell Cassie she gotta’ stop being so nice in them places. Gonna’ get her in trouble. Anyways, sounds like ya’ don’t think we need to worry ‘bout any of them restaurants, is that right?”
“That’s about it,” Rob said. “The next person of interest is easy to rule out too. Nora Jenkins, the woman who worked with Cassie at the museum?”
“Go on,” Al said. “Don’t tell me she ran off with the cute waiter? I really gotta’ meet this guy.”
“Nope, she died over a year ago. Spent the first year of her retirement traveling the world, only to be run over by a bus on her return to Seattle. She was killed instantly. It’s kind of ironic.”
Al sat on the sofa, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet on the coffee table. “Yeah, that’s too bad. I think that’s what Cassie calls karma. Who else ya’ got?”
“Myles Lambert, the food critic Cassie’s covering for. From what I’ve learned, he’s not at all well-liked at the newspaper. I hear he thinks of himself as some kind of a literary genius, and looks down on the rest of the staff. He’s taken time off from his column to write a book, but it’s a mass-market foodie travel guide, nothing quite as grand as his aspirations. According to my contact, the other people at the newspaper wouldn’t be all that sorry if he didn’t come back to it. I did find out it seems that Myles’ nose was bent out of joint recently when the Lifestyle Editor suggested he take more time off if he needed it.”
“Who’s the editor?” Al asked. “Ya’ speak to him direct?”
“It’s a she,” Rob replied. “Gloria Ekenbach. She wouldn’t take my calls. I’d suggest you follow up with her in person, if possible. I don’t have an in.”
“I don’t either,” Al said, “but Cassie does. Ima gonna see what I can do. That just leaves the Simmons woman, I think. What’s the skinny on her?”
Al heard Rob take a deep breath. “Well, where do you want me to start?”
“At the beginnin’ would be good. Anything that might make her a murderer.”
“Okay, here goes. Jessica Simmons is in her forties and divorced. She has one child, a daughter named Ashley, who went to school with Cassie’s daughter, Briana, and DeeDee’s daughter, Tink, which you probably already know. Briana and Ashley were particularly close as teenagers since neither one of them cared all that much about academics. After failing to graduate from high school, Ashley’s approval rating with her mother fell even further due to a series of dead-end jobs and deadbeat boyfriends.”
“Got it,” Al said, “but it’s Jessica I’m interested in. What’s her beef with Cassie?”
“Jessica runs a food blog that’s moderately popular, more so out of luck than any particular skill on her part. She’s been working on it for several years, and before she started it she held various positions in the catering industry. She did everything from cooking in cafes, to washing dishes when times were hard, which with her was most of the time. She divorced Ashley’s father over ten years ago, and she’s been struggling financially ever since. Her food blog is just the latest in a line of failed business ventures.”
“I see. So what you’re saying is she could be jealous of Cassie’s success at The Seattle Times. Would that be right?” Al reached down to scratch his toe.
“I’d be surprised if she wasn’t,” Rob said. “Also, another parent from the high school told me Jessica always had something bad to say about Cassie, ever since Ashley had sleepovers years ago at Cassie’s house on Mercer Island. Seems like Jessica was in awe of Cassie’s privileged lifestyle, and never missed a chance to bad-mouth Cassie behind her back to the other parents.”
“Ima dislikin’ this Jessica Simmons woman more by the minute,” Al said.
“I thought that’s what you’d say,” Rob said. “It may be a coincidence, but there’s something else you ought to know.”
Al had a feeling come over him that what Rob was going to tell him was going to make him crazy. “Ain’t no such thing as a coincidence. Go on.”
“Jessica’s ex-husband, Pat Simmons, is also the owner of Creative Cakes.”
Al swung his feet off the coffee table and sat bolt upright. His feeling had been right. That statement made him really worried. “Does Jake know about this? He’s on his way to Creative Cakes this afternoon.”
“Yes,” Rob confirmed. “I just briefed him about the coincidence.”
“All right, thanks Rob,” Al said, standing up and stretching. “Ima gonna’ leave that to Jake, he’s capable of dealin’ with it. Yer’ help has been above and beyond, as usual. I appreciate it, my man.”
“No problem,” Rob said. “Call me if you need anything more.”
Al turned as Cassie approached the lounge area, with the first smile he’d seen on her face since before Megan Reilly’s murder. “I will,” Al said as he ended the call and greeted Cassie. “What’s made you so happy?”
Cassie held out her phone. “I had a couple of missed calls from Briana while we were out earlier,” she beamed. “Maybe she was calling to wish me Happy Birthday.”
“Your birthday was yesterday, sweetie pie,” Al reminded her, with an affectionate grin.
