by Carol Culver
“Enough,” Kate said, shaking her head. “I’m overwhelmed with data. Let’s let all this info settle down. Here’s your list. Let me know if you have a breakthrough or if you need me to do something.”
I took the paper out of her hand. “Thanks. This helps. I know it does. I’m going to put it under my pillow tonight and maybe the answers will be there in the morning.”
She gave me a very skeptical look. “Sounds like a recipe for a nightmare to me. Anyway Sam is just across the street if you feel vulnerable.”
“Unless he’s at home, which is where he’ll be tonight because I’m having dinner at his house.”
Kate, who’d been standing near the door, came back and sat down. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were having dinner with Sam. At his house. Is he cooking for you?”
“I guess so. He’s a good cook, at least I think he is.”
“I expect a complete report, and I don’t just mean the food.”
I ignored the suggestive tone in her voice. “He’s just doing this to show off, to show me how independent he is. How he does not need anyone. Especially me.” I half believed this and half believed he felt sorry for me this morning when he saw the shop.
“I see,” she said. I think she thought she saw something that I didn’t see.
“I think cooking is a kind of hobby with him. A relief from the stress of his job.”
“Chasing murderers, you mean.”
“There aren’t that many murders,” I said. “Sometimes he’s out rescuing cats from trees or solving small-town crimes like, I don’t know, rounding up stray dogs or looking for lost wallets or writing his small-town crime column for the newspaper. Did I tell you Granny is the new advice columnist. Oops?” I covered my mouth with my hand. “I’m not supposed to tell. You did not hear that from me.”
“My lips are sealed,” she said, then she got up again and this time she made it out the door.
I baked three pies that afternoon, trying to keep my mind off murder and home invasion. One was a classic apple only I inserted some cheddar cheese under the top crust before baking. Apple pie may not be the world’s best pie, but I think it smells the best when baking. Maybe it’s the cinnamon, maybe it’s the memories. Maybe because it’s associated with chilly days and cozy nights around the fire. So why was I making an apple pie in the middle of summer? I guess I just needed a shot of cozy at that moment. Even if I didn’t eat a bite of it, just the smell was enough to blot out the scene I’d encountered upstairs.
Next I made another key lime pie with a classic graham cracker crust. I didn’t have any fresh key limes so I used bottled key lime juice. My third pie was actually four individual meat pies known in England as pasties. They’re basically pie dough used to hold meat, potatoes, and vegetables. The pastie is baked until the dough is golden brown. Pasties aren’t fancy, but they’re sure good. In the olden days of the Golden West the men used to take pasties into the mines to have for lunch. Which pie should I take to Sam’s? He avoids sugar like the plague, but he’ll be expecting a pie. Better stick to citrus.
When I walked out the front door that evening on my way to Sam’s house, there was a young woman leaning against a car at the curb. She was wearing all olive drab and sensible shoes. She raised her hand in a salute when she saw me.
“Can I help you?” I said. Again, a last-minute pie sale is always a positive possibility.
“I’m Deputy Officer Raleigh,” she said. “From Park City. I’m assigned to watch your shop and put a padlock on the door.”
“What? Who assigned you?” As if I didn’t know.
“The chief.”
“This is ridiculous. Yes, my house was vandalized today, but why would the vandals come back?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” she said, which made me feel about one-hundred years old. Especially since she was twenty-one if she was a day. “But I have the combination to the padlock for you.”
“I thought you’d be here guarding the store.”
“I will, but the chief wants you to have experience with the padlock so this kind of incident never happens again.”
“Before you lock the door,” I said, “Help yourself to some pie.”
She shook her head. “No eating or drinking on duty.”
Whose rule was that I wondered as I drove away. Traditionally cops always ate donuts and drank coffee while on the job.
I arrived at Sam’s house at seven, pie in hand. After trying out about fifteen different combinations of clothes, from sloppy to fancy and everything in between, I’d finally decided on an off-white short skirt, flat black sandals, and a black sweater with a beaded neckline. I had the list that Kate and I had made out in my purse, just in case we got into the subject of murder and suspects. And when have we not? Still I wouldn’t mind skipping the topic for one evening. One evening without worrying about someone breaking into my shop or anyone committing murder. I didn’t mind murder so much as long as I wasn’t blamed for it.
Sam answered the door. The combination of heavenly smells coming from the kitchen and the sight of Sam at the door of his own house looking sexier than ever in tight jeans, leather sandals, and a blue polo shirt was almost more than I could handle on top of everything else I’d been through, both good and bad. I staggered backward for a moment before I recovered enough to stammer, “Hi.”
“Feeling better?” he asked, taking the pie out of my hands.
“Fine,” I said. “You didn’t need to send a deputy.”
“She needed a job, you need a night watchman.”
“The home invasion of my home happened during the day,” I reminded him as he led the way to the patio behind his house. “Do you really think the home invader is going to come back?”
“Depends on what he found or is still looking for.”
“Why he, why not she?”
“Force of habit. It could be a she. Any ideas?”
