Getting Skinny (A Chef Landry Mystery)

by Domovitch, Monique

  “Oh, shit,” I exclaimed. “I forgot to bring gloves.”

  Toni froze. Even under the street lamps I could read the apprehension in her eyes. “We could always come back tomorrow.”

  I nodded slowly. “Yes, but the longer we wait, the greater the chance she’ll get rid of that tape. I need that tape, Toni. My gut tells me, unless I can prove somebody else killed Rob, they’ll pin his murder on me.” I took a deep breath. “If we don’t go through with this now, I’ll chicken out.” I walked on. “Don’t worry, we don’t need gloves. It’s not as if we’re going to rob her. I’m only taking what’s mine. And besides, what’s she going to do? Call the cops?”

  “I guess,” she said unsurely.

  “Then stop worrying. You look guiltier than a married lover caught with his pants down.”

  “Who cares how I look?” she argued. “You said nobody would see us at this time of night.”

  “They’ll notice you if you look like a prowler. You’re not walking, you’re lurking. Now stop tiptoeing and stand up straight.” For all my show of strength, I was terrified of getting caught, but less so than of a murder conviction.

  She came to an abrupt stop. “There it is.” She pointed at a small bungalow. “That’s her house.”

  It was a barracks-type bungalow, painted mocha and trimmed milky white. I would have preferred to find out that Mona lived in a dump, but as much I hated to admit it, her house was pretty. But not as pretty as mine, I told myself. That’s when it occurred to me that perhaps a small part of the reason I was doing this was that I wanted to know all I could about Mona. I was curious. I knew exactly what Toni would have said to that.

  “Don’t just stand there. Help me find the key,” I whispered, turning over decorative stones around the walk.

  A key could be hidden anywhere. I walked up to the front door, stuffed my hand in the mailbox and felt around. Nothing. Now, where…? I turned over the small welcome mat.

  “I’ve got it.” I held it up.

  “You’re a natural.” She gave me a high-five. A second later, the door was open.

  “You stay here and be the lookout.”

  “I don’t believe it. No way. You be the lookout and I’ll play detective,” she hiss-pered.

  “Don’t be silly. I know what the recorder looks like. You wouldn’t recognize it if it fell in your hands.”

  “You always give me the boring jobs.”

  I ignored her and stepped inside, pulse racing. If we were allowed only so many heartbeats in a lifetime, I’d gone through most of mine in a week.

  I groped along the wall for the switch and the light turned on, briefly blinding me. When my eyes adjusted, I found myself in a combined living and dining area separated from the kitchen by a small breakfast bar.

  The inside of Mona’s house was as attractive as the outside. Her style was similar to mine, at least when it came to décor—and to men. Like mine, her walls were yellow, but sponged-on instead of roller-painted. Her kitchen cabinets were white, like mine, and her counters black. Is that real granite? It can’t be. How much do nurses earn these days? The furniture was dark wood with a distinctly Victorian flavor. All in all, the woman had taste. This did not make me dislike her any less.

  “Stop standing around and start searching. I don’t want to stand out here all night,” Toni ordered from the doorway. “And while you’re at it, keep your eyes open for drugs, too.”

  I had already thought of that. I ventured forth with shaky knees. But where to start? That tape could have been anywhere. Okay, think. Where would I stash something incriminating?

  Inside the hall closet was the usual assortment of coats, umbrellas, boots and other accessories. I rummaged around, moving everything to one side, then to the other. I ran my hand along the top shelf and checked the inside of two shoeboxes, rifled through gloves and scarves, but no recorder.

  It occurred to me that I should leave things exactly as they’d been. I carefully put everything back and moved on to the kitchen. I opened drawers and cabinet doors—glasses, dishes, pots, pans—nothing more than the usual stuff.

