“Don’t worry, we love animals,” I said. “Evinrude and Sparky will hate the smell of us when we get back home. But we all need to learn to be flexible, right?”
He stopped at the door rather than inviting us in to take a seat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you individually. Not that you’d hold something back with the other listening. I know you two don’t keep secrets.”
“Hayley doesn’t keep any secrets,” said Miss Gloria with a snicker.
Torrence laughed, too, and I shot her a glare.
“We get it,” she said. “You don’t want what we remember contaminated by what our good friend remembers.”
Miss Gloria took her obligations as a citizen seriously. She had gone to jury duty as summoned last fall when many folks would have scrambled for an excuse to be dismissed. And if the officials had bothered to double-check the date of birth on her driver’s license, she wouldn’t have been called in the first place. In the end, she was selected as forewoman and sat through two ugly, draining weeks of testimony. She helped resolve a case involving manslaughter and a former city attorney when most of my friends and the media outlets had predicted deadlock.
Torrence’s eyes met mine. “I think she should run for mayor,” he said.
“Or president,” I added. “Or world ruler.”
“I’ll move this chair just outside the door.” Torrence dragged the more comfortable chair out of his office and set it up so my roommate could see everyone coming into the station and dispersing down either hall.
“I’ll go second,” she said. “I’ll sit out here and take a little catnap.”
“Would you like some company?”
Miss Gloria nodded her agreement, and after she perched in the big chair, he settled his elderly dogs in her lap. She and the dogs snuggled into a pashmina that she carried in her bag in case of overly aggressive air-conditioning. Torrence closed the door behind me, which I took as a measure of the seriousness of the conversation.
“I guess there hasn’t been much progress on the murder,” I said.
“Unfortunately not. And you can imagine the pressure with all the important people in attendance at this weekend’s events. The Cuban security staff are really angry, and the feds want us to move the threat level to orange.” He grimaced. “They really want us to call off the remainder of the conference. I don’t know if Nathan mentioned that he’s head of security this weekend, manning the mother ship in this building.”
I gulped. No wonder he was even crankier than usual. And no wonder I hadn’t seen a lot of him over on the Truman Annex grounds.
“The chief is pretty upset, too, and I can’t say that I blame him. They’re all in a meeting right now. In case you saw steam coming out of one of the second-floor windows, that would be what’s happening.”
He glanced down at the notes on his desk while I studied the photos hanging on his wall. There were former presidents, movie stars, and in a place of honor, several members of the police department with John Walsh, host of the TV show America’s Most Wanted. Torrence had fingered criminal number 999 and often lamented that if it’d been number 1,000, John Walsh himself would have come to Key West with his TV cameras and his entourage and he would’ve been famous.
“Had you heard anything in advance that might have led you to believe there would be trouble at the Little White House?” he asked.
“Only from You Know Who,” I said with a shrug. “Mr. Chief of Security. And that was before anything got started. He said there might be a problem and he asked us to step down from the catering. More than once. I have no idea what you guys heard in advance, or how you got the information,” I said, surprised by a feeling of shakiness. I glanced up at the poster Torrence had framed and placed over his desk. IF YOU ALWAYS DO WHAT YOU ALWAYS DID, YOU’LL ALWAYS GET WHAT ALWAYS GOT.
“Of course, me being as stubborn as old baking powder in a failed cake, I told him absolutely not. We couldn’t possibly bail out at that late date. We had all that food, and tons of people committed to work the weekend. But now I’m thinking … If only I had done what he suggested and talked my mother into canceling, Gabriel would be alive right now.” My voice wobbled as I faced the possibility that I was obliquely responsible for this man’s death.
“We don’t know that and can’t make that assumption,” he fired back. “If someone was intent on taking him out, he would have been killed another way. Stabbing a man in the chest is not an incidental murder. That’s a vicious act committed by a strong person.” He patted the papers on the desk in front of him.
“If we can, let’s review the time leading up to the incident.” He looked down at his notes and then back to me. “You reported hearing the popping noises and then Maria’s scream. Do you remember hearing any sounds of an argument or someone in distress before that moment?”
“I’ve been over and over this in my mind, searching my memory for what might be hidden there.” I pressed my hands to my cheeks, which felt both warm and clammy at the same time. “We were so busy waiting on tables. And so excited about all the special guests.”
“And you’d been dancing,” he added with an impish grin.
“Yes.” I sighed. “I was worried that my mother was annoyed with me for getting distracted. Right before hell broke loose, I had picked up the first tray of dessert. It was heavy, heavier than I would’ve expected, so not that easy to balance. My focus was on delivering the darn thing to the tables without spilling the flan and the caramel on our guests.” Bigger sigh. “Which ended up happening anyway—I ruined our commissioner’s silk shirt.” I shook my head. “Nothing else comes to mind.”
“Did you notice anyone in the Little White House, especially near the kitchen, who was wearing sequins?”
