Getting Skinny (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  “What? Oh, sure,” she replied absently.

  I drifted into my own thoughts, so it was a few minutes before I took notice of Toni’s mood. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She smiled, embarrassed. “I should be asking you that question, not the other way around.” She grew pensive for a moment. “That man still has the knack of making me so mad. It’s been nearly three years, and he still thinks he owns me.”

  “You mean Steven?”

  “Of course I mean Steven. Who else?”

  “You two looked very friendly in there.”

  “Asking me out to dinner! Can you believe the nerve? What would we talk about? His latest girlfriend?”

  “Is he still seeing—”

  “Thank goodness he got rid of the little floozy he was involved with. For all I know his new receptionist is his new squeeze. She’s certainly his type. Young, thin and flashy—that’s exactly how he likes them.” She shrugged, as if she couldn’t care less.

  Receptionist? I couldn’t pick her in a lineup if my life had depended on it. I had other things on my mind.

  “Why take me out to dinner when he can have a girl almost two decades younger,” she continued, and I glimpsed what she was really feeling. Toni the man-eater was scared. Flirting meant she felt in control, but the minute Steven asked her out, she panicked. Obviously my friend had some unresolved feelings for her ex.

  Tears trembled on her lashes. “I’m just so fed up with being fat. Why can’t I be a size six again?”

  “Toni, I’m fat. You’re gorgeous.”

  She turned to me with skepticism in her eyes. “Modeling agencies aren’t exactly beating down my door.” She sighed. “I know I’ll never be twenty again but I’d kill to lose those extra pounds.”

  “Stop that. You used to look scrawny. You look much better now.”

  She snapped out of her self-pity. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Here I am prattling on about my insignificant little problems. I should be supporting you. I am so selfish.” She patted my hand and gave me a smile as genuine as a ten-dollar Louis Vuitton. “So, first things first. You’re coming to stay with me, right?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind. I can’t stay at my place, not until the police finish gathering their evidence.” Against me.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. You can stay with me for as long as you like.”

  “Can I bring Jackie? Poor little thing, I had to lock her in her kennel. She’s been there for nearly—” I looked at my watch, “—three hours. She must be frantic by now. I can always leave her at a dog sitter.”

  Toni hesitated but, to her credit, her answer was quick and almost heartfelt. “Of course you can bring her over. I love that little munchkin.” Then she added with a worried look, “She is completely house-trained, right?”

  *

  The cab pulled up a few houses away from mine, and to my horror, there were not two but three police cars parked right in front of my house. To make matters even worse, a strip of yellow crime tape stretched across the front door. There might as well have been a neon sign announcing Attention All Neighbors, Nicky Landry Is a Murder Suspect.

  I imagined countless pairs of eyes peering out from behind curtains all the way up and down Shaw Street. I glanced at my nosy neighbor’s house, suspecting he’d be spying from his living room window, but to my surprise, there was no sign of him. That was a first.

  “The neighbors probably have me charged and convicted already,” I whispered to Toni as we stepped out of the car.

  “I thought you liked your neighbors and that they liked you.”

  “True. But they like gossip more.”

  “Don’t waste your energy worrying about what people think. You know what they say, ‘It’s no fun gossiping about people’s virtues.’”

  As we approached the house, an officer came galloping over. He had the largest Adam’s apple I’d ever seen. “You can’t go in there,” he said, blocking the entrance.

  “This is my house,” I told him. “I just want to pick up my dog and a few personal items.” As if on cue, Jackie’s almost hysterical yipping drifted from an upstairs window. Oh, poor baby. “It’s okay, Jackie,” I called out. “I’ll be right there.” This only sent her into even more hysterical barking.

  “Can I see some ID?” the officer asked, unswayed by both Jackie’s frenzy and my distress.

  I pulled my driver’s license from my purse and shoved it under his nose. He studied it closely, glanced at me and back at the picture. “I’ll have to go with you and make a list of every item you take,” he told me officiously.