  In the living room, I looked behind the sofa, under the sofa, under the cushions, inside the entertainment center and behind the entertainment center. I felt more and more ridiculous with every passing second. This was such a waste of time. Five minutes later, I’d searched the entire living area. Maybe in one of the bedrooms. I tiptoed down the hall, opened the first door and flipped on the light.

  For a moment, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, that I was having a horrible nightmare. Or maybe I was going crazy.

  It couldn’t be. I didn’t want it to be. Oh, shit!

  There on the floor, at the foot of the bed, was Mona. She was wearing blue scrubs, and in the middle of her chest was a large red circle, much like a target. And in the center I recognized the handle of a Chroma. Even in death the bitch was gorgeous. My shock turned to panic, and I bolted, screaming all the way out the front door.

  Toni slapped me back to my senses. “What are you trying to do? Wake up the dead?”

  I shook my head and stuttered. “Mo-Mona…” I gasped. “She—she…”

  “Breathe, Nicky, breathe.”

  “Mona’s in there. She’s dead.”

  “What?” The blood drained from Toni’s face.

  “Go see for yourself.”

  She tugged at my hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “But what if she’s not dead?” I had a small doubt. “Maybe we should call the police.”

  Toni pulled. “You just told me she was dead. Now let’s go.”

  “But I—I don’t know for sure. What if she isn’t? If I don’t try to help her, that’s the same as killing her.” I pictured the scene. “There was an awful lot of blood.”

  Toni hesitated. “Go see if she’s breathing.”

  “I—I can’t.” I pulled out my cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “911.”

  “Wait!” Toni grabbed the phone from my hand. “Dial *67 first. Do you want this call traced back to you?”

  “Oh.” I took my phone back and punched in *67, waited for the tone, and then 911.

  “I’m calling to report a medical emergency,” I said, disguising my voice. “She’s been stabbed and needs an ambulance fast.” I gave the address and hung up.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  I was already halfway down the street.

  i might not sleep for the

  rest of my life

  Toni pulled up in front of my house, and we sat in the dark, trying to calm our frazzled nerves. This, of course, didn’t prevent Toni from making her stupid comments.

  “As Yogi Berra said, ‘That was déjà vu all over again.’”

  “Toni, this is no time to be funny.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was just saying—”

  I cut her short. “This must be the most stupid thing I have ever done. Why, why, why, did I go through with that cockamamie plan? Because I’m stupid, stupid, stupid,” I said, hitting my head with the heel of my hand. “Now, what are we going to do?”

  Toni turned off the motor. “What we do is forget this ever happened.”

  “I don’t know…” I shook my head slowly.

  “Listen, we did the right thing. We called for help. As far as I’m concerned, our breaking into her house may have saved that woman’s life. We have no reason to feel guilty.”

  I so wanted to believe that, but I felt miserable. Then I remembered. “Uh…Toni! My fingerprints are all over her house.”

  Silence stretched. Toni broke it at last. “You didn’t touch her body, did you?”

  “Of course not!”

  “You said she was in the bedroom? Did you touch anything nearby?”

  “I didn’t go past the doorway.”

  “I think they’ll take prints off the murder weapon and everywhere around the body. They won’t be looking for prints inside closets and c
upboards. You should be okay.”

  I took a shaky breath. “Oh God, I hope you’re right.”

  Toni reached across the console and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She didn’t appear any more convinced than I was.

  There was a long silence, during which a dozen thoughts crowded my mind. “We were working on the theory that Mona killed Rob, but now that she got stabbed, that eliminates her as the murderer,” I said.

  “If Mona wasn’t the murderer, then who was?” she asked. “Hold on.” She tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Well…Jake said he couldn’t tell if the person was a man or a woman, didn’t he? We just wanted it to be Mona.”

  “You’re right, and you know who else is skinny and works at the hospital? Harry Johnson. Not only that, but he knew about Rob’s drug problem.” I hesitated. “You don’t think Charles could have…? No, that’s just too crazy.”

  She looked at me, stunned. “Did he even know Rob?”