I didn’t want to start the evening talking about crime or even end the evening that way, so I just shook my head. Then I looked around the patio. Tall palm fronds waved in the evening breeze. Lush bougainvillea climbed the trellis between his house and Lindsey’s next door. He poured me a tall drink from a pitcher on a small table.
“Delicious,” I said. “What is it?”
“Poncha. A Portuguese guy I worked with gave me the recipe. Orange juice, lemon, rum, and honey.”
I sat down on a canvas lawn chair, my drink in hand. Even if I thought it was ridiculous to have a deputy watching my shop, it did give me a sense of security. That and the poncha. I refused to worry about driving home either. Sam could take me if he thought I couldn’t pass a sobriety test.
I was right about his being a great cook. The lamb roasting on the outdoor grill gave off the scent of rosemary, garlic, and olive oil. When he brought it in to carve, it was brown and crusty on the outside and pink and juicy on the inside. He filled two plates with slices of lamb, a heap of couscous he’d cooked on his kitchen stove, and grilled asparagus.
We carried our plates outside to a rustic picnic table and Sam poured a crisp, dry white Pinot Grigio. I swirled the wine in the glass then I sniffed it. “Mmmmm. Smells like pears.”
He nodded. “You have a very good nose.” Then he tilted his head to one side and gave me a long look, his gaze traveling up and down my body. Was he checking for concealed weapons? With Sam you never knew. He was always on duty. I was glad I’d worn the right thing. Or had I?
“And your legs aren’t bad either,” he said with a slight twist of his lips. On anyone else it would have been classified as a smile or even a grin. But Sam? Not so much.
I blushed. Even a woman in her thirties can have a problem accepting a remark like that from an old flame.
“The last person I served this wine to said it was ‘innocuous and uninteresting’.”
“Obviously someone you should avoid,” I said. Wondering if it was a previous girlfriend. But glad I’d passed the test. If there was one.
&nbs
p; We talked about wine and food and the town and people in general. The elephant in the room was the Barr murder mystery of course, and we both tiptoed around the subject. Half of me wanted his opinion and the lists Kate and I had made earlier were burning a hole in my purse. The other part wanted a purely social evening. There were so few of those in my life.
Eventually after coffee and a small slice of sweet-tart key lime pie each we sat outside. It was dark except for the tiny lights strung overhead in the trees. That’s when we got down to the subject we’d been avoiding.
“Any idea who trashed my house today?” I asked casually, setting down my half glass of cognac which he’d poured from an expensive-looking bell-shaped bottle. I wanted to give the impression that I’d put it all behind me. I wasn’t worried or nervous at all. I was just curious, that’s all. Surely that was understandable. I just didn’t want Sam to think I was a basket case who fell apart every time something unusual happened.
When his cell phone rang I thought he almost looked relieved. He’d rather deal with an emergency than speculate with me about possible suspects. Maybe he was right to avoid delving into mysterious circumstances with me. Maybe our conversations all led to nowhere. He’d made it clear he didn’t want my help. Maybe he knew exactly who’d done it and he didn’t want to tell me, worried that I would blab or freak out. Who me?
I listened to him ask questions of the caller. Just the usual, who, what, where, and when. But I couldn’t tell what it was all about. Until he hung up.
“Gotta go,” he said, standing up. “Domestic violence on our favorite street, Mulberry.”
“A coincidence or …”
“It’s the neighbors of Marty and Nina. They say they heard shouting and threats at their house.”
“Is that classified as domestic violence?”
“Not yet. I’d rather intervene before it gets to that stage. I’ll take you home first.”
My eyes widened. Marty and Nina in a fight. “I want to go with you. I promise I’ll stay in the car. Unless you need me to talk to her or him. You don’t have to use force to break up a domestic fight, do you?”
“Rather not,” he said. I followed him inside where he strapped on a gun and put a jacket on over it. “If you come you have to promise not to do anything or say anything. And stay in the car.”
I raised my right hand. “Promise. I won’t budge and I won’t say a word, even though I think it’s easier to deal with other people’s problems than your own. Isn’t that why you’re a cop?”
“I don’t have any problems,” he said, his hand on my shoulder as he locked his front door.
I searched his face under the porch light. No sign of how he meant that remark. As an attempt at irony, a joke, or just the truth as he perceived it.
“If you don’t have any problems you’re one in a million.”
“I could have told you that,” he said.
Thirteen
Sam opened the official Crystal Cove police car door and I got in. He drove fast and we were on Mulberry Street in a few minutes.
He parked in front of Nina and Marty’s house where there was a small crowd standing outside on the sidewalk. Lights shone from every window of their large house. But there was no noise, no voices, no arguing, no music, nothing. Just a hushed murmur from the crowd. Had they killed each other?
“False alarm?” I said hopefully.
A few people came up to Sam as he got out of the car.
“I’m the one who called, Chief,” a stocky man in Bermuda shorts and flip-flops said. “Heard lots of shouting. Threats like ‘I’m gonna kill you’.”
Sam nodded calmly like he’d heard it all before. “Thanks for calling. I’ll check it out. People say things but usually don’t mean them.”