  Toni was already tapping her foot. “Why don’t you leave everything and just go get Jackie. I can lend you whatever clothes you need.”

  If Toni wasn’t four inches taller and thirty pounds lighter than I was, I would have welcomed her offer. I was so tired, even the sidewalk looked like a good spot for a nap. “I’ll just grab some pants and a few shirts.”

  The officer followed me inside, all the way upstairs and watched as Jackie jumped into my arms, squirming, squealing and licking my face in hysterical gratitude. He didn’t even crack a smile. What was it with cops? Did they only know one facial expression—dour?

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” I tried to avoid Jackie’s tongue, but it was quicker than I. Yuck. I carried her downstairs, gathered a few containers of homemade dog food from the freezer, her leash and some chew toys. I packed a few wee-wee pads just for good measure, and was about to leave when I realized I had nothing for myself. I ran back upstairs with both the cop and Jackie on my heels and randomly selected a few items of clothing. Five minutes later I was ready to go.

  Soon we were back in the cab. On our way to Hazelton Lanes a frightening idea filled my mind. As long as the police suspected me, they would never look for the real killer.

  skulking around a dark alley

  with a magnifying glass

  Toni closed the door and I was about to put Jackie down when I saw that she was still speckled in now-dried blood.

  “Shit.” I lifted one of Jackie’s paws to show Toni.

  “No way is that filthy mutt going on my clean carpets.” She took her from my hands and marched off to the washroom.

  I called after her, “Where should I put Jackie’s stuff?”

  “In the front closet,” she yelled back.

  I was putting away Jackie’s leash when I noticed a man’s tan leather jacket on a hanger. I pulled it out. “Whose is this?” I checked the label. It was a Ralph Lauren, just like the one I’d bought for Rob last year. Tears welled up at the memory. Was I going to react this way every time I thought of Rob?

  Toni grabbed the jacket out of my hands.

  “Jesus! Where did you come from? You nearly scared me to death.”

  “I’m just getting some rags. I’m not about to use my Frette towels on that mutt.”

  She hung the jacket back up, closed the door and backed up against it. “I presume you’re done in here? What you need is a nap. You know what they say, ‘No day is so bad it can’t be fixed with a nap.’”

  “I hardly think a nap will fix everything,” I muttered, following her to the guest room. But when I saw the inviting bed, I decided that sleep couldn’t make me feel any worse than I already did. In two minutes flat, I was down to my bra and panties and in the softest sheets I’d ever felt.

  “Mmm, this is wonderful.”

  Toni was closing the door. “Fifteen-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton.”

  “Nice,” I replied, already drifting off to sleep. As tired as I was, I would have slept on a bed of nails.

  *

  “Hey, sleepyhead. Time to get up.”

  Groan. Toni was shaking me awake. I opened my eyes. “Just a few more minutes. Please.”

  “You know what they say, ‘You can’t expect the Lord to give a shit if you don’t move your ass.’” She pulled the duvet off. “Come on. Up, up, up, up.”

  “I don’t believe that’
s a real expression. You made it up. Admit it.”

  “I was just at the police station to give my statement,” she said, ignoring my question. “I told them I was with you from around one o’clock until around four.”

  I shook the cobwebs from my brain.

  “Steven called. He said to meet him in front of the police station in an hour.”

  I looked at my watch and wailed. “It’s two-thirty. I’ve only had three hours’ sleep.”

  “Too bad. So sad. Now move.” The woman had no sympathy. “Make sure you look good.”

  “Who cares how I look? This is a deposition, not a fashion show.”

  “I hate to tell you this, kiddo, but the police will videotape your deposition, and if they end up charging you, that same tape could be used in court. You want to make a good impression on the jury, don’t you?”

  I was out of bed and in the shower in a New York minute. When I stepped out of the bedroom half an hour later, I was wearing simple black pants and a crisp white shirt.