  I shook my head. “Forget it. It doesn’t make sense.”

  She chuckled. “I agree. That’s just nuts.”

  “Okay, enough. Let’s get back to the subject. There are two possibilities here. Number one, it really was Mona who Jake saw walking with Rob. Mona might have seen something that night. Maybe she was at my house when the killer showed up, in which case she would have known too much.”

  “Okay.” She nodded.

  “The other possibility is that Mona was never at my house. The skinny person Jake saw must have been Harry Johnson. Mona could have stumbled on something incriminating at the hospital—after all, they all worked in the same department. This makes more sense, because if Mona had been at my house that night, surely the murderer would have killed her then.”

  “Not if he didn’t see her,” Toni said, “but you’re probably right.

  “So we’re not trying to get a skinny bitch anymore.”

  “Maybe you should let the police deal with this. I don’t want the killer coming after you.”

  “As you just said—all we have to do is keep our mouths shut. Remember, unless we find that killer, chances are the police will pin this on me.”

  This time Toni didn’t tell me I was crazy or paranoid. “I sure hope you can prove your innocence without getting a Chroma through your heart.”

  I just gulped.

  As I stepped out of the car, Toni called out softly. “Don’t worry, Nicky. We’ll solve it, I promise.”

  “I think you should stay out of it.”

  Toni called out something as she roared away but all I could make out was “Blah, blah, blah, friendship,” and “Blah, blah, blah, gratitude.”

  Inside, Jackie greeted me with frantic circles and made a desperate dash to the back door. She hadn’t been out for hours and needed to go now. I unlatched her doggie door and left it open. Jackie could come back in on her own. I wanted to get ready for bed.

  I pulled myself upstairs and was about to plop into bed when I remembered. Shit. I hadn’t made sure Jackie had come back in or locked up the doggie door behind her. I ran downstairs but Jackie wasn’t in the kitchen. Strange. I opened the back door. “Jackie,” I called into the yard. “Jackie, come.” But there was no sign of her.

  I combed the house room by room, and still no Jackie. I was beginning to panic. My yard was the size of a postage stamp and completely fenced in. There was no way Jackie could have gotten out. Or could she? I turned on the outdoor light, stepped out and—oh no! The answer was evident. The gate was open. Now Jackie was loose somewhere in downtown Toronto.

  This was a disaster. Jackie was not street-smart and she was smaller than a house cat. A kitten could beat the hell of her, never mind cats. In this neighborhood, raccoons roamed the streets at night. If Jackie came face-to-face with a raccoon, she didn’t stand a chance.

  I frantically ran up and down the street in my pink chenille robe, calling hysterically for Jackie. I even threw in a few shouts of “Come, get a treat,” to which she would normally have come galloping. Not tonight. I made such a ruckus that pretty soon half a dozen neighbors were calling for Jackie along with me.

  I was on my hands and knees, looking under the front porch when…”Let me do that,” a voice startled me.

  I bumped my head on my way out. “Ouch!” I rubbed the back of my head.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I looked up at that strange neighbor of mine. His eyes were dark, almost black, and to my surprise they were full of compassion and rather nice.

  “I can look under there for you,” he said, holding up his flashlight.

  Now why hadn’t I thought of a flashlight? I just nodded. When he got on his hands and knees, I noticed that he had a nice… Oh for God’s sake. What was the matter with me? Here I was, sick with worry for Jackie, and I was checking out my neighbor’s butt. And not just any neighbor, but weird-guy neighbor at that.

  He crawled back out. “She’s not here,” he said, flicking off the light. “How long has she been missing?”

  “About an hour,” I replied, near hysterics.

  “I’ll help you look for her,” he offered. “You take this side of the street and I’ll take the other. If I find her, I’ll whistle.” And off he went.

  I searched under every porch, behind every fence, in yards and even in garages. The longer Jackie stayed lost, I knew, the higher the risk of her being injured—or worse.