I watched from inside the car while he went to Nina and Marty’s front door. I saw him ring the bell, knock, and then walk in. Then I heard voices. A man’s voice and a woman’s voice. I strained my ears but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I wanted to jump out and ask the neighbors if they’d heard anything else, but I knew better.
A few minutes later I heard Sam say “Good night,” to whoever was inside, then he came down the front steps and addressed the group of neighbors.
“False alarm,” he told them. “Just a little argument. The Holloways asked me to apologize for alarming the neighbors. But everything’s fine now. They’ve made up and that’s the end of it. They appreciate having such vigilant neighbors.”
I’ll just bet they do, I thought. I bet they hate having the cop come to their door. But how loud was the argument and more importantly, what was it about?
“What happened?” I said once we were headed for his house.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Okay, sorry I asked.”
“Would you believe me if I told you that Marty had a black eye?”
I turned my head to stare at him with disbelief. “No.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Nina did that?” I asked.
“What do you think?” Sam said.
“I can’t believe it. Though maybe he deserved it.”
“He said he’d walked into a door. He didn’t want to press charges or take any action. It was an accident. His own fault. He hadn’t called us. He was a little grumpy, I have to say.”
“He was that way at the Food Fair when he was minding Nina’s booth. How did she look?”
“She looked mad. She looked like she was ready to smack him again.”
“So you don’t believe the ‘walked into a door’ story.”
He shrugged.
I was deeply flattered that he’d confided in me as much as he had. “What now?” I asked.
“How about a cup of coffee?” he said.
“Sounds good. Why don’t we go to my house and you can give your deputy the rest of the night off.”
He turned at the next corner and stopped in front of the shop. I gave the poor deputy a cherry pie to take home and Sam told her she’d done a great job. At least he assumed she had. For all we knew she’d taken a nap in her car, which was okay as long as no one tried to break in.
After I’d made coffee upstairs in my tiny apartment, I sat down in the straight-back chair across from Sam and put my elbows on my well-worn kitchen table, which had once been Grannie’s.
“What I want to know is how this incident fits into the big picture,” I said.
“It doesn’t. These incidents as you call them are part of my daily life. They’re random. They happen. They will always happen as long as there are people. So don’t go trying to make something of it.”
“What do you think they were arguing about?”
“I don’t know. What do people argue about? Money? Sex?”
“Then she hit him? Why?”
“Nobody said she hit him. Not him. Not her.”
“Somebody hit him.” I frowned and stirred some cream into my coffee.
“Nobody else at home?” I asked.
“Didn’t see anyone.”
I was green with envy. Call me nosy, but I wanted to see that house. I wanted to see that black eye too. And I wanted to get a feeling for their relationship, which I couldn’t believe was a good one. I’d never seen them together, and I was sure I’d be able to pick up on the vibes between them. I wasn’t invited but I could have gone in. There was obviously no danger.
“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I haven’t crossed Nina off the suspect list.”
“The murder suspect list?” he said, tilting his chair back and looking at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“That’s the one. This incident tonight just confirms my theory. Nina is obviously capable of violence.”
“If she socked her husband.”
“What are the chances it was a stranger or a run-in with a door? I mean, honestly. Then there’s the fact that Heath gave her caramels a good review.”
“You’re not back to that shakedown theory are you?”
“Why not? I
wish I knew if she had one of those sharp knives we all had.” I looked at Sam. All he had to say was “Yes, she did and I confiscated it,” or “It doesn’t matter.” He didn’t say anything.
“Too bad you didn’t have a chance to search the house,” I suggested.
“Searching the house, as you put it, requires a search warrant and I don’t see any reason for one. Domestic violence is one of the most common crimes there is,” Sam said. “And when there’s no complaint filed, there’s no crime.”
“I understand. What I don’t understand is how much domestic violence is perpetrated by a woman. Can’t be much. We’re gentle people. On the whole.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “Sure you are,” he said. “But it happens.”
“Don’t humor me, Sam,” I said. “I know women commit heinous crimes. Look at Lizzie Borden who took an axe, ‘gave her mother forty whacks, when she saw what she had done, she gave her father forty-one’.”
“I now know I shouldn’t have taken you with me tonight. Now you’re convinced Nina and Marty are up to something. Forget it. Forget them.”
“Okay,” I said.
He gave me a suspicious look. Maybe I should have hesitated before agreeing so readily. I was determined to get into their house on some pretense and check them out. There was something going on and I would find out what it was.
I managed to change the subject back to something innocuous, but my mind was spinning. If Sam hadn’t instructed me to drop the whole murder thing, I would have hauled out the list Kate and I made. But if he refused to listen to me, didn’t want my help, why should I insist? I’d do my investigating on my own and when I finally had proof I’d hand it to him on a silver platter. I wouldn’t ask for praise or recognition or my picture in the paper. All I wanted was to be deputized. Was that too much to ask? That’s the way I am, just a concerned citizen, trying to keep Crystal Cove safe for the residents. But it would be nice if he’d thank me.