  Toni looked me up and down. “Pretty plain if you ask me.” She snapped her fingers. “Hold on. I’ve got just the thing.” She disappeared into her bedroom. A moment later she came back and handed me a beautiful apricot cashmere sweater and a few strands of gold beads interspersed with sparkly stones.

  “I don’t need a sweater. It’s summer. I don’t get cold like you. That’s one advantage we chubby girls have over skinny ninnies like you.”

  She harrumphed. “Take it, and trust me.” She draped it over my shoulders, tied the necklace around my neck and stepped back. “That’s much better. There’s a fine line between looking casual and looking careless.” My face must have dropped because she quickly added, “It’s the camera. The same way it adds ten pounds, it makes ordinary look drab. Believe me. I know what I’m talking about. Now go put on some lipstick.”

  *

  The officer opened the door to interview room number two, a small ten-by-ten space with a camera on the ceiling in one corner. My gaze was immediately drawn to a two-way mirror on one of the walls. I just knew half a dozen cops would be watching my every move.

  One officer popped a tape into the camera as another walked in. The second one was middle-aged with a paunch that hung over his belt, thinning dark hair over a shiny scalp and wearing, of course, what I was beginning to think of as a policeman’s scowl. He smiled, flashing yellow teeth.

  “I’m Officer Driscoll.” Another glimpse of yellow teeth. He addressed Steven. “I think we can do this very informally. All we need from your client is her version of what happened.” He turned to me. “Just a formality. Nothing to worry about.”

  Steven sat expressionless across from me.

  Driscoll settled himself into the chair at the end of the table. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  I glanced at Steven and he shook his head slightly before turning to the cop. “Why don’t you ask the questions?” he said, coldly.

  “Riiight. So that’s how it’s going to be,” Driscoll replied impatiently.

  “That’s how it’s going to be,” Steven said.

  The police officer sighed. “Miss Landry, what did you and the deceased fight about last night?”

  For the next two hours, I answered countless questions, often the same ones over and over. I blinked back tears, swallowed the lump in my throat, and crossed and uncrossed my legs a hundred times.

  Meanwhile, Steven kept repeating “Asked and answered,” and Driscoll’s piercing eyes bore into mine. Steady, I reminded myself. Take a deep breath. And I did, again and again, until I thought I was hyperventilating.

  “Tell me about the last time you saw the victim alive.” For a moment, I remembered how I felt finding out about Rob’s cheating. I glanced at Steven, who nodded imperceptibly.

  “I was giving a dinner party in his honor.” I described the evening, the way I happened to overhear the conversation in the bathroom and my confrontation with Rob. “But it wasn’t a violent argument. All we did was break up. People break up every day and they don’t kill each other over it.”

  “Some do,” Driscoll said evenly. “We have a statement from Toni Lawford. She said she rejoined you after the party. At what time did she arrive, and at what time did she leave?”

  Again, Steven nodded.

  “She came back around one o’clock, I think, and I fell asleep sometime around two-thirty. She had to have left quite some time later because when I woke up, she’d cleaned the whole place—the dining room, the dishes, the glasses, everything. That had to have taken at least two hours.”

  “You say your friend cleaned up? Hmm. So even if there had been evidence of a fight, it was all gone by the time the police went there this morning.”

  “The police have been to the restaurant?” This came as a complete shock to me.

  Instead of answering, Driscoll abruptly changed the subject. “How much did you have to drink during the party?”

  “Not that much. Maybe a couple of glasses of wine.” Steven was shaking his head. Damn. I had already said too much. I bit my lips, vowing to keep my mouth shut.

  “And after the party?”

  Steven cut in sharply. “My client has answered enough questions.”

  “What’s the matter, Counselor? Does your client have something to hide?”

  I could feel my face redden. “I had a few martinis, that’s all.”

  Steven jumped to his feet. “Let’s go, Nicky.”

  Before I could move, Driscoll leaned forward until his nose was inches from mine. “So for all you know, maybe you didn’t fall asleep. Maybe you blacked out.”