“Yes, and it’s one I won’t forget for a long time, but my phone was off all night, so maybe she did try to call me. You know I never switch it on unless I need to call someone. I only saw the calls today when I turned it on to call the newspaper after we got back from DeeDee’s.”
“Here’s the thing, Cassie,” Al said. “See, sometimes people might wanna’ call ya’. The phone’s no darn use to ya’ if it’s not switched on. Did Briana leave a voice message?”
Cassie’s face was blank. “I never get voice messages. I’m not sure why.”
“Here,” Al said, reaching out his hand. “Show me yer’ phone.” Taking Cassie’s device, he pressed a few buttons,
held the phone up to his ear, and listened. “Yer’ voice mail’s switched off. Ima gonna reset it now, okay?”
Cassie nodded. “Thanks, Al.”
“Why were you callin’ the paper?” Al asked.
“To tell them I can’t work for a while, like you told me. It’s not safe, is it?”
“Not till we get to the bottom of this Megan Reilly murder, it’s not. Did ya’ speak to Gloria, yer’ editor?”
Cassie smiled at him. “Al, you remembered! You’ve usually got no memory for names. No, she was out of the office, but her personal assistant told me she’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I think you might wanna’ go there and speak to her in person,” Al said. “And see what ya’ can find out ‘bout this Lambert guy. Can ya’ get DeeDee to go with ya?”
“I’m sure I could,” Cassie said. “Are you coming too?”
“Nah, think I might scare Gloria off. Frienda’ mine, Harry, is gonna’ look after ya’. Nice, normal lookin’ feller, but he ain’t no pussy cat, lemme tell ya’. Speakin’ of feline friends, while yer’ there Ima gonna’ pay a visit to a certain lady who ain’t no pushover either.”
“Kitten Knight?”
“Yep,” Al said, pulling Cassie close. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight unless it was absolutely necessary, but there was no way he could take her with him to see Kitten.
There was no telling what Kitten might do.
CHAPTER 11
Jake waited on the sidewalk in front of the Seattle Waterfront Marriott for a person fitting Luke Robertson’s description to pick him up in a red Honda. When he’d called Luke, and introduced himself after leaving Le Bijou Bistro, Luke wanted to meet up with him sooner rather than later so the two of them could go directly to Creative Cakes, which was on the outskirts of the city.
Al had dropped him off at the Marriott on his way back to Bainbridge Island.
A shiny red Honda pulled over to the curb, and the driver leaned across and peered through the window at Jake. He gave Jake a questioning look. The young man was muscular and tan, with short cropped black hair. Jake knew an off-duty police officer when he saw one. As he strode over to the car, Luke pushed the passenger door open for him, and Jake climbed inside.
Jake introduced himself with a handshake. “Jake Rogers. Sorry to meet you in such sad circumstances, Luke.” He could see the hurt in the young man’s eyes. Luke’s jaw was set in a straight expressionless line.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me, Jake,” Luke said, his voice flat. “Dan Hewson, the Chief of Police, speaks highly of you. I understand you’re already involved in investigating the Megan Reilly case for other reasons. I just want the person who killed my fiancée brought to justice.”
“Your fiancée?” Jake said in surprise. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize you and Megan were engaged.”
“I proposed last night,” Luke said, looking away from Jake. He was staring vacantly ahead through the windshield, at nothing in particular. The car behind them honked its horn, and with a jolt, Luke put the Honda in gear, and they pulled away from the sidewalk. “Megan said yes, and made me the happiest man alive. For all of, oh, fifteen minutes. And then…you know.”
Jake looked up from where he was tapping the address for Creative Cakes into the screen on the satellite navigation system on the dashboard. He was at a loss for words.
Luke cleared his throat. “So, where are we headed?”
“Looks like it’s not that far from here. We’re on the right side of town. Are you sure you’re up to this, Luke? It must be very difficult for you right now.”
“There’s no way I can’t be involved,” Luke said. “Megan’s body is at the morgue, and her parents are there to deal with things when the coroner is done. I’m not family, and never will be now.” His voice was void of emotion.
“I’m sensing some animosity there,” Jake said. “Are you not on good terms with Megan’s family?”
“Oh, they’re civil to me,” Luke said. “But Bill and Susan never approved of their daughter dating a cop, never mind marrying one. Somehow they think this is all my fault. They can freeze me out of the funeral arrangements all they want, but they can’t stop me from doing what I’m good at, seeking justice. And I intend to.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jake said, in an admiring tone. “Any more news from the coroner’s office?”
“The conclusion seems to be that Megan was poisoned with cyanide,” Luke said. “It’s fast-acting and kills its victim in a matter of minutes. It’s also easily available on the internet. I think illegal websites like The Silk Road have a lot to answer for the damage they can cause.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jake said. He knew about the darknet markets Luke was referring to. Although the original Silk Road had been shut down and its founder imprisoned for life without parole, it was the forerunner of the current online black market sites dealing in illegal substances and accepting non-traceable payments such as Bitcoin. “The cyanide was in the cake, I take it?”
