Beth said, “If your PI skills are as good as your math skills, I’m sure Mike’s got nothing to worry about.”
For once, Neve looked less than smug. “Math’s overrated,” she said. “It never comes in useful in real life, everyone knows that.”
“Right,” said Beth. “What you need in real life is to look pretty and stroke your high school ex-boyfriend’s legs.”
Mike blushed and pushed Neve’s hand away. “She’s not my ex,” he said quickly.
“Whatever,” Beth said. “We’re leaving. To do actual work.”
Beth grabbed Pixie’s cage and walked out the door.
As we left, Neve called out, “Thanks for saying I look pretty.”
I made sure I didn’t slam the door of Mike’s apartment, no matter how furious I was. But I shut it as quickly as I could, all the better to shut out Neve’s annoyingly fake laugh.
“I hate this,” I breathed, trying to calm down. “I hope we don’t run into her too often.”
But that didn’t seem to be too likely, given that Neve would have the same list of suspects as us.
Beth acknowledged the reality with a grim set to her mouth, and we sped off homewards.
Chapter Seven
Beth and I lived in the same apartment complex, down the hall from each other. The place was only a few paces away from the beach, which suited us both—Beth liked running along the shore in the early morning, and I liked lying on the sand and reading a book or two.
Our apartment floor plans were mirror images of each other. Mine faced out onto the parking lot, and Beth’s faced the street in front. Both had one bedroom, one living room, one kitchen (mine: barely used; Beth’s: put to frequent good use) and one functional bathroom. All that a single gal in her late twenties needed.
My apartment now also contained a little Hahn’s macaw, and the first thing I did when I got home was to find a spot for Pixie’s cage and her play stand. They both went into a corner of my living room, and once I’d set them up, I gave Pixie a nut and took her out for scratches. She settled down onto my shoulder a few minutes later, and I flipped through the book on parrot care. The book said that Pixie would need lots of toys to stay busy with, and a glance at the empty cage showed me that she’d need new perches, and at least a half dozen parrot toys.
Beth was hanging out in my apartment, going through footage from the café security camera, and we watched images from the night Tim had been murdered. The daytime footage seemed mundane enough: mostly customers coming and going.
Tim had locked up in the evening and left after all his staff. A few hours later, it was dark, and the streets had cleared out. The camera captured nighttime video of a man clad in jeans and a hoodie, disguised by a ski mask, entering the building wielding a sledgehammer, just like Mike had told us. Because the camera was focused on the entrance, we had no idea what the man did after he walked in.
Tim walked in a few minutes after the man. After only moments, the man ran out, clutching his sledgehammer and swaying slightly under its weight.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Beth said once we’d finished watching the video. “For all we know, it could even be a woman wearing a loose hoodie. The camera’s set at an angle, so you can’t even tell how tall or short this person is.”
I agreed, and Beth and I continued on to watch footage from the other days. There was nothing revealing on the tape, and I was just about to complain about my need for food when my cell phone rang.
“Mike,” I said coldly, putting the phone on speaker so that Beth could listen in. “What the hell are you doing with Neve?”
“I’m really sorry. She called when I was in the café with you guys, and then she showed up saying she wanted to help me. I mean, I need all the help I can get, right?”
I made a wordless, disgusted noise. Neve’s confidence was a little unnerving, and she’d hit a nerve when she’d told us she would find out more than we would. I was worried that she might latch onto something I’d missed. “What’d she ask about?”
“Not much, really. To be honest, I think she might be in this for her own gain.”
I looked at Beth and rolled my eyes, trying to imply what a d-bag I thought the man was. “You really think she wants you that badly?”
“No, not like that. She wants the café.”
I frowned. “She thinks you’ll give her the café?”
“Not give her, sell her the place.”
“Was she talking to Tim about it?”
I could sense Mike nodding his head on the other end of the line. “She was one of three people interested in buying the place. And she still wants to. She wants to run a fancy vegan soup place there.”