  “Let’s go, Nicky,” Steven insisted.

  “I’ve never blacked out in my life!” I replied, outraged.

  “I said now,” Steven snapped, and I jumped to my feet. “This interview is over. Let’s go.”

  I was about to follow him when Driscoll stopped me.

  “Not so fast. We need her fingerprints. You don’t have any objections to that, now do you, Counselor?”

  “Wh-what?” I was in shock. “Does that mean I—I’m…?”

  “They want your prints so they can tell them apart from others around the crime scene,” Steven reassured me.

  With my heart beating staccato, I followed the officer to a small, dimly lit area the size of a broom closet. There, another policeman instructed me to place my fingers, one by one, in the computerized print scanner. It didn’t matter that I was innocent or that I hadn’t been arrested. I felt like a criminal. For the first time since she’d died, I was glad my mother wasn’t here, because seeing me like this would have killed her.

  Driscoll addressed Steven. “Make sure your client doesn’t leave town.”

  “She isn’t planning to go anywhere,” Steven replied, and he ushered me down the hall.

  Once outside, he turned to face me. “What did I tell you?” I stood mutely before him as he continued, “Didn’t I specifically tell you not to say a word unless I nodded?”

  “Yes,” I replied weakly.

  Steven took both my hands in his. “I know how difficult all of this is for you, but I promise you this will be over soon. There isn’t a shred of real evidence against you. All they have is circumstantial at best, and I’ll punch enough holes in their theory to sink the Queen Mary. Don’t worry. Experience has shown that the police usually get it right.”

  “Thank you, Steven.”

  A minute later I was in a cab and on my way back to Toni’s, Steven’s words playing over in my mind. “The police usually get it right,” he’d said.

  All that really meant was that sometimes they got it wrong.

  *

  Jackie must have heard me put the key in the lock because she was racing down the hall as I let myself in. She leaped into my arms. When it came to making me feel better, nobody did it better than this little dog. I buried my face in her fur while she licked my ear with frantic adoration. In doggy speak, that energetic, wiggly welcome meant “Oh, you’re back. I�
��m so happy you’re back. Thank goodness you’re back. Don’t ever leave me again.”

  “It’s okay, Jackie. It’s okay. Take it easy.”

  Toni rushed into the foyer. Suddenly, I was caught in a torrent of kisses and questions.

  “Are you all right? How’d it go? Are you still a suspect?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. I still had an anvil in my guts. Even breathing was painful.

  She rubbed my back. “How’d it go at the station?”

  “As well as can be expected. If Steven wasn’t representing me I don’t know what I would do.”

  At the mention of Steven’s name, Toni’s mouth tightened to a thin line. “Getting back to the subject at hand, do the police still think you did it?”

  I sighed. “They sure do. They’ve ordered me not to leave town. You might have to come visit me in jail.” I had a sudden thought. “Do prisoners still wear stripes?”

  “I have no idea. Why?”

  “I’m too fat to wear stripes.”

  It was a much-needed moment of levity and she cracked up. Even I managed a weak smile while I waited for her to stop laughing.

  “Shouldn’t we be at the restaurant?”

  “You are not going anywhere. And neither am I. The guys can take care of whatever little business we have for one night.”

  She was right, of course, but I still hated the idea of not overseeing everything.

  Before I could argue, she added. “And you’re staying right here even if that means I have to tie you down.”

  “Okay, fine. But I have to take Jackie out,” I announced. “I won’t be long.”

  “I already took her for a nice, long walk. We even went through the mall and stopped by the new doggie boutique, didn’t we Jackie?” Toni leaned forward to pet her. “Jackie dropped a few bucks on some designer doggie clothes. Stay right there.” She ran out and reappeared a few seconds later with a rhinestone-covered leash and two frilly doggie outfits. “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. Isn’t that right, Jackie?” She held out her arms, and Jackie wriggled out of mine and leaped into hers.