  An hour later there was still no trace of her, and one by one my helpers were going home. Soon, Maria Fernandez, my neighbor on the other side, approached me.

  “We looked everywhere, Nicky,” she said apologetically. “I think you should get some sleep. Call Animal Control in the morning. If anyone’s found her, that’s where they’ll take her.”

  “I know, I know.” But even as I was saying this, I knew I couldn’t stop. I was standing there, in the middle of the sidewalk, in my now-filthy pink bathrobe and slippers, out of my mind with worry.

  “Come.” Maria guided me toward my house.

  “I can’t stop,” I argued. “I have to…”

  Suddenly, strange-neighbor guy was in front of me. “She’s right,” he said. “You go home. I’ll keep looking.” I was already shaking my head when he continued, “Does Jackie have a tag on her collar?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Does it have your phone number on it?”

  “Oh! I should be home.”

  He nodded. “Someone might be trying to call you right now.”

  “Thank you…” I didn’t even know his name.

  “It’s Mitchell Richards. Mitch, to my friends. Now, go.” As I hurried away, he called after me. “Don’t worry. You’ll find her. I promise.” There was something so reassuring about the way he said it that I believed him.

  The message light was blinking. I grabbed the receiver and punched in my code.

  “You have one new message,” the computer voice told me. “This is the 24-hour animal hospital on Church. We have a little brown dog that was brought into emergency. Her name tag says Jackie Chan and gives this phone number. If this is your dog, please call us.”

  I hung up and dialed. Please, please tell me she’s safe.

  On the second ring, a woman’s voice answered. “Emergency Animal Hospital.”

  “You left a message on my phone about a little dog?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Her name is Jackie?”

  “Yes, we have her here,” replied the woman.

  “Oh, thank you so much. I’ve been going crazy.”

  “So you’ll come now, ma’am?”

  “Yes, right away.” Then it dawned on me. The woman had said “emergency clinic.” Terrified, I asked, “Is she all right?”

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can tell you, except that she’s being treated right now. The doctor can give you more information when you get here.”

  I tore into a pair of jeans. Two minutes later, I was racing up Shaw Street in my car, when I spotted Mitchell
halfway up the block, still combing the bushes. I screeched to a halt.

  I rolled down the window and called out, “She’s been found. I’m on my way to pick her up.”

  Mitchell wrenched open the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”

  I didn’t even think. I just shot up the street as fast as my smart car would take me. At the speed I was going, I would have given Mario Andretti a run for his money, and judging from the terror on Mitchell’s face, I think he would have agreed. In front of the animal hospital, I came to a rubber-burning stop.

  “You go,” Mitchell said, his voice tight. “I’ll park the car.”

  At the desk, a gum-popping teenage girl with a purple streak in her blue-black hair told me to take a seat and that she was calling the “doc” right away. After what felt more like hours than minutes, a young man in a white lab coat walked over. He hardly looked old enough to be out of high school, let alone to have graduated from vet school. This kid was taking care of my Jackie?

  “You’re here for Jackie?” he asked, wearing a blank expression.

  “How is she, Doctor?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

  “We’ve just finishing her second treatment, but she’ll need at least another two or three.”

  A second treatment? Two or three more? “Oh my God! What’s wrong with her?” I cried.

  “Didn’t anybody tell you?” he asked, surprised. I was faintly aware that Mitchell had come in. He was now standing next to me and holding on to my arm protectively.

  “She’s been sprayed by a skunk,” said the doctor.

  “That’s it?” I asked, in disbelief.

  “That’s it,” he repeated with a chuckle. “Apart from being a very smelly little dog right now, Jackie Chan is fine.”

  On the way home, I cradled my little girl protectively in my arms. She was wrapped in a damp towel and reeked to high heaven, but I’d never been so happy to see her in my life. Mitchell seemed happy, too, but I suspected it was mainly because he was doing the driving.