Beth stuck out her tongue, and I said, “That’s just what Santa Verona needs, a fancy vegan soup place.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. Neve wants to help out so that she gets first dibs on the place when I sell it.”
“So what did she ask? How’s her investigation going?” I tried to keep the snideness out of my voice, and I think it worked.
“She asked about other people who might’ve wanted to hurt Uncle Tim. And she asked who the other potential buyers were, and their phone numbers, but I didn’t have their phone numbers.”
It sounded harmless enough. Beth made a pouty face and flipped her hair, pretending to be Neve.
I stifled my giggle and said, “And how’s Neve doing? Did you two catch up after the work chat?”
“Not really,” he said. “She raced off, saying she needed to find the killer before you two did.”
“Great,” I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm this time. “I’m so happy to hear that.”
Chapter Eight
Beth was complaining about the chocolate mud cakes she needed to bake and the fact that we didn’t have any dinner ready, so I solved both problems by convincing her to drive us over to my mom’s house.
“This is a lovely surprise,” my mom said when she saw us. As I’d known she would.
My mom dyes her graying hair light brown, and she looks youngish for her age. Over the last year, her looks have improved, especially since she retired from her job as a middle school teacher and the stress lines on her forehead started to fade. She ushered us through to the dining room, with its off-white drapes, dark wooden table and framed Van Gogh prints. She’d set the table as soon as she’d heard we were coming over, and the room smelled of delicious roast chicken.
Aunt Kira sat on the other side of the table, reading something on her Kindle as she waited for us. She looked like a much older version of my mom, even though she was only older by ten years. The age gap was emphasized by her short, crisp gray hair, and the half-moon glasses she insisted on wearing.
She peered at Beth and me over the glasses and sniffed disapprovingly. “I suppose you’re here on account of you didn’t have anything in your fridge,” she said. “You know you’re welcome to come over and break bread even if you’ve got bread in your fridge.”
“You keep bread in the pantry, Aunt Kira,” I said. “Don’t you know that?”
Aunt Kira rolled her eyes into the back of her head. “I was never down for that seventies business of women staying in the kitchen. Why should we? You girls are smarter than that, too.”
I glanced at my mother, who was thankfully happy to spend time in the kitchen. And although Aunt Kira wouldn’t admit it, she enjoyed helping my mother whenever she cooked or baked, even though she never bothered to learn the recipes.
We dug into the food and Beth said, “I like baking. It’s soothing.”
“Well, you’re making money off it,” said Aunt Kira. “That’s different.”
Aunt Kira and my mom had gone to college at a time when most women in Santa Verona had been happy to get married after high school. Mom had gone on to be a teacher and was happy to keep house for her family, while Aunt Kira had gotten a high-paying job in software and lived a life of personalized “feminist” values, which included never wearing makeup or cooking for a man.
“And that lipstick,” Aunt Kira went on, peering at my lips. “What color is that? Why do you need to paint your face like this?”
“It’s Ruby Red,” I said lightly. “And I don’t see you criticizing Beth’s lipstick.”
Beth paused, chicken-laden fork hovering midair, and shot me a why involve me? glance.
I replied with a half-shrug. Hey, I said telepathically, you are wearing lipstick.
“I like Beth’s lipstick,” Aunt Kira declared. “It’s a nice shade of pink that suits her skin tone. You’re lucky to have a friend as smart as Beth. Why don’t you take her with you when you go shopping for makeup next time? Maybe she’ll give you some pointers.”
“Yeah,” said Beth smugly, shooting me a serves you right for tattling on me glance. “Maybe I will.”
I changed the topic and said, “What do you know about Mike Thornton? He used to be a quarterback back in high school.”
Aunt Kira frowned and exchanged a glance with my mom. “That boy’s bad news,” she said slowly. “Why do you ask? Wasn’t his uncle killed recently?”
I nodded. Aunt Kira kept up with the local gossip, and she knew just about everyone who lived locally. “We’re looking into it, but the cops think Mike did it.”