I tried to think that over carefully, picturing the various women who had attended the party. Assuming it was a woman, which was not always a fair guess in Key West. And then I remembered Miss Gloria’s gift. “I suspect that question is a dead end. Both my roommate and I were wearing these really cute black sneakers covered in sequins.” I knew this meeting was for him to interrogate me, not the other way around. But this question brought on a surge of curiosity that couldn’t be denied.
“I suppose that means you found sequins near the body?” I asked.
His expression was pained. “Yes.”
“What color, and what size?” I asked. “Because you know not all sequins look alike.”
“We’re aware of that.” He grinned. “Believe it or not, a few of our officers have worn costumes during their tenure in this town.”
“I guess that means you can’t tell me anything more.”
“You guess correctly. But we’ll probably want to take a look at those shoes to be absolutely certain they are a match.” He made a few notes, then set his pen on the desk and rubbed a finger across his mustache. “What I’m about to tell you is not going to be an official request.” He paused, brown eyes intense. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Not yet. I have not a shred of a clue what you’re going to say.”
“We’d like you to keep listening at your dinner tonight. You’re working the party, right?”
I nodded.
“The Cuban delegation has shut down and won’t say anything to us. And our Cuban-American residents on this island are not talking either. You, however, might be in a position to hear something that we might not.” His voice had gotten fierce and tense. “We plan to have an officer working the event. I’ve already cleared that with your mother. But he’ll stay in the kitchen. We can’t have him waiting on tables in case one of the guests recognizes him as a cop.
“And there will be plenty of cops around the facility, and probably Cuban security too. I’m not saying you’re investigating anything, I want to make that clear. You are listening only.”
“I get it.”
“Good. Then call or text me tomorrow and we’ll talk. Collect impressions and we’ll take it from there. Any questions?” He stood u
p and came around his desk to open the door.
I hesitated. Torrence wasn’t the one I usually talked to about relationship issues. That would be Connie or Eric or Lorenzo or even Miss Gloria. But he knew Nathan better than any of my friends did. And I’d seen how kind he was last fall when we’d been trapped in the closet during a hurricane and he’d ended up performing my mother’s marriage to Sam. And I was bothered enough that I decided I needed to vent, or burst.
“On an unrelated subject, I have a tiny worry.” This was going to sound so ridiculous said out loud, even in a whisper. But it rankled me, and I knew it would only grow bigger if I let it fester. “You knew Nathan’s first wife, right?” I knew he’d known her, because we’d talked about her in the past.
He nodded, though reluctantly.
“Things went bad between them after the home invasion, right?”
He nodded again.
“And I totally get why that freaked him out. And her too. I can’t even imagine how scary that must have been, for both of them.”
Another nod. He wasn’t going to help me figure out what I was trying to say.
“Okay, bottom line. Do you think that still carries over?”
Torrence raised his eyebrows above his glasses. “What do you mean?”
“I’m wondering whether Nathan has someone watching me and reporting back to him about what I’m up to.”
Behind his glasses, his eyes now looked worried. “What makes you feel that way?”
I glanced out into the hall. Miss Gloria had gotten up from her chair and was reading “most wanted” posters on a bulletin board, Zeus tucked under one arm and Apollo under the other. “I wasn’t even off the grounds of the church when he texted me to see what I was doing at the funeral.” My voice rose with irritation. “It’s not just annoying, it’s a little scary. I don’t want to be involved in something where the guy is controlling.”
Torrence looked instantly horrified.
“No, wait,” I said, holding up a hand to stop him from cutting me off. “I never have really understood what happened with his first wife before the incident. Was everything hunky-dory in their marriage? Maybe he tried to manage her, too? Even Miss Gloria mentioned it this morning. That’s probably why I reacted so strongly the other night when he asked us to withdraw from Mom’s big catering gig. Again. I can’t tell you how many times we’d already discussed that.”
Torrence was shaking his head and I braced for a brush-off. Cops sticking with cops and all that.
He closed his door again. “As I mentioned, Nathan is the big picture security guy this weekend—he hasn’t been down in the weeds, doing staffing for individual events. I’m the one who suggested we have someone looking out for you at the funeral, since he wasn’t attending. We were very concerned that the murderer would be there and might follow you or try to harm you. I made the mistake of mentioning this to Nathan, and he went nuts over the idea that you might have been hurt. But listen, he’s no stalker. It wasn’t him who asked for a report from our guy at the service; it was me.”
“Really? Wow, that’s a relief,” I said. “What about this plan for me listening in at the dinner?”
“He doesn’t like it. But we’ll have so many people in place, both uniformed and undercover, that chances of things going sour will be none.”
I blew out some air and felt my shoulders try to move away from my ears. “Okay. If you’re absolutely sure.”
He laughed. “Who’s sure of anyone in the end? We all have dark pockets in our psyche. But he’s more likely to want to marry you than control you. Everyone knows you’re not controllable. That’s part of what he loves about you.”
“He does? He certainly hasn’t told me any such thing.” I mulled this over. “Has he said anything specific to you about the future?”
“I have to draw the line there,” Torrence said. “I don’t want to incriminate myself or my friend.” He grinned. “I’m sorry you were worried. I should have said something earlier.”