“Yes,” Luke said. “I can’t stand chocolate cake, otherwise I’d be dead too. Megan said it was delicious and tried to coax me into taking just a tiny bite of it. She was holding out the cake on her fork, trying to squeeze it in my mouth. I can still see the silly grin on her face.” He shook his head. “Maybe if I’d tried a bite of it first and felt sick before Megan had any, I could have saved her life.”
“Don’t beat yourself up like that,” Jake said. “You’re here now, and we’re going to find her killer. My friend will make sure of that.”
“I don’t get it,” Luke said. “Why is the person you’re working with so interested in who killed Megan? What’s the connection?”
“Let’s just say he has a vested interest,” Jake said. He wanted to sound reassuring, without going to details about Al’s background. Luke, who was frowning, didn’t push the matter. It was obvious he had a lot on his mind.
The satellite navigation system instructed them to turn left into the parking lot of a small commercial building containing six units. Jake thought it was very similar to the set-up DeeDee had on Bainbridge Island for her catering business, Deelish. As well as the sign for Creative Cakes, there was a car valet outfit, a mobile dog groomer with a couple of trucks outside, a home interior showroom, and a beauty supply wholesaler. The last unit had a real estate agent’s sign stuck to the closed shuttered doors.
Luke parked in one of the spaces allocated for customer parking, and the two men got out. The door to the Creative Cakes unit led into a small reception area, sparsely decorated with a couple of chairs, worn carpet tiles and various pictures on the walls of spectacular-looking fancy cakes. The one that grabbed Jake’s attention was a Disney-inspired Cinderella carriage, perfect in detail right down to the footman and horses. It was taller than the little girl and her friends who were standing beside it, grinning, with the little girl’s birthday balloons visible in the background.
No one was at the desk, and the only sound they heard was music coming from the back room. Jake rang a tarnished brass bell on the counter, and he and Luke stood in silence while the bell’s jingle was followed by muffled footsteps. A young woman wearing what looked like white hospital scrubs with a pink shower cap on her head, and a pink plastic bootie on each foot covering her shoes, appeared through a door in the back.
“Hi,” she said, grinning. “Are you here to pick up an order? What’s the number, please?”
Luke spoke up. “No, we’re not customers. Is it possible to speak to whoever’s in charge?” He flashed his police badge.
The smile faded from the woman’s face, and she nodded. “Um, sure. I’ll get Pat. Just a moment, please.” As an afterthought, she reached under the counter and produced a tray of rainbow-colored cupcakes and set them on top of it. “Help yourselves.”
Luke stared at the cupcakes before turning away. Out of respect for Luke, Jake tried to ignore them, although they looked delicious. Fat and succulent, with a thick layer of frosting, each cake was topped
with glitter dust and a mini unicorn. Those are definitely girl cakes, Jake thought as he looked at the glitter and unicorns, determined to resist. In the end, he had to turn away to stop himself from grabbing one. He had a sweet tooth, as DeeDee could testify.
The door behind the counter opened again and this time a man entered, dressed in normal clothes, except for the clear plastic cap covering his hair and the plastic booties on his feet. He pulled off the cap and threw it in the waste basket in the corner. “I’m Pat Simmons,” he said as he looked at Jake and Luke, “the owner of Creative Cakes. I understand you’re police officers. You’re the second group of them today. How can I help you?”
“I’m Luke Robertson, a police officer, and this is Jake Rogers, a private investigator,” Luke explained. “I’ll level with you, Pat. I’m off-duty, but my fiancée was the woman who died last night at Le Bijou Bistro. We’re trying to find out who was responsible.”
Pat exhaled. “Look, guys. I already told the police who were here earlier everything I know. They were swarming everywhere this morning, trying to close me down so they could search the place. I had to call my lawyer, who came down and told them to get out and not to come back without a search warrant. Unless you’ve got one, I suggest you leave.”
“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Jake said. “I realize you don’t have to help us, Pat, but Luke has a personal stake in this. He just got engaged last night, right before his fiancée was murdered.”
Pat’s gaze shifted from Jake to Luke, and he relented. “Fine, but make it quick. We’re already way behind today because of the police who came here earlier. What do you want to know?”
“Who ordered the cake that went to Le Bijou Bistro yesterday?” Jake asked, taking a spiral notebook and a ballpoint pen from his jacket pocket.
Murder at Le Bijou Bistro: Northwest Cozy Mystery Series (Northwest Cozy Mysteries Book 5) Page 8