“Well, I don’t know that he’s a killer,” Aunt Kira said. “But it’s sad how he and that lovely young Brianna got divorced.”
“What happened there?”
“He cheated on her,” said my mom shortly. “And then she left him.”
“That’s not what he told us,” Beth said.
“Of course not,” said Aunt Kira. “The boy’s smart enough to hide his crimes.”
Chapter Nine
Aunt Kira’s warning about Mike was still ringing in my ears as she helped Beth and me prepare the chocolate mud cake. She’d been happy enough to come over to Beth’s apartment and help out, and we chatted about the case as we worked.
“I didn’t want to worry your mom over dinner,” Aunt Kira said. “But I’m not sure you girls should be mixed up in this one. I think the cops might have the right guy.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “They’ve got lots of reasons to suspect him.”
Beth said, “But why would he hire us if he wasn’t innocent?”
“To cast reasonable doubt?” Aunt Kira suggested. “Anything to make a jury not convict him is good enough.”
“Besides,” I added thoughtfully, “he even hired Neve to help out.”
Aunt Kira said, “Isn’t she the one who was mean to you in high school?” I nodded, and she went on, “She got divorced a few years ago, but I don’t think she got much in the settlement.”
My ears pricked up, but at the same time, I didn’t really want to talk about Neve. But I couldn’t help asking, “Do you think she’ll be any good as an investigator?”
Aunt Kira looked at me kindly. “I don’t know. I’m sure you won’t see much of her anyway. Didn’t she say she’d start up that vegan soup store? Maybe she’ll get busy with that.”
“Maybe,” I said. “And maybe Mike actually hired her to mess with our heads.”
“I doubt that,” Beth said. “Mike’s a nice guy.”
Aunt Kira looked at Beth sharply. “I wouldn’t say that,” she said slowly. “He cheated on his wife, and he didn’t follow her out to Palo Alto. I don’t trust a man who doesn’t try to be a good father.”
Beth and I exchanged a wary glance. I’d get paid no matter what, and as long as I uncovered some new evidence that might help Mike, I’d have done my job. But I didn’t like the idea that I might be working for the murderer.
“I’m not convinced Mike could’ve killed his uncle,” Beth said, echoing my thoughts. “What about his wife, Wendy?”
Aunt Kira shrugged. “They say it’s always the spouse, and there were always rumors that those two had a strange marriage. It’s an open secret that Old Grumpy had an affair with that horrible woman, Elaine, and rumors are that he had wandering hands. So it’s fair to think that his wife might’ve been jealous.”
“As long as we find something,” I said, more to myself than to anyone else. “Maybe we should hurry up and pay Wendy a visit.”
Chapter Ten
We rushed over to Wendy’s house as soon as we could finish up our chores. Chores which included waiting for the cake to bake; taste-testing the rich, chocolatey goodness; complaining that Beth only gave me a thin sliver for a slice; dropping Aunt Kira back home; and finally, dropping the cake off at Beth’s client’s house.
It was quite late by the time we got to Wendy’s place, but she knew we were coming. Wendy lived on Degraves Street, a five-minute drive from Tim’s café. The house was a modest Victorian, painted grey with white trim, with a neat postage-stamp-sized lawn out front. The inside was just as tidy, and the furniture was comfy yet stylish.
“It’s about time,” Wendy said as we settled down onto brown leather couches that faced each other. Wendy had short, frizzy red hair and wore a thick gray housecoat that made her look frumpy. “The other girl was here hours ago.”
I narrowed my eyes and sat up straighter. “You mean Neve?”
Wendy nodded. “That’s her name—the pretty blonde who used to go to high school with Mike.”
“I went to high school with Mike,” said Beth.
Wendy peered at her. “I don’t remember seeing you at any of the games.”
“I wasn’t a cheerleader.”