Since we’d gotten this far, and since he’d married so many couples and must have seen it all—good, bad, and terrible—I decided to ask my other, bigger question. “I have to say, the idea of getting married scares me to death. Even if Nathan asked me, and I have no idea if he will or when—and PS, why is it that the man gets to decide all this anyway?” I glanced over at him. “I’m not asking you to tell me about anything you might or might not have heard.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to keep up with the way your mind works,” he said, grinning.
I let go a great big whoosh of air. “Tell me about it. But what I’m trying to ask is, how do you know you will stay the same person that you were when you got married? Because if you change, the marriage becomes obsolete, right? Maybe that’s why there’re so many divorces. I think that’s why my parents split up. Dad changed in one way that my mother didn’t. Of course, they were also very young and getting married was not part of the plan.” I stopped blathering and looked directly at him. “You conduct so many marriage ceremonies, I figure you must have some answers.”
Torrence squinted. “You’re giving me too much credit. I’m not a fortune-teller. I talk to couples ahead of the ceremony about how they communicate and when to get help and potential signs of trouble. Usually I get one shot with them—and how much can actually be accomplished in an hour? But from what I’ve seen, what you’ve described is not how marriages go. In a relationship that works, the marriage contract is a constant stream of renegotiation. Maybe it even feels like a series of marriages, under the cover of the one marriage. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He took one of my hands in both of his and squeezed.
“I think so. I think you’re telling me that I don’t need to panic. Although you’re not telling me how to choose the right person in the first place.”
He chuckled. “I’m wise, but I’m not the Dalai Lama. However, I do have a suggestion.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “Can I be really honest?”
“Of course,” I said. “I want nothing less.” Though I had to admit that my heartbeat sped up a bit waiting for what he had to say.
“If your mind leaped right from his text to wondering if Nathan’s watching you too closely, make sure you take a look inside yourself. Old baggage sometimes repeats itself, you know?”
“I know.”
“And one more thing. If Nathan’s text bothered you that much, you should tell him. That’s the one piece of advice I give to my couples—talk to each other. Even about the hard things. Even if he scares you a little. And then reinforce him when he’s able to do the same.”
“Thanks. Like training a dog, then?”
He choked out a laugh, I gave him a hug, and we went into the hall to collect Miss Gloria. “I’m going to run upstairs for just a second and say hello to Ziggy Stardust while you two chat,” I said.
“What about Nathan?” Miss Gloria asked.
I laughed. “I’ll wave at him too, if he’s not still in his top-secret meeting.”
I took the elevator at the back of the building to the second floor and then turned left in the direction of Nathan’s office. My heart had started to pound, and I couldn’t pin it on running up the stairs, because I hadn’t. Nor was it remembering how anxious I had been the first time I’d been called to the police department—about a poisonous key lime pie in which my knife had been found. Which, looking back, had been one of the most anxiety-inducing moments of my life.
More likely, I was nervous about seeing Nathan and telling him the truth about my feelings. We weren’t together enough for that to feel routine. And half of the time lately, he had seemed to be scolding me for getting overinvolved. I tapped on his door, which was almost shut. I heard Ziggy’s soft woofing and Nathan’s rumbly “Come in.” I pushed open the door. Ziggy’s little brown ears perked up and his tail began to wag. He sprang from his dog bed to the chair in front of Nathan’s desk and then into my arms. He began to lick my face with his rough pink tongue.
“When he
sees you, all his training goes out the window. Happens to me, too,” Nathan said. His smile went all the way to the green eyes that killed me every time. “What brings you to these parts?”
“We came in for our second in-depth chat about the murder,” I said, “and I just wanted to say hi and see my buddy. I’ve missed you so,” I told the squirming dog. When he’d calmed down enough that I could set him down on the chair, I went around the desk to give Nathan a kiss. “Fresh dog slobber.” I grinned.
“My favorite,” he said and smiled back. He held me at arm’s length. “You’re worried about something.”
So I let it all burst out—how his text had troubled me, and how I had reacted badly to his last visit to the houseboat warning me off participating in the weekend. And how even Miss Gloria had been startled enough to ask if he was overly controlling. “I bet you didn’t mean it that way, but I thought you should know.”
He studied me without an ounce of humor, but said: “I can see how you’d feel that way. From my side, I’m worried about you running into a ruthless killer and getting in over your head.”
“You guys think he was at the funeral.”
He nodded. “Small town, and certainly if the killer was local, it’s a good possibility.”
“I can see why that would worry you,” I said, remembering that I was supposed to reinforce his feelings too. “Torrence says you’re having a rough day, so I won’t stay. Just wanted to tell you both that I miss you.”
His face looked blank for a moment and then he grinned. “I miss you too, even if you do drive me crazy.” He hugged me so hard I thought he might crack a bone. And followed that up with a tender kiss.
Chapter Sixteen
While the quintessentially European flavors of onion and olive oil are satisfying, the sweet notes of the plantain are voluptuous. They are a siren call. Yield to the New World, they say. Yield to the tropics. Regress to your sugar-hungry infancy and childhood. Relax. Yield. Allow seduction.
Death on the Menu Page 11