“Of course,” said Wendy, nodding as though that explained Beth’s invisibility. “Anyway, Neve’s studying to be a private investigator, and it seems like so far, she’s doing better than the ‘celebrity’ Mike hired.”
I pursed my lips, and Beth said, “Did Neve say anything about us?”
“Just that you’re not registered,” Wendy said. “And that you don’t know how to follow leads.”
“I don’t have to be registered,” I explained. “I’m working in a private capacity, as a private citizen. Speaking of which, I don’t want to keep you up late. And I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be,” said Wendy. There was a grim set to her mouth, and her eyes grew steely. “Tim was a no-good, cheating a-hole who chased anything in a skirt and complained about everything I cooked. We should’ve divorced years ago.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Beth said.
Wendy extended her hand and tilted it from side to side. The light caught on her diamond tennis bracelet, and her diamond-studded infinity ring. “Tim knew how to make it up to me. He’d take me out for romantic dinners, and he knew that diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
“Right,” Beth said. “But wasn’t there anything more than just the dinners and diamonds that kept you together?”
Wendy looked into the distance and shrugged. After a pause, she said, “I guess you realize after a while that marriage isn’t just roses and honeymoons. He was always cranky, but I guess at the end of the day, we knew each other too well to walk away. At least, that was my reason—no matter how much I hated him.”
“Why did you hate him?” said Beth.
Wendy narrowed her eyes and glanced down at the bracelet. “Sometimes, I thought he got me stuff out of guilt. Have I mentioned that the man couldn’t get enough of the other ladies?”
“You’ve said so,” I reminded her lightly.
“Well. I suppose Mike’s already told you, but Tim recently had an affair with this awful lady named Elaine. Horrible curly brown hair, I swear she had a mustache. Anyway, Elaine walked in when we were having dinner a few months ago, ranting and raving about how Tim was a no-good cheater, and that I should leave him.”
Beth said, “What did you do?”
“Well, Tim showed her the door, got rid of her somehow. And then he told me that we were flying to Paris for a romantic vacation! I’ve always wanted to go to Paris, and who wants to go alone? I already knew he cheated on me.”
“And what about Mike?” I said. “Where does he come into all this?”
Wend
y shrugged. “Mike had problems keeping a job. He kept getting fired from work, and then his wife left him, and he was unemployed for a bit. Tim felt sorry for the boy, and when his barista left, he hired Mike to go work at the café. But was Mike grateful for that help? Nooo. Look what he’s gone and done.”
I said, “You really think Mike killed your husband?”
Wendy sighed. “I don’t know what to think. Honestly, Mike was a pretty impulsive boy, and I can’t imagine him planning out a crime, only because he lacks the necessary attention span. Look how he jumped around from one woman to another—takes after his uncle that way.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed a little. “Maybe he’s changed.”
“People don’t change,” said Wendy simply. “Some people grow up, some people never do.”
I wondered if she was talking about her husband or her nephew. Either way, we were getting a little off-topic.
“It’s a lovely house,” I said, trying to come up with something pleasant to say. “I love what you’ve done with it.”
“Thank you, dear. I work from home one day a week, so it counts as a business, partly.”
“What do you do?” I asked.
“I’m an accountant over at Weber, Weber and Wychowski.”
“I see. And—I don’t mean to be insensitive—but where were you the night Tim died?”
“I was home. Tim came home, realized he’d left the bird in the café, had his dinner, and went back to get her.”
I frowned. “Speaking of. How come you didn’t take Pixie after Tim died?”
Wendy shrugged. “Mike got the café, I figured he could take the bird it came with. Maybe having a pet’ll teach him to grow up a bit.”
Beth and I exchanged a glance, and I said, “Mike made me take the bird. He said that otherwise he’d give it away on Craigslist.”
Wendy’s eyes lit up with an angry fire. “What did I tell you about that boy? I hope you’re an animal lover.”
“I am,” I said. “And I’m happy to have Pixie. She’s adorable.”
Dessert, Diamonds and Deadly Secrets Page 4
